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cbseung · 4 years

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cobblestones: modern prince hyunjin - pt 6

[masterlist]

[pt 1] [pt 2] [pt 3] [pt 4] [pt 5] [pt 6] [pt 7] [pt 8] [pt 9] [pt 10] [final]

you’ll be happy to know i decided a major plot point by asking google heads or tails

i hope you all are okay! if not that’s okay too. make sure you drink water and eat food! stray kids would want you to :)

pairings: hyunjin x reader

w/c: 1,655

warnings!: slight alcohol use :) nothing too bad only enough to make yourself dance on tables in barcelona [this statement makes sense don’t worry] (and not underaged because drinking age in barcelona is 18) [this still makes no sense hehe]

description: it’s ball prep time!!!! gotta sort out a dress, a date, AND YOUR feelings for a certain someone who must not be named!

finally

your shopping day with hyunjin is finished!!

you walk back to buckingham with eight bubble teas

cause SOMEONE wanted to try all the flavors

that someone was you btw

“i can’t believe you made me buy you eight flavors of bubble tea”

“i can’t believe you actually did it!!!”

“you’re lucky you’re cute”

“nah i’m just lucky you’re stupid”

hyunjin rolls his eyes as he smiles and you walk in laughing when you’re stopped by felix and yeji

looking at you pretty strangely

“...hello you two...”

“HI” you and hyunjin simultaneously say

“do you want some bubble tea?? hyunjin bought them all for me!!”

“that’s a lie”

“no it’s not!”

“okay fine i did but i thought you would’ve been nice and shared them”

“me? nice? to you? have you forgotten the past weeks?”

hyunjin gasps

“are you saying you STILL hate me??” he says as he pouts, “after i bought all this bubble tea for you??”

“well i mean.. you’re up 5 points in my book”

“5 points??????? i should be more!! why are we keeping score in the first place!?”

you and hyunjin continue to tease each other as felix and yeji share that look

“you guys look pretty friendly”

“us? friendly? HAHAHAHAHA” you and hyunjin say

“uh huh.. y/n can i.. talk? to you?”

“course felix! what’s up my dude”

“hey so i was talking to yeji.. and she said i should take you as my date to the ball!”

oh?

your heart didn’t flip

you don’t feel like a middle school girl who got asked to the dance

in fact all you feel is excitement that you’re able to go to the ball with your best friend

you squeal in excitement

“yay!! you do know this means you’re gonna have to keep me company throughout the night”

“would not have it any other way”

you talk to felix about the dress that you’re gonna buy and how his tie HAS to match your dress and you HAVE to look like the best because there’s a LOT of people you need to impress

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

you force yeji and felix to go to the dress store with you because you’re indecisive

“y/n YOU HAVE TO GET THAT DRESS”

“aw really?”

“YES IT’S GORGEOUS AND LOOKS SO GOOD ON YOU”

“yeah y/n it’s gonna knock people’s socks off”

“EEEE THIS IS SO EXCITING! yeji!! now we have to find your dress!!”

so 100 dress try ons, 4 bananas milk teas, and 1000 complaints from you and felix later,,,

“god yeji you look good in everything just PIcK one”

“L I S T E N i NEED to DRESS to impress!!! and after that dress you bought we NEED to look like we’re unstoppable powerful women!

“YEJI SHUT UP YOU’RE GORGEOUS BUY THAT ONE IT LOOKS BETTER THAN THE OTHER 99 YOUR TRIED ON”

“you know what? you’re right! i’ll buy this one”

you and felix share a “oh my god thank god this literally took 500 hours” look

“y/n, felix,, i think it’s gonna be a night to remember”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

so like

the ball isn’t until a month away

there was a lot of planning that had to be done

and yeji and felix SO willingly helped because apparently they have an eye for these things

to your convenience （♯▼皿▼）

who are you gonna hang out with now?????? you think to yourself

“hello hello my pretty pretty pumpkin pie”

right

“hyunjin!!!! you’re hanging out with me today!!”

“okay!”

“okay?”

“yeah! why wouldn’t i?”

“no it’s just.. never mind that was easier than i thought”

“i like hanging out with you!”

“if it makes you feel better yeji and felix are too busy with ball stuff so they couldn’t hang out today”

“well, third choice is better than not being a choice at all! even though you were my first choice”

"ah stop it!! >:(”

“never! anyways what’s your plan”

“... we can go to all the coffee shops again”

“WHAT is your infatuation with me and coffee?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I JUST WANT COBBLESTONE COFFEE AGAIN LET ME LIVE”

“OKAY FINE”

“oooooH and we can go sightseeing!! i wanna see those cute houses i see online all the time!!”

“anything for you princess”

> < you stuck your tongue out at hyunjin

ah too bad though

you missed one of those genuine hyunjin smiles™

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

this ball planning stuff goes longer than you expected

you spend a lot of your days in hyunjin’s company

and you’re.. enjoying it?

uh oh no no

“YEJI I MISS YOU CAN WE GO DO STUFF”

“why? you seem like you’re having a lot of fun with hyunjin” she says as she eyes you suspiciously

“i mean.. WE’RE JUST FRIENDS”

“mmhmm”

“I SWEAR!! IT’S NOT LIKE I THINK ABOUt his cute nicknames for me and how he laughs at me every time i drink coffee because i drink it too fast and end up burning my tongue and he laughs at how pouty my face looks and the super cute mole on the bottom of his eye BUT I SWEAR WE’RE JUST FRIENDS” you rant

“...y/n-”

“just. friends.”

“who’s just friends?” you hear hyunjin ask beside you

“bro oh my you just gave me a heart attack” you say

“oh? a heart attack because of my charming looks?”

“what do you want from me???”

“ah i don’t hear denial”

“HYUNJIN”

“okay! okay! pack your bags! we’re going to spain!”

“DUDE”

“DUUDE”

“I HAVE NO MONEY FOR THIS”

“WHAT PART OF ‘HEY I’M A PRINCE’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND”

“YEJI HELP” you exasperate as you turn to your best friend

yeji raises her eyebrows and says

“spain? sounds fun! y/n you should go”

“BUT-”

“you heard her!!! let’s go!” hyunjin says pulling your arm

how do you keep getting yourself in these situations?

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

so you and hyunjin jump on a train to barcelona

“i can’t believe we’re here”

“well you better believe it princess! now, first things first.. coffee on cobblestone streets?”

“ah look at that! you know me so well”

you and hyunjin spend your day in barcelona walking around and sightseeing

“ah hyunjin take a picture of me by that building!!”

“y/n, you made me take about a million pictures now”

“it’s not my fault you have a talent!”

hyunjin GASPS, “oh? a compliment? from great y/n?? i am not WORTHY”

“oh look! now WHO’S dramatic!” you say as you roll your eyes and smile

you and hyunjin stop at a small but lively restaurant for dinner and 15 tapas and 3 glasses of wine later and you’re dancing on the floor in the middle of the small barcelona restaurant

“come on hyunjin!! dance with me!!!!” you yell

“y/n you’re drunk!”

“i’m not! i swear! now come on!” you say as your drag hyunjin on the dance floor

“uGH fine!” he says smiling

badump

oh?

what’s that hyunjin feels as he looks at you having the time of your life?

dancing like you don’t have a care in the world?

like you’re having genuine fun and experiencing genuine happiness?

“oh you’ve GOT to be kidding me” he thinks to himself

but how can he? when he just realized

that his feelings for you might be something a little more than friends?

oh no

oh god

“hey y/n? we should head home”

you pout

you were having so much fun!

“but hyyyuunnjiinnnniieeee” you say, still with your killer pout

“no buts!!! i can’t even take you on the train! i guess we gotta get a hotel for tonight”

“yaaaay!!!! sleepover!!!!”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

through hyunjin’s many many princely connections, you guys have no problem getting a hotel

“weeeeee!! this bed is so comfy!”

oh! did i mention that the hotel you’re staying at only had one (1) bed?

your hotel only has one (1) bed so you know what that means

��nuh uh you’re taking the floor” hyunjin tells you

“b-but”

“no buts”

hyunjin was half joking

i swear

he just wanted to get a reaction out of you

listen

you’re an emotional drunk

so naturally

you just start crying

“but but”

“hey woah no i was kidding we can BOTH take the bed!! or if you want i’ll take the floor!!! just stop crying i’m sorry” hyunjin freaks

even drunk you were still aware of what’s going on and you weren’t about to let hyunjin sleep on the floor

that’s crazy

“no it’s okay let’s share the bed!”

“oookay...”

so you and hyunjin get in bed in to your respective sides

“good night jinnie” you murmur

“...good night princess”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

the following day..

you try to forget the fact that you got wine drunk

and instead try to figure out why your pillow feels so hard?

like it doesn’t feel like a a pillow

...

wait

why is your pillow moving up and down

why is your pillow breathing

is your pillow haunted????

(a haunted pillow? really?)

as you move your head up to see,,

you were greeted with a peaceful sleeping hyunjin

a pretty hyunjin

with his bedhead!

and your head on his chest

and your arm around his waist!

oh so that’s the thing you were hugging

....

naturally you jump up

you were just sleeping on your enemy but not really anymore i guess ‘s CHEST

NICE GOING

“y/n?”

“OH HAHA H-HI U-UM SORRY G-GO BACK TO BED” you say, refusing to look at his face

“did you turn up the air conditioner? why’d it get cold all of a sudden?”

“I D-DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT”

“hey also did you feel something on your chest? like i felt like someone was laying on me”

now THIS makes you look up

in confusion

and you’re met with a smirking hyunjin

“i-i’m gonna go order breakfast now!” you say as you walk out of the room

hyunjin flops back on the bed

“ahhh.. what am i gonna do with you?”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇

a/n: hehehehehehehheehehehe

#hwang hyunjin #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #skz imagines #skz #stray kids #stray kids hyunjin #prince hyunjin #omg finals are stressful why do i have so many things i have to do help #modern prince hyunjin #kpop imagines #cbseung imagines

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edgypea · 4 years

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i'm so late to the party but DUUUDE ILU i'm so glad to see you and that you're making art, man it warms my fucking heart 🖤

You’re never too late, my duude!! I know this is on anon but I’m like 99% sure I know who this is based on my activity feed spike and how this is written lmao.

My dude, I fuckin vibed with you and your og blog and art sm when you first joined you have no idea how much you inspired me to do start trying to draw again and do this. i hadn’t made anything before this since like mid 2018 so i’m rusty af but INSPIRED and VIBIN. I dunno man I just vibe with you an stuff ilysm i’m so happy to hear from you and see you again ily ily ily

#also i miss sending you pics of my cats #you should dm me if you want more pics of my cats or nasty boy dogs #i'm gonna feel like a fucking ding dong if this isn't vm/ic

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collectedbooks · 5 years

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finally finished the good omens script book, under the cut are my favorite points of interest! most have to do with aziraphale, but there’s a lot for crowley too.

aziraphale sasses the hell out of crowley about his antichrist birth organization skills

aziraphale saying “oh sugar” instead of oh shit...

everyday by buddy holly is the theme song, love that

aziraphale doesn’t know how an ansaphone works. this was in the book too but it’s still funny

aziraphale brought shortbread for the drive to the convent. does he think this is a date? please say yes

crowley asked aziraphale if heaven wouldn’t give him (crowley) asylum and aziraphale was going to ask him the same about hell

aziraphale says “what the hell” after pointedly not swearing earlier. hypocrite ass

aziraphale is fine with killing the antichrist himself but gets upset about the humans killing each other at tadfield manor....thinks he’s always doing the Right Thing but knows it’s the Wrong Thing if the humans do it? hypocrisy

“aziraphale is rather enjoying having the upper hand in the ideas department for once”

crowley says “dude. chill.”

“for a moment his noble better nature rejects the idea out of hand. THEN HE FALLS...”

“aziraphale is softening. they haven’t spoken in a hundred years: he’s realizing they are still friends.”

why was shadwell in prison?? america explain

“i work in soho, i hear things” aziraphale has eyes and ears everywhere; patron saint of soho confirmed

the neon halo blinking on and off above aziraphale’s head is the HARDEST that neil gaiman has ever gone

michael: when your cause is just you do not hesitate to smite the foe, aziraphale. there’s that ideology that aziraphale is trying to shed.

“crowley looks back. he looks at aziraphale. above them, a beautiful starry sky. and crowley softens.” jesus janthony christ.

“aziraphale is looking for someone. he spies a human statue dressed as an angel, with wings. it’s not him.” GOD

gabriel about aziraphale: “i’m disappointed in him. not thinking like an angel.”

crowley “looks up, and talks to god, in the classical fashion.” wonder what they’ll say for how aziraphale prays…

crowley in the cinema. “he’s waiting for the end of the world. out of time. out of hope.” kill me

the fact that crowley saw aziraphale walking down the street and left dagon on read…..priceless

aziraphale looks hurt after crowley says he won’t even think about him

the music for the gavotte scene was recommended to be “i am a courtier grave and serious” from gilbert and sullivan’s the gondoliers i am LOSING IT

“aziraphale is heading down the street, looking harried and as if he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. which he is.”

sandalphon says “you know how we treat traitors in wartime?” to aziraphale i HATE

there was meant to be blood on aziraphale’s lips after sandalphon punches him i am SO

“why would you do this? we’re the good guys.”

aziraphale (resolutely not swearing): you. you B…AD angels.

“seducing women to do your evil will!” “i think perhaps you’ve got the wrong shop.” is STILL the most iconic addition

crowley on the verge of tears in aziraphale’s burning bookshop fucking hurts me to my core

“right. i’m done. i’ve had it. i don’t care about any bloody angels or humans or anyone. i hate you all. somebody killed my best friend, and i don’t even care who did it. bastards, all of you.” 😭

when aziraphale is discorporated, his heavenly appearance is all his normal clothes but gleaming white

aziraphale: i have no intention of fighting in any war. “all angels on the floor turn and look at the angel who has said the unsayable.”

aziraphale can’t actually see crowley in the bar scene…he has no idea how wrecked his best friend is

aziraphale doesn’t take sugar with his tea. bastard

aziraphale crosses his fingers under the table when answering shadwell’s nipple question

aziraphale is wearing madame tracy’s pink motorbike helmet in the mirror of her scooter. what an ICON

they describe crowley’s suit in the burning bentley as “interestingly ripped”…boob window for crowley 2k19

aziraphale introduces crowley to madame tracy as “he’s…well, we’re sort of business associates.” (john mulaney vc) you know, like a liar

aziraphale was fully about to murder adam. i don’t think i can stress this enough.

aziraphale pokes himself to make sure he’s solid once he’s separated from madame tracy

aziraphale isn’t threatening crowley with the sword, “just making his point that he can do dangerous out-of-character things if he needs to.”

crowley: what if the almighty planned it this way all along? from the very beginning aziraphale: takes a drink from the bottle of wine

aziraphale looks like he’s going to cry when crowley reminds him that the bookshop burnt down 😭

aziraphale-as-crowley looks depressed 😭 he still thinks his bookshop is gone

the angels kidnapping crowley-as-aziraphale zip-tied his hands i’m MAD

aziraphale-as-crowley: my friend! they’re kidnapping my friend!

the hit hastur gives aziraphale-as-crowley would have killed a human…0/10 wahoos

“the van with [crowley-as-]aziraphale in it drives away, and [aziraphale-as-]crowley tries to crawl after it.” HEY NEIL I JUST WANT TO TALK

crowley-as-aziraphale says “what fun. i love a barbecue.”

i am literally ENRAGED that sandalphon was like “hell yeah you can hit aziraphale” to the minor demon who brought the hellfire i WILL throw hands

uriel calls it a barbecue too CAN Y’ALL NOT

in the script uriel and sandalphon have their flaming swords drawn, so it’s not as insidious as expecting aziraphale to walk into the flame of his own volition. but i mean they didn’t include it in the show, so it is that insidious after all

aziraphale-as-crowley keeping his socks on for the bath has me in STITCHES

“he doesn’t actually have a newspaper and a cigar, but damn, he’s enjoying himself in his bath” I’M LOSING IT

are we not going to talk about how fucking ice cold aziraphale is….the whole “so you’re probably thinking, ‘if he can do this, i wonder what else he can do’? and very, very soon, you’re all going to get the chance to find out.” BECAUSE THAT SHIT IS TERRIFYING

aziraphale-as-crowley: michael. duude.

crowley and aziraphale both get out of their own elevators and meet up to walk out together the POETIC CINEMA

PIGBOG AND THE IDIOTS WERE GOING TO BE INCLUDED

#( ooc. ) DOLPHINS!#( character study. ) ANGELS CAN'T BE OVERSENSITIVE.#( mun stuff. ) ABBA ENTHUSIAST AND LESBIAN.#Good Ass Shit Yo

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omfgthelife · 7 years

Video

Track: Ellie Goulding ✕ Bon Iver - Lights ✕ Calgary

Video Samples Source: Chaalbaaz - Tera Beemaar Mera Dil

TL;DR version: I'm pretending to make music. Somewhere in 2007-08, I got introduced to the idea of "internet mash-up artist" when a friend living in the US sent me a link to one of the first mash-up artists to go viral on the Internet, DJ ToToM. He mixed everything we were listening to then. It was fascinating to listen to something like Bob Dylan through the gaze of The Pixies. It's a different song, it's the same two songs but now it's different. It means something else now. Yeah, you can still be attached to each of the two (or more) songs that make the mashup as well. But it's just that they were made for each other also.

Since then, mashups have become a part of my library. Every now and then, I go looking for some new mashup artist who is utterly mindblowing when it comes to their matchmaking abilities. Others just make remixes, where they take an electronic sample beat and then speed up/slow down two tracks to match beat with that sample beat and play them on top of it. Or my nemesis: Bands who play two covers clearled stitched together one after the other. Yes, I'm a mashup hipster. A mashup is all about sampling. If you're doing anything other than sampling then you're making music (it may even be amazing) but you're not making a mashup. A mashup is about an alternative reality's pop culture (as defined by all alternative reality references/imagined in popular culture).

2010 onwards, mashups became my way of celebrating New Year's Eve. Two of the biggest viral mashup hitmakers Dj Earworm and Daniel Kim would release their own year-end specials -- a mashup of the Billboard top 50 tracks of the ear -- titled United States of Pop and Pop Danthology. (In my head, it's like the mashup boxing match of the year. I'm sure neither of the two artists think that way.) Then I compare notes between the two mashups. Who made the smoothest, coolest mashup with songs put together in the least forced way possible. All of this is dependent on my own judgement of course, not some standardized guide or musical knowledge. Every year, I've spent a couple of days on Audacity trying to see if I can mash songs together before realising I know shit about creating music and giving up. (I actually know nothing, I love listening to music though.) I tried reading hack guides and watching terrible videos about how to extract vocals from a song. (Hey, it never works for anything but the song they're demonstrating in the video.)

Somewhere in 2011, I discovered Girl Talk. He has taken ‘mashup artist’ to a whole new level. His mashup albums are a like a reflection in the entire genre that would be made of mashups and samples. In his discography, you'll find everything from banging dance numbers to just good soulful listens to sometimes even an exploration in noise. I'm not sure I'll ever go that deep into the art/craft of mashups. You must listen to at least one full Girl Talk album to know what I'm talking about.

Recently, I started following oneboredjeu on twitter, who I consider perhaps one of the finest mashup artists that lives on the Internet. I walked into her YouTube channel for the Gambino and Gorillaz mashups and stayed for everything else. Among her recent uploads, her Sia-Lorde and SZA-Ariana Grande mashups are to die for. Through her, I found Raheem D. His Lil Kim-Ariana Grande mashup is da bomb. That was when I also discovered there was a mashup artist scene and their own space on social media. Reading them discuss mashups, hearing their uploads, I learnt two key things which I used when I restarted my attempts at mashing songs on Audacity:

1. It's best if songs are on the same key and close to each other in BPM (beats per minute) count. Because I know shit about making music, I couldn't guess what key any given song was, and I could never count beats already. 2. You can't just cut vocals out of a song like it works with image editing (which I had learnt already). Mashup artists source their stems (different tracks that make a song: vocals, strings, percussion, or the complete instrumental backing track) from all over the Internet.

Finally, we're at how did I end up here. A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with a friend from Chile. Our usual scene was sitting on his couch, and having a YouTube party where we'd keep showing each other videos or music. That day, the moment I entered his house, he jumped up.

"Duude! Do you remember the Asereje song?" He was doing the step. "The Tomatina girls or something?" "Yes, yes! That one." "We just called it the Ketchup song in India." "That's not the point. Somebody finally figured out what the gibberish part of the song was!" "There was a gibberish part?" "The lines that come after Asereje are all gibberish!" "They're not Spanish? They sound so much like Spanish!" "Yes, they do but they're Spanish gibberish. If you understood Spanish, you'd know." "So what's the meaning of Asereje?"

He then played a video from a Chilean news channel where they were reporting that a dude on Twitter had cracked the Asereje code. So in Spanish, the girls are singing the story of Diego. One night Diego is wrecked on alcohol and drugs and arrives at a club. The DJ starts playing a song, which happens to be Diego's favourite song. Y la baila (And he dances), y la goza (and he enjoys it) y la caaantaaa (and he siiings): Aserejé, ja deje tejebe tude jebere Sebiunouba majabi an de bugui an de buididipí Sebiunouba majabi an de bugui an de buididipí Sebiunouba majabi an de bugui an de buididipí So Diego's favourite song iiiiis: I said a hip hop, hippie to the hippie The hip, hip a hop, and you don't stop, a rock it out Bubba to the bang bang boogie, boobie to the boogie To the rhythm of the boogie the beat

Rapper's Delight! Yes, that blew my mind and I can no longer take The Ketchup Song lightly. I have regrets for taking it lightly when I was in college and the song was a sensation.

So at this end of this long detour in my mashup story: I got home that night and tweeted, asking the Internet for a mashup of The Ketchup Song and Rapper's Delight. Someone from my twitter social life was equally mindblown and asked for the same. Something hit me then and I made this just ffs. I'd successfully managed to get vocals only tracks of Rapper's Delight and The Ketchup Song, and an instrumental version of The Ketchup Song to put together that short clip -- in my head, it was more of a proof of concept that I can mashup AND that the guy from Chile was right, Asereje IS Rapper's Delight. Last Monday, I got bored one evening and also was itching to see if I could get even close to making a mashup. So as usual, my mashup attempt of 2017 was underway. I googled to see if somebody had compiled a song keys database and ta-da: I found Audio Keychain. While just clicking through their database to see if any song strikes me in particular that I wanted to try using in a mashup. I found Katy B's 5AM, which I really like. A reverse search told me that Blue Oyster Cult's hit The Reaper had the same key and almost the same BPM. There it was decided, for my first attempt, I was going to mash these two songs together. I found the Katy B stems on some filesharing platform after some searching. A decent instrumental (backing track) version of The Reaper on YouTube was found much easily and downloaded. I worked for a couple of hours and made an almost 2-minute draft. It was working but I hit a creative block there onwards. So I exported the 1:48 clip to mp3 from Audacity and sent it to the friend who first introduced me to ToToM and went to sleep.

The next day at office, I played the mashup over and over again to see if still made sense. I made a colleague listen to it because I was confident that I had no distance and it would sound amazing to me. He said, "I haven't heard either of these songs but I like this song I'm hearing." That was hella encouraging. Although, I was sure that it was a fluke that I managed to make that one. If I try once again, I'll fail miserably. On Wednesday, I opened Audio Keychain and decided to try again. After some hits and misses, I finally ended up with Billy Idol's Dancing With Myself (backing track) and David Guetta/Nicki Minaj/Bebe Rexha's Hey Mama (vocal track). After the first draft, there were lots of empty spaces for which I didn't find any vocals that fit. So I added the chorus from Charli XCX's Boom Clap, which doesn't really fit as well as the first two songs with each other. But it was all sounding pleasant and I hadn't fucked up as miserably as the last seven years.

Thursday evening, I didn't even think twice. I got home, logged onto Audio Keychain and started looking for tracks to mashup. A lot of random and terrible experiments later, Ellie Goulding's Lights and Bon Iver's Calgary seemed like they had promise together. Unfortunately, just like the bad Charli XCX stem from the previous mashup, I found a below-par vocals only track for Lights. I didn't actually care because all I wanted to see was if I could make a decent mashup again. I really, really liked how the two tracks came together. Hence, this decision of publishing the mashup. I would've published on Thursday night itself but I think I was too happy about how these two tracks worked together. I felt this track needed a video. And in a vision due to a fuckton of sleeplessness, Sridevi and my favourite song from Chaalbaaz came to mind - Tera Beemaar Mera Dil. So then I downloaded the best available YouTube video for that song and started to work on it. After quite a few drafts, a low-end machine, where every render takes 2 hours and the only way to see the video is to render it because otherwise everything starts malfunctioning due to the load, here's the final mashup video for a mashup track.

#mashup #ellie goulding #bon iver #music #remix #lights #calgary #sridevi #video #chaalbaaz #bollywood #pop

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reasonably-annoyed-fog · 7 years

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Things in Dirk Gently season 1 We Don’t Talk About Enough

when Farah and Dirk show the machine to who they think is Agent Weedle, and Dirk realizes (but sadly can’t warn Farah) that it’s actually one of the Men of the Machine, his face literally is like *lightbulb goes on*

when the Rowdy 3 arrive at the parking lot where Amanda has her pararibulitis attack, first thing they do is go after the asshats who were filming her. that was the moment I decided I liked them beyond “they are loud and fun and a bit scary”

Dirk Gently is the most agonizingly positive dude ever, and then Riggins approaches him like “you need to listen to me” and Dirk puts on this shit-eating grin and says “Why, do you have new lies to tell me” like duude, where does all this bile come from all of a sudden

speaking of which, any moment where it’s noticable that Dirk is a lot more fed up with everything than he likes to admit (from his situation in general to things like “people where dying while you were busy becoming a billionaire”)

that one time he speaks his mind and he gets punched in the face for it and he can’t even complain because the future version of Spring already apologized for that, time travel is a bitch

how amazing is the musical score??

when Riggins straight up headbuttet Friedkin. that was probably the best thing he’s ever done ever

Zimmerfield was such a good cop? He just wanted to find the missing girl? He didn’t even want to hear about her being possibly dead, his last words literally were “Save Lydia Spring” Zimmerfield didn’t deserve this.

Estevez didn’t deserve this.

just how enthusiastic Amanda and Dirk are about each other

how everyone is enthusiastic about Farah

like when she starts wondering where the military bullet came from, and Dirk just looks at her like “wow she’s gooood”

everything Farah does is amazing

how Ken walks that very thin path of “bart no” and “BART YES” all by himself

“cinnamon”

#someone who can make gifs please make a gif set of salty/fed up Dirk #dghda #dirk gently's holistic detective agency #dirk gently

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littleblue5mcdork · 7 years

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Dammit Leslie

Prompt 79: “My name isn’t Lesslie, who’s lesslie?” Fandom: Supernatural - Dean WARNING: 13+ there is foul language _______________________________________________________________________________________

Letting out a heavy sigh, you trudge down the aisle of the local quick-shop you worked in, looking in distain at a was of chewed up gum that had been squashed onto the shelf before you, no doubt because of the teens that had been here not three minutes prior.

“Kids are such assholes” just as you’re begining to scrape away the muck, not only do you hear the ding of the door, signalling some asshat who probably needed help finding the bathroom, but your phone also started blaring loudly in some embarresing ringtone your friends has probably downloaded “What do you want?”

“Heeyyyy dude, no need to be so grumpy dude, that’s sooooo lame, I just like, need you to do me a major solid” Leslie, of course it had to be that little shithead

“I’m at work ‘Dude’ so fuck off, this isn’t the time” scrunching up your nose at the thought of the last time you had down him a ‘solid’ scraping gum seemed much more appealing “last time I helped you I ended up with a fine of six-hundred bucks and the cops on my ass”

“It’s different this time dude, I sweaaarrr, I just need ya to tell the Fed’s I was at your place last night duuudee, some kid was jumped and I need an alliby, alright duude?”

“ What, doing pot in some random motel isn’t enough excuse for you?” before he could complain any further you swiftly hung up, turning your phone on silent as you rounded the corner “Fucking Leslie, just leave me alone and go screw yourself” unluckily you just barreled right into a customer

“Woah, you okay?” firm hands steadied you, now presenting you with the most gorgeous green eyes you’d ever seen and an intoxicating deep chuckle “As much as I love woman who can talk to me like that, my name isn’t Leslie, who’s Leslie?”

“Oh god!” covering your face in embarrassment, you couldn’t help but feel your face heat up “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention and I just got off the phone with my friend an-”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright” Grinning from ear to ear, the man proceeded to pat your shoulder in a joking manner As he guided you to take a seat on the nearest bench “I get it, long day right? Whoever that asshole is he should know better than to call you at work”

“Yeah, but it’s my fault, I’m always caving in and slippin the guys out of tight spots when they need it, uhh, I’m even stuck with this lame job because of it” Pulling at your hair, you couldn’t help but give him a meek smile “look at me, ranting to a random stranger while covered in dried slushie and dirt, pathetic right?”

“Not at all, that’s life” quirking his lips up a bit, the man turned to face you, sticking out his hand “The names Dean, and how about after you get off shift we blow this joint and I buy you a tall one, you look like you deserve it”

“Dude, you are literally an Angel” shaking his hand, you can’t help but laugh a bit a small grin stretching across your face, especially seeing your next coment put the snarky man in stitches “and a pretty cute one at that.”

@kazosa

#dean winchester #supernatural #writing prompts #reader

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iowamusicshowcase · 7 years

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Ep 52 - Song 1: "Night after Night" by CW Smith "CW SMITH is a multi-instrumentalist and singer-songwriter from Des Moines. His original songs explore universal themes like love and family, faith and doubt, work and play, coffee and road construction. And they hearken back to the great rock, pop, blues and folk music of the 20th century." - from his ReverbNation page "Original acoustic and electric rock; Classic 20th century rock. CW sings, composes, and plays over a dozen different instruments... "CW Smith started entertaining early, singing popular songs of the 60s and early 70s for family members at age 3. He formed his first "band" with cousin Leanne at age 7, wrote his first song at 10, performed with the Indianola High School swing choir at 11, had singing and non-singing roles with the Des Moines Metro Opera at 12 and 13, formed his first "real band" at 17, and started producing solo and band recordings at 18. "CW took piano and trombone lessons at age 9, but grew impatient with them. He taught himself guitar at age 15, bass guitar at 19, and drums at 21. "CW has played with several Des Moines and surrounding area bands over the years, including Sound System, the audubon society, Velvet Picasso, Village Idiots, Indigo Dream, One Eye Closed, Mystic East, Amethyst, The Stains, The Word Green, Smith & Straughn, The Grape Ape Trust, dUUdes, and TMI." - from his Facebook page "From the time I could walk, say the folks closest to me, I’ve been singing. I’d entertain the family at picnics from the age of three. My cousin Leanne and I formed our first “band” -- The Flowerbuds --- when I was seven. I wrote my first song when I was ten, performed with the Indianola High School swing choir when I was eleven, and had choral and non-singing roles with the Des Moines Metro Opera when I was twelve and thirteen. My first formal music lessons were on piano and trombone when I was 10 years old, but I never really stuck with either of them: I never had the lung power for trombone or the patience for piano. I taught myself guitar when I was 15, bass when I was 18, and drums when I was 19. During my time working at Trifecta Studio, I learned mandolin and harmonica, and got much better at the drums. I’ve since taken up baritone guitar, upright bass, ukuleles (soprano, tenor and baritone), banjo, bajo sexto and sitar. Piano still spooks me for some reason, though. "I joke that I have a musical attention deficit, and just can’t manage to stick with one instrument. But it was actually a valuable skill in the studio: if a client needed a particular instrument on a recording, it was just about as easy for me to learn a part as to go through my list of instrumentalists’ phone numbers. Usually in the time it took just to get a response on the phone, I could learn a part and we could finish the recording. In my current recordings and with my current bands, I bounce back and forth between guitar, bass, mandolin and drums to fill whatever void we hear in the arrangement... My solo recording career began with the breakup of Sound System in 1989, and continues to this day. I’m working and playing now with a band (The Grape Ape Trust) and three duet projects (TMI, The Word Green and Smith & Straughn) and feeling more motivated now than ever before to get my my music recorded and performed out in front of an audience. - from his home page "To say that CW Smith is an interesting dude would be an understatement... "His basement is divided into two parts, One half is a display of guitars, keyboards, and other stringed instruments. In the back sits a complete trap set and a few hand drums. Macintosh computer screens adorn his counter space which he uses to record and mix his music. Nearby is a custom patch bay that he uses to track and layer his songs. He has instruments from every faction of music including a sitar, numerous electric guitars, two baritone guitars, a stand-up bass, a couple of keyboards, the aforementioned drum set and a trumpet. Being in his basement is a lot like being in a music store. He says that when he records an new album, he tries to implement as many instruments into the mix as possible and most of them he plays himself... "CW Smith grew up in Pleasantville, Iowa and has lived in Norwalk, Harford and Des Moines. He graduated high school in Indianola and then attended Iowa State University for a year in 1987. He enjoyed his short tenure in Ames, but while he maintains that Iowa State is a great school, he also maintains that he was not a great student. At the time CW was studying Computer Science, which isn't exactly what an engineering school like Iowa State is known for. After studying for a year, he moved back to Indianola to attend Simpson College. There he he changed his majors to Music and Communication. "In 1992 he was offered a co-ownership position at Trifecta Studios just north of Easton Boulevard in Des Moines. CW seized this opportunity, and with his business partner, Steve Hudspeth, they operated a full function studio for ten years. "In 2002 the studio closed it's doors, and it's actually where CW acquired much of the equipment and a good amount of the musical instruments that he keeps in his basement today. He keeps busy by playing solo gigs in and around the city. He says that he tries to keep it down to just a few gigs a month, but sometimes the opportunities exceed that. You can find him at various coffee shops in the city or at the occasional neighborhood bar, or at the place where he attends worship, the First Unitarian Church... "When asked about his influences, Smith offers a wide variety, all of which find their way into his musical vein. There's Big Star, David Bowie, Tom Petty and even Television and Crowded House. But he admits that most of his influence comes from The Beatles, whom obviously, CW pays a strong homage to... "Whether CW Smith is playing an acoustic solo show or if he is removing a virus from a laptop computer in his shop, one thing is certain: He approaches each task he does with genuine love. When you meet CW, you instantly realize what a great and friendly guy he is. He conducts himself in a manner that defies ego but he operates with a high sense of integrity. "Extremely proud of the life he has created for himself and his family, he makes no excuses for who he is. Whether he is in his shop or making music, he leaves no stone unturned in regards to detail and the values in which he lives his life. CW Smith is a rare bird and an incredible asset to the Des Moines community." - from "Getting to Know: C.W. Smith" on the Bigfoot Diaries website Lineup: CW Smith - rhythm guitars, bass guitar, drums, vocals Stevan Robinson - slide guitar Rob Straughn - co-writer Home page: http://www.cwsmith.fm Facebook: http://ift.tt/2y2k3Hc BandCamp: http://ift.tt/2dWiAdc To download the podcast, right click on the link below and hit "Save as...": http://ift.tt/2y9jQkw Labels: 2010s, 2016, acoustic, acoustic rock, CW Smith, Des Moines, Des Moines area, Ep 052, Halloween,Halloween 2017, Halloween music, Night after Night (song), rock music, Stevan Robinson

#IFTTT #FacebookPages #Iowa #Iowa Music #Iowa Bands #Iowa Artists #Midwest #Midwest Music

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ouijasurfboard-blog · 7 years

Text

a very first-drafty sample chapter from the middle of EACAG

Chapter 39: A Blanket Fort of Nonsense

(because of tumblr formatting, things previously in italics may no longer appear as such. gee, that sucks. hopes it still reads okay thanks for reading

)

Cody burst from the shadows and into the streetlight, clothes sodden and dripping, thinning hair pinned to his face. His left eye was squinted by a swelling purple bruise and his lip had been torn open. His hands were bloody, half of them clutching his ribs. Furthermore, and most importantly, he’d lost his glasses. “The hell happened to you?” He stumbled forward, gathered himself, and put a hand on the streetlight to keep steady. “Ellie—have you been following me?” There was stagger in his voice as well as his balance. “Dude, no, I—” “Stop following me! God! I’m never alone! Why is everyone obsessed with me? It’s like, ew, I can feel you staring. Sorry. We were having a good time, and then I threw up on you with words. I’m so sorry.” He hunched over and vomited off the curb. “Ew. Anyway. It’s cool that you were following me. I get it. Sorry for freaking out. You’re like… my cool, wacky mom who’s younger than me.” My idiot son wasn’t done vomiting. I moved closer. “Cody, buddy, baby, your glasses—” “Sooo, here’s what happened. Did I interrupt you? Sorry. Don’t care. I mean, I do care, but, like, oh right, so, my glasses. So here’s what happened to my glasses. I was out with the boys.” Cody definitely met all of these boys no more than eight hours ago. “And we were at this club, then the song comes on, you know the one, and then I sing along, and everyone’s like ‘woah Cody we didn’t know you were bleeblerhblerhwhatever’ because I don’t, anyway, so this girl is like, ‘blerhblerh hey youuuerrr good singer me and the ladies going to a karaoke bar’ and I was like, ‘hell YEAH’ so I get in this van, and they’ve got like beads and shit and erm-ermpheta-amphetamines and at first I’m like, ‘naaaw dude’ but then they’re like, ‘yaaaw, dude’ and so I’m gonna, but they, so like, my badge, my fake badge, ‘aaagh oh shit a cop’ so I get the SHIT kicked out of me by this old guy and these three girls and this HUGE guy, and I’m coughing up blood but THEN the BOYS show up, drag me back to the first club, and then I’m like, to uh, the bartender, ‘hey can I a doubleblerhblerhblerh’ and she’s like ‘duude yourr fuckin face go to a mirror’ so I go to the bathroom and my face is straight fucked to shit, Ellen, and, uh, like, my glasses, where are they, not on my face, that’s where, but it’s party time let’s go beast mode so I pound a few with the boys and then they’ve got this shit that’s on fire but the fire’s purple but so like what the fuck and I get something called a curb stomp and that might be where I went wrong but anyway so me and Ian are outside wrestling and I’m punching him and he’s punching me and I punch him in the face and I hear this crack and I’m like oh shit I just fucked up his face forever bye so I’m running and the boys are chasing me and I think I lost them a few blocks ago? Who knows anyway I missed you.” His whole body began titling forward, and I put a hand on him to keep the pavement from flying upwards into his already sufficiently fucked face. “So, how many boys are there, total?” He counted on his fingers, muttering names to himself, lost count, swore, started again, and answered, “uhh… six?” Whilst contemplating my ability to somehow arrange the inconspicuous deaths of six people, what I had previously disregarded as over-vigorous rainfall turned to be foot steps fast encroaching. A man came into view from behind Cody, looking only half as frazzled but thrice as bloodthirsty. “HEY YOU! DEPRESSING HAIR GUY!” Cody’s eyes went wide as insert tired simile. He grabbed me by the shoulders. “I AM GOING TO DIE.” I took his wrist and bolted. I made it about five steps dragging him as a sack of half-blind whining meat before realizing we wouldn’t get anywhere. That he had managed to evade anyone at all was a miracle. The man tore Cody away from me and forced him against a wall by his neck. It all happened at once: I went for his eyes with my fingernails, he booted me in the shin, I took his ear in my teeth, he dropped Cody and kicked me in the ribs, I fell away with a bloody ear in my mouth, air having departed my lungs entirely. I thought sadly to myself, whoops Cody was right on this one. I clutched my ribs and curled up on the pavement. This massive pug-looking guy raised his foot to stomp the life from me when Cody’s fist emerged from the shadows like a hairy angel and, at the very least, distracted him momentarily. He recoiled his fist in pain, probably having shattered something if his agh! was any indicator. “I’m sorry. I’m very drunk and nerdy and skinny,” he said, wincing with every breath. Cody got himself socked in the gut. “Why are you doing this? I thought you didn’t like Ian.” “Your face annoys me. It’s a real punchable face.” Cody sighed. “Okay. I get it. So—” He stopped mid-sentence to vomit. The man raised his fist. “Nononowait! Just… thirty seconds. Oh my god. So, yeah, sorry about your shoes, and sorry about my face. It just came this way. And… you can punch it until it isn’t annoying, but please don’t hurt my dumb friend Ellen.” “Dude! She bit my ear off!” “Yeah, she’s really, really dumb. She’s so dumb that I bet she learned her lesson just from those ribs you broke. You don’t even need to break her legs or kill her. Also, she, like, only has one hand and stuff, and she’s like, super super short, so it wouldn’t really be a fair fight.” “You think I care?” Cody glanced down at me. “Ellen. Bernie. You gotta—” He was interrupted by another blow, but I took his meaning well enough. There was a scared little kid in danger out there, and this jowly cunt wasn’t going to stop me from finding him and then subsequently hugging him and never letting go again. I forced myself off the ground, drawing attention away from Cody long enough for him to just kick this dude right in the balls. He recoiled only just very briefly, which was nearly enough time to evade him, but not quite. He kneed Cody in the groin. I was on my feet and this point, and with a stroke of luck, managed to once again kick this dude in the balls before he plunged his fist into my gut. Everyone involved, at this point, was very angry and in pain. Unfortunately, drunk Cody lacked the manic superhuman strength of heroin Cody and even the admittedly subpar coordination of sober Cody, so our combined force didn’t amount to much. Fortunately, pug-boy’s testicles seemed to be in a pretty hefty state of distress, and I saw his determination begin to falter. Unfortunately, the pain only made him angrier, and the anger only made him punchier. “I’LL KILL YOU!” he screamed. I tugged Cody away. “You gotta run, dude,” I told him, as though it would persuade his balance to be more compliant. He tried his best. He really did. The large and shouting man was ever on our heels. I dug my fingers into Cody’s ridiculous flannel shirt and held on for (his) dear life. He stumbled on every slight abnormality in the sidewalk. Every bump, every crack, every shred of litter was a hurdle. In the seven years that we’d known each other, Cody had lost his glasses twice. Once after passing out at an otherwise underwhelming party to find them two days later sunk in a half-eaten nutrient slab, and the second time after accidentally leaving them at his then-girlfriend’s cell to retrieve them the following week when she finally found them behind her desk (one of many small unfortunate happenings that ultimately culminated in their breakup). Both times, their absence had put his life on halt. I swerved around a corner, dragging Cody, who’d become a tearful limping disaster. This wasn’t really the place to admit that I’d forgotten where I was. The hotel was definitely on the same plane of time and space as us, and if we were lucky, within the same ten mile radius, too. Finding it again was a matter of endurance and favour with our respective personal deities. Cody and I scrambled wildly from street to street, looping around familiar sign posts sometimes deliberately but sometimes definitely not deliberately and ultimately just getting ourselves more lost in an effort to lose slobbery hulking pug-boy. Cody was panting and heaving like he was in labour. I expected him to collapse at any moment, and I wasn’t entirely confident in my ability to lug around one hundred and twenty-four pounds of bored astigmatic stoner over my shoulders whilst also running for my life. As was to be expected at this point, a dumb idea occurred to me. I swerved into an alley, optimistically refusing to check over my shoulder, and flipped up the unfortunately crusty lid of a dumpster. “Hop over,” I said to a barely lucid Cody. His immediate reaction was to take advantage of the sudden interlude in our running to throw up. He had the good sense to wipe his mouth afterwards, at least. “What?” I slapped my hand against the dumpster in frustration. “The dumpster! Get it the dumpster!” He nodded slowly. “Dumpster… yeah… good thinking, Helen.” His eyes fluttered closed. I shook him by the shoulder. “I’m gonna boost you up, okay?” He nodded vigorously. “Boost me up, Scotty,” he said, drooling and struggling to keep awake. I clumsily took his foot with the one hand and propelled him upwards with all the strength of five determined meerkats. He tumbled into the dumpster like a sad domino made out of jelly. I followed after him and let the lid clatter shut over our heads, pinching my fingertips as it closed. “It’s dark and smelly in here,” whispered Cody. It was reassuring to hear that he hadn’t passed out. “It sure is, buddy.” “We have to find Bernie.” I took this matter very seriously. “Or die trying.” He patted his hand around until it landed on my shoulder. “Don’t die for a goat, Ella.” I shrugged. “Gotta die somehow.” He withdrew his hand. Time crawled by at a drugging pace. There wasn’t a comfortable way to sit in a dumpster. I waited, distracting myself with memories and hypotheticals, occasionally nudging Cody to make sure he wasn’t dead. After my awkwardly-positioned legs and the odd metal shape jutting into them became completely unbearable, I decided it was as good a time as any to leave. “Time to sneak out, huh?” It was hard to draw a coherent image of what his non-verbal cues might’ve been in the dark, but I assumed he was shrugging. “I guess,” he said. I slowly raised the dumpster lid. Cody’s arms flailed over the side and he dragged himself out, limbs moving in a fashion more akin to an octopus than a think-piece writer. “Oof,” he muttered, tailbone hitting the pavement. I followed after him, stopping to help him to his feet. “We’re good, right? Yeah. We’re good.” I glanced around, scanning every detail of our surroundings that wasn’t obscured by darkness. Maybe we weren’t good. There wasn’t really an effective metric by which to tell. “We’re so good,” I reassured him, making the mistake of patting him on the back. He shrunk away. “Agh! My ribs,” he whelped. “I’m so sorry. Oh my god. Are you okay?” He seemed stunned that I cared. “Uh… I guess I’m good.” He evidently was not good. “Like I said! We’re good! Totally good!” Cody pouted, lip trembling. He folded his arms and stared down at his feet. “I wanna go to bed,” he said, voice straining as is its wont before one breaks down into sobs. “I really just wanna go to bed. Where are we?” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “Everything hurts.” He kicked his toes into the side of the dumpster, biting back a sharp gasp of pain as the joints in his foot staggered and crunched. The dumpster didn’t seem to mind, much, at least. “I got beat up by so many different people. Is my face really that punchable?” Cody fixed his eyes on mine, waiting for an answer. His features were crusted with blood and tightened in just, like, the saddest frown. His already prominent eyebrows were spiked in odd directions by the fray and beaded with raindrops and sweat and blood. His busted lip had stopped bleeding but promised a scar that wouldn’t be, I don’t know, pleasant. The rainfall and the brawling had done nothing for an already unfortunate hair situation. The spots above his temples and on the back of his head where his hair had begun to abandon him entirely weren’t quite as obscured by the eccentric volume of the rest of his hair, having been flattened and soaked. The real essence of his punchability, I decided, came from his facial hair, which crawled all the way up his cheeks and down his neck and always looked vaguely unkempt in a flippant I don’t even care, I’m just so cool and aloof and stuff kind of way that really miffed some people. He just looked smug. And as long as we’re bashing Cody’s appearance, his ears were a little on the big side. On top of it all, he was naked without his glasses. Truly, the man who always resembled a sad, hipstery less-hairy ewok had become the saddest, hipsteriest less-hairy ewok ever to ewok sadly. He didn’t really need to hear all that. “Not at all.” Not to me, at least. “You’ve got a super normal face.” You’ve got weird eyebrows. I mean, I like ‘em, but, buddy… And your eyes are kinda sunken. “Don’t worry. You’re cute.” “I’m cute?” “Yes. Absolutely.” He sniffled. “But, like, just nerdy cute, right?” “Yeah. It’s the glasses.” “But I lost my glasses…” “That’s okay. You’re still stoner cute.” “Stoner cute isn’t a thing.” “Uh, yeah it is.” “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Just, like, take a finger and fix your eyebrows.” He nodded and tried to smooth them into place. “Cool. Better.” I mean, his face was still bloody and swollen in places, but, eh. “Cool.” “Cool.” He sighed. “But, I’m not, like, hot, right?” “Eh.” He straightened his shirt. “Cool.” He swallowed another heavy breath to stop his quivering. “Cool cool.” Still unsure about his balance, I walked carefully and close so I needn’t reach far should he just, fuckin, like, fall right the fuck over. The buildings weren’t so unfamiliar now that they were more than just a blur in my periphery. We had made it more than a few blocks away from the hotel, but we hadn’t gotten ourselves as hopelessly lost as I had feared. We were just normal lost. “How bad’s your vision?” I asked. He looked down at me, face pale and still a little shell-shocked. “Like, bad.” “’Kay, but, like, bad bad or just straight fuckin blind.” “Uhh… I can’t read, can’t do details or things that are far away or things with small parts or operate machinery or coordinate well or grab things or write… uh… Actually, I probably could read if the letters were really big, but, uh, yeah. That’s it.” He would periodically reach to adjust glasses that weren’t there, dropping his hand sadly upon being reminded. Finding them became more immediately imperative than whatever other bullshit we were up to. Something to do with an organ harvester? Who knows. Bottom line was that Cody was, while not useless and still better company than no company (sixty percent of the time, at least), in very desperate need of his dumb thick-rimmed trendy-ten-years-ago glasses. “Can you still contact your optometrist guy?” “Optometrist? Dude, no, okay, shut up, it’s a good story, though, listen. So, I was walking… this was like, twelve years ago? Oh shit, I’m old… so, uh, I was walking… I already had glasses at this point, by the way. The school counsellor got me these shitty ones… anyway… So, I’m fourteen, walking on the docks, and there’s this bucket, and I’m like, oh a bucket, but then I got closer, and I was like, oh shit, this bucket is full of glasses. Mostly broken ones, right? So I’m trying them on, ‘cause, why not, and this guy starts yelling, ‘hey kid uuhhh so, like, that’s my bucket’ and he’s a scavenger, right? Because there’s like, also a bucket of shoes lying around and a bucket of tea strainers and whatever… So, I’m just grabbin a handful of not-broken glasses and running away because, like, I’ve just been coasting by at this point by cheating in school and I hold papers really close to my face… anyway… So, one of the pairs, like, work, I know, what the fuck, ayy, Mazel Tov, Cody can see. And, uh, yeah. I kept ‘em. Duh. The end. How have you not heard this story?” “I don’t ask you about—” “You don’t ask me about myself as much as you should,” he finished for me. He scoffed. “I dunno why, I’m preettyy interesting.” This wasn’t entirely true. The uh, me not asking him about himself part, not the him being interesting part. Actually, never mind, neither were entirely true. I felt like I knew more about Cody than anyone should know or care to know about Cody. There was a filing cabinet inside of my brain labeled ‘bullshit nonsense about Cody’s life’ take took up a vacancy once occupied by, who knows, how to negotiate a pay raise or how to budget properly instead of just hoarding money like a sad(der) Smaug. “You sure are, Cody.” “I bet that’s why I got beat up.” “Because you’re interesting?” “Because I’m interesting.” I nodded in agreement. That put a dumb short-lived smile on his face. He must’ve had some faith that I knew where I was going, since he didn’t seem to question it much. I was confident, perhaps (probably) over-confident in my sense of direction. It’s a finite space, I reasoned, and we can’t possible be getting further away. We could. In large, square-ish letters, the sign read INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE, flashing pink and accented with gold baubles. The door below was an archway woven with flowering vines and patterned ribbons, among them a smattering of just the most pretentious butterflies. The building itself was robed in an elaborate mural depicting a panel of dapperly-clothed animals seated at some sort of senate, all gathered below a three-eyed goat. The goat was crowned and sat upon a throne at the head of the senate floor. I felt viscerally unnerved. Cody squinted at the sign. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s some Noam Chomsky magic realism boho nonsense,” I assured him. We’d arrived in some sort of strange hellish Halsey-esque plaza where the stores were either barren and abandoned à la zombie apocalypse or teeming with aesthetically-bohemian taken-back-by-the-earth-and-also-Portland life. Roses crept down from windows and thistles jutted upwards from cracks in the pavilion. Entrances were attended by delphiniums and hibiscus sprouting beneath fern umbrellas. Ventilation shafts sighed baby’s breath into the corridors and blew nettles amongst the ghosts and husks of furniture. Christmas bells hung from streetlights and lilacs pooled amidst a collapsed fountain. Geraniums and lavender and ominous oleander waved us towards the Warehouse Hole. It was all very eco-chic. Cody ventured further into the flowery nonsense strip mall. “The colourful stuff is flowers, right,” he said, unimpressed. Pink light glittered against the blood and rain that painted him. “This is dumb. Like…” He gestured wildly at everything. “This is dumb. Are we lost?” Yes. “Pfft. No.” “We’re gonna find my glasses, right?” he said, talking to a mannequin. “It’s our number one priority.” He stumbled trying to follow my voice. “Okay. Cool. Good.” “Are you gonna be okay?” “Who knows? Maybe.” I brushed my hand along a white bouquet of Star-of-Bethlehem. “You know what? Not a fan.” The flowers looked to be watching me leave, which was the opposite of an appropriate flower activity. “It’s bright, it’s spooky… not a fan. Uh, not on board with this one.” Cody lost his balance on a root curving up from the pavement, catching himself on a wayward clothing rack. “Haha. Walking: hard mode.” He puked into a corner of unsuspecting irises and daisies. Regaining his footing was a matter of crunching a broken window beneath his sneakers and nearly becoming impaled upon an unfortunately-positioned upturned signpost. “Ellen, uh, seriously, where are we?” Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole. “A blanket fort of nonsense.” He staggered away from the broken glass. “Oh. I hate blanket forts.” Drawn by the flashing lights, he veered towards the entrance to the Hole. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve been here. We’re lost, aren’t we? Uugggghhh, Elleeennn…” “We’re not lost! You can only get lost in the desert and in the ocean because everything looks the same. Everywhere else you can just backtrack.” “WE DON’T KNOW WHERE WE ARE!” “YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE!” “I’M LEGALLY BLIND!” I filled my lungs with pollen-dusted air, raising my hands in a calming arc, and sighed, ultimately doing nothing to lessen the tension. “Let’s just… go back the way we came, and figure it out from there.” “We’re going to the hotel, right?” “Hotel. Yes. Sleep. Then glasses.” I turned by back to the flowers, not without a pinch of regret that I wouldn’t sate my curiosity as to what the hell, I mean, just, like, what the hell, right? What’s going on here? The mural? What? Cody and I fumbled our way free of the Warehouse Hole pavilion. There seemed to be more flowers surrounding the exit than there’d been when it was our entrance. Watchful irises eyed our escape. The feeling of being spied upon lingered on the back of my neck. “Spooky, right?” “I don’t know, Ellen, my vision is shit right now, call back at a less shitty date, thanks.” The sign read ‘Zlotys St.’ but there was nothing zloty about it. A strange mingling of sprawling weeds and rain-freckled trash bags and masonry stained by a dazzling selection of mystery fluids coagulated, as it were, to form the district before us. Confused seagulls squawked overhead from the buzzing heads of streetlights. The first establishment past the plaza was a barber shop called Snippy’s which was attached to a laundromat called Swishy’s that itself was followed by a family-owned deli shop called Slicey’s. What humour! While the quirky fixtures of the city were as delightful as they were smelly, they remained unfamiliar and were of no help when it came to finding our way back. “You know, I should’ve bought a map,” I said, padding along, ducking beneath the odd awning to evade the rain. “You’re an idiot,” said Cody, who had had enough of life. “Nothing idiotic about being reflective of one’s past failings, amigo.” “You just never turn it off, do you?” “It’s called a coping mechanism, Cody. Look into one some time.” He sighed and picked up his pace, hand clutching his ribs as to, I assume, keep them from falling out of some open wound whose existence I wasn’t yet privy to. I caught up to him. “Are you good?” I asked. He remained visibly in pain. “I don’t know. No? Probably not. I just, ugh, I want to sleep it off, okay?” I frowned in pity at him. Whenever something adverse befell him on our dumb stupid completely necessary endeavour, I couldn’t escape my share of the blame. I was most worried in this moment that he’d finally gotten himself into a truly lethal pickle with those fisticuffs. Obviously, whatever happened, it was the boys’ fault, but obviously, it was really Cody’s own fault, but obviously, it was more than a little bit my fault for dragging him out here in the first place. “I know you’re gonna die no matter what and whatever, but I’d be pretty bummed if you died… soon…” “Thanks, I guess.” “So, please don’t die as a result of your injuries. The guilt would eat me alive, and it’s hard to effectively find a small, defenceless goat after you’ve been eaten alive.” “If you say don’t die or I’ll kill you, I will actually punch you.” Through the darkness and the downpour, it was hard to discern anything glaringly off about his appearance from the bored and tired norm. It was similarly hard to discern buildings we’d passed from ones we hadn’t. You could see the source of my predicament. I toyed with the prospect of returning to the Interim Garden Hypothesis Warehouse Hole for little reason beyond that it remained nearby and intriguing. “So, those flowers, huh?” I brought up out of nowhere. Cody scowled. “Hippies.” “But it was kinda neat, right? It was stupid—” “It was dumb as hell.” “…but kinda neat, though, right?” “I WANT TO GO TO BED.” I sighed and tugged my lips in a sympathetic smile. “Bed it is, Codes. Maybe tomorrow—” “Uugggghhhh, tomorrow suuucks.” “… after we find your glasses, we’ll, uh, we’ll pop by the warehouse.” The three-eyed-goat from the mural lingered on the back of my eyelids. Anything goat-related, at this point, seemed worth investigating. We turned a corner and Zlotys Street became a vaguely familiar cobbled road marked by a signpost that read Hellspring Rampart. To the right of us were brick-and-mortal buildings that stood as one long, undivided stretch of masonry, separated by interior walls rather than alleys. To the left was nothing but ocean. The sidewalk metamorphosed into the halfhearted suggestion of a pier underfoot. The black sky had waned into a dim grey and dawn loomed far off upon the waters. I knew Hellspring as the rickety cousin to the main docks where we’d arrived. I was confident that we were closer, now. “So, Codes…” “Ugh.” “What was the name of the club where you, uh… where you went?” “Uugghh… Uh… Okay. It’s called Boys Only Club, but it’s liiike, just the name. It’s not actually boys-only, right.” The whole situation was ruthlessly atypical of Cody. It was beyond strange for him to go out partying with strangers, let alone strangers of overbearing and loud masculinity. That was, until now, strictly my dominion. Of course, it was more than probable that the night’s unfortunate happenings had extinguished whatever curious appetite he might’ve had for the sort of debauchery he’d found. “How’d you end up there?” He scratched his head. “I probably walked.” “Yuh-huh. How’d you find, uh, the boys?” He made a sound that might’ve been a laugh, in a past life. “I have no idea!” His foot took a wrong turn and he nearly swerved into the ocean. I pulled him by his sleeve to my other side so I might act as a buffer between his shit balance and the sharks. “And what about, uh, those karaoke girls? What bar did you go to with them?” He gave me a long, condescending stare. “You think I know?” His glasses were lost as fuck. The brick buildings parted into the first alley we’d encountered for an irresponsibly long distance. It appeared as a long blue gash in the red walls. Banners and triangle flags and paper lanterns dangled on sagging strings overhead. A sign bolted in the bricks read LONG ALLEY. If you squinted, smaller letter inscribed below read *Beware rats; they’re not more afraid of you than you are of them. Quite the opposite, actually*. I shrugged at the warning. The end of the alley was bright and bustling, and the pier reached a dead end not far from where we stood. I decided on chancing the rats. Long Alley carried a thick, sickly, cinnamonny flavour in its breeze. Pipes coursed as veins along the walls, rusted and dripping. Cody trailed a hand on the bricks as he walked to keep from tripping again. The bricks soon gave way to doors and beaded archways into shops and things categorically near enough to shops to make no difference. Freckles of orange began to tinge the grey sky. “Hey Ellie,” said Cody with awkward, slow syllables. “What?” “You know what’s dumb?” “Probably.” “Well… I’ll tell you anyway…” He stopped, took hold of a low-hanging pipe, and threw it an accusing finger. “I can’t see or stand so good, but that is definitely a rat, and it is definitely following me.” The good and bad news was that he hadn’t been hallucinating from blood loss and exhaustion. The rat, a grotesque snow-white red-eyed creature of unusual size, glowered hungrily at Cody. It stood hunched on the rusted pipe, undaunted entirely by our presence per the foretelling of the sign. “Ohh, that’s a creepy baby right there,” I said, twiddling what few fingers I had in its direction. The rat stood still and stoic as a Buckingham Palace guard. “I don’t like you, pal. Don’t like those eyes,” Cody told the rat. “Go eat a cheese, ugly.” The rat wasn’t moved by his insults. “This is a nasty boy, Ellen. Let’s leave.” Cody shot the rat a venomous, knowing squint before shuffling along. The rat scurried across the pipes, following like a magnet. As we drew nearer to the end of the alley, more rats began to spring from the pipes and cracks in the mortar. Cody kept to the middlemost point between the walls, arms crossed crossly. Soon flowers began to wind down from the cracks as well, one for every new rat that bounded into view. My skin crawled. The alley spat us out into an overgrown pavilion bathed in the flashing pink light of INTERIM GARDEN HYPOTHESIS WAREHOUSE HOLE.

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watchmebackflip75 · 7 years

Text

A brother is the bestfriend you can never lose over time. Even if you really want to see him get lost he will always be there. Posea had only known about her brother for a few months. Their dad was a barnacle. He was a land-monster while his sister was water-nymph trying to become a goddess. During that training she was learning to be a good big sister.

In a giant dome at the bottom of the sea there was a song and dance party getting ready. Deuce thought it looked like a glass pineapple. The decorations were hung by Posea's sea-fairies and the food was provided by kelp farmers. The farmers were crab and lobster-people.

"Little bro, do you like sea-salt with your kelp or lemon?" Posea asked as she folded the napkins into dolphins.

"I'll try lemon. Pea, props to making this pineapple room reach the surface instead bringing everyone down below." Deuce said as he unfolded the shell-chairs.

Posea waved her hand. "Of course, though turning them into aquatic creatures woulda been a flick of my pinkie-"

"But we're cool with dudes staying the species they are. Dig it?"

"Dug. I'm just coral-pink to celebrate your hatch-day with me." Posea said as she threw starfish in the air. They froze and began to glow. "Oh, may I give you the first present?"

Deuce held up his hands. "No, no way, this party is the max."

"You take it or-" Posea grew to ceiling, eyes glowing rainbow colors, "I will banish you to a littoral cave!"

Not a snake flinched, "Okay then, sis. I'll take it."

Posea shrunk down and held out a green clam with a bow on it. Deuce took it and was about to say thanks when her moist hand grabbed his wrist.

"I did hear you when you said you like monsters who like themselves." Posea said with profound confusion.

Talking to her about being weirder than weird probably isn't the best thank you gift, Deuce thought as he opened the gift. A silver shell choker, Deuce approved. "Very nice, as family goes you rock."

Posea rolled her eyes and giggled, "Yeah, I rock. But it's not just for looking like a suave sword fish. Take off the sunglasses and look me in the eye. And trust me."

The gorgon was hesitant to do the thing he was reminded never to do, never unless he didn't like the person. He didn't want to petrify his sister but Posea was super magical so he may as well believe she'd heal fast.

"Strike a pose." Deuce said as he took off his sunglasses.

Something funny happened, the world was a bunch of different (what dya call them?) colors. Not just grey or muted shades-colors but lots, and lots of hues! Deuce saw his sister for the first real time. He walked up and poked her smiling face, she was not a statue.

"Dude." Deuce said.

"Duude!" Posea said, the coral growing from her expanded in spirals.

Later that night the 'pineapple' floated on the sea's surface with entire student body of Monster High inside. Monsters were crawling on the walls and ripping up the dance floor.

Gil was drooling as he stuffed the kelp-cakes into his mouth. "Scrumptious."

Abbey sniffed a cake then put it on a large, furry plant. The hermit-crab-ghoul walked away without noticing the cake on her back.

"Think music is called Zydeco-Boo." Abbey said to her mummy friend. "I like."

Cleo crossed her arms. "It's alright, if you like goofy and day-glow."

"You still mad that sister plan party for boo instead of you? Cleo, really." Abbey said as Heath gave her a drink.

"Abbey, the very accusation! I actually do like Posea." Cleo said. "I also like to take care of my boo. Where is he, anyway?"

The music stopped, a coral DJ station sitting from the side of the wall had an octopus-ghoul on the turn tables, "Mermaids and fishermen, this is a song for the birthday boy and the Mummy of Pearl."

The melody was romantic, the other monsters were clapping and going 'ooh' and 'aww'. Cleo gave a royal wave to her people as a spotlight hit her. She looked around for her boyfriend. The mummy found him by another spotlight, he looked too good with the new shades she gave him. He smiled and walked through the crowd to his ghoulfriend. Cleo stood still and grinned as he approached. Deuce was maybe three steps away, he looked Cleo up and down. He put a hand to his shades, the crowds covered their eyes and bent down. Cleo squinted with curiosity.

Deuce had his sunglasses off his face and his eyes were free. For the first time in her existence, Cleo saw Deuce's green eyes. They were like emeralds, and she knew the best cut emeralds. These were alive and mystic with the sliver pupils. She walked up to him and put her hands on his face. Somehow it was more lovely than she previously thought possible.

Realizing exactly how gorgeous Cleo was in full view was taking Deuce's breathe away. His mind was blank, and his heart was exploding.

The mummy took out an emergency totem. Deuce barely noticed when they teleported into a hotel suite. Cleo jumped up and wrapped her wrapped around his neck. Her eyes were like the ocean; mostly blue that sparkled aquamarine in the light. There were candles in the suite. Oh yeah.

Deuce couldn't even say 'nice room', his throat was clogged with pretty words he wanted to use to describe Cleo. None were good enough.

"Deucy." Cleo said while a snake twirled around her fingers.

"Yeah?"

"Make love to me." Cleo said, "For a long time."

"Yes. Absolutely." Deuce said put his hands through her black, teal and gold hair.

Cleo pulled him to the bed covered with Boo-Whips-spray-cans, "I mean a long, long time. Like the next apocalypse is happening outside.

Three hours later Deuce was chewing on a protein bar and Cleo was finishing a waterbottle.

"I promise to recycle them." The mummy said as she grabbed another bottle.

Deuce was on his side and looking at her every curve and blushed flesh. He remembered when he was forced to look at Greece's architect. He didn't care about ruins, the only ancient soul that mattered was his queen of love.

"Babe, you ever play with virtual reality?" Deuce asked.

"Thank Ra you know how to use your tongue for other things. It's some nerd thing right?" Cleo asked as she stretched over him to kiss his nose.

"It's like a fake, cool looking world you can see when you put on these massive goggles." Deuce said as he traced her blood red lips with his fingers. "But this is real."

Cleo was in a trippy state of bliss. She stroked the silver shell on his necklace. "This is the best."<hr />

This is just the beginning.

<hr />

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iowamusicshowcase · 7 years

Link

"CW SMITH is a multi-instrumentalist and singer-songwriter from Des Moines. His original songs explore universal themes like love and family, faith and doubt, work and play, coffee and road construction. And they hearken back to the great rock, pop, blues and folk music of the 20th century." - from his ReverbNation page "Original acoustic and electric rock; Classic 20th century rock. CW sings, composes, and plays over a dozen different instruments... "CW Smith started entertaining early, singing popular songs of the 60s and early 70s for family members at age 3. He formed his first "band" with cousin Leanne at age 7, wrote his first song at 10, performed with the Indianola High School swing choir at 11, had singing and non-singing roles with the Des Moines Metro Opera at 12 and 13, formed his first "real band" at 17, and started producing solo and band recordings at 18. "CW took piano and trombone lessons at age 9, but grew impatient with them. He taught himself guitar at age 15, bass guitar at 19, and drums at 21. "CW has played with several Des Moines and surrounding area bands over the years, including Sound System, the audubon society, Velvet Picasso, Village Idiots, Indigo Dream, One Eye Closed, Mystic East, Amethyst, The Stains, The Word Green, Smith & Straughn, The Grape Ape Trust, dUUdes, and TMI." - from his Facebook page "From the time I could walk, say the folks closest to me, I’ve been singing. I’d entertain the family at picnics from the age of three. My cousin Leanne and I formed our first “band” -- The Flowerbuds --- when I was seven. I wrote my first song when I was ten, performed with the Indianola High School swing choir when I was eleven, and had choral and non-singing roles with the Des Moines Metro Opera when I was twelve and thirteen. My first formal music lessons were on piano and trombone when I was 10 years old, but I never really stuck with either of them: I never had the lung power for trombone or the patience for piano. I taught myself guitar when I was 15, bass when I was 18, and drums when I was 19. During my time working at Trifecta Studio, I learned mandolin and harmonica, and got much better at the drums. I’ve since taken up baritone guitar, upright bass, ukuleles (soprano, tenor and baritone), banjo, bajo sexto and sitar. Piano still spooks me for some reason, though. "I joke that I have a musical attention deficit, and just can’t manage to stick with one instrument. But it was actually a valuable skill in the studio: if a client needed a particular instrument on a recording, it was just about as easy for me to learn a part as to go through my list of instrumentalists’ phone numbers. Usually in the time it took just to get a response on the phone, I could learn a part and we could finish the recording. In my current recordings and with my current bands, I bounce back and forth between guitar, bass, mandolin and drums to fill whatever void we hear in the arrangement... My solo recording career began with the breakup of Sound System in 1989, and continues to this day. I’m working and playing now with a band (The Grape Ape Trust) and three duet projects (TMI, The Word Green and Smith & Straughn) and feeling more motivated now than ever before to get my my music recorded and performed out in front of an audience. - from his home page "To say that CW Smith is an interesting dude would be an understatement... "His basement is divided into two parts, One half is a display of guitars, keyboards, and other stringed instruments. In the back sits a complete trap set and a few hand drums. Macintosh computer screens adorn his counter space which he uses to record and mix his music. Nearby is a custom patch bay that he uses to track and layer his songs. He has instruments from every faction of music including a sitar, numerous electric guitars, two baritone guitars, a stand-up bass, a couple of keyboards, the aforementioned drum set and a trumpet. Being in his basement is a lot like being in a music store. He says that when he records an new album, he tries to implement as many instruments into the mix as possible and most of them he plays himself... "CW Smith grew up in Pleasantville, Iowa and has lived in Norwalk, Harford and Des Moines. He graduated high school in Indianola and then attended Iowa State University for a year in 1987. He enjoyed his short tenure in Ames, but while he maintains that Iowa State is a great school, he also maintains that he was not a great student. At the time CW was studying Computer Science, which isn't exactly what an engineering school like Iowa State is known for. After studying for a year, he moved back to Indianola to attend Simpson College. There he he changed his majors to Music and Communication. "In 1992 he was offered a co-ownership position at Trifecta Studios just north of Easton Boulevard in Des Moines. CW seized this opportunity, and with his business partner, Steve Hudspeth, they operated a full function studio for ten years. "In 2002 the studio closed it's doors, and it's actually where CW acquired much of the equipment and a good amount of the musical instruments that he keeps in his basement today. He keeps busy by playing solo gigs in and around the city. He says that he tries to keep it down to just a few gigs a month, but sometimes the opportunities exceed that. You can find him at various coffee shops in the city or at the occasional neighborhood bar, or at the place where he attends worship, the First Unitarian Church... "When asked about his influences, Smith offers a wide variety, all of which find their way into his musical vein. There's Big Star, David Bowie, Tom Petty and even Television and Crowded House. But he admits that most of his influence comes from The Beatles, whom obviously, CW pays a strong homage to... "Whether CW Smith is playing an acoustic solo show or if he is removing a virus from a laptop computer in his shop, one thing is certain: He approaches each task he does with genuine love. When you meet CW, you instantly realize what a great and friendly guy he is. He conducts himself in a manner that defies ego but he operates with a high sense of integrity. "Extremely proud of the life he has created for himself and his family, he makes no excuses for who he is. Whether he is in his shop or making music, he leaves no stone unturned in regards to detail and the values in which he lives his life. CW Smith is a rare bird and an incredible asset to the Des Moines community." - from "Getting to Know: C.W. Smith" on the Bigfoot Diaries website Lineup: CW Smith - rhythm guitars, bass guitar, drums, vocals Stevan Robinson - slide guitar Rob Straughn - co-writer

Home page: http://www.cwsmith.fm Facebook: http://ift.tt/2y2k3Hc BandCamp: http://ift.tt/2dWiAdc To download the podcast, right click on the link below and hit "Save as...": http://ift.tt/2y9jQkw

#Iowa #Iowa Music #Music #Midwest Music #Midwestern Music

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