#mahjong bangers

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 16/02/2024

Owner of a Mahjong Board

Season 7 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume Ruby Also on: Now That's What I Call Quality! 3

Ripped by circunflexo

Requested by yhenestik! (@youtubepoopmusicvideo)

Happy (late) birthday, circunflexo!!

The trilogy of "Now That's What I Call Quality!" albums are some of the most interesting on SiIvaGunner's discography. A majority of the channel's other albums can be categorized into three categories - There's the mega-albums, compiling rips from several months; the event albums, bringing together most of the rips featured in one or several channel events; and finally the themed albums, that collect rips of a similar type spread across the entire channel's life. Yet as is hinted at by their title, the Now That's What I Call Quality! albums are unique in their mission purpose: beyond featuring a handful of rips first featured at MAGFest, they also aim to be a concise bundle of some of the finest rips made during the most recent Seasons of the channel. And with Season 7 being perhaps the strongest year yet in terms of rip quality (in my eyes only truly rivaled by Season 6), it was inevitable that Now That's What I Call Quality! 3 would end up being one of the best - if not THE best - album the channel has ever released.

I've covered rips from these albums a few times before, yet its typically been ones of far larger scope. For instance, Everyday Goodbyes (SiIvaGunner Band Cover) as featured on the first Now That's What I Call Quality! album is perhaps the most pure form of a "passion project" that the channel has ever released. Much the same can also be said about the still-insanely-impressive Initial Deluxe (I've Just Raced on this Course Before) featured on this third album - yet passion comes in all sizes, all forms, and all kinds of ambitions. What Owner of a Mahjong Board, and so many of the other rips featured on these albums demonstrate, is the rippers of SiIvaGunner putting their best foot forward, showing in as many varied ways as possible just how talented they all are. The value a rip holds is not merely about its scale or complexity - crucially, as we all know, high quality rips are all about...well, quality.

Owner of a Mahjong Board, then, brings us back to the territory of Mahjong Bangers, as I first defined back in Never Gonna Give Up Mahjong and previously covered in voiceless - simple ds series vol. 01 - the mahjong (¥1480). These rips are never ones to bring in the views by pure virtue of most SiIvaGunner fans lacking nostalgic attachment to them, yet they're consistently some of the most well-done arrangement rips on the channel - simple, yet deviously effective. There's some sort of mythical curse, some sort of shared, spiked beverage that all the Mahjong game composers drink, to where they all wind up featuring incredibly distinct, banging soundscapes - most prominently on SiIvaGunner itself, showing off the pure vibes of its Nintendo DS entries in particular. Owner of a Mahjong Board's YouTube upload sits at barely about 6K views, yet in my eyes deserves so much more. Different from the prior rips of his I've covered such as You Are Book Smart or Windows Wonga Wappa, circunflexo here gets to show off his skills as a pure arranger, with this being a rendition of Owner of a Lonely Heart by Yes. The dance-rock feel of Owner of a Lonely Heart lends itself perfectly to the particular instruments featured in "Simple DS Series Vol. 1 - The Mahjong" in particular - its lounge-y feel, compressed guitars, and bevvy of synths give the track such a unique yet recognizable texture, wholly identifiable as Owner of a Lonely Heart, yet also oh-so-clearly Mahjong at the same time. The premise of the rip is deceptively simple for a rip that feels so incredible layered, dense in authenticity to the original Yes song whilst showing off every little piece of the patented Mahjong Banger soundscape that earned them that title to begin with.

I could dissect Owner of a Mahjong Board layer by layer (and believe you me, the guitar solo in particular deserves special mention) yet it all amounts to the same core point: circunflexo has done an incredible job of translating a banger song in the style of games with a banging set of instruments. Be it sentence mixing, arrangements, YTPMVs or anything inbetween, the guy seems to be downright unstoppable - dare I say, one of the best rippers from the channel's recent seasons - and I cannot wait to hear what more he's got cooking for Season 8.

#Bandcamp #Youtube #todays siivagunner #season 7 #siivagunner #siiva #circunflexo #mahjong #mahjong bangers #Yes band #prog rock #progressive rock #owner of a lonely heart #90125 #nintendo ds #nintendo ds music #nds music

[mth-emma]

i am once again thinking about mahjong banger. just thought you should know

if u like mahjong bangers like

check this out!!

#ask #mahjong bangers

[apanwithnoplan]

Valorant Headcanons but It gets progressively worse or better

Harbor is a nerd

Kay/o once toasted toast on himself to spite chamber

Jett asked Kay/o for n*des as a joke and Kay/o sent her his CPU

Cypher and Sage play Mahjong (sometimes Yoru plays with Sage

Pheonix has almost every musical soundtrack memorized

Pheonix has a hamilton Obsession

Breach watched Dear Evan Hanson once and cried

Breach won't shut up about HTTYD

Astra loves collecting crystals

Astra does witchcraft for fun

Sage loves learning about the greek goddesses and gods

Sova and Cypher once fist-fought, Jett has the whole fight recorded.

The duelists share one brain cell

Each group (Sentinels, duelists, etc) each have their own group chat

The protocol has one shared group chat

Jett and Raze meme-spam the chat

Sage, Brimstone and Viper have admin controls

Brimstone has a playlist filled with all the songs from now (so the songs that are popular now) The playlist name is called "Boomer bangers" (courtesy of the adult children)

#valorant brimstone #valorant viper #valorant omen #valorant killjoy #valorant cypher #valorant sova #valorant sage #valorant pheonix #valorant jett #valorant reyna #valorant raze #valorant breach #valorant skye #valorant yoru #valorant astra #valorant kay/o #valorant chamber #valorant neon #valorant fade #valorant harbor

[taangmula]

mahjong night was a fucking banger

#mine #about #photo

[adelyn-talks-vgm]

OST #3 - Saikyō Habu Shōgi

Saikyō Habu Shōgi Developer: Seta Publisher: Seta Composer: Ken'ichiro Shinzawa Released June 23, 1996

playlist (note: song names are of my interpretation, as there’s no official soundtrack release)

did someone order chess bangers!?

this game dropped alongside mario 64 and pilotwings 64 as a third launch title in japan, pretty much completely unknown to the rest of the world. the game is a virtual game of shogi, or japanese chess, featuring the likeness of widely-renowned shogi champion Yoshiharu Habu, as the name and cover suggest. this soundtrack is quite notable because it’s the only one of the three N64 launch titles to not have had its music on youtube before, until someone linked me a niconico upload from which i then took the liberty to upload separate tracks. is this small shogi simulation’s soundtrack anything to write home about? well, even if it isn’t, that is what i’m here to do, so let’s find out!

you may have already noticed, but this game actually only has six songs. the first song, the title theme, is already pretty interesting, with a sound that i can’t really place as a genre other than ““““““techno”””””” - i could just call it “mahjong music” and most people would understand what i mean. it uses some almost general MIDI-sounding instruments, which a lot of these kinda games use at the risk of sounding generic to some, but this song pulls it off pretty well. it’s got some neat sounding progressions throughout as well, i could place at least 3 separate progressions used that define chunks of the piece in a way.

this menu music is kind of a jam if i had to be honest, with a nice going bassline and some cool vocal-synth/mallet-instrument stuff kicking in later, and a simple-yet-effective drumbeat tying pieces of the song together (i especially like the ride cymbal at 1:46 but i always like ride cymbals) along with some tom fills later on. pretty fine sounding song.

i found when playing this game (or attemtping to) that you actually had to enable this music to play during gameplay in a menu. this song’s pretty cool, its laid back feel fits the mood of the game nicely enough. it almost sounds like JRPG music, not too memorable but still sounds nice.

this song plays in what i could only assume is some kind of “practice” mode where you have to make the best possible move to progress. it’s got a nice swing beat to it, accompanied by some relatively simple repeating riffs until it gets a little more complex later on with a full key change. all around not the most engaging music but that fits what it’s made for i guess.

the song that i think plays when you win a match has some interesting things going on too, not enough to raise any eyebrows but i can get down with it. it almost sounds like petal meadows from paper mario TTYD at points, like at 0:22 with that guitar-like instrument in the background.

and now after two games which had masterful credits themes that made top 3 in each of their respective posts, we have this incredibly underwhelming change of pace. it’s not a bad composition by any means, but does it really do much for me? i can’t really say it does, but i can still appreciate it for what it is.

---

so was this soundtrack worth preserving? ehhhhhh...i’d say it was because i did like what some of these tracks did but all around it’s nothing too impressive. not particularly surprising for a game that had a console:game sale ratio of about 100:1 upon release, compared to mario 64′s approximate 1:1. this game faded into obscurity and with it did its music, and after digging it up i can kind of see why.

---

thank you very much for reading! if you have any questions or feedback, send me a message and i’ll try to get to it as soon as i can. check back here soon for Wave Race 64!!

---

RESULTS:

Top 3 Tracks: 1. Menu 2. Title 3. Practice

FINAL SCORE: 6/10

#vgm #video game music #nintendo 64 #N64 #n64 ost ratings #saikyō habu shōgi #最強羽生将棋 #ken'ichiro shinzawa

[literaphobe]

i was tagged by @romanticcstylez !! (legend) 

rulez: list 10 songs you’re currently obsessed with and then tag 10 people

Rough - GFRIEND (i was really into this song like a year or two ago?? but then i randomly thought hey,, i haven’t heard this song in a while so i put it back in my playlist and the rest was history im obsessed again this song makes me feel like im in a field of dandelions and its kinda snowing a lil and i should be dancing and also clocks are ticking THAT BEING SAID the actual meaning of this song title in korean is ‘running through time’ how do u get ‘rough’ from running through time?? wtf man who translated this shit but yeah rough is the official english title and did i mention that this song is about a bunch of girls yearning to tell their crush that they like them but they either keep missing their chance or get too scared BUT in the music video there are no men around?? and at the end all the girls get real happy to see one another and they’re riding bikes and shit anyway i assume its a song about a bunch of girls who are in love with girls but are too afraid to tell them bc wlw cowardice and it makes sense bc the song makes the world out to be a lot tougher and scarier than it would be for a straight couple IN CONCLUSION i like this song and therefore its gay)

Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea - Fall Out Boy (FUCK ANYONE WHO DOESN’T THINK THIS IS THE BEST SONG IN MANIA- im just kidding, i mean, it’s the best, but that’s a personal preference for me?? i love this song so much i want it playing always i could listen to only this song forever and i’d probably be okay with that?? like this song is a drum storm and it’s yelling at me and i LOVE it love the yelling v v good there’s also some french?? wordplay shit idk so that automatically makes it sexy it makes no sense yet is also v deep?? is it deep?? who knows. in writing this very pointless explanation as to why i like this song THE ONLY THING THAT’S EVER STOPPING ME IS ME HEY sorry i’ve listened to this song like 3 times already while slowly typing all this out and oh my god it goes so hard!!!!! it goes so fucking hard i love it i love this nice thick and hard song!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it deserves a music video im so mad like its so fucking good when mania dropped FOB didn’t give me no warning they didn’t prepare me with a random mv that made no sense and gdi STAY FROSTY ROYAL MILK TEA DESERVES AN MV also im naming a fic after this song word for word hgdfjghadjf i should stop tldr this song makes me feel like i can take on the world i feel so powerful when i listen to it also i listened to it like a fourth or fifth time i think hoo boi) 

The Ballad Of Mona Lisa - Panic! At The Disco (SAY WHAT YOU MEEEAN TELL ME IM RIIIIGHT AND LET THE SUN RAIN DOWN ON ME come ON this song is so fucking good!!!!!! its creepy how good it is it makes no sense in a way but it speaks to me so hard!!!!!! it’s like good!!!!!!!!!! like the bells?? esp in the beginning and throughout the whole song tbh also the drums and like the drum buildup to the chorus was SICK and so was brendon urie yelling in song at the top of his voice that i enjoy recreating i’ll stop here bc i can’t keep fucking making these so long)

Emperor’s New Clothes - Panic! At The Disco (if it weren’t for this song i would have said that the ballad of mona lisa is my fave p!atd song but alas here lies a sick banger!!!!!! got sick lyrics that i haven’t analyzed but it got sick beats!! okay given the way i explain why i like this song it seems like i don’t even like it but i do okay!!)

All Falls Down - Alan Walker, Noah Cyrus, Digital Farm Animals (god i got some weird nostalgia shit attached to this song?? my sister first got me into it when we were on vacation in Finland and the thing is i usually don’t care too much for being abroad like places are just places and no matter how dope or wild a place is i put it into a ‘cool concept’ box and i tuck it somewhere in my mind and at the end of the day i’m glad i had some experiences but i like being at home-- BUT whenever i listen to this song i think about being in the bus in finland and it’s a long ride so it’s quiet but i’m listening to this song as i stare out the window and look at the snow dusted trees that pass me by each of them unique and beautiful and something i can’t help but anticipate;; i think about that time we were in this supermarket and i bought a ton of candy and the song came on over the speakers and me and my sister got so excited i think about how the sun set at 2 in the afternoon because we were deep into winter and i remember holding onto my dad as we drove through a crazy snow that was kinda stormy on this KTV like thing and it felt like there was no one around for miles and we went really fast,,,,, and a part of me feels like i’m there again, i’m still there, yet i’m here and i want to go back?? cold as shit but yeah i always feel Finland™ when i listen to this song so i can’t bring myself to skip it!! also its like a heck of a bop)

Earth - Sleeping At Last (what i love so much about this song is that i discovered it on accident?? i was listening to venus by the same artist at first and then earth came on and when it ended i was blown away. venus is also a good song that has a very sweet beginning but it doesn’t speak to me like this song does which i’ve heard someone say is about global warming?? which is hilarious anyway FAULT LINES TREMBLE UNDERNEATH MY GLASSHOUSE BUT I PUT IT OUT OF MY MIND LONG ENOUGH TO CALL IT COURAGE TO LIVE WITHOUT A LIFELINE I BEND THE DEFINITION OF FAITH TO EXONERATE MY BLIND EYE TILL THE SIRENS SOUND IM SAFE sorry god thats so good i love this song i was playing it one day while we were playing mahjong and the rule is if u win a round u get to play ur music on the speakers until someone else wins and my sister told me ‘do u have to play this song it sounds so depressing’ and god that just made me love this song more bc she’s right it has this Sad vibe but in a way it also goes hard?????)

The Last Of The Real Ones - Fall Out Boy (this song is sadly lower on the list than it deserves to be but thats prob bc i am not as into this song as i used to be STILL it is a VERY good song with a wicked piano beat in the beginning and before frosty dropped this was my favorite song in mania and honestly i’d easily still consider last of the real ones the second best song in mania?? song is very good and i like to think that it’s objectively very good so i don’t think it’s just me who likes it!!) 

Death Of A Bachelor - Panic! At The Disco (THERES A REASON URIE NAMED THE ALBUM AFTER THIS SONG!! its bc it a good song and its just so?? raw?? just pure brandon doin his dope job, pulling those wack vocals and making me go wowza!!)

Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) - Eurythmics (i wouldn’t say i’m obsESSED with this song its just i put it on my playlist and i can’t remember why but i like?? can’t skip this song it’s just good and like wow its good) 

Dragostea Din Tei - O-Zone (SHUT UP DON’T JUDGE ME)

anyway i’m so sorry for bein so extra i didnt need to be yet here i am doin a tag game after 28594940 years so here are the people who im forcing to at the very least glance at my bullshit: @chelseperetti @fourdrinkamy @linettithelezbian @distractingchildishmarriage @juliadorable @bisexualinetti @jakeperalta @beatcopjake @startofamoment @proofthatihaveaheart

#tag game #feel free to talk to me about any of these songs #or these artists #also if i didn't tag u that doesn't mean i don't love u i just ran outta slots

[dwollsadventures]

TDG Prologue 3 - Devil

After a century of imprisonment, one prisoner is finally being released. The prison guard assigned to walk him out is troubled by a single fact gnawing at his heart: Seth Farofeil Locke is the devil himself. -- AH It's finally done. The revision of the final prologue!!

If you've ever wondered who the fellow with the rainbow glasses you've seen in my galleries is, this is him. And the primary antagonist of the gang, even if he doesn't show up right away. 

My original plan was to finish writing and publish it on October 30th, but I got influenza and panicked that it was actually the plague. Turns out, it wasn't! Still pretty dangerous and I've been feeling like shit, but still a big weight off my shoulders. Halloween is as good a day as any to publish it though. It is sort of scary in some parts. 

Warning though, there is some verbal violence and mentioning of some violence (towards people and animals), and strong language as well. On par for demonic stuff, but he doesn't actually do any of it. 

The next updates, writing-wise, include some cover art for this story and the actual first part of the TDG Acronym Pending. 

Enjoy whenever you want, regardless of how thin the veil between the dead and the living is, and have a happy Halloween!

--

On this day, October 30th, 1961, a man was released from prison and nobody was happy about it. Except the man in question of course.

               Under the fluorescent lights of the block, there was no noise except for the footsteps of the guard, miserably marching towards his cell. The absence of noise let the footsteps and their echoes bounce around, until they became so distorted it sounded as if a giant were walking through the halls. Walsh normally liked the silence of the prison. Now it was more awful than anything he could imagine.

               Despite the early glow of morning light betraying the fact it was nearly six am, every inmate in the block was awake. Staring at Walsh. He wanted nothing more than to shout at them, to tell them to mind their own damn business and keep their faces away from the bars. Under normal circumstances he would have, too. Now he didn’t trust his own voice not to crack.

               The pressure of all that attention hammered away at the officer’s mind. It was as if he were an inmate being wheeled away by a couple of officers for the electric chair, an act Walsh had participated in a few times, but never on this end. His fingers itched for weapons he wasn’t allowed to bring with him.

               In the darkness every haggard face looked at him anxiously. They all knew where he was going. The younger inmates may have noticed the similarity to a cartoon, where an unfortunate soul looks at the trail of gunpowder light as they sit on a box of dynamite. No such connection happened. Firstly, because there were very few young prisoners in the high security Galgenvogel.  Secondly, the only person in the prison who might have laughed about the situation was Locke himself.

               He was the reason they were all awake. Some of them hadn’t even been able to sleep the night before, others made each other promises to wake them up before it happened. They weren’t sure what was going to happen. Most of them had never thought Seth Farofeil Locke was capable of being released from prison. Even those not skilled in algebra knew Locke equaled prison. It was like watching a fundamental piece of the universe disintegrating in front of their eyes. But if anything was going to happen they wanted good seats.

The guard continued his resolute march with his attention on the path in front of him. The scuffed steel walkway seemed so solid compared to the rows of strained faces. That comfort was short-lived. Even the honest steel in front of him seemed to melt before his eyes, twisting the floor into the red-hot road leading to Hell. Walsh’s prison was melting before his very eyes.

Galgenvogel Penitentiary was known for two things: being the oldest operating prison in Illinois, and being a huge, dull block of brutalist efficiency. Its walls were blank concrete and metal, so thick a tank would need a week to bust in and so sleek even spiders had trouble scaling them. The inside of the prison was the same; metal had only been integrated decades ago and the dark iron railing stood plainly against the dreary grey of the stone walls. Though it was primarily a medium-security prison the stark dress did nothing to correct many people’s assumption that the single maximum-security unit was its sole purpose.

Even the uniforms worn by the inmates were devoid of color: white for general circulation, black for high-security, and grey for those on watch in circulation.

Walsh, the senior-most guard, had always expressed his opinion that a good monochrome always made them feel like they were in prison. He'd go on to say that all this orange and blue and green was part of what was wrong these days, with the recidivism rates as high as they are; gang-bangers jumping in and out all the time, swapping one color for another, it made him sick.

If there were a better representative of Galgenvogel than Walsh, he'd probably shouted at them. Walsh was, in his army days, lauded by his superior officers for being "big". It had gotten him high praise and higher wages back then. Now, with nearly forty years working under his belt, he was merely big. He was as grey as the building, though usually pink in the sunlight, with a topping of black hair and a big black moustache which his wife said made him look distinguished. Galgenvogel didn't hire guards for their kindness, nor their smarts, nor their sense of justice (although Walsh did consider himself a rather judicially minded man), especially in the Twenties. All the other prison guards looked up to him. A man of his seniority and experience was highly valued in a prison like Galgenvogel. There wasn’t a nook or cranny left that he hadn’t personally reported on.

Everyone at the prison, barring the inmates, whose opinion didn’t count, knew that Walsh was a good man. Raised Christian right around Chicago with a big family and a modest one of his own. If he could name a stain upon his soul, one singular sin that made even him question his own placement in the divine firmament, it was this belief: that Seth Farofeil Locke was the devil himself.

This wasn’t some crazy delusion, he assured himself. It had taken him nearly a decade of knowing Locke to fully accept it. He had all the evidence he needed as well.

It was a secret he was loath to share with anyone. His fellow guards, the wardens, even his own wife. In his day Walsh had dealt with gangsters and dragged murderers and lunatics to the electric chair. He placed himself as a stalwart wall against the criminal darkness to protect the innocent. The fact this one, singular man posed the greatest challenge he had ever known drove Walsh up the wall.

To Walsh’s knowledge Locke was as clean as a whistle. He had never thrown a punch, participated in a riot, or said anything to incite violence in others. Which wasn’t to say every word out of his mouth was clean and shiny. No, Locke had a special way with words. His tongue could infuriate the most stoic and subdue the most homicidal. Never once had he gotten a job or joined in on any of the other inmate’s games or activities. He’d checked out two books from the prison library during his entire stay at Galgenvogel and had never bought anything from the commissary.

Locke was perfectly fine to eat whatever the prison gave him, sleep whenever the guards told him to, do anything to waste away the days until he got released. Even if it meant staring at a wall for hours on end, looking at the strange shapes the bars were morphed into by the dying sunlight.

Once Walsh had gotten permission to throw Locke into solitary for three days after he was late for a count. For three days he heard nothing and saw nothing. On the last night of the third day Walsh escorted Locke back. He had asked him about his stay in the hole. Locke shrugged noncommittally and simply replied, “been in worse holes”. And that was that.

Walsh hated him. None of the other inmates made him feel as old and slow as Locke did. The guard was a big man, even in a profession where that wasn’t much to distinguish him. Galgenvogel let him carry big weapons, weapons they got from the army when they didn’t need them anymore. There hadn’t been a man Walsh had met that couldn’t be beat down given enough time. Except Locke. Everything passed over him like a gust of wind. Physical force, verbal haranguing, harsh punishment, it was all the same to him. He was the only prisoner Walsh had ever needed to use his brain to combat.

For as long as he’d been at Galgenvogel the two had been caught in a fiendish game of cat and mouse. Just when Walsh thought he had him, Locke slipped between his fingers once more and the game continued. All those chases over all those years for it to end like this.

In front of his cell, waiting for the watchtower to unlock it, he was face to face with the present. Without the lights on it was as dark as the mouth to a dragon’s cave.

Walsh could feel the inmates’ stares burn into his back like lashes as the cell door clicked open.

Locke was waiting for him. He sat on the edge of his bed in civilian clothes given to him by the prison. No one else was inside. For some reason or another, Locke was always alone.

In his hands were probably the only personal possessions Locke had ever had, two red dominoes. At least, Walsh thought they were dominoes. They looked like dominoes at least, the color of redwood and smoothed by years of being passed from hand to hand, slipped between his fingers like a magic trick.

Once Walsh had gotten them from him during an inspection. Despite his probing they weren’t laced with drugs. The symbols on them looked like pieces from a mahjong board, and despite his insistence none of them were gang signs. During the week they were gone, Locke stuck to his cell and shambled around like a ghost. Afterwards the correctional officers classified them as “depression-alleviating equipment” and that they were not to be taken from him anymore.

Regardless, the prison guards tried their best to sneak them away from him, often failing. To their knowledge none of the other prisoners had ever laid hands on them.

One night, one of the junior guards thought he saw them sitting on Locke’s eyes while he slept, like coins for the dead. Walsh was the only guard at the prison who made the effort to keep an eye on Locke. Amongst the staff Locke was a taboo subject.

Now the dominoes were simply jingling in his pockets. Locke stood up and nodded to Walsh. He wanted to get it all over with as soon as possible. He did not look back at his cell as he left.

With little pomp and circumstance, he led Locke out and towards freedom.

As Locke made his way across the block, the other inmates stared. On their faces was a mixture of confusion, contempt, pity, and relief. No one wished Locke goodbye and good wishes. No one shook his hand. No one said anything. They just kept staring at him.

The penitent theater gazed upon the two actors on the steel stage, breaths held in anticipation. Would he burst into flames as soon as he crossed the threshold? Or would snakes shoot out of his orifices? Would he make a mad dash for the warden and slice up anyone he met on the way? They didn’t know. They just kept waiting.

Walsh was by no means a shy man. He was a regular at the baseball stadium and his boisterous cheering could carry over the roar of a Cub's game straight out to the parking lot. Now, with hundreds of faces staring at Locke, he felt like an extra in a movie, the ones all dressed in black so they could move props without getting in the way of the actors.

By the time they’d crossed the barrier out of the block Walsh’s throat felt like it was tied in knots. He picked up his equipment, including his gun which he felt immeasurably safer carrying, and wiped off his brow.

If the walk affected Locke at all he was doing an amazing job at hiding it. He just kept staring ahead, twiddling the dominoes in his hand.

To break the silence Walsh cleared his throat and asked, “No one to say goodbye to back there?” Partly to ease the tension, partly to get a name to interrogate later.

Locke shrugged.

The continued walking out of the depths of the prison. Windows now let the early morning light in, basking the two in pink light which made Locke’s hair look like wildfire.

No friends, not a single one. During his initial investigation Walsh had spoken to some of the correctional officers, to see if Locke had gang affiliations or something of the sort. Perhaps a past inclination to associate with fellows of a darker nature. Anything that would seem more likely than him being a… demon. Walsh felt too embarrassed to even think the word now.

Luck did not favor Walsh. Everyone in the prison knew Locke, he was tied to the building, like an incarcerated genie. The C.O.s had noticed other men tended to seek out Locke for little things; favors or information. And he never ate alone. There was always one group that could manage to find space for him on the bench. A young Walsh found that every man who Locke hung around with expressed dislike, even hatred for him. Locke didn’t keep his mouth shut. Jokes leapt off his tongue as easily as flies, often spiraling into venomous spiels. Personal ones, too. He had a knack for figuring out secrets and what made people tick, and how to tic them off. Yet regardless of their opinion, they always kept coming back to him. Just like he did.

Walsh was the senior-most prison guard. The rest of his sign-on buddies had left, one by one, due to injury or stress (being sissies about it, he reflected) or plain old retiring. Not Walsh. When he first came aboard it was in the twenties. After his service in the Great War, back when it was called the Great War, he'd gotten a job at his home-town's police station but got an even better deal at Galgenvogel from his old sergeant. There he avoided all of the nonsense that the market-crash brought with it and rode a secure wave all the way to the prison equivalent of tenure.

Back then he had a lot more friends, people who he could reasonably confide in. Never in a million years did he share his secret suspicion, but there were at least other people willing to acknowledge that something about Locke didn’t seem right. His old friends helped him even though they didn’t know what he was actually looking for.

The older prison guards never helped him. All he got from them were shifty eyes and downcast gazes. He’d never liked the spineless old men. He’d vowed never to give the new recruits the same treatment. Some of them wished he would, always prying into their lives, lecturing them like a father. 

Locke’s official paperwork didn’t offer much enlightening evidence. The three sheets of paper that constituted his record were from decades ago and tended to get details wrong. Eye color and hair color shifted twice and all three listed his age as 33 even with multi-year gaps between the writing.

One record noted a visitation in 1914 with two of his brothers. Frustratingly the names were not listed, and no other report mentions any kind of family. Walsh reasoned they were probably former accomplices of whatever put him in jail. Even a few years into the job he’d grown suspicious of visitors into his prison. Half of them were probably making sure the inmates didn’t squeal on those outside.

Within time both the paper trail and his patience puttered out. Walsh was not a book-learned man and he had no aspirations of following the paper trail.

He had all but given up his notion when one day a key landed itself in his pocket. To this day Walsh could still not recall how it got there. In the back of his mind theories crawled like spiders, but he tried to ignore them.

The key was for a lockbox in the archives. A separate building from the blocks and main center which went underground. In the cramped, dark underground room he found his key’s home. Prison records of Galgenvogel from the years 1860-1870.

Walsh knew the prison was old. Just knowing didn’t prepare him for what he found. Reports of arrests and prisoners, hand-written in curly font that made his eyebrow twitch. Though he assured himself he didn’t have to deal with any of this pencil-pushing crap, he kept reading. And reading. And reading.

Until one report for September 31st, 1861. A prisoner report appended with an arrest report and various court documents. They read that, on the night of September 13th a man claiming to be Seth Farofeil Locke was discovered in the garden of a wealthy family from the Gold Coast of Chicago. Alongside him was the family’s sole daughter, Lily Lyehope, hung from a noose. Mr. Locke was arrested, pled guilty, and sentenced to life in prison at the newly opened Galgenvogel where the judge ruled that he, “shall be confined there for the rest of a man’s natural life.”  

Walsh didn't know what to think. Obviously, there must've been some kind of mix up. Locke was probably this guy's son, or grandson. When he got back to the guard tower, the key had disappeared from his pocket.

One week later, there was a fire in the archives. The newer records were kept intact, but everything from sixty years or so ago had been tragically destroyed. This was when Walsh’s suspicions were confirmed true.

No matter what he tried to do to forget, it never left his mind. Even on the days when he didn't think about it, the memory sat in the back of his thoughts waiting for the moment to pounce on his uneasy mind. He'd come to the prison a young man and became an old one through his years of service. Walsh gained weight, lost hair, got wrinkles, grew stiff in the joints, learned to cope with his inevitable death, and even lost a finger to a man on death row. When he joined, all those years ago, he thought Locke was a young man. Time passed, and he figured he was just young-looking for his age.

As Walsh walked Locke through door after door of prison security, watching him sign legal papers, he realized Locke was the exact same man as he’d met forty years ago. The only thing that was different was the uniform.

Walsh was possibly the only man alive who knew the truth. 

Around this time the façade began to crumble. He couldn’t help it. All the inmates knew Locke as the guy who was in before them, who knew the prison and everyone in it. Even the ones given life sentences, who’d been in the prison longer than Walsh had. One night, after several before devoid of sleep and full of phantom Lockes watching him from the darkness, he’s snapped and beaten a man giving him trouble well beyond the point of reason.

The warden gave him a few nights off for paid vacation, ‘to rest your mind’. It was the worst vacation of his life. At home he wrestled with the thoughts until he got an ulcer. At first, he thought he needed to hightail it out of there, get his family away from the demonic threat in the prison. Walsh did not decide to do that.

Why did he join as a prison guard in the first place? Why did he go to Europe as a young man? Because he wanted to protect people. He wanted to be a warrior, a defender of the innocent. So, he marched back to the prison reassured of his new position as the last defense against the fiends of Hell.

When he got back, he never asked about the beaten prisoner.

His mission had started ever since then. Walsh was a man who operated best when he was following orders, and as far as he could concern these orders were heaven-sent.

Not being able to tell his wife and kids was the most aggravating part. If they knew the kind of danger he was putting himself in front of every day, they would show him more respect.

It had been long and hard. These forty years took a toll on Walsh, harder than even the trenches. Keeping track of him wasn’t that hard. He never left the prison and only ever switched between general circulation and high security once. And, compared to his other duties as a prison guard Locke wasn’t dangerous. The only damage he’d ever inflicted on anyone in prison had been rhetorical, his tongue could be razor sharp when it needed to be. In truth, after his vacation Walsh had never needed mental help dealing with his feelings, like some of the other pansies he worked with. But it was still hard. If not literal hardship, then poetic hardship.

Excluding his many hardships and daunting heavenly mission, Walsh reflected that his career had been successful. Whenever he didn’t have to deal with Locke the job was steady, and he could probably sink into a comfortable life after retirement. It looked like it was all smooth sailing for Walsh.

“And what do you plan to do after re-entering society? Do you have any careers in mind?”

“Yes sir, one of my buddies hooked me up with a gig. Sweet by the looks of it. Everything I’ve ever wanted to do and more, just need to take the bus to Toledo.”

Seeing him sign his name in the warden’s office and talk with him about his plans for after he got out, it didn’t seem real. None of it did. Locke was leaving. Ever since the retrial last week, life seemed like a dream.

Walsh was called in for an inmate’s trial. Nothing new, he’d done it before, usually to provide first-hand evidence of their behavior and infractions. Informing a court with a rapt audience of some ne’er-do-well’s bad conduct was one of the little joys of the job.

When he heard the judge proclaim Locke’s name, and saw him walk in through the courtroom doors, his heart had sunk. Lights flashed before his eyes. Something was wrong. How could he have missed the name?

It was an especially hot day. A stroke of misfortune on the weather’s part brought an October heat wave. No one questioned Walsh’s perspired brow, his dry throat.

His eyes were glued on Locke the entire trial. All he did was sit there, looking thoroughly disinterested with the theatre of law and order. If the men next to him were suspicious of Walsh’s rapt gaze, they didn’t say anything. Or Walsh didn’t hear them. They didn’t matter anyway. How was Locke going to squeeze his way out of this one?

Finally, he was called for a statement.

From his spot, he could see the jury, the few seated, the lawyer, and Locke. Everyone except Locke and his lawyer was anxious and fidgeting in their seats. Even the judge had to clear his throat after a failed start-up.

“Now, Mr. Walsh, are you able to corroborate Mr. Locke’s… age?”

The pause caught him off guard.

“Age, your honor?”

The judge’s eyes swiveled around, as if he were scared the defense was listening to him.

“Yes, Mr. Locke’s age. Sir Nemo, his lawyer, has claimed Locke to be 132 years old. And thus, he has more than served his life sentence. Is there anything that you can do to confirm or deny this?”

Walsh realized it now. In any other circumstance the whole court would have been called out. But this was Locke they were talking about. His freedom hinged entirely upon Walsh’s testimony.

He wanted to lie. If it meant foiling his plans Walsh would have told the court Locke was born this morning. Something stirred within Walsh, in this moment. He had placed his hand on the Bible. He had put his faith in it entirely. Now, in his heart, he knew if he did the right thing and told the truth, Locke would be forced to give up and maybe even burst into ashes.

Walsh spoke. He told the court nothing but the truth. About the report he’d found, about how Locke didn’t age, about how he seemed to exist separate from the stream of time. He poured every inch of honesty into his speech. Pure, unadulterated faith exuded from Walsh’s pores.

It was the first time the Good Book had failed him.

His lawyer successfully managed to convince the court that the language, “rest of a man’s natural life,” technically did not qualify as an actual life sentence. Furthermore, by any medical assessment, Locke had fulfilled his time and more. No one argued. No one wanted to be in that sweltering courtroom anymore. Even releasing a murderer seemed like a small price to pay for their peace and comfort.

The gavel struck Walsh in the head and the judge’s words poured out of his ears. Seth Farofeil Locke has served his life sentence and was free to go.

Days afterward Walsh moved through the world like a ghost. His eyes were blank, and he responded to others in mere mumbles. It was as if the life had drained out of him. He didn’t tail Locke. He didn’t listen in on the inmate’s gossip. He didn’t believe it.

Locke, meanwhile, was more alive than he had been in the last century. He was getting around and talking to people. Not trading information either, he was really talking to them: sitting with them at lunch to discuss life outside, learning how to play poker (which he developed quite a knack for), even spending evenings at the library. The color had returned to Locke’s grey life.

At one point he had even gotten Tony Larone, Tony Larone the biggest meanest brick wall ever given sentience, Tony Larone the man who during Prohibition killed his two buddies after they ratted him out, Tony Larone who hadn’t smiled since Hoover was in office, to laugh. By Galgenvogel’s standards, it was a miracle.

The closer his release date came, the more Locke flourished and Walsh wilted. For the briefest moment he had considered calling in sick. Only for a moment though. He needed to see this to the end. It was what he was owed, for all those years that had been stole from him. It was hard though. Walsh’s lucidity was slipping. He kept seeing things; fire in the skies and snakes biting their own tails populated his waking and sleeping hours.

Two nights before release Locke was making more phone calls than any other inmate. He could be seen writing in a pad all across the prison and said he was working on his “escape plans”.

During a routine check in the library, before closing, Walsh found that pad. Open to the most recent page, written in cursive so ornate it looked like calligraphy:

Events of Importance: Civil War Abolition of slavery Forty-five hundred dead Indians 2 World Wars “Adam?” bombs

IMPORTANT! Remember to use “burn” cars, so mortals can’t track

Contacts (revised): Go to Toledo, by Walbridge Park. Meet Amon. Best bet to get into Hell. Make sure to bring necessary ingredients for Hellmouth

He walked to Locke’s cell and handed it to him.

None of it phased Walsh, who was so convinced the last week had been a dream that such blatant evidence which confirmed his decades-long conspiracy was clearly lazy effort on his subconscious’s part.

That was how Walsh was treating most of his day-to-day life, actually.

It wasn’t until he saw Locke finish writing the last curly “e” on his signature that reality came to drag Walsh into the terrible present. That was it. The last bit of paperwork, the last performative bureaucracy needed to prove to the world that Locke was no longer an inmate. All he needed to do was wait for the bus.

For no real reason, except perhaps shock, Walsh sat across from him in the waiting room. Soon, when the officer at the front desk left (“it’s seven am, not like anything’s going to happen in here”) they were alone, together.

Locke, in denim from toe to tip two sizes bigger than his body, looked out the window at the rising sun and the gathering storm clouds. Red dominoes slipped between his fingers faster than the eyes could see.

Walsh simply looked at the floor.  

Why am I so beat up about this? He couldn’t find an answer. Locke was the devil. He should be glad to see him leave and slam the door on the way out.

But… did he ever do anything particularly devilish? Not that Walsh could recall. There was the arrest record and the archives being burned. And the writing pad with his plans to go to Hell. Aside from that though, Locke never gave Walsh any problems. Locke even spared Walsh the verbal lacerations he so readily gave out to others.  

They weren’t friends. No, Locke was his nemesis. His villain. Walsh watched over him for years, decades even. He’d known Locke for too long. Longer than anyone, really. Longer than his work buddies. Longer than his neighbors. Longer than his wife.

They couldn’t be friends. Just because they’d known each other for so long didn’t mean they were friends. Walsh wasn’t friends with his kids. The brats hated him! A friend was someone you knew.  Someone you set boundaries with and met with every day. Which. Walsh did do. There was probably no one alive that knew Locke as well as he did.

Friends enjoyed each other’s company though. Did Walsh enjoy Locke’s company? It was so rare that they weren’t surrounded by thugs and criminals that he didn’t really know. Perhaps, compared to the rest of the trash at Galgenvogel, Walsh did remember Locke with something akin to fondness. Maybe Locke would too.

Galgenvogel. Locke and Galgenvogel, the two were intertwined in Walsh’s head. And Walsh liked his job at the prison. Even with the bruises and scrapes he wouldn’t give up a minute of it. Now that he thought about it, Locke was an integral part of that. He was challenging. No other person had ever put Walsh through such a rigamarole as Locke did. Walsh liked that challenge.

Were they friends?

Something clicked in his head. He was sad to see Locke go. A part of Walsh was leaving through that door with him.

Maybe when Locke got his feet on the ground they could meet up, outside of the prison. That would be nice, he reflected. Walsh had never mentioned his work to his family, but that was a good thing. He didn’t want to introduce them all to Locke the Jail Devil, he wanted them to meet Locke the friend.

Wind and the smell of rain tore into the waiting room as the door opened. The bus driver stumbled through, chilled to the bone. Every evidence of that morning’s sun was gone, replaced with rain so cold it nearly froze on contact. The bus was in dire need of fuel so the inmates, or inmate as it were, could wait inside for a little bit longer. 

Locke asked if he could wait on the bus.

“’S cold as dick, but if you wanna freeze I won’t stop you.”

The bus driver headed out into the cold once more as Locke stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Spurred on by emotions unfamiliar to him, Walsh cried out “Wait!”

Locke didn’t bother to look back, but he did stop moving.

Gathering up every atom of emotional intelligence within him (which wasn’t very much) he tried to come up with a speech on the spot.

Then, Walsh said, “Before you go, I, uh, wanted to tell you something. I know you’re the devil. Or, a devil, I’m not really sure how all that works. Maybe should have paid more attention during church. But I also know you’re not as bad as all that. Throughout all the years I’ve known you, you’ve been nothing but a stand-up gentleman. And I’ve known you for quite a few years! More than half of my life to be honest. In that time, I think I’ve really gotten to know you. Really know you. So, all I’m saying is, if you ever stop by Chicago, you’d be welcome at my home. I don’t care if it’s a sin because your friendship has been worth it.”

Sweat poured off Walsh’s brow. That took more effort than he thought, he wasn’t sure how the actors did it.

Locke stood stock-still. Walsh’s perspiration began to feel like ice-cold water.

Silence stole the sound from the room. Even the clock’s tick was hushed. The only sound at all was the hazy ghost of Walsh’s speech.

Locke broke the silence, “You think we’re friends?”

If the flow of the universe were a song, his voice sounded like a discordant string killing the rhythm..

“You really think that?”

Now he had turned around. Walsh’s stomach turned sour.

“I knew you were stupid Walsh, but really? Has dementia climbed into your hollow skull already? I’m not joking is there genuinely something wrong with you?”

Though Locke spoke no quieter than a whisper in his calm, mocking tone, every word rang in Walsh's ears louder than a church-bell.

“There has to be. Why else would you think that any sane person would ever consider you a friend?”

Walsh had sat back down, trying to stammer out an apology. His voice was too quiet though, everything he said was drowned out by Locke.

“I’ve got it. You don’t know how abhorrent of a person you are. Well, allow me to add a disregard for reality to your list of mental deficiencies. Fortunately, unlike all of your other personal failings, this one I can fix.”

From where Walsh was, Locke seemed to loom over him. Shadows from outside crept through the windows and flanked him, making him seem all the taller.

“Of all the human beings I have encountered here, you are the worst. The thinnest, lowest scrapings at the bottom of the barrel of humanity, and that’s saying a lot. For a century I have been sitting in this stone midden surrounded by all sorts of gnats. I was told this place was a cage for the worst they had to offer. And yet? Most of them are shmucks, no worse than every other asshole out there, just the ones unlucky enough to get caught.”

Locke’s head scraped the ceiling, and his feet cracked the tiles of the floor.

“Even when I was in the very blackest of pits with actual monsters did I ever encounter one as repugnant as you. You willingly came here, not to preach justice and peace and kissing your grandma on the cheek, but to fight and strike and kill other men. The fact you’re in a prison is only an excuse to get away with it.”

Walsh tried to shrink back, dive into the crease between the chair's back and seat, but Locke grabbed him and held him in his hand. Everything was dark, but Locke stood blazing bright commanding Walsh's attention. All he could do was faintly whisper “No…”

“No? I’ve seen you Walsh. I’ve seen the shine in your eyes as you beat men to an early grave. You don’t care what they did. You willingly sign up to drag them off to the electric chair. You’re an old man and you still come here every night salivating for the chance to show how big and tough you are to some scared sap who stepped out of line. To remind them of how stronger you are than them. I bet you’ve jerked yourself off thinking of that feeling.”

He felt an irritation in his pants, like a hand made of brambles had grabbed his unmentionables. Walsh tried, unsuccessfully, to blink the tears out of his eyes.

“I was planning on leaving this place to go to Hell Walsh. Hell. But as I am standing here looking at your flaccid, dickless form, a thought has crossed my mind. You’re going to end up there. If I go to Hell, I will probably see you there. And now, I’m having second thoughts. Is it worth it, to continue this plan I’ve been working on for the last century, if I have to suffer the misery of being in your presence again?”

Locke was a giant now. His hair stood up and twisted like plumes of flame, his hands twisted into eagle’s claws. Between wolf-like teeth venom dribbled from his mouth.

“You are lucky I don’t have a choice. If I could, I would dive into the grave and burn every forest and scorch every sea so that I wouldn’t have to see you.”

Acting on impulse, with his last bit of strength, Walsh rose up and struck Locke. He faltered, for a moment. Then, Walsh looked down at his hand and saw how feeble of a gesture it was. Walsh hadn’t even reached half-way.

“You're as strong as an ant and as loud as a spider Walsh. I could kill you with my thumb, but you're so disgusting it wouldn't make a difference. Nobody would even notice you were gone."

A third voice came from the door. "Uh... bus is ready."

The bus-driver had walked in, wondering what was taking them so long. He found the inmate, excuse me, former inmate, talking to the guard, who looked terrified out of his mind. Weirded him out something fierce.

Shadows retreated behind their master like faithful dogs and the room returned to its previous state. No sign of the insidiousness from before could be seen.

Locke grabbed his things and left without saying another word.

Walsh only noticed he was gone when he heard the firing up of the engine and saw the bus leave Galgenvogel's gates for the last time.

As the bus left, the front-desk guard came back. No one was in the waiting room. Which was weird, since Walsh should have passed him on his way back. The chair he sat in was empty, save for a small wet patch on the seat. Later, he would call for the janitor to clean it. Later still, he would have thought it worrying that Walsh wasn’t anywhere to be found, except he was a little preoccupied with the world ending.

--

On the long stretch of highway between Chicago and Toledo, there's nothing to see. There isn't even a "whole lot of nothing", that would be much too imaginative and witty to describe the eye-watering boringness of the road.

Standing out like oases in the Sahara are the few towns you get the pleasure of driving through on your way there. Compared to the start of the drive and the destination they're nothing to sneeze at, but after a couple of hours behind the steering wheel they seem like tiny spots of Heaven.

In one such town, no more than a clump of streets shooting off from the stem of the highway, Ma and Pa's corner-store makes a modest living. Most of their customers are travelers desperate for a reason to stop driving or locals ready to spend an hour chatting with the owners, the eponymous Ma and Pa, while picking up a little grocery.

Because they were on the road they got a lot of people. Truckers, business trips, family-outings, reunions, the local sheriff, census workers, teenagers, and even the odd honeymooners.

They'd never seen one like this before.

Ma had been at the front for a few hours catching up on her stories when she'd heard the tinkly bell of the doors. As soon as she finished customarily thanking him for coming in, she was tearing across the pages of the Yellow-Book looking for the number of the nearest sheriff's department. Something set her nerves off.

It wasn’t the way he was dressed (which made him look like he’d escaped from prison). It wasn’t the way he talked (like a heathen). Nor was it his attitude (which put Ma in mind of those no-good greasers she saw on the telly). She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it just felt like, when he walked into the store, she felt the inexplicable urge to punch him.

The wind outside wasn’t helping her nerves either. As soon as he’d come in it had picked up, and now it was rattling the door. Bird feeders and wind chimes tried to use metal wings to fly away.

Before skulking off he drawled out, "You got candles and salt? Last dump pointed in this direction for 'em."

Ma, barely fending off the beginning of a heart-attack, pointed towards aisles three and five.

He grabbed one of the shopping baskets, knocking six of them over in the process, and walked off.

A cluck made her eye twitch. As if that hadn't been enough, for God knows what reason he'd walked in with a chicken tucked beneath his right arm. This was probably the detail that made her ignore all the warning flags and sent her into a murderous rampage. The mere thought of having to clean up chicken mess from the floor made her fingers itch towards the club under the register.

She'd expected to smell alcohol on him, but the smell filling her nostrils was more like burnt pitch, or a campfire.

Ma was having trouble deciding whether or not he was breaking out of prison to rob them or coming back from some hippy commune to sneakily pilfer something but figured the sheriff could handle either option.

In the backroom Pa sat in his chair watching the chattering television, completely unaware. The way he was looking at it made her blood boil even more. Shame on him for watching that damned thing more closely than the services at church, oblivious to the fact that we are in the midst of being robbed!

She moves to wave at him, hoping he'll notice her, but stops once the stranger walks towards the counter with his purchases.

Regaining her composure, she says on instinct, "Will this be everything?"

He mutters "sure" without looking her in the eyes, instead gazing at the swirling clouds outside. Only the last vestiges of human decency keep her from tearing his limbs off.

Ma would never consider herself a criminal, but she possessed a long and extensive knowledge of heists, robberies, and murders after reading several hundred crime novels throughout the latter half of her life. Even she was stumped as to what crime he could commit with five novelty Christmas candles, a bag of salt, and a chicken.

While ringing up his purchases, she tries to look at his coat to see if there were any bulges that hadn't been there before. But it appeared he had stolen nothing. Nothing that she could see at least.

She does notice that, in his free hands were a small rucksack with nothing but spare change, a slip of paper with a phone number on it, and a pair of dominoes with red markings on them. And his wallet, from which he fished out a five-dollar bill.

"Two twenty-five is your total, would you like a bag to put this in, sir?" He didn't deserve a dear now, much less a dearie.

"Yes, if you'd so please."

She put the strange things in his bag and tried to swipe the peanut bowl away from the chicken, who was pecking at it to get closer. This and the rough, automated noise of the receipt printing only served to worsen her temper.

Just standing next to him made her stomach turn. Which was odd, because, when she got a better look at him, he was quite good looking. If he shaved the curtains over his eyes, he actually reminded Ma of one of her old flings. Back before she was Ma, before she met Pa, when she hung around the wrong crowd.

Together they’d been the talk of the town. Her own mother hated him, which just made him all the more attractive. No boy she’d ever met before had his own car. He’d even let her drive it all the way out to Chicago.

Which made it all the more heartbreaking when he drove up to prom with her sister. Ma stood in front of them in disbelief, and they walked past her without even a ‘how do you do’. It made her so mad.

When she got home, she tore her sister’s room apart. Broke all of her nails clawing the wallpaper and ripping the pillows to shreds. Throwing paint into her wardrobe. Flooding her restroom. Putting a bit of rat poison into the cat’s dinner bowl…

A knock against the window made her look up. There was a crack in the glass.

She looked around, but the wind outside was so violent that it must have carried whatever broke the glass just as fast as it brought it. Ma shivered. She had the willies, the creeps, and the heebie-jeebies all at once.

The receipt was cold, the ink dried. Ma looked over, but the man was gone. She was alone. Just like the night of prom.

Next to her, the sunglass rack spun and nearly gave her a start. Her stranger was standing next to it, with a look of such genuine mystification that you’d think he had never seen a pair before.

In fact, Locke had never seen a pair of sunglasses before. Certain fashion trends had eluded him while imprisoned. The officers weren't allowed to wear them while working, and the inmates only got them if they were working outside.

Spectacles he'd seen before, but the tinted glass framed by wired metal seemed so astoundingly simple he wondered why no one had done it earlier. He wondered why he didn't do it earlier.

Something that obscures your face without hiding it, were the first thoughts on his mind. The second, third, and fourth whizzed by so fast that they could not be recorded in print.

He spun the rack around, marveling at the different types, until he found one that spoke to him.

A pair tinted so brilliantly rainbow that you could see nothing through them. Locke slipped one of the domino-like objects from his left hand and placed them beneath the glasses. Looking down, through his right eye, he couldn't even see their silhouette.

Ma, in the process of extending her neck vertebrae so she could see what the stranger was doing, nearly cried out when a shriek so loud it rung her ears pierced the air. The shocked woman rubbed her ears, not sure if that was the lightning outside or some sort of shrill laughter.  

He turned around, glasses set firmly on his face and asked, "How much for these?" His teeth were as bright and sharp as a fork of lightning.

She responded weakly, clutching her chest, "A dollar."

Looking at the change in her hand, "Well then, I reckon you can keep the rest of that!"

With a spring in his step, he grabbed all of his things and left the store. The swing of the door once again knocked over the shopping baskets, excluding the one he walked out with.

Ma did a few things when he left as soon as she was sure she couldn't hear his footsteps in the distance.

First, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Second, she put the rest of the change in the cashier.

Third, she scoured the path he walked, looking desperately for a speck, an atom of that chicken or its droppings.

Once she was content that her store was clean, she, Fourth, went to go holler at Pa.

During this entire exchange, Pa, the doting husband of Ma for fifty years, was only visible as the back of a head outlined by the white glow of the television he was watching. Normally the two ran the shop together, but during their long periods of down time he liked to watch the TV while his wife read her stories. They kept the TV in the backroom, so he wouldn't be tempted to watch it on the job.

In any other circumstance he would get up and go to the front counter with his wife when he heard the little bell of the door. When Ma opened the backroom's door fully, he was still glued to the TV's screen.

She grabs him by his shoulders, dragging him towards the phone at the counter.

"Henry, I don't know why you didn't come in, but there was a hippy in our store, and he robbed us! I want you to get on that telephone and call the sheriff right now-"

"Judith-"

"He just left, but mark my words I bet he's heading to Chicago-"

"Judith-"

"Oh, I was this close, this close to getting the broom out and walloping him-"

"Judith there's something on the tele-"

"Yes Henry? Yes, I bet you know all about it. Honestly, the way you were looking at it, you'd think it married you instead-"

"You need to see this honey-"

"Oh, and he's got some damned chicken from the Hicken's farm, I don't know what he's planning on doing with it, but mark my words it's nothing good-"

"JUDITH."

Pa shouts, making the entire store seem so much more silent. Ma makes to get at him but stops when she notices the shell-shocked expression on his face. He looked more scared than he'd ever been in his life. Taking his wife by the arm, he shows her to the backroom, to the tiny black and white screen.

Images and videos flash across it, every channel dominated by the same headlines. 'MONSTERS SEEN ACROSS AMERICA', 'SEA-LINER TORN APART', 'WEIRD SYMBOLS SEEN IN SKY', 'GIANT FIGURES STAND OVER LONDON' and countless more. On their own local station, the reporter acts on instinct, relaying all the news in a stammering panic. Monstrous beings and supernatural entities are being spotted all over the world, with disasters playing out in real-time. Volcanoes, earthquakes, tidal waves, storms, it's as if the very earth were waking up and releasing beasts from beneath the surface. Tears dot the reporter's eyes as news of carnage slowly devolves into unintelligible sobbing at the last headline, 'THE END OF THE WORLD'.

This all goes unheard. Soon the reporter falls onto the ground like the couple in their store. A sound tears across the sky, louder than anything in the world. Ma and Pa clutch their ears as they feel their own skeletons vibrate in tune with the sky's scream. All they can do is watch deafened from the floor at the other's expressions of pain, holding each other close.

Outside on the highway, cars have stopped, many crashing into each other. Drivers and passengers alike release horrified screams as they begin to feel the universe's dying moans drill into their skulls. Hundreds of thoughts swirl together, thoughts of the terrible, imminent end to life as they knew it, all suddenly realizing that they were unprepared for it. In their car-seats children wail with their parents, unable to come to understand the finality of life, but still just as scared. Of all the people in the road, only one can hear it all.

Locke walks down towards the city in the distance, ignoring the screams. All the panic choking the hearts of the mortals on the highway is, to him, one more straw on the proverbial camel's back. It'd take more than that to break his camel. He hadn't spent a literal century sitting on his ass to run around screaming like a baby after the first sign of the end of the world. Besides, the world wasn’t ending. He would know if it were ending. It was simply getting more interesting.

The hen can't hear it either. To her, humans were doing weird, distressing human things. Rainwater plasters her feathers down, making her a sodden heap unable to escape the creature’s grasp.

Locke tests out his reflection in the shiny black window of a truck lying upended in a ditch. To the best of his ability he can't see his own eyes past the rainbow reflection.

The man who was driving the truck begins trying to crawl through the window, cutting himself on the broken glass. Locke does not try to help him.

"These things are a damn life-saver."

He once again models them for himself, but the glasses fall off the bridge of his nose to the grass. Locke gets on his knees and gropes around for them.

Once he stands up, he finds the dominoes still in their place.

"Gonna have to do something about that."

Locke walks past the people, recovering from their twenty seconds of utter hell. They take no notice of him and he does likewise. Blood fills the nostrils of the hen, who begins wiggling in his grasp. The grip on her tightens, doing nothing to calm her down but making her move around less.

With a knife, which he did indeed steal from Ma and Pa, Locke carves a few tiny symbols into the thick temples of the glasses without looking at them.

After they're drawn, he takes the hen's neck and makes a slight incision on her forehead. Blood pools fast as he wets his finger in the red liquid. The minuscule symbols are coated in a small layer of blood, activating, so to speak.

Locke bends down ninety degrees, yet the glasses stay on. He shoots back up, throwing his head from side to side, and they stay glued to his face.

"Perfect."

Today would have been perfect too, were it not for Walsh. He’d had the entire day planned and all it took was his dumb ass to sour it all for Locke.

Light shone through the clouds.

By coincidence, rainbow-shaded lenses looked up and met their match. Further along the road, the clouds were clearing from Toledo and the rain met with the sun, forming a real rainbow. From where he stood it looked like the bridge to a new era.

Locke smiled. Oh well. It wouldn’t do to let one little mortal ruin his big day. Now that his punishment was over, it was time to show all those assholes what a real bad guy looked like. First though, he had to go take his purchases and make a few calls down-under.

And Locke didn't know any Australians.

#short story #literature #prologue #tdg #locke #devil #demon #satan #apocalypse #armageddon #halloween #acronym pending #now with cover art

[jezus-volgen]

Met God, is mijn leven niet meer leeg

In de vroege ochtend zat ik aan mijn kleine bureau bij het raam rustig te kijken naar de dans- en liedjesvideo. Mijn hart vloog mee met de melodie en ik glimlachte onbewust. Ik voelde echt de vrede en de zekerheid die je voelt als je voor God komt.

Ik verval in zonde en leef een leeg en pijnlijk bestaan

Ik kwam een paar jaar geleden naar Zuid-Korea om meer geld te verdienen. Na een periode van hard werken, werd mijn leven gaandeweg welvarender, maar in mijn hart voelde ik me vaak leeg en hol. Mijn vrienden nodigden me vaak uit om te gaan eten en alcohol te drinken, en om naar karaoke- en andere bars te gaan om te zingen en dansen. We kwamen vaak pas laat in de nacht thuis. In die periode hadden we een aantal populaire uitdrukkingen, zoals: “Haal alles uit de dag, want het leven is kort,” “Word vandaag dronken en maak je morgen pas zorgen”, en “Profiteer van je jonge jaren om te eten, drinken en vrolijk te zijn en te genieten van het leven, want als we oud worden zullen we nergens meer van kunnen genieten.” Deze uitdrukkingen leken bij me te passen en ik dacht dat dit de manier moest zijn waarop we onze levens moesten leiden. Nadien vroegen mijn vrienden telkens wanneer ze samen uitgingen of ik met ze mee zou gaan. Ik had toevallig niets omhanden na het werk en verveelde me sowieso, en dus ging ik telkens met ze mee. Wanneer we ergens uit eten gingen, dan aten en dronken we als een groepje broers; we praatten, lachten en voelden ons heel gelukkig. Na de maaltijd gingen we dan naar karaoke-bars en andere plekken om te zingen en dansen. Na het feesten en de pret vond ik het geweldig om zo’n grote groep vrienden te hebben, om te praten, te lachen, samen te zijn en zoveel plezier te hebben. Soms wilden zij niet uitgaan, maar deed ik dat wel. In dat soort situaties verdween elke vermoeidheid die ik voelde door mijn werk; al mijn frustraties in het leven en alles waar ik niet gelukkig mee was, verdween in een oogwenk. Geleidelijk aan begon ik te geloven dat het idioot was om niet te eten, drinken en plezier te maken in het leven, en dat dit soort leven de enige manier was om plezier te maken en me uit de sleur van elke dag te tillen. Na het werk dronk ik zonder me in te houden, bijna elke dag, maar nadien, in mijn vrije tijd, voelde mijn hart nog steeds leeg en hopeloos aan. Ik moest me wel afvragen: Waarom leven mensen? Hoe kan ik de leegte in mijn geest vullen?

Hoewel ik allerlei emoties voelde, moesten leven en werk doorgaan. Omdat mijn collega’s en ik moesten stoppen met werken wanneer het regende, ging iedereen in hun vrije tijd naar een mahjong-speelzaal, voor wat afleiding met een spelletje mahjong. Ze vroegen ook of ik mee zou gaan en ik dacht: “Ik zal een tijdje gaan spelen. We hebben hoe dan ook vrije tijd. Ik zal mahjong spelen om de tijd te doden en mezelf bezig te houden tijdens deze saaie dagen.” En dus bracht ik de hele dag door aan de mahjong-tafel, waar ik veel verloor en weinig won. Soms verloor ik tussen twee en drie miljoen Koreaanse won per dag. Ik voelde me erg gelukkig wanneer ik speelde, en vermaakte me volledig. Maar wanneer ik weer thuis was, was alles terug bij het oude, en voelde ik met verschrikkelijk over het geld dat ik had verloren. Ik nam me voor om geen Mahjong meer te spelen, maar de volgende dag zat ik naar gewoonte gewoon weer in de Mahjong-zaal. Ik verloor steeds meer en was zelfs geld verschuldigd aan vrienden. Ik haatte mezelf omdat ik geen zelfbeheersing had. Oorspronkelijk was het spel gewoon bedoeld om de verveling te verdrijven en speelde ik een beetje Mahjong voor de lol. Ik had nooit kunnen denken dat ik nog pijn zou toevoegen aan de leegte die ik voelde. Wat later werd het werkproject beëindigd, en ik slaagde erin om vrijwel al het geld dat ik verschuldigd was af te betalen, dus ging ik naar een andere werf.

Nadat ik daar begon, bleef ik met mijn vrienden samenkomen om uit eten en drinken te gaan, en plezier te maken met het geld dat ik had verdiend. Het leverde me enkel een tijdelijk geluk op, en mijn leven bleef leeg, zo erg dat ik me voelde alsof ik in een nepwereld leefde. Aan de oppervlakte was iedereen bevriend – we aten, dronken, hadden samen plezier en genoten van het leven – maar in werkelijkheid gaf ieder enkel om zichzelf. Vooral wanneer iets hun eigen persoonlijke belangen betrof; dan vielen ze elkaar aan en veroordeelden ze elkaar achter de rug om. In mijn vrije tijd dacht ik vaak: “Is dit hoe ik mijn leven moet leiden?” Ontelbaar veel mensen om me heen volgen in de voetstappen van anderen. Zou het kunnen dat er geen andere manier van leven is dan dit?”

Wat is de oorzaak van de leegte van het menselijk leven?

Op een dag ontmoette ik Enhao op het werk. We leerden elkaar kennen en vertelden elkaar alles en we werden goede vrienden. Tijdens een gesprek, stortte ik bij hem alle depressieve gevoelens uit die ik in mijn hart droeg. Hij zei tegen mij: “Ik ga je ergens naartoe brengen waar al je problemen zullen worden opgelost.” Zo ging ik uiteindelijk met hem mee naar de kerk. Ik vertelde de broeders en zusters over mijn ervaringen en ik nam het initiatief om de vragen te stellen: “Waarom is het menselijk leven zo leeg? Hoe kunnen we ons in vredesnaam ontdoen van de leegte en pijn van het leven?”

Toen zei een zuster tegen mij: “Broeder, de vragen die je hebt gesteld verwarren vele mensen. De mensen hebben nu een hogere levensstandaard en we genieten steeds meer van materiële genoegens, en toch wordt de leegte binnen onze geest met de dag groter. Niemand begrijpt waarom dit zo is, maar Gods woorden onthullen de oorzaak van de pijn en leegte waaraan de mensheid lijdt. Laten we een passage van Gods woorden lezen: ‘De wereld in het hart van de mens die geen plaats voor God heeft is donker, leeg en hopeloos. … Want zonder het leiderschap van God maakt het niet uit hoezeer leiders en sociologen hun hersenen laten kraken om de menselijke beschaving te behouden: het baat niet. Niemand kan de leegte in een mensenhart vullen want niemand kan de plaats innemen van het leven, en geen enkele sociale theorie kan de mens bevrijden van de leegte waaraan hij lijdt. Wetenschap, kennis, vrijheid, democratie, vrije tijd, comfort; deze zijn maar een tijdelijke verademing. Zelfs met deze dingen zal de mens onvermijdelijk zondigen en de ongerechtigheden van de samenleving betreuren. Deze dingen kunnen niet de hunkeringen en verlangens van de mens beperken om onderzoek te doen, omdat de mens door God gemaakt is en de zinloze opofferingen en zoektochten van de mens alleen maar meer onrust kunnen voortbrengen. De mens zal in een constante staat van angst leven, hij zal niet weten hoe hij de toekomst van de mensheid tegemoet kan treden, of hoe hij de weg naar de toekomst aan zal kunnen. De mens zal zelfs angst gaan voelen voor wetenschap en kennis, en nog banger worden van de leegte in zijn binnenste. … De mens is tenslotte maar een mens. Geen enkel mens kan de plaats innemen van God in het leven. De mensheid heeft niet alleen behoefte aan een rechtvaardige samenleving waarin iedereen goed gevoed, gelijk en vrij is, maar ook aan de redding van God en Zijn levensvoorzieningen aan hen. Alleen wanneer de mens de redding van God en Zijn levensvoorzieningen ontvangt kunnen de benodigdheden, de drang om te onderzoeken, en de spirituele leegte van de mens worden opgelost.’”

Nadat ze Gods woorden had gelezen ging de zuster door met haar communicatie, en zei: “Gods woorden hebben grondig uitgelegd wat de reden is van onze leegte en pijn. Nadat we door Satan werden verdorven begonnen we God te ontwijken, en verloren we de leiding en toevoer van Gods woorden; we leefden onder de macht van Satan daarom leidt de mensheid zulke lege, pijnlijke levens. We worstelen in ons leven allemaal, en we rennen van hot naar her omwille van geld, roem, rijkdom en lichamelijke genoegens, en naarmate we deze dingen meer nastreven, vermindert onze voldoening en worden we steeds hebzuchtiger. Wanneer we deze dingen bereiken, verbetert onze levensstandaard op het materiële vlak en ons vlees beleeft plezier, maar nadat we hebben genoten, keert de leegte terug in onze harten. Wanneer we deze dingen niet kunnen verkrijgen, dan lijden we nog meer onder de pijn en leegte. Daarom voelen mensen die geen geld of status hebben zich leeg en stuurloos in het leven, en dit is precies hoe zij die wel geld en status en veel plezier in het leven hebben zich voelen – leeg en stuurloos. Sommige mensen hebben op vele manieren getracht om de leegte in hun geest op te vullen: ze gaan naar discotheken, roken en drinken, gaan uit winkelen, reizen, en sommige mensen proberen zelfs verdovende middelen. Maar wat we ook doen, het heeft allemaal geen zin. Dit toont aan dat geld, roem en rijkdom en lichamelijke genoegens de leegte van de mensheid niet kunnen oplossen, noch kunnen ze ons gelukkig en blij maken. Wij, de mensheid, zijn door God geschapen, en alleen door voor God te komen, Zijn redding te aanvaarden en door Zijn woord te leven, kunnen onze harten zich op hun gemak voelen en in vrede, en kunnen we ons ontdoen van deze leegte.”

Nadat ik naar de communicatie van de zuster had geluisterd, dacht ik weer aan Gods woorden en ik had het gevoel dat Zijn woorden rechtstreeks tot mijn hart hadden gesproken. Hoewel ik me in die tijd geen zorgen hoefde te maken over eten en kleding, was ik nog steeds niet gelukkig in het leven. Om de tijd te doden en mezelf te ontdoen van mijn leegte, ging ik vaak uit eten, drinken en plezier maken met mijn vrienden. Op die momenten was ik lichamelijk tevreden zijn en op het eerste gezicht leek ik heel gelukkig. Maar wanneer ik weer thuis kwam, vooral als ik helemaal alleen was, voelde ik me ongelooflijk leeg en hulpeloos, in zulke mate dat ik dacht geen doel te hebben in het leven, en dat het leven geen betekenis had. Mijn leven van overdadige uitgaven, losbandigheid en ongeremd drinken had me steeds tijdelijk gelukkig gemaakt, maar ik had nog nooit echt geluk gekend. Misschien was het geloof in God echt de enige manier om mijn geestelijke leegte op te lossen.

Ik ben hoopvol dat ik mezelf kan bevrijden van de leegte

Toen speelde de zuster een hymne-video met de titel ‘Was ik niet gered door God. Door deze hymne voelde ik me alsof ik de woorden zelf had meegemaakt, en wanneer ik zong speelde elke scene uit mijn leven zich voor mijn geestesoog af als een film. Mijn eerdere leven was er een geweest van ongeremd drinken, onwetendheid over waar de mensheid vandaan kwam of hoe we moesten leven, zonder doelen in het leven en met niets om naar uit te kijken. In de plaats daarvan modderde ik heel de dag door maar wat aan, net zoals de hymne zegt: “met pijn en moeite levend zonder hoop.” Bovendien zag ik dat de broeders en zusters in de video, nadat ze in God begonnen te geloven, vrije en bevrijde levens leidden. Dit beroerde mijn hart diep en op dat moment voelde ik dat God werkelijk in staat was om ons te redden van onze lege en pijnlijke levens, en ik wilde doorgaan met het bestuderen van Gods werk.

Door het lezen van Gods woord, en door broeders en zusters te ontmoeten en met hen te praten, begon ik achteraf te begrijpen dat sommige aspecten van de waarheid aan de basis lagen van het verval van de mensheid, hoe Satan de mens verderft, hoe God de mens redt, en hoe werkelijk als mens te leven. Ik zag dat de woorden die door de Almachtige God werden uitgesproken onmogelijk door een menselijk wezen konden gesproken, en Zijn woorden lieten me de richting in het leven zien en leerden me wat ik moest nastreven om een zinvol leven te leiden – ze waren enorm nuttig voor mij. Ik ging later naar de kerk en woonde vaak samenkomsten bij en besprak Gods woorden met mijn broeders en zusters. Ik voelde me erg verrijkt door op deze manier te leven, en mijn geest ervoer een nooit eerder gevoelde vrede en blijdschap.

De oorzaak van mijn onvermogen om de verleiding te weerstaan

Op een dag na het werk, vroegen mijn collega’s om met hen mee uit te gaan. Ik dacht eraan hoe lang ik niet met hen uit eten en drinken was geweest en hoe mijn leven een beetje saai was geworden, en ik dacht dat het geweldig zou zijn om met hen uit te gaan en wat afleiding te zoeken. En dus ging ik met hen uit. Nadat ik die avond thuiskwam, kalmeerde ik mijn hart en dacht ik na: “Ik geloof nu in God, maar behaagt het God dat ik zo een verkwistend leven leid als de ongelovigen? Dit is niet hoe een christen zich moet gedragen.” Dus kwam ik voor God om te bidden: “O God! Ik wil niet langer in degeneratie vervallen, maar ik kan de verleiding niet van me afwerpen. Help me alstublieft om deze fysieke verlangens en verleidingen te overwinnen.” Later las ik Gods woorden: “De mens, geboren in zo’n smerig land, is ernstig aangetast door de maatschappij. Hij is beïnvloed door een feodale ethiek en is geschoold in ‘instituten voor hoger onderwijs’. Het achterlijke denken, de verdorven moraliteit, de minderwaardige kijk op het leven, de verachtelijke filosofie, het uiterst waardeloze bestaan, en de verdorven levensstijl en gewoonten – al die dingen zijn het mensenhart binnengedrongen, en hebben zijn geweten ernstig ondermijnd en aangevallen. De mens raakt daardoor steeds verder van God verwijderd en keert zich steeds meer tegen Hem. De gezindheid van de mens wordt met de dag kwaadaardiger, en niemand zal uit zichzelf iets opgeven voor God, niemand zal God gehoorzamen en niemand zal bovendien uit zichzelf de verschijning van God zoeken. In plaats daarvan doet de mens onder het domein van Satan juist niets anders dan het najagen van plezier, en geeft hij zich over aan de verdorvenheid van het vlees in het land van drek. Ook al horen ze de waarheid, mensen die in duisternis leven denken er niet aan om die in praktijk te brengen, noch zijn ze geneigd om God te zoeken, ook al hebben ze Zijn verschijning gezien. Hoe kan een mensheid die zo verdorven is enige kans op redding hebben? Hoe kan een mensheid die zo decadent is in het licht leven?”

Uit Gods woorden begreep ik waarom ik in God kon geloven en toch niet kon weerstaan aan de verleidingen van mijn collega’s, en waarom mijn hart er nog steeds plezier in had om samen met hen een losbandig leven te leiden: het kwam door de slechte trends in de maatschappij. Alle populaire uitdrukkingen in de maatschappij, zoals foute levensmotto’s zoals “Haal alles uit de dag, want het leven is kort,” and “Het leven is kort. Geniet ervan zolang het kan,” hadden zich in mijn hart verankerd. Ik geloofde dat mensen lichamelijk genot moesten nastreven in het leven, en zich richten op eten, drinken en plezier maken, en ik dacht dat enkel dat soort leven de mensen geluk kon geven en hen optillen uit de sleur van alledag, zodat het leven niet voor niets zou zijn geweest. Zonder deze dingen leek het leven volledig zonder betekenis, en dus als ik niet uitging om te eten, drinken en plezier te maken, dan begon mijn hart daarnaar te verlangen. Omdat ik de waarheid niet kende, en ik niet wist wat positief en negatief was, was ik dus verstrikt geraakt in deze slechte trends, genoot ik van zondig plezier en leidde ik een leven van ongeremd drinken, verval en decadentie. Hoewel mijn vlees hier tijdelijk genot aan beleefde, bleef mijn geest leeg en gepijnigd, zonder de juiste doelen in het leven en me niet bewust van de zin van het leven. Door de onthullingen in Gods woorden begreep ik eindelijk dat deze levensmotto’s tot Satan behoorden, en dat ik enkel de weg kwijt kon raken als ik volgens deze ideeën leefde. Als ik zo leefde zou ik het hunkeren naar zondig plezier als iets positiefs gaan zien; ik zou blind op zoek gaan naar lichamelijk genot, verder in verval raken en ik zou de moed niet hebben om de waarheid na te streven of het juiste levenspad te bewandelen, en uiteindelijk zou ik door Satan gekwetst en verzwolgen worden. God zij dank dat ik de waarheid van deze kwestie mag kennen.

Ik vind mijn richting in het leven

Ik las nog een passage van Gods woorden: “Als je de verschillende levensdoelen die mensen nastreven en hun verschillende manieren van leven herhaaldelijk onderzoekt en zorgvuldig ontleedt, zul je merken dat geen daarvan past bij de oorspronkelijke intentie van de Schepper toen Hij de mensheid schiep. Ze trekken allemaal de mensen weg van de soevereiniteit en zorg van de Schepper; het zijn allemaal kuilen waarin de mensheid valt en die hen naar de hel leiden. Nadat je dit hebt onderkend, is het jouw taak om je (oude) kijk op het leven opzij te zetten, ver van de verschillende valkuilen vandaan te blijven. Laat God de leiding nemen over je leven en regelingen treffen voor jou. Probeer je alleen maar te onderwerpen aan Gods orkestraties en leiding, geen keus te hebben en iemand te worden die God aanbidt.” Gods woorden toonden me de richting die ik in het leven moest volgen. Omdat ik al begreep dat het najagen van lichamelijke genoegens de weg van het verval was, wist ik dat ik dat moest opgeven, dat ik ervoor moest kiezen om God te volgen en het pad te bewandelen van het nastreven van de waarheid en het aanbidden van God. Ik heb toen een besluit genomen om ijverig de waarheid na te streven, de slechte trends in de maatschappij te vermijden en nooit meer zo’n losbandig leven te leiden als ik eerder had gedaan.

Na enige tijd was het bijna het Mid-Autumn Festival, en mijn vrienden en familieleden belden me op en vroegen of ik met hen wilde uitgaan. Vroeger zou ik meteen toegehapt hebben bij een gelegenheid om uit eten en drinken te gaan, en om op een dergelijke feestdag plezier te gaan maken met mijn vrienden en familieleden, en ik zou alles hebben gegeven om mezelf te verwennen, omdat ik geloofde dat ik daar gelukkig van zou worden. Nu was ik echter gaan beseffen dat ik alleen door het navolgen van de waarheid een gevoel van vrede en zekerheid kon krijgen. Als ik met hen uitging zou ik slechts tijdelijk lichamelijk genot verkrijgen; het zou mijn hart God doen ontwijken, en ik zou me daarna nog steeds leeg voelen. Daarom wees ik de uitnodigingen beleefd af, en ging daarna naar de kerk om Gods woorden te lezen en de waarheid te bespreken met mijn broeders en zusters, en ik voelde een geluk en zekerheid die ik voorheen nooit had gevoeld.

Ik dacht eraan hoe ik eerder een verkeerd pad had gekozen, hoe ik verstrikt raakte in de slechte trends van de maatschappij, hoe ik het zondige genot had nagestreefd, steeds meer in verval raakte en iedere gelijkenis met een menselijk wezen had verloren, enkel maar om de leegte in mezelf te vullen. Het was Gods genade die me terug had gebracht naar Zijn familie. Pas nadat ik de door God geopenbaarde waarheden had aanvaard, begon ik deze slechte sociale trends en de levensmotto’s van Satan te begrijpen. Ik kwam erachter wat echt geluk was en wat het waardevolst was om in ons leven na te streven en ik vond de ware richting in het leven. Ik bied God mijn oprechte dank aan.

Gerelateerde aanbevelingen:

Beproevingen – een ander soort zegening van God

verlossing

#Gods liefde #de redding van God #de geredden

[popularcultureshaman]

grouper group daters

Emptying the dryer with a trail of socks behind you in the republic I'm a canasta shield with mahjong up my sleeve and marzipan on the pottery wheel we're mackerel baters grouper group daters cheesecake factory chakra cleansers obtuse j daters that's a salmon swatch, a pink face for the lox links made from jowls I'm Sade in a towel, with another towel wrapped around my head, and another towel for my bed and one for my follicles in the forest I get the cordial end, the corner brownie the meatloaf rind, its extra gristled with frizzled onions for the giant's head his cuticles look like inflatable river rafts I sliver a daft piece of confection armchairs the upholstery is covered in cat hair and butter vajazzled ho hos

I'm coco with a bag full of pasties and mutton in my pasty that's a button for the javelin it shrinks down for the overhead we turn the projector on to toast the mallomars I'm all tentacles no calamar in xanadu deep frying auto cars with more grease on my bearings then a bear in the park looking for a tablecloth after lark a tartan picnic smock i get my maltesers from the charter dock with more stews than a concorde smock

We take the soot and make a kabuki clock my butcher tells me his monkfish is the briniest and when I put it in the blender my coat gets the shiniest we make foundation from crustacean waders construction workers waiting in line for smashed bangers

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 03/01/2024

Never Gonna Give Up Mahjong

Season 3 Featured on: 2018.­Unregistered­HyperCam­2.­Full­Album.­XviD.­KfaD.­320­kbps­[CDRip]

Ripped by The Duane

For as much of a perceived SiIvaGunner loremaster as I may appear to be, I've expressed a few times that there are still several areas of the channel's legacy that I know very little about. Last month I talked about my unfamiliarity with the Touhou series despite its prominence and influence on the channel with rips like Imperial Touwer and Beautiful! ~ Curveball of Sean Kingston, and beyond that there's stuff like waterwraith pokos, a requested rip that opened me up to something I had...genuinely no idea about beforehand. Of these surprising new worlds I've been introduced to though, one thing truly shocked me more than any other - Why the Fuck do video games based on Mahjong just consistently have bangers?

Back way long ago during "Voiceless Week", I was requested to cover one of the song's arrangements called voiceless - simple ds series vol. 01 - the mahjong (¥1480). It was far from the first song ripped from its game, and it was a series of rips I was well aware existed, yet never gave any time - what could be so special about some DS Mahjong game music? As it turned out, the game just had an inherently super compelling, distinct, and flat-out BANGING sound to it, that just drew tons of rippers toward making things with its instrumentation. It reminded me of all the rips I'd already heard using the instrumentation of Pokémon's 4th-gen games, like yesterday's Bidoof's Big Band, yet now applied to a game I had next to no familiarity with.

Turns out, there's an entire small sub-community of Mahjong game fans out there, and that Mahjong games having fantastic soundtracks is far more common than I'd been led to believe. Never Gonna Give Up Mahjong is ripping a track from a *different* Nintendo DS Mahjong game, yet its sound is incredibly distinctive from the one I just described whilst still sounding fantastic. The rip's melody swap to Never Gonna Give You Up is a relatively subtle change all things considered, as the track's original percussion and beat is still being used, yet that one added accent just brings out the excellence of those pre-existing elements so much more. It gives the played out Rick Astley internet classic a whole new life, a funky, peppy feel to it, recognizable yet so different in tone.

Compared to many of the other Hypercam-themed rips such as YACKER TOILET, it doesn't feel like the rip is exactly celebrating or relishing in its original track's cheesiness, or to make you nostalgic for an older period of internet life. Its hard to describe, but Never Gonna Give Up Mahjong works so well for me specifically because I'd never gotten anywhere close to hearing its original source material, making this rip simply feel like a stylish, out-there reimagining of Never Gonna Give You Up, one that reminds you of how good the tune is. And even now that I know where that original piece came from, now that I KNOW that "Mahjong Bangers" is a very real thing, I still believe The Duane did a bang-up job making a melody swap this theoretically simple truly feel...sparkly. And just like Beautiful! ~ Curveball of Sean Kingston, its the underappreciated gems like this that so easily slip between the cracks, that I end up really cherishing.

#todays siivagunner #season 3 #siivagunner #siiva #The Duane #mahjong bangers #mahjong music #mahjong #nintendo ds #nintendo ds music #rick astley #never gonna give you up #rickroll #unregistered hypercam 2 #uhc2 #Youtube #Bandcamp

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 24/04/2024

Guardian of the Ride Chasers

Season 4 Episode 1 No Album Release (Read More)

Ripper Unknown

I really don't know what it is, but I woke up earlier this week with Black Parade (MMX Remix) specifically stuck in my head. I guess that's a disadvantage to running this blog - in writing, I tend to listen to the rip in question on repeat to get a good feel of the tone I want to go for, and in the process get tunes stuck in my head (Raft Ride, for instance, has still not left my innermost thoughts ever since The Incident.) But althesame, getting a Mega Man X arrangement rip stuck in my head got me fervently looking for more like it - because really, I think it was just my brain's way of telling me that it misses listening to Mega Man X music. It was through this that I wound up stumbling onto something big, a rip I'd entirely forgotten about and one that's STILL lacking a ripper credit even five years later - Guardian of the Ride Chasers, with no attachment to its origin or its ripper, fucking OWNS.

Mega Man X2 has a pretty different sound to the original Mega Man X in a way that's controversial in a lot of ways, yet the ripper has leveraged those differences to absolutely incredible lengths here. You can TELL that the guitar samples used are different, in some's eyes "whinier" - yet they lend themselves to the dramatic flair of the arranged track ever so well. So then...what is that arranged track? Funny enough, it's a source of music I was only made aware of through a SiIvaGunner project later in the same season - Guardian of the Former Sea, or the theme of the Desert Scourge boss, from the Terraria Calamity Mod. The game is as far away from my area of knowledge as you could come - I've hardly ever even touched the BASEGAME Terraria - but its legendary composer, DM DOKURO, was a name I got very familiar with entirely thanks to SiIvaGunner. Remember the King for Another Day Tournament? Yeah - amidst many other guest arrangers, DM DOKURO lent his incredible skills to a bevvy of arrangements for the event, including one I've covered on here before - September!

And like, that was how I was initially introduced to the Terraria Calamity mod as a whole! I've talked numerous times about how following SiIvaGunner has given me exposure to so many things I wouldn't have checked out otherwise, be it with Aphex Twin Snakes, Plantasia 2, Owner of a Mahjong Board or countless more, but its an entirely new level of cool to discover a composer through their guest contributions on the channel. As I mentioned before, Guardian of the Ride Chasers was already bound to work for me as someone hopelessly attached to the specific sound of the SNES Mega Man X games, but the rip only works as WELL as it does due to DM DOKURO's incredible work with the original track. I love how Mega Man X2's more varied sound in particular compared to the former and latter game resulted in the track being adapted pretty differently, in particular using the particular plink-plonk sounds from Bubble Crab's theme for a lot of the track to give the rip some really nice texture. It can be easy for a banger melody to be lost amidst samey instrumentation, a lot of lower-quality "but in the (blank) soundfont" have shown me just how bad it can really get - but the ripper went above and beyond in making the entire track sound absolutely brilliant in the conversion here.

All in all, Guardian of the Ride Chasers was a two-for-one kind of rip - both being an incredibly cool rip to listen to in its own right, and helping spread DM DOKURO's exceptional work outside of his target audience. Hopefully in making this post, you as the readers will now ALSO be reminded to go check out the other music from the Terraria Calamity Mod, or the other stuff by DM DOKURO in general - this rip is truly only scratching the surface.

#todays siivagunner #season 4 episode 1 #siivagunner #siiva #tentative rip name #ripper unknown #DM DOKURO #terraria #terraria calamity #terraria mod #terraria music #mega man #mega man x #mega man x music #mega man x2 #mmx #mmx zero #mega man x zero #mega man zero #mmz

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 06/01/2024

Wario's Hampster Mine

Season 6 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume DQ

Credited to Wario

Requested by MtH! (@mth-emma)

It really has been fascinating to follow SiIva's timeline of events, and in the process also follow the timeline of what comes in and out of fashion with that certain demographic of internet users. During Season 3, with the original King for a Day Tournament, the clear breakout star was Unregistered Hypercam 2, and his setlist of immensely charming sources all meant to evoke the earliest of times on YouTube. I've covered my affection for plenty of these on the blog already - YACKER TOILET, Never Gonna Give Up Mahjong, Unregistered CyberSpace 4-5: Arrow of 2009 and THIS. IS. SOLEANNA. have together pretty much covered most bases of Hypercam's particular brand of rips.

Yet...there was one song that was suspiciously missing - one that, even in my time exploring this old age of the internet that I was just shy of participating in, I hadn't really heard before. This is the Hampster Dance, and Wario's Hampster Mine.

It's kind of nuts to think that The Hampster Dance's origins as a meme precede the shift of the millennium - its often cited as one of the earliest memes ever made, and was originally just a joke website playing a sped-up Disney song with a bunch of Hamsters. But, that was enough to grab people's attention, the sheer force of "SO RANDOM!!" humor turned the site into an internet-wide in-joke, and in the year 2000 we'd get an official Hampsterdance theme, based on the site's original 7-second looping music. A meme had officially been born, and exploded in popularity.

The King for a Day Tournament was over five years ago at this point, yet it to me was the first sign that nostalgia for the old internet was going to become a very real thing - the novelty that Hypercam introduced has now become an immensely popular aesthetic, and its one that I'm very much a fan of. Hell, it was thanks to this new uptick in popularity - thanks to rips like Wario's Hampster Mine - that I even learned what the Hampster Dance meme was. Despite being such a crucial piece of early internet history, it had completely slipped me by until Season 6, and the 22nd anniversary of the official theme's creation. SiIva celebrated the occasion with an event filled with rips like this one, and it was an immensely fun time.

Of course, I mainly covered this one for being a request, but I'd probably have picked this rip from the event as well due purely to my Mario Kart Wii bias. Wario's Gold Mine is an absolute banger of a track in every sense of the word and already has such an inherently silly energy to it, that it only made sense to be arranged in this fashion. And, yeah - though I don't know who exactly to thank to it, the arrangement is very well done, in line with the spirit of the original meme whilst still following every part of Wario's Gold Mine seamlessly. Its a truly excellent tribute to perhaps the oldest of internet shitposting culture, the seed that would eventually bloom into the random, zany, silly internet culture of the early 2000s. The one that helped start it all.

#todays siivagunner #season 6 #siivagunner #siiva #ripper unknown #wario #wario's gold mine #mario kart wii #mario #mario kart #mario music #mkwii #hampster #hampsterdance #hampster dance #hamster dance #hamster #old internet #2000s internet #cringecore #cringe culture is dead #Youtube #Bandcamp