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jesuisgourde · 3 years

Text

My favorite bits of Peter Doherty’s (non-lyric) writing:

This is under a readmore as it’s quite long because I’ve just gone through all the places his writing has been published/posted and copied over all the bits of text I’ve highlighted or marked as something I really like. There’s a section for each book/forum/et cetera.

(also, all typos and weird spellings are Peter’s)

BOOKS OF ALBION (Book) 99-07:

Who will sell me a lie?

A cup of tea, Chalky Dean, to ease your misery Your war, your family, your new flat in Kilburn - been there since ‘73 since ‘83, on your own The England designed by you can’t be found, and you feel so much on your own The England life gave to you, is long gone away and you have never felt so ready to leave and look for it. So out you go The Stoned Englishman

Freddy was a fusion. The rags around his minds were torn patchwork quilts of youth cults, forgotten grooves, visions and unprintable politics, with the odd bloody bandage of High Art and an aesthetic to grind away the gap between deep black dub & Oscar Wilde.

He fell from the sky, never to land - never a sound: just words, ‘Every blues song in the world has the answer - I’ll tell you in the morning.’

Made my way home with a hoover, carrying it around my neck like the arm of a drunk friend.

Can be here, there, anywhere I choose as the century turns, and I must let my curiosity reach for the pen, camera, microphone. I must record all that excites me & captures my imagination & senses for a second.

My memory is a jar, my sight is blind, my hand has little feeling. The jar is huge, but the hole is tight and rarely can I fit my whole hand in and really rummage.

I delight in the sight of unison for any purpose - a gang in the street, soldiers, relay races, uniforms, uniformity: what a challenge to the artistic soul, what a joy for the ancient, animal instinct still screaming away in our DNA.

You can love a girl you will never see again You can love a girl you have never seen before but never can I love a girl I can’t see there and then and when a sigh continues the conversation, with no words, only the distant roars of love’s traffic

pillars straight with aesthetic malice

I must make note of all that happens - great insights & mind-altering experiences are no more significant to a diary than everyday tittle tattle. All the better if the tittle tattle is of radical proportion.

My perpetual lateness has got the shoes squeaking in the corridors of power & the toe within will certainly strike me should I be late once more.

Under this dandyish, frivolous, artistic exterior sits a pensive, ordered fellow - under whom lies an even dandier, camper chap.

Senses frayed, screeching bones of metal on the tracks.

Is this communicating? You must get em all round here. uniformed society. The rod used by the rod. This is wrong, look at this.... violence breeds violence. Keep a level of violence, a gas glow, burn slow - tell the russians, we surrender & we’re not playing soldiers. Everyone looks the same, we all do, don’t hide. Did you go to the do’s? It’s still there. If you can remember it, it wasn’t there. They’re all drugged. Hypocrit - you are, critic & a hypocrit sucking on your finger, plastic bags under your eyes.

To abandon morality for all eternity is a challenge only for the brave - no hope, no fear

What is this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? Its sneaking acid kiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill. sylvia and tabitha no more

Scraps of identity, a warped & oppressive system that was sidestepped, and I spiralled untangled embracing rushing air & new sensations, fears & opportunities for the rampant imagination.

Wales greets me, we are in the hem of the Brecon Beacon’s shirt.

Clambering over wonky miles of line headlong the tumble in rhyme a jumbled jungle of ill thought 2bob endeavours we’ll crack the jackpot riddle together gazing out of goaties window, one eyed willie besides on this rolling vessel unto Arcady & all tumult & woe to overcome. Woe the registration, overtaken on the long grey stretch before us. Autumn barricading itself in subtlely in colours mixed and matched, steady days like a yawn, the nights silent stillborn cry for the very dawn. Bales of hay strapped up on the M4 broken bones on the roadside, weathered by the years cars crossing lanes like crabs. Biggles stirs in his sleep coughing. Again: a time for valour. A time of whispered events. Now faded with the passing years.

Thief steps I went down with the stairway which sulked abysmally into the darkness below. A chaos of sordid galleries echoes of hostile silence whose curse I did not discover. The past & the future are contaminated with doubts & nostalgia. The inseperable oblivion was voluntary, & my escape so unpleasant that I swore to forget it....and a pattern emerges, a cycle...

wonky old lamp and its lampshade hair-do leaning over the rusty coloured sofa. There are but 3 books in the room... something perhaps to do with the wide open fireplace, with its canopy of burnt bricks and a mouthful of soot it burps out as windy days & cold nights whip down the old chimney pot for a burn.

Stumble do we through & across kingly cross streets & alleys streaked with gloomy yellow lamplights & hypnotic red bulbs spelling ‘vacancies’. My vacant desire is neck & neck with a gaunt & grinding sullen teeth sucking sadness.

I never could my voice like a throat in a frog my lungs shattered, heart battered

Patches of grass and rubble stacked like promises.

Butter pervades the kitchen & a nutter is in the hall days stutter in the sunlight & my heart flutters so in the voices of a summer evening

Yes come the coffin and carry off the loneliness, less all days are known only for the boney rap of vice on my window and the pony and trap that is the snap, crackle & plop of the papplenazi & the ilk in the rotton milk media that sours the sweet soup of ours and cuts down towers to the size of mice and men are pecked by two faced diseased hens shuffling their weird trotters along the all the way like so many shit lumping fetters hoofs of haunted yesterday.

Tell doom to ‘do one’ if you’re on for another reckless turn on the rivers apocalypse of rocks & rushing waters The throat burnt up dry as you nearly drown in frozen over tides Trust yourself like metal trusts rust: in a simple formula

nominally in disorder / in a fashion commonly nowt in this pressing matter not sort of unignorable pressure - abusive selfish conversations with the blank dirt that glues the corners of my backwards minds intogether outside the high walls levering the face off with the sticky oil of gluey tears. They dry and rip the sense out of the skin’s mask. In past lives I was blank... actually deadly sleepy and convinced by my corrupt reasoning that I was wide awake and ready to break into a running jump. As it turns out I fell off a small step and ruined my jumper.

ideas flashing like sparked fellas in raincoats through my mindless ways

This time next year this lone salty tear that falls may yet reach the sea, drowning in rivers lost under London like Victoriana.

‘where the bee sucks, there suck I in the cow-slips bell I lie’ Ariel says so, and a can ariel snapped off do I use to gather the honey through the machine neck & blaze into smoke to toke & choke my remaining mornings. Mourn I the tempest in duller days... indeed or they would not be duller days. I do not feel any desperation, sat alone when I’m not alone, because I’m just picking up the pen again since my love blurted ‘the end’ where we begin, and the fever returns me to the canal....... waters that do not flow et in Arcady ego

oh so you are not here now and so I greive in the salty, sopping eventide with a mess of feeling & reeling around the forest clearing in time that tears afford me. Salt blind I stumble into the night & pile heartache upon confusions. Alas I am last to understand my minds instructions.

My rotton guts clinging to the acid of itself and crushing the time in bile. The label has come off myself and I am bound to the train of love’s bullet train that screams by me and sends all my things flying til I’m in the ditch soaked, cursing & crying my soul dry of feeling, my senses fraying and my whole nerve praying for god to give the ghastly gits & ghouls of suffering a right pashing soon enough couldn’t be sooner or better still & soon.... my love to take me in her arms & love me as my soul so desires.

The sky is shy, hiding behind the curtain ignoring me when I ask the time

Nicotine fingers coiled to grasp the purple smile.

I lay upon my spine-cracked bed lost high upon the numbness London sirens spin me to sleep & my rattling chest lunges at breath

Sweat dripping on a dead cigarette’s blood

I reside in pandemonium’s parlour, half-lit, half-dead.

You can’t be sometimes but neither are or are not close to heaven or heavens even so the singular light and clearly the colours sharply cut half cut morning though my thoughts come out blanker than colours, emptier than my heart. Oh godless era this lost dear priceless night of invisible surrender & duress of deranged features & diabolical wantings do this or that well & save your reputation from ‘Darling Crackhead’ to little beauty & take the next year off.....

Up & down & inside out without flesh or mind find youth about your deaf to blind the sight of shout of pouts parading kindly mouth

Meeting melody is the victory of the empty, spiralling nightmare.

My heart and lips are somewhat numbed by the push & pull-me of my head’s rowdy scheme & sentiment traffic flow & stutter, that the once fulfilling & sustainable life of that whimsy & luck & pop mythology triumphantly & benignly reigned over & upon.

One million at least many holes in the fire blanket cover the plastic and stare in and out of the cell window it covers against regulations. 3 times they came in the yesterday. Villein is still and static cold and 26. Did he somewhere along the way become more approachable - given the heavy horse’s chaotic creation. I’ll let you a merry dance sick legal banter out on the vines where song lick slang is slung like dead bed sheet snakes from cell to cell.

Old films are like nick really.... You see the same old faces with a strange routine laced in nostalgia. What does Watney’s brown ale taste like - wondered Villein - and how like the read read is the red on the old reel that we see the buses move along in, and the phone boxes sit still in.

The shadow of a long metal gate prolongs itself across the forecourt and across the yards of morning.

the fucking jangle of keys strangles my dreams

though beautifully little book of hearts will your pages fall open upon ready (or as good as) sentiments rave & revealing the much clouded blank page.

This is the long way to ruin but things must fly by if your loneliness must make the dead-end clear

opposite us Eyeless A-list? wreckless and for now (he lies akimbo) rockless & (st)roll the darker witch demi-monde which means less than some sense fractious six kids & a suburban green park. Restless forgotten beneath reasons & demands what is on offer is something neither musical nor revolutionary. Celebrate: pages & pages of senseless mostly & unfortunately true to life. Written for its own wasteful existence

The sun warmed his upper body & a bead of sweat ran down the groove of a scar and popped itself on a plastic spike that stalagtited off his prison rosary.

my days are spent swerving prangs like old bill in a jag but reality keeps on like a nag “stop it stop it stop it before you cop it” cop it being worse things than a sting....cop it being worse than verses that appear in the morning too minging to sing, and there’s not much worse than this except perhaps death. cop it is death, a blood red card from God if he were a ref.

Rhyme & reason are all wildly out of season & it’s spineless treason to our kinship that allows this violent silence to part us

wide-eyed boy in freefall, through the clouds and oh good I’m impatient sort us out, missus, eh?

The boiler room is my close noisy neighbour & like the wind (my other neighbour) she thunders up at the mutual wall every now & then with dreadful interruptions.

Sometimes it becomes impossible to conceive of even the most common-place of actions (such as standing up and going inside to warmth and a drink with a splendid array of characters)

Her timing is impeccable as always tapping in time to silence which paralysed weather look north pathways to gate

some ennui hustles its way into the small angular room, the pen is lead heavy and doubts and depressing notions guide my hand across the page like the credits in bold white that fall down the screen, a black & white picture of a chewed on wedding cake.

BOOKS OF ALBION (Internet) 99-06:

[I went through these in alphabetical order so the quotes are not in chronological order at all]

To hold you, to heal you, to kill you yes & roll over you in Teesdale St. Loyal and jealous the night, play a record. If you will I will anyway feel this hollow or sick. loyal and sick to the back teeth of that awful taste. You’re the model of my love, hardened in the fire, so soft to touch, so warm to the blade, you hurt me & I hear you cry out in pain.

Lungs all one cavern, softened to the mossy fur of smoke that warms me & rolls me away like under stones.

I heard your education was very expensive (is that where you learnt to stick cruelty up a frock) my education was fairly comprehensive (kicking balls against walls + reading ‘Brighton Rock’)

what’s that awful silent carnage pummeling at my nerve.....the whole of yesterday’s horror webbed and plummeting in my little head.

riddles are the insane architecture of the feeling of being unworthy

the space in between was like energy trapped in a jar. velocity, anticipation.

Sensations are fragile and tangible as towers of cards, any second they disappear into flat chaos, nothingness. Feelings and emotions are light headaches, cars with quiet engines.

Oh but won’t there be another song where I can find it again? I don’t want to lose my soul from my pocket.

Me & the old clock gambling with what? With that which was already sold. Like telling the tale that was already told. Gravely we stood like stones and mourned the present.

The old clock doesn’t for a second give a tick or a tock if you can spell but knows anyway how to decipher all the inky or carved scrawls that unto Arcady infinite wit, wisdom, or wild fury (or fuck it) even whimsy that remedies another meaning to another empty mothers day full of promise, dust & sunlight.

Awake in a haze, twisting screwing my carcass under the covers

Sonny do not go through that door the light ain’t through that door self unmade man

You know I’m alright I don’t even care I like it when they stare and stare Call me queer, dear oh dear A million things & what I wear He’s real hard when he’s with his mates But I saw him again and he was too late

I’ll never desensitize, god knows I’ve tried. There’s no meaning or comfort and I’m stuck in this role.

There’s one cluster of lights through the mass of grey. Aaah, it’s gone now. Saw them kissing in the sea.

Now there’s a long shadow coming across the horizon, flashing tail on the plane wing. Under that shadow iron in the fire orange strip. Above it a blurred golden masking tape round the rim of the sky. Now it has become lava, clouded all furnaced. What will happen? How far is the end. Sky is tracked now all yellow its shirt lightening up & dark again. There is no night or day now.

down the wooden stairs slow melancholy walk heavy jumper thin man so harsh his tongue & hard his life but he crumbles alone behind closed door on its hinges again

Along concrete veins pulses this wondrous pure poison / all Arcady under soft moss vision clear All these new cars shooting past globules of regret, unpleasant to eye & countryside

But I remember that girl when she only slept & I remember that boy when he only wept

Imaginations orchestrated, dull or deviant Libertines and their very destinies. Footsteps echoing through ghostly chambers, the click of the lighter and the clink of the spoon on fine china. Melting sugar harmonizing with a hairdryer. The fluid in the human that promotes balance after disorientating spinning & spinning & spinning

like sound in slow motion waves - spreading out in shapes reminiscent of expanding & contracting molten plastic, touching random films bound together by love (by drink & drugs).

not lobotomized celebritize wannabes never wills fund celebrity’s lobotomy livin’ up the wannabes tread lightly on this drifting ice

we made our urgent pilgrimages to the kingdom - to the bodies urgent delight her white shoulders like south americas out of the remoteness, near to the sea’s curling cliff this islet of the known universe, a liverpool full of cripples in sportswear and naked princes

I been on trial been in denial but now I walk with a smile cause I’m not afraid to frown I’m sorry and I love I’m not sorry to love you I stole all the words ‘From Calliope’ But you know I know and you know I know my principle curse shame at mounting dues I have come to owe A devil of verse and nothing’s so pure as I first thought and all I was taught compared to your loss amounts to nought yet oh why am I so easily caught in the trap that you laid for me, so openly, all could see I was sold, I was bought

Seems to me to be a chase for Liberty - reflected in this my reality - chasing open-backed buses and leaping on in search of....... the bus I suppose.

Breaking into heaven that’s what dreams are - so how’s about waking into hell with a thick heavy chest and sniffle.

Or them truly days sketching into Arcady, castle like country stone houses with churches in the chapel and true love over the beautiful orchard of flowers. Racing an old car across the open fields, old barns with amps & guitars & drumkits & stepping down secret staircases to burn ancient cushions in rages & fits of love

Imagine somehow poison being proved not to exist in someone’s heart. Imagine being unlocked from this cell.

Clean European flesh in Thai monasteries, statues of giants or giant statues? Have you moved away? Or are you there still, pretending to be dumb, feigning asexuality My flesh is warm and soft I’m all ears feigned regrets & tears

The toxins that seep out of my pores have been painted on my body by the sun. The monks have assured me it will disappear but I know it’s there for keeps now, pigments of the pigman.

so I thought: ‘... (something can’t remember)

The joke is on humanity God is self explanatory Irony in agony Given to imaginary Phony personalitys and Parodys, a savage anxiety a wayward calamity

It was a Tuesday footsteps heard in my old room returning to the stream of rhyme the tears of lonely scenes apparently you snap back into your body returning from the astral plane at last he heard clearly the

Can we make silent old & long remorse that lives & feeds & writhes like worms upon a corpse as grubs on verdant grows

I swallow the bait and choke on the line I have to have none & have to all the time. The walls breathe, bulging satchels of torn up people, eyes lock & my shiftless workers reap of the harvest you can’t change us we mug you as we hug you chuggin the vision pluggin the now brightened gloom new life is given & strife is driven away I pray forever and a day that the glow will stay and in blood I won’t pay for the mistakes I made the fakes I played the rakes I enslaved then copied I’m clothes for the dandy’s swagger I’m a kind hearted feet & a bed bound blagger now I’m stopping all was filling mad hall everybody stop look listen and parse I’m out me mind fighting my shadow’s shape levitate & never will I break the promise I made with my soul enslaved to savour the flavour of liberty’s grave response.

time: James says ‘play with me a bit’ and so I fill the analogy with water from the glass tankard. Cartoon ghosts dye suspended suspended by salt in the water. 15 minute fire - 15 minutes of flame.

All the time is the same (of the hour that realms past the second had a voice in the past - the voice is behind) that was the sound of me.

The ice has melted the fingered heart on the window now, and the day is broken.

Rode in on a Trojan Horse trampled over my dreams but that’s par for the course

falling over ain’t dancing it ain’t funny honey

Words, long ago, building a dream what’s worthless to the past is priceless to the last

I love without the use of any organs

Issues don’t concern him - he grinds away at the state on the rare occasions but still with the lust of a libertine he allows the free hand of the market to fist him ceremoniously. Smiling of course - writhing delightedly with his injuries on the velvet wasteland of his glossy imagination.

He chanced his arm, took a risk, hitched another free ride, (this time in the bosom of fate - that syphilitic mistress)

afternoon - windows crusted with dry summer’s flake and a lonely fly, all a scene ignored by the viewer who though facing it, stares and stares straight throughout his silence.

Can it be true that you after so long you’re strolling into view I’ve missed you but you know I can be stoical and struggle on with lost limbs a plenty

wearily weary we lay back & break the lease idly in idolatry I look god in the eye cawing & crowing of swooping birds weeahh weeaaahh high pitched screeches near lowland estuary beaches by the window bars a pale man reaches to god with both hands

warped mirror of my malady differing shapes of the face that gazes nearly upon itself

oh, you’re an ill-formed magician’s wand

Sometimes your hard-faced, makes me wanna hold you tight & kill you till you’re at least pretending to smile. At least pretending that the smallest ever thing can ever be made right. Not living in a pantomime fragile thing cigarettes appear out of thin air

I you loved him when he was on the dole & when he was the king of rock n roll & you’ll love him when he’s buried in a hole.

her body contorted, androgynous gaze in the spotlight... a familiar desire to have & to hold, the toned frills white shorts shrieking animal noises from the speakers in this suddenly sinister theatre looking like blood in her palms

thoughts encircling like smugglers by a gap

a tatty crossfire of plasters hold the end of my right index finger together

How do you suppose, supposing you’d ever bother yourself with supposition on or about such super fucking pointless & tragic waste of lives

Days running into themselves, nights attacking the rigid structure of conventional subversive. Do we make ourselves sick in the soul, lungeing into long spirited long long sequences of repeated oblivion.

my shame costs the same as bargain basement fame the person that they let ya be has a detachable personality day glow smiles & detachable arms cut out wit & stick on charms the sale starts today at half past 2 so go out & buy me while stocks last wooh!

safety pins - they that hold my life together - bend and contorted rusty sticks that don’t glint cuz there’s no sunlight to glint ‘em

Sirens over present today flinching me, luring me onto or away from the rocks. It may hap that these are they: the devices that spark & fizz & whizz bang pipey smite the night’s fatigue.... string it out until the soul bleeds & the atmosphere heeds the siren’s warnings. Disintegration is the proof of the unconnecting of the connecting lines that’s all the coils & jacks that link my mind & my whole heart & soul with the facts of the most dubious matter of reality & the debt to humanity that selfish acts stain the day with.

Lordly ol’ corruption tucks his ransom sack buttons his dirty mac bottles the crack & discreetly tucks the smack into the inner lining of his waterproof pack

I can’t continue with the sorry & pain as I blankly stare at the morning sky the webs & bubbles awash on the pane as the rain spits at the window and my tears flood the tracks of my gaze and I stumble blindly through the days and obliterate my ghostly nights with £200 worth of brown & white

Television on, curtains drawn, spectacles wonky but welded & working not so bad....Brady allowed peace to enter his life albeit for a moment - for an afternoon film. ‘Get stuck inta that’ he said to his cat, laying down a wobbly plate of jelly & rabbit chunks on the kitchen floor. The cat frowned & staggered away from the food. ‘Oh now what’s your matter?’

on the path of dalliance tread lightly his new friends are all but one unsightly it’s the way it is to be on the drifting ice you must tread lightly & remember not to fight me remember I’m your friend & shall be so till the very end but I know how my memory clings quips about clippers & posers but if if you should fall I resolve today to pay tomorrow the debt you owed to sin & sorrow

Straight card faces can’t read anything in them but the well met loss of meaning

Strangers familiar with the art of snatch & grab grabby armies squatting to squander their dreams for dreary routine, filles more innocent that you and I flitting with the dusk in piles of leaves.

Time flicks knives into the present, slicing up the meridian pie & the day is classified, gone & dusted to the dawn. Sidewinder: elongated hours twisted into references points by ancient authorities

personally I live off mysteries The milk that arrives mysteriously every morning, I suppose it brings us life, but if trouble comes it’s been put there - or the bottle it comes in have done - by the devil.

Sleeping rough on the stony grass at the railway station. Stone me what a life. I’m parched & warped by the trials of this day. I shall sleep here at Folkestone West. The crickets chirp & sky ocean is red, sprawling above me.

The morning cracks open the sky - the upwards sky - and a rattling fence & damp, cheerful birds sound the dawn. Close my eyes and invisible trains rampage feet from my trunk and head. there’s the drums & a wonky old piano that sounds like a cow mooing.... & a wobbling saw. Short sharp snatches of twisted mirth. A cartoon gun shot, bubbling pot of stew. Moogs & wurly burly’s. Stuttering guitar & crazy punks barking melody.

Feel reality slipping through my fingers I died on a Tuesday born on a Wednesday I was just calling to say how much I loved you back on the dirt farm with the chickens & the schizoids Now I’m leaving this place on the very next train You can wait for me if you like but I won’t be coming back again

Stick your vanity to the page.

Strings piling up like bodies behind the rhythm

what of the world? it rests a little on the side there, & just there

But then how long until the next gruesome example of my own soul. In those bleak few hours I age 30 years. I’m now over 2 million years old. Closer to 3 million actually.

And of her I shall speak to the scraps of paper, inserts of lips, inside covers of old penguins, back of fag packets & bus tickets the damp walls on the staircases of tenements - there it was The Albion. One can’t adjust

Peeping mute to my Liberty’s core, drop your eyes, acute, sore

Still I’m a waif & stray lost & found endless journey homeward bound bound & gagged & cued & slagged

These walls have ears.... if only they had north & souths what marvels & mysterious they could spotlight & unravel

Still, it’s reassuring to note that actual genius does exist here. Each man-child & girl does possess a sobering, decadent talent in some form or another.

Night swallows the day. Dawn suckles the night, reborn & milky. The cruel afternoon chews up spits & shits out the leftovers of the morning light. Grey is upon us like funerals.

I smell like old socks & inconvenience.

I’m blind with mascara & dumb with lipstick

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy, clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced, & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses..... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

I sensed doom shadowing across the room like a heavy cloud of scurrying rats.

The blemish luminous with blistering blood.

such grasping times we never saw

FORUM POSTS 02-09:

carlos blinded by hair on his all white bed spreadeagle like a born again lustful jesusir he is as ever a elegant and sweet bawd of romantic notion and thoughts too fast for the tongue raising precious stakes and splintering.

Gary saved me from ninjas and I ended up just at dawn's ankle stepping up the tenement steps to the wolfden wherein the grip of calm shook me by the lapels

I remember he lived above a furniture shop in Mortlake with a different Peter and he sit by the fire watching David Niven films staring at the abundance of lovelorn letters she sent him wondering how he could never write back: scrawling heartbloody replies and casting them into the flames.

Tonight we play Bologna, the last leg of the Italian leg of the lamb of arcady that we returned to pasture after so long hemmed in like a crashing boar between archers and lemonade.

you`ve got me all welled up in the dark

I watched awhile then approached the sullen prince of exhiliration. I asked him "How did we arrive here" I cannot describe his look, and he turned away and drank from a glass made of stars.

I present myself openly, tearful, ravaged to the bone.

The confusion and pride and squalid aggression in (un)holy pockets and the misinterpreted gestures.

ring him? you'd have more luck getting through on the phone to jabba the fucking hut. and even if I did, say what 'oh I'm a broken hearted and cannae see for floods and we both know everything about everything about it all and you hate most of our fans and your a rude arrogant fake where were you doing karaoke when there was a wonderful roof and real people who love our music to play for and you'd said you'd come and I love you with all my oh my and you're a judgemental, paranoid, twisted mumbling snob fuck'

something or anything or all the greedy guts stir in me well of ********** (loneliness) not such a dirty word if it means all of sweet nothing and ungracious fallen feeling that had no such as dear grandeur in the heart of the matter.

Some alarm all inside me when a young boy threw himself down the stairs when I would not play pool with him. that'll sink in soon: I mean the expression I'll re etch and trace and loosen my mind over on his sweet face tumbling glass all to shatter.

Mountain ranges of paperback books, heart shaped renditions of 'you're my waterloo' and 'france'

Laying beside me on the bed, terrible dust clouds wheezing our dreams.

Tips of the left dirty finger nails slightly crooked up to scars and 'Libertine' in handwriting, round the bend and flecks of poison in and out of the chest, "Baby Shambles" nd down again to a mermaid, bracelet of silver hearts. skull to come and crossed bones

Like a mirror or are you indifferent? Labrynth of opinions and sour tongues. Ideas about language and the surprising limbs, the way its younger than doubt - if people read it. Perfect words, like in the living abbaration with a clear solution - six figure station for the stars, and the distance of the stars and all the curious coincidences. He has a gift and I never exaggerated even if it was all dot to dot now and then alone again or your friends and closenit community of malice. As you lay in awe on the kerbside floor, dreaming of the earth, throwing stones and wobbling teeth

fear and hatred do not find expression in tears. they are not worthy of them, best saved for tender feelings.

Chico and Groucho flickering on the telly screen in the corner of the dust and gloom dreaded tin beds rusted before our eyes, malevolence trifles and recollections those puncture babyface convicts as fledgeling gits went there where there were nowhere was

up on until late of loneliest time (this my life was filled with every crime (grime) now I was banished from the only place I ever felt strong and safe by the only friend with who I never had to pretend coz he knew me all up and down inside out.

Birdsong incessant, and life blooming yet its my heart of hearts where the thorn thicket is set frozen in whitest stark winter.

Dull colours that stand their ground: above all, words sentenced to the recommended few seconds of chirped or silently read post, perched above all this rotton intention and masked pleading for someone to come right here and take me to a high ceilinged flat in Eastern Europe and set me down for anonymous years in a delicate desperate love affair, and to live together and write at the old desk which will be there. In timeless mornings full of music and shut out light, that's where I'll find your lover or is he swinging violently from one end of the ugly little box to the other with my days drained of blood at the neck. the shade of grim that theft has clouted the borders of the subject with: pride turned the crimson of my shame's sham e lessness.

I felt a sudden headful of applause, a muted celebration of some unspeakable joy that draped a dark cloth over my suffering.

well motors awake and calm street of petals strewn and disinfectant serious city if it's not dark now but is, and I'm alone but not then.. well the moon was strung up in the sky like a last nights wonderful idea that the sacred heart had gone wholly without doubt obedient restful companions devoted diners and melodic somnambulists owt to fret upon save all torments there there afore ye go all before you the beats spun out out like endless poems and in the warbled americana of the potbellied parisian crazyassed pilots of their own bigamy (it's bigger than both of us baby) and pre-war arcady this dream will curtail your dry viewing

I'll whip this drear prose into shape yet, my hands frozen, sockless I waited in the half light for you, in the cold morning under the old moon on oily steps. I'll wait forever.

New mispelt friends untold, likewise serpents hissing the cobbled maze. Theatres, tin cans, moustaches and pedal scooters.

candles putting the shadows to bed stretched out on sheets ruddy with luminous blood, wax, sooty smears (my attempts at cleaning up foiled again) rum, whiskey in tin mugs, an eternity of cigarettes and all the blinking eyes in the world couldn't shed enough tears to trace an oceans outline of regret for: the imagination, or a voyeur's conscience or disturbed men with beleif in them-ridiculous-selves

in the sweet by and by we'll taste on our bloody gums and lips the truth behind all of this

one of them deleriems, where you try and stir your tea with your cigarette.

the thin legs of two of her outcasts are what this paragraph clumsily cops a feel for...Strangers to each other: voodoo eyed sp'rew stainy mystics scuffing the gravel by the garages dancing.

Gently rubs her finger against me. She was a cat some life ago and stretches, prowls to the bed, glances at herself in the mirror.

solo bead mimic's a tear the sweat's melancholy cousin the bilo hasn't a hope in his rigid hell of heavenly song mines his carved in stone nothing from deep underground and hollow he reaps blank fields of I suppose you could call it liberty (but it is not isn't free) I'll tell you that for nothing

my silence lost in a shoebox ful of old prison letters

The majesty of the city contrasting sincerely alongside the misery. Which in turn stands fearless shoulder to shoulder with the damned and the fucked up irretrievably Strong and gentle the sun , the sun appeared ‘never’ cries a voice from some and where ‘the sun was always a savage molton mass of billion fingy, right headcase.

Traffic and sadness, clogging up the city and thinning the good feeling so spread thin The morning convinces me of my hitherto muted beleif in solitude

Reach for the tree that shades your past. Jealous Snakes,don't let linger and last, my breath is caught when realisation pierces, through the time that unravelled my most insane fierceness, Will love solve this universal disease?

Dipped head, Wincing eyes, polite smiles, She walks. Scarred by fire or words?

Cruelness, tenderness, a fragmented life. Dreams of conformity, lies from those who laugh in the face of convention. Consuming bitterness. It is over.

Paris tower, fashions turned sour....who wants a piece of the power??

a song doesn't become heartbreaking or not depending on who is managing to hold the phone lines up above the brown swamp water you supposed to wash in to channel it to you yes you oh don't listen I'll never reach the pointless end of it

The morning Scares the living daylights Out of me with her impression of you

Dead quiet in the oceangrey sky, miles of gravestones buckling under the weight of still earth, loving memories litter dark trees who've stood about for the revolving centuries, never talking to each other

I shout silent stunned rage reddening lips wrapped about jagged barrelled glass the demons immune to the fumes now strengthening with the poison nauseous smoke drowning lungs and pranging the mind to mangle the self selfish light yellow yardie rock and rolling eyes

the new musical express, like a fanzine going to a fancy dress party disguised as as a tabloid

Drew returns from a stroll around the cemetary.. 'a few Doherrty's in there..' and all of my living soul in here, singing my heart out and as London is light shedly upon too.

pre-show descent into some lawless cutthroat province of the soul. Always was it thus. time was when i couldn't even get to the venue for throwing myself at moving buses, although these days it is contained. Held in mid-throat vacuum, the cold pitiless -gulp - pitiful . Void, Wrench, ugh how the ecstacies and roars of rapture are reversed, ridiculed by this slow death that cuts me up shoves me up the wall lust of the libertines stylee. And no escaping it, and nothing alters it, and nothing can numb it or brighten it up. jawclench horor show under your heartbeats spell cue circus music.

.............hookers, dancers, lovers, poets all here they arrive at the most unlikley of hours under my blue light they appear to me a strange, beautiful sea of poisonous flowers my blue light shall always water them for I wont take any chances striving as I do to bring existence into my existence

the sun nor any weather allows caprices of the atmosphere - my entire being logged in to bliss though cauldrons tipped souls into itself greedily all the while. i could not bear to live aloud - the racket shamed me so, the flash of steel like Pinkie's tightening grip, she'd never seen it done or so...

FROM ALBION TO SHANGRI-LA JOURNALS, 08-13:

the night is cold as I uncurl and stretch and arise, it has the drab atmosphere of a long forgotten bomb-site in a long forgotten part of town. This is my room, my dust and my gloom.

I'm a lonely man in a dream Splattered with drops of Nightmares………..

The dry fur in the close of the throat, the oily smudged appearance of the mouth and eyes, the stiff back of legs, the swollen and severed arms. The heaving chest. The stained hands and filthy aura. Bombed out mouth and crippled colourless tongue. The vacant opinion and vacuous state of personality. The unpredictable libido and surreal sense of time and space.

My feet at sixes and sevens. Rasping my tongue along my lips stubble like so many painful bum notes.

Here comes the night with a brick in its hand, staving in people's minds.

The only time you feel like crying And the door caught her frock in its crushed fingers Wolf blues there grinning… Seeing the piggy squealing Flames licking their hides

No guard at all. Criminal, insane, sensation. Cobblers mate. Apple-gobbled pig-headed on a plate. Oh go on give over, you love a new nib.

entry is a random, barely legible clutter of sick and sodden sorrows from some sunken souls scribbled scraps of some sort of self-styled services of statements, stories, songs and strangeness, some secrets and silliness. Silliness? Sillyness……..

Crash into my arms, see rings of pink flesh, infected pools of torn skin and orange tracks, shouting the snaking routes of so many holy veins by the elbows join, bulbous lumps of hardened tissue decorate the inside of the arms along with thin scabs of black and claret. At once both swollen and saggy – a rare and disgusting combination. The mermaid on the right forearm is guillotined at the tail by long winding tracks marks matched only by the tube map on the left. I will say though that my nails are very clean today.

It keeps close the shadows that so free become when the darkness that binds them melts in the sun.

When the slang-using junky decided to concentrate on his writing of music and cut down on junk, it was a case of putting the art before the horse.

I left the 1st floor apartment of rue de Copenhague this evening with a wall behind each eye.

My heart is damp but drying My life's a mess but I'm trying

I mouth the shape of smoke-rings thick and cokey. Blood blots all over the fluffy white towelling of the bath robe. My chest heaves and hacks up slumps of snotty black lung soil. My nostrils leak dangly strands of liquid, speckled with tiny crumbs of chemical candy – remains of the many lines hoover'd up the ol' hooter this night pass'd. My left hand creaks in agony, craters carved into the skin with flesh-melting mounds of pain. A web of stringy lines of blood patterns the back of my hand. They sprout out from the wrist…

Masochistic, sick Apocalyptic, fix n lick Fix n' lick, lick lick Endless lip suck sips Molten oily pips Sticky strips off in rips from bloated crust-coated limbs So these were meant as hymns to the spirits that seep about Moody and broody Wits sharp as knives All about may they be if influential in our lives For God's sake my mind has turned itself on and mangled all the rails…

The old kicking up a stench of nooses Rott'd with sweat, knotted with guts With remorse and regret And cold acceptances of every snapped neck

There's a hollow roar from a speeding past truck sounding for all the world like an unsympathetic crowd.

Clatter of a million feet on crowded city streets gives a good back beat to the strains of sirens and smashes of the traffic as it passes, clogging up the cities roads, like a poison clogging up veins. Putting a time together (and in green if you don't mind).

Embarrass in Paris! Saw you going to the Loo (vre) geddit!

The King of Failed Rendez-Vous Loves his title too much To ever wear a watch A captain Hook of sorts He fears naught but The ticking of clock Ticking of Glocks To him as vague as snowflakes Each second Has its own duration He's a time killer Liberty lover Won't let time kill her The king of failed Rendez-Vous Loves his title too dearly He'll never concede to being really But another late boy Fate's toy So don't hold your breath cos the King of failed Rendezvous Will never come meet you For he loves the glory and the wealth Too much to ever walk the line And be a simple subject of time.

Anxiety & destruction Gulfs in the gut Belly wet with teary streams

A terrible energy impacts, coiling and tightening, spoiling and frightening.

Love the taste of Grenadine. Sugar colour glistens in the silence, the dog and the child, the dust is wild. Some peace falls now on the heart, in the head.

Had a most disturbing dream, I was on a game-show on TV, gambling with the oddest things, like love and life and everything.

You hear that crackling sound, a low thud and crash, and then sparkling and crackering and spackerling all around, like a pane of frozen glass suddenly headed off by the sun at the pass and the splitting of splinters, fever-fast like a flood or a rash, and finally the pane does smash.

See the ratcatcher A mind bent on rats has he Blind with shattered glass is he He leans drunken into me Whispers filth and diseases Death & agony He empties his sack on me And rolls on into infamy

A sense of Arcadia surges like fast shadows up and gone.

them bleedin' pound shops are lethal – you go in in all good faith to get a lighter or a stick or two of sandalwood incense and come out an hour later laden down with more heavy bags than that woman I've seen pushing a shopping trolley down Shaftesbury Avenue, humming (stinking) and humming the theme tune to Beverly Hills Cop. Bumming copper coins, smiling a cracking 2 tooth gape of a smile that lights up her tired old face somehow like a broken light bulb lights up a dark bunk. Until the moment you realise it is fucked, there is a sense of expectation. Could she be an undiscovered literary genius? An English Emily Dickinson, sans the comfortable life? With a rare and remarkable relationship as baggy-rights Maggie-trolley-tripe has with all the pile-up of pigeons down the pedestrianized part of Trafalgar Square. .

Only song is immortal – the words returned to the gods who celebrated their gift of sound and the worn but well intended words they welcomed home into their godly gobs in the glorious kingdom of heaven. No one spoke in heaven, sound was song and sublime symphonies soaring out of orchestral camps and pennywhistles but even pennywhistles sang sweetly, sad, serene, sweeping or celebratory celestial ska & skiffle & spurts of thick spittle streams splashing any poor sod unlucky enough to be tested by the gods and their manipulative scripting of all scenes in eternity

Take a nervous peek out of the window, blurred with bubbles of rain. Raindrops

'Tis a straight jacket – as oppressive as one. Nothing vague about horror. Blurred visions of the future. Need to destroy; the thing bites into my bones, digs in. Possibilities endlessly impossible Sweat soaking my clothes, my face awash Toothache in the heart – imagine the pain of that.

Full of butchers and swans and never the twain should meet for meat…

Black skies pushing in as the afternoon gives up.

BLOG POSTS 10-15:

the inertia has crippled conversation – the weightless lump of time and the heavy clouds of exhaust fumes [later back on my back at the dump, I'm reading through this Monsieur Pepe le Poherty and I trust that even in your exaggerated spasms of lower sixth stylee stabs at creativity...I trust that even then I am not a weightless lump of time]

[Why Gladys I'd be on sick form and sicker from suckling the sicklysour syrup that stiffens in the veins before it can feed the body's thirst by the second until less than a third spills fourth like filth, the haters in seventh heaven]. Time slumps anyway, there’s grit under my tongue and flab all across my belly in jelly slabs.

her jaw is grinding itself out of smiles.

And it’s yapping and yelps all about the Paris afternoon – in the heart of the happy district am I. Leaning out of the window. Barks in the street. Daedalus’ god, J’s old man, that’ll be. Leaning into his doorframe like a lazy god, smiling to himself as the crowd of Raginiron-by-numbers men parts like the red sea for a young dark-haired fashionistaeater\ a creature of slender and long lines and lickspittlelips\ one puppydog eye, one serpent wink\ a fiver and a wad of sprung obscenity – ecstasy in the right hands, ecstasy in the wrong hands. Unreliable fella, bad speller, In love with his girlfriends brother but hasn’t the heart or balls to tell her. Honour? in the right light Grace? Like a paperplane in flight Features? Looks sly, sculpted, high, and bright What can he teach us? How to run, rim and kite Loves: suits torn and tight Loathes: having to end every night with a fight Hair? Immaculate

and so like a sometime ruby rind now dry and dust is made of the wet laces of blood in time, because i cant get to you this way, I must skirt. Skate about the drifting ice. Take swipes and potshots and swipes and longshots sunday is edging away, can hardly walk.. the fug of spidery webb’d fuzzy unpleasant sensation that is pinsandneedles. The cramp i mean, the cramp.

Anaïs Nin famously had a house-boat on the river, La Belle Aurore, I believe. Thats my cue to flutter my singed wings and circle the narrative with flights of flesh-salted sheets warm to the bodies and the artificial stench of a throbbing cheap radiator. Making waves, lovingly serenading the dawn the pretty dawn – from the stuffy one room of a little wooden barge.

the heartfelt, creepy melt down the thin walls of the Tyneside Mal Maison the staggered inept *crawl around shows without new ryhme/true reason the vast blank nowt where once was an arcadian stalwarts’heart (akin to treason] the everkeen zest in the quest for arcady that remains constant all the seasonn!

‘There is a funny snap in my mouth or is my head a bag that suddenly filled with air, concrete edges rounded in to fold not a bag – a whole world or a room closing in? stagger up the aisle, as we fling up he sky.

reflected the sick, oily puddlesick splintering seams of sorts of thoughts caught myself cheating of recently accepted decline

Perhaps the sky’s are lying to the world And I’m really…not really here …. And the Eiffel Tower is just An unfinished game of chess The Gods played in Paris

the dark haired one , the smaller one, who is unfeasibly misleading in her clothes. like, brother oh my brother the spleet-rousing,ruckrousefucking castle cutting down walls and all huge walls knocked through kicked in firestranglingfury of desire that forms like circles in the spittingguts when a girl pulls you on to pressure the point, to pull the undull dobba into stupidly warm heats and hip close waists, sheets drained of light

when I have slept so deeply, for so long, I find that I walk really oddly. Heavy, waterlogged feet. I trundle down the dimly lit corridor , always occurs to me I’m walking like the guy in ‘Sean of the dead’ when he first wakes up. Think of Hounslow, CarlBarat, my sister, losing virginity on a patch of wasteland, the girl flashing to taxi drivers, carry on films hilarity. Hancock’s morbid expression. back in reality: Have a Granadine water with ice, a bit of cheese. rice cake. Still half asleep, nearly pour grenadine water on rice cake. This isnt my favourite brand. too sickly. Theres no food really, no brandy cold red wine where did hide everything I neeed to return to oz.

my dreams are swimming around my head, dangerously close to the plughole.

It occurred to me , as I sat awake, gawping mostly at nothing, but for a while at the the unfathomable pitilesness of the old man with the cruel heart who kicked a tramps dog in the head below my window ,t occurred to me that WilLiam Blake also had a fat line or two to say about progress. Contraries ? Contraries? Energy is eternal deldelight energy desire messiah death and sin, children of Satan the fallen messiah? Stole from the abyss… send the comforter!

merciless as the Mersey madder than the sane Seine Fame’s as the Thames luckier than the Severn Culpable and ready to confess (not in De-Nile) feeling fine comme ca le Rhine

sweet bitter tang in the burpthroat

desolate laugh – like a battleship captain, being rescued from going down with his aircraftcarrier by a little non-military but nevertheless enemy-flag flying fishingboat A fat and delirious laugh in the wet too – like the skipper of a sinking battleship being tickled on the belly by a dolphin as his boots fill with water desolate, hollow laugh – like from a kid who rolls with the bullies at school just to survive, and now hes laughing because everyone else is as they push a screaming childoff a small but steep incline, onto a rock covered in dry nettles and bracken

morning sits up and flicks a finger at its reflection.

Factor 30 cynicism evaporates in the fuzzy sun , milky runs off of and over a glazed tattoo.

saw a beautiful wooden boat with ‘love is everywhere’ written up the side in fat paint strokes. It is shipwrecked; the annoyed looking tree that it uprooted as it wedged itself into the cliff face is overturned..its roots in the salty wind like a million fingers.

although quite soon the sky will be purpley and then pink and then pure clear blue and so I hold on for Aurora’s show.. swapping the pink pills for the pink sky you might say.

skull a tussle i always knew i had

you are asleep and I don’t know what you see i am awake and this is my silent tap apology

I have a snappy snap photo somewhere of emma running out the door and alan is leaning up against the wall asleep and uzondu is in full Sam Cooke mode, all soulful and valleysteep and belting out from the rolling deep. With his eyes closed and his pink fat lips parted and the sweet silver song of the lad rattled the old frames of the windows to the soul and of 112a Teesdale street, E2.

TYPECAST ZINE (2014-2016)

stringy thoughts swing slack through the mind

‘but the owl & the pussycat and you know who you are had a come closer, here y’are have fooled us all with the a cunning bit clever P.R. firstly – it’s known – that first – in the nursery rhyme verse and what? things first - do you agree? - and lets us sit down there are police files that first things first – and this hurts – I was raise on this verse there’s a small matter of a stolen purse the owl was a dipper - a grifter & a chap & the pussycat a skilled clipper & they crafted an act The owl could flip shift a kipper from under the fishmongers nose & pussy could [crossed out, illegible] lapped up such tricks – as she licked thorns from a rose

“is that you there rocking in a corner?” yeah that'd be so “is there anything that you need to know?” yeah – who the fuck art thou and how you know me so?

Complete, utter, inutterable, stagnant misery set in concrete certainty by cowardice and lament. He sobbed strangely, failing to cry, so fucking grim the sight of his shadow on the ashgrey spillage of shite that was once the floor. That was once his life. Full throated sting of sourness and spite lined his neckinside. Rottoness in the oesophigas

one way or another we will join our dead friends who took with them a huge part of our lives – the lived part not the reflection – and yet the friendship remains..

Morrissey writes so sweetly, so sadly, not reall sour like they say. He has admitted to unhappiness for so long I suppose he's had enough kickings of a kind He underestimates the starkness and crapness of life for kids today. Digital chills abound. zombified but niggling with happygo lucky urges..

MISCELLANEOUS (Loose pages or undated)

Unsubstantiated hype: being heavy, rotten, artificial legs. Legs we most of us take for granted. Envied by cripples. Two people mocking the afflicted, mocking each other, these close friends, hurtful with agility (demanded), skill (jammy git), violence (psycho, all in all), patience (guilt), and malice (unfriendly advice). Reading eyes (older lady in the corner, forgotten old dear, lost in a blank, stiff headache life). Yes gin dear. Anagram enigma, possibly genius prose. Mind you, that was the sarcastic offering of critic's shittermen, lifeless reviews, chickless headens.

Dripping in blood are the days changing in to evening wear and so London is a night time pipeline red alert and dead dirt in the sticky spoon bubbles up a sweet ancient perfume steamed form the spoon and as the stopper props up the dropper the drop the shot, that will pop rock a'flame and rolling bones in a sharp dressed ghost's freefall through the peaceful minutes at the beginning of the night.

(the need to fill the hole comes from the hole……that comes from knowing that there is a need to fill a hole that...)

I think I only needed something to hold on to. It has never been about depravity. It's always been about melody. But melody and I met in many depraved situations. Meeting melody is the victory of the empty spiralling nightmare.

as the blood flashed back home and I fell upsidedown into floor, into liquid sigh. Quick-sand, near the tomblands too close I was sitting on myself on the kitchen floor when Phil got back. A pool of shiney blood formed an elongated egg shape.

Miki tucked her violin into her silhouette and made mournful the silence with slashes of deformed design and searing, spiritual shots high into the

Content is a foreign land, malcontent but a sh short train ride away. Discontent more or less across the canal.

everything was made when a pointed mass of impossible dreams swung in on itself like a folding plastic table

j jarbly garble garble my words lost in the sincerest insecuritY stuPENDous jarbly high-wire balancing act trYing not to wobble becoming someone different – changing with the company I keep on keeping trying so hard to be meself I strain like teeth gut moron I once stumbled upon a time heaped deepening Entwining lines mined my own mind (tunneling like it was going out of fashion)

That old thoughtless gutless inn eyeless monday standoff with the world.

The language we whip with the language we wrap things up without.

A throb and a pound a fever head slaughter dead nasty lungsflooded with thick billious fleghmish glob a fever infection that nasty one, when you cough yourhead rattles in agonies, as if there was a small 'no mans land' bandwidth between the skull and the pain. A neutral zone if you like, if you despise.

It’s the blue smoke glamour of crack slab urban bohemia,

The richest man alive doesn’t have a penny, And I’m looking to cash in on his wisdom, Looking out for the wise in his eyes and the ice in his next drink, And his next drink, And his next drink, And his next drink, I watch the world, its tower blocks headbutting the skyline, So stitch that, That slit in the sky like a knife gash, and a fallen sixties leather jacket, The tenements so unlovely and kitsch, And the people rolling on in our colours and classes, classes and colours, The beats of New London, Twisted by the bitter rhythm of the wrong education, In the big schools

We’re on the offensive, On all fours in the puddles of No Man’s Land

Demonic conference if conferring besuch that demonsvdo. With pra er so ray er few now are relieved a most heinous infestations.

straight is fair and square, the rigged system is a twisted perfect circle

flickers like a silhouette of soldiers through airport glass

etching twitchy responses to the gesture that hypnotizes, dance, or beauty

the computers in water computers in blood the sky as a library you click in and out of

if you’ve got a voice - somebody write an amendment to end the prayer of who sin the corner a sackful of notes, each one a loveless letter less love for more wealth and they insist on the debtor the mourner writing again wringin a dead in the corner

the wages of sin fund all wagers and win or lose I want weighed in

this and that, pop and fizz, hock it like a shot, flappinglike it’s off topping like a toff swatting like a boff swat him like he fly, sopping from the cry

monkey on my back? monkey? three monkeys more like and seeing hearing speaking all the vilest villainous evils that can deviant event create when free will is freaked fierce

vanity won’t let you be unaccepted anywhere

straining for a glance a chance to catch your eye as I bow in backbentsnap earnest

meanwhile, off-screen a general slovenliness of spirit consumes me I feel lost and longlost a little brittle

what in the hell kinda code is that there? znd me with me head all fugg’d mellow like, only much lightness and airiness where others might hav - for exampl - thoughs thoughts

#peter doherty #i feel like i should clarify that the more intense/painful/drug-related excerpts i put in #are there not because i'm romanticizing peter's drug use or hurt #but because those passages really knocked me over the head with their vivid imagery and sensory descriptions #which is something i will always and forever appreciate in any kind of writing be it prose or poetry or anything else #if people want me to write a proper transcription of the book and internet books of albion i can #this was surprisingly easy to transcribe #the libertines #pete doherty #books of albion #squash reads books of albion

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cowboycunt · 2 years

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heyyy tylar @but-theres-wolves thanks for the tag :^)

rules: spell your url with songs, then tag as many people as there are letters in your url

S saint bernard by lincoln

O our place by verge collection

U unison by gang of youths

P pink pony club by chappell roan

S supadope by the whistles & the bells

T teach me about dying by holy holy

I i love you too by ezra bell

E … evil friends by portugal. the man

L legends never die by orville peck ft shania twain

@jodymillsmilf @gayangelsmp3 @adhdnatural @repressedslug @thisisapaige @theecelestialsodomite @sheepstiel @koshercas @deanpegged ya so don’t feel like you need to do this but yea <33 hi either way my dudes

#okay it was oddly difficult to find an E song #but i kept switching the S ones lol #anyways this was fun nice nice #and these are all great songs soooooo #fish.txt #also!! tylar i am going to listen to your songs on my commute monday. v excited :)

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groovesnjams · 2 years

Video

youtube

GROOVES n jamsS.O.T.Y. 2021 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| 20 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

“Unison” by Gang of Youths

DV:

This is not the year’s quintessential Gang of Youths song, which would be the one that lets Dave Le'aupepe repeat the same phrase the most times (”The Angel of 8th Ave.”) But it is their best, the one that leans into the band’s greatest established strengths and pushes into new places at the same time. Le'aupepe has the ability to turn a single lyric over and over in his mouth, finding new meaning in each repetition and in the fact of repetition itself, as if transforming the words into prayer with each syllable. In “Unison”, Le'aupepe scatters these phrases over the song like glitter, locating prayers in the verses as well as the chorus. The cumulative effect is overwhelming. It’s matched by production that seems just as driven to continually outdo itself, a slow build that also makes thrilling leaps - climaxing with the year’s greatest drum fill, which hits somewhere between an explosion and trashcans in an alleyway. “Unison” is the song where Gang of Youths sound like the biggest rock band in the world.

MG:

And it’s hard to imagine that Gang of Youths can spend much more time toiling in obscurity. Dave Le’aupepe’s voice is so beautiful, deep and resonant, the kind of voice that could read you the menu at Chili’s and it’s somehow both a small, unassuming song and an incredibly effective seduction. If daddy the National is mostly making Taylor Swift albums with Bon Iver (or, specific to Matt Berninger, allowing Andrew Bird way too much production estate as he thinks of words that rhyme with flower, or whatever) and grandaddy Leonard Cohen is, ahem, really dead, isn’t it time for baby to rise? Pardon the Easter metaphor as we approach Christmas, but the point stands: when Le’aupepe is singing you don’t even need chords for context. He goes almost a full minute of “Unison” without significant accompaniment. It’s a testament to Gang of Youths that they tastefully fill in the spaces where Le’aupepe takes a breath (and not to Blondie this band, they are accomplished, too, but like, you know how when you run your thumb down a plastic comb it makes that weird humming sound? Le’aupepe can make that sound whenever he sings a vowel. The band will have a great time with the middle third of Olivia Rodrigo’s catalog though, I’m sure!) Please, please, anyone, if you have a little bit of political power, please get this band a light show and a really long microphone cord.

#gnjsoty2k21 #gang of youths #unison #music

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miamigp · 2 years

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tagged by @redbullseb <3 thank u ames xx

relationship status: cannot even imagine the concept of a relationship. i got my own problems

colour: bright fuchsia pink

three favourite foods: the way that i cannot think of a single food rn. ummm five guys grilled cheese. churros con chocolate from the chocolatería san ginés. and i literally cannot think of a third <3 its been a long day

song stuck in my head: unison by gang of youths

last thing i googled: "smallest pacific nation"

time: 12:21am

dream trip: anywhere 😭 tbh (non cop out answer: las vegas or tokyo or back to massachusetts for longer this time)

anything i really want right now: to quit my job‼️for my phone to not autofill the phrase what mark webber does to a mf but that is kind of on me so you know

#it took me so long to think of any food i had to change the answer for time lmao 😭 having a normal one

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ducktracy · 3 years

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185. porky’s hero agency (1937)

release date: december 4th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: bob clampett

starring: mel blanc (porky, emperor jones), tedd pierce (gorgon, assistant), sara berner (porky’s mom)

the final porky cartoon for 1937, and what a busy year it’s been for him! hard to believe he had an entirely different voice, look, and demeanor just 8 months prior. even then, his character still had much to explore, as we see here—in this cartoon, he’s cast as a child again. curiously, bob clampett is often credited as the one who refined his personality into the one we know today (he did give him his iconic suit and tie), but, like everything else, it was more of a collaborative exploration by all of the directors.

the title card is one of the more interesting title cards in the warner bros. repertoire—it’s a photo of a porky statuette! bob clampett would make several statues during his time at WB and distribute them to his top animators. while the statue in the credits is painted over, you can view an unpainted model here!

here, porky dreams of the wonders of ancient greece, prancing around as the mythological messenger parkykarkus. however, a gorgon has her sights set on turning him into stone, and it requires some quick thinking from porky to weasel his way out of this mess.

bobe cannon animates the expositional sequence, with porky propped up in bed, sucked into a giant book full of greek myths. his mother (offscreen) tells him it’s time to go to sleep, but porky objects, protesting that he was just at the exciting part. cannon’s animation is easy to spot with his trademark buck teeth, yet the gestures he gives porky--finger points, turning the page, etc.--give him a nice dose of youthful energy as he recaps the story, telling tales of gorgons and “great great great” greek heroes.

nevertheless, a disembodied hand turns out the light, dismissing porky’s protests. he heaves a resigned sigh, lamenting how he wishes he could be a great greek hero.

the cartoon doesn’t make any attempts to keep the dream sequence a surprise--instead, the face of the book’s cover takes up the entire screen, the pillars emblazoned on the front melting to life as we fade into ancient greece. and, as to be expected, our favorite porcine hero proudly stands in front of the building, proudly advertising “HERO FOR HIRE AGENCY -- PORKYKARKUS PROP.”

porkykarkus is a play on parkykarkus (”park your carcass”), a character on eddie cantor’s radio show “the chase & sanborn hour”. truck into porky’s services as he narrates over the specials:

“has anybody any eh-deh-deah-deah-dragons you want seh-seh-sleh-slay-slaye--rubbed out? or maybe ya have some, uh, fair meh-mai-meh-maide--honeys ya want rescued! it’s a peh-pleasure. is your daughter safe? phone eh-peh-porkykarkus at olympia 2222!”

porky’s narration, as always, is fun to listen to, and the physical advertisement has its own charm and appeal, with discounts and deals on certain rescues. not only that, but it’s a damn smart way to save money, having just the narration over the still frame. smart thinking!

conveniently, porky gets a phone call, sparking the tried and true “gear up for a big sprint but merely tinker on over to your destination” gag. as porky answers the phone, filling us in by repeating the hidden dialogue from the other line, we find out it’s the emperor--he wants one hero to go.

chuck jones’ layouts stick out quite strongly throughout this cartoon, especially in the human designs. porky’s statue of mercury is no exception--the bulbous nose and rounded body construction are all surefire trademarks of his work. porky grabs the messenger’s hat and winged shoes from the statue, never once taking a beat to stop as he hobbles along, dressing as he prepares to head out. woodblock sounds simulate the sound of his hooves clopping, but also add an extra jaunty jive to the merry score of “have you got any castles?” in the background, the cartoon’s motif. it would also be a merry melody courtesy of frank tashlin not even a year later.

with that, porky takes off, soaring in the skies like a pro with his winged shoes. if the scene wasn’t appealing enough with the overhead layouts, the animation of porky steadying himself is wonderfully smooth and fun--the cherry on top. he circles the palace where the emperor is located, swooping down to his destination. complete with airplane sound effects, of course.

“howdy, empy!” another bulbous-nosed jones character silences porky from behind his armchair. emperor jones (boy, who could that name reference, i wonder?) speaks in a ridiculously hilarious dialect, completed with a thick accent: “shh! i’m making a fireside chat with my sheeps!” his voice then slips into a rooseveltian draw as he coos “my friends, grecians and customers, this is emperor jones speaking...”

pan to the audience, which consists of a sea of smiling statues. this entire speech sequence is wonderful--not only is his terrible grammar terribly amusing, (”statistics show... what last season at this time was population in greece from 6,000 with 500 with 54 people, with 17 statues.”) but little touches such as one of the audience statues roasting marshmallows and later a hotdog over the fireplace, the emperor making his audience clap by pulling on ropes tied to their arms, and so forth make the entire charade highly amusing with lots of details to look out for. porky standing idly in the background, awkwardly fidgeting as he tries not to intrude is a great little piece of character animation as well.

the emperor gives the skinny, all while chowing down on a hotdog: a gorgon has been turning more and more people into statues, and they need a hero to steal her life-restoring needle in order to turn all of the statues back into humans again. the hero he has in mind is, of course, porky, who bashfully accepts the offer. when the emperor asks those in favor to raise their right hand, he pulls on a lever that causes all of the statues to raise their hands in unison, including a hand on a nearby clock. with a handshake, empy concludes “it’s a deal!”

one of the most impressive pieces of animation in the cartoon (i actually dedicated an entire drawing to it!) is when the emperor sends porky on his way, who waves goodbye as he flies through the air with his winged shoes. just as he tips his hat, he knocks into a pillar, which sends him tumbling upside down, but still airborne. the wings on his shoes form hands as they shake their fists in the glory of the good landing, with porky flashing a cheeky grin to the audience before spiraling lower in the air, regaining his balance, and barreling onward towards a smoldering volcano. the animation is full of life and character--though porky is consistently jolly in the B&W clampett cartoons, the grin towards the camera as he prides himself in his save is a great little touch of personality. slowly but surely, bits of character are now becoming more defined.

a gag that took me just now to recognize it--porky swoops into the heart of the volcano, where we spot the source of the black fumes pouring out the top: the gorgon statue factory. a merry score of “you’ve got something there” serves as some easy listening as we’re treated to a sign gag:

outside of the factory is a human picket fence, comprised of familiar faces: statues of bobe cannon, norm mccabe, john carey, bob clampett himself and chuck jones surround the area. directly outside of the factory is the frozen statue of a salesman with his foot in the door--the joke is not only amusing, but the pose is quite strong and readable, too. though nowhere near the dynamism of frank tashlin’s poses in the mid ‘40s, clampett’s poses in this cartoon are quite defined and exaggerated for the time period. this is especially sharp in the scenes with the emperor.

porky knocks on the door held ajar by the ceramic statue’s foot, holding out an envelope. “telegram for the guh-geh-gee-geh-gee-gor-geh--” a hand snags the envelope out of porky’s grip, causing him to mutter “aww, nuh-neh-nee-nuh-neh-neh-nut--shucks,” a phrase he echoed in clampett’s previous entry, rover’s rival.

we transition to the inside of the factory, where we see the gorgon herself, positioned in front of a camera, awaiting to take “pictures” of her models. tedd pierce voices the gorgon, whose vocal stylings are a parody of tizzie lish, bill comstock’s character on al pearce and his gang. interestingly, the cartoon before this, the woods are full of cuckoos, featured a caricature of lish as well, also voiced by pierce.

clampett and pierce’s comedic timing is sharp--not nearly as sharp as tashlin’s timing in the woods are full of cuckoos, but abundantly amusing nonetheless. the gorgon asks for a boy--”a sorta young-ish one”--and in comes a decrepit old man who can hardly hold himself up. the gorgon waits for the man to assume his position on the podium where his picture will be taken, singing a pitchy rendition of “am i in love?“, another homage to the characteristics displayed by lish’s character on the radio.

the gorgon snaps her photo, which turns the shaky old man into a stone statue at once, cheekily labeled “ANTIQUE -- $60,000 (P.S.: 000,000)” before he’s yanked off of the podium with a cane.

“now let’s try a group picture.” you know it’s a ‘30s cartoon if the three stooges come waddling in--they made their caricatured, cartoon debut in the 1934 film the miller’s daughter, notorious for being chuck jones’ first animation credit. as expected, they all beat the tar out of each other while on the podium, rendered immobile only through the power of medusa’s camera. they turn into the three wise monkeys, labeled “3 MONKEYS OF JAPAN -- MADE IN GREECE”.

norm mccabe’s animation is easy to spot in the next scene with porky, characterized by his signature double eyebrows. porky knocks on a door, parroting a favorite catchphrase from the al pearce show that frequented many a clampett cartoon: “i hope she’s eh-eh-at home, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope, i hope...”

porky shakes the hand of the assistant, unfortunately a blackface caricature (save for the voice, who is just tedd pierce speaking in a deep, suave voice) as he greets “welcome, stranger. won’t you come in?” before porky has time to answer, he’s yanked through the iron bars of the door and placed neatly in line for the photoshoot, where he peeks through the door to see the action inside.

a pile of men form a pyramid, where the camera turns them into a literal statue of a pyramid, with some slight imperfections. “aw, shucks!” laments the gorgon. “you moved!” she approaches them with her life restoring needle, allowing the men to form into the proper position, maintaining good balance. she gets her “genuine egyptian statue”, quipping “ought to make a handy paperweight!”

the assistant informs porky that he’s next. porky backs up anxiously, echoing a short-lived catchphrase of his from the joe dougherty era: “nuh-neh-no! eh-nn-nee-no! a-a thousand times no!” the decision to make his thoughts visible (his head is slapped onto that of a piggy bank’s) is playful, and also reflects just how big of an influence comics had on bob clampett’s work: comic artists such as milt gross and george lichty have been cited by clampett as inspirations. the george lichty influence is definitely noticeable in rod scribner’s animation under bob clampett, as we’ll discover in the coming years.

in the midst of his panic, porky backs into a statue of "dick a. powello” (dick powell and apollo), causing it to break. but, rather than fuss over the mess, porky uses the opportunity to hatch an idea instead.

in comes strolling porky, concealed by powello’s upper body and a blankett hiding his hooves. the triumphant score of “he was her man” and the gorgon’s smitten woos makes the scene hilarious as is, but the blanket falling off and revealing porky’s pudgy little hooves is the icing on the comedic cake.

porky perches himself on a conveniently placed couch, where the gorgon approaches him. “pardon me, is this seat taken?” she doesn’t wait a wink before snuggling right up to him, a heart symbolizing her affections popping in the air. though clampett would play with typography at times and maintain an overarchingly jovial mood to his cartoons, it’s an odd thing to see him play with comic-like visuals in this manner, such as porky physically envisioning himself as a piggy bank or the heart from the gorgon. i wish he had done it more in this nature!

with the gorgon too close for comfort, porky uses this as an opportunity to grab the gorgon’s life-restoring needle, dangling from her neck and lying against her body. it wouldn’t be a clampett cartoon without sexual innuendos--porky reaches aimlessly around for the needle, prompting the gorgon to let out a shriek, cooing “why, mr. a POWELLo!”

she smothers the ceramic head in kisses, giving him a nice lipstick finish to boot as she pretends the statue has given her a ring. her ecstasy is hilarious and WONDERFULLY conveyed through strong, rubbery poses worth freeze-framing. picturing porky’s befuddlement is another humor within itself.

finally, porky’s disguise is revealed when the gorgon literally crushes the statue in an embrace, stone crumbling around him as he desperately slips out of her grip. as the gorgon makes threats to call the cops, reciting the WB favorite catchphrase of “calling all cars! calling all cars!”, porky makes with the needle and jabs it in various statues, warning them “uh-geh-uh-get goin’! i-i-eh-it’s the guh-geh-geh-eh-geh-gorgon!”

as the gorgon chases porky with her camera, he continues to revive a barrage of statues: the antique, the famed discus thrower (who throws himself out of the scene rather than the discus), the man from the end of the trail statue, who exits riding his horse like a merry go round (a nod to friz freleng’s sweet sioux), a woman who marches off with popeye’s forearms--note the bobe cannon statue in the back here--and a mermaid who unzips her fin and makes a run for it. the highlight of the entire montage is when porky approaches two temples (the two of them together labeled “shirley temple”) and injects the needle into them, prompting the temples to use their pillars as legs and run for the hills.

the chase reaches its climax as the gorgon pursues porky with a movie camera, turning the crank ferociously as she runs. her plan works--porky slows down, freezing in mid-air as the gorgon cries “hold it!” thus, the gorgon pins porky to the ground, who tries his hardest to fight back, but ultimately flailing around as she commands him to open his eyes.

we melt into the present, where we find porky’s mother in place of the gorgon, telling him softly to wake up. he does so, after she pries one of his eyes opens. relieved that it was all a dream, he embraces his mother, prompting a happy end and an iris out.

this cartoon has a soft spot in my heart--it was one of the first LT cartoons i saw on this whole venture. i thought i was the smartest person alive, understanding the three stooges, popeye, and shirley temple references. who knew just how much i had (and still have!) to learn! though even without my sentimental biases, this still stands as a very good cartoon.

as i mentioned previously, the poses in this are full of elasticity and energy, especially in the emperor and the gorgon. porky does a very nice job as well--little pieces of animation such as him fidgeting awkwardly while the emperor rambles on, swinging from side to side as he’s offered the job to be a hero, etc. etc. are full of charm and character. while his personality isn’t the most electric in comparison to characters like bugs and daffy, it’s the little things like these that really make porky stand out. with him, a little subtlety goes a long way, and that’s why he’s one of my favorites. he’s so reserved in comparison to such a wild cast of characters that his timidness actually shines through and sets him apart! (though, on the other hand, he can still have quite the personality, as we’ll discover!)

personally, the only gripes i have with this cartoon is the blackface caricatured assistant (which, in comparison to some cartoons we’ve seen and still have yet to see, is relatively mild, but uncomfortable nonetheless). the jokes, while corny at times, still hit, the animation is full of life and vigor, and the short as a whole has a lot of charm, whimsy, and personality. it has my seal of approval! go check it out!

link!

#lt #porky’s hero agency #clampett #looney tunes #reviews #long post #A REVIEW!!! of one of my favorite cartoons! it's a christmas miracle!#well favorite for this era anyway

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antipodeanpineapplelump · 3 years

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Red Dawn WIP Update

Me: Okay, today is the day. The day I'm finally going to pull finger and finish proofreading Chapter 6 of Red Dawn so I can post it. I'm gonna do it. I've got this-

Work: Hey so... we need you to come in. All day.

Me: 😔 So anyway, for everyone who's waiting for Chapter 6, here's a snippet of it! The rest should be finished and posted within a week, my spare time permitting...

Chapter 6: Stand Alone Leaning against the rusted metal railing bordering the platform, Kakashi felt the chill of it pressing into the small of his back. “So… the chief said you had some intel for me. About Akatsuki?”

For the first time since Kakashi had met him, Shisui’s face took on an expression that actually looked serious. “We’ve been hearing reports. About people smuggling weapons into the Refugee District.”

“That’s not a whole lot to go on.”

“That’s not it, though,” Shisui continued. “There are whispers about change… a revolution. Shady characters in the backstreets recruiting people to the cause.”

Kakashi shifted. “Even so…”

“They have to be linked!” Shisui insisted, gesturing passionately. “Six months ago, no one was talking about Akatsuki. Now it feels like everyone is.” He glanced across at Itachi. “Come on… back me up here.”

Unfolding gracefully to stand his full height, Itachi had a commanding presence, despite his young age. It wasn’t hard to imagine a future for him in politics. He carried himself with the authority of a person who spoke infrequently, and only when he had something worth saying. “I can’t promise you there’s a link between the weapons and Akatsuki, but it’s the only explanation that makes sense. The gangs already have their supply lines, and no reason to rock the boat. They make money with things the way they are. But Akatsuki want change, by any means.”

Kakashi sighed. He didn’t doubt that what Itachi and Shisui were saying was true, but it still didn’t offer him anything to go on. “These weapons… can you tell me anything more about them?”

Shisui brightened. “Can I ever!” He moved closer, covering his mouth to whisper conspiratorially, “See, we trailed this guy one night…”

Kakashi stared at him, dumfounded. “You did what!?”

“Hey, we were just following some rumours we’d heard! Anyway, this guy led us down to the port where we found a whole crate of unmarked guns. We hid behind one of the shipping containers and watched while some people dressed all in black loaded it into a big truck. I don’t know where they went, but the next week at the same place and time, it happened again!”

“There’s a pattern to the movements,” Itachi agreed. “And we don’t have the resources to investigate them. But you do.”

Kakashi felt an indescribable anger welling up in his gut. The sheer knuckle-headed stupidity of it, even born from the best of intentions…

“Do you two have any idea the amount of risk you put yourselves in, getting involved like that?” he snapped, unable to hold it all back. “Spying down at the port? What if they’d found you? You could have been hurt, or worse…”

“How else did you think we got that kind of information?” Itachi pointed out, perfectly calm in the face of Kakashi’s unbridled emotion.

“By doing something not life-threatening?” Kakashi suggested, well aware he was overreacting, yet somehow unable to stop himself. “People like that – the ones with causes – they’re the most dangerous. Unpredictable, ruthless…”

Itachi and Shisui shared a look between them, communicating some kind of unspoken message that Kakashi couldn’t decipher. Slowly, Shisui stepped forward and placed a hand on Kakashi’s shoulder, his smile just a bright and confident as ever. “I understand what you’re saying, Kakashi, but how can we expect anything to change if we’re not willing to take some risks?”

“We’re careful,” Itachi agreed. “But we can’t just sit back and do nothing either. If we can help, we have a responsibility to.

As if Kakashi hadn’t heard that particular sentiment before…

“It’s the principle of it Kakashi… If people like us don’t stand up and do something about it, who will?”

Sighing deeply, he pinched the bridge of his nose. The problem was… it was far too easy to confuse one bright smile for another. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, fixing them with what he hoped was a stern enough look to convey the seriousness of the threat. “You’re still young. You have your whole lives ahead of you. Don’t be in such a rush to give that up.”

“It’s not going to come to that,” Shisui said. He spoke with the kind of self-assured, youthful naivety that made Kakashi’s heart hurt. “That’s why we called you.”

As though that made their actions any better when, for as long as Kakashi could remember, people around him had had a propensity for dying, just by association.

He pushed himself off the railing, willing himself to breathe evenly again. “All right. But I want you both to stay out of it from now on.”

The two shared another of their secretive looks. “Okay…”

But they said it in unison, just a little too automatic, a little too perfect for Kakashi to truly believe it. There was nothing more he could do though. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

Shisui smiled again, warm and open. “Thank you, Kakashi. For listening.”

As he walked away, Kakashi raised one hand, glancing back briefly as they faded from his sight behind the blossoms. He couldn’t shift the sense of unease he felt. The acidic roil in his stomach that told him well-intentioned people involving themselves in bad business like this was a recipe for trouble.

He only hoped it turned out better than last time…

#my writing #red dawn #WIP #naruto #this chapter is such a random collection of loosely connected scenes #and yet I love it #especially the KakaObi interactions #it also has my favourite line of the story so far

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plungermusic · 3 years

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Sapristi! The Road To Liberty’s a load of Balzacs ...

Mark Harrison’s latest release is a bit of a magnum opus, casting a jeweller’s glass over the human condition in two parts comprising twenty one tracks in all: from victims to the venal, the desperate to the defiant, the quotidian to the exceptional, from the personal to the political (and the personal as political) … it’s a condensed Comédie Humaine with better tunes.

Part 1 sees a thread of celebration of old school working class virtues in Same Roads’ message that the everyday routine (epitomised by the hypnotic 2-chord setting) isn’t necessarily such a terrible thing, and Wheels Going Round’s revivalist cakewalk tale of an ordinary heads down do-the-right-thing life. Toolmaker’s Blues threnody to dying trades shows an unaccustomed angry edge to Mark’s vocal, and the airy folk vibe of the vox-and-guitar-only Better Day conveys the most overtly political lines in a quietly strong and determined hope for a brighter, more equitable, future. Perhaps countering those latter tracks are the polite protest of Tribulation Time (acknowledging not everyone wants to hear you banging on about your troubles when they have their own) and the life-isn’t-fair-and-you-can’t-legislate-for-that homily Everybody Knows.

Temple block and bouncy bass backing lend a slightly comic Laurel & Hardy dancing in the street vibe to I’m Damned (described by Mark as “a jolly tune with a less than jolly message, which is characteristic of what I do”) and that description fits Club Of Lost Souls too, an upbeat backporch shuffle with only the bittersweet ‘blue’ notes hinting at its subject of loss. The one instrumental, Last Bus Home, inspired by the babble of optimism and booze (not necessarily in that order) of youthful journeys in Coventry is a wholly joyous mix of intricately picked 12-string, washboard and rackety cymbal for an urban Camberwick Green anthem.

Stepping a little outside the usual Harrison sonic envelope, Skip’s Song deploys a supple Hendrixy hook and catch-you-off-guard timing in an examination of how others imagine your life to be (often wildly romanticised) and Passing Through (the brief, unconnected, vignettes seen while making your way on the road… or through your life) has equally quirky rhythm to highlight the fragmented images, the feel of dreamlike detachment heightened by wine-glass harmonics.

Part 2 leans more to the abstract: the bottle-party-dance-with-a-moral of Go Nice is inspired by Reverend Gary Davis’s ‘be kind’ mantra; Restless Mind points out the benefits and pitfalls of being an independent thinker over a louche slide-led NOLA slink, and the jug-band Shortnin’ Bread-lope of Hard Life takes a wry look at exactly how hard some hard lives (that everyone protests they have) really are. A similarly critical take on the traditional up-before-the-beak song All Rise uses rolling saloon piano and a nice multi-voice call of the title in its examination of how we all excuse our misdemeanours to ‘the judge’ (whoever he may be and however justified our protestations of innocence). The equally traditional prison song Doin’ Time maybe proves the inadequacy of those pleas, propelled by rock-hammer percussion with added grunts of work gang exertion.

Low Life Avenue’s salutary warning of where ‘going for it’ might lead still encourages following your dream, to a suitably positive four-to-the-floor drum and bass backbeat, before fully unleashing his inner rock’n’roller (yes, including a rarely heard Mark-on-electric-guitar moment) in the urgent Chuck Berryish Don’t Let The Crazy Out The Bag (Too Soon), a fairly self-explanatory admonition to control those self destructive impulses that ruin relationships… The most out-of-left-field track of Part 2 is Curl Your Toes: its philosophical examination of life’s humiliations and dilemmas and how you choose to react to them, is lent an almost hallucinatory sheen by a mesmeric vox-and-guitar unison melody, relaxed rhythm and bowed bass culminating in an almost baroque filigree of guitar and strings.

The album closes out back in more familiar Harrison territory, with Foxchase (if you feel life is a fox chase remember the fox does get away some times!) a Dustbowl two-step with muscular bass and rimshot-and-templeblock backing, although the closing gospel-sermon-flavoured By The Side Of The Road (a self-avowed “upbeat message of self doubt”) features another smoky TYAesque riff rendered on both electric and resonator, and slightly spacey tribal toms.

Like all Mark’s albums you do miss the laconic wit of his from-the-stage interactions, but the studio setting has been utilised to the full: sympathetic production and multi-tracking gives a lush, full sound but still every word and note is clear; despite restricted by circumstances to the three band members - Mark, Ben Welburn drums/percussion, and Charles Benfield bass (who also produced) - their additional contributions more than compensate for the lack of any ‘guests’ and as ever the playing is crisp and precise throughout.

As Plunger have said before, Mark is a rare artist that can make you smile, think, and dance simultaneously… good old Honoré de Balzac could only manage two of those at best.

The Road To Liberty is released on 30th June (physical album: digital releases Pt 1 30th June, Pt 2 30th September) and is available to preorder here: http://www.markharrisonrootsmusic.com/rtl-album.php

#mark harrison #the road to liberty

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rainbowchip2003 · 4 years

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“and you’re ugly, just like your mom”

for @misslivvie !

word count: 1646

november 2nd, 2019

10:25am

*third person*

it was a typical morning in casablanca plaza. all of the staff had gathered in, and were going through their opening routines. in wild side inkorporated, it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. vince is always the last to show up, so it was just the tattoo artists for now. luna was making today’s playlist, while billy scribbled a design on some scrap paper. lennon, a nonbinary newbie, sanitized their station.

“what day is it?” billy asked lennon.

“saturday.” they confirmed as they checked the clock. billy’s eyes drifted to the side in realization, while luna ran a hand through her multicolored mane.

“oh, shit.” she whispered.

“what?”

“we never told you this, but vince brings his daughter to work on the first saturday of each month!” lennon chuckled at the mental picture of the two hiding from a little kid.

“i’m sure it’s nothing to worry about?” the rookie giggled once more.

“imagine veruca salt but, like, maybe 5% less stable.” just then, vince came in with his daughter, liesl, ready for a new day at the tattoo parlor. liesl had her mom’s auburn waves, and her dad’s smile. she stared at her tablet, ears covered by a pair of lol surprise headphones. liesl even had a small, glittery purse shaped like a unicorn!

“morning!” vince waved before taking off his leather jacket, and helping liesl with her pink coat.

“good morning, vince!” the artists chimed in nearly perfect unison. the ginger never looked up from whatever was on her screen.

“...and liesl.” luna muttered. lennon took the opportunity to introduce themselves; they bent down to her level, and put on their friendliest voice.

“nice to meet you, leisl!” they said with a warm grin.

“...hi.” liesl greeted. unlike most children her age, she seemed unfazed by their punk appearance.

“i don’t think we’ve met; my name is lennon!” lennon put out their hand to shake, which she accepted.

“lemon?” the little girl asked.

“no, lennon, with an “n”.” they laughed it off, it was a common mistake.

“daddy, how much longer until the shops open?” liesl already started her whining kick.

“riiight about…” vince looked at the giant clock on the wall, only seconds away from opening time. “now!” at last, it finally struck 10:30, and casablanca plaza was officially open!! “here’s $20, go crazy.” vince handed her three $5 bills, and five singles.

liesl let out a cheer as she ran out the door. whether her father was being sarcastic was a mystery; but alas, she took his word as gospel. in vince’s eyes, $20 was nothing; but to any six year old, it was winning the lottery! ironically, there was a patch on vince’s jacket that read “greatest father in the galaxy” under liesl’s birthdate.

she blended in with the first flood of shoppers just fine. liesl only gets to visit casablanca once a month, so she has to make the most of every trip. how does she do so, you ask? nothing much, she just makes people’s day a living hell. no one questions vince on why he lets his young daughter run around unsupervised.

liesl’s first stop was thunderbolt coffeehouse, where she has her own signature drink. the beverage in question is 6oz of water mixed with the tiniest splash of white chocolate syrup. because it’s basically nothing, liesl only had to pay a dollar. having just opened, tommy was the only person in the store.

“good morning, liesl! the usual?” he adjusted his burgundy visor with a lightning bolt sewed on it.

“you know it!” she left a dollar on the counter to pay. tommy prepared liesl’s first of many mall treats. behind the display case, liesl noticed some brown and orange squares sitting atop a doily. “what are those?”

“pumpkin cheesecake bars.”

“i want one!” she demanded as she tapped the sneeze guard.

“you’re only allowed your special drink.” tommy said softly, yet firmly: “ ‘cause you nearly bought the place out, remember?” he referred to her first visit, where she blew all her money on thunderbolt fare, and didn’t finish most of it.

“can’t you make one exception for your favorite customer?” even liesl’s best puppy eyes weren’t charming enough for him!

“i’m afraid not.” luckily, tommy has more patience for her than anyone else in the mall.

“you’re so inconsiderate!” leisl scoffed as she folded her arms.

“it’s just what your dad told me-” tommy sighed.

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom.”

“sorry to hear that, have a free cheesecake bar.” he forked over the seasonal goodie, knowing mr. simmons would freak if he caught him. but hey, if it’ll get the twerp to zip it! she swallowed one bite of the pumpkin bar, and shoved it into her purse.

on her way to poisonous novelties, she saw that dee, her youth group leader, was here! she went over to his little cart, where he handed out pamphlets promoting the church.

“hi, mr. snider!” she doesn’t often see him anywhere other than the chapel.

“hi, liesl!” although she was the problem child of dee’s youth group, he still treated her with the same amount of respect as anyone else. “excited for service? as a belated halloween treat, we’re watching wishbone in the legend of sleepy hollow!”

“never heard of it.” liesl shrugged.

“i used to watch wishbone as a kid; i think you’ll like it.”

“are you giving out zebra cakes, or oatmeal pies after?” part of the only reason she even bothered going to service was because of the snacks dee would hand out.

“popcorn!”

“ooh, i can’t wait!” “i’ll see you tomorrow!” dee waved to her, and went back to work. if only dee knew how she treated everyone else....

she went up the escalator, and ran into the candy store so fast, she didn’t notice bobby sitting behind the counter! her main priority was getting as many sweets as she could while staying within her budget.

“did you have a fun halloween?” he attempted to make some friendly small talk.

“yeah, i went as butterbean!” she boasted as she got a paper bag, “my costume had shoes, and wings, and even a wig!”

“that’s so cool!” bobby started to approach the young girl. “i, uh, was barney, the purple dinosaur!” he lied. the poisonous novelties gang actually went as steel panther, with him as lexxi. leisl was barely listening, as she wasted no time shoving random stuff to the bag. “don’t you still have halloween candy?”

“traded most of it.” suddenly, liesl reached into the container of marshmallow bananas, and started picking out the fluffiest ones with her bare hands!

“can you not-”

“nobody eats these anyway!”

“you didn’t use the tongs, so you have to pay for that entire thing!” he wished he could be as intimidating and strong as bret, but didn’t have the confidence.

“how much?” at this point, liesl found it was best to accept her fate.

“$15.”

“can i keep them?” she asked as she handed bobby some wadded up dollars. his lips widened into an almost taunting smile, and just shook his head no.

liesl made her way to the foodcourt; she had just enough money for a basket of cheese fries. she topped the greasy goodness with ketchup, regular and lite mayo, and barbeque sauce. she walked to kiss kosmetics, on the other side of the mall, as she ate. liesl stood outside the door to find vinnie texting, while paul helped a customer match their foundation.

“you need to finish that before you go inside!” vinnie exclaimed, setting down his phone. the basket wobbled in her hand as she carried it with only four fingers.

“i’ll be careful, i promise!” as predicted, liesl tripped over nothing and fell face first. she dropped the unholy sauce with a side of fries onto the once pristine white tiles. liesl rolled onto her back on the floor, and whined like she was half her age.

“if you think you’re getting out of here scottfree, you are sorely mistaken!” although paul didn’t have kids, he went full dad mode!

“i do what i want!!” liesl stamped her feet in exasperation. she made such a scene that someone started to leave!

“i’m calling your dad!” paul had both parents on speed dial, just in case. saturday used to be his favorite day of the week, but thanks to her, it’s thursday!

“get to cleaning.” vinnie rested some napkins and a spray bottle of tile cleaner on her stomach.

liesl dragged herself up and hastily began to pick up her mess.

“yeah, vince? this is paul; you’ll never believe what your daughter did today!” the tantruming redhead slammed the bottle on the floor. “we keep telling her not to come in with food, and she did anyway! she dropped whatever she was eating, and now she’s refusing to clean up.”

“i’m getting grounded for falling?” liesl threw her head back.

“you don’t think i know about what happened at the candy store?”

“what’d she do?” vince asked on the other line.

“i got a text from bobby saying that she took out all the marshmallow bananas with her hands. your wife needs to pick her up before she causes any more chaos.”

“put her on.” paul came out, and brought the phone to her ear. “liesl, what did i tell you about manners?!”

“there weren’t any signs…”

“you don’t need signs, you need common sense!” paul rolled his eyes.

“you march to the parlor, get your jacket, and you’re getting in mom’s car without a fight, do you hear me?!”

“yes, daddy…” she sniffled. “bye, guys.” leisl hung her head as she left the store pathetically sobbing.

“good riddance!” paul sighed in relief, more than proud of himself for successfully setting the little brat straight.

#remember to take your birth control!#casablanca plaza #vince neil #tommy lee #dee snider #bobby dall #vinnie vincent #paul stanley #liesl neil #my garbage writing #request #luna cho #lennon parc

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littlemisssquiggles · 5 years

Text

RWBY Squiggle Scripts #022: “Playing Pretend”

Picture it.

Heroes’ Day Out!

While staying in Atlas, our young heroes of RWBY and the JN(O)R gang decide to take a day off to explore the sights. During their excursion, due to their differing interests, the group decides to split up into four pairs: Ren and Nora, Blake and Yang, Weiss and Jaune and lastly, Ruby and Oscar.

Ruby was really enthusiastic about checking out the Atlesian Delta Mall---a giant shopping precinct within the kingdom that was very popular with the local youths because of its entertainment arena home to an arcade and a giant movie complex among other fun areas.

At first the Rosebuds were happily enjoying themselves. However things turn sour when Oscar gets separated from Ruby while exploring the wall.

During his search for his missing rose, Oscar’s lone trek across the complex leads him to bump into a rather interesting group of people Before Oscar got a chance to even apologize to who he bumped into, he suddenly found himself swarmed on all sides by four girls who practically towered over him.

One girl was a proud blonde by the name of Clementine Pell. Another girl, a brunette with glasses was Naomi Navy. The third girl, a walking body of pink, was Ran Orchid and finally the fourth girl, Yasmine Alba---a red-eyed beauty with long hair as white as snow.

Oscar swallowed nervously as the girls flocked around him. Suddenly he felt like a worm trapped in a cage of hungry canaries.

Clementine: Well what do we have here ladies? Looks like a little prince has lost his way.

Naomi: Ooh you're right Clem! He does look like a prince.

Ran: He’s such a cutie pie. I love his freckles! I can just eat him up!

Yasmine: Quit acting so thirsty Ran. What's your name, sugar pie?

Oscar: *awkwardly* Uh...I---Os---Oscar.

Ran: Ooh Oscar!

Naomi: Like Gold!

Clementine: So you're a golden prince.

Oscar: Uh, if you'll excuse I really need to catch up with my---

Oscar attempted to walk past one of the girls---the snow-haired one---but to his dismay, she snaked her around one of his.

Yasmine: What's the rush, darling?

Ran: Yeah, why don't you come hang out with us?

Clementine: You wouldn't want to refuse the company of four beautiful girls like us now won't you?

Yasmine: Won't you!

Oscar: I...I...

Just when Oscar believed he was a goner, a glimmer of red caught his eyes as Ruby Rose came into view.

Ruby: There you are! I've been looking all over for you.

Oscar: *in relief* Ruby!

Instantly, Oscar wiggled his way out of the snow-haired girl’s grip and joined Ruby at her side. Ruby smiled at Oscar before training her attention on the four girls who eyed her with stern expressions.

The blonde one even got up in Ruby’s face.

Clementine: Excuse me but we saw him first!

Ran: Yeah paws off our little prince!

Ruby: *blinking confusedly* Your little… what now?

She looked at Oscar.

Ruby: Oscar, do you know these girls?

Oscar: No I've never seen them in my life.

Ruby: *frowning crossly* Are they harassing you?

Oscar: I---

Yasmine: He was about to get to know us personally before you butted in.

Naomi: Buzz off!

Ran: Yeah, who do you think you are?

Ruby: Oh where are my manners? The name’s Ruby Rose and…

Ruby draped one arm around Oscar’s shoulder pulling him closer to her with a big beaming smile.

Ruby: I'm his girlfriend!

CNRY: *in unison* What!

Oscar: Wait...what?

Clementine: *hands on hips; appearing skeptical* Funny, you don't seem like his girlfriend.

Yasmine: Yeah like a cutie prince like him would ever date ugly peasant trash like you.

Oscar: *frowning defensively* Hey! Don't talk to her like----

Ruby: It's okay, sweetie. I'll handle this.

Ruby glanced back at the four CNRY girls; the smile on her face now curling into a smirk.

Ruby: So you want proof, you say?

Before Oscar had time to react; the next thing the small farm boy knew, Ruby suddenly closed the space between them and planted her bare lips over his in a kiss.

At first, Oscar was caught off guard by the sudden invasion. His body stiffened at the first out of shock but after a while he slowly felt herself melt into the kiss and it was not long before that he actually started kissing Ruby back.

By the time the two parted, Oscar’s heart was like a drum in his chest. His cheeks were flushed; far more than usual as he just stood staring at Ruby.

He wasn’t the only one. When Ruby returned to the four girls, their faces were a perfect Picasso of astonishment, disappointment and unbridled rage. A masterpiece of human expression that brought the big Chesire-cat smile back to Ruby’s face.

Ruby: *smugly* Proof enough for you ladies? Or do you need more convincing?

Yasmine: *disgustedly* No thank you!

Clementine: Let's go girls. Before I lose my lunch.

Naomi & Ran: Totally!

Whipping their hair, the CNRY girls walked away; finally leave Ruby and Oscar to themselves once more.

Ruby: Phew! That was a close one. Sorry for that. It was the only thing I could think of. But at least they're gone now, right Oscar?

Oscar: ...

Ruby: Oscar?

Ruby faces Oscar; finding him still staring at her.

Ruby: What's with that face!

Oscar: I'm sorry! You...kissed me. You actually kissed me.

Ruby: *defensively* Yeah but it was a fake kiss. To help you with the---

Oscar: *frantically* I know I know! It's just...that was...well...my…

Ruby: …Wait, was that...your first kiss?

Oscar: *awkwardly*...Ye---Yeah. Pretty much, yeah.

Ruby: Oh. Oh no. I’m so sorry!

Oscar: No! No! It's ok. Better you than those girls, right? Besides...it was fine.

Ruby: *taken aback* Fine?

Oscar: As in good. *embarrassed* It’s…not exactly how I pictured our---I mean…my first kiss being but---y’know…

Ruby: *awkwardly*Well...uh...if it's any consolation, it was my first kiss too so…

Oscar: *incredulously* Wait...WHAT! That cannot be your first kiss. How?

Ruby: What do you mean how?

Oscar: I just...I mean I always figured you of all people would have kissed tons of guys before.

Ruby: Excuse me?

Oscar: I don't mean it any bad way. I just...I always figured a beautiful girl like you would have some tall handsome guy or y’know…several guys waiting for you back home in Vale.

Ruby: *snorts* That's…really weird but really sweet of you to assume but...no.

Oscar: *still in disbelief* Really? Not even at Beacon?

Ruby: Well at Beacon I was pretty much the runt of the school. Youngest huntress to be accepted, remember?

Oscar: Yeah but...you're also pretty amazing.

Ruby: *laughingly* Trust me. If you had met me back then, you wouldn't think that.

Oscar: I doubt it. If you were just as cool and kind as you are now, I would've liked you sooner. *jokingly* Y’know beat out all those guys in line for your hand.

Ruby: *giggling* Oh please. I didn't even have a date to the school dance. Me having a line of guys chasing after me. That’s rich!

Oscar: I should've been at Beacon.

Ruby: Why’d you say that?

Oscar: So I could’ve asked you to the dance.

Ruby: *snorts* Pffft! Again, really sweet of you Oscar but… you would’ve been 13. That’s younger than I was.

Oscar: *smiling* So? I'd still ask you.

Ruby: *blushing slightly* Well tell you what? If there's ever another dance, you'd be my first choice for my date.

Oscar: *grinning* I'm going to hold you to that. It’s a date. And…uh… speaking of dates…

Oscar took Ruby’s hand, looking at her warmly.

Oscar: Ms. Rose, would you do me the honour of going on a date with me right now?

Ruby:*snickering* Do me the honour?

Oscar: *embarrassedly* What? Tha---That’s how the guys asked out the girls back home. It’s a farm folk custom!

Ruby:*laughing* You’re not serious!

Oscar: *huffily* It is! You Valerian city girls just don’t know common courtesy.

Ruby: *teasingly* Jokes on you, I’m a Patch girl, born and raised. Besides I meant about the date thing. You’re not serious about that, right?

Oscar: Actually I am. We still have a couple hours to kill before we meet back up with the others, right? And…there’s a perfectly good movie theatre right over there that’s showing all three Grimm Samurais movies with a food court that gives out free popcorn to couples. Besides I think those crazy girls from before might still be lurking around. You mind playing my girlfriend for a few more hours?

Ruby: *excitedly* You had me at Grimm Samurais! Let’s go!

Oscar: *grinning* After you, snookums.

Ruby gave Oscar a weird look; brows raised. Oscar blushed.

Oscar: *defensively* What? It---It’s part of the pretend.

Ruby: Y’know what’s also part of the pretend. You paying for me.

Oscar: What!

Ruby: Now c’mon Oscar, what kind of pretend boyfriend would you be if you didn’t treat your cute pretend girlfriend to our pretend movie date? Isn’t that right pumpkin?

Oscar: *pouting* I’m going to pretend dump you.

Ruby: Can’t cause you’re pretend madly in love with me!

Ruby sticks out her tongue at Oscar playfully before skipping off before he could say anything else. Oscar only shook his head as he only stared after the Silver eyed huntress. He then sighed dreamily.

‘…Or maybe I’m just in love with you for real…’ Oscar thought; an affectionate smile already tugging at his lips. With that, the young farm boy caught up to Ruby; taking her hand in his again as she in turn beamed brightly and tugged him forward in eager excitement, as the two rosebuds entered the mall theater together.

And scene.

Squiggly Scriptwriter’s Commentary:

This has been sitting in my drafts for weeks and I didn’t realize how adorkably cheesy this was until I finished editing it. So much cheese. Hope no one reading is lactose intolerant.

This spawned from the random idea of what if… Ruby fake-out made out with Oscar to get him out of a sticky scenario with a group of fangirls. I quite like the romance trope of the fated pair fake kissing each other for show only for their real feelings to surface later in the plot.

I was planning on releasing this script earlier but…y’know busy bug syndrome got in the way. It wasn’t until I saw @blackhakumen beat me to the punch with his own version of the “playing pretend” trope for Rosegarden, that I finally figured it’s about time I finished this. You can almost say his work gave me the push to finally wrap this up! Thanks for the motivation boast with your script Black. If you haven’t, check out Mini Fanfic #64: My Boyfriend by Blackhakumen.

I haven’t written anything this cheesy for Rosegarden since my ‘A-Dork You!’ RWBY Squiggle Script. Good times. I still love that script.

A special thank you bunches of oats to my fellow Garden Rosebud @miki-13 for loaning me their lovely OCs who cameoed in this script.

The CNRY girls are from Miki’s RWBY fanfic---‘Reconciliation’. If you haven’t already checked it out, I’d definitely recommend it to you guys. It’s a fantastic read that not only tells an excellent interpretive follow-up from the events of V6 but it also includes an original cast of interesting characters. Seriously check it out.

I hope you didn’t mind the cameo Miki. When I first thought up this script, I was originally going to go with a random character but then I remembered your CNRY girls. Sorry if me borrowing them was for something as cheesy as this. The CNRY girls served their part well. I just hope I did your girls justice here.

More RWBY Squiggles Scripts

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #oscar and ruby #rwby rosegarden #rwby rosebuds #squiggles scripts: rwby

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lyricswrittenbythesecretdreamer · 5 years

Text

I’ll Cover You

Five times Marinette references Rent and one time she can't.

The first time she does it, her class are having a quiz. "How many minutes are there," Miss Bustier pauses for dramatic effect, smirking at her class. They're on the edge of their seats, hands ready to fly up into the air, "In a year?" There's a chorus of groans as people begin to try and calculate in their heads. Max is halfway there when a shrill voice from beside Alya shouts out: "Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes! Five hundred twenty-five moments so dear!" Alya looks over at her small friend who is flushing crimson head to toe. "How on earth do you know that?" Marinette shrugs, giving an embarrassed smile. "Rent - I saw it with my Nonna. I couldn't stop singing it for the whole weekend." The second time she does it on patrol. She and Chat are slinking through the dark Parisian streets and notice a couple arguing behind a dumpster. "Well if you hadn't been flirting with that woman in the - what's it called?" "Rubber?" "That's right, rubber! If you hadn't been flirting with her then I wouldn't have got angry-" "Oh, so it's my fault, is it?" She looks pointedly at her lover, not noticing the two teenage superheroes watching them. "There will always be women in rubber flirting with me!" Hisses Ladybug under her breath, causing Chat to jerk his head around at her, a wild expression on his face. "Excuse me?" The two women look up at Chat and Ladybug. Chat offers an awkward wave, but too caught up in the moment and not able to resist, Ladybug jumps down from the roof and points at the angry woman. "There will always be women in rubber flirting with me! Give me a break!" And she promptly bursts into song, only stopping after being dragged away by Chat who whispers countless apologies to the two women, who can only stare in amazement. The third time she does it, it's at karaoke night at the local youth club. Nino drags the three of them there if just to enjoy the music. It's when a familiar tune crawls out of the speakers that Marinette gives out a cheer. Letting go of her fears, she drags Alya out of her chair and up to the stage, when then promptly begin singing a slightly out-of-tune version of 'Out Tonight'. It's not meant to be a duet, but they just about manage it. Of course, when the song is over, Marinette regrets it all. Especially singing it in front of Adrien. The fourth time she does it is after moving out of her parent's house, and going to University. Juggling three jobs and with an eviction notice hammered onto her door, she is tired of living in expensive squalor and hides under her fabric. Then: "How do you document real life when real life's getting more like fiction each day?" She sings softly a small tear running down her cheek. She wanted to prove to everyone that she could be independent. She wanted to prove to herself she was like Ladybug. Strong, brave, resourceful. "How we gonna pay last year's rent?" Transforming, she leaps out of the window and jumps from roof to roof. "The music ignites the night with passionate fire! The narration crackles and pops with incendiary wit!" And then, from behind her: "How do you leave the past behind when it keeps finding ways to get to your heart?" Shrieking, she leaps around to discover her feline companion giving her a weak smile. "Chat! You scared me!" "I'm sorry, My Lady." "Draw a line in the sand and then make a stand." "When they act tough, you call their bluff!" And then, in unison: "We're not gonna pay; last year's rent, this year's rent, next year's rent!" The fifth time they're at a cafe where a group of suspicious-looking teenagers are sitting, whispering. Alya is desperately trying to catch what they're saying, but the voices are too quiet, too quick. And one of them starts having an argument with another group of teens behind them. And then: "Who died?" And Marinette can't help herself. "AKITA!" She belts. The teenagers laugh and cheer. "EVITA!" Alya looks from the teens to Marinette. "What just happened?" "La Vie Boheme." Breathes Adrien. Marinette giggles. Then enter a flash mob. She joins in, of course. "Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbye's...here she lies, no one knew her worth...the late great daughter of mother earth..." "German wine, turpentine, Gertrude Stein..." "To S&M!" It's a couple of months later and the heroes find themselves fighting a gang of bank robbers holding half a dozen people hostage. They've called in the big guns - Rena, Queenie and Carapace. Carapace and Rena are defending the hostages from two of the gang - brilliantly. Queen Bee has recharged twice now, taking two men down with her. Ladybug and Chat are fighting side by side, as per usual. The robbers won't kill them - they know that. As much as Hawkmoth wanted them dead, even the lowliest criminals accept that Ladybug and Chat Noir are the reason Paris remains safe. After the terrorist attack, no one wanted to take any chances and the two then-teenagers were made the official security of Paris. Alongside the police, of course. "This is exhilarating, M'Lady!" Bellows Chat, hitting one of the criminals over the head with his baton, causing the delinquent to fall over, out cold. Ladybug throws her head back and laughs. "Exhilarating? You're an odd one, Kitty!" "You love me!" He teases, throwing her a flirty wink. This was their routine. It was what made them such good friends; the not-so-intimate intimacy; the slightly on edge way Ladybug turned him down. "You wish, you mangy feline!" He fakes a sign of mock hurt as she tangles another one of the masked thieves in her yoyo string. She giggles and then it turns into a full-blown laugh and then a bullet leaps out from nowhere and there is a bang and suddenly she is bowled over, face contorted in pain. Chat lets out an unholy scream that is not a cry of pain, not a cry of anger but both and neither at the same time. And Ladybug falls. He drops to his knees and takes her head in his lap. The fighting around them has stopped (except for Queen Bee, who was using all her efforts to find and tranquilise the shooter) but it could have carried on and he would have stayed, still, by her side. A fat tear rolls down his cheek and onto Ladybug's nose. He wipes his eyes furiously, but there is no stopping time. She is going to go and it is his fault for being an idiot and flirting with her. She coughs, trying to say something, but it won't work. All voice has been lost. And then, from behind: "Live in my house, I'll be your shelter," Carapace begins to sing softly, his deep voice still carrying over the deathly silence. His holds Rena to his chest, who looks up as he sings. "Just pay me back, with a thousand sweet kisses," Her voice wavers, but she sings on anyway. Why are they singing Rent? How do they know... He looks down and Ladybug is no longer there. It's Marinette and her transformation is up. How could he not have seen this? She lies, broken, in his arms and he doesn't know what to do. "Be my lover..." Sings Queenie, and Chat didn't even realise Chloe had even seen the goddamn musical. He decides to sing along. "And I'll cover you," Marinette's eyes are full of sorrow, full of apologies. He smiles down at her and kisses her forehead, calling his transformation off. If anyone is shocked, they don't show it. "Open your door, I'll be your tenant," "Don't have much baggage to lay at your feet," "But sweet kisses I've got to share, I'll be there," "And I'll cover you!" "I know that they meant it," "When they said you can't buy love," "Now I know you can rent it," "And at least you were my love!" One by one, the heroes release their transformations, singing Marinette's pain away as she falls further and further away from them. Or at least until the ambulance arrives. When she's better, Marinette scolds them for being overdramatic and "Ow, Chloe, I've still been shot and your bear hugs hurt!"

#ladynoir #adrinette #marichat #miraculius ladybug fanfiction #rent #i just love rent so much #i also love our idiot children #one day

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superwolfiestar · 5 years

Text

Across Another Dimension ch.23

The gang wandered around for a bit, until they finally spotted a tall rock. On the top, was a yellow rock.

"Is that…the Yellow Sharp?" Huey guessed.

"Oh my Mushroom, it is!" Boy Princess beamed. "The Yellow Sharp!"

"All right!" Jose pumped.

"TOUGH LUCK!" suddenly, a voice yelled.

They noticed a trio of King Zeus men up of the top of the rock ahead.

"Led us right to it!" one of them smirked.

To them surprise, the Beagles tiro swing on vine sprinted right past them really fast and snatched the yellow sharp!

"What the-?! HEY!" Panchito shouted.

"See ya!" too late: the beagle gang took off with the sharp before the gang could react.

"NO! They stole the sharp from us!" Scrooge growled.

"We can't let them get away!" Princess Della hollered. "We must get the sharp back!"

They ran super speed, the gang dashed out of the cave. Outside, they saw the Beagle exiting the Donald Beach town.

"After them!" Donald demanded.

The gang continued to follow them, taking them all the way back to the Blubble Lake area. They watched the Beagle gang stopping to take a break:

"Phew! There's no way they'll catch us now!"

"Let's take a breather!"

"Heh heh heh! Those pesky plumbers…"

"There they are!" Dewey exclaimed.

"It looks like they're taking a break…" Louie said.

"Yeah, and they put the sharp down." Scrooge added. They then heard the Beagle gang talking again:

"King Zeus's gonna flip when he sees what we got!"

"Yeah, I'm hoping for a promotion!"

"Heh heh heh… ouch, my back hurt."

"This is our chance! Let's take them down!" Princess Della spoke up.

"The only problem is… If we fight them, we may damage the sharp." Donald stated.

"Don't worry, I have a plan!" Panchito smirked while rubbing his beak. He whispered the plan to them.

"Wow, Panchito! I had no idea you could be so…devious!" Jose exclaimed. "I love it. Let's get those sharp back."

"Yeah!" The triplets cheered.

What was Panchito's plan? Having Donald and Boy Princess Donald sneak by to get the yellow sharp while other make the distractions. As both duck was slowly sneaking by the beagle boys, one of them exclaimed:

"I'm loving this weather!"

"Hey, have you heard?" they suddenly heard Panchito's voice on the other side. The Beagle boys looked to their right to see Panchito and the other having a conversation, completely unaware of them sneaking on by.

"Heard what, dear friend?" Storkules asked while grinning.

"The latest juicy rumor… ABOUT KING ZEUS?" Panchito responded with a smirk.

"Huh?" one of them tilted his head.

"WELL…" Panchito pretends to whisper to the other.

"No way!" Louie pretends to look surprised. "A birthmark THERE? In the shape of THAT?"

"OH, IT GETS BETTER..." Panchito once again pretends to whisper more information them.

"Wait… Where is Master Zeus's birthmark?!" the short one in the middle asked.

"AND WHAT SHAPE IS IT?!" the tall skinny beagle on the left asked loudly, causing them to turn their heads to them and approach them.

"I must know!" the bulky on the right demanded for the answer.

"Yoink!" Donald finally manages to snatch the Sharp, catching the beagle gang's attention, and they found out that the two ducks got the sharp.

"THIEVES!" they yelled at them.

"WE'RE the thieves?! YOU'RE the thieves!" Panchito and Jose teased in unison before high-fiving each other.

"GIVE 'EM!"

"Bring it on, suckers!" Princess Della cracked her fists, ready to fight.

The beagle brought with them each a Beagle K bomb and dropped them towards each of the gang heads, but Storkules knocked the three beagle bomb at the beagle boys with an uppercut. Boy Princess Donald and Princess Della then them with their bomber attack and Storkules grabbed hold of them.

"Take this!" He shouted as he train them in the ground before Panchito and Jose towards each beagle gang.

"Alright, let's go! Bro Attack!" Panchito jumping on Jose throwing him in the air, then Jose jumps under Panchito, grabs him, and they both do a Spin Jump, with a huge flip at the end, to slam into the attacked enemies, defeating them for good as the Beagle gang lift up to the air and landed on the water making a splash.

"Good riddance to these guys!" Panchito grinned.

"Indeed. And good thing we got those sharp back!" Donald smiled. "They look so sparkling!"

Panchito took out a map and held the map up in the air, and then the lights shined bright from the sharp. The map lowered itself to Panchito as they went to toward him to take a look. A another kingdom popped up in the middle upper part of the map as well the castle and the town popped up and even the rock mountain beside the kingdom and even the green shard popped up as well.

“What in blaze is that? A kingdom?” Scrooge said.

“No, that isn’t any original kingdom, it’s a BeanBean Kingdom, it’s where me and Panchito went there when we must work with the Beanbean monarchy headed by Prince Gladstone. He offer our assistance. The youthful Prince Gladstone is a kinda celebrity figure in his native Beanbean Kingdom. And he also try to flirt with me but my heart belong to the beautiful and lovely royal pink duck.” Jose took Boy Princess hand and kiss it on the top making Boy Princess Donald blush. “That must be where the Green Shard is. It is in the Hoohoo Mountain.”

“Beanbean Kingdom?” The boys look at each other. “You mean, Prince Gladstone rule that kingdom!?” Huey exclaimed.

“Correct boys, and he’s also the annoying cousin to me.” Boy Princess Donald roll his eyes.

“If there are green shape then there must be a golden treasure!!!!”

"*sigh* put that out of your mind, Unca Scrooge. Seriously." Donald sighed, causing Scrooge McDuck to glance at him with an annoyed look.

"Well, anyways…" Boy Princess Donald took the sheets. "Let's head towards my castle, we will take my plane to get there in now time, thank you Goldie for helping us where the sharp is. We’re appreciating your help.” Boy Princess Donald curtsy at the golden duck.

“You’re very welcome your highness, if you need me more help. You will know where I am. Good luck finding those sharp! I wish you all a best of luck!” She smile as the other began walking toward the Mushroom Town.

“And make sure you fix that weirdly-shaped pink arch while you at it!”

“IT BRING TOURISTS!!!!!!”

#ducktales 2017 #mariotales au #across another dimension #across another dimension fanfic #super caballeros #super caballeros fanfic #fanfic

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mitchsmarners · 5 years

Photo

BLOOD IN THE WATER

summary: “I think we’re all going to have do some pretty terrible things,” Eddie said quietly. His hand came to wrap in Richie’s shirt, trying to burn out the violent grip of his father’s from earlier. “None of us have a choice in anything anymore. Whatever happened at Greta’s tonight-“ Eddie’s voice broke and he felt Richie press a kiss into his hair. “There isn’t a good and a bad anymore. There’s just die or don’t.”

[or: after the gruesome murder of his younger brother, Bill Denbrough is determined to bring about the end of the string of crimes in Derry no matter the cost. As stories unwind and fall apart, there’s only more questions as everybody’s lives hang in the balance.]

chapter count: 20/20

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of violence, mentions of past character death, mentions of past sexual abuse, major character death!!

Taglist: @honkhonkrichard, @hufflepuffkaspbrak @emmieliabedelia @reddie-for-anything, @reddiesetrichie, @beepbeepbitchard, @lemonadeandrice @mirandosky, @lunacuore, @fivxharmony

NOTE: I POSTED A SHORT CHAPTER YESTERDAY. YOU’LL WANT TO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU MISSED IT!!

[Prologue] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17][18][19] [Read Full Story on AO3] [Playlist]

Stanley Uris walked towards the edge of the old Bunyan forest. It had a been an old childhood hang out for children of Devil members. Often during serious gang meetings, the kids would all gather together and run wild in the woods. Play at being gang members, pretending they knew a thing. As Stan took sight of Henry Bowers’ old beat up car, loving named Christine, and shook his head in disgust. Of course Patrick Hockstetter would take it upon himself to destroy what was left of their youth.

“So…” Ben said slowly, looking at the Henry’s car and started shaking his head. “Patrick’s the one doing all this? That- That doesn’t make any sense?”

“There’s got to be more than that,” Aurora said, rubbing uncomfortably at her bare arms in the cold night air. Stan ignored them, moving forward and yanking the unlocked door to the car open. He crawls inside and starts opening the compartments. “Stan… what are you doing?” Aurora asked lightly.

He pulls his phone out and presses a number on his speed dial. “Hey, yeah. Out at Bunyans. Yeah, yeah it’s Christine. Can you do your thing? Perfect.”

Ben and Aurora both blinked at him, then glanced at each other. Stanley seemed to give them little regard as he moved to walk deeper into the forest, turning the flashlight on his phone. Ben reached out, took her hand and they moved to follow Stan. They don’t move for long before they can see the distinct ominious colour of a fire burning. Squaring up his shoulder, Stan Uris lead the others into the clearing where they had spent countless hours growing up.

“Stanny boy!” Patrick Hockstetter cried, tossing his arms up in greeting. Beverly had blood dripping from her lip, and the fire light alone was enough for Stan to see the fear in her eyes. Stan found it hard to look at her, but his eyes quickly trailed away and towards the leather-jacket wearing lump on the ground on her right. Stomach churning horribly, Stan clenched his jaw and turned back to Patrick.

“Tozier.” Aurora said softly, immediately diving towards the body on the ground. She turned him over and leaned down beside him. Her hands found the bleeding wound on his stomach and pressed down on it. Richie didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.

“Is he dead?” Ben asked nervously.

“I….” Aurora choked up slightly. “I don’t know.”

“What the fuck do you mean you don’t know?” Stan snapped, pinching the brim of his nose but keeping his eyes glued to Hockstetter. Hockstetter was grinning from ear to ear, and Stan was dimly aware of Beverly crying in the background.

“I’m not a doctor, Uris!” Aurora shouted, as Ben came over to her. Ben took off his suit jacket, handing it to Aurora to press against the gun wound in Richie. Still no noises arise and Stan forced himself to tune out everything behind him.

“You won’t get away with this, Hockstetter.” Stan said fiercely, hands clenched angrily at his sides.

Hockstetter raised his brow cockily. “I never thought that I would. It’s all been done for the greater good. A new world order.”

“Ooookay,” Stan said, cracking into a disbelieving smile despite himself. “I always knew you were a little unhinged, but fuck man. You’re actually insane.”

Hockstetter flashed him a grin. “It’s all going to be okay, Uris. Things are going to change around here, she promised. We’re making the Devils something to be feared in Derry again. No more petty little criminals, that parents warn you not to date. No, no. People are going to cross the street to avoid us when this is all over. Isn’t that right, Bevvy?”

Stan and Hockstetter turned to her in unison. Beverly let out a small whimper, as even Ben and Aurora looked up from their efforts of holding Richie together, in order to watch the scene unfold. “I… I didn’t know anything, not really,” Beverly said through hiccups. “I just… this new world order shit, whatever the fuck it is. I wasn’t part of that, Stan, I swear, I just-“

“Soul her integrity for a couple thousand dollars, right?” Hockstetter waggled his eyebrows. “Betrayed your family, your best friend, took away the life of a thirteen year old girl? For a couple… thousand… dollars. Wouldn’t it have been better if you’d been doing it for a great cause?”

Stan swallowed at the bile that rose up in his throat, hands now clenched together so tightly that his nails dug into the palms of his hands. He didn’t doubt that he’d have marks in the morning, and he watched Hockstetter pull the gun out of his jacket. He walked towards Stanley and dropped tried to force it into his hands.

“I see the look in your eyes, Stanley,” Hockstetter said. “We’re not that different. you know. You wanted revenge. For Janie. For Richie. How hard is it for you to be standing here, with Richie right there, and having to listen to Marsh talk about how she’d only betrayed you all for money?” He curled Stan’s fingers over the gun. “Why don’t you get that revenge, Uris? Take her out. You know she deserves it.”

“Stanley, we don’t make those choices,” Ben spoke up suddenly from behind them. Stan didn’t turn around, eyes still glued to Patrick’s face, but he could hear Ben taking the steps towards them both. “That makes us no better than Patrick and everybody who was behind this. Betty, Greta, Audra, Richie… Nobody else needs to die.”

Hockstetter waggled his eyebrows as Stanley’s gaze didn’t falter. “You don’t have to kill her. You’ve got the gun, Uris. You could just as easily kill me. Marsh is still a little iffy, but you want me die. I can see it in your eyes.”

Stan raised one eyebrow. “If I kill you, I won’t get the answers I want.” He twirled the gun once then tucked it into his pocket. “So, why don’t you give me a little bit more information, and we’ll see if I’ll get rid of your extra baggage over there.”

Beverly squirmed against her restraints. “Stanley, Stan, please.”

“Shut up.” Stan said coldly, not even turning to looking at her. He raised his brow at Hockstetter. “You don’t have to talk. Frankly, I don’t really care what you do with her. Kill, or don’t. It’s worthless to me. But we’re taking Richie, and we’re leaving.”

“No can do, Stanny boy.” Hockstetter said with a shake of his head, looking almost regretful. “I wish I could, you know? But we’ve got strict orders from the boss. Tozier has to die.”

Ben blinked. “So, this has been about Richie this whole time? Isn’t that a little impractical?”

Hockstetter shook his head, grinning toothily. “Tozier was never on the hit list. No Devils were supposed to die, that was the agreement. Bevvy fucked it up with Janie and Tozier made his own bed.”

Stan shifted onto his heels, grabbing for the gun once again, and finally glancing over his shoulder to Ben and Aurora. Aurora still had the suit jacket pressed harshly against Richie, but Stan didn’t know if it was still bleeding. Didn’t know if Richie was even alive. How could he be, after bleeding for so long? His heart raced in his chest. Any plan he might have had been thrown out the window.

“What did he do?” Stan asked. Stalling, maybe. But also curious. Beverly had burned him- burned them all- and maybe Stan needed to know if Richie had too before he risked everything to save somebody who might already be dead.

Hockstetter smirked. “He’s been fucking her son.”

xxx

Bill Denbrough packed up slightly, watching as Sonia Kaspbrak walked into the cobwebbed filled room with him. His best friend’s mother had been never particularly intimidating to Bill, not even while growing up. A large woman, yes and extremely overbearing. But he’d never cowarded to her that way the Eddie had until very recently.

“I think the real question is,” Sonia smiled sweetly at him. “What are you doing here, William? Don’t you know what happens to good Derry boys who cross the city lines? Bad things. You know.”

Bill bristled, thinking of Georgie. Of Eddie Corcoran. He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her. “I have a police bracelet on. They’ll be looking for me soon.”

“No they won’t,” Sonia said, voice still sweet and oh-so casual. “They have enough to worry about tonight, I’m sure. Henry Bowers is dead, that Tozier boy and Marsh girl are missing. You taking a little joyride outside of house arrest will be very low down on their list of priorities, I’m afraid. Most unfortunate for you, William.”

“How…” Bill crinkled his brow. “How do you know Richie and Beverly are missing? I don’t think… have the police even figured that out yet? How could you possibly know already?”

Sonia smiled at him, and Bill felt his hair stands up on edge. “Oh, sweetie, you haven’t figured it out, yet? I’m sure you will be the last. All your little friends will know by the end of the night. Even my Eddie. He’ll hate me for it, yes, but I did what I had to do.”

Bill tried to continue packing away from Sonia as she moved towards him, and ending up toppling backwards into a large red armchair. Dust flew out of it as it landed and he tried not to think about the spiders he was likely sitting in. Trying not to gag, he forced himself to look at Sonia. “Yuh-yuh-“

Sonia frowned unhappily. “I thought you’d out-grown that stutter, William. It is very unattractive.”

Bill blinked at her.

“I loved a man once,” Sonia started speaking suddenly. Bill fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course she’s monologuing. Why am I not surprised? “He was a good man, I don’t care what anybody had to say about him. He had a vision for this town, he was going to clean up all that trash in the south side. They took him away before he could do it, but I knew… I knew I had to finish what he’d started. It would’ve been what he wanted.”

Bill leaned back in the chair as Sonia moved towards him, his heart feeling seconds away from exploding in his chest.

“He knew I would continue his legacy, and he put money away for me,” Sonia leered down at Bill. “Eddie Bear and I have been living off it since Frank left us, and then Eddie left me too. But that’s okay, because I will change this town. Eddie can hate me if he wishes, but I know I’ve done the right thing. I had to lie a bit, as I needed help that my Bobby didn’t. Had to have some those terrible hooligans on my side, do some of the more grunge work that I didn’t have time for.”

Bill’s heart was pulsing as he took in the confession, he felt himself trembling. How many afternoons had he spent in Sonia Kaspbrak’s house, even just since Georgie died-

Georgie.

“The Marsh girl was surprisingly the easiest. Didn’t ask any questions, simply wanted the cash. The others they were simple enough as well, just tell them that I would make the Devils feared again. And I will, certainly I will. Until I made sure they were all wiped out.” Sonia seemed to pull a gun from her purse, moving towards Bill before he snapped out of his frozen state.

“You…” Bill said, fuming and shaking. “You did this? You KILLED MY BROTHER.”

Bill dove out of the chair, slamming into Sonia Kaspbrak’s solid form. She stumbled and they both nearly fell, the gun clattering to the ground, Sonia managing to find their footing and tossing Bill away from her. Bill slammed against the unused fireplace, head smacking against the cement rock and sending more dust floating over him. Groaning, Bill slid down the rock and leaned against the dirty wood flooring. Lights flashed behind his eyes.

“You’re going to attack me?” Sonia screeched. “I could kill you! Kill you just like I killed your brother.”

Bill barely even had the chance to process what she had said, he was being shoved onto his back and his windpipe was being crushed.

xxx

Stan took another step towards Patrick, pressing them nearly chest to chest. “Hockstetter, there are three of us, one of you. And you gave me your gun. I’d really fucking like to see you stop us from leaving.”

Hockstetter’s moved up and down Stanley’s face, suddenly grinning once again. “I shot Tozier twenty minutes ago.. maybe an half an hour. He hasn’t moved once since he hit the ground. Take him. It’s not going to do you again good. I know where I shot him, and I know how long he’s been bleeding. Boy’s dead.”

“We’ll see,” Stan said sharply, nodding towards Ben. Ben moved towards Richie and Aurora, scooping Richie up into his arms. He was rather limp, Stan had to admit but he refused to let himself dwell on it. Aurora scrambled forward, pushing back down on Richie’s wound with the jacket.

“He’s not dead,” she said to Ben. “I promised Eddie we’d find him, I’m not fucking letting him die.”

Stan tossed the gun down at Patrick’s feet, knowing it was a bad choice, that he could turn around right now and Hockstetter would fire at his back. Nothing he could do about it, but the last thing Stan wanted was that gun. “Do what you want with Beverly. She became your problem the second she betrayed the Toziers. Kill her for all I care.”

Aurora and Ben stared gaped mouth, as Beverly burst into loud, messy, hysterical tears. Hockstetter looked overjoyed as his eyes danced. He moved toward Beverly, grabbing her and tossing her shoulder. He saluted to them as he broke through the clearing, Stan leading his own friends slowly through after him. He watched as Patrick shoved a screaming Beverly into the front seat, slamming her in. The car drove off.

Ben and Aurora put Richie into the back seat of Stan’s father’s car and Aurora crawled in after him, still trying to hold his wound shut. Ben closed the back door and looked at Stanley. “You coming? We need to get Richie to a hospital.”

“Hold on.” Stanley said, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialling. He pressed it to his ear, and smirked as the other person answered. “Hey, Patrick. How’s the get-away going for you? Driving fast… Yeah, that’s what I figured.”

Ben stepped away from the car, his hands clammy and his heart tense in his chest.

“You know, this is where it gets interesting, though.” Stan said, his voice full of humour though his face was expressionless. “While you were giving your big speech and explaining to me the things you and Beverly did? I’d have called Patty, she drove out here. She did a little magic work, you know how she does. She cut the brakes in little Christine. Knowing you as a person, and you’re desperation to get away, you must be going about 100 miles per hour down that road, right? So you’d be coming up on the Quarry right… about…”

There was sound of loud explosion far down the road, barely audible, but Ben couldn’t help himself from knowing it the sound of a car going through those small tree and vines before likely tumbling over the end of the Quarry.

“…Now.” Stan said as he hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. Face still completely blank, he turned away from the street and towards the driving seat of his car. Ben stared in disbelief down the road to the accident he couldn’t see.

xxx

Eddie Kaspbrak kicked open the door to the Neibolt House, not even slightly out of breath and stumbled inside. He could hear the crashing and gasping from the other room and ran to the living room, even as the floor creaked and screamed under his frantic feet. He skidded into the room and let out a harsh gasp, as though the air was being ripped directly out of chest.

His mother was leaning over Bill Denbrough’s thrashing body, his legs kicking out frantically and hands clawing her arms. “MA!” Eddie screamed, tears starting to stream down his face. Sonia didn’t respond to her son’s voice- caught up in the kill, completely zoned out to anything around her except the victim under her hands. Eddie’s eyes fell to the gun on the ground and swallowed hard.

It was the sickening snap that echoed through the room, the way Bill’s legs stopped kicking and his hands fell limp beside his body, that broke through to Eddie Kaspbrak. Eddie drove forward and grabbed hold of the weapon. Closing his eyes and turning away, he fired.

When Eddie forced his eyes open, Sonia had turned around and was looking at him. A look of betrayal, and look of pain. Eddie pressed himself up against the wall of the room, watching his mother fall limply to the side, blood pooling out underneath her.

Eddie’s knees buckled and he sunk to the floor, still staring at the bodies in front of him. He heard the sound of feet rushing into the house and soon Mike Hanlon and Patty Blum both rushed into the room, freezing in the door way.

Eddie laughed, then.

“It’s over.”

#reddie #reddie fic #it fanfiction #FUCK #my writing #blood in the water #fuck fuck fuck

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