#my friend was mesmerized by how i managed to fall from the auto | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doublepasse-writes · 5 years

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Be still, my heart (catradora Drabble)

Stupid Scorpia.

Stupid, healthy, athletic and overly concerned about her friends, Scorpia.

Why did she insist on dragging Catra there?

There was the last place on earth Catra would be willing to go even with a gun pointed at her head. She’d rather die than spending money and time on gym. Actually, now that she thought about it, gym might actually be the reason of her premature death today.

All this because of Scorpia.

“Feeling your heart throb after playing Grand Theft Auto is definitely NOT normal, Catra. This is it. I’m taking you to the gym now. Every weekend.”

Catra had laughed at her. Then had gotten angry, when she’d realized how dead serious her roommate was. Then had pleaded. To no avail. Scorpia could be the most tolerant, the sweetest person ever, never complaining, always listening to her friends, but when she got her mind settled on something? She didn’t let go.

So there was Catra, running on the treadmill under her friend’s attentive but caring watch. She was sweating so much her puffy hair stuck to her forehead. Her lungs felt on fire, and she was definitely not making a reassuring noise when she breathed.

“Fucking... Scorpia...”

Catra groaned as she felt the treadmill pace accelerate. Cardio for beginners, my ass. If she came out of this alive, she swore to try eating the devilish veggie pizza Perfuma always tried to replace Catra’s own normal pizza with.

She winced when she felt her heart skip a beat in protestation to the effort. ...what the hell? She hadn’t even run 10 minutes.

Maybe her friends got a point after all.

“You’re okay, Wildcat?”

She raised a thumbs up at Scorpia, huffing like she could erase the look of distress from her face.

“Take a break in five minutes, okay? I don’t want you to faint.”

“Pffft, me fainting?! May I...remind you....” she breathed between her words. “I’m the vet...seeing...blood all day...between the two of us?”

“Sure, kitty. That’s just the same.” Scorpia grinned, then focused on her weights again. Catra shrugged, definitely not feeling hurt in her pride. She decided to ignore Scorpia from now on, focusing on the other part of the room instead.

How could people smile in this torture room? They all looked so happy to strain their muscles and sweat. Especially that crop top dude and glittery pink haired woman who were flexing and laughing too hard for her taste.

What good did it do to compare who had the thickest abs?

Gross.

“Alright Bow, you win this, but I still got the biggest biceps!”

The dude’s name was Bow?! What kind of hipster trend was that?

“Um, wake up Glimmer, we all know who wins this one!”

Oh god, her name was even lamer. Stupid gym. With her luck, Scorpia would soon ask her to mingle with these people.

“Hey, don’t bring Adora into this, I was talking about the two of us!”

“Don’t bring me into what?”

Catra lazily turned her head on her right when she heard the newcomer’s voice. Her jaw dropped in an instant, and she immediately regretted every nasty thought she had about body builders.

That woman.

That woman was...

“Bow is a sore loser, is all,” Glitter laughed.

Blond hair, tied in a ponytail, swayed when the woman laughed in sync. She walked closer to her friends, all muscles flexing when she moved. She had to be a greek goddess who got reincarnated in the wrong era. Catra could even see the pearls of sweat rolling on her neck without being grossed out.

What the fuck was happening?!

Catra was so absorbed in her activity, roaming her eyes on that perfect body, that she didn’t realize the glittery girl was staring at her, a smirk plastered on her face. She barely noticed when that pest whispered something to the goddess, nodding in Catra’s direction.

But she definitely noticed when the blond beauty snapped her head at her, blinding Catra with surprised big blue eyes.

Catra widened her own, processing that she’d been...totally busted gawking at her. She felt her cheeks flush even more than they already were, sweat dropping from her curls, and her heart beating more erratically than it ever had. Her brain was screaming at her to do something, at least avert her gaze from this mesmerizing Adora person and stop making a fool of herself and what the fuck was happening this was not normal this was not Catra this was-

Of course, the treadmill had to do its thing at this precise moment. The pace accelerated, and Catra was not ready for it. She fell with an elegance that would definitely get her a few thousand views on a falling gag youtube channel.

“Fuck...”

She rolled on her back when the treadmill ejected her, holding her aching chin. Thank god she didn’t bite her tongue. Her ankle wasn’t so lucky though. She felt it throb unpleasantly, but was too stunned to check it yet.

“Wildcat, are you okay?! Oh my god, this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have brought you here, Catra, I’m so sorr-”

“I’m fine, Scorpia!” Catra shouted. She tried to sit up, leaning on her bad ankle, and regretted immediately. The whimper that escaped her lips made Scorpia panic even more.

“Should I call an ambulance?! Catra, I’m sorry, I’ll make it right, I promise!”

“No, Scorpia, there’s no need, just-”

“Hey there.”

Catra looked up, and internally cursed. The blond goddess was smiling at her. She looked so...soothing. Catra felt her heart beat faster again, but curiously, her body relaxed.

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

Catra’s mouth was too dry to answer. She only nodded.

The woman- Adora, her name was Adora, right?- the woman slipped Catra’s pants up, delicately, under the worried look of Scorpia. She touched the ankle’s bones, asked Catra if it hurt, if she could move it. After a few minutes, she smiled and nodded.

“It looks reassuring. I’ll take you to the infirmary, alright? You can put some ice and rest for a bit. Then we’ll check again, and if it doesn’t look good, you can go to the ER. How does it sound?”

“Are you sure?!” Scorpia answered in Catra’s place. “Wait, I remember you. You work here, right?”

“Yes, I’m a new coach here,” Adora said as she crouched on Catra’s side. Before she could understand what was happening, Adora had slipped her arms beneath her legs and back, and picked her up like she weighed nothing.

“Adora’s the best coach in town,” Glimmer beamed. “You’re lucky she’s working here now!”

That seemed to ease Scorpia’s tension, who started a conversation with the two chatty people.

But Catra didn’t care. She was currently trying to relax her body, but it was pretty hard given she was IN THE DAMN GODDESS’S ARMS. She was so tall... And so pretty... And so-

“Are you okay there?” Adora giggled. Of course she had caught her gawking again.

“...I’m-” Catra cleared her throat. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Good,” Adora smiled. “What’s your name by the way? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around.”

“Well, I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not the kind of girl who runs to the gym every weekend...”

“Don’t worry, I’ve seen worse.”

“Worse than this failure, really?” Catra raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Come on, I didn’t even last 10 minutes!”

“Well, in your defense, you got pretty distracted...”She smirked. Oh, god dammit. Her heart was definitely not prepared for this. “So... Can I get a name?”

“...how about my number?”

Oh fucking hell, what did she just-

“Oh...I... Yes, sure,” Adora chuckled. God dammit, she actually managed to make it awkward.

“I mean,” Catra adjusted herself in her arms. “You know, for like, if I have questions about my ankle...”

“I...” Adora suddenly turned her face away, hiding the blush that Catra still couldn’t miss. “I was thinking maybe that I could make myself forgiven differently...for your ankle...”

“Well...” Catra finally got her composure back. She wore the smirk better than the dumb love struck face. “I guess I could forgive you over dinner.”

Please say yes, please say yes, please say-

“I’d love that.”

“Good... My name’s Catra.”

“Nice to meet you, Catra.”

...........................................................

Ok, don’t judge me, it’s 1AM and I was catradora thirsty, so here’s a very dumb drabble xD

I’m a total catra in this. Man, I need to go to the gym someday. My heart throbs weird sometimes

#catradora #catra #adora #she ra #spop

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ayellowbirds · 6 years

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Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 26: “The Dynamic Scooby-Doo Affair”

("The New Scooby-Doo Movies", Season 1 Episode 2. Original Airdate: 9/16/1972)

AKA, "Bat-Milk? BAT-MILK?"

While this episode was broadcast and released on video with the title above, surviving storyboards show that the title was intended to be spelled as “The Dynamic Scooby-Duo Affair”, making the wordplay clearer.

As the episode begins, the Mystery Machine hits a bump in the road and the lights go out. While Fred attempts a repair, Daphne worries about reaching their destination.

Yes, it’s the first formal recognition of the gang as anything more than a bunch of friends who do this on the side. While we don’t see anything of the Mystery Club convention itself, the idea that the kids were headed to one suggests that their amateur sleuthing has gone from something they fall into by accident as a result of running into mysteries wherever they go, and into the realm of a lifelong obsession. They’re not “Mystery Inc” just yet, but they’re close.

While Fred promises he can repair the Mystery Machine without losing time, Scooby and Shaggy hear something frightening... ominous music! No, really, the sound editing in this scene is terrible, and the music that cuts in almost completely drowns out the sound of an approaching airplane, flying so low over the road that it comes within mere feet of the roof of the van.

Investigating reveals that the plane has landed without lights in the middle of the night, and two men drive out of it in a jeep loaded down with an enormous wooden crate. The gang take a shortcut, and find that the crate has been dropped off at an abandoned-looking old house, where it’s been nailed down to the floor with leather straps. In fact, as the gang try to hide from a sudden sound of someone approaching, they find that everything is nailed down.

But they have no reason to fear those who enter the house:

Because it’s the guileless, friendly and gentle-mannered Seventies Batman who enters, along with the Boy Wonder. In spite of the gang’s incredibly suspicious appearance, a bat-shaped transitional wipe is all it takes for Batman to explain that he and Robin were on patrol—bat-patrol—in nearby Gotham City (the location of the Mystery Club convention? It would be appropriate), when they were alerted to the unlit aircraft and suspected smugglers. It’s the second episode in a row to suggest a specific location for the events, placing most of the episode in and near Gotham.

Just as they’re about to investigate the crate, someone comes out from upstairs.

Attentive viewers will have most of the mystery solved by noticing this suspicious character’s first appearance as a hooded figure, though as she lights her lamp, she’s revealed as a little old lady, Mrs. Baker.

Baker claims to have never seen the crate before—figuring that, like the gang, someone assumed her house was abandoned due to its condition—and even reacts to Batman and Robin like they were ordinary strangers in need of assistance, rather than colorfully costumed crime-fighters. This would be suspicious enough, but like i said, 70s TV Batman is guileless. He suspects nothing and has a kind word for almost everyone.

The contents of the crate are revealed as a stand-up “punch clown”, one of those inflatable bottom-heavy types designed to keep bouncing back as you bop it. Batman hurls the clown away, and then slaps his hands on his waist in a brave and bold pose. “An amusing toy,” he declares. If this show was a bit more clever, I’d say he was covering for freaking out at the sight of a clown.

Scooby plays a bit with the doll, but one particularly solid swing knocks its noggin right off, revealing that it’s not full of air... it’s stuffed with money! Batman picks up a bill. “Just as I suspected,” he declares. “Counterfeit. A masterpiece of duplication, except for one tiny slip-up.”

It’s an artistic error almost as embarrassing as Batman’s hands suddenly having no gloves. And Batman should know. He’s fought alongside Lincoln.

In spite of having faced counterfeiters before, the gang are astonished at the idea of phony money, and join Batman in the search for the culprits as Mrs. Baker tells them that the jeep’s tire tracks must lead back to a nearby auto junkyard—next to the old cemetery, of course. Baker claims people fear that human ghosts haunt the "auto graveyard” as a result.

The problem with this scenario is that they saw the plane leave, and had no reason to suspect that the jeep wasn’t loaded back onto it. Even so, they find it almost right away at the junkyard, and start looking for the driver. As the gang and the Dynamic Duo split up and start looking around, the poor nighttime lighting leads to lots of mistaken identity antics involving a cloaked figure that is quite obviously Mrs. Baker again. Some differences in the design of her cloak and robe don’t obscure that it’s in the same colors as before...

...which seems to be another error, because Shaggy refers to this “sneaky little” figure as wearing a black hood. Batman winds up saving Shaggy and Scooby from being compacted along with a car, and Fred attempts to wrestle the cloaked figure away from the controls of the crane that dropped them there, but winds up wearing a mask like the one under the hood, and he’s mistaken for the culprit himself.

Now that Fred knows how it feels to have a mask abruptly pulled from one’s head, will he be more understanding and cautious when unmasking "monsters”? Unlikely, considering he eventually winds up pulling a zombie’s head right off its neck.

When the gang go back to check Mrs. Baker’s house, the entire building has vanished. Fred and Velma are certain that they’re looking at the right location, but it’s just an empty field with some trees. Well, that’s what we’re supposed to see, but the view never pans beyond the gang looking at the scene. It’s not until much later that we actually see what this scene was supposed to so dramatically convey.

Batman, the Dark Knight Detective, has one guess as to what’s happened:

That’s right, Batman’s first guess is that there never was a house, nor a Mrs. Baker. Instead, they were all mesmerized to think they had entered a nonexistent building and interacted with a woman who wasn’t there. The only problem with that notion is that the Batmobile is gone, too.

Batman quietly retires his hypothesis.

Fortunately, the Batmobile has a tracker! The gang offer to be blindfolded while Batman and Robin drive the Mystery Machine to the Batcave to check the Bat-Computer, and because a trend has been established, Batman offers a hungry Shaggy a snack of Bat-Milk and cookies.

Yes, Bat-Milk.

And cookies.

Scooby eats the whole thing and slurps down Shaggy’s milk when he’s not looking. A loyal canine friend.

The Batmobile is tracked to the Gotham City Amusement Park, stopped right in front of a building dedicated to Batman and Robin. The Dynamic Duo conclude that the thief is disposing of the Batmobile there so it could be mistaken as part of the exhibits, hiding it in plain sight.

The car is just fine, parked right in front of the exhibition building, and Shaggy and Scooby offer to sit and wait—and play at being Batman and Robin themselves—in the car while the others look for clues. Which is fortunate, because it lets them spot the carjackers in the attraction across the way.

Fred figures the punch clown is “practically the Joker’s calling card,” and it seems like the case is solved. It’s now up to just Batman and Robin to take down these dangerous criminals, while the gang wait safely outside. What follows is a series of antics as the two villains manipulate their amusement park Haunted House hideout from its control room, trading quips and barbs with each other. A sampling:

Erase your doubts, my web-footed friend.

Why the raucous outburst of mirth, you babbling buffoon?

My fine feathered friend, I shall achieve my goal with a white-sheeted ghoul.

Now, Pengy-wengy....

...my rakish rogue.

Zoinks it, this episode is making me ship the Joker and the Penguin.

Batman and Robin don’t fall for any of the sound effects ("recorded on tape by talented, professional thespians”, Batman insists) or the Joker’s “ghoul” (“nothing more than an ordinary bed sheet, and a cheap one, at that”), but the Joker manages to bait them into a deep pit simply by broadcasting his voice to make it sound like it came from behind a trap door. When the gang move in to see what’s keeping Batman and Robin, the crooks turn their attention to them, instead.

It’s the second episode in a row with scenes in an amusement park, and shockingly, it’s the first of the two to actually make use of that. Antics ensue, but not before Shaggy has a moment of clarity, wondering how it is that Scooby gets the reward of Scooby Snacks while he has to deal with the spooky situations alongside him, with no compensation.

Scooby has a simple answer, gesturing to his brains.

I’m astonished this didn’t become a meme.

The Hanna-Barbera laugh tracks start to wear really thin during these "funhouse” scenes, often playing in scenes with no apparent joke except “the boys are scared by a legitimately dangerous, scary situation”.

Eventually, the criminals resort to dressing up in skeleton costumes to frighten the gang off. Because, you know, being notorious criminals wanted for violent acts wasn’t enough, they had to put on bargain store Halloween costumes.

Astonishingly ,everyone except Fred buys into it, and the gang flee for a solid few seconds before Scooby abruptly stops, turns around, and starts talking about “DELICIOUS-LOOKING BONES!”

The horrifyingly hungry hound manages to chase the Joker and the Penguin right into the pit where they trapped Batman and Robin, and the crooks are caught. The Joker’s wordplay throughout this is actually decently clever, something you don’t see in later incarnations, and the Penguin has a habit of alliteration that makes his lines pleasing to the ear. They wind up being the most enjoyable villains so far...

But they’re not the final culprits. Someone called them anonymously and arranged for real cash payment in exchange for the punch clowns. They know nothing about the vanishing house, and don’t seem to care who has been funneling counterfeit cash to them.

Batman and Robin open the front door to reveal a pair of Gotham City detectives. “Gentlemen, you may take them away!”

So, the Joker and Penguin start to drag off the detectives.

No wonder this city needs superheroes.

Everyone’s worried about Mrs. Baker, “that poor, sweet old lady”. But the gang and Dynamic Duo realize there’s probably a reason that the house’s contents were nailed to the floor—one that explains its disappearing act, as well as the fact that the house has reappeared when they return to where it was last seen.

Once again, Scooby and Shaggy remain with the cars while the others investigate inside. But when a rabbit darts out from the underbrush, Scooby is spooked up a tree and onto a branch, which judders down under his weight, revealing...

A sequence ensues where the entire house rotates upside-down, revealing an alternate empty field and bringing the building into an enormous cavern, while the boys fuss with the branch-switch to try to get the house upright, and Batman and Robin work an alternate switch to bring it back around again.

In the tunnels of the cave, Batman spots the purple-cloaked crook, and the heroes give chase, finding their way up and out into a crate-filled warehouse loaded with all kinds of toys—tying back into the punching clown gimmick of the counterfeiting operation and allowing for even more chase antics in a gag-filled setting.

At one point, Scooby crashes into a stack of boxes, and the villain pops up out of one—running in place in mid-air before dashing out of view across the screen, without ever landing on the ground. It’s kind of jarring, and makes me realize that that’s the sort of visual gag usually reserved for the good guys. It’s also really poorly timed.

Exactly where this warehouse is located relative to any of the rest of the setting is really unclear. Is it underground? A short distance from Mrs. Baker’s house, previously unseen and perhaps near the auto junkyard?

And how does the villain manage to ride a unicycle at speed while wearing a full-length robe and cloak?

After a lot of chasing—for once, mostly involving the costumed villain being chased, rather than menacing the gang—Scooby manages to knock the crook into the Dynamic Duo’s hands.

The scene cuts to the field above, the mastermind in Batman and Robin’s grip and the gang ready for this all to end.

“Before the cops come take him away, make him tell us what happened to Mrs. Baker,” Fred demands.

“Yes, that dear, sweet old lady,” Daphne agrees.

Velma opines, “The poor woman was just an innocent bystander in all this. She simply vanished.”

Batman turns, waiting. “Well?”

“You fools, Mrs. Baker didn’t vanish! She’s been here all this time.” the villain growls, ripping off the cloak and mask. To the shock of no-one who can perceive the color purple, it’s Mrs. Baker.

Naturally, the gang, Batman, and Robin are all blown away by this.

YOU.

ARE.

DEFECTIVE DETECTIVES.

Mrs. Baker has been running a counterfeiting operation out of her complex system of a disappearing house and secret tunnel for who-knows how long, with this possibly being just the first time she’s been caught at it.

Yeah, a dear, sweet old lady.

Who tried to crush Scooby and Shaggy in a car compactor near the beginning of the episode, and led the gang into the hands of two of Gotham’s most notorious criminal masterminds.

Scooby is ultimately responsible for capturing all the criminals of this episode, and for once, without fouling up a trap or anything, having boldly given chase and forced the crooks into Batman and Robin’s arms. Now, Batman has no Scooby Snacks to offer this uncharacteristically brave canine...

Boy, yeah, that looks appetizing. You feed Ace those, Bruce?

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

#scooby doo #KRAOSD #the new scooby-doo movies #batman

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Listed: Matthew Golombisky

Matthew Golombisky grew up in North Carolina, where he picked up the bass to play metal with his buddies and jazz in a couple high school bands. After college he moved around the US, playing upright and electric in countless bands and spending time in the Bay area, upstate New York, and New Orleans. In the Crescent City he bonded with his most enduring musical partner, drummer Quin Kirchner, with whom he has toured extensively as a duo and as the rhythm section for other bands. When Hurricane Katrina laid waste to the town they both eventually moved to Chicago.Both of them played with trombonists Jeff Albert and Jeb Bishop in the Lucky 7s, and Golombisky made strong connections with the city’s jazz scene. In 2007 cofounded Ears And Eyes Records, which has issued albums by notable current and former Chicagoans such as Bill MacKay, George Freeman, Caroline Davis, Chad Taylor, Charles Rumback and Matt Piet. He has toured the US with Zing! And NOMO and stage-managed at Pitchfork, but after traveling around South America he landed in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in 2013. There he plays and teaches music and is raising a family, but he sustains ongoing connections with his mates in North America. Golombisky has recently released two cassettes, Cuentos 1 & 2 and Cuentos 3,named after the Spanish word for short stories. Each volume is devoted to a group of musicians connected with one of Golombisky’s old homes, and the music that he composes for them combines the emotional expressiveness of mid-20thcentury modern jazz with the close engagement of chamber music.

Milli Vanilli, Girl You Know It’s True

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Though as a kid, I grew up listening, per my parents, to a lot of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Queen, The Who, CCR, Steppenwolf, Jethro Tull, Simon and Garfunkel, and David Bowie, the first cassette I ever bought with my own money was in the late 80s and it was Milli Vanilli’s. I was 9 or 10. How I came across their music I don’t remember, but probably from MTV. I remember on late night drives back home with my father from his auto body shop in his red 1986 V8 5-speed Z28 Camaro (with louvers on the back glass), which I bought from him as my car in 1998, we’d blast that cassette (as well as Herb Alpert and Fine Young Cannibals cassettes, what a mix, no?)! I have no idea how long this lasts, but it couldn’t have been long because when I learned Milli Vanilli was a total front and a lie, I went out into the boonies(woods), where we lived, in the middle of small-town North Carolina, and had a cassette-tape-burning session. I gathered some gasoline and matches and melted that tape to a little pile of plastic. It felt good and well-deserved. When my dad found out, he got incredibly upset (or so I’ve told the story as I remember… maybe one day I’ll confirm with him if it’s true if he’d even admit to being angry about my destroying myMilli Vanilli tape, I’m not sure). I guess the only reason I’d include this in Dusted’s “Listed” feature is that it was a profound experience of “create your own damn music!!”

Miles Davis, Volume 1

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Me getting into jazz: All I knew of jazz for a few years was my playing bass in the high school big band, so mostly reading what Sammy Nestico had written out for me. My first jazz record, Miles Davis’ Volume 1, was a birthday present from a girlfriend, but I didn’t immediately become a jazz enthusiast. I didn’t run out and buy more jazz records (I was still buying Mr. Bungle, Infectious Grooves, Primus, Nirvana, Megadeth, and Faith No More cassettes and CDs). But I did play this Miles CD over and over again! I had played cornet for years prior to this and it simply blew my mind what Miles was accomplishing here; his tone, his lyricism, and also his patience. I did, however, fall in love with what I thought the idea of jazz was; at least one of them: improvisation. In high school, I founded the school jazz combo and this is where I discovered more improvisation; I was always super elated that we could play the same song over and over, and I could manipulate the vibe and mood of the tune in the moment. Improvising! Creating something new(ish) all the time, each time. This idea is what attracted me so much to playing jazz and that idea of creating something from little (or nothing) is how I think I came to be a composer, among other creative outlets I find myself in. With music (which spoke and called to me) and being able to always explore and find new ideas via ‘jazz’ the most viable avenue to do this? Yes!, then let’s study jazz!!!

Opeth, My Arms, Your Hearse

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I feel in love with Opeth on their first release, Orchid (1995). Not only was the music incredibly original and fresh for me, but I was also a fan of the fact that it was metal music, which I had already been listening to and playing, that I could distinguish and hear the bass guitar clearly from Johan De Farfalla. And then Opeth’s Morningrise (1996) was released; even better! And then My Arms, Your Hearse came out, even better! My Arms, Your Hearse is probably my favorite “death metal” album of all time. Lead singer, main guitarist and composer, Mikael’s death and clean vocals are thick, heavy, soaring, beautiful and powerful. I’m a person that doesn’t often hear or pay much attention to lyrics. I can sing along with the melodies always, the notes, but I almost never know the lyrics to most songs I love even. I’m definitely not one to write lyrics either (I wrote a children's musical a few years ago and had to “contract” out for lyrics). Sometimes, I take a closer listen to lyrics when conscious about my lack of musical character and most of the time, it just makes me dislike the song (admit it, a lot of lyrics are crap. Not all, but a lot). But I know the lyrics to My Arms, Your Hearse, start to finish. It’s such a cool mysterious story about a ghost checking in on his friends, family and environment, chock full of lush imagery… in my humble opinion. (As writing this paragraph and re-listening to this record, I had an almost second-by-second opinion of each phrase, harmony, and melody and the wow-ness I thought about including but decided against writing a short novel.)

This Is Spinal Tap (a favorite scene)

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In my second year of college my band at the time, Daylight Dies, rented a house together. We had also been friends for about 6 years by then. I don’t know if it was weekly that we watched Spinal Tap, but it was a lot. Since that time in my life, Spinal Tap has continued to be my all-time favorite movie. I watch it at least a few times a year still and can start the movie dialogue from the start and recite a good 90% of it in its entirety. Then when the DVD came out around 2004, I was blessed with another 45 minutes of unseen footage! I think that one of the best aspects of the movie is that with all this material filmed and executed amazingly, there were only 11 pages of a predetermined script when they started filming. Again, improvisation, I love it! “Lukewarm water”… I might add that Daylight Dies continued on to great success, even touring with some of the bands that were our favorites when we were in high school. I got to revisit the band in a way and recorded a contrabass “choir” on one of their releases and arranged strings/woodwinds, using my Tomorrow Music Orchestra on another release of theirs. It was fun to have my death metal “upbringing” returning to my professional musician/composer life.

Steve Reich, Variations for Winds, Strings, and Keyboards

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I was really lucky to have attended an undergraduate program, majoring and studying jazz, that also required me to take three years of classical music history and theory. Even luckier, the professor who designed the program, Dr. Joye Dorr, was a big fan of 20th Century Classical music and thought it important to expose undergraduates to its wealth, even for the jazz folks. In those years, I was transformed into a musician much different and more of whom I am now. But just before we started in on that 20th Century material, my alarm clock woke me one morning and on the radio was a recording of Steve Reich’s Variations for Winds, Strings, and Keyboardsand I missed my first class, transfixed in bed with this repetitive “trance” music I had never experienced before. I became a devote fan of minimalism (for a while) from there. Honorable mentions in this category would have to be Gavin Bryars’ “Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet” and “Sinking of the Titanic”.

Charlie Haden, The Montreal Tapes with Don Cherry and Ed Blackwell

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Charlie Haden is my musical hero. I’m not sure I could choose just one recording because I find beauty in everything he’s done. But for the sake of the Listed-vibe, let’s say the first album I experienced, The Montreal Tapes with Don Cherry and Ed Blackwell. I was mesmerized and captivated by his sound, his singing-like soloing/lyricism, his patience, his support in the trio, his tone. The open feel of this record makes for an incredibly clear statement, musically. By the time they recorded this live at the Montreal Jazz festival in 1989, these guys had been exploring jazz (and quite a bit of free jazz) together for some 20 years; and it comes through on this record. And yes from here, I went out and bought every Charlie Haden-related record I could. And when I finally met him for the first time in Montreal in 2002 after a concert, I couldn’t help the flow of tears. I heart Charlie Haden profoundly.

Arvo Pärt, Fratres

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What an incredible composer to get to know if you’re looking to enhance aural beautification to your life. Part’s music is so powerful for me and not because many consider him (including himself) a “religious minimalist composer”; that I could care less about. The motion of the lines and dramatic candor are completely intriguing and alluring to me. This record especially. I love that it’s also a piece that can be played with varying instrumentation and carry a different timbre but still be as powerful. The voices between the instruments, where they are placed in the sonic spectrum, the repetitive melodies, and especially the drone! This music not only takes me to a tranquil place but also invigorates me to be better and try to heal the world the best I can. Part is an inspiration for creating more beauty in the world. One of his most popular pieces is called “Spiegel im Spiegel” and the first thought I had upon listening years back was: kindness. Yeah man, more of this, please.

Henryk Gorecki, Symphony No. 3

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I have a hard time falling asleep; it started when I was about six or seven. Thoughts of the day, as well as newer and older ones, arose continuously (and still do). This piece has psychosomatically calmedso many of those, what would have been, sleepless nights. It has a depth to it where my mind can get out of whatever million thoughts are being processed and then relax me in order to calm the mental activity. The low strings repeating the same melody in a brooding canon, wow, with a mix of minor 9ths, major 7ths, perfect 5ths, major/minor 6ths; a mix of doublings I find chilling in the first couple minutes that set the tone for the rest of the piece.

James Blake, The Colour in Everything

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Bon Iver, 22, A Million

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Honorable mentions on current production ideas and such that I study: all of Bjork, Radiohead, and artists that are involved with visual art in some form. But these two mentioned records are fascinating production (and music) - wise. Woah.

#dusted magazine #listed #matthew golombisky #milli vanilli #miles davis #opeth #this is spinal tap #steve reich #charlie haden #arvo pärt #henryk gorecki #james blake #bon iver

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lkdvpoetry-blog · 7 years

Text

i do it all for the symphony--please don’t judge me.

I speak as though my lips were burning. I speak as though if I do not speak my words will burn through my mouth, as if each syllable is a hammer banging on my teeth, shattering them, begging to be let out. I talk a lot.

But, at night in my bed I stare at the ceiling--unable to sleep. After several hours, I roll over and pull out the drawer in my bedside table and I see relief. I pull out my favourites, little blue bottles with words I would never let leave my lips, words with too many hammers, there are silver boxes akin to a new pack of excel gum except they contain something with much more powerf than extreme mint, and there are ziploc bags that come from other people’s houses.

These items give me relief from the tiny hammers that are beating at my teeth and at the back of my eyes and along my nose, anyplace they think they might break free or convince me to let them throw a party.

I look at this drawer for hours on end contemplating my next move. I sip my water and I take each gift in my hand. I like to hold it there, trying to convince myself that I am in charge, that the men and women that hold the hammers do not own me. But, in reality, it is these hammers that have started to sculpt me, they are building a new me.

I look out the window and see trees. I wish I could be a tree, trees are only controlled by external factors, the wind, the rain, sunny days, they are not dealing with a thousand little people inside them calling their name. The tree doesn’t hear voices coming out of ziploc bags.

People don’t realize all the things that I do not say. The silent moments, abuse inspiring, that I grind through.

If I talk to you a lot, I am probably saying nothing.

If I only say “hey,” then you should be worried. Behind every “hey,” or smile, there is an “I love you,” “I want to kiss you,” or worse, I need more pills from you.

The first person I see every morning is my mother. I tell her everything. I tell her each joke I laugh at with my friends, I tell her when I work, what was stressful at work, what my managers told me at work, who my friends are at work, but, simultaneously, I tell her absolutely nothing. I don’t tell her about the creative endeavours, or the boys, the hammers in my head or the drawer beside my bed. I like to think that she doesn’t need to know.

My bestfriend knows about the drawer beside my bed but she doesn’t know about the hammers in my head. She wouldn’t understand. I told her about the spiders on my wall and under my skin, I told her I don’t know how they got in and she laughed. I think when I joke about being an addict she doesn’t realize how close to reality that is. She doesn’t realize that it is in my blood.

I have watched addicts from my first breath. My father--an alcoholic. My grandmother, grandfather, father--smokers. I think my mom used to take pills to make her happy. My stepfather was addicted to spending money, to proving he had money. My brother addicted to being normal. Addiction is all around me. It is in every photograph I look at, and every memory I try to forget.

My smile used to be because I had made it without developing attachments, obsessions, but now my smile is because I have found an obsession. It happened slowly over time.

Holding a gift in my hand and a water bottle in the other. I took a sip then ate my gift in order to stand a car ride with my uncle and brother. At that point, it was just harmless fun. My mother knew about that one, I couldn’t find the advil so she said, “just go for it.”

If only she knew how far I have gone.

I keep telling myself that it’s okay. That this is me gaining life experience. I keep telling myself that this is just temporary, and in a couple of days I will stop cold turkey. I will drown my blue bottle, and silver trays, and ziploc bags and I will be okay. I will be better for having this little flirtation with Satan because I will have life experience.

Then, they start building again. They have finished their little trip to the hardware store and they are back to the grind. And, all I hear is the constant whine.

They are so kind and encouraging. These people cheer for me when I lie down in bed, when I decide to give in to it. You don’t understand, it’s like a pep rally in my head. They are ecstatic and when I so much as think about my favourite blue bottle, there is a symphony. The builders in my head pull out violins and play Vivaldi’s Spring.

I have never seen a real being that happy.

I sit here typing, telling you my story, and all I feel is happy. I gave in to my little friends inside me and now, I am ready to go to sleep. The warmth that fills my body is arriving--an everlasting hug that I can give myself. I can feel my fingers tingling. It gets f diffic ult tp type. I’ll srr yod int rhe mornigng .

I don’t know how many times I repeated that process last night--the overwhelming sadness, yearning for my drawer, picking up the water and giving in to my body’s prayer. Three, maybe four? Too many. When I woke up this morning, I was still jittery. I walked into school paranoid, psychotic. I don’t think anyone noticed. But, my hands, my hands, I couldn’t feel them. I was mesmerized with running my fingers along my palm because it felt like nothing. My eyes saw something that I couldn’t feel.

But then, it wore off and the builders started building. This time loudly, like people who have had too many redbulls or too much coffee--nothing will stop them.

I sit here listening to the voices around me and it all feels like a dream. All I can focus on is the tingling in my toes, the hammers in my nose, and the number of hours until I get home.

I go through my day on auto-pilot, smiling, talking, acting like there’s nothing and the builders continue building. I like to think that we are building the Tower of Pisa. You know, we never intended for this tilt in our structure but sometimes shit happens and it feels nice to keep falling that way.

I’m home and listening to the symphony because my bed is surrounding me. I am sitting in filth, but the builders say it’s better that way. I can’t disagree, every building site I’ve ever seen was littered with old coffee cups and dust.

We are singing and laughing today.

Then I decide it’s time to do the count because today is Friday. The builder’s pause. There is silence, we are all on the edge of our seats as I open the drawer beside my bed and slowly pull out the gifts I love to death. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 1, 2. 1.

My favourite blue bottle holds only one gift and the builder’s start crying. I don’t know what to do. That bottle cannot be renewed.

I take a deep breath.

I start to google, and I start to question my next steps. Can I just stop?--As soon as this thought enters my head, the builders bring out saws instead of hammers and my body starts to hurt. There is nothing I can say to calm them down. All I feel is pressure rolling down my spine, pushing me into a place I don’t want to visit.

I put on my shoes and I walk out the door. I’m home alone and there is no one to notice that I’m gone. So I walk and walk and walk.

Someone once told me to vote with my feet so, that’s what I do.

My feet vote, I think the builders were tampering with the ballot because I find myself in Walmart, little pink pills in hand.

The next thing I know I am back in my own bed, on my way to dream-land, listening to my symphony. I love this symphony, I never want to stop listening.

#writing #creativewriting #addiction

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