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guyfieriii · 1 year

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Get Us Strung

We're back to our regularly scheduled programming with another angst-y piece. Inspired by the song Dirty Love by Mt. Joy comes the tale of John Price and his best friend. My apologies if it seems a bit disconnected, it was originally much larger but I decided to scrap a lot of it (See? I can be nice sometimes.), but I tried my best. Also, this was edited on pure audaciousness, a bottle of wine, and a pitcher of margaritas. Do with that what you will.

Lastly, the biggest thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck for once again tolerating me bombarding her with snippets galore and supporting me as she always does.

(Can we consider this as a somewhat happy ending? My original one was A LOT worse.)

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes and a gallon of pain :)

Nostalgia is a cruel consonance of sentimentality and longing. A honeyed trap you could easily get caught in if you aren’t careful.

You weren’t.

All it took was one precarious step forth into its birdlime confines and you’re stuck, forever adhered to moments gone by. Try as you might to break free, to rid yourself of the persistent fog that looms and live in the present — you’re simply unable. The struggle of it brands ropes into your skin. A chemical burn that scabs eventually, but it leaves you debilitated of every ounce of strength you have to leave.

With time, you make do.

You adjust to the circumstances you’ve found yourself in. It’s easy enough — to simply give in. It’s like the call of a warm bed on a cold winter morning. The arms of a man you love held open in an invitation. It’s the perfect balm to your stinging disappointments and embittered thoughts.

Witness, reminisce — rinse and repeat.

A moment here. An admission of love there, just not the right kind. Not enough to keep you satisfied, just enough you keep you—

There. Still. Stuck in time. Recycling the same out-of-date echoes through your trench of despondency till they fossilize.

It’s his eyes that do you in, really. Lapis set in moonstone white reminding you of the ebb and flow of deep ocean currents that gently coax you inwards to drift among the waves.

They were the first thing you noticed about him.

A skinny kneed boy of eleven, head full of bistre-brown hair, and the bluest eyes you ever saw that suddenly wanted to be your friend. He was loud and brutish in contrast with your more reluctant and constrained demeanour and yet—

He was your best friend. Your first. Your only.

Is your best friend.

Five years later, he left to join the infantry.

He departed, eager to prove his worth. While you stayed back with a poor facsimile of a supportive smile as he promised his eventual return.

I’ll be back on leave before you know it.

But—

I’ll be back.

And I’ll be here.

You clung to him when he told you he was enlisting, fingers curling into the sleeves his Fleetwood Mac t-shirt — a gift from you for his fifteenth. He’d asked if you wanted to keep it, as a reminder of him.

Wouldn’t need to if you just stayed, Johnny.

In the fortnight leading up to his departure, you prayed for a last-minute change of his mind. Maybe the realization that he couldn’t stay without you would finally come to the surface.

It had to. Eventually.

You couldn’t bear the thought of walking up the morning after he left, just missing a part of you. Feeling a crater right in the middle of your chest grow wider and deeper as the distance between you and him extended.

But as the days counted down, his excitement grew nearly as fast as your despair.

It began with you pulling out all the stops, reminding him of the comforts of home, of you. To him, it was only the perfect gift farewell.

It wasn’t until just the day before that you decided to take the cheap shot and just beg.

Don’t leave. Just— please just stay, okay? You don’t have to go. You don’t have to leave me— please, Johnny. I can’t—

He stood at an arm’s length and listened to you in silence, watched you scrounge every ounce of emotional ammunition you could, until your voice ran hoarse, and your tears ran dry.

The pained expression that your outburst gradually chiseled onto his face left you shamelessly hopeful, and you took a step forward to close the distance between you and him.

He wordlessly took a step back.

The time slowed, and the seconds hemorrhaged until he finally spoke.

All he responded with was—

I have to.

You saw him standing out on my pavement by your house the next morning, walking across the same yard over and over. He’d glance upward at your window every now and then in such excruciating hope that you might grace him with something as simple as a wave goodbye.

But you didn’t. You simply stood there, watching from the shadows, trying to find some relief in tears shed, but you came up dry.

And he left.

When he returned, he came as Private Johnathan Price.

Nearly half a foot taller since you saw him last. Mostly the same in disposition if only a bit more self-assured.

In the 18 months of his absence, all you had was a shoebox full of unopened letters and that chasm left behind that grew deeper, still. Every week, unquestioningly, there’d be an envelope addressed to you. And every week, you’d hold it with measured trepidation and excitement. The first one brought you relief to know that you hadn’t lost him in your near ruinous parting of ways. But as you felt the weight of it in your hands, your fingers prudently tracing the ink, you couldn’t bring yourself to read what lay inside. It felt it would be ripping the bandaging off of a wound that had barely begun to heal.

So, you kept it aside.

18 months. 72 weeks. Every corresponding letter that followed underwent the same approach. You held them, appreciated them for their infallible arrival, and locked them away with repentance as the pile grew.

The letter that followed, came hand-delivered.

“You could have written back at least once, y’know.” He says with a smile.

“I’m—”

Sorry, Johnny. Forgive me. Forgive me. Please—

Your ensuing apology dies at your lips, and you nearly suffocate under the weight of it until—

“It’s okay.” He promises.

“It’s not.” You assert back.

His gaze softens and he tries again. “Hurt ya when I left, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“So, it’s okay.”

He means to placate. You know this and an infinitesimal part of you appreciates it. But what takes more prominence is one blazing question left behind.

It blisters and leaves behind the blackened soot of your unmatched expectations. A skeletal impression of his well intended albeit anticlimactic confession.

All you’re left wondering is—

Why didn’t it hurt you to leave me, too?

You met him in London to celebrate your collective 21st birthdays some time halfway in between them.

It took some coordination, between your school and his training in Sandhurst. He never told you — said he wanted to keep you detached from that part of his life.

How’re the— I don’t know what to ask, John. You never tell me anything.

I tell you plenty.

He does well— his mother informed you as much. But the details remained vacant. You try to fill in the blanks, hazard a guess — a poor approximation of the real thing, you’re certain.

It wasn’t something you liked, but never fought him on it. It felt as though your paths diverged at too steep of an angle and you were the only one trying to get them to realign. He seemed content in this compartmentalization, while you worried your margin in it would grow smaller still.

The disconnect it created left you unsettled. Like a trail down the woods that suddenly ends midway. You’re disoriented and unanchored, forever caught in an abridged narrative with his part missing.

But you couldn’t keep waiting around—

Something you tell yourself to make it better.

“Didn’t bring him with you, then?” He slides a glass of ale across the table to you, the bottom of it catching on the adherent buildup of many a spilled drink, causing the foam at the top to dribble over.

“You asked me not to, John.” You mutter, indignant.

You wouldn’t have asked to begin with, but for appearances sake—

“Didn’t want to have to share you with some other bloke, is all.” His self-satisfied grin tells you he sees right through it.

The implications that simmered beneath that statement cut through you instantly.

He didn’t want to have to share.

What would happen if you told him that it was never even brought to question? That you were his, and his alone.

Would he make it come true?

Would he—

“I’d like for you to meet him eventually, y’know.” You opted for a safer route. Something more dependable. Everything John isn’t.

That’s a lie. He’s nothing but.

“If he stays around long enough.”

“Johnny.” You snap, irritably.

“Been a while since you called me that.” He murmurs, his grin slipping into something less presumptuous and more unshielded. Vulnerable.

“We’re not kids anymore.” You turn your gaze downward, nails digging into the chipping laminate on the cheap bar top until he flicks the side of your palm to make you stop.

“No, we’re not.” It’s his tone that makes you look back up— hinting at some kind of unspoken understanding that you recognize right away.

Let’s not pretend, then.

It’s in the dimming obscurity of alcohol when it finally happens. With your dress hiked up over the curve of your ass, and panties pulled to the side — he fucked you in a rush, outside in the cold fall air. The grain of the brick wall scratched your cheek with every thrust he buried himself in you. His ale-laden breath at the cusp of your ear, his hands cupping your breasts, squeezing — they were your only source of warmth.

“Fuckin’ hell, I’ve wanted to—” He confessed.

“So have I, Johnny.” You matched his revelation with your own.

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to—

You’ll take what you’re given. Even if it’s just this once, just tonight. A fleeting taste is better than the fantasy of him you’ve held on to.

He’s better than what you’ve had in the past. Better than what you’d thought he’d be like.

Or maybe, it’s just how well knows you.

He knows how deep you need to feel him, no matter if it hurts just a little. It’s the kind of hurt you enjoy.

How many women have you been with, John?

Does it matter?

Yes. No. Maybe?

It was you that crossed the line. A temerarious lapse in judgment, a flick of a wrist that knocked down an already precipitous house of cards when suddenly your lips descend upon his. He tastes of stale beer and the cigarette you bummed off an old man at the pub. With a grunt of surprise, he reciprocates, his tongue invading past your lips.

In a flash of somewhat sloppy adjustment, your back remained firmly pressed against the brick wall of the side of the pub, while his hands to the side of you effectively cage you in.

It’s not soon after that he takes the reins.

His mouth is everywhere — your lips, glossing over your jaw to the underside while he firmly grasps a fistful of your hair at the root, tilting your face upwards. He lays siege to the delicate column of your neck, armed with a stinging bite and the consolatory swipe of his tongue after.

John. Johnny.

The straps of your top hang loosely off your shoulders as he pulls the front of it down haphazardly to latch on to your nipple. You helplessly mewl beneath him, fingers trembling as they undo the buckle of his belt.

“Tell me to stop, love. Tell me, or I’ll—” He groans. Your hands sink in past the zipper to palm his erection. Warm. Solid.

“Please, don't.” You sink to your knees with the excitement, the need to taste him chafing at your rib cage with every beat of your heart.

“Fuck— fuck, okay. Just slow down—”

“John. Please.”

“I’ll make it good, yeah? For you. I will.” He swears.

I know you will.

You moved to Liverpool a year later. Something about staying in Hereford without him just kept you trapped in a state of inertia. Spending your time waiting more than anything else. It was time to move on.

Or try to, at any rate.

Humble beginnings for you — a modest apartment, a job that paid the bills and nothing else.

You settled into a routine — oscillating between work, home, and bisected friendships that you formed.

It’s not the same. It’s not the same.

It’s hard not to hold him somewhat accountable for your perpetual state of futility. There’s an essence of banality that follows you wherever you go. A life lived in half measures, mediocre and prosaic. It isn’t fair, and yet—

Why couldn’t you just stay, John?

It’s usually at night when the bitter tendrils of your regret slink up your limbs, like stalks of Golden Pothos, that collect around neck and squeeze.

A fire that kindles all too easily.

Can you even call it your own, when it’s caused by the choices of another?

It’s when you think back to that night in London, the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand— the way his eyes pinched shut and his head tilted back as you attempted to take him all the way in.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” He’d asked in a choked groan.

Had the head of his cock not been pressed against the back of your throat you’d have answered with:

Upset you weren’t the one to teach me, aren’t you Johnny?

Whatever remnants of that night that weren’t washed away by the glassy comber of one drink too many, replayed themselves a hundred times over. Every reiteration leaves you breathless and wanting — the evidence of it clearly shining on the inside of your thighs and the tips of your fingers.

Until—

A knock.

“You moved.” His voice was weight down by many an unspoken accusation.

“I did.” There’s no point in an apology— he’s here now.

“You never said.” Anger. Hurt. Betrayal — all in coalescence that lacerates you so deeply, you might stain the walls blood red.

“I— Do you want to come in—?”

He walked across the threshold, brushing past your shoulder before you even finished inviting him in.

“You— it’s not much. I’ve only just—” You stumble your way through some kind of explanation as he sheds himself off his duffel and coat. Any reasoning you were able to muster trickles back down your throat as he makes himself comfortable on your sofa, the floral embellished cushion sinking under the weight of him like it’s his right to be.

“It’s nice.”

You’d have expected him to feel out of sorts in this new home of yours, but he finds his place in it so naturally it fucking stings.

It really could have been that easy— a life with him. It’s a dangerous thought experiment but you wonder if he also aches for that near miss of a surrogate life. A peripeteia of decisions that might have led you down a different path entirely.

“How long are you on leave this time?” It’s a jibe and he notices. There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw, a steely look set in his eyes at your question like he’s willing you to challenge him.

You almost do.

Good of you to waltz by after a year, Johnny. I’ve been waiting.

You really have.

“Two weeks. If you’ll have me.”

You considered turning him away simply out of spite. A laughable thought, really. An egomaniacal deliberation you pretend to have.

You’d never—

“Aren’t you going home?”

Don’t say yes. Please, don’t say yes.

“Would’ve — yeah. But you moved.”

Fuck. Don’t—

“You make it sound like I’m the only reason you come back.”

The words decamp themselves from you without any realization. Subdued embers relight themselves. Veiled desires now unwrapped — a festering infection that itched beneath near-mended dermis now touching air simply because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

“Would— would it be so bad if I said yes?” He asks, wavering slightly in his footing only to gauge your reaction, and you pray you’re not giving anything away.

Yes. Yes, it fucking would, John. Because—

It means nothing in the scheme of its payoff. You don’t know what he expects, because to you his disclosure only exacerbates the acridity of his absence tenfold. It makes his eventual departure seem like a harsher slap to the face.

You could accuse him of pretense. Tell him how hollow it makes you feel.

Or simply—

“No. Of course not.” You lie with a smile, instead.

He believes you.

His parents pass within a year of each other. He attends both funerals in uniform — having only singular days granted to him in lieu of bereavement.

It might have been a personal choice in his father’s case, which happened to be the latter.

The first was an open casket, the second closed — both lowered into the ground while his hand firmly grasped yours.

And after—

On both days, he found himself buried in you, however in polar opposite ways.

It began gentle, with his need to be held and your need to oblige. You straddle him in the backseat of your busted-up Mondeo Estate, soaking in his silent grief as you whisper condolences. He finds his home in the crook of your neck, bedewed with the warmth of his breath and his tears.

He tastes of grief.

Regret, even.

Maybe, one day, you’ll tell him it didn’t have to be that way.

Imagine what we could’ve been, John.

Only seven months later, you find yourself in circumstances alike only in one solitary way. This time, it’s his anger that transcends the grief. You’re turned away, bent over the disjointed desk in the corner of his childhood bedroom. His fingers etching your skin in a mosaic of blue and purple, willing you to acquiesce to his baser instinct rather than envelop him in comfort. He fucked you, brutally — bare teeth, white knuckles. A lacquer of vitriol to coat you in. Only apologetic in the aftermath.

And—

He wouldn’t let you kiss him.

Change is a weight borne poorly by most relationships.

You try to blame the distance between his visits, and the fact that he always seems more worse for wear than the last. A chronic transformation with every visit, like rust on iron — sandstone shaded corrosion bleeding into his edges.

He tries to shed himself of it when he’s in your company but it’s ever-present, like a phantom limb. An undeniable extension of himself.

You tell him not to pretend.

Not with me, John.

You might as well be white noise.

What started out as concern he’d brush off with a ‘this isn’t something you need to be worrying about, love’ slowly evolved into disregard which concluded with blatant contempt.

This isn’t what I—

He stopped himself a moment too late.

“This isn’t what I came back for.”

“Glad we’re both disappointments to each other.”

Finally, some truth spilled out. It felt oddly cathartic, even if it meant having your worst fears confirmed.

He makes an implicit plea to retract what’s been said, undo the hurt caused, and return to your perpetual state of synthetic decorum. Two people who tip-toe around each other, chat about the weather, and when all redundancies are through and done with—

Let’s just leave it be. Dinner’s nearly—

He feasts on your cunt like a man starved.

It’s funny how rarely you consider the sheer probability of his safe return. Is it simply denial? Is he so deeply rooted within your being that imagining him not being there isn’t an ending you can enumerate?

To you, there is simply no finality to John Price. Forever seems like a paltry presumption to have in his line of work and yet, you can never imagine the alternative.

You’ve tried. You even asked him once.

Just once.

“You’ll be informed if— I — they know you’re my— you’ll be informed.” He spoke with such unambiguous apathy like he was reading it off a manual.

Ten different ways to prepare your loved ones for your eventual demise.

“I’ll be informed?” This isn’t the hill to die on, but you just can’t help yourself.

“I don’t know how else to—”

“I’m glad to know I’ll have the privileges of being your widow without you having to marry me, John.”

He recoils away like you just struck him.

It was an unscrupulous remark to make. Atonement is futile, he’d see right through it. All you can do is wait for the dust to settle and carry on.

But he—

“I’d marry you tomorrow if I thought it would fix things.”

It wouldn’t.

Some things are just predestined to remain broken, you suppose.

“I know you would.”

You find yourself at an impasse. Anyone pragmatic might think to cut their losses and retreat. Start anew.

That’s just not who you are.

You find other ways to meet each other halfway, on an equal plane of vulnerability and certitude. Nothing to hide behind in the arms of one another. There are shared breaths, harmonies of impassioned confessions and you find yourselves in the other once more.

You shed the pain you wear like a second skin, disrobed in ways both actual and metaphorical.

He’s kinder and you’re more forgiving.

He tells you it’s his last night with you for a while and you request your goodbye before the morning. You need something to remain unsoiled.

He leaves before you wake.

Sometimes, he leaves a note.

I’ll be back soon, darling.

Empty words. Hollow promises. An interminable echo in a cave that ripples in the subterranean waters you float in.

Except—

I’m doing the best I can.

And that’s enough.

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blueskiesrry · 2 months

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@throughthedarklive tagged me to do my top five songs on repeat rn so here they areeee

no pressure ofc, but i’ll tag @bittersweetsin and @harruandlou

do your worst!

#tags #music #Spotify

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autistic94 · 7 months

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i have no friends, so i want to share some of my favorite songs with SOMETHING. whoever (if anyone) sees this, you should most definitely listen to these 😼😼😼

#mehro #i love mehro #sleep token #noah kahan #français #alfie jukes #alfie has such good songs.#i’m posting these for no reason #Spotify

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eternal-echoes · 10 months

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“In today’s liturgy we have repeated, as the refrain of the Responsorial Psalm, the song of praise proclaimed by the Virgin of Nazareth on meeting her elderly kinswoman Elizabeth (cf. Lk 1:39). Our hearts too were consoled by the words of the Psalmist: “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet, righteousness and peace will kiss” (Ps 85:10). Dear brothers and sisters, in this visit I have wanted to convey my personal love and spiritual closeness, together with that of the universal Church, to the Christian community here in Turkey, a small minority which faces many challenges and difficulties daily. With firm trust let us sing, together with Mary, a magnificat of praise and thanksgiving to God who has looked with favour upon the lowliness of his servant (cf. Lk 1:48). Let us sing joyfully, even when we are tested by difficulties and dangers, as we have learned from the fine witness given by the Roman priest Don Andrea Santoro, whom I am pleased to recall in this celebration. Mary teaches us that the source of our joy and our one sure support is Christ, and she repeats his words: “Do not be afraid” (Mk 6:50), “I am with you” (Mt 28:20). Mary, Mother of the Church, accompany us always on our way! Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us! Aziz Meryem Mesih’in Annesi bizim için Dua et. Amen.”

- Pope Benedict XVI, APOSTOLIC JOURNEY TO TURKEY - MASS BEFORE THE SHRINE OF MERYEM ANA EVÌ, 29 November 2006

#Catholic #Christianity #quotes #Pope Benedict

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cassianus · 1 year

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The joy of the Messiah's appearance abounds in the Church's liturgical services of the Winter Pascha. When the "Hail" of the angelic salutation is translated "Rejoice," as it often is in the church services since in Greek that is what it literally means, there is an even greater presence of the "good news of great joy" for the faithful, since they, together with the whole of creation, are greeted with this salutation again and again in the songs of the festal celebration.

Let creation exceedingly rejoice,

For the Creator fashions himself as a creature.

And He who was before all things now manifests Himself as God newly revealed.

Let the wise men go to meet Him with their gifts;

Let the shepherds clap their hands in faith at the wonder;

and let mortal men join the angels with rejoicing.

Be joyful, O earth!

Behold, Christ draws near to be born in Bethlehem.

Be glad, O sea!

And dance for joy, O company of prophets,

For today you behold the fulfillment of your words.

Rejoice, all you righteous!

Let the kings of the whole earth sing with rejoicing,

And let the nations be in exceeding joy!

Mountains, hills, and valleys,

Rivers, seas, and the whole of creation:

Magnify the Lord who now is born.

Rejoice, O Virgin,

The Theotokos who of the Holy Spirit

Has borne life into the world

For the salvation of all!

One of the most devastating accusations that can be made against Christians is that they have no joy. Joyless Christians are a contradiction in terms. People who are bitter, complaining, condemning, accusing, dissatisfied and depressed are certainly not Christians. They can only be people whose life is untouched by grace, people whose existence is confined to the suffocating limitations of "this world" whose "ruler" is the devil and whose "form... is passing away" (Jn 12:31; 1 Cor 7:31). They cannot possibly be those who belong to Christ and the kingdom of God. For Christians by definition have Christ's "joy fulfilled in themselves" (Jn 17:13). They are people whose joy, which no one can take away, is literally full and complete (Jn 15:11; 16:22, 24).

In his famous book For the Life of the World, Father Alexander Schmemann speaks about the joy of Christians. From its very beginning, he says,

Christianity has been the proclamation of joy, of the only possible joy on earth. It rendered impossible all the joy we usually think of as possible. But within this impossibility, at the very bottom of this darkness, it announced and conveyed a new all-embracing joy, and with this joy it transformed the End into a Beginning. Without the proclamation of this joy, Christianity is incomprehensible. It is only as joy that the Church was victorious in the world, and it lost the world when it lost that joy, and ceased to be a credible witness to it. Of all the accusations against Christians, the most terrible one was uttered by Nietzsche when he said that Christians had no joy.

Father Alexander goes on to say that before Christians can do anything else with all of their "programs and missions, projects and techniques," they "must recover the meaning of this great joy." he says that joy "is not something one can define or analyze. One enters into joy. 'Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord' (Mt 25:21)." And one enters into this joy, this exceeding great joy, he insists, only by entering into the liturgical, eucharistic life of the Church herself. Here, and only here, as in the celebration of the Nativity of Christ and His Epiphany in the world, can a person partake of that joyful reality for which the world itself was created in the beginning.

The above is an excerpt from The Winter Pascha, by Fr. Thomas Hopko

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unluckyhoneybee · 1 year

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English is not my first language so sometimes with songs I just vibe with the music not caring about what they say.

Recently I had been listening to Witness by Mt Joy a lot and I was like, what a beautiful song. I could catch some parts so I thought I'd check the lyrics.

I'm crying now.

#Thank you very much Mt joy I'm broken now #Mt joy #Spotify

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lawrenceop · 3 years

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HOMILY for the 3rd Sun of Advent (EF)

Phil 4:4-7; John 1:19-28

The Dominican friar, Meister Eckhart, a German mystic of the late 13th-century once described the Holy Trinity in this way: “The Father laughs at the Son, and the Son at the Father, and the laughter brings forth pleasure, and the pleasure brings forth joy, and the joy brings forth love”. Laughter, pleasure, joy. This is how our God is, and this joy overflows into creation so that we and our world are held in being by God’s love. And who is this joy within the Holy Trinity, if not the Holy Spirit? So, when John the Baptiser promises that Christ will baptize us with the Holy Spirit (cf Mt 3:11), he means that we Christians will be filled with God’s Spirit of joy. And so, today, on Gaudete Sunday, ‘rejoicing Sunday’, St Paul says to us: “Rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil 4:4).

But what does it mean to rejoice? The dictionary defines ‘joy’ as ‘intense and especially ecstatic or exultant happiness’. But is St Paul saying that we Christians should be wildly happy and laughing all the time? It would be rather exhausting! Indeed, should we feel guilty because we don’t feel like laughing and being gleeful in the face of the uncertainties, difficulties and even the genuine sorrows of this time? For many this holiday period, particularly this year, can bring up painful reminders of bereavements suffered at the end of the year, or the gloom of lonely and depressing pandemic restrictions, and the economic uncertainties faced by so many can make this a rather cheerless time. So, how can Sacred Scripture call us to “rejoice always”?

I think that we would misunderstand St Paul if we think it means mere happiness and forced merriment – the kind that you might experience at office Christmas parties when one ‘over-indulges’ in order to plaster over the real problems and tensions in the workplace. For St Paul was himself subject to beatings, imprisonment, and much suffering. He had worries about money to fund his missions, frustration about being misunderstood and maligned, and was grieved when Christian communities broke away from his teaching and guidance. So, Christian joy does not mean that we are without worries and sorrows. Nor does it mean that we should ignore these troubles and uncertainties and just focus on having a good time. Rather, joy means having a happiness and contentment that is deeply rooted in faith in God’s goodness, and hope in his promises. It means living according to the Beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven is theirs”. It means knowing that God’s love holds us in being, and that he cares for us, and desires our eternal happiness with him in heaven.

In the words of the prophet Isaiah, who is very much an Advent voice, we rejoice because God has “clothed me in the garments of salvation” and “covered me in the robes of righteousness”. Indeed, Isaiah uses the imagery of marriage to express how we should rejoice: that deep satisfaction and joy of a bride or bridegroom, who is being joined forever to his or her one love. And because of love, the husband and wife, together, can endure all hardships and trials. That is the kind of union we have with God because the Holy Spirit dwells in us, like in a temple, and he fills us with God’s presence. God’s Spirit in us, wedded to us in love, fills us with the joy of the Blessed Trinity himself. Joy, therefore, is a fruit of the Holy Spirit, a divine gift that comes from our graced union with God.

It’s a tragedy that often we don’t experience this but this is the true gift that God wants to give us this Christmas, and indeed, he wants to give it to us daily. Instead of seeking delight in and from God, though, we often are tempted by the pleasures and transient joys of the world; we seek consolation from things that do not last and which may even be destructive of our true happiness; and we settle for the fleeting fancies of this world rather than the deep and abiding joy that comes from the Holy Spirit. Pope Benedict XVI, when he visited Scotland in 2011 put it really well, and I think he speaks to our experience today. He said: “There are many temptations placed before you every day - drugs, money, sex, pornography, alcohol - which the world tells you will bring you happiness, yet these things are destructive and divisive. There is only one thing which lasts: the love of Jesus Christ personally for each one of you. Search for him, know him and love him, and he will set you free from slavery to the glittering but superficial existence frequently proposed by today’s society. Put aside what is worthless and learn of your own dignity as children of God”. This is what Pope St Leo the Great said also in his great Christmas sermon: “Christian, remember your dignity, and now that you share in God’s own nature, do not return by sin to your former base condition. Bear in mind who is your head and of whose body you are a member. Do not forget that you have been rescued from the power of darkness and brought into the light of God’s kingdom.” If we always bear this in mind, who or what could rob us of our true joy. For we belong to Christ; we are promised the eternal and unending joys of heaven; we are one with him in Holy Communion. Why, then, do we settle for less and fall into sin, lust after silly worldly pleasures, and futile quick-fix deceptive solutions?

So instead of seeking the consolations of the world, today’s Gospel calls us to seek the God of consolation, who is Love. Seek God, who St John says, stands among us, and whom we do not know. For often God’s Spirit is active and at work in our lives, and he consoles us, and brings us joy, but we do not know it because we don’t recognize him at work, present in our lives. If we want to seek the God of consolation then, we need to quieten down, and listen for his Voice of comfort crying out in the wilderness of our lives. If we want peace and contentment, we need to seek God’s perspective, and see things as he does. And we do this through prayer. As St Paul says in the epistle: “Have no anxiety about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Phil 4:6-7)

The Holy Spirit, who I have called the joy within the Blessed Trinity, is here called the “peace of God” by St Paul because it is the Spirit, bestowing God’s sanctifying grace upon us, who brings divine peace to our hearts. It is the Spirit who reconciles and conforms our will to God’s will, and who thus gives us assurance of God’s providence and governance of all things, no matter how terrible circumstances might seem. Therefore, while the media might be full of gloom, and the doomsayers predict ruin and catastrophe, we Christians remain hopeful and joyful in the Lord; we “rejoice in the Lord always.”

And such joy is one vital thing we Christians have to share with others, to bring “good tidings to the afflicted and comfort the broken-hearted”. This Christian joy, as St John says, “bears testimony, it bears witness to the light, that all might believe in [Christ]” (Jn 1:7). This joy is a cry in the wilderness of our world, of our sin-wounded human lives – not the crying of tears and sorrow, but the cry of excitement, joy, and delight that is St John the Baptist’s upon seeing the Messiah. So, as Pope Francis has said: “Do not keep Christ to yourselves! Share with others the joy of your faith. The world needs the witness of your faith…” So, as you return from Church today, laugh a little, and rejoice – some of us will go forth from this Mass tonight to bring light and song into our streets and public squares! And if people ask you why, tell them about the Blessed Trinity who is the eternal source of our unending joy.

#joy #Trinity #peace #prayer

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iwantahockeyhimbo · 3 years

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1, 4, 9, 18, 19, 26 & 37. (if you feel like answering all of those for the song asks) :)

i already answered 4 and 19 so here are the others :)

1. your favorite song

money trees by kendrick lamar and witness by mt. joy (sorry i couldn’t pick one)

9. a song that makes you want to cry

be my mistake by the 1975

18. a song that gets stuck in your head

party in the usa by miley cyrus (it doesn’t happen often but it sticks hard when it does)

26. your favorite christmas song

santa baby by eartha kit (or any jackson 5 christmas song)

37. a song that reminds you of your best friend

act up by city girls

#himbo answers #thank you for asking!#song asks

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mercurialmechanisms · 4 years

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A TALE OF TWO TOWERS

It’s finally here!

So a while back I posted a sneak peek of the piece I did for the @pokemythsguidebook zine. Now that the zines are out in the world, I can post the whole piece! A huge shout-out to everyone that worked on the zine: it was a great experience, and the zine itself is amazing! We should have extra copies going on sale soon!

A TALE OF TWO TOWERS

The following is a compilation of quotes taken from various first-hand accounts on the history, geography, and legends of the city of Ecruteak, mainly in regards to the Tin and Brass Towers and the great Pokémon that once called them home. It is my hope that in gathering all these different accounts together, we might someday piece together the truth about what happened on that fateful day over one hundred years ago, and bring the great birds back to their rightful roosts.

Morty, gym leader of Ecruteak

When people arrive in Ecruteak City for the first time, there are three questions they always ask.

Is the gym leader in?

Where is the Dance Theater of the Kimono Girls?

What is the giant tower in the distance?

Many people know, of course, of the Tin Tower. But it is one thing to know of it, and another thing to see it rising, gleaming and proud, above the city. Any local you talk to will tell you that you must stay in the city for at least one whole day, so that you can see the sun rise and set against the silver walls.

The remains of the Brass Tower sit to the west of the Tin Tower, a shadow of its once golden splendor. Few wish to step through its charred entrance, for fear of falling prey to a curse or for fear of falling through the floor. Those that have walked through the ruins say that they feel as though they are always being watched, and some even claim to have seen three beasts through the holes in the floor, lying in wait.

Nurse Joy of Ecruteak, A Nurse’s Guide to Johto

The Tin Tower and the Brass Tower were once roosts for two powerful birds. Ho-Oh, Guardian of the Skies, rested atop the Tin Tower. Brilliant feathers of seven different colors shone in the sun, a beacon against the Tin Tower’s silvery walls. At sunrise, it would appear as if the roof was on fire, Ho-Oh’s feathers turning crimson and gold. At noon, its feathers were as blue as the clearest sky, and at twilight the deepest indigo. Ho-Oh would freely fly to and from the tower, though what it was doing while it was away no one knows. A rainbow was always left in its wake, shimmering against the sky for hours until it faded away.

Lugia, Guardian of the Seas, sat across from Ho-Oh atop the Brass Tower. Pale as the stars and powerful as the storms, Lugia was easy to spot against the shining tower, watching over the city with sharp eyes. It rarely ever moved from its spot, its great wings never twitching in any way that might indicate a desire to take flight. Sometimes three other large birds could be seen circling above its head, squabbling with each other for hours, sometimes days, until finally coming to rest at Lugia’s side. No one is quite certain what three Pokémon these were, as they flew away as soon as anyone approached the tower.

Not just any person was allowed in the towers, of course. The towers and the two birds were attended to by a group of sages, ancestors of the current Ecruteak gym leader Morty, and creators of the dance practiced by the Kimono Girls. They communed regularly with the birds, especially Lugia, whose psychic abilities allowed it to easily converse with them. Though they did not often share what it was they spoke of with the birds, they did occasionally pass on messages, usually reminding the people of the city to be kind and respectful, both to each other and to Pokémon. Others were occasionally allowed into the towers, trainers that showed great strength and great heart. The many floors of the towers formed a maze as a further challenge for those that wished to see the birds. Of the few that were allowed to enter the tower, even fewer made it to the top.

For the citizens of Ecruteak there was no greater joy, no greater source of pride than seeing both birds on their roofs. It was common for the people of Ecruteak to wake up before the sun so that they could watch the two call to each other in the early morning light. The song of Ho-Oh and Lugia, they said, was so beautiful that it could make one weep upon hearing it for the first time. Special bells were crafted that mimicked the sound of each Pokémon, though most of them have been lost to time and greed. People would hang these bells above their doors or carry them while traveling as a token of good fortune. It became tradition for any trainer, having beaten the Ecruteak gym, to seek a pair of these bells before moving on to the next city. Some gym leaders even began to give out the bells instead of a formal badge.

One morning, however, everything changed. As all of the people of Ecruteak were waking up a great boom sounded above the city, driving them all from their homes. Lugia, for the first time in history, was taking flight from its perch. It flapped its great wings again, splitting the air with a second boom as it rose into clouds lit up with fire and lightning. The three birds that came to Lugia were fighting with a greater fury than ever before seen. The three circled around Lugia as it flew between them, trying to separate them with its massive wings. Below them, the people of Ecruteak watched, waiting with baited breath to see who would win.

Whether it was caused by one of the Pokémon or by the storm they had created, a massive bolt of lightning suddenly split the sky. It blinded those watching and created a thunderclap so loud it could be heard as far as Mt. Silver. When the people’s vision had cleared, the Brass Tower was completely engulfed in flames. A few people immediately rushed to call out what water Pokémon they had, but it was no use. No Pokémon or person could approach the inferno. Above them, Lugia finally put an end to the three birds’ fighting, sending them flying in three different directions. It watched for several hours as its tower burned, before rising into the clouds and disappearing.

This was the last the city would see of Lugia.

For three days the fire burned, never showing any sign of slowing down. The sages that cared for the towers prayed for the fire to stop, for the city to be unharmed. On the morning of the fourth day the skies opened with rain, a downpour so great that it made it impossible to see. It rained for the whole day, and the next morning the fire was gone. In its place was the charred shell of the once mighty Brass Tower.

The people of Ecruteak were unsure what to do. Did they begin to rebuild the tower, so that Lugia would return? Was it even safe to enter the tower? Would Ho-Oh, who had left the city days before the fire, return to them?

Days passed, days that turned into weeks, and finally Ho-Oh appeared in the sky. It landed at the top of the Tin Tower, and for several days stared at the burned remains. The people began to grow restless, and their restlessness turned to anger. Would the great Pokémon, who they let rest in their city and had attended to for centuries, not aid them in some way? Did it think the destruction was their fault? The sages tried to assure them that the Pokémon simply needed time to mourn the loss of its partner, but this only served to make the people angrier. They decided to storm the Tin Tower and force the bird to help them.

Before they could defeat the sages guarding the entrance to the tower, Ho-Oh took flight from its roost, circling the city once before stopping above the burned tower. It opened its beak and a brilliant blue fireball shot one, two, three times into the tower. The people of Ecruteak panicked, worrying that their city was once more at risk of being burned. Instead, the flames engulfed three Pokémon that had been trapped in the tower and killed by the blaze, their bodies burnt beyond recognition. As they watched the Pokémon began to rise, their forms shifting as they changed in size and shape. After several minutes the flames disappeared, leaving three Pokémon standing where three had once lain.

The three beasts took one look at the city, at the people around them and the burned tower behind them, and immediately began to run. The first, bright yellow with teeth the size of a man’s arm, left with sparks marking its trail. The second, deep brown with a crown of red and yellow, left with fire in its wake. The third, icy blue with a crest like a jewel, stayed for a moment longer, crying out to Ho-Oh flying above it before leaving, puddles forming wherever it stepped.

The citizens, awed and terrified by what they had just witnessed, doubled their efforts to capture the mystical bird. If it could do that – could bring the dead back to life with so little effort – what else could it do? Ho-Oh, sensing the darkness in the people’s hearts and knowing it was in danger, let out a shrill cry and took flight, leaving the city behind.

The Wise Sages of the Barrier Station, A Complete History of Ecruteak

It’s been one hundred and fifty years since then.

Many people have tried to bring back the birds, climbing to the top of the Tin Tower with good and bad intentions alike. Morty, our current gym leader, has tried on multiple occasions, staying at the top of the tower for days at a time. Eusine, a mysterious man who seems more interested in the beasts Ho-Oh resurrected than the bird itself, has made the climb several times as well. Even Lance of the Elite Four and Professor Oak have each journeyed to Ecruteak to make the climb. A few attempts have been made to start rebuilding the Brass Tower, though none have been successful. Gathered materials will disappear overnight, and builders will become so frightened they leave with barely any notice.

Many people have claimed to see Ho-Oh flying through the sky across Johto, and even occasionally in Kanto. Lugia, however, has only been seen once, flying above the Whirl Islands. Many people believe that it lives within the caves hidden below the islands, no longer trusting people. The three beasts that were resurrected by Ho-Oh have been sighted throughout Johto, though they are all known to flee the moment they realize they have been spotted.

What will it take to bring them all back home?

Zuki of the Ecruteak Dance Theater, A History of Dance

#pokemon #pokemon myths and legends #pokemon zine #writers of tumblr #my writing

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intermission-report · 4 years

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tagged by @ahoswhiskers :)

rules: you can usually tell a lot about a person by the type of music they listen to! put your favorite playlist on shuffle and list the first 10 songs, then tag 10 people. no skipping!

my vibe - mt. joy

look@ugo - mosie

edge of seventeen - stevie nicks

goodnight chicago - rainbow kitten surprise

i’m your wreck - mt. joy

witness - mt. joy

the chain - fleetwood mac

3 degrees south - ziggy alberts

all that and more (sailboat) - rainbow kitten surprise

live well - palace

#thanks for the tag

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loveisbraveandwild · 4 years

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positives! 200 days woohoo!! got up and did yoga for 30 minutes and my fad made me an omlette for breakfast! watched season 3 of atypical and it was sooooo good! i love casey and izzie! went on a little adventurous walk and found some river and saw deer which made me very happy! learned witness, mt joy’s new song on ukulele and starting red white and royal blue! oh and i made a veggie burger for dinner which was yummy aha

#positives #200

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noodledesk · 4 years

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hi, I hope you're doing well! I would love to get some good music recs from you💛ps - I love every genre and listen to k-indie songs too.

hello :) i hope you’re also doing well! recently i’ve been enjoying the following songs (none of these are k-indie hahaha)

thinking ‘bout love, wild rivers

young love, relic

once in a lifetime, talking heads

northern sky, nick drake

summer girl, haim

witness, mt. joy

#anon #ask #enjoy!!!! i love love these songs #Anonymous

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gemutlichreads · 4 years

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to all my mt. joy fans out there, i just realized the reason why the last 4 tracks blend together is because together the songs say WITNESS US BECOME STRANGERS

#mt. joy #oh my god #this is great

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pope-francis-quotes · 6 years

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25th September >> (@zenitenglish) #PopeFrancis #PopeInBaltics Estonia: Full Text of Pope’s Remarks to Ecumenical Meeting of Youth.

Estonia: Full Text of Pope’s Remarks to Ecumenical Meeting of Youth

‘Let us ask for the apostolic strength to bring the Gospel to others.’

the remarks by Pope Francis during his September 25, 2018, Ecumenical Meeting with young people, in the Kaarli Lutheran Church, Tallinn.

The Holy Father’s Address

Dear Young People,

Thank you for your warm welcome, for your songs and for the testimonies of Lisbel, Tauri and Mirko. I am grateful to the Archbishop of the Estonian Evangelical Lutheran Church, Urmas Viilma, for his kind words of welcome, and for the presence of Archbishop Andres Põder, President of the Estonian Council of Churches, of Bishop Philippe Jourdan, Apostolic Administrator in Estonia, and of the other representatives from the different Christian confessions present in the country. I am also grateful for the presence of Madam President of the Republic.

It is always good to meet, to share our life stories, and to share with one another our thoughts and hopes; it is wonderful, too, for us to come together as believers in Jesus Christ. These meetings bring to fulfillment that dream of Jesus at the Last Supper: “That they may all be one, […] so that the world may believe” (Jn 17:21). If we try to see ourselves as pilgrims journeying together, we will learn how to entrust our heart to our traveling companions without fear and distrust, looking only to what we all truly seek: peace in the presence of the one God. Just as crafting peace is an art, so too, learning to trust one another is also an art and a source of happiness: “Blessed are the peacemakers” (Mt 5:9). And we do not go on this road, on this path only with believers, but with all. All have something to say to us. We have something to say to all.

The great painting in the apse of this church contains a phrase from the Gospel of Saint Matthew: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Mt 11:28). You, as young Christians, can identify with some elements in this passage of the Gospel.

In the preceding narrations, Matthew tells us that Jesus is accumulating disappointments. First He laments because it seems that those who heard Him simply did not understand what He was trying to say (cf. Mt 11:16-19). Frequently you too, as young people, can feel that the adults around you do not appreciate your hopes and desires; sometimes, when they see you very happy, they get suspicious; and if they see you anxious about something, they downplay it. In the consultation prior to the forthcoming Synod, in which we will reflect on young people, many of you expressed the desire to have a companion along the way, someone who can understand you without judging and can listen to you as well as respond to your questions (cf. Synod on Young People, Instrumentum Laboris, 132). Our Christian Churches – and I would dare say this of every institutionally structured religious process – at times bring attitudes that make it easier for us to talk, give advice, speak from our own experience, rather than listen, rather than be challenged and learn from what you are experiencing. Many times Christian communities close themselves, without realizing it, and do not listen to your anxieties. We know that you want and expect “to be accompanied not by an unbending judge, or by a fearful and hyper-protective parent who generates dependence, but by someone who is not afraid of his weakness and is able to make the treasure shine that, like an earthen vessel, it holds within (cf. 2 Cor 4:7)” (ibid., 142). Today, I am here to tell you that we want to mourn with you when you mourn, to accompany your joys with our applause and our laughter, and to help you to be followers of the Lord. You, boys and girls, young people, know this: when a Christian community is truly Christian, it does not engage in proselytism. It only listens, welcomes, accompanies and walks, but does not impose anything.

Jesus also complains about the cities He visited, where he worked great miracles and demonstrated signs of great tenderness and closeness, and He deplores their inability to see that the change He came to bring was urgent and not to be delayed. He even says that they are more stubborn and obdurate than Sodom (cf. Mt 11:20-24). When we adults refuse to acknowledge some evident reality, you tell us frankly: “Can’t you see this?” Some of you who are a bit more forthright might even say to us: “Don’t you see that nobody is listening to you anymore, or believes you?” We ourselves need truly to be converted; we have to realize that in order to stand by your side we need to change many situations that, in the end, put you off.

We know – as you have told us – that many young people do not turn to us for anything because they don’t feel we have anything meaningful to say to them for their existence. This is awful. When a Church, a community, behaves in such a way that young people think: “They won’t say anything to me that will help me in my life.” In fact, some of them expressly ask us to leave them alone, because they feel the Church’s presence as bothersome or even irritating. And this is true. They are upset by sexual and economic scandals that do not meet with clear condemnation, by our unpreparedness or simply the passive role we assign them (cf. Synod on Young People, Instrumentum Laboris, 66). These are just a few of your complaints. We want to respond to them; as you yourselves put it, we want to be a “transparent, welcoming, honest, inviting, communicative, accessible, joyful and interactive community” (ibid. 67), namely, a community without fear. Fears close us. Fear drives us to be proselytes. And fraternity is something else: an open heart and fraternal embrace.

Before coming to the evangelical text that dominates this church, Jesus breaks out in praise of the Father. He does so because He realizes that those who did understand, who did grasp the meaning of His message and his person, are the little ones, those that have a simple, open mind. Seeing all of you like this, gathered as one and singing together, I add my own voice to that of Jesus and I marvel that, for all our lack of witness, you continue to discover Jesus in the heart of our communities. Because we know that where Jesus is, there is always renewal; there are always new opportunities for conversion and for leaving behind everything that separates us from Him and from our brothers. Where Jesus is, life always has the flavor of the Holy Spirit. You, here today, reflect something of the marvel that Jesus felt.

So yes, let us repeat His words: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest (Mt 11:28). But let us say them in the conviction that, beyond all our limitations and divisions, Jesus is still the reason for our being here. We know no greater peace of mind can be found than by letting Jesus carry our burdens. We also know that many people still do not know Him and live in sadness and loss. One of your famous singers, about ten years ago, said about one of her songs: “Love is dead, love has gone, love no longer lives here” (Kerli Koiv, Love is dead). No, please! Let us make love be alive, and we must all do this! And there are so many who have this experience: they see that the love of their parents ends, that the love of newlyweds dissolves; they feel profound pain when no one cares that they must emigrate to look for work or when they are regarded with suspicion because they are foreigners. It might seem that love is dead, as Kerli Koiv said, but we know that it is not and that we have a word to say, a message to bring, with few words and many actions, for you are the generation of images, the generation of action, more than speculation and theory.

And that is how Jesus likes it because He went about doing good, and when dying He preferred the striking message of the crossover mere words. We are united by our faith in Jesus, and He is waiting for us to bring Him to all those young people whose lives are no longer meaningful. And the risk is, also for us t0 believe, to lose the meaning of life. And this happens when we believers are inconsistent. Let us accept together that newness that God brings to our life, that newness that impels us to set out anew to all those places where humanity is most wounded. Wherever men and women, beneath the appearance of a shallow conformity, continue to seek an answer to the question of life’s meaning. Yet we will never go alone: God comes with us; “He is unafraid of the fringes, He himself became a fringe (cf. Phil 2:6-8; Jn 1:14). If we have the courage to go out of ourselves, of our egoism, of our closed ideas and go to the fringes, we will find Him there, because Jesus precedes us in the life of a suffering and discarded brother. He is already there (cf. Apostolic Exhortation Gaudete et Exsultate, 135).

Boys and girls, love is not dead. It calls us and sends us forth. It only asks that we open our heart. Let us ask for the apostolic strength to bring the Gospel to others – but to offer it, not impose it — and to resist the tendency to see our Christian life as if it were a museum of memories. The Christian life is life, is future, is hope! It’s not a museum. May the Holy Spirit help us to contemplate history in the light of the risen Jesus, so that the Church, so that our Churches will be able to continue to go forward welcoming in them the Lord’s surprises (cf. ibid, 139), recovering their youthfulness, the joy, and beauty of which Mirko spoke, of the Bride that goes to meet the Lord – the Lord’s surprises. The Lord surprises us because life surprises us always. Let us go forward, to meet these surprises. Thank you!

[Original text: Italian] [Official translation]

SEPTEMBER 25, 2018 17:23

PAPAL TEXTS

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toogoodmusic · 3 years

Audio

THE TOO GOOD TEN with Drew William

The Canadian Football Player and up and coming singer-songwriter Drew William follows up the early 2021 debut EP Room with the latest Message In A Bottle EP.

While playing music in coffee shops and restaurants for the past few years the athlete took advantage of the canceled football season last year to really dive into his musical passion. Now with six songs released, William has proven his ability to pull at your heartstrings with raw and honest songs that while personal to him can be healing and relatable to anyone who listens. A genuine level of intimacy blossoms in every song that gives way for his music to be both enjoyable alone or with close friends and family.

The latest EP release continues that level of intimacy that his fans have come to expect.The two song project features a brand new original release, “California Coastline” that gives ode to William’s home state while also paying respect to a song close to the singer’s heart with a cover of Post Malone’s “A Thousand Bad Times.” Find out more about Drew William and the latest EP by checking out his Too Good Ten below:

1. Starting from the beginning, when did music start for you? How did you realize you wanted to make a career out of it?

DREW WILLIAM: The beginning is in a one bedroom apartment on Morley Ave. Some discreet little red building in a town most of the world has never heard of; Winnipeg, MB. I picked up the acoustic guitar three years ago in that apartment and have played it every single day since. I came into music naturally. Playing for friends, playing open mics, playing restaurants, pubs, and now going for it in the real music world. Have my first full-set show at Burt Cummings Theatre on April 20th. I feel this is my first big stepping stone.

DREW WILLIAM LIVE STREAM ON RED TIE LIVE’S FACEBOOK ON APRIL 20TH @ 8:00pm EST / 5:00pm PST. CLICK HERE TO WATCH.

2. You were born in California, went to college in Minnesota and now live in Canada. How have those three experiences make their influence into your music? Any of the (3) stick out as being most influential?

DW: I like the surfer rock style a lot, that nostalgic almost drunk atmosphere that it places you inside. And when I moved to the Midwest it was a lot more folk and ballads. I guess I kind of have two sides to myself: this very twenty-six year old feeling his way through life and this old soul that feels like it’s already made the mistakes and is trying to come out and wisen me up. It’s an interesting mix of the two.

3. Congrats on the release of the debut EP, Room. What was the biggest learning from putting together and releasing a debut EP?

DW: To trust in my gut, and to not be so critical on myself. I knew that mixing and producing my own music was a risk, because It was a lonely venture into a world I was just learning about. I knew that I might not have the skills of a veteran who has been doing it for years. But at the same time, I wanted to enter music absolutely as myself. From the get go I wanted to share myself; no matter how rusty or beginner that sounded. I look at all this as a growth of music and a growth of self. I’m having to learn to let go of a lot of insecurities and fears, and for that I have to thank my own music.

4. And now fans have an additional taste of your music with the release of the Message In A Bottle EP. What’s the EP title mean to you?

DW: “Message in a Bottle” came to me from a line in the lyrics: It says, “On that California Coastline / We’re fire and rain at the same time / I found a bottle on the sea / With a message on the inside / Is a tale about a lost love / From a boy who held these memories.” It’s this goodbye to a past version of myself, to the old loves and it’s this intimate goodbye because it’s more than just memory it’s a part of soul, too, that no longer serves.

So the throwing of the bottle is this closure; a letter written and sealed by the same person. An opening up and a goodbye. This seems to be what growth feels like now. Maybe that will change in appearance, or feel differently, I’ll find out. But for now, this feels like a goodbye to an old self, with a mindset of growing up whilst not losing that child inside that makes all of this fun and freeing.

5. You’re not only a musician but also a wide receiver for the Canadian Football League team Winnipeg Blue Bombers. How do you balance being both an artist and an athlete? What’s the biggest challenge of pursing both careers?

DW: This past season was cancelled so it became a focus point to work on my music. This year as we anticipate a season, I have to tread carefully because it’s something I have never done, two things simultaneously. I used to believe these two worlds had to be separate, music and football. But it has proven to be quite the contrary. It has opened the doors for my music to be heard, and I will continue to see them as supporting roles in my life.

6. As an athlete is it tough for you to show a more vulnerable side through your music?

DW: It is. I’ll be straight up honest. There is a lot of insecurity on a football team. Egos, hyper masculinity, these things exist everywhere. But there are guys who are so much more than this sport. I hope to be an example to kids who are afraid to show their emotions, show them that you can be so many different things in life and still maintain your truest essence. I just live passionately, whether that’s on the field or on stage, I’m putting it all on the line.

7. Do you have any funny/fun/weird fan interaction stories you can share?

DW: I was supposed to play this little curb-side concert, this family won it in a little raffle I held and when I showed up it was just one couple. The wife was wasted and the husband was 30 years older than her. Their son came in and out of the room where I half heartedly played for them (he was schizophrenic but was the most normal person in the house). And then there daughter came up from the basement wearing all leather like she was about to hit the corner. She was probably thirty-five, filming me on her phone.. I was very weirded out. The wife had made bacon pirogi's for me. I told her I was a vegetarian. She didn’t understand why someone would do that…. And she kissed me on the cheek when I left. I was very disturbed ha-ha.

8. If you could headline a music festival – which one would be the dream festival? And who would be your choice for the other (2) acts that would headline the other two nights of the festival?

DW: I really think me, The Lumineers and Ziggy Alberts could all put on a nice little folk fest. I wanna play the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in CO. Just an unbelievable venue. Not sure if there is a festival there though! I’ll go to anywhere that will take me at this point!

9. If you could only listen to (5) artists for the rest of your life who would they be?

DW: So basically my life anyway? Ha, I kid I kid. Truthfully: Mt. Joy, The National, Angus & Julia Stone, Cat Stevens & Zella Day

10. What’s the rest of 2021 look like for Drew William?

DW: A whole lot of learning, relationship building, collaboration, and diving deep inside and bringing out The best and truest art. I can feel my life changing before me, it’s frightening but exhilarating. Ready for this ride!

We’re ready for that ride as well! Shout-out to Drew William for hanging for this Too Good Ten. Keep updated with Drew by following along with the links below and be sure to tune TOMORROW, April 20th @ 8:00pm EST / 5:00pm PST right HERE.

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The Too Good Ten interview series is dedicated to giving you a quick glimpse at some of the freshest voices in music. Ten Questions. One Artist. Too Good. Let’s go.

While The Too Good Ten is dedicated to just highlighting ten questions from an artist, Too Good Music was lucky enough to score an additional two questions from Drew...check them out below:

BONUS QUESTION #1: Congrats on the new releases of “California Coastline” and the cover of Post Malone’s “A Thousand Bad Times.” What surprised you/or what might people not know about the process of covering and releasing your own version of another artist’s song?

DW: The part I was focused on was really making it my own version. Something people know but don’t know, so it feels like an entirely different ride. I wanted also to pay my respects to the song. It meant a lot to me. I’m sure it helped a lot of people. It’s also a message I needed to hear, especially now. We all need this reminder. We’re all feeling something right now, no need to hide that. This is a very hard time. But we are resilient people and it’s been a gift to witness and a gift to make music that continues to carry this message of resiliency and strength.

BONUS QUESTION #2: Your Quarantine Campfire series on IG live – where you perform, do Q&A’s and bring along friend’s and guests – is awesome. How’d you come up with that concept and would be a dream guest on the series?

DW: This was an extension of the in-person curb-side-concerts I was doing throughout the summer. Creating an intimate and safe place to share music, highlight some local artists and just have fun with the community. Man… My dream guest. Probably Zella Day cuz I got a lot respect for her music and I once saw her sing “Man on the Moon” on YouTube, all acoustic, and I was blown away. It would hit perfectly on my quarantine campfire.

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