In other words, he was Epsteined. Recently defrosted 24, year old microscopic organisms came back to life. Wife spent 90 minutes on the phone trying to get it to the collision center, but nothing was in stone. I spent 30 minutes online, in one of those stupid Chat bubbles. Yes, the car is at the center, yes, we may rent a car, and yes, there is a reservation waiting.
Yay us. Minor niggle: last time they told us no pets, the bastards. If Penny doesn't get to go on trips with her mommy, she sits by the door and pines until mommy returns. So Mommy's going visiting and no one got me a babysitter. You never know what I'll get up to if I don't have adult supervision. I was thinking Sandra Bullock, but no one got in touch with her. There's still a ruddy, lo-fi edge to the record, but the samples are more abundant and intricately woven, and there's an altogether fuller sound that gives the group a greater presence.
Moreover, the group's non-musical ideas come into greater focus as well. The Native Tongues' Afrocentric philosophy gets a more extensive airing here than on the debut, filling the record with positive consciousness-raising, both cultural and spiritual, there are even the occasional lyrical asides concerning good dietary habits.
All of this makes Done by the Forces of Nature one of the most intellectual hip-hop albums released up to that point, but as before, the group tempered their cerebral bent with a healthy sense of humor and fun. Thanks to the improved production, the J. Beez are able to take it to the dancefloor better than ever before, and toss in some pure, good-time, booty-shaking grooves.
Through it all, the J. Even if Straight out the Jungle was the historical landmark, Done by the Forces of Nature feels more realized in many respects, and is arguably the more satisfying listen.
Posted by Rho at Friday, October 28, 1 comment:. Oct 27, RhoDeo Goldy Rhox Hello, today the 43rd post of GoldyRhox, classic pop rock, in the darklight a UK artist that had a hard time selling this album, in the end he found an entrepreneur planning to start a recordlabel, it became its first release and a launchpad for a space industry 35 years later, a very smart and colorful entrepeneur indeed.
Now it would be disingenuous to state if todays mystery album hadn't sold many millions of copies he'd never gotten of the ground but money multipliers and the reputation he garnered from it made it possible for Sir Richard Branson to go a long way, he did very well. Meanwhile todays mystery artist needn't be pitied but this album overshadowed the rest of his career, recently he got his rights back after 35 years and he's rereleased the album in several new formats, not that it hadn't been rereleased and remastered by the previous rightsholder, EMI todays mystery album is the 25th anniversary version.
As a typical EMI snub just before they had to release the rights, a cover-mount deal with a sunday newspaper let them add 2,7million discs with the album for the friendly price of half a million into EMI's empty bankaccounts.
Now i'm not as naive to post this kinda music for all to see and have deleted, these will be a black box posts, i'm sorry for those on limited bandwidth but for most of you a gamble will get you a quality rip don't like it, deleting is just 2 clicks That said i will try to accommodate somewhat and produce some cryptic info on the artist and or album. Posted by Rho at Thursday, October 27, No comments:. Oct 26, RhoDeo Aetix. Hello, Aetix is still at that great southern land, currently the Queen is touring the country shaking hands with the offspring of those that were dumped there in her name.
Strange how this country hasn't managed to become a republic yet, something masochistic slavish in human nature i guess, or maybe they are under the illusion the queen will protect them against those bad ass aboriginals attacking them with an army of enchanted kangaroo's carrying billions of poisonous spiders in their pouches. Todays artists certainly didn't lack quality, they even managed getting acknowledged in the UK and western Europe but they were forced to be a long way from home most of the time.
Beautiful place, Perth but oh so isolated 4, km to do a gig in Sydney go figure thats Moscow-Paris and back, flying bit too expensive certainly in those days. Without a commercial breakthrough becoming a 'serious' citizen was inevitable for most of the band after spending so much unsettled time, so after 12 years the Triffids song ended. Main man David McComb battled on without much success and then he died, likely of heart-failure age 37, he had given it all.
They wrote and performed songs with Phil Kakulas on guitars and vocals all three later in The Blackeyed SusansIn Maythey became The Triffids, taking their name from the post-apocalyptic novel by John Wyndham. Between andMcComb had written over original songs and The Triffids had recorded and independently released six cassette tapes. ByKakulas and Sinclair had left and were replaced by David's older brother, Robert McComb on violin and guitar, and Will Akers on bass guitar, in Margaret Gillard had joined on keyboards.
Gillard and Akers left in February and were replaced by Jill Yates on keyboards and a returning Sinclair. They signed with new Australian independent label, Hot Records. The Triffids' debut album, Treeless Plain, released in November was a critically acclaimed and brilliant album—described as a "magnificent, muscular piece of work that pounds out simple powerful rock songs — one of the best indie rock albums of its day.
With little savings and five return plane tickets due to expire by Christmas, they gave themselves three months to make inroads in the UK, well the made the cover of NME. A grass roots following developed as they toured western European countries, finding pockets of popularity in: Holland, Greece, Scandinavia, Ireland and Belgium. Unable to raise a major record deal and with low finances, Born Sandy Devotional was recorded in London in August with Gil Norton producing, and was released in March According to Ian McFarlane, Australian rock music historian, "It was full of some of the most lonely, spacious songs ever written, and it remains one of the best Australian albums of the s.
Their critical success in the UK boosted their profile back in Australia where they recorded In the Pines in earlywhile awaiting the release of Born Sandy Devotional, which eventuated in March. In the Pines was issued in January and took The Triffids deeper into folk and country music, with a lo-fi sensibility.
The Triffids toured UK later in the year. The Triffids were courted by several UK major record labels, based on the success of Born Sandy Devotional, eventually signing a three record deal contract with Island Records in the UK in November The album, released in Februarysaw them explore themes of insanity, deception and rootlessness—the title refers to a fever suffered by sailors during long hot voyages. Pepper Knew My Father. The Triffids wanted to record the next album in Australia but, after the Calenture experience, Island wanted to keep the band nearby.
It was well received by critics, but the commercial success was not overwhelming, which disappointed band members. Together with being tired from the constant travelling and touring, led to The Triffids being dissolved. The group travelled to the US in for a pair of New York dates before taking a much needed vacation — one which turned permanent. The band's last Australian shows were towards the end ofwith the final at the Australian National University, in Canberra on 14 August A year later saw the postumous release of the live album, Stockholm, which completed their contractual obligations with Island.
InDavid McComb moved back to London with the aim of pursuing his solo career. Inafter no success, he returned to Australia to make some solo recordings for Mushroom Records featuring both Casey and Lee releasing just one solo album, Love of Will, in New York Businessman uncredited Sabrina Lott Passerby uncredited Ron Maestri Pedestrian on Cell Phone uncredited John Mancini Cyclist uncredited Jeffrey M. Cab Driver uncredited Danielle McKee Pedestrian uncredited Michael Morana Precision Driver uncredited Mark J.
College Student uncredited Grim Reaper Q. Alonzo uncredited Jonathan Root Younger Cop uncredited Brian Smyj Cab Driver uncredited Wayne Stephens Marco uncredited Aija Terauda Columbia Student uncredited Paul Thornton Central Park Pedestrian uncredited Naeem Uzimann Pedestrian uncredited Tet Wada Movie Central, April 18, Set around a bicycle messenger who is chased around New York City by a man who wants an envelope the messenger has, it was released on August 24, by Columbia Pictures and received positive reviews from film critics.
Principal photography began in mid-July in New York City. Gordon-Levitt was injured during filming on August 1,when he was cycling too fast and hit the back of a taxi.
The impact sent Gordon-Levitt flying into the rear windshield of the taxi, slashing his arm which required 31 stitches.
A shot of the aftermath of that accident is included as a scene during the credits of the film. Lawsuit and charges of copyright infringement: Ina lawsuit claiming copyright infringement was filed in the Northern District of California by author Joe Quirk, claiming Premium Rush was based on his novel The Ultimate Rush.
The suit claimed many plot, character name, and scene similarities to Quirk's original novel. In Julyfederal judge Richard Seeborg declined to dismiss Quirk's claim that Sony Pictures, parent company of Columbia Pictures, had breached an implied contract. The production company Pariah, director David Koepp and co-screenwriter John Kamps are also named in the suit.
On April 2,U. District Judge Richard Seeborg dismissed this case, finding that the two works were not substantially similar. While filming, Joseph Gordon-Levitt rode his bike into a cab and smashed into the rear windshield, shattering it. He managed to block his face with his arms and needed 31 stitches on the right. This feature was shot simultaneously as Triple Rush the TV docu-reality series about bike messengers in NY was wrapping up. Many of the stunt doubles and characters from the underground TV series appear in the movie.
Bobby Monday's alias Forrest J Ackerman is a tribute to Forey Ackerman, noted science fiction and horror movie fan and memorabilia collector he coined the term "sci fi" in He's had cameos in 48 movies and represented Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, and Hugo Gernsback after whom the "Hugo" award is named as their literary agent. Although some of the scenes are filmed at Columbia University Law School, as stated in the movie, most of the interior and exterior scenes supposedly there are actually filmed in Columbia's student center Lerner Hall.
The character Nima played by Jamie Chung began her career by appearing as a cast member on the series. Your Highness. Handmaiden Elle Liberachi Bridesmaid Dorian Dixon Troll Darren Thompson Troll David Thompson Troll Brian Steele Minotaur Ben Willbond Ranger Phil Holden Dwarf Executioner Chris Burke Dwarf Man Sinead Burke Dwarf Woman Tobias Winter Timotay Dungeon Master Paige Tyler Pale Skinned Beauty Rhian Sugden Forest Woman Amii Grove Forest Woman Madison Welch Forest Woman Eva Wyrwal Regina as Iga Wyrwal Charles Shaughnessy Guard uncredited Mark Byatt Skinny Prisoner.
Movie Central, April 19, Shahmir and Steve Jablonsky. It is a blend of genres with the sword and sorcery quest adventure combined with stoner film profanity and lowbrow humor.
Filming began in the summer of in Northern Ireland. Although the film was written by writer Ben Best and actor Danny McBride, the dialogue is heavily improvised. Director David Gordon Green said there was never a script used on-set. Only the plot outline and written notes were used. James Franco plays Danny McBride's older brother in this movie. In real life, Franco is younger. Share this During filming, James Franco flew back and forth between New York and Belfast because he was attending full-time classes in university.
Share this James Franco took sword training for nine months before and during filming. Share this The premise for the movie evolved from a frivolous game friends David Gordon Green and Danny McBride used to play to while away on film sets. Each would take turns in suggesting a title for a film and the other would try to concoct a viable storyline. When the title "Your Highness" was put forward, the premise was, " Quote: [from trailer] Thadeous: "This quest sucks!
Dan Gruber Cylk Cozart as Det. Jimmy Mulvey David Zayas as Det. Jerry Shue Patrick Garrow as Det. Touhey Sasha Roiz as Det. Kaller Jeff Kelly as Det. Shlong Conrad Pla as Det. Ortiz Hechter Ubarry as Det.
Jack Mosley Mos Def Eddie Bunker David Morse Frank Nugent Jenna Stern Diane Mosley Casey Sander Dan Gruber Cylk Cozart Jimmy Mulvey David Zayas Robert Torres Robert Racki Jerry Shue Patrick Garrow Touhey Sasha Roiz Kaller Conrad Pla Ortiz Hechter Ubarry Maldonado Richard Fitzpatrick Mike Sheehan Michael F.
Cannova Jess Mal Gibbons Pederson Tig Fong Briggs Brenda Pressley Gracie Scott McCord Lieutenant Kincaid David Sparrow Holding Cell Officer Eduardo Gomez Holding Cell Prisoner Sam Kung Chinese Man Angela Seto Chinese Wife Bernie Henry Man with Caddy Nick Alachiotis Russian Danny Lima Russian Claudio Masciulli Dominic Forlini Efosa Otuomagie Bus Driver Christina Orjalo Little Girl on the Bus Richard Wenk Restaurant Owner Paul Tuerpe Diane's Boyfriend Cece Neber Labao Bus Passenger Betty Chong Bus Passenger Sam Moses Bus Passenger Kathy Imrie Bus Passenger Jason Burke Bus Passenger Tom Wlaschiha Bus Passenger J.
Man in Gray Suit Kameron Louangxay Communications Tech Victoria Mitchell Woman in Apartment Cecil Phillips Court Officer Richard Collier Court Officer Aaron Ferguson Court Officer Bradley Paterson The Juror Daryl Dismond Subway Commuter David Talbolt Subway Commuter Toni Ellwand Subway Commuter Rolando Alvarez Giacoman Subway Commuter rest of cast listed alphabetically: Brian Andersson Detective uncredited Robert Bizik Construction Worker uncredited Ed Cuffe Pedestrian uncredited Joseph DeBona Detective uncredited Richard Donner Paramedic uncredited Marshall Factora Juror uncredited Victor Formosa Businessman uncredited Eli Harris Cab Driver uncredited Alan Lee Person in Cab uncredited Liam McGuckian Nephew uncredited Denis McKeown Pedestrian uncredited Allison Lee Ritter Passenger uncredited Joe Rosario Juror 4 uncredited Talia Russo Young Bride uncredited Norman Schleiffer Cop uncredited Michael Segovia Russian Boy uncredited Joseph Siravo District Attorney Haynes uncredited Brian Smyj Sniper uncredited Jeremy J.
Court Officer uncredited Lana Titova Waitress uncredited Joshua Tolby Pedestrian uncredited Schuster Vance Detective uncredited Sonny Vellozzi Pedestrian uncredited Emerson Wong Alleyway Chinese Cook uncredited William S. Delivery Man. Encore Avenue, April 20, Storyline: An aging cop is assigned the ordinary task of escorting a fast-talking witness from police custody to a courthouse. There are however forces at work trying to stop prevent them from making it.
It is a crime thriller film directed by Richard Donner. The film unfolds in the real time narration method. Willis originally wanted rapper Ludacris to play the part of Eddie Bunker. This is the second film in which David Morse plays the villain to Bruce Willis as the protagonist; the first was Twelve Monkeysin which Morse plays Dr. Mos Def's character has the name "Edward Bunker". Edward Bunker is a real life criminal turned actor thus proving that people can change, in line with the theme of the moviewho appeared in Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs and in Runaway Trainwhich he also co-wrote.
When he was sent to prison, Bunker was the youngest man there. In order to make Det. Jack Mosley's limp look realistic on screen, Bruce Willis put a pebble in his shoe and kept it there throughout the length of the shoot.
Filmed in Toronto and New York. Eddie Bunker: "You're driving in a hurricane and you see three people at a bus stop. One is an old lady and she's sick. One is your best friend and he saved your life. And the third is the lady of your dreams. Now check it out, you only have room for one in your car, which one do you take?
You stay behind with the love of your life. Jack Bondurant Tom Hardy Forrest Bondurant Jason Clarke Howard Bondurant Guy Pearce Charlie Rakes Jessica Chastain Maggie Beauford Mia Wasikowska Bertha Minnix Dane DeHaan Cricket Pate Chris McGarry Danny Tim Tolin Mason Wardell Gary Oldman Floyd Banner Lew Temple Deputy Henry Abshire Marcus Hester Deputy Jeff Richards Bill Camp Sheriff Hodges Alex Van Tizwell Minnix Noah Taylor Gummy Walsh Mark Ashworth Hophead 1 Tom Proctor Hophead 2 Bruce McKinnon Jimmy Turner Eric Mendenhall Spoons Rivard Toni Byrd Ida Belle Robert T.
Young Jack Jake Nash Young Forrest William Harrison Young Howard Joyce Baxter Aunt Winnie Jeff Braun Doctor Malinda Baker Young Black Girl Tom Turbiville Goon 1 Chad Randall Mugger 1 Terry Keasler Mugger 2 Duncan Nicholson Junior Ron Clinton Smith Bootlegger Anna House Old Mountain Woman Ricky Muse Bootlegger 2 Peter Krulewitch Ah, old war, best war— Where else did the words flow with an ease that came from centuries of practice? How else would the spirit of your father, your grandfather, rise from the dead?
Here in America, where every nationality confirmed its stereo-type— Biju felt he was entering a warm amniotic bath. But then it grew cold. This war was not, after all, satisfying; it could never go deep enough, the crick was never cracked, the itch was never scratched; the irritation built on itself, and the combatants itched all the more. They threw cannonball cabbages at each other. It sounded to their ears like an angry dandelion puff, but what he said was that they were a troublesome pair.
The sound of their fight had traveled up the flight of steps and struck a clunky note, and they might upset the balance, perfectly first-world on top, perfectly third-world twenty-two steps below. Mix it up in a heap and then who would patronize his restaurant, hm? What were they thinking? Do restaurants in Paris have cellars full of Mexicans, desis, and Pakis?
No, they do not. What are you thinking? They have cellars full of Algerians, Senegalese, Moroccans. Good-bye, Baby Bistro. He had been kind enough to hire Biju although he found him smelly.
Paki one way, Biju the other way. Rounding the corner, meeting each other again, turning away again. Six So, as Sai waited at the gate, the cook had come bandy-legged up the path with a lantern in his hand, blowing on a whistle to warn away jackals, the two cobras, and the local thief, Gobbo, who robbed all the residents of Kalimpong in rotation and had a brother in the police to protect him.
She shook her head. No problem there with water or electricity," he said. Awe swelled his words, made them tick smug and fat as first-world money. His disappointment was severe.
Reiterating basic unquestionable fact. From Dehra Dun. What will happen to you, poor child? There was something wrong with this girl, he could tell, but here she was.
The cook and the driver struggled with the trunk as the driveway was too overgrown with weeds to accommodate a car; just a slim path had been stamped through. The cook turned back: "How did they die? Mistry were crossing the square to the Society for Interplanetary Travel. These were the last days of Indo-USSR romance and already there was a whiff of dried bouquet in the air, in the exchanges between the scientists that segued easily into tears and nostalgia for the red-rose years of courtship between the nations.
Mistry had grown up during those heady times when the affection had been cemented by weapons sales, sporting competitions, visiting dance troups, and illustrated books that introduced a generation of Indian schoolchildren to Baba Yaga, who lived in her house on chicken feet in the prehistoric dark of a Russian forest; to the troubles of Prince Ivan and Princess Ivanka before they resided happily ever after in an onion-domed palace.
The couple had met in a public park in Delhi. Mistry had come jogging by, already in the air force, strong and tall, with a trim mustache, and the jogger found this student so astonishingly pretty, with an expression half tart, half sweet, that he stopped to stare. They became acquainted in this grassy acre, cows tethered to enormous rusty lawn mowers slowly grinding back and forth before a crumbling Mughal tomb. Before a year was up, in the deep cool center of the tomb, golden indirect light passing from alcove to hushed alcove, duskier, muskier through the carved panels each casting the light in a different lace pattern—flowers, stars—upon the floor, Mr.
Mistry proposed. She thought quickly. This romance had allowed her to escape the sadness of her past and the tediousness of her current girlish life.
There is a time when everyone wishes to be an adult, and she said yes. The pilot and the student, the Zoroastrian and the Hindu, emerged from the tomb of the Mughal prince knowing that nobody other than themselves would be impressed by their great secular romance. Still, they considered themselves lucky to have found each other, each one empty with the same loneliness, each one fascinating as a foreigner to the other, but both educated with an eye to the West, and so they could sing along quite tunefully while strumming a guitar.
They felt free and brave, part of a modern nation in a modern world. And, of course, these were the early days of space exploration. A dog named Lalka had been whooshed up in Sputnik II. Ina chimp named Ham had made the journey. After him, in the same year, Yuri Gagarin.
As the years lumbered on, not only Americans and Soviets, dogs and chimps, but a Vietnamese, a Mongolian, a Cuban, a woman, and a black man went up. Satellites and shuttles were orbiting the earth and the moon; they had landed on Mars, been launched toward Venus, and had completed a flyby of Saturn. At this time, a visiting Soviet team of aeronautical and aviation experts who had been instructed by their government to find likely candidates to send to space had arrived in India.
Mistry, not merely because of his competence but also because of the steely determination that shone from his eyes. He had joined a few other candidates in Moscow, and six-year-old Sai had been hastily entrusted to the same convent her mother had attended.
The competition was fierce. Just as Mr. Mistry was confessing to his wife his certainty that he would be chosen over his colleagues to become the very first Indian beyond the control of gravity, the fates decided otherwise, and instead of blasting through the stratosphere, in this life, in this skin, to see the world as the gods might, he was delivered to another vision of the beyond when he and his wife were crushed by local bus wheels, weighted by thirty indomitable ladies from the provinces who had speeded two days to barter and sell their wares in the market.
Thus they had died under the wheels of foreigners, amid crates of babushka nesting dolls. If their last thoughts were of their daughter in St. Sai imagined a sullen bulky architecture, heavyset, solid-muscled, bulldog-jowled, in Soviet shades of gray, under gray Soviet skies, all around gray Soviet peoples eating gray Soviet foods. A masculine city, without frill or weakness, without crenellation, without a risky angle.
An uncontrollable spill of scarlet now in this scene, unspooling. You must have courage. I am an orphan. Met Mr. Sharma for bridge and your papa cheated as usual.
We enjoy eating herring, a pungent fish you must sample one day. I am fine. It is very hot here. Yesterday we had our history exam and Arlene Macedo cheated as usual. Sai had not seen her parents in two whole years, and the emotional immediacy of their existence had long vanished.
This month there would be no Mistry bank draft in the convent coffers, no mandatory donations to the toilet renovation fund and bus fund, to fete days and feast days. The older nuns remembered her mother and the fact that the judge paid for her keep but never visited. There were other parts of the tale that none of them would be able to piece together, of course, for some of the narrative had been lost, some of it had been purposely forgotten.
In a country so full of relatives, Sai suffered a dearth. There was only a single listing in the register under "Please contact in case of emergency. Religion: Hindu Caste: Patidar Sai had never met this grandfather who, inhad been introduced to the Scotsman who had built Cho Oyu and was now on his way back to Aberdeen.
He rode up on horseback, pushed open the door into that spare space lit with a monastic light, the quality of which altered with the sunlight outside. He had felt he was entering a sensibility rather than a house. The floor was dark, almost black, wide planked; the ceiling resembled the rib cage of a whale, Ganja Man - D.I.S* Alongside Sheen (2) - Trouble Again (Cassette) of an ax still in the timber.
A fireplace made of silvery river stone sparkled like sand. Lush ferns butted into the windows, stiff seams of foliage felted with spores, curly nubs pelted with bronze fuzz. He knew he could become aware here of depth, width, height, and of a more elusive dimension.
Outside, passionately colored birds swooped and whistled, and the Himalayas rose layer upon layer until those gleaming peaks proved a man to be so small that it made sense to give it all up, empty it all out. The judge could live here, in this shell, this skull, with the solace of being a foreigner in his own country, for this time he would not learn the language. He never went back to court. Goodbye to the uniforms so heavy for a little girl, manly shouldered blazer and tie, black cow-hoof shoes.
Good-bye to her friend, Arlene Macedo, the only other student with an unconventional background. Good-bye to four years of learning the weight of humiliation and fear, the art of subterfuge, of being uncovered by black-habited detectives and trembling before the rule of law that treated ordinary everyday slips and confusions with the seriousness of firstdegree crime.
Good-bye to: a. The system might be obsessed with purity, but it excelled in defining the flavor of sin. There was a titillation to unearthing the forces of guilt and desire, needling and prodding the results. This Sai had learned. This underneath, and on top a flat creed: cake was better than laddoos, fork spoon knife better than hands, sipping the blood of Christ and consuming a wafer of his body was more civilized than garlanding a phallic symbol with marigolds.
English was better than Hindi. Something of the sort. Out of Ganja Man - D.I.S* Alongside Sheen (2) - Trouble Again (Cassette) window, from Dehra Dun to Delhi, Delhi to Siliguri, they viewed a panorama of village life and India looked as old as ever. Women walked by with firewood on their heads, too poor for blouses under their saris.
Then she felt less jolly. It was early in the morning and the railway tracks were lined with rows of bare bottoms.
Close up, they could see dozens of people defecating onto the tracks, rinsing their bottoms with water from a can. Why must they do such things here?
On and on. She could sense Cho Oyu. Sai did not reply and the nun began to feel annoyed. They transferred to a taxi and traversed through a wetter climate, a rusty green landscape, creaking and bobbing in the wind. They drove past tea stalls on stilts, chickens being sold in round cane baskets, and Durga Puja goddesses being constructed in shacks.
They passed paddy fields and warehouses that looked decrepit but bore the names of famous tea companies: Rungli Rungliot, Ghoom, Goenkas. With all he had to do? Space and sun crashed through the window. Reflections magnified and echoed the light, the river, each adding angles and colors to the other, and Sai became aware of the enormous space she was entering. By the riverbank, wild water racing by, the late evening sun in polka dots through the trees, they parted company.
To the east was Kalimpong, barely managing to stay on the saddle between the Deolo and the Ring-kingpong hills. To the west was Darjeeling, skidding down the Singalila Mountains.
Off she went in a Sisters of Cluny jeep, six thousand feet up into tea growing country and to a town that was black and slimy, mushrooming with clusters of convents in the dripping fog. With the car tilted back so its nose pointed to the sky, they corkscrewed on—the slightest wrong move and they would tumble.
There was not a streetlight anywhere in Kalimpong, and the lamps in houses were so dim you saw them only as you passed; they came up suddenly and disappeared immediately behind.
The people who walked by in the black had neither torches nor lanterns, and the headlights caught them stepping off the road as the car passed. The driver turned from the tar road onto a dirt one, and finally the car stopped in the middle of the wilderness at a gate suspended between stone pillars. The sound of the engine faded; the headlights went dead. There was only the forest making ssss tseu ts ts seuuu sounds. Seven Oh, Grandfather more lizard than human.
Dog more human than dog. To welcome her, the cook had modeled the mashed potatoes into a motorcar, recollecting a long-forgotten skill from another age, when, using the same pleasant medium, he had fashioned celebratory castles decorated with paper flags, fish with bangle nose rings, porcupines with celery spines, chickens with real eggs placed behind for comic effect.
The car sat in the middle of the table, along with paddle-shaped mutton cutlets, water-logged green beans, and a head of cauliflower under cheese sauce that looked like a shrouded brain. When the steam cleared a little, she had another look at her grandfather at the far end of the table and the dog on another chair by his side.
He was a shriveled figure in a white shirt and black trousers with a buckle to the side. The clothes were frayed but clean, ironed by the cook, who still ironed everything—pajamas, towels, socks, underwear, and handkerchiefs. His face seemed distanced by what looked like white powder over dark skin—or was it just the vapor? And from him came a faint antibiotic whiff of cologne, a little too far from perfume, a little too close to a preserving liquid.
There was more than a hint of reptile in the slope of his face, the wide hairless forehead, the introverted nose, the introverted chin, his lack of movement, his lack of lips, his fixed gaze. Like other elderly people, he seemed not to have traveled forward in time but far back.
Harking to the prehistoric, in attendance upon infinity, he resembled a creature of the Galapagos staring over the ocean. The dog sneezed. It had an elegant snout, a bump of nobility at the top of its head, ruffly pantaloons, elaborately fringed tail— Sai had never seen such a good-looking dog.
The judge brought down his fist. The soup after the main course? The routine had been upset. The cook had already turned off all other lamps in the house in order to gather the meager power into this one, and in this uneven lighting, they were four shadow puppets from a fairytale flickering on the lumpy plaster of the wall—a lizard man, a hunchbacked cook, a lush-lashed maiden, and a long-tailed wolf dog.
Terrible to be a poverty-stricken man, terrible, terrible, terrible. It glowed a last blue crescent, then failed. She could sense the swollen presence of the forest, hear the hollow-knuckled knocking of the bamboo, the sound of the jhora that ran deep in the decollete of the mountain.
Batted down by household sounds during the day, it rose at dusk, to sing pure-voiced into the windows. The structure of the house seemed fragile in the balance of this night—just a husk. The tin roof rattled in the wind. When Sai moved her foot, her toes went silently through the rotted fabric. She had a fearful feeling of having entered a space so big it reached both backward and forward.
Suddenly, as if a secret door had opened in her hearing, she became aware of the sound of microscopic jaws slow-milling the house to sawdust, a sound hard to detect for being so closely knit unto the air, but once identified, it grew monumental.
In this climate, she would learn, untreated wood could be chewed up in a season. He lay awake in bed, Mutt at his side. Look at all these curls. She was asleep, but even so, one of her ears cocked as she listened to the judge while she continued snoring. He realized, to his surprise, that he was thinking of his own journeys, of his own arrivals and departures, from places far in his past. He had first left home at the age of twenty, with a black tin trunk just like the one Sai had arrived with, on which white letters read "Mr.
The town he had left was his ancestral home of Piphit. From there he had journeyed to the Bombay dock and then sailed to Liverpool, and from Liverpool he had gone to Cambridge. Many years had passed, and yet the day returned to him vividly, cruelly.
They had stood on the platform between benches labeled "Indians Only" and "Europeans Only," dressed in stained red coats with dull metallic ricrac unraveling about the sleeves and collars. As the train left the station, they played "Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty," a tune they remembered was appropriate to the occasion of leaving. The judge was accompanied by his father. At home, his mother was weeping because she had not estimated the imbalance between the finality of good-bye and the briefness of the last moment.
Father and son had rattled forth all through the morning and afternoon, the immensity of the landscape within which Jemu had unknowingly lived impressing itself upon him. The very fact that they were sitting in the train, the speed of it, rendered his world trivial, indicated through each window evidence of emptiness that stood eager to claim an unguarded heart.
He felt a piercing fear, not for his future, but for his past, for the foolish faith with which he had lived in Piphit. The malodor of Bombay duck drying on a scaffolding of sticks alongside the track snuffed his thoughts for a moment; passing into neutral air, his fears came up again. He thought of his wife. He was a one-month-married man. He would return. It was all very strange.
She was fourteen years old and he had yet to properly examine her face. Small waves subsided against the side of the ship in a parsimonious soda water fizz, over which the noise of the engine now exerted itself. His father felt his own hand rise and cover his mouth: he had failed his son.
The ship moved, the water split and spilled, flying fish exploded silver above the unravelment, Tom Collinses were passed around, and the party atmosphere reached a crescendo.
Soon it vanished in the haze. Jemu watched his father disappear. They sailed past the Colaba Lighthouse and out into the Indian Ocean until there was only the span of the sea whichever way he turned. No doubt the trunks had jogged his memory. Miss S. No fruit dies so vile and offensive a death as the banana, but it had been packed just in case. In case of What? Jemu shouted silently to his mother. In her attempt to cancel out one humiliation she had only succeeded in adding another.
Jemu picked up the package, fled to the deck, and threw it overboard. Undignified love, Indian love, stinking, unaesthetic love—the monsters of the ocean could have what she had so bravely packed getting up in that predawn mush. The smell of dying bananas retreated, oh, but now that just left the stink of fear and loneliness perfectly exposed. He thought of how he had half undressed and hurriedly re-dressed his wife, of how he had only glimpsed her expression, just bits and pieces of it in the slipping of the pallu over her head.
However in memory of the closeness of female flesh, his penis reached up in the dark and waved about, a simple blind sea creature but refusing to be refused. He found his own organ odd: insistent but cowardly; pleading but pompous. They berthed at Liverpool and the band played "Land of Hope and Glory. Jemubhai carried his own bags, stumbled onto a train, and on his way to Cambridge, found himself shocked as they progressed through fields by the enormous difference between the boxy English and the loopy Indian cow.
The England in which he searched for a room to rent was formed of tiny gray houses in gray streets, stuck together and down as if on a glue trap.
While he was unimpressed, though, so too were the people who answered his knock, when they opened their doors to his face: "Just let," "All full," or even a curtain lifted and quickly dropped, a stillness as if all the inhabitants had, in that instant, died. He visited twenty-two homes before he arrived at the doorstep of Mrs.
Rice on Thornton Road. Twice a day she put out a tray at the foot of the stairs—boiled egg, bread, butter, jam, milk. After a spate of nights lying awake listening to the borborygmus of his half-empty stomach, thinking tearfully of his family in Piphit who thought him as worthy of a hot dinner as the queen of England, Jemubhai worked up the courage to ask for a proper evening meal.
But that evening, he found on his plate steaming baked beans on toast. Absolutely delicious," he said as Mr. Rice sat looking steadily out of the window. He had registered at Fitzwilliam with the help of an essay he penned for the entrance examination, "Similarities and Differences between the French and Russian Revolutions. And Starscream Never thought he had much time for things like that. She taught him to use his wings again.
Old wounds never really healed after so long spent flayed open. What about me? But she only shook her head as she looked down at the half-remains of her glass. With the rest of us together. As if it would have made any difference. Yet he could not think of them as two parts of a whole, because the mech that had lived in one half was a stranger to the other. When he looked back on his life with his trine and his friends and Arcee, it was like viewing scenes of a book or film rather than recalling true memories.
They danced and shared secrets in one life, while the other life forced them to try and kill each other. Maybe because he was so wistful to hear that sound come from her, even if it was just one last time. We did. I never threw it away. It was a hologram projector, one for displaying figures and pictures.
But there they were; Thundercracker and Arcee, in their final embrace with unmarked plating. And there was Skywarp, mere nanoklicks away from pouring his drink over the two of them. Starscream took up the entire bottom corner of the hologram, though only the edge of his ridiculous expression was visible. Thundercracker wondered if Windblade would have appreciated knowing what her future-fated sparkmate looked like when he had a few drinks in his tanks.
He was about to ask Arcee if he could have a copy of the hologram, but there was a deep sadness in her smile that only went away when the hologram did; back into her subspace, a priceless relic of a long-lost time.
She just kept it there, as if to hide her expression behind it. She was only asking as some kind of test. Their chests had lain so close that their opposing faction emblems, still warm from the fresh welding, almost touched together, and now he only wanted to see the faintest shadow of her smile again so he could kiss it.
The Seeker blinked, looking down at his own untouched high-grade cube. It looked somewhat appetising, until you actually tasted it as most bulk-produced fuel seemed to be like. Well, it must not have been important. How about it? If she was really even standing there at all. But she was here, and she was smiling, smiling! He was sure he looked like a fool as he grinned at her, from how a laugh burst forth from her beautiful smile, but he would have gladly humiliated himself in front of Megatron himself if it would have allowed him such a sight of her.
Abandoning her glass as she drifted off on the metal layers of her armour. Thundercracker watched her leave, but this time with no sadness or regret, only with the most tentative hope And then, just before she disappeared amongst the other guests, she turned around to face him one last time.
Or, at least, more trouble than usual. Black Death! Black fragging Death! Of all the fragging mechs, it had to be him who showed up?! At least Astrotrain appearing and running into Starscream would have been amusing. At least a surprise visit from Overlord would have cut everything short and given Skywarp an excuse to run off with a few high-grade tanks under his arms. What idiot would even be carrying so many drinks in the first place?! An Autobot, of course. She sounded familiar.
In fact, she looked familiar too. Cause, really, how many bots in the galaxy were dumb enough to walk around in seafoam-green plating that would stick out Ganja Man - D.I.S* Alongside Sheen (2) - Trouble Again (Cassette) a battlefield like an empurata victim on a stage?
But this femme must not have been a very good sniper, anyway. Skywarp had seen her, just after she clipped one of his wings during the first battle of Tyger Pax, from the muzzle-flash of her gun.
This was the very same femme. He was sure of it. Cause who could ever forget such a charming glare of death? His teleportation was a gift from Primus, dammit! The Autobots should have been begging for him to join their side, not coming up with lies to piss him off! Not that this femme could have, or should have, known anything about that. Was this really the same femme who apparently tried to kill him so long ago?
Maybe only on the outside. Or maybe she was as drunk as Skywarp wished he was. You got me there, I guess. Which he was, of course. Go get your own. Stupid looking gun for a stupid looking mech. With a stupid name, too! Spoke to Tarn himself. Thundercracker kept trying to get him to hang up, in case Tarn killed us all over the comm. No, this time Skywarp had an ace in the hole. Or, up his servo. However the saying went. You know the Black Block Consortia? The organics with a real grudge against us?
We are the answer to them. Population; humans in dire need of help. The whole planet was under the tyranny of the Black Block, and we were the only ones who could liberate them. The coast is clear, so get your aft over here. And she was Ganja Man - D.I.S* Alongside Sheen (2) - Trouble Again (Cassette) drinking enough that her standards would have been rock-bottom by the end of the evening!
But there was nothing to be done about it- Skywarp had lost hold of his theatrics, and the last thing he wanted was Thundercracker storming over to drag him away like a sparkling. You know, more saving-the-universe type stuff. Friends call me Moony. Skywarp was quickly realising how much he liked this girl. But, in the meantime, I have some planets to go save. He would have rather had some more time with Moonracer, of course. The Amishena disguise thing.
Why was he angry about that? Windblade never mentioned the kiss again. So Starscream saw no reason to ever ask her about it. No need to make things any more awkward. It had gotten them out of trouble, and that was all it had been for. After all Habits were bad. They could get you killed in a war, if a spy or enemy soldier knew exactly what you were going to do at a given moment, if they knew what your weakness was. Apparently there were many traditions and rituals to deal with about the whole affair; while Thundercracker stood in a corner furiously scribbling notes for one of his screenplays, Starscream struggled to even understand what the point of it all was.
All the pomp and circumstance was more suitable for a coronation, or an election, or the end of a war In fact, it was one of these very stadiums that hosted the wedding. A few humans sat at the very front, managing cameras and microphones and other equipment that would apparently broadcast the event all over Earth. Starscream only recognised a few of them, most notably the woman Thundercracker had apparently become close with. They were all Autobots, and they all seemed very intrigued by the Decepticon among them as they threw giggling glances at him.
Skywarp himself, the so-called ladies mech, seemed utterly bewildered by the attention. Either because they were so many Autobots staring at him, or just so many femmes in general who were whispering amongst themselves. Yet they never approached his seat, not even when he gave a nervous wave at one group of blue-shaded ladies who only chuckled at him noticing them. He had no choice but to roll his own in exhaustion. The whole human tradition of publicising the occasion as much as this just seemed crass and tasteless at best, nothing more than an excuse to get drunk.
Not that Windblade seemed to even notice his disdain, as she looked over to Rosanna giggling as her new husband whirled her around in a dance. The colors have such an incredible sheen.
Skywarp and Thundercracker were loading themselves up with a plate of as many drinks as the two of them could carry without spilling them everywhere though, knowing how Thundercracker handled his drink, he would only take one glass for himselfand Soundwave seemed to be indulging in his favourite hobby- standing nearby in absolute silence, creeping the hell out of everyone around him. Flamewar recoiled, shielding her drink as she leaned away.
Thunderblast has a better chance of ever getting bonded than I do. Starscream wondered, with some anticipation, if he was about to bear witness to the first brawl of the evening.
But Thunderblast only threw out an offended pout as she turned her panel-laden back to the rest of them, almost blocking Sunstorm from view. She certainly stood out amongst the crowd, with the bright plume of flame that shot out of her helm and sent light dancing across her face. There was another purple femme next to her as well as a few unrecognisable Autobot mechs, but it was clear who Skywarp was directing his attention to because everyone else seemed to be covertly ogling her.
Well, everyone except Starscream, of course. But, who am I to judge? No shame in preferring humans nowadays. Ostensibly, Reflector was the wedding photographer, but he seemed more interested in spying on the dancefloor than capturing moments of the bride and groom. Even if being an outlier means nothing to humans, I can still impress more than a few of them by zapping them to another country in the blink of an optic. You dedicate a play to her yet?
Oh, better yet, you freaked her out by showing her your-? A nice one. Someone whose I do no such thing! Soundwave said nothing at first, not until after he placed his drink onto a solid surface why did he even have a drink when he insisted on keeping his battlemask on at all times?! With both his hands now free, he counted off each step of his master plan with his digits. Deliver following speech.
This is my comm number. I would love to take you out for a glass of energon some day. Comm number: relayed. Interaction: complete.
The three Seekers stared at him in a triple mixture of disbelief. Not even the famous CO and former third-in-command of the Decepticons could get a woman that easily. She seemed quite interested in you when we got stuck on that backwater planet.
I'm single, not desperate. The femme was no longer blocking view of the Seeker, but they were still standing far too close together Starscream gritted his teeth as he cleared the high-grade in his glass in a single gulp. As if he would ever stoop to the level of someone like Thunderblast, whether or not it was to prove a point or even if he was truly that desperate.
He even let out an extra pulse of heat, as if he wanted to physically push the other Seeker away. Is that suddenly not allowed? And turn down your damn heater! Thunderblast let out a minor gasp of offense, before she stuck her glossa out. So go on, you two. Her optics narrowed to lethal slits, and her fangs became a cage as she gritted them together.
And, for once in his life, he was happy to remain utterly ignorant. But, once the meagre amounts of high-grade were hitting his systems, he remembered.
Oh how he remembered. The battle of Nebulon. No casualties on either side. Nothing but surrender, and then conquest. The victory and glory was all his to claim. Thunderblast had been the only femme around.
He might have won the battle of the planet, but his falling to the likes of her was surely his most embarrassing defeat of all. You and Thunderblast? Or, a submarine at all on Cybertron! Starscream turned on his heel to address her and assuage any unfortunate misunderstandings, but she just marched right past him.
Where are you going? And when he turned back, he found his trinemates cackling over his misfortune. Or maybe it was both.
His hands were still clenched into tight fists. And you do not need to take responsibility for your family, or everyone else around you. Megatron was gone. There was no excuse to try and control people, or push them away. And so would Windblade.
She was so much better, after all. All the good things that ended up buried and suffocated by the war, and Megatron. The gold-black Seeker who was making a direct approach to Starscream. Black Death. He preferred looking at the warning glyph than at the other Seeker. But even as he tried to avert his gaze, he could still see the faintest grin on his face.
Starscream gulped, though all the high-grade in his throat had long since evaporated. Fragging cowards. Good for you. Though, I did like that little display you put on with our youngest brother. To grace him with your presence? Even when Black Death walked away, Starscream still felt like he had a dent in the armour and even the very protoform beneath. He watched Black Death pass by the clique of Six Changers what the hell were they doing at a wedding on Earth?!
Clearly the whole universe was going madand each one of them nodded in respect to the Seeker. Are you aware our brother is here? Apparently not even Soundwave had noticed the two holoforms walking past him, as he stood frozen in the store window. It was actually Dirge's idea. He knew his trine and Skyfire were hovering around him, and he now turned his persistent glare on each of them. They knew exactly what he was referring to, and they all struggled to meet his eyes.
Skyfire just rolled his optics, leaving the trine to themselves as he re-assumed his role as a towering pillar in the hangar. Even for a Minicon. I hope he knows how lucky he is He still had cramps in his neck whenever he was forced to remember it. He still avoided Astrotrain like the rust plague, cause apparently saving a femme from the awful fate of bonding to the likes of the triple-changer was something to be punished. Hell, she actually smiled when she saw Starscream jump at the sound of her voice.
Especially not today. You had every right to be angry. She really suited smiling. But he had other things to address first, like what Windblade was hiding behind her back. Assuming I meet anyone I want to be there with. He turned on his heel to watch her fade into the crowd- But he caught her lips on his face instead, the softest touch on his warmest cheek. And it still shook him to his spark chamber. So Starscream stood frozen and alone at the very edge of the hangar, silently praying that the moment had went unseen.
I get it now! It all makes sense! Windblade and you! And the looks! And the words! I have to write this down! That was another thing Bumblebee was sure to laugh about. He Ganja Man - D.I.S* Alongside Sheen (2) - Trouble Again (Cassette) told to enjoy himself, after all. With someone like Windblade in his life, in his head and spark, how could he not?
I do not own Transformers, they belong to Hasbro.
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