h i g h w a y m a n

alvar-osvald levandi. estonian. twenty-four. member of aequo animo. classical organist turned synth pad aficionado. currently working as a dj in nyc.

[lucrezia-venus]

Beat of My Pad || Rosie & Alvar

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

rosie-wright:

The dress clung to her frame tighter with every breath, the kind of odd torture for beauty that gave a strange boost of confidence.  It was an every breath reminder that you looked good, and that was an energy Rosie thrived with.  Her back was high and her purse rattled with the promising contents inside, smiling with a sweetness that was entirely suggestive to the clubs bouncer. “Steven,” she nodded, not having to drop her name as the stocky man stepped aside for her entrance.  

The clock was just about to strike one am and she expected to find her foreign neighbor lurking somewhere around the club - waiting before he was expected on stage.  Instead she found the shock of white hair closest to the bar and her brows raised in greeting.

“Hey there, DJ,” she spoke loud and near his ear to be heard, clapping a long nailed hand on his shoulder. “Can I buy you a drink?”

//@alvarosvaldlevandi

The young Estonian lad had only been there for about twenty minutes or so before the woman greeted him in what he deemed a rather abrupt manner, for he jumped in slight as her hand met his shoulder.

“My god.” The words came like an exasperated exhale, pushing past parted lips that seemed about ready to cry for help if it had been anyone else but his friend. “You scared the living shit out of me. ... My god, Roise.”

After a moment the man relaxed, heaving a sigh as he looked to the DJ booth before back to the woman beside him. She knew he was working tonight, and it was almost teasing to hear her ask if he wanted something to drink.

“Like hell I need something after a scare like that,” he replied, chuckling in order to alleviate any remnants of being on edge. Partnered with a crooked smile, the man shrugged. “But as much as I would love to go to work with a buzz on, I’m afraid I’ll be staying nice and dry this evening. ... Although I don’t suppose you have the same thing planned, now do you?”

[oh-its-that-one-guy-deactivated]

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By the Throat | CHVRCHES

[wiresmickie]

“I haven’t received a call from my dad in a while, I’m starting to get worried.”

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

“Do you think something has happened to him?--And I don’t say that because that’s what may be, but because... Well, I guess you never know.”

[mackenzierichards]

I’m in need of something to eat. I didn’t realise how much I relied on set meal times until I came on tour. I keep forgetting to eat until I’m kinda painfully hungry. 

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

Finding time to eat is a must, really. Skipping meals is never a good thing, although I’m sure you know that. What sort of food are you looking for this evening?

[oliverdunmore-blog]

Don’t worry about it, man. Some good food, music and beers. That’s all there is to it. 

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

Those three things are some of my favorite things, so I think this will go very well.

[oliverdunmore-blog]

“People are always trying to condense words, so maybe that’s why they came up with ‘fleek’ so that they wouldn’t have to say two words. Our own language? Yes, let’s do that while we go for drinks. Maybe after our set?” 

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

After our set, yes. Let’s do that. Grab some food and a good playlist to just... “bro-out to”... I’m sorry, I’ve never really had a “guy’s night” before, or whatever they’re called.

[oliverdunmore-blog]

No like “on point” but I’ve decided to use as a “a point.” It makes more sense. But no seriously, let’s try and go out one day.

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

“On point”? I think I may have heard that before, but I honestly have no idea what it means. Maybe we should make our own words and confuse people, hm? At least we would be in the know. Yes, let’s try. Sometime this week, maybe?

[mackenzierichards]

Yeah, Frida. I recognise you from her pictures. I’m Mac, it’s good to meet you too. Were you heading towards the food trucks?

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

Pleasure. Ah, well, I can’t say I had much of a destination, really, but if you’re looking to head that direction I wouldn’t mind being of some company.

[inessentialgrace]

[oliverdunmore-blog]

Apparently a point. Man, we are so behind this young adult lingo. We need to get out more, I suggest a guys night. 

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

“A point”? Like “on point”? I feel very old now, not knowing this. Yes, we should definitely do that!

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

(Sun)baked || Rhett & Alvar

[katrina-unger]

Rhett chortled at the title, “What’s that in English?” He could see the smallest spark in Alvar– after all, no one sprawled out with books from the fifties when there were a plethora of things to get into on tour. While the drummer himself was pretty far from a reader, he found little joys in the occasional film and the quotes that Rosie read from her tumblr pages. Poetry had the same beauty as lyrics, but it all boiled down to time and his desire to engage in anything stimulating. 

He dropped out of college, was his usual comment, it warded off most conversation when it drifted towards what the male liked to read or do in his spare time; especially when he was met with retorts about the lack of intellectual activities. The tattooed man grinned, rubbing at Alo’s head. “You’re so tall it looked about that tiny.” He was big himself, two inches over six feet, so a comment about height seemed almost misplaced.

“No really, he’s an Alaskan.” Rhett gestured to the panting canine, “You like dogs Yugoslavia?” He was used to people on the tour flocking to the large beast and while he didn’t really like when fans and staff thrust their hand into his thick fur, it was always interesting when he was met with someone who didn’t like the creatures. 

“He shed a while back so he’s not dying, but the boy’s made for the Arctic. Gotta keep him hydrated.”

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

“All Souls’ Night would be the English title,” the man mused, doing his best to keep the will to blurt out various facts about the novel at a new high. From behind the dark lenses, the outside world looked rather dull and vacant of the natural bliss he often enjoyed. Matter of factly, he would blame the man standing before him, and while the hound made itself comfortable around the Aequo member, the Estonian couldn’t help but raise a brow at the entire situation. How was this not to seem odd?

 How was it? 

“It’s a good book.”

 You already said that. 

The comment about the bath towel looking like a tea towel caused the man to raise both brows, drawing the smirk about his lips to a greater extent. He had come to the relative height relation between the two of them on his own, towering at just two inches over six feet himself. While their heights may have matched, the man wondered if that was perhaps the only aspect he could say that about. So with a simple mutter of, “Alright,” he dismissed the comment, rolling bright eyes, despite the fact that the other could not see them.

“I like dogs, yes--” He had given up on correcting Rhett on his country of origin, “--I have never had one, but I like them,” Alvar responded, leaning back on his hands, looking up at the pair. To say he was envious of the drummer’s dog was not entirely accurate, for it could have been anyone and he would have--quite possibly--felt the same resonating feeling. “My mother always said they were too much work; cost too much money.”

[oliverdunmore-blog]

What does on fleek mean exactly? 

[oliverdunmore-blog]

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

What... is a fleek?

[skyler-rhodes-blog]

“That’s where you’re from, isn’t it? Estonia? I didn’t believe Rhett when he started talking shit about you being from like… the Yugoslavian country side? The other rumo--story was Estonian, so I went with that.” The rumours around the festival traveled quickly, it was the ultimate small town, where everyone grew to knew everything about their neighbour. A petty past time, but one couldn’t go about pretending they weren’t the slightest bit interested in the odd collection of people the festival seemed to attract.

“Do you have any? Tattoos, I mean?” She’d been afraid getting hers, and was afraid still to get more. His skin was pale, like hers, and she imagined the skin beneath his shirt scrawled with ink, dark contrast, twisting, intricate designs that fought for space on his flesh. 

She buried her hands into her jean short’s pockets. “I was going to get something to eat actually. You wanna come?”

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

"It is, yes,” he replied, smiling at the simple thought of being from such a splendid county, that is, until the mention of Rhett came up. It seemed that no matter where he went or who he talked to, Rhett Mackay somehow found his way into the conversation.

He was like an airborne disease, seeping into one’s lungs with each breath, and it was through a twisting smirk that the Estonian nodded, inhaling deeply before restoring the previously quaint smile. Rumors may be rumors, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t cause some sort of annoyance for those that they concerned. After many years of being the outsider--in both his home country and the United States (but mostly the latter)--he had gotten used to the whispers that surrounded him, and for the most part they didn’t bother him, which was a feat in and of itself.

At the mention of whether or not he had any tattoos, the man couldn’t help but flush, shaking his head as the split of a smile cracked into a bashful sliver. A part of him wished to lie, to tell her that he had one on some hidden part of his pale flesh, but what was the use? He wasn’t one to tell false tales, and the truth had yet to do him wrong.

“Oh no, I don’t,” Alvar replied, pulling broad shoulders into a shrug before allowing them to fall. “My mind--It changes all the time. I am afraid I would get something and then regret it later on. Maybe that’s silly. Maybe that’s just me.”

She spoke of getting something to eat, and like any man would, he grinned, nodding as he chuckled, adding, “I would like that, yes.”

[mackenzierichards]

That sounds like an excellent plan. What’s your name again? You’re in Free’s band, right? 

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

“Free’s”? You mean Frida’s? Yes, we’re in the same band. I’m Alvar. It’s nice to meet you.

[mackenzierichards]

Please pretend you didn’t see that.

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

I’ll pretend I didn’t see it if you pretend that I have some idea as to what you’re talking about.

[alvarosvaldlevandi]

I Left My Mind and Wallet in a Hotel Room || Self Para

There will be an ache in your chest, A beating in your breast, And like the beat, You’ll drop.

At two in the morning, nothing ever goes well. It’s during the early hours that one’s mind begins to cannibalize itself, taking bits and piece of sensitive information from the crevices of its gray matter, smearing the insecurities across what feels like his entire being. For a moment, he is paralyzed, stuck in the catacombs of his own skull, blinking slowly in the hopes of further suppressing the wretched thoughts that dared to resurface at such a time as this. Evidently, it was bound to happen at some point, for it had been festering for quite some time now, like an ulcer on the lining of his stomach, threatening to rupture and ooze its illness into his bloodstream.

Stillness was a virtue during these times, as was patience, although the latter seemed more effective when it came to fending off the sharpened memories that he wished to drown in his present reality. By two-thirty, internal agony would ensue, most likely due to the figurative ulcer that had opened up and emptied itself into his gut. A sense of discomfort would flood forth, and it wouldn’t be until three that he felt as if his lungs were able to inflate again. His form would ache and bend as long legs withdraw from the warmth of the blankets, placing bare feet onto the cool flooring. Somehow--by some wonder--he wandered towards the balcony of his room, bright blue optics transfixed on nothing in particular on the other side of the smudge-ridden, sliding glass door.

Long fingers reached forth, unlocking and pulling the door open to allow for the man to step out into the chilled morning air. The violet circles under his eyes seemed to catch the blossoming light like colored glass, and with each blink, it was as if they were throwing the tepid sparks back into the sky, slipping off the ends of dark lashes. Naturally white knuckles gripped the railing, and he hung his head as if in silent prayer, yet no words left his lips, which had pursed against one another as if in an attempt to string consonants and vowels together. To his own dismay, the man found himself turning for the balcony door, feeling the growing morning warmth on his pale skin as he reentered the room.

The beat, The crowd, The thundering sound; Take me home again.

But how was he to go home When it was nowhere to be found, But in the back of a bus Or on a stage With people screaming their names?

“I'd be surprised,” the man mused to himself, drawing the covers back over pale skin as he returned to the welcoming embrace of the sheets, "if my own flesh and bone would even want to claim to be my home...”

If he hadn’t felt like a fool before, he certainly did after saying such a thing out loud with no one but himself to hear.

Count thy blessings, And they shall follow suit.

[franki-e-deactivated20170214]

I like art, and by art I mean music, poetry, sex, paintings, the human body, literature… All of this is art to me.

 Hunter Reveu (via franki-e)