A Hungarian movie trailer that actually looks good. What the heck alternate reality is this?
The title of the movie is Apró mesék / Small Tales, it Will be out 14 Mar 2019.
Short summary of the trailer: It’s about a man who fought alongside another man in the Battle of Don during WWI. He brings a message to the man’s wife, but the woman says her husband was a monster and if he returns she will murder him. *cue action sequence*
This story comes from @comrade-schlau, whose free verse is outta this world.
Well the only point from my life that's coming to mind is when I first got my hair cut short when I was 14. I was going behind my parents' backs because they didn't believe in girls having short hair (or boys having long.).I was anxious and didn't know what to ask for but the barber cutting my hair, a woman named Alexis with bright red-streaked hair, talked through me through it. she got several hair magazines from the waiting area and flipped through them with me until I found a style I liked. throughout the process she made sure I was happy with how things were looking and asked polite questions so I wouldn't be as nervous. I ended up with a close-cropped cut just that was everything I had I wanted since I was a kid. and though my parents were furious, I've had short hair since then.I find my hair to be a big part of my butch identity (though I know short hair isn't a requirement to be butch) and I'm grateful I was blessed with an amazing stylist who could help me on my way to being my authentic self
Well, its your identity to craft, and I would say no one can influence that, even your parents despite them pulling the “Disrespecting your parents” crap.
Short hair is a godsend, I say from personal experiences. Takes less shampoo, water, keeps the head air-cooled and you don’t have to whip it in shape all the time.
there is more where this came from, Follow, reblog and like!
I Wasn't Looking For You (Original Demo) by Accents
Original demo version of the song "I Wasn't Looking For You" from the 2014 release "Tall Tales" on Deep Elm Records
show me again what i'm worth. carry my organs like a curse. if your body's underwater than it's where it oughta be. digging through the wreckage to find heaven underneath. and if you find a place where love is not a game. then hold your breath and wait around 'til someone learns your name. don't be too obscene; your tongue's not the sharpest i've seen. you better believe your hands won't be smothering me. if your body's underwater than it's where it oughta be. digging through the wreckage to find heaven underneath. and if you find a place where love is not a game. then hold your breath and wait around 'til someone learns your name. oh i'm gonna break your lonely heart. and i'm gonna tear your life apart. your body's underwater when your body's next to me. the surface was appealing but there's a devil underneath. he's tearing up the floor and swimming towards the shore. and now my body knows why it will always ask for more. oh i'm gonna break your lonely heart. and i'm gonna tear your life apart. if love is such an ugly work of art. then i'm gonna tear your life apart
Really into this song right now. Thanks for another great release Deep Elm.
//was feeling jasmine pretty intensely right about now, so decided to write something up! it was supposed to be little but i got kind of carried away. so not really a drabble. oops.
novella maybe? doesn't matter, hahaha.
[ play ►]
-- ｢☁｣ "There's a storm coming."
They used to say that her hair was threaded from seaweed and her skin was smoothed shell and sand; her voice sang songs of crashing waves and Wingull cries. Sailors on the docks were her brothers and sisters, swinging her up on their shoulders and teaching her shanties and words that a young girl should never hear -- and then strict instructions to forget them, once their errors were realized. She didn't understand, but complied.
They used to laugh and say, "Walker, you haven't got anything to worry, because the sea has already taken her as her bride," and he would give a hearty chuckle and watch her spin among the white water and the sea foam.
"I can only hope not," he would say before trotting down to the waterline and scooping her up in his arms, laughing.
Several months later, a storm made him the sea's groom instead, forever held within her tide's grasp; his wife made despair her lover, and her broken heart consumed her.
Instead of foam and shells and sand, she became flotsam, drifting without purpose. The docks ran empty without her spirit; talk was quiet; nights were somber. Her grandparents took her in, stood her up on little legs, tied her hair into pigtails for her and gave her smiles instead of sympathy.
"You're strong, Jasmine. A strong little girl."
And so she would have to be.
Instead of throwing her away to the tide of education, they taught her with their own hands. She was a frightened, skittish thing as of late. The shouts of sailors shook her instead of resonating with her; strangers, not kin. She stood ankle deep in the water and stared to the ships leaving port, her gaze more thoughtful than playful, even for one so young. She was taught to hold her own within bounds of mathematics and reading, language and invention. She was handy, but not inventive. She was close at hand, but never offered herself.
She was shy, but she was somehow brave in her own respect.
One day, the Ampharos at the top of the lighthouse grew gravely ill. She had spoken to him often, but he never seemed to warm up to her - nor would he warm up to anyone else, it seemed. He would hardly let the doctors come close to him, sending out feeble sparks and snaps to all that reached out a hand. Even the little girl in the pigtails wasn't spared, although there was maybe a flash of regret.
But she didn't mind. She understood. It was scary, to be alone, and then to not; it was frightening, when everything was crowded around you and you alone. The spotlight was one of pressure, and then abandonment once its gaze moved elsewhere.
"... medicine... Cianwood... too busy... storm..."
The whispers of doctors attracted her, and she paused at the top of steel steps and let the soft voices float down to her. When that wasn't enough, she crept a bit closer to their source.
"... despite the urgency of the matter.... not safe to make the trip... try to do all we can in the meantime..."
It was easy enough to come to a conclusion. If no one else would do it, she would have to do so herself. As quietly as she could, she crept back down the winding, endless stairs and ran to her home again, her feet charged with electricity instead of ocean waves. Her grandfather was shocked to see her in such an uproar about something, but he let out a sigh of regret once she explained.
"Jasmine, you can't go. There's a storm coming. You know that sailing during storms is a bad idea, don't you? You remember, don't you? Please try and understand."
She did. But she didn't. If she didn't go, then who would light the lighthouse? Who would go instead? How long would the storm last?
She was stronger than a storm.
She didn't know what you needed for a journey, which she assumed was what she was going on. She ran to the nearby Mart and asked the shopkeeper there what they usually gave to young children who were about to start off on their own. He examined her skeptically at first. The girl was only eight, but her height made her look almost ten, eleven if you were being generous. Around the right age for a journey.
With the birthday money of many years, she bought two Pokeballs, a repel, and a Potion she didn't know how to use. Yes, she had her own Pokemon, she said. Yes, she knew where she was going, she said. No, she didn't need a map, she said. Have a good day, mister, she said, and then left the store with no one watching but him.
Being invisible was her strong suit; she would hide between the legs of passerby as she planned out her route. Many ships left Olivine; with the promise of bad weather, this changed to few, only for emergency transport, in many directions. Emergency supplies needed by morning, ships full of cargo and not of passengers. She found the one that went where she needed to go, and while no one was looking, she found a place no one would look. She gazed up at the growing clouds in the sky as they left port, heard the men praying for gentle currents.
They were not so lucky. Waters were rough, the rain was razors --
-- lightning flashed the faces of gritted crew --
-- her hiding place was discovered, between boxes and ropes, with cries of a different alarm --
-- she was sent below the deck, where it was dry and she wouldn't get caught beneath feet --
-- and the boat did not sink that day.
They said that she should be brought immediately to Olivine again, but the storm blocked them; they would have to transport her the next day, after they reached the port safely again. She was not to leave the ship. She was to remain with the captain while she explained what she was doing, a little girl with no one to hold her hand and lead her, a little girl with a mouthful of stammer and apology. Foolishness and Pokeballs too big for her hands -- what would she do with those?
The ship docked, they searched for her again. She was not there. They caught sight of her disappearing into the crowd of sailors, but all save her image escaped them. And everyone else they managed to attract. She slipped between their fingers like the sand her bones had been compressed of.
Finding the pharmacy was not difficult. Convincing the pharmacist to hand over medicine to an unsupervised little girl who wasn't entirely sure what she even needed was very difficult. It was for Amphy, she said. He could hardly move, but he could still use electricity - yes, someone sent her here to get it - no, she did not know their name - yes, she knew what she needed. She needed medicine to make him better. Obviously. She wasn't sure why she needed to tell the doctor this, of all people.
The captain finally burst in after her, barking at her to stop being so troublesome, to stop harassing the doctor, to come back onto the ship immediately so they could take her home. Her core trembled, and she threatened to liquefy and spill out in front of these towering men who she did not know and who did not know her.
Instead, she hardened. She raised her chin higher, forced the shaking out of her knees, clutched the Pokeball that would hold nothing for months to come.
"The Ampharos at the lighthouse needs medicine.
No one else would get it, so I came. I came instead."
Was that so wrong?
Was she so wrong to do this?
The pharmacist walked away with the order to leave the girl standing there. To let her be, despite the captain's insistence. He stepped into another room and held half of a conversation, and then came back with a pouch that he handed her. He said that this would make Amphy better; he told her that she should give this to him. And that she shouldn't make everyone worry about her so much in the future.
She spent the night in Cianwood and was on the next ship to Olivine, bright in the morning. Looking over the railing of the boat at the water that was like glass and not like rocks, she still held the pouch of medicine tight in her hands. The captain had given her a little bag to put her other things in, but she refused to let go of her medicine. Of Amphy's medicine.
The only thing keeping her from dancing off the pier was her grandparents, both standing solemnly during their vigil. They waited until she came up to them, and her grandfather crouched down and explained how she shouldn't have done this. How they had been worried sick. How she could have gotten hurt, and my, was that a bruise on her arm? How Amphy would've been fine otherwise, and he didn't need to be so reckless. Her grandmother simply hugged her and cried.
She had never been so afraid in her life, but she insisted upon hurrying to the lighthouse. Before her caretakers even finished apologizing to the captain, she was hurrying away - the most disobedient, the most foolhardy she'd ever been and ever would be. She ran with the sea breeze again, weaving between people so smoothly it was almost as if she were waltzing with each of them. Her grandparents tried to catch up, but their limbs were made of wizened old driftwood, hers of spry willow. Her makeshift bag beat against her back, and she nearly slipped three times running up the stairs.
The clatter of steel announced her arrival to the doctors at the top, who seemed to be expecting her. Finally, she relinquished the small pouch and watched as one, two, three different doctors attempted to administer the pills - but all were left with stinging hands and hair laden with static. Finally, she stepped forward.
You can't do it, they said. You shouldn't do it, they said. He'll hurt you, he'll shock you, he won't take the medicine, they said.
She took the medicine from one of theim and sat beside Amphy, offering one of the pills. She felt a jolt that rattled her bones in response, so she withdrew the hand and waited, ignoring the cries of concern. After a bit she tried again, with the same results. And then again. And then a fourth, and a fifth.
She was getting a bit tired now. She was sore and had a headache, and by this time her grandparents and the doctors were trying to coax her away, but she persisted. She pleaded. You won't get better unless you take this, she told him. You might die if you don't take this.
"You can't die, too. What if a storm comes?
How will they get back safely? Who will guide them?"
Distrust shadowed the bright gaze, but she held firm. And so did he. But he did not shock her, did not move --
-- until he took one, two of the pills from her open palm and turned his back from everyone, huffing as he went to sleep.
After that, he took them from her without much complaint.
She was only allowed to leave the house to care for him, as punishment for scaring them all so badly. She could accept this so long as Amphy got better -- and so he did, and so she returned. She spoke to him, and so he responded. She came back day after day after week after month, and he grew to trust her. His illness returned frequently, and when it did, she was inconsolable until his medicine was provided. Only he would accept it from her. Only she would give it to him. It was an equal parts relationship.
Eventually, she knew that she would have to do something else. Tired of trembling, knobby knees and little hands. Tired of cowering and helplessness. Her grandfather watched this change in her, knew when he saw it. He'd seen the same spark in a small sailor nearly a lifetime ago. The two of them were remarkably similar.
When she was ten, he decided they would go on a trip together. Grandmother would hold down the fort, he told her. Everything will be fine, it'll be fun, he reassured her. He wasn't sure how long they would be gone, he warned her. He gave her a day to prepare.
Amphy would have none of it. Abandonment, betrayal, desertion. Everything she promised not to do. He couldn't leave. This was his job; he was too weak; he resented her for it, clearly. Two years of sacrifice and friendship, thrown away. Finally she told him,
"I'll get stronger
for both of us, okay?"
She left with him still sulking.
That night, the lighthouse's beams shone brighter than before, like a beacon searching for her and calling her home.
Her new companion was named Pebbles, and he was not sure he liked him. He didn't meet him at the top of the lighthouse for a while - she feared he was too big - but when he did, he was certain he didn't like him. Rough and brutish and fearsome, everything she was not. Big and difficult and stubborn, the opposite of her. Was he not a good enough partner? A fitting compliment?
In time, he watched her and Pebbles play along the beach. Begrudgingly, he began understand.
He was strong and steady and sure, everything she wished to be.
Everything she was.
In the coming years, she left often to become stronger. Tired of the can-nots and should-nots; tired of delicacy. She trained with other locals to become better. They competed, and she often won. She lost, and she left for a long, long time.
Residing in New York State capital Albany, is a trio making highly profound indie-folk music. Originally a two-piece internet project, Accents soon gained three extra musicians and came out from behind their computer screens. Since the release of their second album, the band transformed into a three-piece. The complex journey to finding themselves has helped…
Band of The Week. Accents was originally published on Right Chord Music
