“Boogie Woogie Man” from Time out for Rhythm (1941)

Going to try jogging at least four times a week. I started up again last night after falling out of rhythm for months. I’m an embarrassed dork, so I jog at nighttime. I can’t hold for as long as I wish to (keep switching back to walking), but being able to do it at all is something. My thighs are a bit sore, and it’s oddly satisfying.

My goal is to lose about 40 lbs. My BMI says I should be about 120 lbs.; I don’t really give a damn about what the BMI says, but it would be wonderful to slim down and have some more energy.

kigeky asked:

So I just remembered Jotaro's dad was a jazz musician, so picture this: Jotaro likes jazz. When he wants to relax, he listens to classic jazz songs. Thing is, after spending some time with Rohan, he realizes they share the same taste. :^)


Jotaro likes jazz because it reminds him of home, reminds him of his childhood. He listens to it and thinks about his father when he was home in between tours and how he’d play his latest hits for Jotaro and his mother in their living room. He also remembers his father’s extensive record collection, made up of a little bit of everything - influences, friends, rivals, and American musicians who were changing the genre. When his father wasn’t home he could still listen to the records, carefully placing the player’s needle on the vinyl and tapping out the rhythm with his hands.

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Glossed lips curl delicately around the contralto, lilting syllables of her first verse. Long, deceptively slender arms previously held akimbo at the flare of the siren’s silk-draped hips, extend toward the awaiting crowd packed wall-to-wall into the dauntingly large hall and finally upward.

Her audience is abuzz tonight. More so than usual. Beyond the sluggish back-beat that kicks in with the twang of more spirited jazz guitar, she can hear hearts fluttering wildly against captive ribs and smell intrigue in the air. Prompted by gluttony she inhales deeply, setting veins of pilfered legacies ablaze with a feral hunger.  

Dark lashes fall carefully over copper cheeks when she ends her second verse and mounts to a climax. The siren sways in time with the relaxed rhythm all the while belting out lyrics with an unapologetic fervor.

The crowd’s reaction is less-than-ideal to the parasite’s standards (while hardly noticeable to the average onlooker.) A third of the room reacts flaccidly, seemingly distracted. By something? Or someone. She pipes down to allow her band to carry on with the breakdown, and scans the tableau of polarized faces for her contender.


like there are definitely games where crafting/item combination is handled well and adds to it like cooking in Tales of but there are also a lot of times where it just forces you out of the rhythm in the game just to make a healing item out of two items that have literally no purpose outside of getting crafted into a healing item but it’s the Cool & Trendy game mechanic so it has to be there 

Maverick, to me, is the most addicting flourish ever and also my go-to move when I get asked to perform some cardistry. Chances are people have seen a spring or a fan before. Two handed cuts are new to them and Maverick looks captivating enough to wow the audience. I find my hands automatically break the deck into that E grip and set out that perfect rhythm most of the time.

At the centre of existence I feel to a certain degree there is a sum, an equation that defines us all individually. At some point or another we all begin to realize that our own emission is unique, that the way you’re speaking, thinking and loving belongs only to you and you alone. Sure, along the way we form attachments to those with similarities, our personalities morph and transform beyond recognition, but when you crawl back into your bed late at night your heart is only beating in time with the rhythm your body planned out for it.”


Bart: Bountiful, copius amounts of time on this earth. As one adds it up, thy time becomes thine dimension of one’s thoughts. For thine time spent counting time, can only lead to peeks and dips in one’s pulsating with the earth. You see, dear Winston, the earth has it’s own pulse. It’s own time. Once thou leavest thine “moment”, he or she can sway out of rhythm with such vibration. 

Winston:  Reverberation of “the moment” through said time, may be in the pocket of the Earth’s backline beat. If one flinches, rhythm is broken and lost to space we become. A path towards the proverbial stars is but a melody of quarters and eighths dotted by light and filtered with dreams.

I’m sick of losing my patience out of time lacking rhythm barely concious oversensitive feeling weaker as I stumble around Get out of my mind