* So friend…. you okay?

* Yep.

* And you’re not… uncomfortable or mad with me and Xeno right?

* Nope. Not at all.

* Okay. That’s good friend. That’s good.

* …..

* …..

* So uh, anyway, friend. What do you wanna do now? I got all the time in the world since the door back home is just there for me to leave at anytime.

* Well I dunno, what do you want to do, friend? I have nothing planned either.

* Well I just asked you that, friend…. but okay. I’ll think up something we can do for fun.

* Okay, How about that duet of kazoos everyone was wanting us to do.. I got my kazoo!

Vinksteria raises up his Blue and White Striped Hell Kazoo.

Hysteria gasps lifts up his Shiny Silver Kazoo.

* …………

Vinksteria slowly puts away his kazoo, obviously bothered by something.

* How about we don’t and do something else.

* What why-


Hysteria: part 7

[ I hope you enjoy the newest part of Hysteria]

Warnings: Mention of abuse, mention of murder

——————————-Joker POV———————————

Who in the hell did she think she was? Acting like she owned the place, bringing… pets, into his hideout. Frustrated he sits on the couch rubbing his temples in frustration. Why on gods green earth hasn’t he shot her yet? After all to date she has punched him in the jaw, insulated him in front of his men, pointed a gun at him, and now is strutting around like the queen of his castle. He pulls out his pistol leaning over, his elbows on his knees staring at it contemplating his options. Why was this so difficult? He had never hesitated in the past to blow someone away if they disrespected him but why not her? Why did she live even after punching him in the face. Then he thought, it’s because of that laugh. The laugh that eerily reminded him of his own, the one she says is triggered by her own personal narration of the wold. She was batty and didn’t even seem to realize it. But he could see it, that was his gift, he could see the potential she had. Hell the second time they ever met he convinced her to blow some schmuck’s head off. He paused.

No, that’s not true now is it. He didn’t convince her of anything all he did was provide her with the right tools, it was solely her decision to pull that trigger just like she has chosen to stay. Bringing her pack of mongrels with her. He sneers. He just can’t decide what to make of her. She intrigued him, enticed him…. challenged him. No one but the Bat had ever been crazy enough to challenge him. Head reeling in thought he walks back into the now deserted kitchen to pour himself a double shot of whiskey. If he couldn’t think through these confusing thoughts then he would just drowned them out. With his glass full he turns to leave only to spot a small, very old looking, stuffed tiger laying on the kitchen floor. Intrigued he leans down and picks it up giving the tattered toy a once over before spotting an old worn down locket around its neck. He places his glass on the floor next to him and rolls back on his heels till he’s sitting comfortably on the floor knees crossed in front of him like a child. Very carefully he works the old locket open were he sees two yellowing photos.

One was of a young man the Joker would guess was in his twenties and a young pretty pretty girl who looked about seventeen, she looked happy and innocent. Both of the individuals looked a little worse for wear, their close were wrinkled and a bit dirty but they looked content.  They were standing somewhere in downtown Gotham, Joker knew that part of town well. Each of them held a very young puppy both of which also seemed a bit used. Then he turns his attention to the other photograph. It was of the same pair but they seemed older, different. This the photo was dark, the pair were hugging the girl had her back to the camera hiding her face. The man hunched down so he could  rest his head on the girls shoulder looked tired and sullen. A dark and eerily familiar building loomed in the background. The Joker’s eyes widened when he recognized it, it was Arkham. And the girl, the very young, very pretty girl was (y/n). He stares at the photos for a long time hoping to divine the context in which these two photos were taken. Then quickly he shuts the locket and quickly gets to his feet determined to learn more about this girl who interests him and vexes him so.

————————————-(y/n) POV———–————————–

“Where is it, where is it, where is it, Where Is It!”

You yell to yourself destroying all the work you had done to get your new room feeling just right. The bed covers come flying off landing on the cat tree across the room, Buffy and Buster stay tucked away in their crates while Weeboe rested with Buffy. They knew better than to get in your way. You brought it you swore you did. There is no way you could have lost it. You play the days events back in your head. “I put it right here!” You scream before flipping the huge king sized matters. It wasn’t there either. You pause for a moment looking at your now trashed room. It was no were to be found, you looked everywhere, you had been so sure you packed it, so sure you had left it waiting on the bed but it wasn’t there. You begin questioning yourself. Slumping to the floor next to the overturned mattress you bury your face in your knees and start to cry not noticing the light rasping at your door.  

——————————Joker’s POV—————————————-

Standing in front of what is apparently now  (y/n)’s room he steadies himself not understanding why she made him so uneasy. With one last sigh he slicks his hair back and gently knocks on the door hoping she’s not asleep. No answer, so he listens to the door, maybe he missed her reply. But instead of hearing an invitation he hear a quiet muffled sound, something he didn’t recognize curious. A bit nosy he lets himself in. His eyes widen as he looks around the room, bed sheets thrown across the room a few pieces of clothing strewn around, dog toys everywhere and the mattress flipped off the frame leaning up haphazardly against the wall. He steps in perplexed about what he is seeing. Then he hears that sound again, quiet and sad. He looks in the corner and spots (y/n) huddled in a corner face buried deep in her knees crying.

The Joker just stood there for a moment watching her, he doesn’t think she knows he’s there. She shudders under that weight of a sob and he can’t stand it any longer. He was not one for comforting but he felt compelled to at least find out what was bothering her so much.

“Hey Baby Doll why the long face?”

He asks with what he thought was a concerned look on his face, to her it looked cold and calculated.

“Go away.”

She sobbed burying her face deeper into herself. A little tick that she wasn’t appreciating his effort he grabs her chin to make her look at him, a bit to tight and she winces at his grip.

“ Look at me. What’s wrong? Did one of my men do something to you? They’ll pay if they did.”

She averts her eyes not wanting anyone let alone the Joker see her so weak and over what? A crappy old stuffed tiger?

“It’s stupid and you wouldn’t understand leave me alone.”

She jerks away from his grip pulling herself closed like a clam. Anger building in him he remembers the stuffed animal in his pocket and hatches a plan. If he couldn’t make whatever it was better the least he could do was make her laugh. He was the Joker after all. He drops to the floor laying on his stomach looking up at the beautiful young woman sobbing. Pulling out the tattered toy from the pocket of his sweats he starts to manipulate it, making it do a dance while he made little music sounds for it to dance to. She peaks up trying to figure out why the hell he was on the floor making weird noises when she spots what he is playing with.


She chirps tears still rolling down her face. J looks at the tattered doll in his hands and the joy on (y/n)’s face, did she really tear apart an entire room looking for this? Slowly he rises onto his knees staring at her like a memorized child he presents her with the little tiger. Grabbing it from his hands she nuzzles it as if it was one of her pets before throwing her arms around his neck completely taking him by surprise.

“Thank you, thank you so much.”

She sobbed a bit into his neck not able to control herself. Joker feeling a bit uncomfortable at the contact, awkwardly he pets her back trying his hardest to be comforting even if it came out strangely. After a moment the contact was a bit much for him and he pulls her away still sniffling a bit. He stares at her a perplexed look on his face.

“Why is that so important to you?”

He awaited her answer as if her words would reveal to him how to deal with his strange connection with this fascinating girl. She looks at him still unable to control the tears as she decides she was going to be honest with him.

“It was the last thing my older brother gave me before he was put into the Asylum.”

Her tears threatening to spill over again.

“He has always been my only family. He kept me safe when we were abandoned by our parents, left to fend for ourselves on the streets of Gotham. One day while he was out trying to pinch us some food two men grabbed me from the Wayne homeless shelter and dragged me away with a bag over my head. I guess they wanted to have some fun and a homeless girl would have been easier to get rid of than some pretty collage student.”

Her eyes dulled with the pain of the memory.

“When my brother found out I was missing he scoured the city for me. He found me in bad shape, the men still using me as their personal play thing. He went ballistic, killing both of them to get to me. He saved me but someone saw him kill those two monsters and called the GCPD. They didn’t listen they didn’t even want us to talk. All they saw were two ‘business men’ who had families to answer to and two homeless street rats. They took him, calling him deranged, and sticking him in that, that, HELL HOLE Arkham!”

Her face contorted filling with disgust.

“He was there two weeks, two damn weeks before a riot broke out in the lunch room. In the confusion a guard shot my brother. He was just sitting there complying with their orders and they shot him. He died in that pit and they covered it up. Saying he had a shiv and was threatening the damn guard. No one ever questioned it. That was three years ago. After that I worked my way to a normal life the best I could. I was determined to live the life my brother would have wanted.”

She jerks to her feet drying her eyes.

“ But that’s all in the past. And this doll is all that is left of him.”

Joker gets to him feet. Not exactly knowing how to process this new information or the sorrowful girl he had taken claim of.

Without another thought he lifts his left hand placing it over her mouth, the tattooed smile making her grin back at him.

“Much better Doll Face.”

She is amused at his sad attempt to cheer her up laughter bubbling up lighting her face with a true smile. The two just stood there like that for a long time laughing the pain away.

—————- To Be Continued——————

THIS FRIDAY, at G1988 (East), join us for the opening reception for Mass Hysteria 2 from 100% Soft! It’s going to be an amazing exhibition with new prints and pins, all from one of our most sought after artists. The artist will be in attendance from 7-9 PM, stop by!

ask-the-malevolent-flower  asked:

Seems there's a note left for vinktory hysteria, the words are hastily scribbled on in pencil, but still legible "Hey, Hysteria. My time is running a bit short and I don't really know how much longer I'll be here in this timeline. If I go sooner rather than later, I just want you to know that you can in fact go back through the door. Think of it as a one-way thing. The door will still be there fortunately. Whenever you're ready to come back home, just go to the door, shouldn't be hard to open"

* It’s sad that Devoid can’t stay any longer… we could have done some cool stuff while he was still here….

* But at least I’ll still be able to get back home without rush…. I wonder what else I can do while I’m still here…hehehehe~

Olivia's memories of attending Beatle concerts in Los Angeles

“I saw them [The Beatles] at the Hollywood Bowl in 1965 and at Dodgers Stadium in ‘66. The mania and hysteria of those gigs brought a certian expectation with it: what am I supposed to feel here? You came to listen but all these other emotions were surrounding you. You had to focus so hard on hearing anything that it was impossible to really enjoy the music. I was way up at the top of the Hollywood Bowl and the girls were diving into the pond and swimming to the stage. So I’m trying to watch the band and listen to the music but I’m thinking Oh, my God, you’re going to get electrocuted on the wires from the lights! With all this going on it was amazing how focused the band was. I mean, the George would talk about Hamburg, they all would, and how they were so connected to one another and so connected to one another and so into their songs and what they were playing, but George said that at the end they couldn’t hear and didn’t feel safe. They were asked to play in a way no one would now. But they did waht they were told. They were trying to steam roll ahead musically in a world where in Abbey Road they had to ask Mal [Evans] to open the fridge if they wanted a cup of tea, because they were locked after 5pm”.

As told to Andrew Male

Mojo Magazine No. 275, October 2016

The FBI kept files on author Ray Bradbury: "Definitely slanted against the United States" #1yrago

Michael from Muckrock writes, “The FBI followed Ray Bradbury’s career very closely, in part because an informant warned them that his writing was not enjoyable fantasy, but rather tantamount to psychological warfare.”

“The general aim of these science fiction writers is to frighten the people into a state of paralysis or psychological incompetence bordering on hysteria,” the informant warned. “Which would make it very possible to conduct a Third World War in which the American people would believe could not be won since their morale had seriously been destroyed.”


Everything looks different in the rear view. Straight north out the city on the Lake Shore is a far cry from the Crescent. The city kind of peels off itself cruising the west side into the Bronx. A Gondry video or maybe acid. The tunnels are tatted up and all that color gives off a mild hysteria that slowly recedes to the Hudson River. The train south unfolds onto reed grass and power lines. The city leaps fully formed in the background, the trade tower and the Chrysler and everything in between. More I’m definitely not there anymore than where am I?

Blond is surreal. Sublime. Maybe it’s just me. I have a hard time separating music from moments in time. The alkaline gurgles of the internet and sharp fear of the year 2000 and everything after are indistinguishable from Ok Computer. Brad copped a tape from work and I remember standing at the counter sharing a pair of headphones, swapping songs and making the kind of faces young boys make about things they love. Later at 810 we played it over and over in his four track and got annihilated into infinity. I downloaded Vespertine 10 minutes after I got back to my apartment for the first time, a few days after 9/11. The computer had a thin film of dust covering the monitor and keys because it was the first beautiful day in forever and we left the window open. My fingerprints cleared space from individual keys and I’m sure it spelled something ultra mundane but in my mind it’s poetic. Because I was in a state. I still am. I’d walked from Rock Center to 116 and Park while the trains were down. I didn’t have my discman with me. I thought about that walk for weeks after and bore a hole in my head with a burned copy of that damned Bjork LP. Everyone was fucking and doing drugs and running around in a ecstatic haze for months. I mean, how do you begin to live again, finally?

Whatever the hell is happening to us now, within this country and without, feels pregnant with the same orgiastic frenzy of trying to live through it all. The beginning of the fall. Mixed. Struggling. Blond. Did you call me from a seance? You are from a past life. I hope that you are good bruh.


My latest w| @NewsyVideos… @kevinclancymedia & I debunk the myths around ‘Halal Hysteria.’ Full video: https://www.facebook.com/newsyvideos/videos/10153925683263775/

Made with Instagram

Frank Ocean
Def Jam

Anticipation, hype, idolatry, and  hyperbolic anger hurricanes are the traits of modern fan culture. Across the vast cosmos of sub reddits, twitter exchanges and facebook groups, the joy of anticipation has died an unsanctimonious death in a rusty blender of shortened attention spans and addiction to instant gratification. Billed as the follow up follow up to the modern classic Channel Orange, Boys Don’t Cry set the world on fire with anticipation bordering on hysteria. Frank Ocean cranked the ignition a few times in the four year interim between projects, but Frank’s generally reclusive tone led to a zeitgeist of people questioning the sophomore album’s very existence. Memes cascading endlessly about Frank’s side adventures as a street racer, a med student and a Calvin Klein model were  coping mechanisms for the impatient masses that understandably have been salivating for a once in a generation talent to rise again. From a weekend of instant flash flooding into a category 5, Frank poured down two albums days after one another. No longer Boys Don’t Cry, Ocean’s next era was so massive in scope that album one, Endless, was a preamble for the album two, Blond. Ultimately, hype is ephemeral and fickle, and the real deal, the reward for an eternal winter, is now out in the wild.  Despite expectations being built up to mythic proportions, and against all odds, Frank Ocean delivers a sophomore album that, quite frankly, towers above his contemporaries. Blond is an auteur’s masterwork and an emphatic confirmation of Frank Ocean’s musical brilliance.

In totality, “Nikes” is an incredible testament to the potency of Ocean’s artistic vision. Frank’s progression from the hooks and soulful choruses of Channel Orange is made clear with Nikes’ stream of consciousness approach. The wonderfully manicured R'n'B gems of “Lost” and “Pilot Jones” have been replaced with more impressionistic philosophies and prose. Nikes takes a party and creates a scene of euphoria, reverence, defiance, and vulnerability in fragmented strokes that pulse with life. There’s a world-building slight of hand about the songwriting here, and it’s bolstered by the deceptively minimal production. Generally gliding along soft, lurid synths and a steady kick snare heartbeat, Nikes’ production is actually filled with control and complexity. Incremental tonal shifts in all the right places and a brilliant use of vocal pitch-shifting anchors a strong magnetism with undeniable pull. Sharply beautiful, yet airy and free-flowing, Nikes is an incredible portal into a vast, detail-rich world of surreality verse struggle, and that’s only the beginning.

Blond’s beauty stems from its patience and clarity sharing a paradoxical covalent bond with vague yet vivid implications. In a dream pop guitar chamber on “Ivy”, Frank Ocean ruminates on a bittersweet romance while simultaneously self-flagellating himself as deserving target for hatred. In Blond’s world, pain and pleasure are dichotomies constantly intertwining. At one moment, a mother figure is trying to keep Frank out of substance excess on “Be Yourself” and the first line of the following track “Solo” Frank is getting wavvy on acid. On a microcosmic level, Solo takes this dichotomy further by wrapping it around a singular magnetic pole, the word solo. Frank finds a fling with a mysterious woman, and there’s relief that he doesn’t have to be solo for the night. That same night progresses, and Frank’s self-destructive dynamic with said women creates regret, maybe he was better off solo. Ultimately, Frank is toiling inside of himself, coping with a solo blunt  inhaling in hell to find heaven. Solo’s excellent songwriting illustrates the granular detail of Frank’s narrative strokes which burst with a distinctive vividness and alluring isolation.

Frank Ocean is a dreamer, but that trait has never found greater synchronization in his music than his work on Blond. Blond emanates with a graceful psychedelia and rich texture that maps impressively to Ocean’s seemingly enormous imagination. Frank’s dreamscapes are a place where multiple voices and conflicting inner monologues dovetail into each other and peculiar outbursts maintain a consistent ecosystem in spite of themselves. The warping voices scattered about “Self-Control” seamlessly blend with Frank’s more familiar crooning without pause, even when distorted embryonic wailing cuts straight between verses. At it’s most extreme, Blond turns out a bizarre sonic  maelstrom in “Pretty Sweet”, and even here, the sonic diversity of Blond is a plus instead of a hindrance.

Blond is a densely atmospheric work  that lingers in strong vapours hours after listening. It’s transcendent in a way few albums are, and drastically fewer R'n'B records ever manage. Frank Ocean’s vision is decisively personal, lonely and gorgeous. Although Ocean’s been missing for so long that a re-elected president has all but finished his term, Frank hasn’t been wasting time. Blond is the answer to what Frank has been doing all the while and where he’s been physically and mentally. In typically Frank Ocean fashion, there’s mystery and lines to read between even as he presents his captain’s log from the vast unknown. However, the sky-tearing crystal castle  that Frank Ocean builds over 60 minutes is staggering and ambitious. Ocean’s pulpy, off-kilter, reclusive R'n'B is elevated by a distinctly alternative approach to the genre on Blond and the album consequently soars. It simply cannot be stressed how impressively dire the odds were for the one time odd future songbird, but Frank Ocean delivers an astonishing album on his own terms. 



   " In the end, it was amazing to have each other’s support. Her presence at the gala screening of the movie made me really nervous. She was sitting in front of me. I kept looking at the back of her neck, trying to find out if she was liking the movie or not [laughs]. I only relaxed when, at the end, Kristen told me she loved it.“  

Hysteria Joker x Reader

[This may end up being another series. We’ll see. ]

Warnings: Profanity. Obviously.

Are you fucking kidding me! The words spiraled in your head. You heard this club was safe. No gang, mafia or criminal affiliations but then again this was Gotham, you didn’t think there was one place left that is truly above board so to say. So here you are. Plastered to the fucking floor, of this shit club, being held up by the damn Joker. What the hell was going on with your life? You could swear that this is just the latest chapter in the cosmic joke that is your life. Unfortunately that joke must have been pretty damn funny because you accidentally let out an audible laugh while the Clown was taking everyone’s belongings. ‘Shit’ You silently scold yourself throwing a hand over your face which unfortunately causes you to laugh harder. ‘Im so fucked’ Even harder. ‘You were gonna die here because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut!’ Your laughing completely out loud now as you hear footsteps approach from behind you and all the other captives try to slowly worm their way away from you. You must have looked utterly mad and at that thought you bust out in utter hysteria now flipping onto your back holding your stomach because of the force of your crazed laughter.

Amused the Joker approaches the young woman that laughing hysterically on the floor wondering what joke he hasn’t been let in on. In all his career he has never seen a hostage bust out laughing. He looks over the hysterical girl writhing on the floor cracking up at some untold joke. He takes her in as he slowly approaches her. She was short, then again most people seemed short to him since he was in no way a short man. She was wearing a hoodie that read Bat-Shit Crazy on the front over a red Bat symbol. 'Interesting choice.’ He thought to himself. Her jeans hugged her ass but weren’t painted on like most of the women that usually surrendered him. She wore plain black convers and only a few piercings for jewelry. Her hair falling loose from the ponytail hid in the hood of her sweater framed her face as she laughed. She must have been in her early twenties, she looked so young, so innocent, so…. different.

“What’s so funny there Doll Face?” He asked in an amused and low tone as the young girl struggled to catch some semblance of sanity between her laughing fits.

You cant believe it. You’ve royalty fucked up now, you caught the Joker’s attention, nice going. Another wave of hysteria hits as you look around and see the faces of your fellow captives. They looked nearly as afraid of you as they did this freaking clown.

“You!” You managed to choke out between laughing fits. “This, this whole….” you gasp in another breath. “ debacle!” Your crying now from all the laughter.

Joker’s face sours a bit. He doesn’t like being someone else’s joke.

“And what, what, what is so funny about your current, very precarious situation my dear.” The words ran from his mouth ice cold.

You’re already dead, you figure might as well go for broke. Regaining yourself just enough to speak you let the Clown Prince of Crime in on your own personal joke.

“Well you Mister Joker sir.” You start off in almost a mocking tone propping yourself up on one elbow now literally lounging on the ground at his feet. “You’re gonna kill me see, and probably everyone else in this shit hole too.” You wave your hand lazily in the air to gesture at your now gasping audience. “And there’s really nothing any of us can do about it right?” You ask with something almost resembling amusement filling your eyes.

“Probably. ” He responds cocking his head to the side growing amused with this strange young girl again.

“Well then.” You say as you start to make your way to your feet, done with all this 'cowering in fear’ bull shit as the Joker pulls his custom purple and green handgun on you. “Why die cowering on the floor like a bug about to be squished.” You make a squishing motion with your foot. “when I can die standing up with a smile on my face?” A smile rips across your face as you grab the barrel of the Joker’s gun and place it on your forehead half way expecting him to blow your head off before you could retract your hand.

Shock floods the Joker as the young, pretty, pretty, girl grabs the barrel of his gun jerking it to her own forehead almost making his finger slip on the trigger. The thought of accidentally blowing her away didn’t amuse him as much as it normally would have. He has never met someone like this. Especially not in these circumstances.

“Hmmmm….” He murrmers his voice a near growl as he retracts the gun from your forehead. He starts stalking around you, his eyes mesmerizing, reminding you of a documentary you saw on Animal Planet recently of a tiger stalking his prey. Yup, that’s what he reminded you of a tiger, and you were the prey. Or maybe… You step directly in the path of his circle stopping him dead in his tracks. It was obvious to you he wasn’t accustom to being challenged. Not that you were all that use to challenging a psychopath, but today was just that kind of day.

You look him dead in the eyes and step uncomfortably close to him, almost touching him, but not quite. You lean forward on your toes so you can whisper in his ears. “I’m not afraid of death. And I’m not afraid of you.” And with that you see something light in the Joker’s eyes. Damn, I’m a fucking idiot you thought as the King of Crime descends upon you.

—————– To Be Continued ——————-


                                            A M E R I C A N    I D I O T

                                                     “don’t want to be an american idiot
                                                     one nation controlled by the media
                                                           information age of hysteria
                                                         calling out to IDIOT AMERICA