nineteen seventies

“You see, I don’t mind what happens.”

Release Attachment To Outcomes

A fear that many people have is that if they don’t hold tightly to their goals and dreams and think about them all day long, they won’t accomplish them. Yet it is the very attachment to outcomes, to getting a specific result, that sets the stage for anxiety, the fear that you won’t achieve what you want. As you learn to release the attachment, new creative energies - as well as feelings of courage and confidence - spring forth, and actually move you closer to your objectives.

Worrying about the future is one of the main causes of stress in our lives. It is a habit that just perpetuates fear, the uncomfortable feeling that we aren’t enough as we are. It keeps us stuck in the belief that such-and-such must happen if we are going to be happy, and that if it doesn’t, our lives will be miserable.

There’s a story about J. Krishnamurti that speaks reams about what it means to be free of this limiting, fear-based pattern of thinking. Every spring he used to give talks in a beautiful oak grove in Ojai, in southern California. He had been speaking there for over sixty years. On this particular occasion when I went to hear him, in the late nineteen-seventies, there must have been close to two thousand people in attendance, sitting on the grass, or in their folding chairs.

It was always an extraordinary experience, hearing Krishnamurti in person. Aldous Huxley, who was a friend of Krishnamurti’s, described it as: “Like listening to a discourse of the Buddha - such authority, such intrinsic power.”

Part way through this particular talk, Krishnamurti suddenly paused, leaned forward, and said, almost conspiratorially, “Do you want to know what my secret is?” Almost as though we were one body we sat up, even more alert than we had been, if that was possible. I could see people all around me lean forward, their ears straining and their mouths slowly opening in hushed anticipation.

Krishnamurti rarely ever talked about himself or his own process, and now he was about to give us his secret! He was in many ways a mountaintop teacher - somewhat distant, aloof, seemingly unapproachable, unless you were part of his inner circle. Yet that’s why we came to Ojai every spring, to see if we could find out just what his secret was. We wanted to know how he managed to be so aware and enlightened, while we struggled with conflict and our numerous problems.

There was a silence. Then he said in a soft, almost shy voice, “You see, I don’t mind what happens.”

I don’t mind what happens. That is the essence of inner freedom. It is a timeless spiritual truth: release attachment to outcomes, and - deep inside yourself - you’ll feel good no matter what. You’ll feel good because you are connected to, one with, the energy of the universe, the beauty and power of creation itself. Or, as Krishnamurti himself put it:

‘When you live with this awareness, this sensitivity, life has an astonishing way of taking care of you. Then there is no problem of security, of what people say or do not say, and that is the beauty of life.’

©Jim Dreaver, 2005

Whether he’s mixing a bizarre cocktail of irreverent humor with grotesque violence or subverting historical drama with psychedelics, British director Ben Wheatley has spent the last decade establishing his wickedly imaginative brand of genre-melding cinema with films like Kill List, Sightseers, A Field in England, and High-Rise. His latest film, Free Fire, a nineteen-seventies-set shootout, opened earlier this month and for the occasion we invited him to Criterion for a trip inside our films closet. Ever the voracious cinephile, Wheatley shared some delightful bon mots about his most treasured titles in the collection, from the camera’s “observing eye” of Maysles’ Grey Gardens to the childhood terror seeing William Cameron Menzies’s Things to Come.

Ben Wheatley’s Closet Picks

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Engines can be Rose (part 4)

An art school AU Reylo Drabble

______________________________

It was Lisztomania.

Well, not exactly the eighteen-forties fan-frenzied response to classical composer Franz Liszt, but the Phoenix song of the same name was certainly causing a present day scene. Walls and bodies shook in the living room, people screeched along with the lyrics at the top of their lungs, and arms flailed as intoxication ruled the night. Up against a wall, a far less enthused Rey clutched onto a cup of something she’d never drink. Desperately scanning the dancefloor for an escape route, her face took on the appearance of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ as she took a brave step forward. Horror for Rey was feeling a sweaty wet arm on her sweaty wet arm. That meeting of moisture made her want to wring old Liszt’s dead ass, and Rey thought she’d reached the end of her wits until when a shoulder bumped into her spine.

“Sorrrrrry!”

A slurred stranger’s apology didn’t count for much when sugary punch seeped between Rey’s toes. She shuddered with revulsion, but Rey miraculously refrained from flicking the drunkard off. It wasn’t anybody else’s fault that she felt awkward and out of place, but once “soiled by rum punch” was added to the list of reasons why she hated the party, Rey decided to call it a night. It wasn’t her scene at all, she couldn’t stop thinking about her art project deadline anyway, and if anybody met the girl’s gaze they would have assumed that the only possible explanation for her attendance in the first place was likely trickery.

In truth, she’d been bribed - and not even with money. No, Rey had been bribed with pizza- and not even with good pizza.

Four, eighty-cent frozen pizzas in exchange for accompanying her friend Poe to the party so he wouldn’t be alone was the deal once considered too tempting to turn down. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time Rey had made a bad bargain on cheap pizza. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time that she’d been lured with pizza by Poe that month, but there was the bonus that night of getting to pat herself on the back for being a selfless best friend who cheaply fed herself too. It was basic broke ass college economics that led to Rey entering a three bedroom apartment party, but the minute they’d stepped into the chaos Poe had predictably swept away into a sea of loud greetings as Rey longed to bash her head on the rocks.

Every damn time.

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Denouncing November Blue

Denouncing November Blue (3715 words) by Cherrypie62666
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Will Solace/Nico di Angelo
Characters: Will Solace, Nico di Angelo, Lou Ellen, Leo Valdez, more to come? - Character
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Real World, Real Word AU, Sort of Music AU, solangelo, Roller Coaster Emotions, prepare for angst, ALL THE ANGST, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, this will probably hurt, I’m Not Going To Lie, It Will End Your Soul, but read it anyway, Because You Love Me, Long ass fic, I Don’t Intend This To Be Happy, Happy Ending, if you can call it that, read it, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Falling In Love, Whirlwind Romance, Inner Struggle, Real Life, Life Happens, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts
Series: Part 10 of Random unfitting one shots and stories
Summary:

The tantalizing scent of cooking meat and deep fried foods drifted through the air as he walked along the crowded plaza, making his way to the beverage stand for an ice cold bottled water. Somewhere amidst the dense sea of sticky bodies his friend Lou Ellen was patiently waiting for his return, sucking the sweet syrup off a drippy snow cone, listening to the high trill and low whirr of the live band playing some cover of a song that sounded like it was a lot more popular in the nineteen seventies than it was in the year two thousand eight.

It was hot, and he was sweaty, but that didn’t stop the feeling of excitement pulsing through his body, tapping his foot in time to the beat of the music absentmindedly, waiting for the woman in front of him to figure out just how many margaritas it was she wanted. After a long, slow wait, he slapped the five down upon the small counter, smiling brightly at the cranky looking man stuck behind the glass.

“Just one bottle of water, please,” he hummed, drumming fingers against his outer thigh. The music dipped and screeched in jazzy rhythms, making his cells vibrate with the sudden need to dance.

It was the summer of his eighteenth year, and Will Solace was grateful to be alive.

Together with their families, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy & Narcissa Auriella Black—

—request the pleasure of your company at the celebration of their union on Saturday, the twentieth of May, nineteen seventy-nine at three o’clock in the afternoon, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.

Itinerary

3:00pm – The ceremony. Vows, speeches, bouquet and garter tosses. The bride will be pleased by complements of her haute couture wedding dress.

7:00pm – Dinner outdoors in a canopied section of the grounds. The bride and groom will be greeting guests at their tables. If taking a stroll through the garden, please mind the white peacocks strutting about.

9:00pm – Dancing, indoors, in the magically expanded entrance hall of Malfoy Manor. Please enjoy the live chamber music and sample fine drinks of all varieties at the bar.

10:00pm – A grand firework display over the grounds befitting of the joyous union of two ancient and noble pureblood families will round off the night. The bride and groom beg the pardon of their guests, as they will be departing early.

OOC Information—

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70 Buick GS Stage 1 (Clone) by Greg Gjerdingen

(5/1/16)

Powering the world with peace no violence
Coming after you with a hit of kindness
There are more important things than winning a fight
Keep that in mind when your arguing who’s right
Take a hit from me I’m always willing to share
Relax let it sit and blow good vibes in the air
Put up your peace signs with a smile on your face
Keep energy flowing so your never outta place
I wasn’t the first with this idea and sure won’t be the last
Tellin everyone this isn’t a thing of the past
Bringing it back from the nineteen seventies
With mod sun, dizzy wright and a bag full of tree

Don’t take things for granted it was given to you for free
It’s the little things that’ll keep you Rollin in green

Crossfire - Chapter One

Author: somemaycallmesunshine
Pairing: Michael (Young John Winchester) x Prophet!Reader
Reader Gender: Female
Word Count: 1974
Warnings: violence, blood, gore, anxiety attacks, angst, swearing, kidnapping, character deaths

A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first full fanfiction, Crossfire, inspired by Brandon Flowers’ song. I hope you enjoy. Also, parts of the episodes are weaved in through the plot. (Visions as well as internal thoughts are in italics)

Summary: Takes place during season 5. With the apocalypse at foot, Team Free Will and the reader are doing everything in their power to stop it. But when their plans take a wrong turn, the reader gets kidnapped by none other than their enemy, Michael the archangel,

A blonde woman in a grey coat trembled as she stared at the pile of ashes lying at her feet. She looked no more than in her late twenties or early thirties. She grasped a sharp object beside her and wielded it in front of her face as she gazed at the man cornering her. He was attractive to say the least – with dark brown, almost jet black hair, golden skin and piercing dark eyes that were filled with an air of arrogance that put Y/N on edge. But despite his demeanor, there was a part of her, a part that she couldn’t explain, that was drawn to this man somehow, as though she knew him, but she couldn’t pinpoint why or how.

Your name: submit What is this?


“What did you do to John?” She asked, her voice giving away her fear. Y/N furrowed her brows.

Who is John?

The man smiled crookedly, “John is fine.”

“Who – what are you?” She hissed and Y/N was taken aback by her choice of words. It suddenly occurred to her that the pile of crackling ashes may not have been ashes moments prior and the man standing before her was no man at all but something else altogether.

The man placed a finger over his lips as he neared her, “Ssh.” He touched her forehead and she crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Then he turned, looking right at Y/N and her heart stopped and her breath caught in her throat. Could he see her? He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “Well I’d say this conversation is long overdue, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N gasped, awake from her vision to see Castiel in the motel room with her and the Winchester brothers, her surrogate family. Castiel’s posture was stiff and alert, one signature for a soldier of the Lord. In one hand he carried a piece of white chalk. She glanced at Dean who had large bags beneath his eyes and disheveled hair. It didn’t look like he slept well.

It was Sam who was beside her, placing a gentle hand over the small of her back, “Hey, are you alright, kiddo?” He asked, rubbing her back as she was brought back into reality.

Y/N shook her head, “Another vision. I should be alright.” Y/N was a prophet of the Lord for as long as she could remember. As a child, she had visions of the future, visions in which she could not interact, but those in which she could see and feel all the chaos, the pain, and the grief. What’s worse, she couldn’t control the events, couldn’t prevent them from happening so much as witness. It was as though her body remained glued while her spirit was lifted from her. She would be jolted awake, screaming and trembling to the point where her parents were concerned for her safety. Upon telling her parents about her skills, however, they locked her away where she was deemed possessed and unstable.

However, years later, when she felt as though her life was over, two FBI agents and their friend in a long, beige trench coat had found her and discovered that she was a prophet but a strange one. Whereas most prophets would have an active angel or archangel protecting them from harm and teaching them to control their abilities, it seemed as though no archangel had revealed himself to Y/N. So they took it upon themselves to be her guardian angels, and angels they were. They adopted her in without question, taught her about the supernatural world and how to fight, to hunt, and taught her that her skills and powers were nothing to be ashamed of. Her life was never the same again and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Y/N had always been one to have visions but recently they had been so frequent that she had been more expecting of them and controlling her emotions within them. Castiel did in part help her harness her mind and control it and had taught her to focus her energy into using her sight at will. Though it was powerful, it also consumed a great deal of strength so upon using her sight, Y/N’s energy would be compromised.

Castiel peered at her, “What was it about?”

“Give her a break for a sec, Cas.” Sam remarked.

“I’m fine, Sam.” She replied, assuring him with a weak smile before turning to her favorite angel. “There was a man – or he looked like a man but he didn’t act like it. He made a woman faint just by touching her forehead.”

Castiel furrowed his brows, “He sounds like an angel.”

“How can you be sure?” Dean asked.

“Because he has the same abilities I have.”

“Is there anything else you saw?” Dean asked.

Y/N paused, unsure of whether to inform them until she relented, “The man, he talked to me.”

Sam shifted in his seat, frowning, “How’s that possible? I thought no one can see, feel, or hear you in your visions.”

“I thought so too but he looked right at me.” She replied.

Castiel looked down, deep in thought, before remarking, “Perhaps it’s a seraphim.”

“Great, like we need more flying monkeys following us.” Dean rolled his eyes before Castiel looked to him with an offended expression. “Sorry.” The elder Winchester mumbled.

“On the subject of angels, Cas said he wanted to talk to us about Anna.” Sam remarked.

Y/N straightened, “You mean Anna as in ‘angel Anna?’ I thought she was in prison.”

“She was. She escaped.” Dean explained.

Castiel began drawing onto the motel’s table with the chalk as he spoke, “Yes and now she’s convinced the only way to stop the apocalypse is…” He cleared his throat and stopped drawing to look at the three directly, “…to kill Sam.”

The room fell so silent, they could hear a pin drop. Compromising not only a member of their team but a member of their family was never an option and they swore long ago it would never be. If one man gets left behind, they would follow to the ends of the earth down to the depths of hell to bring them back. And from day one, they abided by that rule not out of obligation but out of love. Y/N’s jaw twitched and her veins throbbed and Dean immediately stood up from his seat, shaking his head, ‘Really? Anna? I don’t believe it.”

“It’s true.”

Dean scoffed and leaned against the motel wall beside the window. “So she’s gone all Glenn Close huh? That’s awesome.

Castiel frowned, “Who’s Glenn Close?”

“No one.” Dean replied before walking towards Sam. His voice lowered, laced with venom. “Just this psycho bitch who likes to boil rabbits.” Still the angel in front of him looked perplexed.

Y/N moved in front of Sam as though shielding him. “Well Glenn Close or not, it doesn’t matter. We can stop her from getting close to Sam. I mean, there must be other ways to nip Armageddon in the bud aren’t there?”

The younger Winchester cleared his throat, “But the plan to kill me, would it actually stop Satan?” Dean and Y/N gaped at him, disbelieving those words would dare escape his mouth.

“No, Sam. Come on.” Dean snapped at the same time as she replied, “Not a chance.”

Still Sam continued his focus on Castiel, focus on their mission, “Cas, what do you think? Does Anna have a point?”

There was a brief silence that hung in the air and appeared to last a lifetime before Castiel croaked, “No. She’s Glenn Close.”

Dean moved beside Sam and it looked as though he and Y/N were protecting him from any potential dangers. She bit her lip, “I don’t get it. We’re going after the girl hell bent on tanking Sam. Why poke the bear?”

Castiel continued drawing again, “Because Anna will keep trying. She won’t stop until she kills Sam so we have to kill her first.” He pulled a bottle of oil from his coat pocket and poured the liquid over the sigil before chanting in Enochian and in an instant, the sigil burst into a red flame. He closed his eyes before jolting up, gasping as Y/N had done after waking from her visions. “I know where she is.” He panted.

Y/N frowned and placed a hand over Castiel’s shoulder, “Cas, I could’ve done that. I can use my sight –”

“Use it and she might see you. She may know.” Castiel shook his head and placed a hand over hers. He squeezed it for a moment before letting it go. “I don’t know who was in your vision or how they saw you but they did and right now, I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Well then, where is she?” Dean asked.

“Not where. When.” The angel corrected. Upon seeing his hunters’ confused expressions, he continued. “It’s nineteen seventy eight.”

Sam stood up, his brows knitted in confusion, “What? Why nineteen seventy eight? I wasn’t even born yet.”

Y/N turned to Sam, the realization hitting her. “It’s because she’s not trying to kill you…” Then she turned to Castiel, “Is she?”

“What are you all saying?” Dean groaned,

Castiel had a stony expression, “If Anna can’t get to you then she’s going to go after them.

“Take us back right now.” Dean growled.

Castiel appeared bewildered, “And deliver you right to Anna? I should go alone.”

“No!” Y/N cried, bounding towards Castiel, “I can go with you.”

“And she’ll use you as bait.” Dean remarked.

She huffed, “Do you really think I can’t defend myself? I can help you. I can fight. And I’m not staying in the present day alone – not when my visions are being hijacked. I’m going whether you like it or not.” She turned to Dean with a snarl, “And don’t you dare try to stop me, Dean Winchester or it’ll be your ass that gets tanked.”

“I think she means business, Dean,” Sam grumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine, you can come with us.”

“Great –” Y/N beamed.

Dean continued, “But only if you stay out of trouble –”

Y/N pouted, “Hey!”

“No one is coming with me!” Castiel groaned.

The three hunters turned to face him with incredulous looks upon their faces. “They’re our parents, Cas. We’re going.” Dean stood his round. Y/N looked expectantly at him and he sighed. “We all are.”

Castiel shook his head, “You don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his messy, dark brown hair. “It’s not that easy.” He turned away from them, looking down at the patch of ash where the sigil had burned.

Sam frowned, “Why not?”

“Time travel was difficult even with the powers of Heaven at my disposal.”

“Which got cut off.” Y/N finished.

Dean raised a brow, “So what, you’re like a Delorean without enough plutonium?” Y/N snorted and Sam shook his head and as usual, the blue-eyed angel remained confused.

He ran a hand through his hair again, “I don’t understand that reference but I’m telling you. Taking this trip – with passengers no less – it’ll weaken me.”

Y/N grabbed his hand, “You don’t have to do this alone, Cas. I can help.”

“How?” He croaked, “You have no knowledge of the extent of your powers beyond your visions and sight and if you were somehow able to help, they could find you.”

She smirked, “Don’t worry. We can handle this. We always do.”

Dean nodded, “We gotta go, Cas. They’re our mom and dad. If we can save them, and not just from Anna… I mean, if we can set this right, we have to try.”

The four of them looked to one another in solidarity. They would make it through together

Ye gods, this Women Against Feminism thing. Bitches, we couldn’t even get credit cards in our names until 1974. NINETEEN SEVENTY FOUR. That’s forty years ago. I have dust bunnies in my apartment older than that. I’m glad your husband can lift giant flaming boxes of knives for you in a manly fashion or whatever it was you said negated your need for equality, but if you’re spitting in the faces of the women who came before you and tried to make the world a less hateful place for you while you have a credit card or a loan in your name then I hope that giant flaming box falls on your head. Good day. 

These two books by Paul Huson, are two classic works that have been around since the nineteen seventies. Not influenced by todays neo-modern new age mainstream witchcraft. The books provide the most in-depth details to beginning a practice in traditional witchcraft, free from the trappings of new age spirituality. Both of these books are quintessential for traditional a witch’s practice. Mastering herbalism is just as informative, I’ll be doing more in depth analyses soon!