otf: duende

Duende

Noun

[dwen-de; English doo-en-dey] 

1. a goblin; demon; spirit.

2. charm; magnetism.

Origin:
Duende comes via French from the Old Spanish phrase duen de casa, dueño de casa “master of the house,” originally, in the late 1600s, referring to a household deity, fairy, pixie, or imp. By the mid-1900s, it acquired the sense of impassioned, inspired artistry.

“Daniel Calderón had the duende, the gift of enchantment.”
- Caryl Férey, Mapuche, translated by Steven Randall, 2013

The body a myth, parable / For what not even language / Moves quickly enough to name. / If I call it pain, and try to touch it / With my hands, my own life, / It lies still and the music thins, / A pulse felt for through garments.
—  Tracy K. Smith, from Duende; “Duende”

“No more sunlight, please…”

I WAS WAY TOO TIRED TO QUEUE THIS LAST NIGHT, SO HERE IT IS NOW

This is very last “expressive piece” I did for my friday figure drawing class.

One of Yukure’s jobs in his series is to be sort of a “dream detective” where he’ll investigate recurring nightmares or dreams, since they can lead to the “duende” he’s usually hired to find/take care of.

Sometimes, they find him first.

flickr

Duende magazine by Svetlana Stoyanova
Via Flickr:

Get away, nerd

“Mr. Eggan, we really can’t come to after school rehearsals today.” The taller teen with dirty blondish hair emphasised as he looked up at his balding teacher who squinted at the two kids. “And why is that? Unless you two start showing up to morning rehearsals you’re not gonna be in the next band concert.” The old man stated pushing his glasses up. “We have chorus rehearsals, Ms. Aycock doesn’t give us as much notice as Mr.Valls used to.” Eddie explained as he sighed looking up at Mr.Eggan who wasn’t having any of this bullshit. “Fine, this better not keep happening though.” He sighed as Stan and Eddie nodded attentively before turning away and heading to chorus which they ended with anyway.



The whole class went smoothly, practicing songs and a few boys going to audition for a solo in one of the songs, Stan being one of them. Most of the boys stayed but a few of the younger ones left, Ms.Aycock making all the boys go sit in one of the corners and check all the boys in on a paper. The rehearsals going well as everyone got some chips and the girls were all, as always, in love with the boys songs.



But there was always the unfortunate bit of annoying drama kids who have rehearsals every wednesday, which happened to be today. Resulting in teenagers dramatically reciting lyrics or monologues obnoxiously loud. Stan and Eddie holding hands to make it through all the kids. Walking to the front where the bikes were parked. “Think you’re gonna get the solo?” Eddie inquired as he undid the lock on his bike and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater. “God no, my voice cracked and I started tearing up. Dylan had to give me a quick hug ’cause he felt bad.” Stan laughed, even though Eddie frowned, knowing how much Stan wanted the part.



“You could always ask her for another audition.” Eddie suggested hopefully, him and Stan turning and starting to walk their bikes off the curb. Stopping when they saw a tall boy in square glasses and dark thick curly hair smoking a cigarette next to a girl with equally as thick orange curly hair, holding a cigarette between her faded pink lips. The two were leaning against a red and beat up pickup truck. Eddie distinctly remembered the boy as some punk kid who skipped band to go hangout with chorus. Spending the whole class mimicking the boys and teasing Eddie and Stan as he scooched around in a rolling chair. But Stan didn’t recognize him, looking at the girl he realized was Beverly, so many rumors were spread about how she fucked teachers to get better grades. He could never tell if they were fake or not. She seemed nice but they didn’t hang with the same crowd, so he could never really know.



The two were laughing and puffs of smoke escaped their mouths as they chatted, eyes crinkled in happiness and noses scrunched as they conversed. “That’s bad for you, you know.” Eddie interrupted as he stared at the two, Richie laughing as he stared at them. Stan awkwardly standing there as he partially stared at Bev, analyzing if she was nice or not. Even though he just looked like a creep. “Oh, you’re being serious?” Richie said as he stared at the boy in astonishment. “Hey kid, would you stop gawking at me? Names Beverly.” The redhead grinned as she dropped her cigarette and squished it with her sneakers. Walking forward and sticking a hand out for Stan to shake. Stan froze before Eddie nudged him and he shook her hand. “I’m uh, I’m Stan, sorry it’s just, I recognized you but I can’t remember from where.” He explained, Bev nodded in understanding before pulling her hand away. “Well, that’s Ric–” Bev was cut off by Richie shouting something.



“I know you two fuckin nerds!” He said enthusiastically, if it was an anime Eddie would have a sweatdrop by now. “You’re those nerdy ass chorus kids!” he exclaimed. “That one time I skipped band! Sweater kid glared at me.” He recalled as he flashed a grin at them. “We have to get going, see ya Beverly.” Stan said suddenly in attempt to get them out of the awkward situation. The two walking their bikes further before hopping on and Eddie making sure Stan got home safe. When Eddie got home he set his bike at the side and opened the door. Waving at his mom who shouted something about not forgetting his night medicine which he gladly ignored. Shutting his bedroom door as he laid down on the bed, leaving his bag on the floor. Taking his sweater off as he just wore a striped black and white T-shirt, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes. Finally sitting up as he looked at his window. Grabbing his Polaroid camera and snapping a photo of the sunset and pinning it on the wall before grabbing his backpack. He hummed along to a chorus tune as he read along to some History shit he didn’t really care about.



Finishing his homework by dinner, which was actually just some pizza his mom ordered, this being one of the rare nights she allowed junk food. He slapped two pieces of greasy cheese and mushroom pizza on his plate and eating quickly since lunch was making kids puke. After an hour of just practicing violin he slipped off his jeans and laid under the blankets in boxers and a t-shirt.  

Philip Hersh - esteemed (?) American journalist - on his twitter a while ago.

The one calling PCS scoring “artisty scoring” and “reputation” scoring in one of his articles trying to tell why Chen had lower PCS than Chan or Hanyu (do a favour to yourself, don’t read him. I did that mistake, once).

I guess over-scoring for him does count only if it’s not an American skater the one benefitting it. In that case… America First!