visceral end

Remember in season 10, how FRUSTRATING it was that we would watch episode after episode where Sam and Cas talked all desolately on the phone, like, “Dean’s getting worse,” or “The Mark is really affecting him now,” but we never got to see tangible evidence of Dean breaking down?

All they needed was ONE episode like “Red Meat” to really hammer it in. That’s all it would have taken. One episode with real, actual tension that made me legitimately afraid for the characters and that readily demonstrated their complex mental states. One episode that defied their standard plot formula, didn’t rely on tired action sequences, and presented me with a real, gritty, snapshot of who Sam and Dean are as people at this moment in their lives. All I needed was a SNAPSHOT of that desperation.

“Red Meat” was a fucking textbook lesson in the effectiveness of show vs. tell. I don’t know if someone gave the writing team remedial composition lessons between season 10 and 11 or what, but whatever they’re doing, it’s fucking working. I hope they keep it up.

Fan BoneMen: Decapitador , inspired by Spaghettibastard’s Bone Men art series @spaghettibastard

I imagine the Decapitador as a war priestess of sorts, improving her allies through boon and chant.

An oily fluid pools in her hips that can she can form into a incredibly strong, silk like material. With this she forms her visceral threads, each ending in horrid meat hooks, meant to drag opponents to a violent demise.

The fluid can also help seal wounds or act as an armor if smothered upon an ally. Her dress is made of the same fluid, hiding extra weapons and protecting her legs.


#5 Best Songs of the 1980s -  London Calling - The Clash

Immediate. Visceral. It’s the end of the fucking world, but thank god The Clash is here to drive you through the bullshit. 
There were a ton of protest songs in the eighties and many of them were clever enough that the masses remained unaware. Born in the USA, 99 Red Balloons, Electric Avenue, Vamos a la Playa, Blue Sky Mine. Other songs like London Calling or Rocking the Free World were not so subtle.

That was the beautiful thing about them though. Shining bright hot. A giant “fuck you” to the system.

The wonderful thing about punk was how anyone with enough confidence could get onstage with their anger. You didn’t have to know how to play. Just be real. Be fucking real and let your frustration, rage, and sadness, let your emotion flow. Many of the great artists you worship started out unable to write, draw, or play an instrument. But by the sheer force of anger, by sheer will, they got good at it and honed their anger into a surgeons scalpel. They cut up everything and every one. Sometimes even themselves.

“But I have no fear
cause London is drowning
and I
live by river.”

A last stand. All three fucking glorious minutes and twenty seconds of it. 

A lotta songs kinda drag on, lulling you into a nodding trance. But this one is over before you’re able to stretch out and unpack the full load of your fucking frustration at all of it. It’s a three act play full of humanity. All you can do is just hit repeat again and again. While you work on something. While you build a fire somewhere in the raining dark.