Yes?
Took a few minutes to sketch and scan this in before running to do other things. Unfinished, will color the grapes shades of green and red.
https://preview.redd.it/r9apivsfhk781.jpg?width=1746&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=58c44ff95518d52630e49a469b618c2fb4ee1acd
Minus Zoey incident from book 1.
EDIT: Wow wow wow, thank you so much for all the responses and enthusiasm! sadly I will have to close it now, but fret not, I will definitely have more in the future. People who filled the form, thank you very much, I will get your cards out as soon as I can. Please don't mind the time it might take since postal services everywhere's not operating at 100%.
So yeah, 2020’s finally coming to an end. Here’s a big fuck you to what’s been an absolute shit show of a year. I have Christmas cards and some others so I’ll send you a random one. I have quite a few cards, 50plus so I think I can do everyone.
Here’s a google form to make things easier, please fill it up!
https://forms.gle/hJXENgGGmcy3YcsD8
Depending on who you ask, the arrival of Alice Gibson in our little town either destroyed it or saved it. Me? I keep my thoughts to myself. Sometimes it’s best not to speak one's mind.
I grew up in Henderson County, Montana. In our little corner of the world we were far enough away from everyone that no matter what happened out there it hardly seemed to affect us. Hell the world could’ve ended and the folks in Henderson might’ve gone on with their lives for another fifty years before anyone thought to notice it. The only major ‘town’, Henderson Falls was little more than a particular stretch of road with a garage and a few stores with your basic necessities. Groceries and the like. No liquor though. No sir. Henderson was a dry county. Prohibition had come in 1920 and it had never left. People seemed to like it that way and those that didn’t simply didn’t argue.
I myself probably wouldn’t have bothered enforcing that particular law if I caught anyone with a bottle so long as they were being responsible. But nobody seemed to have any interest in violating that little rule. Nine times out of ten, the only reason anyone called for the Sheriff was because they saw an animal they didn’t like. Usually bears and those were always long gone by the time I’d shown up. The ones that weren’t typically turned tail after they heard the first gunshot. I always aimed skywards, just so the noise would scare ‘em off.
Considering that was how I usually spent my days, getting calls about Alice was an exciting change from the mundane. At least, I found it exciting and I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the folks in Henderson didn’t much care for excitement.
The Hope of St. Mary’s Church had sat abandoned for nearly twenty years after its former pastor had died. A newer Church in town had been set up, run by a fellow known as Father Joe Johnson and since he’d taken over the county nobody had put much thought into St. Mary’s. The old Church had sat in disrepair, its parking lot cracking and fresh weeds growing over the once beautiful garden. Time had had its way with the old Church. Windows had cracked and shattered. Wallpaper had grown yellow with age and a section of the roof had collapsed. Normally such a place would have been a haven for rebellious teens looking for a hideout but Henderson had a small population, most of whom were well past the days where they’d be raising teenagers. The kids that were in our little county tended to go to the next one over fo
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By now I've amassed enough music that relates to Dionysus or that makes me think of him to make an entire playlist! I usually play this list when I'm reading about him or when I'm doing rituals for him:
- “Cult of Dionysus” by The Orion Experience becuase duh! This song is great. If you haven't listened to it yet, I recommend it. You'll probably be singing it for the rest of your life.
- “Dionysos Entrance” by the Petros Tabouris Ensemble. This is from an album based on The Bacchae, and the whole album consists of authentic Ancient Greek instrumentation. If you want maximum authenticity, this album is the best you're going to get.
- “Dithyramb,” Petros Tabouris Ensemble. More hyper-authenticity! I'm not sure what the lyrics actually are, but a friend informed me that they are from The Bacchae.
- "Hymn to Bacchus" by Daemonia Nymphe. The Orphic Hymn to Dionysus (29) set to a modern composition. Here's a video that has the lyrics and their translation.
- "Dance of the Satyrs" by Daemonia Nymphe
- “Dionysus” by Jocelyn Pook. This piece was originally composed for the masked orgy scene in Eyes Wide Shut, but it was not actually used. (It ended up being used randomly in Gangs of New York instead.) This one is just hauntingly beautiful and sensual. It often makes me cry when I listen to it.
- "Mystic Rite" by the Petros Tabouris Ensemble
- “Dionysus” by Derek and Brandon Fiechter
- “ACT I: Sea Borne / Liberator of Minds / Dance of the Bacchantes” by Dead Can Dance, from the album Dionysus. The album is composed of these two tracks that are each about twenty minutes long. I really, really love it, and I listen to it more than I thought I would. Nice to finally find some Dead Can Dance music that I like!
- “ACT II: The Mountain / The Invocation / The Forest / Psychopomp” by Dead Can Dance. This is the second half of the album.
What music do you play at your Bacchanalias? I'd love more recommendations!
Yes, I celebrated the start of the Christmas season with a great Nigella Lawson recipe for black pudding meatballs (a classic British blood sausage), Christmas movies, and general drunkenness.
Happy holidays everyone!!
I know that Dionysus/Bacchus/Liber was associated with large cats, that he (like other deities) turned some people into animals, and that his rituals involved animal hides and spiritual transformation (though I'm not sure if those two elements were related). I also know that before Christianity arrived, various spiritual traditions (like the rites of Norse berserkers) involved connection with animals. Maybe I'm pulling stuff out of my ass, but was Bacchanalia connected to shapeshifting in any way?
To get better sense of how these rich/corporate parties were with cocaine and all and such, I am trying to find footage of these types of parties. However, it has been much harder than expected... Whenever I search anything of the kind, I get mostly clips from "Wolf of Wall Street," which, while topical, is not helpful because I am looking for real-life footage from that time period. Anyone have any ideas?
Welcome! This weekly thread aims to attack well-beloved albums or defend hated ones, these albums must fit the Power Metal genre and should be sufficiently known by most fans of the genre. Do not take the word of the author has a universal truth, it's a mere opinion.
Band: Virgin Steele
Album: The Black Light Bacchanalia
Released: 2010
Virgin Steele is my favorite band ever. David DeFeis, the mastermind behind the band, my favorite songwriter. So when I used to call Bacchanalia a turd and Nocturnes of Hellfire and Damnation an even bigger turd, it always felt like a poisoned dagger carved into my soul, I just couldn't believe that I disliked them so much. Here is a band that released over 10 albums and I think half of them are masterpieces and the others are straight up great records. What the fuck happened? Well I think this has a very simple answer, David is getting old... That's it! That's the whole reason. And I don't mean he is physically incapable of doing it or singing, I mean his tastes are changing and he is moving towards his more mellow side. So from Visions of Eden and forward, the music progressively transitioned into a weird form of Power Metal that consists of long songs, romantic moods and is not powerful at all.
Turns out Bacchanalia is kinda of an amazing album, but there are some hurdles that you need to overcome. In fact, too many hurdles for the average listener to overcome, only the legendary tenacity of certain fans can see the light at the end of the tunnel. So I came up with a small handy guide to understand this album, I dubbed it: The 4 epic hurdles to Mature Steele:
- Hurdle #1 (It's no longer the Virgin Steele of olde) - The hardest truth to accept is that this is no longer the Epic and anthemic Virgin Steele, they straight up stopped rocking and the music is no longer totally Power Metal. They have created this weird quasi-Prog style with pianos and fake orchestras that tread along with simplistic drumming and mutated guitar riffs. This is insanely different from the Epic Power Metal they masterfully crafted and although it's still unmistakeably Virgin Steele, it's very different from their trademark sound. There is still aggression on occasion, but they move through nuances and melody a lot more, with weird progressive sections and dark sequences. As a massive fan of their s
Depending on who you ask, the arrival of Alice Gibson in our little town either destroyed it or saved it. Me? I keep my thoughts to myself. Sometimes it’s best not to speak one's mind.
I grew up in Henderson County, Montana. In our little corner of the world we were far enough away from everyone that no matter what happened out there it hardly seemed to affect us. Hell the world could’ve ended and the folks in Henderson might’ve gone on with their lives for another fifty years before anyone thought to notice it. The only major ‘town’, Henderson Falls was little more than a particular stretch of road with a garage and a few stores with your basic necessities. Groceries and the like. No liquor though. No sir. Henderson was a dry county. Prohibition had come in 1920 and it had never left. People seemed to like it that way and those that didn’t simply didn’t argue.
I myself probably wouldn’t have bothered enforcing that particular law if I caught anyone with a bottle so long as they were being responsible. But nobody seemed to have any interest in violating that little rule. Nine times out of ten, the only reason anyone called for the Sheriff was because they saw an animal they didn’t like. Usually bears and those were always long gone by the time I’d shown up. The ones that weren’t typically turned tail after they heard the first gunshot. I always aimed skywards, just so the noise would scare ‘em off.
Considering that was how I usually spent my days, getting calls about Alice was an exciting change from the mundane. At least, I found it exciting and I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the folks in Henderson didn’t much care for excitement.
The Hope of St. Mary’s Church had sat abandoned for nearly twenty years after its former pastor had died. A newer Church in town had been set up, run by a fellow known as Father Joe Johnson and since he’d taken over the county nobody had put much thought into St. Mary’s. The old Church had sat in disrepair, its parking lot cracking and fresh weeds growing over the once beautiful garden. Time had had its way with the old Church. Windows had cracked and shattered. Wallpaper had grown yellow with age and a section of the roof had collapsed. Normally such a place would have been a haven for rebellious teens looking for a hideout but Henderson had a small population, most of whom were well past the days where they’d be raising teenagers. The kids that were in our little county tended to go to the next one over
... keep reading on reddit ➡I saw her dance. The bonfire cast long, flickering shadows from erratic quivering. I closed my eyes hoping it would stop.
I could still see it. It was…
The road seemed to go on forever. A straight line of blacktop disappearing into the horizon. A blank featureless desert on both sides. The old pickup truck found a comfortable pace astride the yellow lines and familiar music played from the ancient FM radio. The fuel gauge showed three quarters full. I could see the top of the tarp in the rearview.
Keep your eyes on the road.
I didn’t know that song. It was familiar, like I’d heard it when I was young or in a dream – assuming this isn’t a dream. Please let it be a…
The tarp fluttered in the wind. Eyes on the road.
I pulled into the motel – A motel – and pulled up to my room. I don’t remember checking in, but I had a key; memory isn’t what it used to be. I step out to stretch my legs and the tarp shudders from the wind. An old post with a tattered flag hangs limply in front of the parking lot. Yes, it was the wind.
I’m hit by the familiar musty smell as I entered my room. I gently kicked the old air conditioner and heard it sputter back into life. I hoped it’d last another night. My whiskey was on the bedside table, half empty. No, it wasn’t my whiskey. I finished that half bottle last night, hundreds of miles back the way I came. It was probably complimentary. I take a swig. Like a mint.
The red glow of dusk illuminated the curtains while I lied on the bed and stared at the ceiling. There wasn’t anything on the TV. I didn’t turn it on, but I knew. All I could get was a static filled local news broadcast and an extremely choppy church sermon broadcast – the way the audio kept skipping and fading in and out made it sound almost disturbing, but I’m sure it was just my ears playing tricks on me. I heard a rustling noise from outside. I rolled over and stared at the stain on the wall. The previous night I’d thought it looked like a leopard.
I heard the squeak of the truck’s old springs.
This stain looked like a cougar, nothing like a leopard.
The bonfire roared. It was surrounded by…
I was exhausted, thirsty, and hungry. I didn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, just that half bottle of whiskey. Hallucinations, I told myself.
It danced for hours, I thought. She… it threw itself around the fire with wild abandon; a celebration of something.
I didn’t want to be there. I’d said, the last time, that she didn’t need me to watch, that I just needed rest
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