It is easy to be overwhelmed. By the good, by the bad, by the bland. Overabundance is the true poison; just like not even cyanide can kill in minute doses, and honey will bring a slow death if consumed by the gallons. It is never good to ride a tide so long – one is bound to fall.
The mind, of course, if unused to a sensation. has a harder time processing and accepting it. That much may be ruinous, in a way, to begin the process of change. Yet it is always upon us to find balance, to bring an equivalence to our life. The aforementioned process, after all, has a benefit to it. Once the tides change, the impact is all the sweeter, more bitter, blander. It is the impact of the flavour that brings true feeling.
Do not be afraid of what is to come. Embrace it, with your whole heart, and let the future bring forth more courses.
Art of London
House of Troubles, Part I
by Tuesday Next
They were halfway through their second set when Eli saw Martin in the crowd. It was a miracle he could see that much of the crowd at all–the stage lights in the inner-city club were less blinding than usual, although they were still hot enough that he felt like his makeup should be melting off. Lights like that were a side effect of doing a secret show, he figured–and not that long ago that it seemed like all their shows had been secret. Now crowds of people showed up to see them, singing along, wearing their T-shirts and painting their faces in an attempt to match the band’s elaborate makeup. The House of Troubles was just over the edge of success. They weren’t one of the big names (yet, some would say), but they opened for them enough times to be recognizable.
Eli strode across the stage, half-singing, half-yelling the well-practiced lyrics into the microphone as the crowd whooped. This wasn’t exactly planned—normally he and Doug would yell into each others’ faces during the tag of this particular song—but he had to get a better look at the crowd, make sure the face he saw was really who he thought it was. Besides, the crowd, at least, would forgive him a little change in behavior. He was supposed to be the Madgod, right? And how could he claim that name, that persona, if he didn’t break the rules once in a while? Never mind the fact that he was starting to have to hold back flinches when fans called him that. He could still use the persona as an excuse if he wanted to.
It was him. The lighting was bad, and they hadn’t seen each other in years, but Eli could never forget Martin’s face. He’d seen it often enough, first in second grade, then almost daily until high school graduation. Of course, he usually associated that face with his sister’s, as the three of them had been practically inseparable for most of their young lives, but mercifully, he only saw Martin, not Marina. At that point, Eli made up his mind. He had to track Martin down after the concert, just to talk to him. Maybe meeting with someone who knew him before the Madgod and the House of Troubles would help with how he’d been feeling recently. At that moment, Martin looked up, not yelling, not singing, just looking. Their eyes met, and someone looking close enough may have been able to see past the butterfly wings painted on Eli’s face and realize just how tired the Madgod looked.
News of Art, Art of News
Ravemeo and Doviette – The First All-Bird Play Takes The Mahogany Stage
A new production of the Bard’s immortal “Romeo and Juliette” has just appeared at Mahogany Hall, having already premiered earlier this week. This production is curious, however, for its unusual casting – all the actors are rather well-trained birds.
In the role of Ravemeo is, of course, a raven. This bird fit the character simply perfectly, the rash and violent nature of the main character combined with the black brooding of love.
Doviette, played by a bleeding-heart dove, was another wonderful role. The gentleness of the young maiden, as well as slight rebellion of her actions, and, of course, the final death have all been beautifully portrayed. The origin of this actress is, despite our best efforts, still unknown.
The rest of the cast was suitable, though largely unremarkable, consisting of the common crows, ravens, and surface parrots of the Neath. For birds, however, the acting was exquisite. The ravens’ and the parrots’ mimicry of sound came in handy, and Doviette’s lines were, even if not in human language, frankly tear-inducing in their delivery.
No bird-related accidents were present during the play, either, and a pack of swift and silent Rattus Faber cleaners were employed to rid the stage of any potential white spots, a job which they had done with welcome expertise.
Overall, the production was a success, and we at the Gazette are looking forward to further adaptations (or original works) by this troupe.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
I do not want to let her go. I do not know if she wants to let me go. I feel afraid
It is not up to us to choose. Everyone is their own beast.