handypolymath: (bruce is bummed you're dumb)
You want to know my secret?  I always create a writing mix (or in this case, several):



 
 
Pacing the Cage - Bruce Cockburn
That Banner was still in the tower actually surprised her. No. That he was still in the country surprised her; once the location narrowed down to US, it was a given he’d be in the tower.
 
Disorder in the House - Warren Zevon
Fortunately it’s an intense burst that burns out quickly: he rips open most of the bunkers, yanks apart a 47 ton T-90 tank which audibly makes Stark choke up with some undefined emotion, then tears off across farmland into the sunset.
 
I Need Some Sleep - The Eels
Natasha sits on the floor of the quinjet with him as he sleeps for hours, face bruised and drawn.
 
Stolen Prayer - Alice Cooper
Being told you could sip from that cup, that it was okay, even when you knew that was a lie? It’s a heady, sickening feeling.
 
The Real You - Alan Watts (remixed by Colorpulse)
She wills herself still as it moves to her hand, delicate like wanting to stroke caterpillar fuzz. His fingerprint is pebbled on her palm, the human grain writ large and tough like ray skin.
 
Hope for the Hopeless - A Fine Frenzy
But there’s a…a freedom in the idea that control is possible. That I could live within those bounds. Even after yesterday, it still seems like a fantasy, and…hard to believe in. But to stay here, I have to make the effort at giving it a shot.
 
Unholy Dirty and Beautiful - David Usher
She just needs to ask for his help, but the barrier to that sits heavily in her chest, as awkward as the unsent messages on her phone.
 
Hang Me Out to Dry - Cold War Kids
Banner had been focused, intent on the training mission Steve had given, “clear that hillside”, but the rawness of his emotional state had spilled over, and everyone’s ears were still ringing from the inchoate bellowing.
 
All Mine - Portishead
Suddenly Bruce freezes, his visual field searing white around the edges, the pounding heartbeat coming out of nowhere.
 
Underneath It All - Scala
He continues, flat and hollow. “And I didn’t have control. Just for a second. But it was long enough.”
 
Somewhere (From “West Side Story”) - Tom Waits
Bruce covers his eyes and laughs up at the ceiling. How would he even describe a bed of pillows and dusty curtains and two battered people who embody the concept of keeping things close to the vest?
handypolymath: (Default)
These started out as writing mixes when [livejournal.com profile] thassalia  and I were working on Frog in a Blender, and at the point where I had a spreadsheet for these things, I figured putting them onto 8tracks was probably a better idea...

 

Self-definition for self-burned spies - track list

Season of the Witch - Lou Rawls
Watching him watch her becomes a small game, another exercise to keep her hand in.

A Better Version of Me - Fiona Apple
She runs through her own repetitions, crafting identities, job applications, a door-to-door in-home survey of all the humans she could have been and still could be.

Ice Age - How to Destroy Angels
It rocked her back, because she was never really a ballerina but she had trained hard, had risen up on her toes until they broke and bled.

Red Right Ankle - The Decemberists
He sits on the floor in front of her, still careful not to loom, as if she could have gotten anywhere if she were susceptible to looming.

Rise Up With Fists - Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins
He has alluded to Triggers and the Things That Help to others before, fending off questions, providing just enough information, but he’s never laid the whole eclectic list out for anyone before…

I Wish I Knew - Nina Simone
Can it really be called choice when all your options are bad, or when the only thing on the table is a chance of survival?

Doll Parts - Hole
Seeing Natasha turn herself off so effortlessly, become so completely someone she’s fabricated–perhaps on the walk over–that it seems there’s no fourth wall to even break…it gives him a sense of just how hard she’s been working to stay present in herself with him.

True, Part III - Concrete Blonde
Natasha sinks down onto her knees, a supplicant on the edge of the expensive handwoven carpet,and looks up into the woman’s eyes. “I know who I am,” she turns Madame’s hand and presses a kiss of fealty, “and where I belong.”

Me, I’m Not - Nine Inch Nails
Natasha is awash in hotel rooms and train stations, her hands full of steering wheels and silk ties and the familiar Hogue grip of her Glock, the meaty scent of blood and the smoky vapor of bourbon…

Fortunate Son - Catey Shaw
“I build more than I break.” Natasha looks up into her eyes, willing her to understand, “I renovate.”


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