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fic-xation · 5 years ago

Text

First of Many

During a night of cards at the Inventory, Sam recounts the events leading up to his and Max’s first wedding.

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“Soooo... Can I ask you guys a question?"

Brock and Ash exchanged an eye roll.

Claptrap ALWAYS seemed to have a question in regards to Sam and Max.

"Shoot." Sam said with a shrug, tossing a pair of chips towards the center. He never minded the little unicycle-dumpster-fire's innate lack of tact. In fact, he found a lot of Claptrap's mannerisms similar to Max's. The high-pitched voice, the manic eccentricity, the endearing vulgarity...

'... God Lord, do I have a type?' he suddenly thought.

"... What exactly ARE you guys?" Claptrap asked, his processed voice cutting through Sam's somewhat horrific epiphany. Sam, giving his head a stirring little shake, looked towards Claptrap curiously.

"... Like... our species?" he paused, before shrugging. "Well, as far as I know, I'm just your run-of-the-mill anthropomorphic Irish Greyhound. Max, on the other hand-"

"No, no." Claptrap gave his claw dismissively. "I mean, like, your relationship. Are you guys just friends, or dating, or nerf-buddies, or...?" he trailed off, visibly cowering under Brock's disapproving glare.

"Knock it off, Johnny Five, that ain't our business to know."

Claptrap's light flared up almost at once.

"Oh-!" he seethed. "Don't go givin' me that 'holier-than-thou' crap!" Angrily, his lens flitted between Brock and Ash. "We were ALL thinkin' it!"

Sam's brows shot up.

"... Really? ALL of you? ... Even GlaDOS?" he gestured towards the ceiling, and, as if on cue, the ivory skeletal frame of the Aperture AI lowered herself to the table.

"~Quite frankly, I don't really care one way or another.~" she chimed, her yellow sensor unnervingly affixed to Sam's face. "~But even I have to admit, you fail to follow the standard routine of a normal mammalian courtship... But then again, you two are not normal mammals, so I suppose it's just as well...~"

And with one graceful bow, she slid back up towards the ceiling.

"... Gee-" Max said, at long last looking over from his usual booth. "I didn't realize our personal life was such a hot button issue."

Ash leaned back against his chair with a sigh. "... Well, can ya blame us? You two are about as inseparable as me n' my chainsaw. Ordinarily, I'd just say you were real good buddies, but..." he shrugged. "I dunno, it's hard to tell with you whackos."

Sam, somewhat hot under the collar, readjusted his tie.

"... Well, since the whole room seems compelled to put me on the spot, I may as well say it." He glanced over his shoulder, briefly sharing a reaffirming smile with Max. "... Max and I are recently divorced."

... If if it weren't for the soft ambience of smooth jazz, one could've heard a pin drop.

Finally, after a prolonged moment of flabbergasted stares, Brock was the first to speak, carefully keeping his eyes to the minuscule font of his cigarette pack.

"... I'm, uh... I'm sor-"

"WHAT THE #@*&?!" Claptrap screeched, standing up against his wheel. "YOU TWO WERE MARRIED?! LIKE... LEGALLY?! IN FRONT OF GOD?! ... AND THEN YOU JUST... BROKE UP?! BUT YOU'RE STILL FRIENDS?! ... Not to indulge in a harmful stereotype towards robots, but... DOES NOT COMPUTE, MAN! DOES. NOT. FREAKIN'. COMPUTE!"

He then fell back against his chair, his servos evidently spinning.

"... Subtle." Ash quipped, raising his glass in a mock toast. Sam, however, looked confused.

"Broke up? ... What're you talking about? Max and I haven't broken up; we're just as in love now as we've ever been."

"We're just not married." Max continued, hopping up onto Sam's lap. He'd ultimately grown bored at listening in from a distance. Besides, these bozos were finally discussing a worthwhile subject... Him and Sam!

Now it was the table's turn to look confused. Once again, Brock's voice came first.

"... Okaaaaay, ya lost me."

"It's not that complicated, really." Sam said, offering the trio a bemused little smile. "See, every so often, Max and I get a divorce just so we can experience the pleasure of marrying each other all over again."

"Like buyin' a new pair of shoes once the old ones wear out!" Max piped up.

"Or, at least, that's what we ASSUME buying shoes is like." Sam added, helping himself to a sip of root beer.

Another bewildered silence fell over the room.

"... Wait, so-" Ash leaned his elbows against his table, pointedly staring towards the odd couple. "... Exactly how often does this happen?"

"Oh, we're on marriage number twelve now, actually." Sam beamed, seemingly oblivious to the stupefied silence over the remaining players.

Claptrap's lens fidgeted uneasily. "... That's like... romantic, bordering on masochism..."

"Ro-Masochism." Ash offered.

"... Okay, so-" Brock smothered the end of his cigarette against an ash tray. "I can understand wantin' to marry the same person over and over again-"

"Really?" Claptrap glanced over.

"... Well, not really, but I can humor 'em." he shrugged. "... No, what I don't get is, why go to all that trouble? ... Repeatedly, no less. I mean... wouldn't it be easier just to renew your vows and leave it at that?"

"Yeah, we don't believe in that baloney." Max scoffed, folding up Sam's cards into an origami swan. "I mean, what's the point in setting up a fake wedding if you're ALREADY married? It's a total sham."

"A disgrace to the sacred institute." Sam added solemnly.

"Here-Here!" Max proclaimed, shooting the paper swan towards Ash. He caught it almost at once, crushing it between his metallic fist, and dropping it to the floor.

"... Well, I guess I fold." Sam said, scratching his ear. "Pun not intended, of course."

Max rolled his eyes. "Liar."

"So... wait-" Ash held up his hand, drawing the conversation back on track. "Just how the hell can you n' Thumper afford eleven consecutive weddings? I'll admit, my experience with this sorta thing is limited-"

"Yeah-!" Claptrap broke in. "His last fiance wasn't exactly top-shelf material!"

"... In ANY case-" Ash continued through gritted teeth, as Brock slammed his steely fist against the robot's flat top. "Doesn't all that ceremony get pretty expensive after a while?"

"Not at all," Sam said, watching as Claptrap clattered to the floor like an oversized soup can. "Ya just gotta know how to economize."

"We're good friends with the president," Max said, absentmindedly picking at his nose. "And I'M a registered Minister, according to Nebraska. So, we never have to bother with hiring an officiant."

"Not to mention, we get most of our essentials from Bingo's Birthday Bonanza." Sam added. "Balloons, cups, goodies bags-"

"And of COURSE, the cake!" Max bounced a little at the thought. "Last year, it had a dinosaur motif. THIS time, though, I'm thinkin' more... Race car. What do YOU think, Sam?"

"Can't think of a reason NOT to," Sam smiled, tenderly setting his hand between Max's ears.

Brock scratched at his nose. "... So, basically, this whole routine is just an excuse to throw multiple parties in which you two knuckleheads are the centerpiece."

Sam and Max exchanged a look.

"More or less," Sam shrugged.

"Isn't that just a wedding is, though?" Max asked.

Brock had no choice but to chuckle, shaking his head lightly. "Touche."

"Ooh!" piped Claptrap, as he awkwardly clambered back onto his chair. "Here's a question for ya! You two got this whole crazy-train system down to a science... but what about your first run-through, huh? How'd THAT go down?"

"... What, our first wedding, you mean?" Sam asked, a little surprised.

"Hey, yeah!" Ash nodded. "Knowin' you two, that must've been nuts..."

"More importantly, who asked first?" Brock shot Sam a slight smirk. "My money's on ol' Rover Romeo over here."

Sam suddenly gave an embarrassed sort of laugh, shyly averting the table's curious eyes as he turned his muzzle to the side.

"... Well, it's, uh... It's actually a funny story..."

"Oh!" Max clapped his hands together excitedly, glancing up towards Sam. "Can I tell 'em, Sam? Can I, can I, can I?"

Sam paused, before easing back against his chair with a soft smile.

"Sure, buddy. Knock yourself out."

Squealing in delight, Max took to the center of the table, clearing his throat theatrically.

"... Well... it all began on a dark and stormy night..."

The rain lashed the ancient cobblestones of our victorian manor like the cruel tongue of an unforgiving governess. I, clad in nothing more than my scandalously sheer negligee, sat alone in my bed chamber, coyly plucking at my harp like a fluffy siren of yore. There was a CRASH of lightning, when suddenly, my door FLEW open with enough force to rattle the chandelier! I gasped, retreating to my bedspread in an effort to save my modesty, but Sam strolled in all the same, beads of rain still fresh against his unkempt fur.

"Max-!" he cried. "I can't STAND it any longer! Your tender touch, your delicate fur, and the THROBBING of your MASSIVE-"

Sam's hat came down like a burlap sack over Max's head, silencing him almost at once.

"... You'll have to forgive my associate." Sam mumbled, shades of red visibly peering through his fur as he dragged Max back towards his lap. "... He, uh... He's been taking some creative writing classes as of late."

"No kidding!" Claptrap announced, ever the enthusiast. "If I had a stomach, I'd be barfing it inside out!"

"... Yeah, that was..." Ash squirmed slightly.

"Gross." Brock concluded.

"... I was gonna say HEART, in case anyone was wondering!" Max shouted, slightly muffled through the material of Sam's stretched-out cap. "... Sheesh, people, get your minds outta the gutter!"

"How's about you let ME tell the story, buddy?" Sam said gently, finally freeing Max from the hat's pincer grip. He gasped for air only once, before shrugging.

"Eh, works for me. That was only a first draft, anyway."

"Much obliged." Sam turned to address the table. "So! You gentlemen ready to enter a proper flashback?"

"Hold it-" Brock held up a hand, stone faced. "Will there be any mention of the word 'negligee?'"

"... Not that I can recall." Sam said, quite honestly.

"Alright then." Brock lit the end of his cigarette. "Continue."

"... Well-" Sam gave the ceiling a ponderous glance, leaning his chair against its back two legs. "... I suppose the the REAL story starts with us cowering behind a tire pile in the city dump."

"And we're startin' off strong!" Max grinned.

~~ "I can't believe that innocent toxic waste mutated New York's over abundance of garbage into a monsterous, (yet vaguely effeminate,) shape!" Sam exclaimed, checking his gun for any remaining ammo.

"Ooh, lovely exposition Sam!" Max said, his back to the rubber wheeled wall. "I just can't believe she wants ME to be her King of Crap! ... Why ME of all people?

"Could be your smell," Sam proposed, cocking the cylinder back into place. "Second only to her, you're the foulest thing in New York."

"... Saaa-aaam..." giggled Max, coyly cupping his hands to his face. "How am I suppose to concentrate on a life or death situation if you keep flirtin' with me?"

Sam felt himself flush slightly.

Why were Max's obvious jokes beginning to rub him the wrong way?

Suddenly, Max's ears began to twitch. Dropping the act, he hurriedly peered out from behind the mountain of discarded tires.

"She's comin' back!" he hissed.

Instinctively, Sam threw his arm around the rabbit as if shielding him from a bomb, and the two promptly ducked.

The putrid air of the city dump was suddenly made even worse, as the mucilaginous form of the twelve-foot garbage wench (or 'beldump,' as Max'd taken to calling her,) slithered by like a slug. She then paused, raising her misshapen head, as her divot-nostrils curiously flexed at the air.

Wordlessly, Sam threw both arms around Max, drawing him to his core as if suddenly desperate for a hug. Max, more than surprised, was thrown against his partner's chest like a ragdoll.

... His sensitive ears picked up the heavy hammer of Sam's distressed pulse, while the full weight of his heavy arms squeezed against Max's back...

Max, in spite of his best efforts, felt an odd warmth rise against his cheeks.

The beldump, with a disappointed sort of grumble, soon began to meander away.

Sam sighed, slowly loosening his grip on Max.

"... S-sorry..." he breathed, wiping at his forehead. "... I, uh... I had to hide your scent-"

"G-gee, Sam-!" Max broke in, smiling frantically. "... i-if ya wanted to cuddle, all ya had to do was ask!"

He laughed, though it was a far cry from his typical mischievous titter.

Sam's brow furrowed. "... Are you blushing?"

Max's ears shot up like corn stalks.

"... N-no!" he seethed, suddenly anxious to get away. "... It's... it's your stupid cologne! ... It's givin' me a rash!"

'Funny, considering I don't even WEAR cologne,' Sam was about to point out, when an idea suddenly came to mind. He quickly began to loosen his tie, before slipping off his jacket

Max's "rash" only worsened. "S-Sam, what're you- oof!"

Sam slapped his hat between Max's ears.

"This'll mask your smell." he said, affixing his loose-fitting tie to Max's throat. "Or, at the very least, it'll buy me some time to lure the beldump away."

He gently drew his jacket around Max's shoulders like a blanket, before plucking out a small tuft of fur. Max winced.

"Hey!"

"This should be adequate bait."

Gently holding the lock between his fingers, Sam stood up, and carefully surveyed the landscape.

"... Okay, lil' buddy. You just hunker down here 'till I get back."

Max's face suddenly dawned with distraught realization.

"... You're leaving me?"

Sam looked down. Underneath all that bulky clothing, Max suddenly appeared so much smaller. Any other time, that might've been amusing, but now...

It just broke Sam's heart.

"Only for a minute." Taking a knee, Sam offered his gentlest smile, in spite of Max stubbornly refusing to meet his eye. "Just long enough to draw her into the city."

Max, however, kept his eyes to the dirt, practically pouting.

Sam sighed. He knew what that expression meant. They'd made a unspoken agreement never to be separated for too long. Not after... well... everything that'd happened recently...

In a rare moment of tactile tenderness, Sam curled a finger beneath Max's chin, guiding his gaze upward.

"... I PROMISE I'll come back." he said softly, practically a whisper. Cupping it with a chuckle, he added, "After all, I got YOU to come back to, right?"

Max said nothing... He simply stared, as slack-jawed as a blind man seeing color for the first time.

... If this were a movie, the sacrificial hero might've planted a peck against his lover's forehead, either as reassurance, or goodbye.

But this wasn't a movie... And Max certainly wasn't his lover.

Compromising, Sam sweetly scratched at Max's drooped ear, before standing back up. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he made to run, when all at once, he felt Max scaling up the front of his shirt like an anxious reptile.

"Marry me." he said stoutly, looking positively fevered.

Sam scowled. He'd had his fill of cheap jokes for the evening. "... Max, c'mon, don't-"

"I'm not kidding," he croaked, his hands grasping at Sam's collar for support. "Please, Sam... marry me. Like... right now. I don't wanna be with anyone else. I don't think I CAN be with anyone else. Losing you the first time was..." he broke off, trails of tears and snot running down his face. "... Well, it sucked. Like, a lot." he finally choked. "... But the worst part was... I finally realized just how crazy I was about you... But you were dead!"

He then began to laugh, but something in it made Sam cringe... It was a high, unsettling, hysterical laugh... Different from his usual variety, anyway.

There was no joy in it.

"Isn't that hilarious?" he continued. "And what's even funnier? ... I actually got a second chance to tell you how I felt... and I STILL chickened out! And now you're leaving me AGAIN, and... and..." he quickly dissolved into a fit of laughter and sobs, clinging to Sam's shirt with no intention of letting go.

... Needless to say, Sam was more than shocked... The same three shrieking words seemed to reverberate against his addled brain.

... How I felt... How I felt... How I felt...

... Funny. He wasn't nearly as shocked as one would think. If anything, Sam felt a kind of... serenity settle over him.

He'd known it, without knowing it...

... Max loved him... Max'd loved him for a good while now...

Of course he did... Of course he did! It was too damn obvious! It practically went without saying! And... and...

'... Holy hotpot party hosted by a Hostess Hoho...' thought Sam. '... I think I might love him back.'

"Officiate."

Max looked up, his face a mess of varying fluids. "... W... what?"

"You're a high priest, remember?"

Sam then flinched. Of course Max wouldn't remember, HE never experienced that.

".... N-no...?" he sniffled hesitantly. "... But I AM a registered minister, according to Nebraska."

Sam smiled, briefly relieved, before glancing around. Spotting a rubber band off to the side, he snatched it up, before twining it around the middle finger of Max's left hand.

"If you think I wouldn't want marry you, right here and now, you're even crazier than I thought."

Prying Max from his shirt, Sam set him down, and took both hands.

"Don't even bother asking anything," he said quickly, smiling a little. It was one of the few instances Max was ever lost for words. "You already know I do. I do a thousands times over, and twice on Sundays; never to anyone else but you."

"... D-ditto.." Max said at last, grinning incredulously. "... Th-then... I guess... b-by the power vested in me by the state of Nebraska, I now pronounce us-"

He didn't even have time to finish the sentence before he and Sam began to kiss.

It was the kiss of a thousand unsaid longings, the kiss of sweet, relinquished grief. It was cathartic, practically euphoric-

"- and the first of many to come." Sam concluded, beaming towards the wide-eyed faces of the Inventory regulars.

Ash huffed a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. "So you two professed your love, got engaged, and then married, all within the span of a few short minutes..."

"In the middle of a stinky landfill, no less!" Claptrap added.

"Just for the record-!" Max said quickly. "Sam was TOTALLY exaggerating my little proposal. I was doing doughnuts on a tricked-out motorcycle, and tossed him a ring made out of pure gold. It was the smoothest thing in the world, and I did NOT cry!"

"~Max's temperature seems to be rising at an alarming rate.~" GladOS's voice rolled out coolly. "~Perhaps he is suffering another rash outbreak?~"

The table broke into a bout of good-natured laughter, as Max folded his arms grumpily. He already knew he'd never hear the end of that...

"So whatever happened to the garbage monster?" Brock asked, still smiling.

"Oh, that-" Sam waved his hand dismissively. "That was easy. Using the scent of Max's hair, I lead her back to our office. Once there, she immediately fell in love with the trash congregating in our workspace, and took that as her husband rather than Max."

"They then moved to Detroit to live among their own kind!" Max sighed, fluttering his eyelids. "It was like the ending to a fairytale..."

"Yeah, that's... one way of putting it." Ash mumbled.

"And how long was it before ya decided to get re-married? Claptrap asked.

"Three days." Sam answered, leaning forward to dig through his pocket. Fishing out his wallet, he opened it up to reveal a small photo guarded by a sheet of plastic. "We knew we wanted our second wedding to be a lil' more formal, so we pulled out all the stops." he pointed towards the lavish church setting, as well as Max's uncharacteristically grandiose top hat and tux.

"... Nice dress," Brock remarked with a sneer.

"I know, I know..." Sam smiled sheepishly. "It's a little old-fashioned, but it belonged to my Granny, and she insisted on me wearing it."

"Plus, she n' Sam have the same cuddly corpulent build, so it was an easy fit!" Max chimed in. Sam, rolling his eyes, pushed him to the floor.

"Well-" Brock raised his glass. "Cheers to your divorce, I suppose."

"And may many more follow!" Ash said, joining the toast.

Claptrap, however, remained motionless.

"... Does it bother anyone that the six of us guys just spent the last half-hour discussing marriage and weddings like an old sewing-circle?"

The table traded looks.

"Not really."

"No."

"Not even remotely!"

"'Course not."

"... Alright, just checking!" Claptrap held up his sippy-cup. "To Sam and Max!"

"To Sam and Max!"

"Ya know-" Sam said, as he and Max barreled along their the long stretch of their familiar street. It was a perfect night for reckless driving. "We oughta invite our poker buddies to our next wedding."

"Oh, HELL yeah!" Max said, nodding vigorously. "It wouldn't be a dream wedding without 'em! Ooh-!" he grabbed at Sam's arm, nearly swerving the Desoto into an oncoming truck. Sam pivoted back almost at once, heart thudding, but smiling all the same.

"Think we could get GladOS to sing at our reception?" Max bobbed excitedly against his seat. "I would, and CAN, kill for her to do Nat King Cole!"

"We'll havta ask next time we see her, buddy." Sam chuckled, sparing a hand to pet at Max's head. "Though, personally, I wouldn't mind meetin' some of YOUR old card sharks... 'Specially that wrestler fellow, uh... What was his name?" Sam snapped his fingers rhythmically. "String bean?"

"Strong Bad. But PLEASE, call him String Bean once you finally get to meet him!" Max giggled. "I have GOT to see how that goes down."

Sharply rounding a corner, the two finally skidded their car into its usual spot, halfway hunched atop the curb adjacent to their building.

Making their way up the stairs, they soon found themselves in the comfortable chaos of their office. (Naturally, it didn't them long to re-accumulate all the garbage swept away by the beldump.)

"Well, that depends-" Max shrugged, as he and Sam crossed into one of the more residential rooms. Flopping down onto the patchwork couch, Max made an immediate snag for the remote. "When're you gonna propose already?"

"Guess I'm just waiting for the right occasion. Timing is everything, ya know. Here, scooch over."

With a sigh, Sam helped himself to a seat beside Max, and the two finally settled on something to watch.

"Ooh! Robot Terror From Beyond the Galaxy!" Max curled up against Sam's leg, and Sam, smiling contentedly, rested a hand to his back.

"Hope we haven't missed too much."

"Nah," Max shook his head. "We haven't even gotten to the marrow-suckers yet."

Sam nodded, and then glanced over. His partner's eyes were beginning to droop, and Sam wondered whether or not Max was about to fall asleep.

"... Hey, Max-" Sam whispered, lightly jostling the lagomorph's head. "... You wanna get married?"

Max chuckled, tucking his hands beneath his head as his eyes closed in full.

"... Well, DUH, Sam... A thousand-" he cut himself off with a yawn. "... A thousand times over, and twice on Sundays..."

Sam, with a warm smile, leaned over, planting a soft kiss to Max's forehead.

"You're the light of my life, lil' buddy."

#Thanks for reading!#Sam and Max #Sam and Max Freelance Police #Freelance Husbands #Poker Night 2 #Ash Williams #Claptrap #Brock Sampson #GladOS #slight angst #Sam and Max telltale spoilers #only slightly though #fanfic #fanfiction

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mittensmorgul · 5 years ago

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7.13, The Slice Girls.

Yes, yes, bucklemming and their creepy magical babies, but let's put that aside and talk about Sam and Dean and what this episode says about them, instead, for once. Instead of letting the focus on the creepy baby blind us all to what's actually happening in this episode, and what it says about s7 (and s6 too, and honestly a good chunk of Sera Gamble's approach to storytelling in general since she was the architect of these seasons even if she didn't pen this particular episode) overall.

Because whoa... it's kinda... not friendly to Sam...

My tag about how Sam and Dean are entirely different people, with different psychological composition, different mental and emotional processes, came about at the beginning of s11 (when the show was using a two-episode mirroring structure, thematically pairing episodes until the midseason 10, 11, 12 worked together as a triptych, and in a season where the final message the characters had to accept and learn was the understanding of Balance Of Opposites, these differences were on stark display) is "sam sympathizes and dean empathizes." It felt like a baseline difference in how each of them approach the world, and something necessary for US to understand their entire dynamic.

And that's on PERFECT display in this episode.

I've been talking throughout my s7 posts in this series about how Sam can't even see how compromised he is. Despite the fact he spends the entire season actively hallucinating Lucifer and openly admits he has difficulty telling those hallucinations apart from reality, he remains convinced that he's coping with it effectively (via the magic button of sanity he believes the scar on his hand to be), and all he has to do is press that button any time Hallucifer pops up, and everything will be fine again. This is Advanced Level Pretending The Bad Thing Doesn't Exist To Make It Go Away. And he can't understand AT ALL why Dean is intensely wary of him, and is unable to fully trust in Sam's perceptions or decision making abilities throughout most of s7.

(which... I mean turns out to be totally valid, but that's for another post... or at the very least, much later in this one... for now, let's try to stick to 7.13, Mittens, and avoid running off ahead of yourself for once... okay we have that settled, back to the point)

We don't see much of Sam actively Hallucifering in this episode, nor relying on the old Hand Squeeze maneuver, but it's impossible to watch this episode and draw the conclusion that Sam was an Objective Observer of Reality here. He's completely entrenched in his personal bias regarding Dean's actions, behavior, and mindset. And again, it's incredibly frustrating to watch.

Sam is so utterly convinced (because he HAS to be in order for it to continue working for him) of his own self-control, of his own stability, of his own soundness of mind, of his own perceptions of the world to be the One, True, Right, Correct Understanding. If that fails him, then as Dean told him in 7.02 when he first squeezed that wound on his hand to bring him back to reality, then "Stone One" of the foundation of his ability to cope with anything at all will just shatter, and his entire sense of self will slide away with it, and his unstable construct of sanity will collapse.

(which... happens two episodes later, but again, I'm getting ahead of myself... *slaps self and gets back to the point*)

Sam NEEDS to believe in his own "correctness" here. And sadly, part of that sham of belief involves the go-to mindset of s4-- that Dean is somehow "broken," that Dean is the one clearly not coping, or not engaging with reality as Sam interprets it, and that it's Dean's perceptions that are inherently suspect. Because Sam doesn't know a different way of relating to the world. He sympathizes.

I've written a lot about the difference between Sam as Sympathetic and Dean as Empathetic, but a super-quick and messy breakdown of this for the purposes of understanding my whole entire point here:

Sam understands others through an examination of them as filtered through his own personal past experiences and his own personal feelings and beliefs. He assumes that everyone else understands the world in this same way, and when someone's reactions or behavior deviates from his own personal experience, from how HE would behave or react in a given circumstance, he frequently disconnects or misinterprets, or attempts to re-file his observations or reclassify the other person in question into something he CAN relate to and understand.

In other words, Sympathy. (versus Dean’s empathy, where he is more able to set aside his own reactions and see people as they are, themselves. It’s what makes him so good at cold reading strangers, being able to put himself into their shoes rather than needing to imagine their shoes are identical to his own...)

We finally see a small subversion of this in Sam’s interactions with Jack in early s13, wherein he projects his own past experience onto Jack, applying the same things he experienced (or even wished he had actually experienced when he was younger) regarding his own psychic powers that he once believed may have made him "evil." Or at the very least made him "other." And Jack directly calls him out for his treatment in 13.03, which gives Sam pause, forces reflection, and drives him toward actually seeing Jack, rather than just seeing Jack as a projection of his own personal beliefs.

I really hope this makes sense... because 7.13 is demonstrating the root of this lack of understanding as the toxic and dangerous thing it can be, when pushed to this sort of deliberately self-deluding extreme. And of course Sam's ongoing ability to walk and talk and function at all completely relies on his ability to do this during s7 (which... ick is one of the reasons I think a lot of folks really have trouble with the entire narrative of the season, even if they haven't put their finger on why, because this is a super-icky, incredibly uncomfortable thing to watch).

Meanwhile, in addition to everything else going on, from the Leviathans being gooey and creepy and plotting world domination as their endgame goal while largely working to achieve it in plain sight, disguised as humans as they slowly infiltrate... everything and influence everything from politics to real estate to healthcare to the food supply to achieve their ends, to everything Dean relies on for his own personal comfort and stability and connection to the world being gradually stripped away from him (beginning with Cas and running right along through his own literal identity), this episode will steal yet another small physical comfort from him-- human sexual intimacy.

He's already lost Cas, his car (the singular constant in his entire life and the closest thing he's ever had to a home), his actual identity, his innermost thoughts (which went along with the identity when a leviathan took his form), comfort food (the TDK slammer slammed him good), Bobby, and even-- to an extent, due to his ongoing concern for his mental health-- Sam. Dean is... adrift... and now he can't even allow himself the simple pleasure of human touch and physical intimacy (even shrouded in the lie of a false identity... he can't even fake it for self-comforting purposes anymore). And yet, he still knows himself, far better than Sam does. And yet for Sam to maintain his self-control, he needs to believe that it's Dean who is deluding himself and succumbing to the depression Sam is not allowing himself to own.

Dean spends the majority of this episode actually doing his job, making connections, and coming to an understanding of the case through his own personal experience of it. While Sam puts the entirety of his reliance on coming to an understanding of the case on the Academic Validation of an "expert" in ancient Greek. Sam dismisses Dean's direct experience by rejecting it as inherently flawed-- because Sam doesn't necessarily trust his OWN ability to have made these observations himself, yet is 100% dependent on the conclusion that only his own observations are remotely reliable, lest his illusory grip on reality shatter entirely.

Dean, meanwhile, is not similarly compromised in a fundamental way, despite his increased drinking, which Sam uses as yet another excuse to dismiss Dean's assessment of reality. Dean's still insisting that he believes that Bobby's ghost may be haunting them, while Sam explains away each new incident rationally-- or so he believes, as the evidence mounts to a ridiculous extent. It gives Sam the false impression that Dean is emotionally compromised to the point his judgment has become irrational and based on his emotions, rather than his point of view and direct experience that Sam simply can't grok, and therefore needs to dismiss to maintain his belief in his own rationality.

These themes will become the "beating a dead horse dot gif" of s7, continuing even after Sam is healed by Cas in 7.17, proving they're inherent to Sam's fundamental makeup, rather than just a side effect of this "soul damage" he suffered with, or the demon blood he was addicted to in s4.

I'm still attempting to force myself to remain focused on just this episode, though, so I'll conclude with a few direct observations:

DEAN: I'm outside Lydia's. SAM (on phone): Oh, come on, man. What, are you obsessed or something? DEAN (on phone): No, I'm telling you. I have been eating at the buffet of strange all afternoon. SAM: Meaning what? DEAN: I'll tell you the second I know. But something ain't right. SAM: Or you're obsessed. DEAN: Shut up. I'm serious.

Despite Sam being told real facts by "experts" that the murdered men had all visited the same club Dean had the night before, he easily dismisses Dean's observations of something weird happening with the woman he'd hooked up with. Sam even tells him he's lucky he "dodged a bullet" since Dean hasn't been killed like the other men he's investigating, and is incapable of even making the connection between what killed those men and the "strange" things Dean's seeing with his own eyes regarding Lydia's rapidly growing daughter, Emma. Sam has to jump through increasingly flaming hoops with a straight face to maintain his belief that Dean is simply obsessed with this woman, that Dean is continuing to slack off, that Dean isn't objectively addressing The Facts™ as Sam understands them.

SAM: So what? I mean, so maybe she has another kid she didn't tell you about. DEAN: Nope, just the one. Emma. But that night, when I was with her, she didn't have any. And I was at her place, man. There was no playpens, no blankets, no rubber ducks. SAM: Right. Like you would have been focused on that kind of thing. DEAN: Hey, dude, that's the first thing you notice. Red flags. Then, all of a sudden, boom – baby. SAM: Yeah, the one you thought talked. DEAN: Oh, it talked. And not baby talk, either. SAM: Now you know so much about child development? DEAN: I know enough to know that they don't say, "Hey, Mom. Who's that guy?" So, cut to... Lydia's handing this kid who's calling her mommy over to these two women, right? But this is not a baby. No, no, this kid's got to be five. And same name – Emma. SAM: You know, George Foreman named all his sons George. DEAN: Are you deliberately messing with me? Dude, I know weird. Okay? There is no non-weird explanation for this. This morning, Emma was a baby. By sunset, she's Hannah Montana. Early years.

And yet Sam is still intent on the "expert" opinion of the professor they asked for help, over and above anything Dean might insist he's personally experiencing. Here, have a very short but complete meta encapsulation of this entire dynamic:

SAM’s phone rings. SAM: It's the Professor. DEAN: Oh. Good. The Professor. Yeah, I'm sure he'll crack this wide open. SAM: Shh!

Dean is sarcastic and dismissive of the professor, the supposed expert who deals in theoreticals and mythology, and not the reality Dean has directly experienced. Meanwhile Sam shushes Dean, dismissing not only his direct experience, but Dean's frustration at Sam’s repeated dismissals.

And here we have it again:

SAM: There's this whole crazy side to Amazon lore that Professor Morrison didn't even mention. DEAN: That's 'cause he doesn't believe in it, which is a real handicap when you're trying to deal with it.

THIS IS SAM'S WHOLE ENTIRE PROBLEM IN A SINGLE EXCHANGE. and then the moment Sam finds something In The Lore™, written down in a book where it's impossible to dismiss, he realizes that Dean hasn't been making shit up or somehow misinterpreting his own lived experience:

SAM: The lore says they reproduced quickly – as in, after mating, they gave birth within 36 hours. The babies grew incredibly fast, then the aging process became normal. Which is one way to make an army, I guess. The mating cycle is every two years. They send out all the women who have reached child-bearing age. DEAN: Which lines up, 'cause this happens every couple of years in different towns, right? SAM: Yeah. And we know for sure that at least some of the vics hooked up with strange women days before being killed Amazon style. DEAN: Hooked up in the same bar I met Lydia, right? SAM: Yeah. DEAN: And then suddenly she's got a little baby in like fruit-fly time. That baby turns into a little girl just as fast. SAM: Wow. So maybe you're – you’re, uh... DEAN: Don't say it.

But rather than questioning EVERYTHING ELSE Dean has been saying over the last few days (or longer, regarding his experiences related to Bobby's ghost), Sam holds on to the rest of his beliefs even more tightly. And he reframes this entire revelation into a different validation of his original thesis-- that Dean's still compromised, Dean's not being objective, Dean letting his emotional damage control him, and it's still A Problem. Because if that's still the case, then Sam is still Maintaining Control Of Himself, and not-compromised himself.

Sam latches on to this and refuses to let go, dismissing Bobby's ghost as a potential explanation for anything, dismissing Dean's evaluation of a document and again running off for a "professional opinion."

DEAN: Maybe it's useful. SAM: It's in a pile of "maybe it's useful." Besides, it's in Greek. Nobody reads Greek. DEAN: Yeah, except Greeks. Oh, and Bobby. SAM: And Professor Morrison. DEAN: Really? SAM: I'm going, Dean. You stay here, keep the door locked. Don't go anywhere. I mean it.

Meanwhile, this approach leaves Sam vulnerable. While at the professor's office, he's attacked by one of the Amazons. While left alone in their motel room, Dean's confronted by his Amazon daughter. He doesn't immediately kill her, though, despite drawing a gun on her before she can attack. And she is talking with him rather than outright attacking anyway, so he lets her talk. To me, this is the key exchange:

DEAN: You look exhausted. EMMA: And starving. It's been a tough sweet 16. So you believe me? EMMA: You'll help me? DEAN: If you really want help.

He is willing to help her escape her life IF SHE REALLY WANTS HELP. We know that when Sam does return, he literally sees a side of Emma that she never reveals to Dean-- the Amazon red eyes-- which convinces Sam that she's a monster incapable of not being monstrous.

A knife drops into EMMA’s hand from her sleeve. DEAN closes the refrigerator and points his gun at EMMA. DEAN: You were asking if I believed you.

I.e., no, Dean didn’t believe her, but he was still willing to hear her out, from an understandable “I’m still gonna point this gun at you while we chat” perspective. When Dean wavers, Emma uses that to question his ability to kill her at all... which is shockingly reminiscent of Dean's inability to kill Jack, even under direct orders from God, in 14.20:

EMMA: It's weirdly hard, isn't it? It is for me. DEAN: Knock it off. EMMA: How could it not be? You're my father. DEAN: Hey! We're not gonna do that. EMMA: But it's true.

So while Dean had wavered in just outright killing Emma, waiting to see if she would succumb to her monstrous nature and try to kill him first, Sam makes the choice to kill her immediately. And in his defense, he even invokes Dean's killing of Amy Pond back in 7.03 as proof that Dean is still compromised:

SAM: What did you say to me... when I was the one who choked? What did you say about Amy? "You kill the monster!" DEAN: I was going to! SAM: Oh, the hell you were! You think I'm an idiot? DEAN: What, you think I am? SAM: Dean, you were gonna let her walk! DEAN: No, I wasn't. That's ridiculous! SAM: Look, man, she was not yours. Not really. DEAN: Actually, she, uh, she was, really. She just also happened to be a crazy man-killing monster. But, uh, hey. SAM: You know what? Bobby was right. Your head's not in it, man. When Cas died, you were wobbly, but now... DEAN: Now what? Oh, what, you're dealing with it so perfect? Yeah, news flash, pal – you're just as screwed up as I am! You're just... bigger. SAM: What?! DEAN: I don't know. SAM: Look... Dean, the thing is, tonight... It almost got you killed. Now, I don't care how you deal. I really, really don't. But just don't – don't get killed.

Because that's what it boils down to, even underneath "stone one" and his Magical Scar Button, the foundation Sam laid that stone on was Dean's assurance, Dean literally guiding him through the mess of hallucination and reality that he'd been unable to separate out for himself, which Dean gets that Sam isn't actually dealing with outside of pushing the button every time Lucifer pops up for him. And without Dean, Sam knows his entire baseline for holding himself together would be gone. And isn't that just terrifying.

Because what Bobby was actually worried about wasn't Dean's head not being in it, but Dean's ability to carry the weight of all of this amid the relentless assault of the universe. From 7.09:

SAM: Yeah. Yeah, I kind of mean more like, uh... more like ever since my head broke... and we lost Cas. I mean, you ever feel like he's -- he's going through the same motions but he's not the same Dean, you know? BOBBY: How could he be? SAM: Right, yeah, but what if -- BOBBY: What if what, Sam? You know, you worry about him. All he does is worry about you. Who's left to live their own life here? The two of you -- aren't you full up just playing Snuffleupagus with the Devil all the live long? SAM: I don't know, Bobby. Seeing Lucifer's fine with me. BOBBY: Come again? SAM: Look, I'm not saying it's fun. I mean, to be honest with you, I-I kind of see it as the best-case scenario. I mean... at least all my crazy's under one umbrella, you know? I kind of know what I'm dealing with. A lot of people got it worse. BOBBY: You always were one deep little son of a bitch.

Bobby never actually said to Sam that Dean’s head wasn't in it. He gave Dean a bit of a talking-to after this, which is distressingly similar to what both Frank and Eliot Ness also tell Dean over the course of the next few episodes, but he never said this to Sam. This is SAM'S interpretation, based on SAM'S assessment of Dean, which informs Bobby's "buck up or else, you're a hunter not a person" speech to Dean from 7.09. Because this was what SAM needed to hear and believe to keep that "umbrella of crazy" firmly in place where he could manage it.

And as the universe continues tearing away at Dean's entire reality, that shield of "professionalism" is just about all he has left. And Sam unintentionally undermines even that at every turn.

What a horrific mess.

#spn 7.13 #s14 hellatus rewatch #sam sympathizes and dean empathizes #winchester family dynamics #using your words #spiders georg of the tnt loop

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deborahdeshoftim5779 · 8 years ago

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Questions for HSM III (Part VI)

Incidentally, the above picture reflects my feelings whilst watching HSM III for the first time.

Shall we continue?

On the topic of night-time picnics, quite how Troy thought he would disguise his appearance at Mrs. Montez’s house when his truck was parked right outside is beyond me. I’ll cut the poor lad some slack: he’s in love. Foolishly, destructively in love.

On Gabriella’s Continued Arrogance- Stanford Honors Program Part III

1- As I said yesterday, the arrogance and bold-faced rudeness that Gabriella shows towards Troy not just here, but on a regular basis, should be enough to question Troyella as a viable couple. Clearly, Troy wasted a trip. Had he spent the evening working on his truck, instead of feeding pizza into his ungrateful girlfriend’s mouth whilst she cut him down for information that SHE refused to share, then he would not have broken down outside her house. Or perhaps if Troy had spent less time pole-vaulting himself around the Junkyard with Chad, and more time looking for spare parts, he might have avoided this situation.

However, this breakdown scene comes right after Gabriella has finally decided to go to California. So actually, is this scene a metaphorical way of demonstrating 1)- a setback in Troy’s life and 2)- more importantly, the breakdown of his relationship? Just as Troy’s truck refuses to co-operate, so does Gabriella refuse to communicate. Just as Troy chucks his keys and walks away, so should he have done after the rude treatment he just received. Is there a comparison here? Lessons to be learned?

Or perhaps we should look at it this way: the truck is unreliable and keeps breaking down, but Troy sticks with it out of a nostalgic love. He does everything he can to fix it, and it still gives up on him. Is this not a perfect metaphor for his relationship with Gabriella? Is that what we should infer from this scene?

(By the way, a truck that could barely make it from school to Gabriella’s house without almost throwing both passengers through the windshield will later become fit for purpose when Troy makes his mad dash for California, 1053 miles away. Because plot. We will discuss this later).

2- “Why are you saying goodbye? We still have prom. We still have to graduate.” The poor kid. When will he learn?

3- “I meant goodnight.” Gabriella tells another bold-faced lie, planning to abscond to California whilst he’s in school so she doesn’t have to face him. Afterwards, she doesn’t get back in contact with him until much later; we know this because Mr. Bolton brings up the issue a couple of days later. Now, let me be fair: if Gabriella had a consistent record of contributing to her relationship, if she treated Troy like a man and not a boy, if she discussed her own personal struggles with stability in a meaningful way, one might understand her upcoming Wail-Fest (”Walk Away”). Instead, during this dreary ballad, she makes no mention of Troy’s feelings (as per usual), the pain he must feel at being left behind. It’s all about me, myself and I. It’s truly painful watching Troy walking home alone, sitting up at night contemplating his loss, wandering around the school rooftops aimlessly, staring at Gabriella’s empty locker, presumably coming to pick up his truck and finding a “For Sale” sign outside. He doesn’t deserve this. All Gabriella had to do was just TALK TO HIM. You can’t accuse Troy of being unapproachable: he’s one of the most encouraging, open and understanding characters in the series!

Again, DID Troy at least FEEL that Gabriella should have said goodbye/not lied to him/not run off without telling him? Surely, he must have felt almost betrayed, even? *sigh*

By the way, another one of Troyella’s awkward kisses before the Wail-Fest. I think my eyes might roll out of my head. Nice to see some affectionate behaviour from Gabriella before Troy leaves, though. I don’t think she took some perverse pleasure in what she was about to do. She has some feelings. But at the end of the day, when it comes to her relationship or herself, she chooses the latter without remorse. (In HSM II, during the last Wail-Fest (”Go My Own Way”), she says “I gotta do what’s best for me.” And what was best for her was dumping Troy, ditching the necklace he gave her, and making him feel like shit). Why did no other character at least point out how unfair it was for Gabriella to leave just like that?

Again, let me be clear: I fully support all of Gabriella’s academic ambitions. These are the least offensive things about her. If she wanted to attend this program, more power to her. What I object to is the portrayal of her pursuing those ambitions as being forward-thinking and totally right, when the same treatment was denied Troy last time. If anyone had laughed Gabriella out of court for wanting to attend a top university, I can guarantee that viewers would have been outraged.

Long story short, this scene was an utter disgrace.

On Troy and Kelsi

Sanity! Sweet sanity!

1- First of all, I just want to discuss Sharpay in this scene. Like I said in the last instalment, I think it is was fortuitous that she schemed her way into the lead role with Troy. Not because Troy would benefit from it-- his reaction says it all-- but because Gabriella would eventually show a complete lack of respect for the musical, her friends and her boyfriend by quitting later on. But what she says is actually quite good advice: “Come on, people! We’re all pro’s here!” The Queen Bitch storyline wants you to believe that Sharpay is saying this for selfish reasons, but I think she’s actually appealing to sanity. Why do the other miserable Wildcats (Deadcats, by the looks of things) think that they can’t perform a musical without Gabriella? Are they the first people to do a musical? Whilst Gabriella is a somewhat decent singer (too overwrought for my tastes), she doesn’t have the star quality of Troy, nor the professional instincts of Sharpay, nor the creative genius of Ryan. She’s certainly not the best singer. She’s not a composer like Kelsi. Upon what basis are we supposed to accept that the show is doomed to failure?

Honestly, kudos to Sharpay for maintaining professional decorum. She said “we’re all pro’s here,” but it seems like only she is. I can even forgive her for claiming they should “do it for Gabriella!”. Dedicate hours of hard work to someone jumps ship without prior notice, and who won’t even show up without persuasion? Clearly, Sharpay was joking, right?

2- So, Kelsi continues in her righteous annoyance with all things Sharpay, but it is nice to see her and Ryan getting along. Of course, given the Royal Sham that occurred earlier between them, of whose name we shall not mention, this leaves the viewer in some confusion. Is Kelsi ever aware of Ryan’s true motivations for asking her to prom? Or, since Sharpay has finally gotten her way, is that shunted aside by the script, as Kelsi will have to give Sharpay the duet anyway? In which case, what was the reason for manipulating Ryan and Kelsi into the Royal Sham, since Sharpay used the exact same technique to nudge Gabriella aside as she did in HSM I? Seriously, what was the point?

3- Kelsi comforting Troy. It’s TOO good, people. I rewatch this like a madman. This is what you call a healthy friendship/relationship. She quite literally has the power to pick him up and by doing so, lift his spirits, and that is what makes Kelsi a great character overall. And it makes their interactions onscreen (cruelly limited as they are) compulsively rewatchable. They are blissfully and effortlessly comfortable with each other; asides from Gabriella, the only other person with whom Troy has held hands is with Kelsi. And it’s totally spontaneous; there’s no need for discussion, no awkwardness, because they don’t need to speak to communicate. Troy and Gabriella speak a lot-- but they can’t communicate. Kelsi can say everything with just one gesture. Troy understands this, appreciates this, values this. I’ve already discussed HSM II, where she makes that sympathetic gesture towards him whilst his other “friends” freeze him out for no good reason. Here, it’s the same. Notice that although some of the students already know that Gabriella has left, NO ONE has come to sit next to Troy in the front seat. Chad, who likes Gabriella and thus must be sympathetic to Troy, doesn’t come to check on his buddy. Taylor doesn’t come. Everyone else is just having their own quiet discussions, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to their FRIEND who is lonely, lost and withdrawn. Kelsi is the only one who goes out of her way to comfort him, and let him know that she’s concerned for him. What more need I say? I LOVE THE HUG!! Seriously, did you know I love the hug? :D Evidently Troy does, because you can see him smiling all the way to the piano.

Why no more screentime for Trelsi? We would have learned so much about them both as individuals, and they could have helped propel the plot by bonding over Gabriella’s absence. They are invaluable to the plot and, story problems and character arcs. It pains me that Kelsi is considered “minor”, when her music brings the whole gang together, and makes Troy into a star. Why couldn’t we have seen them rehearsing “Just Wanna Be With You”, or just hanging out? Why couldn’t it have been Troy who watched Kelsi composing that song, instead of Ryan coming in to fulfil the Royal Sham? Or Kelsi watching him play basketball, even though she knows nothing about it? (Alright, that’s my headcanon speaking). There’s SO much MORE to be seen and learned when it comes to Troy and Kelsi, and the fact that they got so little screentime is painful and infuriating. Why, script, WHY?

I have said before that HSM III brought me to Trelsi, because in my headcanon, they become closer during the latter half of this movie. This scene is EVERYTHING. Instead, Kelsi gets shunted off into a sham romance with Ryan, of whose name we shall not mention. To what aim?

Also, I like how Ryan waits till Troy is standing up (he makes a tiny gesture, encouraging him to stand), before walking to the piano with everyone else. He doesn’t just walk past. Just a little considerate gesture that makes Ryan a great character and a great friend. More screentime for these two, please.

More analysis upcoming.

#HSM3 #TroyBolton #KelsiNielsen #LiterallyTroyandKelsiForever #MoreTroyandKelsiScreentime #TroyellaSucks #RyanEvans #GabriellaMontez #WildcatsJustIgnoreTroy #Deb'sAnalysis #HighSchoolMusical #ThisAin'tOver #TrelsiScenesAreLife #California #SharpayWasRight #SharpayEvans

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maluraunderchild · 8 years ago

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See Me

There’s something about Ogrimmar that vaguely smells like rancid milk. It’s not the orcs themselves, ‘Mama’ always told me about the strangely thorough cleaning habits of her people. It might have been the area itself that just had the smell of something rotting. I’m not one of those prissy blood elves, hell, most of them laughed me out of Silvermoon because of my stubby ears. If I had to choose one of the Horde cities I felt most as home, it would be Undercity. It’s cool, people there speak their mind and won’t go swinging an axe in your face.

The only downside with Undercity is the lack of men who could have sex. So I liked to hop the zeppelin and go slumming in Ogrimmar when I could. ‘Mama’ would give me a harsh look if she knew why I came here. Archi had tried to sit me down time and time again telling me to not be so easy. That’s the problem with what Archi says and why I do things. I want to be easy.

While sitting near the bar I could feel a thick rough hand around my waist. My Orcish was getting better, so when the large green orc said. “Why’s a little elf slumming around Ogrimmar?” I was able to understand him perfectly.

Looking up at him I gave a wry but playful smile. “Where else would a ‘little elf’ be slumming?”

And this is how the game would begin. Something would talk up, wonder what a little thing like me was doing in a place like this. All of them awful pick up lines. There are so few in the Horde who could do witty word play, and most of them were in Silvermoon not wanting to dirty themselves with a half breed. Orcs, Trolls, tauren, and the like were my best options if I wanted a quick fling.

Never in those years did I ask myself why. Why would I allow myself to fuck men, all of them random, none of them even meaning anything to me. At the time? Oh I could whip up a tale saying I just wanted to experience crap. That I was young, I should be allowed to fuck who and what I wanted.

So when I picked up the not so subtle cues from my Orc. I knocked back whatever swill I was chugging and made a gesture to where ever him and I were going to go. This caused me so many problems with ‘Mama’. She couldn’t understand my constant need to sleep around. Maybe if I had taken a moment I would have noticed it and seen where the cause was. Only back then, I didn’t do introspection, my mind was too dangerous of a place for all of that.

Life is different now. After Konrad, I just felt unsure about myself. Every man I had been with used me for their own ends. None of them mentioned my mind, or my kindness, hell, they didn’t even mention my looks. All I was to them was a thing to use then throw aside, and back then… I didn’t care.

So many girls were taught that if you had sex you weren’t pure anymore. I saw Lochlyn go through that. My own internal fight had ended when I was fourteen, in the hands of men I didn’t care for. Afterward even though I had been a willing party in it, I was shammed by everyone. The term whore was attached to me. While I kept my head low in the Scarlet Crusade I let myself own that word. When I was freed from their strict and tyrannical order I found myself desperate to feel again.

Throwing myself at every man I could had been how I coped. Sex was fun, normally. Sure you had your Troll who bit a little too hard, or the Orc who made fun of you after everything was said and done, but the act of sex was fun, I could lose myself to it. My self worth was shit. Even when I had been adopted by Undercity, I still felt like total shit.

The only thing that got me out of it was Konrad, back before he saw me as a weakling. He had been the one to say I had some worth. Now how much worth would now be up for debate, but at the time, it was what I needed. Then I came back to the Alliance. The rules of the Horde didn’t work here. Sure I could sleep around again, but the social politics was too impossible to navigate to do that as much as I used to.

And then he sat down across form me.

For the first time in my life, someone said I was beautiful. That my worth was more than what my body could do for them. He saw me, he was the first one to actually see me. Before Arrel I was just a worker, a soldier. Now I’m more than that, I am Malura, his moon.

We worked well together, fighting side by side. It’s one of the few things I miss with our new positions in Kiden. We can’t just fly off in the middle of the night for a secret scouting mission.

Even with his memories fighting to come back to him, even with his missing time, I know I found someone who saw all of me. Not just what I can do for him, but what he can do for me. The next few days are going to be hell. Having to travel to a different plane of existence with E’an, while Arrel has to wait and wonder where I am. I need to have this take a short amount of time.

I can’t imagine a world with out him. Yes, our jobs keep us busy, but we’ve pulled through a lot already. Our future right now was hanging on a thread. If I can help him, give him some security as he learns to control himself, then I’m going to take it.

Gods… No…

If you are a god, are my god, please, let me be successful. Don’t let me get trapped in another realm that I’ll never be able to return.

Reaching up I arranged some of Arrel’s hair with a bit of affection. I’m going to take every moment I can until I have to leave. Before that, he will not need to wonder if I love him or not.

#@arrelwarburn #He saw me #Praying to her god

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wisdomrays · 8 years ago

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Speech and Power of Expression

The most precious of values inherited from our ancestors, speech does not consist only of clarity of meaning, the sound of words, or the expression of certain intentions. It also gives voice to our thoughts, expresses the music of our feelings, the excitement of our hearts; it is the translator of an addressee to God and it is the golden winged turtledove released by our hopes to the future. The Divine Knowledge has designed the scheme of existence, whereas His Speech has drawn its architecture. After emerging as twins in the most intimate sanctuary of the unchanging essence (ayan al-thabitah), creation and Speech have taken on physical forms and come into existence. In creating mankind, the Most Merciful gave us the ability to speak of the human essence, our inner profundities, the entire cosmos, and the truth beyond material existence before sending us to the dimension of external existence. In this respect, one can argue that "speech" was the first drop of ink that flowed from the Divine Power's pen to give life to nonexistence. The speech revealed and displayed the mysterious relation between the Creator and the created.Mankind is nothing more than a mixture of dust, mud, and water of this earth; however, thanks to the repository of knowledge and the ability of speech, they have been elevated to the rank of vicegerent on the same earth. In a sense, mankind is in a position to speak not only on his behalf but for the jinn as well. Human beings have become the addressee of God through speech and it is thanks to speech that they can address Him. As humans started to talk, things that seem silent and reticent have also begun to talk, and all beings and events, which are lines and paragraphs coming from the highest rank (mala al-ala) have become the talking tongue, wisdom-laden speech and the eloquent language of the truth that is behind the scenes of everything, like potent orators. During times when, in our belief, speech did not exist, all beings were silent, all events were muted, and everything was stagnant. How does each being talk? How do they express themselves? These issues are not easy to understand. What is known in this respect is that with the capability of speech that has been endowed on human essence, humans have been created with an ability to express and interpret all things and act as they wish. Indeed, speech is our life in this world of relativity. Each of us is a language in its own way, and the raison d'étre of these languages is speech or expression. Speech acknowledges truth as the highest reality and speaks for all beings like a symphony, thereby removing the cloak of objects, enabling them to express themselves. Speech is the key that opens the locks on the doors of the treasury of thought. Speech is the key by which a wide-ranging central move stimulates the periphery. Speech is the throne of humankind that has been elevated to the position of ruling on the earth and improving it as a vicegerent. Speech is the pen and sword of humanity. Speech is the basis of the kingdom of humanity. Wherever the flag of speech waves, the most powerful armies will be defeated and scattered. In the arenas in which speech shouts out, the sounds of cannon balls will become like the buzzing of bees. Behind the battlements on which the banner of speech has been raised, the sound of its drums will be heard. In the precincts where its march reverberates, the kings shake in their boots. Many insurmountable walls, in the face of which Alexander the Great, Napoleon, or many other men were desperate or had to retreat, were smashed to pieces by the words wielded by the Master of Speech, and the pen of Speech which provides training in submission and docility was saluted. The Qur'an The Holy Qur'an is a sample of Speech; it is such that it brings down the walls and echoes in even the most obstinate and bigoted of hearts. There is such a dazzling magic in the presentation of its themes that it is impossible not to be impressed upon hearing it. The expressive style of the Qur'an is like no divine or worldly expression. The Qur'an has such an irresistible power penetrating the hearts that even those who do not speak in its language (i.e., Arabic) will be fascinated by the melody of its words. While providing various solutions to various problems, the Qur'an presents them in such a manner that everybody, except those who are prejudiced against it, will be fascinated or at least influenced by it, and led into profound meditation, eventually the Qur'an will conquer their hearts. The sentences, paragraphs and full-stops of this monument of Speech have a vast depth of meaning, an exquisite style, and a lively music and rhythm that penetrates the soul. With their musical grace, with words chosen to appeal to all the senses, the concepts and themes will take whoever listens to them to their magical horizon, surprising them at every turn. If you attempt to replace the materials the Qur'an uses to discuss a subject, the attempt will be futile, the speech will be obscured, and the vivid style will lose its spirit. The Qur'an has such a lofty power of speech that it exhibits different events like living images along with their time periods and backgrounds, and all this causes amazement, admiration, and excitement in the audience. By doing this, it makes no concessions; nothing is detracted from its ravishing beauty, its heart-penetrating profundity, or its phrasal harmony. Rather, it presents everything with clarity, leaving no room for obscurity. The Qur'an does not address solely the minds, hearts, or souls. It treats human beings in the totality of their emotions, be they physical or spiritual. Its message is brief and concise, but addresses both the inner world and the outer world of the human at the same time. The Qur'an generates a unity of feelings, thoughts, and intelligence related to the entire universe, to all things and to all of humanity. The Qur'an is more influential than the most magical of speeches, more exquisite than the most delicate of styles, and more elevated than the most exceptional of expressions. Up until now, neither those who opposed it with the desire to surpass it nor those kings of utterance who undertook the task with the enthusiasm of imitation have managed to produce anything that is equal to the Qur'an in speech. Notable Arab poets, for example Farid al-Din Attar, about whom Shams al-Tabrizi said, "I might write poems that are sweeter than candy, but I can only ever be his pupil in terms of producing choice words," or Rumi, who said, "I am a bonded servant of the Qur'an," or Jami, whom Said Nursi described as "intoxicated by the cup of love" and their outstanding works, which still strike us as novel today despite many centuries, have never come close to the Qur'an as the Master of Speech. We will deal with this issue in detail in future; but for now we will content ourselves with small hints at the narrative style of the Qur'an, and turn back to the reflections which have fallen on our limited comprehension of speech inspired from the Qur'an and the verse and prose that develop in the shade of the Qur'an: We have all had our eyes opened to this world with speech, and have grown up on the lullabies of speech, and we have headed toward where we are with the magic of speech. Henceforth, we will breathe and live again with speech if we are to live, and we will die with a lack of speech and knowledge if we are to die. Speech is the resuscitating breath for living corpses and the water of life for those who want to live forever. Those who are capable of playing it like a flutemaster in the realm of the spiritually dead will promise successive resurrections to those who are living devoid of spirituality for thousands of years, and they will have the effect of Sur[1] on those graves that have been inflicted with God's wrath. If there is a most beautiful thing which manages to keep its freshness and colors at all times in this guest house of day-dreams, which withers and grows obsolete in all aspects, a place where those that have arrived eventually leave and those who have settled down ultimately migrate, and "whose property, estates, and pleasures are transient," it is speech. On the slopes on which speech echoes, thousands of doves delve in contemplation, living in the day-dreams of new rose gardens. As the plectrum of speech plucks at the strings of knowledge, objects start to whirl, and events moan with the whirling of a divine dance. Not one, but thousands of Majnuns wander in the deserts filled with echoes of speech. Nightingales fall quiet and retire to their nests in streams where the melody of speech is heard. In the wild forests where the cries of speech can be heard, the foxes take their leave of deception, and lions are terrified, seeking shelter in their dens. Speech is the spirit, content, color, and pattern of the Book of the Universe and the Laws of Nature; it is the seal, sword, and pen of the truth of Islam as the divine path. In the same way that only goldsmiths can appreciate the true value of gold and only jewelers can appreciate the genuine value of jewels, only wordsmiths can know the actual value of speech. Gold objects or pearls are given relative values by the people of this world, and the relative values they have start and end in this world. On the other hand, speech is a king who issues coins at the different strata of the earth and heavens; he is a commander giving orders and a hero of legends. Up until today, nobody has managed to access the dizzying summits that speech has reached, and no combatant has possessed a weapon mightier than speech. Every prophet is a sultan of words, and every person of letters is a shadow of those sultans that falls on our heads. The former are the original models and the latter are their followers; the former are architects while the latter are laborers. All of them have acted in cooperation and are unified in developing prosperous cities from speech, weaving laces from the silk threads of words, and making exquisite necklaces from the jewels of words. When the inspiration of those who wield speech is aroused, it pours into hearts and turns them into golden pastures which swell and become effervescent with the falling rains, while arid deserts become meadows with the gentle summer rain. And when speech matures and becomes a river, a waterfall, or an ocean which flows in waves, stretching out to the coasts, it attains such an irresistible power that all unseemly voices will cease in the face of its spiritual melody, and all nonsense that pretends to be real words will fall silent, and all talk without content will seek solitude. A person who is fortunate enough to attain their nourishment from such speech will listen to it; their ego will melt in complete submission to the extent that they open their heart to it, with the intention to intensify it, as if to allow their soul to fall down the waterfall of music. Good speech influences almost everybody to the extent of their capability and potential. Sometimes, faced with a strong breeze of speech, people find themselves in the atmosphere where kites wander, taken up by balloons, and they will enjoy freedom and the ease of the bird taking wing toward the atmosphere. They will be captivated by the allurement of this attraction and start to revolve continuously around that "centripetal" force. If it were possible for them to turn back and listen to their soul, they would observe what stupendous romantic considerations they have been encased with and what alternative revelations of pleasure they enjoy; they would probably be enraptured. These fortunate people are revived each time they drink from the profuse rivers of such sounds and words, discovering themselves anew. As phrases and sentences echo in their ears and pour down upon their soul, they feel that they are evolving into a separate distinction and perceive the transcendence of the colors of life in the dimensions of speech, and are repeatedly startled. And speech, inspired by the divine, emitting forth with such feelings and thoughts, captivates the audience with its charm, wafting its impact towards their souls and pouring its mark on their hearts. They find themselves in the warm bosom of speech, completely surrendering to it. Then, in this comforting atmosphere they can perceive the delicacies of their own world and lose themselves in the stunning beauty of their own achievement. In the gentle murmurs of speech, people sometimes hear the melodies of belief and faith, like the rivers of Paradise, and the melodies of permanence and transience; with full comprehension that all things come from and ultimately return to eternity, they watch with pleasure the ever-changing colors of the horizon of hope and faith. And sometimes we pass through certain exits and set sail to our past, trying to be aware of it in all its magnificence; and sometimes we listen to it, as if it were music, and then dance to it and take wing to it. Acquiring a state that is beyond time emotionally and spiritually, we find ourselves sitting at the convergence point of past realities and future day-dreams and observing three dimensions of time all at once. In this vision, the entire past, which has grown into a dream destroyed, acquires once again all of its previous magnificence through a magical restoration; the future we feel in our beliefs and hopes comes running to us like a joyful child entering our hearts to remember the good days and become ours once again. Thus, with these inner feelings, we release ourselves to the stream of diverse associations. Inside this waterfall, to which we have given an infinite power and a transcendent flow in our dreams, we pass from one state to another, from one thought to another, and just as in our dreams, we give shape to everything that is based on our intentions and our heart, casting them into whatever molds we wish and manipulating them as we desire; we can move as we want, taking wing, and landing on the ground to walk when we wish; we can watch the sunrise in the evening or the sunset in the morning; we can increase in number, taking a particle and making it everything. Speech is based on the fundamentals of meaning, it nourishes our day-dreams, sings lullabies to them, takes them to the heavens, and even shows them the doors that open on the infinite, taking us to the upper reaches of the sky, causing our feelings to ascend and preparing thrones in the supraspatial realms. Responding to our desire for eternity, speech will enrich our feelings in an indescribable manner and give our souls a profundity that cannot be encased with dimensions of corporeality and it will open our ears to melodies from musical compositions that have no lyrics. When refined speech with lofty ideals that comprise all of these goals erupts in its own accent, when it is profound like the skies, vivid like the earth, as smooth as silk, and as cozy as a mother's embrace, the speech will have a magical impact that depicts the awakening of logic, the rampaging of spirits, the charm of words, and the history of talking that stretches to before time. Thus, speech tells us the beauty of our faith and values. A good speech that originates directly from and voices what is in our hearts will always remind us of the breath of the spirit, the beating of the heart, and the color and manner of the ability to speak. To the extent of the sacredness of its color, wealth and goals, speech will echo in our hearts like celestial voices, providing us with specimens of its origin.

#speech #human #humanity #Islam #Allah

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newsnigeria · 6 years ago

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Check out New Post published on Ọmọ Oòduà

New Post has been published on http://ooduarere.com/news-from-nigeria/world-news/iran-economically-socialist/

How Iran got economically socialist, and then Islamic Socialist

by Ramin Mazaheri for Ooduarere

“Ramin Mazaheri, a foreign correspondent for Iran’s Press TV, posted a blog accusing the World Socialist Web Site of betraying its ‘socialist principles’ and aiding imperialism, because we welcomed the working-class opposition to Iran’s capitalist government…”

From nearly the beginning of the WSWS’s 3-part rebuttal to my criticism of them is the refusal, or inability, to understand that Iran’s government cannot accurately qualify as “capitalist”.

I don’t mind when people don’t understand the nature of the Iranian republic and its modern democratic structure, as these are always complicated, but Iran is SO SOCIALIST economically that I am appalled there is such ignorance about it.

Of course, many leftists don’t understand economics at all.

Certainly, fake-leftists have absolutely no idea, as they are too timid to openly call for economic redistribution (and they appear to often fear the certainty of math, in general).

Regardless, economic issues are the single most important issue for anyone to understand about Iran because the West’s siege against Iran has been economic since the end of the Iran-Iraq War in 1988.

There are six fatal flaws when it comes to Western leftists’ understanding of Iranian economics:

– They view Iran’s economy in Western terms, which is impossible due to Iran’s totally unique (revolutionary) economic structure. Iran was even structurally unusual pre-1979, which few appreciate as well. This article will explain these historical and current facts.

Continue reading after the page break

– Apart from their clear lack of data on the Iranian economy in general, they also have essentially no data on any of the leftist aspects, because these are never relayed by Western capitalist media (of course). These facts will be relayed in this and the following article.

– They don’t understand that the Principlist camp (conserving the principles of the Revolution, often called “conservatives”) they love to openly detest are also strongly associated in Iran with promoting classically leftist economic ideas centered around redistribution. This is the inverse of the West’s conservative parties. On the other side of the aisle, the current Reformist (moderate reforms of the Revolution) government is pursuing economic rapprochement with Europe; for this they are absurdly and inaccurately being called “neoliberal capitalist” when many of them are certainly more committed to economic justice than most Western leftists. Indeed, when it comes to economics both Iranian mainstream parties are leftists on the global political spectrum because the 1979 Islamic Revolution was decidedly anti-capitalist.

They are confounded in their understanding of an economy where moral concerns actually play a key role, as this defies secular Western logic and experience. I do not naively say that morality alone guides Iranian economic policy, but it is undeniable that moral & religious concerns are often the only explanation for many aspects of Iranian economic policy.

They continue to exaggerate the importance of the bazaar: this is as if Iran still has a pre-industrial economy, and as if the Iranian government doesn’t own, control and operate the vast majority of the economy in the 21st century. This emphasis on the bazaar’s economic dominance is outdated by many decades. The WSWS and others persist with this analysis, because they are so out of touch with the facts, structures & ideological motivations of modern Iran, I assume. Bazaari do not play the key economic role they used to because Iran does not live in the 19th century. Have you heard there was an oil price boom in the 1970s….?

Some Western leftists, in their dogmatic rigidity, cannot see that Iran – like China, Vietnam, Cuba, North Korea or any other socialist countries – practice “socialism at home, mercantilism abroad”. This is in order to survive and to care for their People. The only socialist group which decry this would be the “socialist universe NOW” Trotskyists (like at the WSWS), who have made the fewest gains of any socialist doctrine. Many Western leftists thus refuse to even investigate possible examples of socialism in the Iranian economy, and thus they do not understand it properly today.

Add these six fatal flaws together and it explains why you get almost total nonsense when it comes to Westerners and their uniformed economic pronouncements about the nature of the Iranian economy.

Some of these flaws cannot be remedied due to wilful blindness. However, there are at least four mistakes which can be – and must be – remedied with simple data, and will be over this two-part sub-series on Iran’s economy:

They do not appreciate that an anti-capitalist stance reigned in 20th century Iran even during the time of the shahs.

They do not realize the enormous extent to which the Iranian economy is state-owned and state-directed, which is the economic component of socialism.

They do not realise how very little privatisation – sale of government properties to private individuals, whether domestic or foreign – has actually taken place, despite the constant talk of it.

They have no idea about the bonyads (state charity co-operatives), or other poorly-named “Third Sector” entities for which there is no Western equivalent, and which play a major part in the economy.

All of this ignorance means that Westerners cannot appreciate the situation of Iranian economy in 2018, thus cannot realize Iran’s tactical capitalist overtures to Europe, and thus do not support Iran in violation of their own humanity and their own ideals.

We must remember that capitalism tolerates no competition – “there is no communism in China” is but one example. But many on the left, especially Trotskyists, tolerate no competition or individualism either – “Islamic socialism is a sham“, to quote the WSWS, is another. “The Western model is the most advanced,” is another. Therefore, Westerners have never had any real interest in unearthing the actual policies and structures which compose what can only be called “Iranian Islamic Socialism” because they competitively feel it will only undermine them. They are trying to “win”, not “succeed” or “flourish”.

Many wonder what’s the point of trying to sway the dogmatically rigid? The truth, which is rarely reported by any of the aforementioned groups, is that economic war has, like for Cuba and North Korea, caused horrific pain, suffering and death to innocent Iranians. Therefore, this two-part sub-series – which is part of an 11-part series on Iran – aims to clarify the obviously hugely socialist nature of Iran’s economic structure.

Hopefully this will engender more Western leftist support. I view Western rightists as essentially Christian Party Democrat racists, Islamophobes & globalist capitalists: if they admire Iran’s nationalism, they certainly work against it; if they want to do business with Iran, they have a funny way of holding up their end of a bargain (at least so far).

In the 21st century socialism is undoubtedly present in varying forms around the world in every country – I will show that Iran is as economically socialist as any of them. If one supports efforts to destabilise Iran, one is supporting the toppling of a socialist-inspired economy and socialist-inspired government.

The 20th century shahs: Terrible, but at least they weren’t neoliberal globalists

Iran is very much like Thailand and Ethiopia in that they have a fair claim to have never been colonized. Iran has almost always been run by Iranians.

(Egyptians, however, were ruled by non-Egyptians from the end of the Pharaohs in 30 BC until Muhammad Ali in the 19th century (not the boxer). Ali was not actually Egyptian and the last several centuries of pharaohs were foreign puppets, but don’t tell any of this to Egyptians.)

What we can say with certainty is that colonialism was never strongly present in Iran, and certainly did not alter the existing class structure. Iran was never India.

“Colonialism” in Iran meant “zones of influence” by the Russians and English. Before they could even think of subjugating what is now modern Iran, they had to first hack off parts of Persia – which they did. However this was a very short era in Iranian history and certainly, if we are comparatively speaking, in humankind’s colonial era. The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (now BP) lasted less than 50 years. In contrast, Algeria “was France” for 132 years – under complete subjugation: political, economic, religious, linguistic, cultural, etc.

Furthermore, the imperialist exportation of oil is far less societally-damaging than, say, the imperialist exportation of cotton – that requires deep, strangling tentacles into every area of agrarian and commercial society. Iranian culture escaped this devastating impact.

This lack of being colonised meant Iran never had many major structural obstacles to economic modernity which so many other countries still suffer from today. The fact that modern Iran’s societal structure does not suffer from colonialism’s legacy of poison is rarely appreciated, but certainly Iran is thankful for it.

Another key historical fact which is unappreciated is: modern Iran’s economy has always been state run.

Reza Shah (reign 1925-41) ended the Qajar dynasty and admired Ataturk’s statist mercantilism. Thus, he used the relatively new oil income to fuel local industry and manufacturing and – in a selfish manner befitting an Iranian shah – all of this planning, power and authority was all centred in the Shah’s person. The economy was not democratic, but it certainly was nationalist & centrally planned.

It also meant that there was no significant bourgeois class in terms of sheer numbers; the Iranian bourgeois was only the Shah’s coterie and chosen few, and not independent, world-trading merchants like in Western Europe. That is as important a historical fact as Iran’s lack of colonialism. Imagine your developing country with no bourgeois class to uproot, like China during their “(Drug) Treaty Century” / “Century of Humiliation” (1839-1949)?

Statist mercantilism meant the Iranian economy was totally protected, as it would be into the 1970s: there was no compact with Western imperialists for major foreign domination of local goods and manufactures – only for oil. Thus, there was no comprador class – you can say one technically existed to extract oil, but the oil was state-owned and not foreign-owned. Imagine your banana republic without a comprador class? Yet another huge historical advantage explaining Iran’s good future in achieving political advancement.

I hope the reader is appreciating in just how many profoundly different ways the Iranian economy developed, as compared with both Western nations and colonised nations.

2nd half of 20th century: Iran’s economic uniqueness grew & grew

Given that he was in total control of the economy, Reza Shah was forced to redistribute some oil wealth to guide the economy in such a populous nation – of course, he did not redistribute much.

His successor, Mohammad Reza Shah (1941-1979), continued this state mercantilism – he used oil revenues to enrich his person, of course, but he was also forced to make enough investments to complete Iran’s change from an agrarian to semi-industrial nation. In short: he was making so much money from oil that only an idiot wouldn’t have made the basic investments he did – he couldn’t have spent it ALL on himself and his coterie (though he apparently did try).

During his era Iran advanced from the periphery to the semi-periphery of the global economy thanks to some proper investments in infrastructure and basic industries, such as steel: in the 1970s Iran went from producing no steel to the level of France and the UK by the 1980s. This era is known as the White Revolution (1963-1978), and was it instituted specifically to avoid an (Iranian Islamic) Socialist revolution.

However, despite this advancement to semi-industrialism there was STILL no major bourgeois class!

In 1973 just 45 families owned 85% of private industry in Iran. Yes, this is “capitalist” – very – but just as not all “capitalism” is “neoliberal”, not all “bourgeois” classes should be considered the same. The 54-year Pahlavi dynasty created only a tiny bourgeois – and not comprador – class.

As socialist demands for more land for peasants increased after World War II, what the Shah essentially did was reduce the landholdings of the biggest gentry and provided compensation by handing the new industries to a few of them – i.e, he bought off the ones he preferred and made them beholden to him, the central planner.

Furthermore, the genuine middle class was tiny as well: government workers were just 5% of the workforce in 1976.

A tiny bourgeois, a tiny middle class, a tiny industrialist class: indeed, it was this repeated increase in the concentration of his power which made the shah unpopular and ripe for toppling. It also made Iran different.

Also significantly different in Iran is that pre-1979 the military had no role in the country’s economy.

The shah always feared a military coup, so he purposely kept them poor and dependent, and constantly manipulated the top leadership to avoid the rise of any one general. Of course, this is why the armed forces could not – and often would not – aid him in 1979. This lack of military involvement in the economy is a unique development in 20th century history – in the US, for example, there is no doubt that their economy is guided by the Pentagon, which is the world’s largest employer.

(In this sense, the “privatisation” of state assets to the (state-linked) Revolutionary Guards (which is not the military) is a sort of rebalancing more in line with the global norm, and certainly in-line with the socialist idea that the state and its organs should hold all the major assets. However this concept requires much more explanation in the next article, What privatisation in Iran? or Definitely not THAT privatisation.

This unique, so-called “privatisation” is also present in the discussion of the Basij in parts 4-7, as they are another state-controlled organization which has benefited from “privatisation” of state assets.)

Iran’s economy was always state-run, but 1979 made it for the People’s benefit

I think you’ll agree we have a lot of 20th century economic uniqueness to recap:

No colonial structures, total state planning of the economy, protectionist policies to promote Iranian development, no colonialist class nor any compradors working with them, a tiny domestic bourgeois, a weak & unstable military, two monarchs who were wary of foreign capitalists, let’s not forget the Islamic importance of charity, let’s not forget that Islamic financial rules preclude the rapaciousness of Western financial rules: Iranian economic development has never been typical, and thus resists the usual cliches. Use them and reflect your ignorance, and render your ideas useless to Iranians.

Clearly, there were totally different social forces at play which produced very different groups from the types even Marx imagined. Iran was, and still is, unique – for better or for worse.

Iran thus developed more like South Korea, where the Park military dictatorship decided the economic plan and controlled a small bourgeoisie’s relationships with foreign capital with the same strictness as the English did for an 18th century colonial subject. The huge difference is that in Iran the state was the main driver of growth, and not private industry.

And this explains other huge differences: such as why South Korea is filled with US troops, whereas all the US bases dedicated to subjugating Iran are around & not inside Iran. South Korea’s commitment to capitalism also explains with US corporations are all over South Korea, whereas in Iran you buy “Niks” and not “Nikes”, and you shop at the bazaar and not Wal-Mart.

South Korea is a common comparison for Iran, but incorrect: the best comparison is China. I elaborate – and only partly, because there are just so many common experiences, beliefs & institutions – in the 4th part of this series: Structural similarities between Iran’s Basij and the Chinese Communist Party.

However, South Korea and then Iran are the two nations whose UN Human Development Index increased the most from 1990-2014 – absolutely no small feat for either one, and certainly lessons regarding protectionism against foreign capital abound. Ignore that statistic at your national peril.

(I have often cited this UN statistic regarding Iran to show what all Iranians know and what likely forms the basis of the Revolution’s solidity in 2018: since the war ended the government has massively succeeded in transforming Iranian society for the benefit of all.)

So by the end of the 1970s the state WAS the capitalist sector – they owned it all, and much of what they didn’t own outright they controlled informally. This also means that Iranians have always seen the state as the natural driver of a centrally-planned economy; or at least they certainly have been prepared for the socialist concept of central planning and central ownership as much as any other country.

The problem under the Shah was: it was not for the People’s benefit – not enough economic redistribution of wealth. The 1979 Islamic Revolution obviously changed that, and only a liar, racist or anti-religion fanatic would deny it.

Given all these facts, the economic heritage of the Islamic Republic of Iran is difficult to define, but we must agree that Iran under the 20th-century shahs was nothing like a “bourgeois capitalist state”, “colonialist state”, nor a “neoliberal capitalist state”. Hooray for us!!!!!!!!! But down with the shah!!!!!!!!

This section should make clear that Iran’s revolutionaries thus inherited an economy totally ripe for total nationalization, as well as an economic mindset which had known nothing other than nationalisation and central planning. This was a huge advantage which has produced the vast redistribution of wealth post 1979 in Iran. Whether this was luck, the good grace of geographic determinism, Iranian ingenuity or some other force is not important – who cares about credit? What’s important is to see things clearly in order to understand Iran from now on, because what I have mostly read in the West is a bunch of ill-informed nonsense.

The oil boom of the 1970s threw the Shah’s 1%-centered system into crystal-clear relief, and so it was scrapped in favor off Iranian Islamic Socialism.

And that is where things get even more economically different!

Is Iran the most state-run economy in the world today?

You will have to read the next part of this series to get the complete answer, but I can only think of one country who might have more state control….

The Shah and his coterie, which controlled 70% of the nation’s capital – came entirely under revolutionary national control. This percentage of state control would, amazingly, go significantly higher in the coming years.

I do not expect that non-Iranian & non-economic (& non-good) journalists know the basic outline of economic history in Iran, but it is amazing that they do not know that Iran’s current economy is not only centrally-planned but almost entirely centrally owned…because for nearly 100 years of modern history the vast majority of Iran’s economy been under national control! This is not a new event! Tap tap tap – hello? Is this thing on?

Anyway…moving on.

1979 certainly wiped out the undemocratic state planner (the shah), the bourgeois class (reading this from Beverly Hills) and put Islamic Socialist revolutionaries in charge: they were tasked with creating & implementing a completely new system unseen in history…and that they did.

It had to be a “new system unseen in history” because the Iranian revolution was not just intensely nationalist and Islamic: there was an uber-intense demand to decouple from the entire international political system. This necessarily meant decoupling from capitalism as much as possible.

Indeed, because there was this popular demand to decouple from capitalism Iran’s nationalism could never – and is never and should never – be called “fascism” or “reactionary”. Khomeini’s “Neither East nor West but the Islamic Republic”, is no mere slogan, but an ideology of both independence and revolution; most Western nationalists don’t want revolution but merely independence, and this makes them neo-fascists. Tap tap tap….ah fuggetaboutit.

That anti-capitalist goal was undoubtedly met and preserved: Today, Iran is incredibly un-globalized, and at the bottom of all such tables ranking international economic connectedness. You can buy a fine pair (for the price) of Niks, however.

All of Iran’s economic planning and development remained state-planned and state-owned, but here is the difference: pre-1979, there was no talk of redistribution, of economic justice, of social justice, or of anti-privileges; post-1979, this was the state philosophy.

There can be no false claims that Iran’s “Islamic economy” isn’t a welfare state deeply concerned with social justice; it sits fundamentally opposed to the neoliberal model. To implement this is why Iran’s economy remains so controlled by the state, both constitutionally, in practice & informally.

But Westerners don’t have the facts about Iran’s unique (revolutionary) economic structures. I concede that uniqueness does complicate easy understanding. They aren’t even told about Iran’s massive success in redistribution – who would explain Iran’s economy in 2018 in the West?

What this final section, and all of the next part, will show is how Iran took the existing state capitalist model and built upon it something totally new – Iranian Islamic Socialism.

Background for the bonyads, because there is no Western parallel

Forty years is long enough to have realised that Iran’s economy is structurally totally different.

There is massive, massive, MASSIVE misunderstanding about unique (revolutionary) economic structures & ideas which are inadequately described as the “Third Sector” (the first two sectors being “Public Sector” and “Private Sector”). Clearly, I am not discussing the “Second Economy / Black Market”, which is a different sector.

If this “Third Sector” phrase is unique to you, it is likely because this is a sector which does not have a Western parallel.

Frankly, a better name is the “1B Sector”, because it is entirely accurate to say that this is a part of the Public sector. I will use “1B Sector”, a new term, because it is accurate.

(Being Public Sector is like being pregnant – you can’t be “just a little of either”. Well, actually you can – 20% is considered a controlling stake in a company, and a state can certainly have less than that. However – and this is detailed in the next part – Iran never goes less than 51% state control in seemingly anything, and certainly not any industry of even moderate importance. BP tried that with us – Iranians were not converted. So…perhaps it’s: “Being Iranian Public Sector is like being pregnant…”, but I will stick with the phrase “1B Sector” in this series.)

No account of Iran’s economy can be complete without these so-called “para-statal” organisations which are…under the government’s control. I will explain one of them, the bonyads.

When the WSWS penned this extremely broad and unexplained generalisation – “huge sums paid over to the Shia religious establishment” – I assumed they were talking about the state religious charity cooperatives (bonyads), for which it is very difficult for Westerners to even conceive of.

To put it briefly: The bonyads became major economic factors when the Islamic Republic of Iran nationalised the assets of the Shah and his 1% and…gave them to charity.

Totally pure capitalism from those hypocritical Iranian Islamic Socialists, right? It’s amazing all the hardcore neoliberal capitalism charities get up to, we all know!

That is how around 10-20% of the Iranian economy came under the control of state religious charity cooperatives. However, the administrative apparatus of the bonyads can go back 1,200 years – these are embedded, grassroots organisations.

Let’s first quickly talk about the role of charity in an Islamic economy – it is much more than just some free soup. Many Iranian politicians even talk of Iran being an “alms-based economy” (which seems like a stretch to me…but I certainly get it).

Charity will always have a significant role because of zakat – the Islamic practice (one of the Five Pillars) of giving 2.5% of your profits to charity. In Iran, this is a voluntary decision, and the giving is to imam-sponsored instead of state-sponsored collectors (unlike some Muslim countries). $1 billion was given in Iran via zakat last year, but not all zakat is reported, so it is likely much more. There is also khum: Muslim businessmen (especially Shia) are expected to give 20% of their profits to their local mosques for charity. I have no figure on khum, but you get a good khum and you can build a new mosque or something overnight (this leads to perceptions of “Millionaire Mullahs”, which I will address later). This works just like for Jews in the West: religious people come knocking on the door of your (Jewish-owned) shop and ask you to give some of your profits to support the community – it’s certainly not capitalist. Nor is it what some readers are thinking – “religious extortion”: Extortion is for personal and criminal gain – not community gains; you have made your profit off the community, after all. An underlying rationale for both of these economic levers is the idea that religious people can provide welfare as well as the state – that has certainly been the case in Iranian history.

So the bonyads were already needed and useful in Iran – the Revolution made them here to stay.

An introduction to Iran’s ‘para-state’ sector: The key word there is ‘state’

The only question is how much money they have under their charge. The 1979 Islamic Revolution decided that too – rather a lot. They made sure that much of the economy would be run with a religious – not capitalist – goal. This is a hugely important – and socialist – fact of the Iranian economy.

However, it was not just handed over with no strings attached – this is not a Western capitalist bailout of bankers! Nor are the bonyads some sort of Clinton Foundation – which existed to funnel money to the Clintons to fund their lifestyle in return for political access and favourable political decisions – for Iranian mullahs.

The bonyads now employ millions of people. Perhaps because Westerners don’t like to see religious people in charge of anything, this is mistakenly called “corruption” instead of “avoiding unemployment and poverty”.

The bonyads are not just in consumer goods but have been awarded parts of more sensitive economic sectors; the same goes for the Basij, another co-operative foundation. However, it’s the Revolutionary Guards who have been handed partial control of the big portfolios, sectors and projects upon which the country’s well-being depends: oil, telecommunications, large-scale development and construction. This was obviously all by plan, and all of these groups, their political backers and their employees have discouraged private competition because their ideology is that the state should control it – they prefer the bonyads (and Basji and the Revolutionary Guards) to Western capitalism (ands thus Western capitalists).

The main complaint about the bonyads is that the factories and businesses they were awarded became more economically inefficient, but…the entire point of taking the money from the capitalists’ hands and giving a large part to charity is inherently against the cruel efficiency of market capitalism. Capitalists will thus always talk badly about the bonyads.

The bonyads report directly to the Supreme Leader – not only is he the religious leader of the nation, he is the ideological leader of the modern, social justice-obsessed principles of the Islamic Revolution. People have different opinions on the role of the Supreme Leader, but we should all agree that Khomeini and Khamenei are no hard-core capitalists!

This decision has both pros and cons:

They are not concerning about making money, but about providing social services. Khamenei is not the CEO of the bonyads, LOL. In effect, the bonyads give the “soul of the government” – the Supreme Leader – a direct and influential hand in the economy. One may be against this, but one may not call this “capitalist”.

They bonyads are not not under parliamentary supervision, causing a lack of transparency and accountability.

The bonyads pay no taxes. This reduces government revenue, technically, but in reality it is yet another redistribution measure as it is obviously an implicit government subsidy of economic development, employment and charity. Six of one, half a dozen of the other – economically.

The bonyads can also technically make investment and commercial plans apart from the government’s five-year economic plans, which create redundancies, competition and inefficiencies. However, considering that the Supreme Leader, and many other religious leaders are tied to the bonyads, and the government, and are also heavily-involved in long-term economic planning, it is not as if the bonyads operate like economic loose cannons totally divorced from the democratic planning centers, grosso modo. The head of the one of the largest bonyads, Ebrahaim Raisi, came second with 38% in the 2017 presidential election and is perhaps the leading candidate to follow Khamenei as Leader.

I’m sorry to bring up these realities, because if there’s one thing Westerners don’t tolerate about Iran it’s understanding its nuances.

But these are not really “nuances” at all – the bonyads are under government control…but not much parliamentary or executive control…but they are under total judicial and Supreme Leader-branch control. It’s simply a unique (revolutionary) system, but do NOT call the bonyads capitalist.

Do you really think the average CEO is more ethical than the average mullah?

You must have a lot of faith in capitalism…a funny kind of faith, to me.

Not only do Westerners accuse the bonyads of being capitalist, they say it much more harshly. They accuse: “These must be fronts for ‘millionaire mullahs’.” Of course Westerners are very cynical when it comes to religion or money, so when the two intersect….

Truly, this is only an issue for Iranians who are obsessed with being anti-government and want to believe the worst about it. Most mullahs in Iran are barely-middle class – it’s an inherently absurd argument. Do priests in your country really live lavishly?

At the highest levels of the religious establishment is there money? Sure, and with zakat and khum there always was and always will be, but in many ways mullahs today are poorer than ever: In pre-modern times being a mullah meant you had formal studies, which meant your family had the money to send you to school in the first place. Take Rafsanjani, the stereotypical “millionare mullah” – how many people know that he was already rich before becoming a revolutionary? He comes from pistachio money, which is very big money in Iran.

The idea of “Millionaire Mullahs” came from the uber-capitalist magazine Forbes in 2003, and by their longtime Russia editor, no less (Russia in the age of Yeltsin, when Forbes reporters were probably feted like kings as the average Russian suffered). Why on earth we (especially leftists) would accept Forbes’ account of the bonyads is totally beyond my comprehension. I can assure you that this section has given you more objective information about the bonyads than Forbes will ever write about Iran in sum and until the end of time. They hate bonyads, and any charity they do not get a lot of public credit (and tax credit) for.

Do the bonyads have a lot of money? Yes, but there is a difference between being stewards of money and being CEOs. They are expected – by the people, press & government – to actually do something with the money, factories, subsidies and workforces they are handed. A bonyad leader cannot be Gordon Gecko and liquidate parts of a bonyad for his personal profit. If a bonyad leader dies the bonyad is not transferred to his eldest son like in England, LOL. A bonyad leader cannot “go public” and sell shares…and sell them to foreigners, too, hahahahahah. LOL, I am really having fun thinking of ways the bonyads do not conform to capitalist rules!

A mullah driving a Maserati and living in a palace and throwing lavish parties and living like a rap music video – LOL, the press would die from happiness at such a story because it would be so big and sell so many papers!

The idea that Iranian bonyad leaders are all massively living corrupt, unequal, high-off-the-hog lifestyles – like EVERY Western business leader in a comparable situation, of course! – is an absurdity on religious principle, and on economic structural principle, and it also ignores Iran’s highly-critical press. Other than that…Forbes spelled some names right, at least.

Again, bonyad leaders are not Western CEOs and it is inaccurate to imagine them as such…not that anyone in the West has enough information about the bonyads to imagine them at all. They are not in it for unrestrained personal enrichment, nor shareholder enrichment, nor only profit.

Therefore: there can be no question from leftists that the bonyads are indeed superior in every way for society than the continued presence of the previous capitalist class.

Perfect? No. Ways to get them better? Yes.

Capitalist? Go away kid, ya bother me.

However, more explanation of the 1B Sector is needed – this section on the bonyads hopefully primes the pump for readers to realize just how unusual Iran’s economy is with these so-called “parastatal” organizations. I hope I have definitely shown that not only are the bonyads not capitalist, but they are also not “parastatal” – they are not separate from the the unique branches of Iran’s government.

For the past 100 years Iran’s economy has been hard to get a handle on, but the last 40 years have truly been unique. Hopefully this article shed some light on things, but much is left as Iran’s economy is truly revolutionary in conception and practice.

That’s why clarifying the much-discussed but rarely-implemented “privatisation” is the inspiration for the next part of this series – What privatisation in Iran? or Not THAT privatisation.

***********************************

This is the 2nd article in an 11-part series which explains the economics, history, religion and culture of Iran’s Revolutionary Shi’ism, which produced modern Iranian Islamic Socialism.

Here is the list of articles slated to be published, and I hope you will find them useful in your leftist struggle!

The WSWS, Iran’s economy, the Basij & Revolutionary Shi’ism: an 11-part series

How Iran got economically socialist, and then Islamic socialist

What privatisation in Iran? or Definitely not THAT privatisation

Structural similarities between Iran’s Basij and the Chinese Communist Party

Iran’s Basij: The reason why land or civil war inside Iran is impossible

A leftist analysis of Iran’s Basij – likely the first ever in the West

Iran’s Basij: Restructuring society and/or class warfare

‘Cultural’ & ‘Permanent Revolution’ in Revolutionary Shi’ism & Iranian Islamic Socialism

‘Martyrdom and Martyrdom’ & martyrdom, and the Basij

‘The Death of Yazdgerd’: The greatest political movie ever explains Iran’s revolution (available with English subtitles for free on Youtube here)

Iran détente after Trump’s JCPOA pull out? We can wait 2 more years, or 6, or…

Ramin Mazaheri is the chief correspondent in Paris for PressTV and has lived in France since 2009. He has been a daily newspaper reporter in the US, and has reported from Iran, Cuba, Egypt, Tunisia, South Korea and elsewhere. His work has appeared in various journals, magazines and websites, as well as on radio and television. He can be reached on Facebook.

#Iran

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duaneodavila · 7 years ago

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Seaton: More Hollow Promises For Tennessee’s Indigent Defense Waltz

Adherence to the Constitution requires adequate funding. It isn’t satisfied by pretending to care. Either you will honor the Constitution by funding indigent defense, or you will fail the people of this State, but you will no longer trick them by putting on a show.

—My statement to the Tennessee Indigent Defense Task Force on May 20, 2016.

If you ask just about any current member of the General Assembly, they will tell you that the annual appropriation to fund indigent defense representation programs is among the least popular appropriation they make every year. In fact, many legislators lean toward cutting this appropriation…I mention this only to help you understand that there is no chance…that the General Assembly will agree to appropriate more money to fund the current system. Thus, any proposal to increase the current appropriation…to represent indigent criminal defendants is and will continue to be dead on arrival.

—Task Force Chairman William Koch, Letter, February 10, 2016. (Emphasis mine)

Tennessee continues its waltz around indigent defense funding with more ham-fisted “recommendations” that do nothing to solve a key problem. Lawyers with experience are turning from indigent representation in droves, and no “recommendations” from the Volunteer State’s Supremes can fix that.

The latest illusion crafted by Tennessee’s Supreme Court is an increase in compensation for private attorneys handling indigent defense cases to $65 an hour and raising the felony cap to $1,500. It’s no surprise public defenders, those with little to gain under current proposals, are calling bullshit.

Last week, the state’s high court weighed in with a release supporting the task force’s work and resulting report. The court said it would change its own rules to boost hourly pay for private lawyers handling court-appointed cases to $65 and raise the maximum total pay per felony criminal case to $1,500. But the court has no power to fund that increase and must instead look to state legislators and Gov. Bill Haslam.

[Knox County Public Defender Mark] Stephens noted that even if those increases are funded, a lawyer would only be paid for 23 hours of work on a felony case no matter how serious the allegation or complicated the defense work.

“You’re saying any lawyer can handle a felony in 23 hours,” he said. “You’re incentivizing lawyers to do less.”

Stephens isn’t wrong in his assertion. When any attorney is guaranteed pay for only twenty-three hours of work on a felony case, it is incentivizing them to do less. Lawyers are charged to zealously advocate for their client’s best interests, but they have to eat and pay bills too. Working for less than a full day to finish a felony with payment means more attorneys will be inclined to cut corners and move to the next case.

It’s also worth noting that every new recommendation carries no more weight than “Tennessee’s Supreme Court said so.” Almost three years have elapsed since the High Court acknowledged a problem with Tennessee’s indigent defense system and no meaningful changes have actually occurred.

That lack of change is reflected in the quote from Chairman Koch’s letter to me in February, 2016. Its words, which he would later regret, ring with a somber truth. The problem isn’t the good intentions and tummy rubs of the Task Force or the Supreme Court. It’s the folks in the General Assembly who want to keep their jobs by appearing “tough on crime.”

So the dance begins again, with different recommendations from the last tune and no actual incentive to the General Assembly to honor the new empty promises. Can Tennessee finally wake up and realize the lauded Indigent Defense Task Force was a sham?

As long as the Task Force keeps up with its press releases, and the state Supreme Court nods their head in approval, most Tennesseans will remain satisfied with the work their taxpayer dollars fund. Unless you’ve been through the system and faced the massive resources of the State that compel you to give up and plead guilty, there’s no reason for you to care.

Meanwhile, the Task Force members get to pat themselves on the back for all the hard work they did listening to complaints of underfunded public defenders and uncompensated members of the private bar. Each new press release with more recommendations and praise from the current Justices on the state Supreme Court gives more credence to their aura of respectability, the illusion that they have any teeth to enact meaningful reform.

When those recommendations reach the General Assembly, the state legislators collectively stick fingers in their ears and go “NA NA NA I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” It’s the easier route, allowing them to appease constituents by allowing Sunday wine sales and criminalizing talking on cellphones in school zones.

There was never a desire to actually fix indigent defense in Tennessee. Doing so in an effective way requires spending money. The Legislature knew that back in 2015 when they paid people with no skin in the game to address the State’s indigent defense problems. They know it today, because three years’ worth of study, listening and recommendations produced no change whatsoever.

Enough with the recommendations. It’s time for apologies. The Task Force and the state Supreme Court need a new tour. An apology tour, where they admit to the public what they really wanted was a way to make it look like they cared without actually spending real money. Where they apologize to every Tennessean whose tax dollars they squandered to hear public defenders lament taking cases to trial. Admitting it was the equivalent of “bringing a plastic fork to a gun fight.”

The Task Force and the General Assembly failed the people of Tennessee by throwing money at a problem with a mandate to make sure no extra funds were allocated for indigent defense. Enough with the recommendations. It’s time for “we’re sorry.”

Copyright © 2007-2018 Simple Justice NY, LLC This feed is for personal, non-commercial and Newstex use only. The use of this feed anywhere else violates copyright. If this content is not in your news reader, it means the page you are viewing infringes copyright. (Digital Fingerprint: 51981395c77d7762065ca2c084b63e47) Seaton: More Hollow Promises For Tennessee’s Indigent Defense Waltz republished via Simple Justice

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theramblingonesie · 7 years ago

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Through The Lens of a Juice-Bruiser

It’s incredible how quickly one’s life can change when they start saying yes. Granted, I’m almost always saying yes, so shit’s almost always getting weird.

My yes’s have brought me back to Mexico, where I’ve been met with a lot of no’s, some radical gear-shifting, and a lot of time-outs. This seems to be the relationship Mexico and I have worked out with each other. While in time-out, I’ve had a lot of time to think about who I am now, who I’m becoming, and what I want at this stage of life. This kind of reflection isn’t particularly out of the norm for me, but with this current quietness in my environment, the lack of distractions have given volume to the truth in how unprepared I am.

Saying you want or are going to do something is not enough. You need to be aligned with it down to your core. In the next few years, I wanna do some big things. But how am I going to be able to do big things when I think and feel so small? With all of these dreams, plans and ambitions, why am I allowing so much space for self-sabotage? How can I be in service to the healing and betterment of others when I’m my own worst Babadook?

I’ve been binge-reading/watching/listening to all things birth-related while I go through my doula certification. I’m geeking the eff out on this subject. One of the amazing places the research has taken me is into the idea of conscious conception. Real nifty stuff. And where *that* took me was to a sharp detour right into healing my own social and sexual trauma.

Barf.

No, actually, it’s really good. I’m ready. In a couple of days I’ll publicly post my other blog that I wrote while leading up to this point.

I found a woman named Layla Martin. Look her up. She’s this happy, real-talk, badass sex educator who is doing good things in the world to help all folks of all preference and orientation heal themselves and live more present, ecstatic lives. I’m not usually, if ever, one for guru-types. I think 99.9% are shams and they usually make my skin want to turn into snakes that eat each other and then die. But this woman keeps it so authentic, and maintains her own vulnerability in a way that I can super get with, and so I totally encourage everyone to check her out.

She offers a series of exercises on self-love and confidence, which I really, reallyreallyreallyREALLY need. With the peace, space and personal freedom I feel when I’m traveling, I thought now would be a great opportunity to try and develop some new habits, so I’ve been trying to do yoga every morning and then meditate while applying some of her techniques.

One of them, a very commonly known one that’s been used forever by every therapist known to this universe, is looking at yourself in the mirror and saying “I love you”.

EWWWWW NOOOOOOO WHYYYYYYY

I CAAAAANNN’TT

NOT THAT OOONNNEE PLEEAASSEE DON’T MAKE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Sigh.

I’ve been putting that one off. But this morning I knew I had a long day of being out in the world, and had no desire to battle my beastly anxiety in public, so I broke out the big guns and did all of the damn exercises. I ate my chocolate and banana, drank water, did yoga, then sat down to meditate. After a few minutes, I opened my eyes, looked up into the mirror and said, “I love you.”

Omg, it felt awful.

“Who fucking does shit like this? This is some rock bottom BS. I’m like that neurotic middle-aged man who just got fired for being a drunk, and his wife left him, and he’s trying to put himself back together from his mom’s couch. I’m not that guy!”

“Oh yeah? Who is that guy?” the little voice in my head asked.

“Pathetic. People who boast about loving themselves are weak and arrogant.”

“Wow. Wow…”

“Don’t judge me!”

“Okay, let’s play the mirror game. When you’re in a disempowered place, how do you view yourself?”

“Weak and arrogant.”

“Interesting.”

“NO IT’S NOT.”

“Sounds like your fears are trying to trick you out of feeling confident, because you might actually stop sabotaging yourself and have to live a healthy, fulfilling life. We can’t have that now….”

“Crap. Okay, I’ll do the exercise.”

I backtracked and tried a different exercise to lead up to that one. It was a visualization of my younger self, and how I would tell her that I love her. Unexpectedly, I started crying. I was crying for how hurt I was, and for how relieved I was to hear kind, compassionate words from myself. When I opened my eyes, I tried again.

“I love you”, I said. And I could see in my eyes that I meant it. It wasn’t like those times in the past where I’ve gone through the motions of the exercise, like someone who is at the end of a relationship but doesn’t know how to get out. This was genuine, and it shocked me. I repeated it until it reached every piece of me, and I then I was ready to begin my day.

I floated off to the farmer’s market to get some fresh veggies. I felt light, I felt sweet, I felt calm and totally at ease in my body. Food is magic to me, so going to the market is like praying. I get stupid excited about kale and tomatoes every time like it’s my first time. I was even a good little shopper and returned the glass bottles from the juice I bought the week before.

Or so I thought.

Everything was going so well. I was just about to give the vendor my money for the new juice, and SMASH!!!! My purse had apparently hit a bottle on the table while my back was turned, and glass and blueberry juice went everywhere. The people around fell quiet.

I wanted to die.

All of my work, all of that self-love, coaching on how to hold yourself in compassion when you feel shame or social awkwardness: DESTROYED.

I froze. I made weird nervous puppy sounds. The vendor told me not to worry about it, so I ran away, and spent the next 20 minutes emotionally tearing my guts out and running them through a meat grinder while my brain manifested 1,000 school children pointing and laughing at me. I kept kicking myself for being a stupid American, how people like me are the reason why the world especially hates white Americans. How everyone thinks I’m an idiot because my language skills are poor, but now I’m also clumsy and careless on top of it. Dogs would walk by and my head would say “that dog won’t even look at you because it knows you’re Satan.”

Eventually I stood up. When I ran away, I ran to the furthest end of the market, so I had to go all the way back through to leave. I reminded myself to chill out and to start over. I faked my body language until my attitude caught up with it: shoulders back, soft face, deep breath, gentle walking. By the time I got to the end, a table with sweet little potted plants caught my eye. The vendor was incredibly kind, and he smiled brightly while he enthusiastically told me all about his gardening practice.

“Right,” I reminded myself. “You’re allowed to accept kindness.”

After I paid, he asked me if I like mandalas. Curious, I said yes. He picked up a beautiful little stone that he had hand-painted, and offered it to me as a gift.

On the most basic level, this was a very sweet gesture that I deeply appreciated, especially after the violent lashing I had just given myself over juice.

(Juice. C’mon.)

(Okay, it was never actually about juice, but still, c’mon.)

On a greater level, this moment of kindness felt like a tiny kiss from the universe, like when you’re a little kid who falls off her bike, and your mom picks you up, kisses the little scrape on your knee, and cheers you on when you hop back up and keep riding. It was a good moment to understand how deeply I emotionally abuse myself; how downright mean I am. No wonder I attract assholes and shitty situations into my life. My most important line of defense is flipping me the middle finger and pissing in my lemonade!

I went home and posted about my new pet plant. It barely got any traction online. My brain went back into turbo-hate mode. “Nobody likes you; why do you try to take up space?”

Omg, self! Stop!

I grabbed a book, took my dress off, and laid out on the terrace in the sun. I didn’t want to try any exercises. I just wanted to recalibrate on my own as a normal human. I reminded myself of all the risks I’ve taken in the past couple years, how my life is abnormal, and how painful/confusing/disorienting it can be to separate yourself from your former life and the friends in it. I reminded myself that I chose to change, even though this choice didn’t feel like much of a choice if I wanted to be true to myself. If I want this change to be worth it, if I’m serious about answering the call, then I have to figure out a way to stop being a bully to myself so I can start truly living. I reminded myself that I don’t have to be the best, or the coolest, or the most impressive. I don’t actually owe anyone anything. Right now, I just have to feel confident that I will lead myself to safe, healthy choices, and that I’m worthy of inhabiting my body and the spaces it delivers me to. That’s enough. Everything else will fall in line.

I got up and made my way to an alternative, underground art collective that was having an art sale event. Even though my inner little sad dude tried to say it was okay if I stayed home, I knew it was important to go. My going to this event was an exercise in self-love. I was ready to meet other local artists. I wanted to stand in front of something beautiful, something inspiring. I wanted to meet and chat with other women, and other weirdos. I was ready to move outside of the current trend of only hanging out men who are drunk and lie in hopes of fucking me; playing another round of “let’s trick the stupid gringa”. I was ready to socialize because I’m excited to, not just because I’m lonely.

I went, and it was amazing. I was surrounded by art of all mediums, and the beautiful minds that created them. People were incredibly friendly, and I got several cards and phone numbers. I spoke mostly to other women, which was such a relief. I told one vendor about “The Slutcracker” and “pussy galaxy” from back in Boston when I saw her stickers of people in various explicit positions of having sex with the night sky, and she squealed so loudly with joy that it made me feel like I could relax and be my authentic self in this space. On my way out, one of the organizers told me that I should come hang out at the collective during the week and see if there’s any way I’d want to get involved.

Again, a kiss from the universe. I took the time to be kind, follow my happiness, and I was rewarded with a beautiful, fulfilling afternoon that gave me a glimpse into the incredible life I could continue building here if I remain in my truth, and in love.

Because here’s a cool thing that sounds so basic and cliché, but is rather profound in action—

When you love yourself, you can love and accept others.

Sometimes, however, like an SSRI for depression, we need a little outside love to get over the hump and get inspired. Meaning, you don’t need high self-esteem to know love, but boy howdy does having it deepen the experience. Self-worth is magical for transforming co-dependency to true love.

When I got home, I flopped down on my bed, exhausted and starving. The amount of energy I had spent trying to pull my shit together and socialize had left me happy, but also totally depleted. I pepped myself up enough to walk downstairs to check the broth I had made the night before. I had already ordered takeout because the idea of cooking seemed impossible, but next thing I knew, I was cooking a new soup. Every time I opened the fridge, I saw another ingredient that made me so excited. I greeted them like they were beloved friends.

“Eee!! Hi Rosemary! Yay, hello Beans!!! Oooo, Lime, lookin’ good, lookin’ good. TOMATOES, YOU ARE FABULOUS!”

I do this. I’m constantly thinking outloud and talking to inanimate objects. Sometimes I tell myself it’s because maybe I’m a Buddhist or something and believe there’s spirit flowing through all things. But Buddhists probably don’t stop in the middle of a room and honk for no reason. It feels great. Try it.

5 minutes before my delivery arrived, I realized I had whipped up a glorious soup. Oops…kinda. I found myself back in the space I was before The Great October Juice Tragedy, where food was magical. Each ingredient I purchased was done so with special care, with consciousness, and excitement for how it would taste. I don’t have much money, so every bit was deliberate. Making that soup became less about physical nourishment, because I already had food on the way. It was about a joyous celebration of good choices; each choice, each ingredient being another gesture to love myself. I didn’t feel guilty about the abundance because none of it was a waste. Now I have yummy soup leftovers to look forward to without the effort of cooking this week.

Another exercise Layla suggests is to do something, every day, where the action becomes an exercise in self-love. She compares it to going to the gym and working out. Whether it’s lighting a candle, putting on your clothes for the day, or sipping your coffee—with each motion, say “I love you” to yourself. I decided to do that with soup.

Slurp. I love you.

Sluuurp. Oh man, YUM. I freaking love you!

Sluuurp! Ahhh. Yeah. I love you. Thank you for such a great meal. That was really kind and thoughtful.

I ate my delivery sandwich, too, heh. I think I needed the calories because today was exhausting. I learned a lot, observed a lot, and I look forward to continuing this work so that I can keep getting out of my own way, stop putting up with garbage, and have the energy to do what I gotta goddamn do. I expect to still have some rough patches and tough days ahead, but that’s to be expected when you’re rewiring 20+ years of unhealthy thought. While I’m practicing this in the emotional realm, this is truly an exercise in neuroplasticity. That ish takes time. Whether things are “good” or “bad” is less pressing for me right now than simply being clear: setting the intention, and digging in to do the work to follow through. When I’m clear, I see results. When I’m clear, my muck falls away to create a channel that love can course through. Love manifests itself as focus and care. Also when I’m a clear channel for love, I feel connected to my environment and the people therein. Being kind, being compassionate, dedicating to learning, and being aware of my carbon footprint come naturally, because I can feel the web. What happens out there tugs on me, too. When I’m aware of this web, I can see my path, and that’s when dreams become reality.

That sounds oversimplified. Don’t approach this in an oversimplified way. Make room for the journey to be one hell of a mother fucking for real for real journey. Find peace in being wrong. You’re totally gonna be wrong at some point/s, haha.

*hug*

If you suffer from negative self-talk like I do, I hope that my own stumbling through this helps you to know that you’re not alone. If you want to go look in the mirror and cry and say “I love you” to yourself, I highly recommend it. It’s gonna feel super weird. But just know, there’s another little weirdo (me) out there somewhere who is really proud of you and not judging you for it. Reading back over this, I’m noticing all the different times and ways I mention self-love. Maybe I’ll start journaling a daily self-love log to keep count, and try to fill that jar up like a piggy bank. Let me know if you do, too!

I think if we’d all love ourselves just a little bit more, genuinely and fully, there’d be a whole hell of a lot less douchebagery in the world.

But even with that,

There’s still a chance that you will crash into a table of juice.

Deal with it.

Special thanks to my goofy bf for always supporting me (even though I wish he’d make fun of me more), and for giving me this silly blog title. If you want to learn more about Layla Martin, visit https://layla-martin.com

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itsiotrecords-blog · 7 years ago

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It’s pretty much a given fact that we need food and water to survive. If you’re lost somewhere in a harsh environment, finding food and a source of water are pretty much a necessity. The human body can go three weeks without food, but water is a different story. Generally speaking, the human body can’t go more than three days without water, but there have been cases of people surviving for 8-10 days without water. We all need food and liquids to survive, but some people will put themselves on starvation diets in an attempt to lose weight. And then, others will abstain from eating food and drinking liquids for fasting purposes. Ascetics separate themselves from the world and fast for long periods of time. Ascetics may survive from eating small amounts of food, but they never stop eating it entirely. However, there are some people who have claimed that they don’t need nourishment from food and liquids but from other sources instead. These people are known as breatharians. Breatharians practice a lifestyle in which they get nourishment from air and sunlight. Some abstain from just food while others abstain from food and liquids. Scientists and medical professionals think of breatharianism as a dangerous pseudoscience with lethal consequences. And after doing research on breatharianism, I don’t think they’re wrong. If you want to know more about this somewhat eccentric lifestyle, then check out this list of 15 things to know about breatharianism, the belief you can live without food or water.

#1 Breatharianism Is Not Fasting It’s important to note that breatharianism is not considered fasting. Breatharianism and fasting are two different things. Weirdly enough, though, breatharianism is also referred to as “inedia,” which is the Latin word for fasting. Fasting has an end point. People fast for days, weeks, months, maybe even longer. But breatharianism doesn’t have an end point. It’s not fasting and it’s not dieting, though it has been used by some for weight loss. It’s a complete lifestyle change that forces you to put away for food and liquids for…well… forever. At least that statement is partially true. Some breatharians will drink water. One breatharian in particular admitted to eating mouthfuls of food every once in a while. She said just to keep her energy levels up.

#2 Breatharians Survive Off Prana Breatharianism seems to have some roots in Hindu philosophy. Breatharians supposedly don’t live off food or water. They live off prana instead. Prana is a Sanskrit word that means “life force” or “life energy.” It’s a comic energy that’s present everywhere and is believed to be responsible for all bodily functions. Because prana is thought to aid with bodily functions, breatharians believe this is all they need to survive. They claim to get their intake of prana by taking in plenty of air and sunshine.

#3 Breatharians Think Breatharianism Is The Cure For Hunger 11% of the world’s population faces chronic undernourishment. About 805 million people go hungry every day. There have been numerous campaigns to end world hunger, such as Cure4Hunger, an organization that seeks to build Food and Water Domes all over the globe. Everyone can probably agree that finding the solution is a complex issue, but breatharians believe that the cure is a lot simpler than the rest of us would think. Since breatharians believe that we all need to survive is air and sunlight, they recommend that people in famine-stricken countries take up a breatharian diet. There would be no death, let alone diseases, due to lack of food so millions of lives could be saved as a result.

#4 The Digestive System Is Believed To Be A Mistake The digestive system is made up of the digestive tract, the liver, the pancreas, and the gallbladder. Furthermore, the digestive tract is made up of the mouth, the esophagus, the stomach, the small intestine, the large intestine, and the anus. After food passes through the mouth, it then moves through all the organs of the digestive tract until it ends up in the anus. Without digestion, our bodies wouldn’t be able to break down the nutrients it gets from food, nutrients that the body requires for energy, cell repair, and more. However, breatharians believe the digestive system is completely wrong. Since all we supposedly need to live is air and sunlight, the organs that make up our digestive system are totally useless.

#5 The Most Famous Breatharian Is Jasmuheen Before you ask, Jasmuheen isn’t her real name. She was born Ellen Greve in New South Wales, Australia in 1957. She is a major proponent of the breatharianism lifestyle, claiming to not have eaten since the year 1993. However, she later admitted that she does occasionally eat a mouthful of food, whatever she fancies at the moment. Moreover, visitors to her home who came over for interviews with her took note of the food in her kitchen. She denied allegations that she ate food on a regular basis, saying the food was for her husband. Jasmuheen travels all over the world, speaking at lectures on breatharianism and encouraging more people to take up the lifestyle. In addition to that, she oversees the Cosmic Internet Academy. She is widely regarded by the scientific community as a sham diet guru who makes outrageous psychic claims.

#6 There Is A Six-Step Plan To Breatharianism If one wishes to take up breatharianism, they’re not supposed to abruptly cut off all consumption of food and liquids. The way is to slowly wean themselves off food and drink until they achieve a completely breatharianistic way of living. Jasmuheen laid out a six-step plan for new breatharians to follow. Step one is to cut out meat from the diet and become a vegetarian. Step two is to cut out dairy and eggs and become a vegan. Step three is to cut out processed and cooked food and only eat raw food. Step four is to only eat fruits. Step five is to only intake liquids. And finally, step six is to only take in prana. Once a new breatharian has reached step six, he or she has completed the process and has become an official breatharian.

#7 Nikola Tesla Supported Breatharianism Nikola Tesla was a Serbian-American inventor, engineer, and physicist who is best known for his contributions to the fields of engineering and physics, namely towards the conceptions of the modern alternating current (AC) electricity supply system. A lesser-known fact is that he was a supporter for breatharianism. In 1901, he wrote an article for Collier’s Weekly titled “Talking With the Planets,” in which he said, “Why should a living being not be able to obtain all the energy it needs for the performance of its life functions from the environment, instead of through consumption of food, and transforming, by a complicated process, the energy of chemical combinations into life-sustaining energy?” To Tesla, it was still a question of whether or not chemical processes, such as metabolism, were necessary for the survival of living beings.

#8 Michelle Pfeiffer Used To Follow The Breatharianism Lifestyle There are quite a few cults out there. Breatharianism is no different. And actress Michelle Pfeiffer used to be a part of it. During her younger years, the Academy Award-winning actress was involved with a particular Breatharianism cult, though not willingly. She talked about her experiences in an interview with The Sunday Telegraph’s Stella magazine. Pfeiffer got caught up with a couple who were breatharians themselves and they forced her to stick to a strict and demanding diet. She didn’t live with the couple but she did visit their house a lot. However, they told her that she needed to come more and they constantly expected payments. The actress was “rescued” by her now ex-husband, Peter Moon, who was working on a film about Moonies or followers of the Unification Church started by Sun Myung Moon. She soon realized she got caught up in another cult as well.

#9 There Are Breatharian Gurus Just like in any kind of lifestyle, you can find gurus to learn from. One of them is a man by the name of Hira Ratan Manek, a 79-year-old Indian who’s also a former mechanical engineer and businessman. He runs the Solar Healing Center in Winter Park, Florida. Manek claims to have been living off nothing but energy from the sun and boiled water since 1995. Not only will one be free from hunger, but he and his followers believe that living off sun energy can cure mental and physical illnesses and improve one’s memory. Another Breatharianism guru is Tapaswi Palden Dorje (pictured above), born circa April 9, 1990, in Nepal. Dorje declares to have stopped eating and drinking after he was bitten by a poisonous snake. His followers believe that the snake gave Dorje enlightenment, claiming to see a light emanating from his head.

#10 Some American Teenage Girls Practice Breatharianism In Some Sort Of Way You may be surprised to know that some people adhere to breatharianism without even knowing they’re doing it. These people are teenage girls living in America. 10% of the female American population engage in breatharianism in some form. It happens during puberty when the body is experiencing major developments that affect the emotions and hormones. These changes can affect their eating habits, causing them to eat less to avoid obesity. The early teenage years can be difficult for many girls because their bodies are undergoing various changes they might not understand at first, and during this time, they become worried about what their peers might think of them based on how much they eat. So they’ll abstain from eating a lot of food in an attempt to keep their weight down.

#11 60 Minutes Stopped A Fasting Demonstration Due To Health Concerns In order to prove the naysayers wrong on what many believe to be a bogus “diet,” Jasmuheen decided to stage a fasting demonstration on the Australian version of 60 Minutes to show everyone what the breatharianism lifestyle was all about. 48 hours into the demonstration, Jasmuheen’s blood pressure rose and she started showing signs of dehydration. She blamed polluted air for the decline in her health so she moved to a different location further from the city. But she didn’t get better. Instead, she got worse. Her pupils started dilating and she started losing weight. Doctors supervising the trial ordered for it to be stopped, worried that Jasmuheen would suffer kidney damage if the demonstration continued any longer. However, Jasmuheen has a different belief on why doctors stopped the test prematurely. She believes they stopped her because they feared the demonstration would be proven successful.

#12 A Woman Broadcasted Her Breatharianism Experience Through Social Media Lots of people do crazy stuff on social media, so this case is no different. In 2013, 65-year-old Naveena Shine from Seattle, Washington decided to try out breatharianism. But unlike other new breatharians, Shrine elected to broadcast her experiences on social media. For four to six months, Shrine would ingest nothing but tea and water. She left several cameras running around the house to show her activities 24/7 and provided updates on Facebook and Twitter. She intended to get nourishment from air, water, and light. More specifically, the “source already embedded within our body/mind/Spiritual systems.” During the experiment, she lost 20 pounds and suffered from nausea and exhaustion. She terminated the venture after 47 days, due to strong negative response and financial issues.

#13 Several People Have Died From Breatharianism It probably goes without saying that people have died from taking up breatharianism. After all, any lifestyle that doesn’t allow you to eat or drink can’t have good long-term effects. At least four of Jasmuheen’s devotees have died from practicing breatharianism. One of them was a 31-year-old kindergarten teacher named Timo Degen from Munich, Germany who read about breatharianism on the Internet and decided to try it out. After three weeks of fasting, he fell into a coma and had to be hospitalized. He later died. Another case was that of a 49-year-old woman named Verity Lynn from Loch Cam, Sutherland, Scotland. Like Degen, Lynn read up on breatharianism on the Internet and was eager to try it out. She went fasting on a camping trip. Her body was found two weeks later. Jasmuheen deflected the blame for her followers’ deaths off herself, saying they didn’t find the light that would have nourished them.

#14 The Best Proof For Breatharianism Supposedly Lies In Prahlad Jani Prahlad Jani, also known as “Mataji,” is an 87-year-old Indian sadhu. A sadhu is a religious ascetic in Hinduism who has rejected worldly life. Jani has claimed he has not eaten anything since 1940, nearly 80 years ago. He claimed that when he was but a child, the goddess, Amba, told him that he didn’t need to eat food. He says that Amba sustains him and gives him nourishment. Doctors studied this man for two weeks but found themselves astounded when they didn’t see him eat or drink anything in the two-week period. And unlike Jasmuheen, Jani didn’t undergo any physiological changes during this demonstration. The doctors didn’t publish their findings in any medical journals, but even so, the veracity of these trials was disputed. Many believe the doctors were quacks, much like they believe Jani to be a fraud.

#15 The Founder Of The Breatharian Institute Of America Goes To McDonald’s You would think that the creator of breatharianism would follow the lifestyle to a tee, but not in the case of Wiley Brooks, the founder of the Breatharian Institute of America. Brooks claims to be the reincarnation of John the Baptist and Jesus Christ and claims to be continuing a process that was started during his supposed past life as Jesus Christ. Like other Breatharians, Brooks lives off air and sunlight…and McDonald’s. He eats double quarter-pounder with cheese meals and diet Coke as he believes these are the only foods that aren’t radioactive. Brooks says every other food and every other liquid on this planet contains radioactive energy. That is, except for his “Elixir Of The Gods,” a “special” water that will cost you $10,000 a bottle. If you think that’s steep, immortality workshops cost a whopping $1,000,000.

Source: TheRichest

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