#(Cathartes genus)

[haveyouseenthisanimal-irl]

[winterpinetrees]

Being Alive (The Gap Years 2x4)

September 19th

The Elven Capital

Ishtar's life is a miracle. She is alive, the ruler of an entire planet, happy, even. There must be a world where it stays like this forever, but she has a job to do. The war has begun, and her family must be ready for it.

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There is one other Mercuralis alive who remembers living in the palace. Enli is the same height as Ishtar, but shorter than her eldest son. Neither of them have a fraction of the scars she does. Kishar saw death for the first time this week, but his mother has no excuse. The only three Mercuralis adults sit in a room that she hasn’t tried to make match the way it was before, complimenting her husband's tea and pretending their relationship isn’t mangled like a broken limb. 

When the previous coup left her and Ishtar as their family’s last survivors, Enli was left with nothing but a legendary name, an orphaned cousin, and her own trauma. Maybe she could have given Ishtar to one of their allies to raise, but their family were symbolized by an ice-age bull and just as stubborn. Genus Mercuralis would endure, even if it meant a half-grown girl playing the role of a mother. “Playing” is the precise word. Ishtar came of age as a vengeful ghost and fell desperately for the first person to seem to live in the world, instead of occupying space. Is it worse to be like her predecessor, Emer Sondaica, who had such a full life but gave it all up? Or is it worse to have been empty from the beginning? 

Enli has been a much better mother this time around. Her cousin must have needed a test run. Ishtar, for her part, is genuinely shocked to be alive at all.

“The attacks in the human realm,” Enli begins. “I believe you that the Sondaica prince wasn’t supposed to be there, but it’s not him I have a problem with. It’s his humans. There are rules to war. Those three have never heard of them”. 

“Oh yes. Those same rules that left us as the only survivors out of nineteen Mercurali? Marin’s humans shoot to kill at times, but they’re young and desperate. Students at the Conservatory try the same thing”. That’s how she’s explained it to her council, and the lords, and everyone stunned by the trail of destruction three rich kids have wrought. “They are the children of human nobility. That society is as cutthroat as ours, they just don’t do the killing themselves. This must be cathartic for them”. Taking her first prisoner -knuckles against bone, an enemy slung over her shoulder- was like the sunrise. 

Kishar folds his hands. He doesn’t have the grim gray eyes of his cousin Chandra, those are from her husband’s family, but the grief of their world weighs on him just as heavily. “It’s not only them. The scientists were better trained than we expected”. Then he turns to his mother. “They were the threat to my life, not the prince or his servants. I told you he was happy to retreat”. 

Enli turns her head. “Well, the scientists are dead now”. 

There were twelve attacks two days ago, ten of them successful, including in the salt desert city where Marin unexpectedly appeared. They don’t know exact casualties, but she suspects three hundred humans dead across the world along with eight citizens of the elven world captured as traitors.

“Not all of them, but more than the old apex was ever able to do”. 

It turns out that even the void-cursed and gifted can only be in one place at once, and yet the university Cai Sondaica materialized to protect wasn’t even the mission with the highest cost. Ninety-five soldiers died across twelve attacks. They expected some casualties in the underground labs where soldiers could not switch worlds to retreat, but one dead elf for every three dead humans? By tradition, none of them but the handful killed by renegade sparks and royals can be properly honored on a kill list. This is why she’s talking to her cousin. When she says “Ishtar, what have you done,” she hardly notices. 

Most of her high council is thrilled, but that almost feels worse. Arjuna is decidedly neutral on human affairs, and Ryn… Ryn is not talking to her. It’s not as bad as it sounds. He was at the table during the creation of the plan and his firefly seal (the symbol they chose as teens back when her first officer decided it just wasn’t right to drag the Stormson hurricane into noble crimes) is on the document. He’s out at sea. Her vambrace chimes a steady heartbeat of data. He’s alive. He’s safe. He’ll come home when he’s ready.

Enli asks if her daughter is out with Ryn. She saw the boys today, but not Suen. Ishtar keeps her expression level. She does not fidget or shift her stance. “Oh. I can call her back in, if you’d like?”

She sends her daughter a brief message. Devana Marolak thinks she's been watching too much human media, but she has a pager. The Sondaica twins may have been picking pockets in the human realm at her age, but that was centuries ago. She can't afford to take extra risks. Then, with a broad grin, the apex of the twin worlds throws open the great windows of the parlor. Waves crash against the rocks stories beneath the balcony. This face of the building is an artificial cliff with nothing else beneath them. She stands to the side and looks back at her cousins. “You should move out of the way. She’s still working on landing”.

“Impossible. Who taught her? The assassin?”

“My husband would be honored that you think he can fly”. 

A shadow flickers far above them. Something with the wingspan of an albatross plummets out of the sky more like a meteor than a bird of prey. Her heart catches in her chest. Suen rolls out of a dive and rises back to their level. She stretches out her arms, the drag on her spectral feathers slowing her down to only about a sprinting pace. She is an indigo blur between the older Mercurali. Then her clawed boots catch on the carpet, and Ishtar does not look away as her only daughter slams into the floor with a thud worthy of an aurochs. Their mugs of tea rattle on the table. 

No one moves. Suen’s wings fade as she sits up but her eyes stay magic-bright. Whatever impossibility gave Ishtar her toughness wasn’t heritable. Her daughter’s bones are as fragile as the high nobility can get. She looks it too. Ishtar thinks it’s fitting that the first Apex of the united worlds will have the body type that humans expect of elves or fairies. Or maybe her little satellite is just young. For thirty silent seconds, Sue, a decade short of puberty and fifty years away from the start of her gap years, barely even glances at her. She’s running a diagnostic, looking for fractures and sprains. 

Ishtar feels the sparring mats under her sandals. She can take a punch better than even the sparks and could snap an elf’s neck with a twist of her arms. It would be quick, like a scepter through the heart, but there wouldn’t be blood and there was so much-

“Just like in the basketball videos!”

Suen giggles and holds a hand up to her mouth. There’s a small canine tooth on the ground and Ishtar remembers that she is the mother now and she is gloriously alive. “It had been loose for a month, Ma”. 

Kishar kneels down to meet her eyes. Suen towers over most kids her age, but he’s a true Mercuralis giant. “Pretty tough”. She beams and folds her Voyager pilot’s scarf to stop the bleeding. 

“Moonlight. Cousin Enli is asking who taught you how to fly”. 

“His Grace, Hierax of Genus Tiercel,” her daughter says with perfect royal poise, then giggles again. 

Enli raises an eyebrow and mutters in an old language the children don’t know. 

“I thought you were against betrothals”.

“I am. Don’t make this weird”. 

The floor still has a bit of a phantom bounce when Sue gets back to her feet and puts the tooth into her mother’s. In Ishtar’s oldest memories, her own mother says to keep her feet on the ground. Strength comes from leverage. You swing a hammer with your legs to hit an illusionist you’ve sensed through vibrations in the earth. Suen’s been learning to tell where her father invisibly goes since before she would walk, but the human world plays by different rules. She’s seen the tactics in their films, the heroic ones, and checks them against humanity's own list of war crimes. Mercuralis strength is enough to break through the nobility, but wild humans throw money at sports where bones shatter in every game. The children of the wildblood staff pick Suen first when they play as teams because she is lightning-fast and clever and knows how to lead, but those kids are never older than thirteen. An elbow to the jaw from a trained adult could do more than knock out a loose tooth. The butt of a jammed rifle, held by a conscripted boy who would’ve been an athlete if not for their war, could kill. 

So she’ll learn to fly. Maybe Chandra will too, or maybe he’ll keep learning how to weave charms and disguises until even Ryn’s family, impenetrable as the screaming rain around the eye of a storm, will tell him everything. Fedran is a little weaker. His colors are more muddled. He was born eighteen years ago, but only looks a bit younger than his brother. In a few decades they’ll seem the same age, and then Fen will grow up and look like the older sibling for the rest of their lives. A royal family made of a spark, a slightly unstable assassin, and an apex who could stand up to the three-hundred-pound titans on a gridiron football team. And to think it was a scandal when Emer was made apex! As if a weird twin and a habit of running off to jazz clubs was anything compared to this. 

Ishtar puts the tooth into her pocket. They’ll bury it under a tree and some little thing will appreciate the calcium. Not long after, her daughter takes a running start and vaults over the railing of the balcony much faster than Ishtar could manage. Kids these days. 

Back in the Problem Room, Ishtar sees a different sort of triumph. They’ve been chasing young runaways for months, but finally they’ve made an attack of their own. Devana Marolak’s fear of wild humans with guns has been validated, and Amedi is just happy to have done well. The councillors were both in the field on two separate missions. Actually, Ishtar was in the field as well. One of the laboratories on their list of targets was right over the fault line parallel to the capital, and they needed someone with a gentle touch to collapse it without making a bigger problem. The last big quake there was about a decade after Arjuna and her had married. There was a fire. Total mess. Not wishing to burn San Fransisco again, she and Amedi made their exit with only two elves dead and the faintest whisper of a category two earthquake behind them. Across the world, Devana set off a bomb and nearly collapsed a stop of the Moscow Metro. She can’t speak Russian, but the councillor seems entertained by the story of coordinated terrorist attacks. 

Gullin Eburos spent the fateful night in his laboratory instead, testing his project against another dozen overlapping conditions and tinkering with fatality rates. She’s lent an old Mercurali word to the plague: diasu. It’s a dead language, so the meaning can be whatever they need. Really though, it means “to thresh”. As an ancient agricultural term, it meant to separate the grain from its stalk. As her new political tool, it means to remove the useful from that which is dry and brittle and best used to feed an animal or a flame. 

When her first officer asked (declared) if it was wrong to talk about wild humans like that when they’ve taken such a stand against elven eugenics, she reminded him that human religions have used the metaphor for longer. Besides, their love has nothing to do with conquering a world. Their son is a symbol, but not of that. By the time Fen is old enough to have anything to do with politics, the human world will be theirs. 

(Why does Ishtar know anything about human religions? Well, it’s important to know the traditions of a place you’re trying to conquer. Ryn also convinced her to read Moby-Dick and she didn’t want to feel like she was missing half of the context).

Anyway, noble superiority has never done her any good and Ryn could pick Devana Marolak up and throw her if he stopped wanting to play nice. Fedran is her perfect firefly and if any nobles have issues then they should address her as Your Eminence or better yet not talk at all. 

Magical power is tough to predict. At best it’s like height: certainly there is a basis in family history, but it also depends on childhood circumstances and chance. Her exceptional power and Ryn’s…well, he has humans in his family tree, don’t cancel to average. Their son is on even footing with most of the lower nobility, including warriors like Amedi Kebero. Magically, that is. Fen still has almost all of his baby teeth, and Amedi has half a dozen kills to their name. He’s a good kid. Observant. Not in the same empathetic way as his brother, but more looking for systems. A few nights before the coup, Arjuna whispered that he had the mind of an assassin. He’s also really into trains. 

So things feel pretty good in the room named for the fact that it’s where things go wrong. They’re at the bleeding edge of a new era and it’s all too easy to imagine all of that metaphorical blood belonging to their enemies. She keeps the new casualty reports on the table as they discuss everything else. Devana talks about a drought in Asia. Amedi and their seneschal present on commoner resistance where Marin is likely to travel. They talk for hours as though two nights ago they didn’t set off the first rumbles of an upheaval that will lay dormant and stutter but never stop until they’re directing the clean up of a decimated human realm. As she’s preparing to dismiss the council (almost time to sit on her throne and hear petitions), Gullin’s doglike seneschal returns with five cups of spruce beer, even though there’s only four elves at the massive table. Seneschals don’t miss details. Gullin gives his human an amused nod and the young man smiles back with fangs and chugs a glass. They all toast to better luck and easier battles. 

She looks down to her vambrace. Her partner says air pressure is dropping and there’s clouds to the west. He’s already weathering a political storm, and doesn’t need another. The dot on the screen turns back home. 

…………

Suen is like 10 in elven years. Chandra is 8 and Fen is 7.

Ishtar uses the word decimated to describe what’s in store for the human realm. I’m afraid her actual plans have a far higher fatality rate than one in ten. 

The nobility are not big on recreational substances. (looking at you, Zerada). I’m using the word “beer” like in root beer. It’s non-alcoholic and a Canadian thing.

@lokiwaffles @reggie246 @wishndreamer

[mantrabay]

Witching Hour Minstrel 1

Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,

nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,

they paint sound and city pastel,

never at a loss for inspiration,

weather neither bar nor barrier,

in the face of whirlwind snowfall,

freezing ice, torrential downpour,

within themselves, he, she, they plod on,

hardship is adopted, never cast aside,

while others brazenly squirm,

wallow in uproarious denial,

wilt before the slightest storm,

taking flight in arid comfort zone,

shelter is their first convenient port,

not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,

exodus of the half-hearted humbug,

but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,

eyes and ears are substitute antennas,

alert does not begin an ample portrait,

of this wilful dwindling genus,

genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,

peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,

they capture worlds sidereal,

under velvet moon imagining bespoke,

crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,

icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,

deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,

who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,

how magical their canny weave lexicon,

for us timid souls to relish evermore,

as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,

vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,

drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,

river stream babble, blind alley gust,

eavesdrop on historic past teaser,

litter swept aural gossip whoosh,

eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,

darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,

yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,

each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,

for inert sleepy after hour dozers,

who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep

Prose piece and photos

all my own work

Many thanks to everyone who reads this submission.

[proton-wobbler]

White- necked Rockfowl

"I saw a picture of it in a book and was appalled at how bad the art was. Then I looked it up and realised that it actually looks like that! Plasters its nest to the rock in caves or overhanging rocks. Prefers getting there by hopping rather than flying." "Their colorful art deco-esque face masks make them look like no other extant bird."

Submitted as 'Yellow-headed Picathartes'

Going into the latin name of this species, Picathartes comes from 'pica' for magpie and 'cathartes' for vulture, and gymnoceohalus means 'naked head'. Since this genus was originally thought to ve a member of the crow family, it makes sense they'd give the new genus name some tie to corvids.

Picathartes live in rocky jungles of southern West Africa, preferring to nest on cliffs or in caves by hanging their mud nests from the walls. They can be colonial nesters, but often are antagonistic towards their neighbors and their chicks.

Picathartes have a wide ranging diet of insects, but they also seem to show preference for following army-ant swarms and picking off insects that are trying to flee the ants. When feeding nestlings, it seems they prefer to catch frogs and lizards rather than just insects.

Interestingly, this species is one that helped launch David Attenborough's career. Another presenter was supoosed to go and film a show (Zoo Quest; 1954) documenting the capture of animals for zoos. When the original presenter fell ill, Attenborough took his place and launched his career as a narrator.

Sources:

Image Source: eBird ( Dubi Shapiro)

[beaglerlove]

We also have:

The two largest Afro-Eurasian Vultures (Family Accipitridae) and Accipitrids: Cinereous and Himalayan Griffon Vultures

Image Source: (X)

Between the two, the Cinereous Vulture (above) is slightly heavier and larger in tarsus and bill length, whereas the Himalayan Griffon Vulture (below) is slightly longer or ‘taller’ in overall length (tip of the tail to tip of the beak) and/or ‘height’ (size of the bird standing). Both species are at Maximum Fluff in plumage, and both—but mainly the Himalayan Griffon—have deep histories with the Sky Burials of Mongolia, Tibet (+ Sichuan & Qinghai) and Inner Mongolia (of China), Bhutan, parts of India (Sikkim, Zanskar, etc.), and (for Cinereous) possibly Pakistan (Karachi).

Image Source: (X)

The highest-flying bird in the world, with confirmed evidence of a flight at an altitude of 11,300 m (37,100 ft) above sea level: Rüppell’s Griffon Vulture

Image Source: (X)

Unsurprisingly, Rüppell’s Griffon (above) is not the only vulture species famous for flying at great heights. Both the Bearded Vulture and the Andean Condor also rank within the top ten highest flying birds, and Bearded Vultures have even been observed living at impressive altitudes in the Himalayas!

In fact, vultures generally soar at high altitudes, especially when climbing thermals, which is what they are actually doing whenever we see them circling in the sky.

(Basically, vultures circling ≠ dead body or dying animal on the ground below; instead, vultures circling = they’ve found a thermal [to help them gain altitude without frequently flapping their wings, thereby conserving energy]. How do we know when vultures have actually found a food source? There are a few different signs: They are either [1] in process of descending [rapidly, might I add, and often in groups], [2] already on the ground and eating, or [3] lingering off to the side [sometimes, perched up in a tree], either waiting their turn or already finished and resting with full crops.)

The vulture who lives on a largely plant-based diet: Palm-nut Vulture

Image Source: (X)

The tool user, sacred bird of pharaohs, and one of the first animals—possibly the first bird—in history to be protected by law: Egyptian Vulture

Image Source: (X)

Lastly, the three American Vultures (Family Cathartidae)—and the only vultures—with an unusually advanced sense of smell (just look at those nares!): Extant species in the Cathartes Genus

The most widespread vulture of the Americas: Turkey Vulture

Image Source: (X)

And the rainbow twins: Greater (first below) and Lesser (second below) Yellow-headed Vultures:

Image Source: (X)

Image Source: (X)

These three species rely on their noses and eyesight to find food, whereas all 20 other vulture species rely on eyesight. Where their ranges overlap, (American) Black Vultures, King Vultures, California Condors, and Andean Condors may utilize the activity of Cathartes species to locate carrion, often following them in flight; and even scavenging eagles, caracaras, and corvids may follow Cathartes vultures in their search for food.

Cathartes species are suspected to have one of the most—if not the most—advanced senses of smell of all living birds. This is further supported by findings on the Turkey Vulture’s olfactory lobe in a 2017 study (which I have a few issues with regarding how some of the birds were obtained, but is interesting nonetheless), described in this paper for the Scientific Reports journal. More information on olfaction in raptors can be read about in this piece for the Animal Cognition journal and this article for the Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society.

Vultures are highly intelligent, inquisitive, observant, hygienic (daily bathers and sunbathers!), efficient (in scavenging and energy/flight), playful, and social birds, and they have a great knack for defying human expectations.

The common idea is that vultures are bald, long-necked, and often appear hunched over, but the reality is this is just an archetype based on a select number of species and/or traits from certain species. Now, this does not mean vultures don’t all share certain characteristics, as they do happen to make up their own morphospace among raptors, and among birds in general. Some defining traits of this Vulture Morphospace include: A wing structure of a passive soaring bird, a hooked bill, a distinct beak and braincase (cranium) morphology, and (generally) flat feet with comparatively long toes and blunted talons. However, outside of this morphospace (and these core characteristics), no standard appearance can fully define vultures as a group, as they are just too diverse. Vultures range from being barely larger than a Northern Raven to being the size of a human child, and from having near-featherless heads and necks—except for some bristle and/or down feathers—to having fully feathered heads and necks, among a vast array of other traits.

That said, do keep in mind that only around half of the 23 living vulture species are featured in this post; there are 12 more species out there, and they are just as diverse as the 11 shown here.

Has anyone told you about bearded vultures? They're my favourite kind of bird.

Vultures are wild because on the one hand it can refer to fuckers like Bearded Vultures, who eat bones and have red eyes and are basically dragons. Despite being mostly harmless, legend says a bearded vulture killed the greek playwright Aeschylus because--get this--it mistook his bald head for a rock and dropping a turtle on him, thus fulfilling the prophecy that he would be killed by a falling object.

and on the other hand, you have King Vultures, who are the avian equivalent of a felted craft project

[hungryhyena]

yall im so bad at naming characters send help

theyre a necromancer, but like, the chill kind, n their design is based on vultures

please suggest names im bad at this

[wackus-bonkus-maximus]

THANK YOU FOR THE FELIGAMIIIIII. I love how Kagami sees straight through Felix’s mind games for his real intentions, effectively working as a lens for the audience to see Felix’s real character, which is surprisingly (and yet not at all surprisingly as you’ve laid the bread crumbs so well) equally kind and selfish. I love how you’ve explained a little bit of his core character and motivations here - that answer to why he hadn’t told LB and CN at the time, that simple ‘I didn’t want to’ said SO MUCH and made so much sense, especially when followed by his factual, almost overly understanding reflection on how Ladybug had wanted to use Adrien - OOF that was such a punch in the gut and sooo goood. I love it when the jerkass has a point. I love it even more when that point is that sometimes heroes are no different from villains when it comes to using people to meet their goals. I love how Felix just matter of factly accepts -without even a hint of resentment- that anyone who finds out the secret is going to think about getting their hands on the amok one way or another. I love how Kagami proved him wrong. And got to meet her MIL while she was at it who was just as outraged and unquestioningly supportive and emotional as I expected that was just the piece de resistance lolol 😭😂👌🏻 And we’ve finally gotten an answer as to why Adrien still hasn’t committed suicide -at least I think?- it’s because he learned he’d take Felix with him right? That’s why he’s been holding off. Also I love how you gave Felix’s protectiveness over him a reason founded in self-interest and yet simultaneously used Kagami to show us it’s more than just that, that he genuinely does care - it reminded me of the earlier scene with Lila where Felix wished he could find some way to protect Adrien from her for good, which was a rare insight into his genuine love for his fellow feather sib. And of course now we know for a fact that Felix genuinely believed having the peacock would keep him and Adrien safe when he handed over his ring to Gabriel - after all, he wasn’t just handing over Adrien’s life, he effectively handed over his own life to Monarque too! Terrifying to realise Monarque can control one but kill both if it so suits him. Someone save our senti twins 😭

YOU'RE WELCOME! it was my pleasure 🐉🦚

if felix is the unreliable narrator, kagami is the untrickable reader 😂 i love how you describe him as equally parts kind and selfish because yes! he looks out for himself, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care about other people. if he has to choose between himself and another person, he'll make the cleverest decision instead of the most moral one.

as you can see, felix never assumed ladybug was pure hero. he suspected, as he does of everyone, that she would choose using a senti "for the greater good" over honoring their autonomy, because he's seen her do it. but it's not like he can judge her for that; she doesn't know what it's like to be a senti, or to love one. at least, she didn't. but yes in the end, kagami proves him wrong, and it's a surprisingly good end to the worst day of his life loloollol.

ahh it was cathartic for me to make kagami meet amelie. a daughter who needs a mother and a mother who will treat her like a daughter ❤️❤️❤️ we saw the start of something beautiful in that.

yes, adrien knows. the first time he let felix talk him down was because felix pointed out his suicide would be worthless, as monarque would just take the black cat miraculous for himself. later, when he found out about their twin bond, adrien realized he could never take himself out of the picture if it meant hurting felix too.

"I love how you gave Felix’s protectiveness over him a reason founded in self-interest and yet simultaneously used Kagami to show us it’s more than just that, that he genuinely does care - it reminded me of the earlier scene with Lila where Felix wished he could find some way to protect Adrien from her for good, which was a rare insight into his genuine love for his fellow feather sib." aah you're so smart anon! i was wondering if anyone would catch that! yessss, this feligami scene is an inversion of the felix & lila scene indeed. felix is a duplicitous person, his every action having a double meaning. while he of course doesn't want anything to happen to adrien, as that would mean something would happen to felix, he also genuinely cares about adrien's happiness. all that encouraging him to resist, standing up for him, covering for him while he runs off--he doesn't have to do that, but he does. he wuvs his bwother.

yes, felix thought that by having the peacock miraculous, he could dissolve the bond between him and adrien's rings and also maybe even their bonds to their proper amoks. he was wrong, sadly. only emilie can do that!

[let-our-bones-lay-together]

Here's your additional bird fact of the day! The turkey vulture, one of the two vultures we have in Florida, belongs to the genus cathartes, the Greek work for purifier, given to them because they cleanse the land of carrion. Black vultures, the other vulture in Florida, also carries a form of the word cathartes, as all new world vultures have the taxonomic family name Cathartidae! Cathartes is also where the words cathartic and catharsis come from, meaning emotional purification.

[sparksinthenight]

Rant about Frankenstein

Because honestly what the fuck else would I do? Elizabeth, Justine, and Caroline are my favourite characters and Adam’s misunderstood but not in an owo sad boi way. Because honestly what the fuck else would I say? Y’all know me by now.

Hey did anybody else have to read Frankenstein for gradeschool? Because Jesus Christ, that book was unbelievably horrible. Victor is irredemable in so many ways, he gets a twelve-year-old girl killed because he doesn’t want to take responsibility for his own crimes, and also he marries his sister. 🤢

....... And this is the guy whose pain we’re supposed to be sympathizing with???? Like NO THANKS??!!!

His whole family is horrible by the way? His dad married a woman young enough to be his daughter who, more importantly, was almost wholly financially dependent on him at the time when he proposed and therefore could not properly consent? Like ... she had to choose between abject poverty and him and that’s not a real choice at all? They pretty much kidnapped Elizabeth who had her own family and it’s implied that she never got to see her real parents again. Do you know how unbelievably traumatizing that would be? They pretty much kidnapped Justine too though they let her see her family occasionally which doesn’t change the fact that she had to go so long without them when she was just an elementary school-aged child. And also they made her do child labour. While letting their teenaged son just lie around in a boat for no reason. And Victor pretty much kills her later to save himself. If you read between the lines you can see that they groomed Elizabeth and arguably even Victor from a disturbingly young age to marry each other (despite the fact that they grow up in the same house with the same adults and are therefore siblings). Neither child really has another option for people to marry it what to do with their lives and they both grow up knowing they’d inevitably end up married to each other as their father wants. Which is disturbing. That’s incredibly disturbing. Unbelievably disturbing. The way young-child-Elizabeth is described is too womanlike fo be describing a child? The same thing happens when describing Victor’s youngest brother? Who dates a five-year-old when he’s like eight or nine? Like I’m aware that kids date but that’s a fucked up age difference for two people so young and it’s described so creepily.

And honestly Victor’s whole family is so disturbing? But the worst part of it is that his family isn’t described as disturbing. They’re described as such good people and such a sweet, loving, perfect family. They’re painted as do benevolent and kind and generous. And like ... they’re not? At all? They’re abusive, exploitative, and predatory? I mean except the women but the women are all the victims of the men. And it’s painted as this pure, innocent, loving thing. We even talked in class about how perfect and loving his family is.

And I want to talk about the female characters. Caroline, who got coerced into marrying a “good, honest, benevolent” man under the implicit threat of destitution, sacrificed her life to save Elizabeth. Elizabeth, who gets kidnapped a groomed, is the only one who truly feels sorrow for Justine’s death. Sure the other members of the family mourn, but it’s just for show. There never is the deep, caring, vulnerable, emotional aspect to it. They go through the motions of mourning because it’s what’s right. You can tell because Victor had ample chance to save Justice but didn’t even try whatsoever at all because he wanted to save his reputation. Despite the fact that he’s much older than Justine. And the way he mourns is the same hollow way the other men in the family mourn. But Elizabeth’s mourning is so much more raw and agonized and real. Because they understand each other. They share each other’s pain. And Justine herself, from the little we see of her, is also shown to be a deeply loving girl. She holds a picture of her real/birth family close to her at all times. Her displays of love are not grand, ornate, and ultimately hollow like the men. They’re simple, and humble, and genuine, and pure. The women understand what live us, and what emotions are, while the men don’t.

I don’t believe this is intentional though, despite the book being written by a female author, because every single time the men are described they’re described as perfect and flawless while the women are described as pretty and beautiful and “oh they love the men so much” and that’s it. But their actions betray the truth of the profound deep ness and wisdom of their characters. And given how you know how like, what we see in the world informs how we write about it, subconsciously, right. Well Mary Shelley probably unconsciously write about the strength, camaraderie, compassion, and empathy she has seen but hasn’t consciously noticed, without even noticing it.

You might tell me, oh wow Mary is a female author why would she be misogynistic?

You need to remember that internalized misogyny is one hell of a beast. Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey, After, Dark, and so many more misogynistic trash books were all written by female authors. And also the difference between Mary and her female characters is that Mary was from  a rich family whereas every single one of her female characters in this book were from a poor background and class is an even more impactful praxis than gender and multiple axis often intersect in very strange and horrible ways.

Back to the story.

And obviously everything that goes on when Victor goes off to university is horrible. And so many people talk about how it’s horrible for Adam but they never truly realize the pain that Adam is in. Apart from being Victor’s son and being thoroughly abandoned, and feared, and even hated by his father Adam is forced to live in a world that shuns him and sees him as a monster.

Adam is, in my opinion, the only redeemable male character in the book. Despite having no control over his emotions, his emotions are real. Adam is alone. Justine is alone. Elizabeth is alone. Caroline is arguably alone. The violence the Frankenstein family inflicts upon the members it considers lesser is unimaginable. Adam is alone, is lesser, is pretty much forced to grow up on his own because he failed to meet expectations. Victor is so full of hubris and ego. And honestly, at least this gets addressed but he never is truly held accountable by the narrative. He has such a goddamn high opinion of himself and thinks he can do everything. He never thinks of the fact that the guy he creates will be their own person. Victor views Adam as an extension of himself and his glory. And when Adam commits the “crime” of not living up to Victor’s expectations Victor abandons him immediately. Because Adam was supposed to be a monument to Victor’s glory, to Victor’s artistry, to Victor’s intelligence, Victor’s power. And he wasn’t that. He was a young, flawed child in need of guidance and support, guidance and support he never received.

So this all begs the question. Why did Victor feel the need to create Adam? Because truly, as messed up as Victor’s family, they are messed up in a different way. Victor, growing up his family, was always the darling. Always the centre of attention. Always adored and fired and called genus. For existing. When he went off to university, this was not the case. He was a bright student but he was one student of many. He was not special just because. Whatever position he had he had to gain somehow. And I’m not saying meritocracy is good, it isn’t. But it was a different system than what he grew up in and for the first time he wasn’t so close to the very top. Of course that would deeply “hurt” a man as coddled as Victor was. Of course that would drive him to need to “prove himself.” It would drive him to need to show that he was glorious. And he needed Adam to prove his worth to them and gain his position.

Everyone talks about how Adam’s actions were irrational, borne of over-emotional passion and disregard for the morals of polite society. They don’t see that in the face of extreme, unbearable psychological and even sometimes physical trauma m violence the only way forwards is with violence if your own. Think of it as do-it-yourself Karma.

Adam was alone. Justine was alone. Elizabeth was alone. Caroline was alone. But Adam had so much privilege - and yes it is privilege - that the others don’t have. Adam is free. Adam does not fit into the society and all its class-divides, gender-divides, race-divides, religion-divides, and other divides. He doesn’t have a place on the hierarchy. Or in society. He exists in his own sphere. And is beholden to none of the rules if said polite society. He doesn’t have to surround himself with people who want to exploit, abuse, and control him. He doesn’t have to do what they say. He doesn’t have to fake gratitude. He had the type of freedom that Justine, Elizabeth, and Caroline deserve but do not have.

I’m being rejected by society Adam retreated into the wilderness and lived in nature. I believe there is something deeply poetic about that. Because the wilderness is the origin and the end.

But anyways, Adam didn’t know how corrupt the Frankenstein family was. He didn’t know many things. But he knew rage, and he knew violence.

And he knew how to kill.

And it was so cathartic in a strange, subconscious way to see the Frankenstein family’s downfall. I mourned Elizabeth and Justine’s deaths. I seriously mourned them. But they were the only ones. And I still felt a sense of peace and calm at their deaths. Because now they’re free from their nightmare lives, right? Elizabeth, especially. Because she was getting so close to her wedding night. She was getting so close to the time when she would have to sleep with the child of her kidnappers, who she grew  up with, who she was raised to be a wife for. That’s not good. So it was actually a relief that he died before she could consummate that sham of a marriage. Elizabeth and Justine were beautiful, radiant souls that deserved to be in the world. But at least they’re free. They deserved to live. Big they also deserved freedom. Not either/or. Both. But still. If you ask me freedom is worth more than life. If humans had not been so neurobiologically wired to stay alive I would have happily died years ago.

And the Frankenstein men. Their deaths are viewed as such tragedy. They are so deeply mourned. We are made to feel heir loss so deeply. And we are meant to feel grief and terror for them. But I don’t. It feels so deeply, morbidly satisfying to see them finally be the ones that suffer, to see them finally be the ones that grieve.

Especially if you consider the class issues that pervade the whole book. They live in early Industrial Revolution Switzerland, a place drowning in poverty, death, and misery that the comfortably wealthy are shielded from. It’s good to finally see the iron bars if destiny bent in a shape they’re not supposed to be in. It’s good. Cathartic. Not terrible and unholy as the narrative would have you believe.

And that family is finally smites from the Earth. Gone. Rooted out. Along with all their festering corruption. And in his last grand, holy, martyric act Adam Frankenstein let’s the cold winds of the Arctic wilderness carry his spirit into death.

And though Victor is portrayed as a tragic, sensitive genius from a respectable family with a fatal flaw that destroyed him in the end, he was truly a rich, male, coddled, spoiled man-baby from an overprivileged and corrupt family who raised him to be who he was. And the men of the family, including the youngest and estranged son Adam, were all destroyed by their corruption.

But what else do you expect in a novel written by a rich lady of upstanding background from Georgian England of all places and times?

[thebearwitchproject]

Native Animals of the Blue Ridge Mountains- Vultures

This is the  first part of a new ongoing series where I discuss folklore and interesting life science aspects of the various animals native to my bioregion that I encounter while hiking, camping or just being in nature. All photos are take by me unless otherwise noted.

Earlier this week I took a sojourn up to Afton Mountain, the Rockfish Gap and Shenandoah National Park. I sat beneath a Pitch Pine to meditate, I felt the wind on my skin and it blow threw the trees. I passed life and death. I walked along the stone walls quarried and built by the CCC. I talked to animals and touched the trees. This really got me thinking about my approaches to bioregional animism and building a folkloric practice.  While I was out getting more acquainted with the lands spirits of this region I came across some of my favorite native species and sought to investigate some of the lore surrounding them while also thinking about what fascinates me by these creatures.

The first stop I made was at the top Afton Mountain to see the hawk migration through the Rockfish Gap. During the 45 minutes I was there I saw upwards of 20 vultures riding the thermals gracefully gliding through the air. They were the easiest to capture on my camera. Today alone close to 500 birds passed through the Gap. So far this year (since September 1) over 25,000 birds have passed through the gap on their yearly migrations peaking in late September/ Early October. If this isn't an awesome way to notice the passing of the year I don't know what is.

Vultures: My bioregion is home to two species of vultures, the black vulture and the turkey vulture. Both are fascinating creatures of the air. 

There is a lot of folklore surrounding vultures (which are often called buzzards). Many cultures see these large birds as ill omens, unlucky creatures or chthonic messengers bring news of Death. This seems to be different in folklore of the southern Appalachians. 

One source says of vultures; "If a buzzard flies over your house, you are going to get a letter or hear good news"     In Cherokee lore the turkey vulture is called the "Peace Eagle" as they do not kill only scavenge. Due to their wide-spread range in North America many Native American tribes have myths where vultures are featured. Often these stories detail how the vulture lost it's once full head of feathers or perhaps why the turkey vulture's head is red.       I personally associate vultures with resourcefulness, purification  and perception. The turkey vulture belongs to the genus Cathartes, quite literally meaning “purifier. While most birds have very little sense of smell a turkey vulture’s sense of smell is quite acute. Their diet of carrion makes them of of nature’s clean up crew. Vultures make quick work of rotting carcasses and this preventing the spread of many diseases. They eat what others species can’t or won’t. Their bald heads are an adaptation to be able to get deep into carcasses without risk for diseases that could be feather spread. When threatened vulture will regurgitate the contents of their stomach as a means of self defense. It is also common for the birds to use their own urine as both a sanitizer and to cool off from the heat.

During my morning commute to a previous job I almost always saw vultures while driving to work.  The school I was working at  also had several dead trees and snags that were favorite site for a volt of vultures to sun themselves. 

Did you know that A flock of vultures is called a volt or committee when perched, a kettle when in flight and a wake when feeding together?

Be sure to check back soon for more posts about native wildlife of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I have several other pieces I am working on about the varied native fauna I come across while visiting some of the wilder places in this region. Be on the look out for posts about the black rat snake and deer in the next few days.

[majorkimagery]

Turkey Vulture soaring through Mount Loretta Unique Area Shot in Staten Island, NY Mar 8, 2020 “Photos of creatures that fly.” #CanonFanPhoto Camera: #Canon EOS 6D Lens: EF 28-300mm 3.5-5.6L IS USM Aperture: f/9.0 ISO: 100 Shutter Speed: 1/640 sec Focal Length: 300mm The turkey vulture (Cathartes aura), also known in some North American regions as the turkey buzzard (or just buzzard), and in some areas of the Caribbean as the John crow or carrion crow, is the most widespread of the New World vultures. One of three species in the genus Cathartes of the family Cathartidae, the turkey vulture ranges from southern Canada to the southernmost tip of South America. It inhabits a variety of open and semi-open areas, including subtropical forests, shrublands, pastures, and deserts. @canonusa #canon6D @siadvance #silive #just_nycshots #just_newyork #statenisland #statenislandusa #statenislandlife #statenislandphotographer #siny #nycprimeshot #ig_nycity #what_i_saw_in_nyc #topnewyorkphoto #newyork_instagram #topphotonewyork #nycgo #icapture_nyc #ny1pic #majorkimagery #ig_nyc #wings #birds #birdsofinstagram For even higher resolution version of this shot, please DM to acquire, or to use commercially. Please follow us on our Instagram account to be in our circle. Originally posted on https://ift.tt/2Kt3ZSn https://ift.tt/2TRy2Z4

[mantrabay]

Witching Hour Minstrel 2

Whatever happened to the twelve o ‘clock rambler,

nocturnal venturesome brushstroke sort,

they paint sound and city pastel,

never at a loss for inspiration,

weather neither bar nor barrier,

in the face of whirlwind snowfall,

freezing ice, torrential downpour,

within themselves, he, she, they plod on,

hardship is adopted, never cast aside,

while others brazenly squirm,

wallow in uproarious denial,

wilt before the slightest storm,

taking flight in arid comfort zone,

shelter is their first convenient port,

not for stoic diarist this threadbare exit,

exodus of the half-hearted humbug,

but ironclad ilk stubbornly remain,

eyes and ears are substitute antennas,

alert does not begin an ample portrait,

of this wilful dwindling genus,

genus, genie, genius, glow worm ghost,

peaceful prowlers with pen on queue,

they capture worlds sidereal,

under velvet moon imagining bespoke,

crescendo of cathartic bonhomie,

icy night frost punctured by high drive fog horns,

deft nib from dark ink manteau nomad,

who engross themselves in light and shade reflection,

how magical their canny weave lexicon,

for us timid souls to relish evermore,

as we balk at the eerie life we revel in,

vicarious the kismet, excitement from afar,

drama under bridges, shadow figure chinwag,

river stream babble, blind alley gust,

eavesdrop on historic past teaser,

litter swept aural gossip whoosh,

eventide mournful dog bark heart tug,

darting elfin’s sly mind peep thereon,

yet the vagabond minstrel has to comb,

each backstreet, zebra crossing, sprawling suburb,

for inert sleepy after hour dozers,

who crave eye candy fodder as humdrum sidestep,

“when doleful bell ring usher,”

“startles routine addled psyche off-guard.”

Prose piece and photos

All my own work

2 bonus lines between apostrophes and 2 extra photographs for this version.

Thanks as always to everyone who reads this submission

[thisturbulentspecies]

Blog entry one. 01.20.10

tur·bu·lent

/ˈtərbyələnt/ adjective

Chracterized by conflict, disorder, or confusion; not controlled or calm.

-----------------------------------------------Spe·cies

/ˈspēsēz,ˈspēSHēz/

noun

BIOLOGY

a group of living organisms consisting of similar individuals capable of exchanging genes or interbreeding. The species is the principal natural taxonomic unit, ranking below a genus and denoted by a Latin binomial, e.g. Homo sapiens.

_____________________________

Nature or nurture? As the egg begins it's dance with the sperm, an explosion blasts into our universe. 280 days of gestation. Flash to birth, the cord is cut, afterbirth, wails of life, APGAR score, ten fingers, ten toes. A smiling nurse places the swaddled new born on the bossom of his exhausted mother's weary, trembling body. Diapers. Nursing. First words. First bicycle. Skinned knees. The tooth fairy. Kindergarten. Do we make our experiences or do our experiences make us? First communion. First kiss. Teen angst. Who influences us? Parents. Teachers. Priests. Television. Elvis. War. Video games. Education. The bomb. Earbuds. Mass shootings.

Like being shot from the womb once again we have now been thrust into adult life. Who we are, what we are, our nature, our nurture, 18 years of life begins right then and there, outside our doors. 7 Continents. 5 Oceans. Libraries. Dive bars. The Eiffel Tower. Skid row. Do we make our choices, or do our choices make us? To fall in love with the wrong person. To beam with pride as our children walk the aisle. Mortgages. The death of a parent. Vacations to exotic locations. Homelessness. The Church. Porch swings. All of these experiences become a whirlpool of cathartic and magical chain of events.

Through verse and pop culture and the study of light versus shadow, we can explore human nature together. Is a monster formed in the womb? Or in the dark corners of a violent home? A beautiful voice. A birth defect. DaVinci. Manson. Love at first sight. Infidelity. Dark secrets. A lullaby. A death rattle. Prayer. A sunrise. How do we hear music without knowing silence? How can an addict truly appreciate recovery without still being able to recall the taste of the horror show of addiction?

A junkie. A Tibetan Monk. Tsunami. Sandy beaches. Nagasaki. Einstein. Hitler. Santa. The electric chair. These are the things that our dreams are made of and our nightmares crawl out of.

I promise you it won't always be dark. However, can we know darkness without light? Safety without fear? Truth without lies? Unconditional love without unmitigated hatred.

I have written private words and poetry for 37 years. I have been influenced by Poe, Shakespeare, Dylan, Wilde, Joyce, Lennon and McCartney, Leonard Cohen, Lydon, Strummer, Gord Downie, 3 Beasties and Prince Rogers Nelson. Poems about love and alienation. Poems about rejection and sex. Social issues and apathy. Angels and demons. Dancing women and broken bones. Poetry fueled by lust, fear, youth and young manhood, death and springtime. Poetry through tears. Scribbled screams driven by pills and powders and alcohol. Poems about dangerous and available women in bathing suits. Poems about Parenthood. Poems about loving and losing and loss. Words of love and gratitude.

Sometimes poetry. Sometimes a rant. Sometimes inspiration. Musical reviews. Observations. Truly fucked up memories and stories. Sometimes reflective and heartwarming. Kinda sexy. Living proof of momentary insanity. Laced with angst and sincerity, but never ultra mundane. Tasteful? Possibly. Imaginative? Always. Honest? Undoubtedly.

Let's take this walk hand in hand, through the labyrinth mind of this simply complicated poet. Perhaps, you may find the courage to explore your own warm and wicked unknowns as well. Using the divining rod of..

This Turbulence Species.

***Every post on this blog is dedicated to Erik Evanson. A true artist who always made me laugh. You are missed.***

Shine On You Crazy Diamond.

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