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rocketbirdie · 9 months ago

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MASSIVE dump of thoughts about Rebirth. Obvious major spoiler warning for pretty much every story beat aside from side quests. That goes for the compilation as a whole.

Think of this as a collection of what would otherwise be literally hundreds of separate obnoxious text posts. Half-review, half liveblogging. Genuine praises and criticisms interspersed with unhinged nonsense. This post is so long it's making my computer lag, so make of that what you will.

To keep it organized and make it easier to find specific moments, this is split up chapter by chapter. I cover the Zack/Biggs stuff in a separate section just before the final chapter, and then follow up with some miscellaneous thoughts.

I'm not of hardcore OG FFVII faith. I love the original, and I view it as separate from Remake/Rebirth, so I embrace most of the major changes. This is generally a very positive review, aside from a few nuisances *cough cough WHISPERS cough* and only one genuinely upsetting letdown. Rebirth is more than I could ever have asked for, and I can't wait to spend the next 4+ years obsessively gushing about it. And now, without further ado...!

Chapter 1: Fall of a Hero (The Nibelheim Incident)

NAILED it.

Love seeing Cloud's teenage squishiness scrambled together with the Zack mannerisms. Restless as a little puppy! Body language, facial expressions, etc. I wonder if they animated a lot of it with Zack's model first, and then replaced it with Cloud? Modders are gonna have a field day with this when the PC version drops.

Sephiroth really was just Some Guy, huh? It's very refreshing to see him acting fully human for once. Helps sell the catastrophic mental shitshow that ensues.

Horfin' down those sandwiches Strife style

"You went into my room?" "I did..." LMAOOO THE SHAME IN HIS VOICE. Cody Christian doing god's work voicing this sopping wet pathetic mess of a man

Zangan manhandling Cloud like that was NOT on my Rebirth bingo card.

The bridge collapse scene is beautifully expanded upon. Such a delicious moment if you know the real story. RIP Ramirez. o7

There is NO fucking way Sephiroth just... stood there unfazed by waist high rushing water. Y'all have any idea how dangerous just ankle-deep water is at those speeds? At least the generous use of artistic license in physics is established very early on.

Tifa demonstrating incredible self restraint by choosing not to strangle Zack to death at the mako spring. I would have walloped his cocky ass lol

"Such a puppy." We're establishing the homoerotic tension right away as well, thank god.

oooOOOouhh the way you can pinpoint the precise moment that Sephiroth starts to lose control at the reactor. The way he walks up those stairs.......

Mwahaha-ing over the visual parallels. Raising his hand to the candle flame... Jenova's face flickering over his own... wow. Every shot, every angle is carefully chosen. Cinematography at it's finest.

OG painted a picture of "no survivors," so it surprised me how many people seemed to have escaped from Nibelheim. Although, it's not certain what their ultimate fate was. I imagine they did it this way to show that the incident impacted far more people than just Cloud and Tifa. Makes sense, considering "sheer scale of suffering" is a recurring theme throughout the Re-trilogy so far.

Sephiroth's mass slaughter is bone chilling. The music, the tension, the iconic shot of the flames framing his figure. Goddamn. And then there's the poor trooper, reaching out for his mom.........

"Why didn't they just shoot him?? They had him surrounded!!" 1, Fear doesn't give a damn about rationality. 2, It's SEPHIROTH. They were almost certainly correct in assuming that their dinky little hunting rifles weren't gonna do jack shit.

Catch me giggling over the most mundane shit. LOVE the detail of the sword tip clanking on the metal floor as Tifa drags it. I'm obsessed with lovingly crafted, nearly unnoticeable sound design like that.

"Mother, they have come again." THANK FUCK they kept this line. I don't even know why, it just stuck with me so hard from OG.

Not sure why people are cranky that the flashback cuts off. It ends at the exact same point as in OG. That's the point, it's supposed to be frustrating.

Seeing an unfathomable number of dumbass comments going "huh??? why did cloud tell the story all wrong??? that's not what happened!!" Dear Lord Please Give Me The Strength

AERTI!!!!!!! hell yeah

Tifa being proactive instead of stewing in confusion!! Love that for her. But damn it didn't go down well, huh. "I was so happy to see you again, but maybe I shouldn't have been." BIG OOOOOF

OUCH. Cloud. At least take off the pauldron if you're gonna sleep on that side LOL

Chapter 2: A New Journey Begins (Kalm and The Grasslands)

Very interesting news broadcast ya got goin' on there, Shinra...

Kalm is so so so so pretty. Feels like an actual full sized city now! Wish we could have seen more of it at night, like in the OG.

Broden!! I like him. I want the best for him. I know he's fucked. But really, it's cool to see more SOLDIER characters. We get to see Cloud's uh-oh brain static moments from the outside perspective, and boy howdy, it ain't pretty.

Broden says he's "...on your side. Got a contact at HQ." Meanwhile, my delusional ass: CONTACT? KUNSEL? IS IT KUNSEL? DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE NAMED KUNSEL?

Mentioned it in a different post— I suspected they changed the arrangement of Midgar's sectors. Sure enough, it's confirmed by looking at Rebirth's world map. Is this a meta fate-has-been-altered thing, or is it just a curious retcon? Maybe a bit of both?

HOLLOW REMIX HOLLOW REMIX HOLLOW REMIX HOLLOW REMIX HOLLOW REMIX AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Oh my god, her name is CHLOE????????? "Chole" was a typo this whole fucking time???? I can't handle this

NOT CHOCOBO BILL BLINDSIDING US WITH THE CLOUD GETTING DOUBLE PENETRATED IN A NASTY SWAMP SHACK IMPLICATIONS???? HELLO?????????

My sweet son Chadley has returned from the time void.

Ok serious talk. Wtf is up with the audio mixing. Someone gave the thumbs up for this production?! The default music volume is WAY too loud and overpowers voice lines. Doesn't help that Remake's npc dialogue deluge in crowded areas hasn't been addressed at all. C'mon people, you had years to fix this shit. It's a shame too, because I would love to hear all of the beautiful music and talented voice acting, just... separately, please.

The Soggy Strife Agenda is off to a great start!

I know Midgar Zolom was a blind idiot translation, but I dunno man. Midgardsormr just doesn't do it for me. Zolom sweetie come home :(

FUCKING. FUCK. WHERE'S THE LINE. FUCK!!! Apparently Sephiroth Did Not Do This. Goddammit. Fucking blasphemy. Genuinely gutted that they didn't include that line. Imagine if they had pulled that shit with Me Gongaga. Unacceptable.

Chapter 3: Deeper into Darkness (Mythril Mines)

"Enough for her Standard Course twice, right?" keep it up Aerith you're doing amazing :)

Ah, the opening area of the mines has been converted into a museum. No wonder people are allowed to just waltz right on in.

ELENA!! Oooooh I love her voice!! She's got that young overconfident sass. Fits her perfectly. She's got me sweating bullets seeing her kick a grenade around like a soccer ball though YIKES

Those Boulders Are Not Made Of Solid Rock

Not much else to say about the mines. Love when the original version of the music kicked in. Barret and Red's dynamic is so good!

Chapter 4: Dawn of a New Era (Junon)

We just, uh, waiting for the bus there, folks? OH SHIT sorry about the bird of prey thing man, that sucks. Hope you feel better soon

Contrary to maybe popular opinion, but I actually love it when you know exactly what a character is going to say or do next. It means the writers have done a great job at getting that character across. Predictable does not always equal bad; tropes exist for a reason after all.

Under Junon. mwah <3

Priscilla!! Omg she's so cute and annoying. Just how I remember.

Soggy Strife Episode 2. This time featuring an off-putting amount of romantic tension between Cloud And That Dolphin

Lowkey disappointed that they cut the uncomfortably long CPR minigame. Gamers nowadays have no idea how good they have it. Back in my day, we had to give mouth-to-mouth for 5 minutes straight in deafening silence.

YUFFIE!!!!!! Oh my god the leakers weren't exaggerating about the naruto run

Yeah ok just. gonna do some good night crunches. Very. Uh. Normal of you, Cloud Strife. God I love this weirdo

ROCHEEEEE My Boyfriend Has Returned

Aerith and Priscilla doing the arm bump thing............ yeah...........

Yeah you work those tanker controls gay boy. I was really expecting a jumpscare as the tanker lifted up. Would have actually shrieked if Sephiroth was just like "sup lol"

WOW the sister ray!!! Honestly the first moment that made me go "DAMN this is Final Fantasy alright!" What a view.

Glad they kept Junon's silly amount of elevators.

Oh hi Glenn

So Aerith wants to know if there are any good restaurants in Junon. Well, maybe if this guy hadn't been busy barfing in an alleyway....

Gee Tifa and Aerith, it's a good thing you guys practiced your highly choreographed military drill, just in case you ever had to pretend to be a trooper during an inaugural parade. Gotta be prepared for even the most unlikely scenarios! (As a writer, I know how it is with suspension of disbelief. But it's still kinda doofy lol)

That being said, I'd let the commander have her way with me

THE MUSIC

Tee hee omg it's so cute to see Cloud in his element! Look at that boy go. He's so into it. I like hearing all of the Seventh Infantry's interactions, too. Really hammers it in that they're all just normal people with their own worries and hopes.

Oopsie daisy. I am not immune to Shinra Propaganda. Huh. Well done, writers.

THE GLABRESCENT!! EXCLUSIVE CLUB FOR BALD PEOPLE

Awww look at all the 1/35 soldiers! Man. This whole chapter is just one huge love letter to the OG. So much nostalgia, plus so much new exciting stuff. God I could go on and on

This Just In, Entire Junon Nursing Home Full Of Elderly People Dies Of A Heart Attack After Rufus Shinra Decides To Fire The Fucking Cannon

Roche please sign my forehead

Uh oh. Yuffie

Yeah Ok don't mind me, just a SOLDIER 1st Class, protecting these little infantrymen with my life. No parallels to be found here, folks

GENUINELY HONEST TO GOD I AM SO SORRY FOR SLICING YOUR BABY ANGEL IN HALF LIKE THAT ROCHE PLEASE FORGIVE ME. Cloud say you're sorry Right Fucking Now.

Oh good no hard feelings. Well. Actually. Uh

Chapter 5: Blood in the Water (Shinra-8/Ship to Costa)

Oh to be a girl hiding away in a cargo hold with another girl.......

Little bit of Traces of Two Pasts! So Aerith told Tifa about Faz, the weird guy that was a little bit too nice to Ifalna. Apparently Aerith is still shaken up by that. Don't blame her.

Ok. I've been avoiding the topic of Queen's Blood, because frankly, my opinion on it is completely unfounded and irrational. I fucking hate card games in video games that are not supposed to be solely about card games. I can't help it. I'm here for the pretty people rpg and the gut-wrenching t4t heartbreak, not for the Magic the Gathering subplot. Any time this game so much as breathes the name Queen's Blood in my direction, I feel something visceral welling up inside of me. So as you can imagine, The Chapter Where You Play Queen's Blood is not my personal favorite.

But I get it! It's not like there was much to do here in the OG. I like that they went out of their way to flesh the ship out and give it more to remember. And for people who like Queen's Blood, I'm happy for them!!

Silly boy humming the victory fanfare I love himmmm

*wiggles*

Gotta get me one of them bigass cardboard cutout palm trees to put on display inside of my grungy metal hallway. Wow what a vibe

DAMN RIGHT YOU SHOULD DEMAND THE MANAGER, RED

THE MOONWALK SJHSYAFDFKKFFJF oh mny fuckijngh god the terrified kid crying his eyes out LMAOOOOO

Dang It! I wanted to see what Cloud looks like swaddled up in that hammock. Why do you deny me that which I desire. Screw your fade to black.

Good to know Hojo is just as disgusting and disturbing as he should be! Yayyyyy :(

"Holy shit..." YUFFIE SAME????? TITOV BOUTTA BLOW SOME TITS OFF????

YEEEHAAWWWW time for another absolute fucking banger of a Jenova remix!!!! I cannot praise the soundtrack enough.

Chapter 6: Fool's Paradise (Costa del Sol)

Obligatory beach episode

Johnny!!!!! My favorite dramatic idiot with a heart of gold! It's ok babygirl I love your seasmell hotel. I'll stay there anytime.

Cloud acting like that lei is strangling him. Sameeee dude same but no really. This place sucks. Too many people trying to force this poor guy to have fun against his will.

If I have to hear "hang loose" one more time, there will be bloodshed.

I do not trust that man to ride safely and sanely on that wheelie. He can't even walk on his own two feet without endangering every physics object in the vicinity.

Empty materia moment actually made me gasp out loud

AERTI DATE AERTI DATE AERTI DATE AERTI DATE

OUTFIT REVIEW TIME

Cloud's Tits Out: An unusual sight. I feel like he should be smooth under there like Link BOTW. He looks a little too robust for someone who's got Big Oil And Brain Worms In There and hasn't slept in weeks. I appreciate the commitment to making him pale as paper and flat as a board. No top surgery scars lose points big time. I'm neutral about the toes. 4/10

Cloud's Business Casual: Immaculate. Tastefully hideous. That blue is NOT your color, girl. Chocobo imagery is always a plus. Absolutely mystified by the untied capris + 3/4 sleeve scoop neck combo. Pretty sure he's not wearing any socks with those tennis shoes. Sneakers in the sand is a helluva sensory experience for an autistic guy like him, I deeply respect it. 9/10.

Tifa's Frilly Miniskirt: Cute and confident. Split between it being utterly out of character for her, or 1000% perfect for her. The white and purple is a great color combo. Slightly concerned about the structural integrity of the neck strap. Uncooperative hairstyle is understandable but kills the vibe a bit. Jealous of the sandals. 8/10

Tifa's Tie Front: DAMN. Stripes with the collar, black jean shorts, hell yeah. The giant belt buckle is just asking for a nasty burn mark, though. Whatever. She's rockin' it. I dunno man, I'm at a loss for words, you just gotta see it to believe it. 10/10.

Aerith's Keepin' It Simple: Tried and true. Pink always works in her favor. Love the little matching flowers in her hair. The wrap around wallet chain is a welcome sprinkle of weirdness. Otherwise masterfully boring; it suits her city-slickin' down-to-earth attitude. 9/10

Aerith's Floral Cover Up: Classy. Got that Final Fantasy princess look with the ruffled sleeves and the push-up cut. The long skirt is nothing short of perfection. Lovestruck by the splash of lime green with the leaf pattern. Can't imagine how annoying those shin-high sandal straps might be though, that's gonna leave a mark. 9/10

Barret's Bear Wearing A Marshmallow: Pillsbury Dough Man at his finest. Faithful to the original, exquisite in 4K HD. Hoist hook arm adds that extra sailor flair, sealing the look. He's having fun with it, and that's what matters most. 10/10!

Ok back to reality

uh oh.

Yup, somehow they managed to make Hojo even more nauseating than ever before. Good. The more we hate him, the worse it'll sting when he keeps dodging his comeuppance. Hohohohoho.... That's Good Writing, Babie! Twist that knife. Keep us ravenously thirsty for revenge!!

Seen a lot of complaints about the women that accompany Hojo to the beach and shower him with compliments and oohs and aahs. Not sure why. Pretty sure it's heavily implied that they're being paid SHIT LOADS of gil to act that way. It's stated outright that they're working for Mayor Kapono, and it's well established by that point that the mayor is wrapped tight around Shinra's pinky finger.

The moment that beach fight started, I knew right away... GRAB THAT UMBRELLA, DO YOUR LEGACY PROUD

Aerith showing her vengeful side, just a tiny bit. So much pent up hatred and grief. Love how it mirrors Cloud's character. She's so forgiving, she doesn't know how to turn anger into action. He's so caught up in his anger, that he forgets what forgiveness could do for him. Man. :'(

Yuffie joins the team!!! Cloud's just like. >:/ lol

Chapter 7: Those Left Behind (Corel)

Fun time is over folks

Huh. Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but that's not even close to being a Weapon. Major retcon, or legendary fakeout?

Sighh... Aerith looking up at the sky like that... The longing sure is long isn't it

WELL! Ain't that the dolly zoom of a lifetime! It's absolutely wild to watch Cloud's mental state worsen gradually in real time. Seeing him almost walk off a cliff was freaky. Good stuff

I WILL LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR CLOUD JUNIOR

Poor Barret...... damn dude. The people of Corel were nasty to him in the OG, but they cranked that up to eleven in Rebirth. Wow.

"She your new wife? Well good for you..." istg i'll reach through that screen and choke you out with my bare hands bitchass

"NO." Well that settles that! Gee I wonder why Cloud's not interested in helping out the doctor with his test...... hmm......

Yuffie honey... read the room.........

Chapter 8: All That Glitters (Gold Saucer First Visit)

And now for a jarring tonal shift! Yeahh... this game suffers from awkward pacing. A lot. Though I do suppose that's the point— hellish suffering juxtaposed with distasteful extravagance, just how Shinra prefers it.

Dio should snap him in half like a twig. I think it would be good enrichment for Cloud.

Ok. I'm pretty sure this is like. the fourth time Cloud's pupils have gotten all blown out upon seeing Sephiroth. There may be a clinical explanation for this, but there sure as hell ain't a straight one. The submissive little gasps are NOT helping.

I'm fucking pissed on behalf of anyone who has to stay the night at this dumbass hotel. Oh my god. How could anyone fall asleep in this obnoxious hellscape.

At least the receptionist looks good tied up and struggling ;)

Cait Sith meowing his own theme song is doing something unfathomable to the part of me that almost became a furry back in middle school. Oh god no he's so adorable. I'm screwed

I'm going to dismantle that tonberry robot bolt by bolt.

Aerith and Cloud commentating the races omg kicking my feet like a little schoolgirl i love them so muchhhh

The bike minigame is just not the same without Roche's "encouragement"

Jessie 😭

Ok I'm glad that it's made clear from the get-go that Barret isn't responsible for the shooting, and he also doesn't try to take the fall for Dyne. That left a bad taste in my mouth in the OG, so this is a welcome change.

Cait Sith is a little bit too enthused about the muggin' maimin' and murderin' lmao

OH MY GOD CLOUD. Baseball bat to the back of the head was genuinely shocking. As if he didn't have enough brain damage to begin with D:

Oh yuck. Gus is insufferable and nasty. I've known this guy for all of five seconds, and I already hate his guts. Fantastic characterization right outta the gate. The music is hilarious.

Billy???? How the hell did you end up here????? Kid you GOTTA get tf out of this place

LMAOOO Elena is my favorite turk confirmed. "NO VANILLA."

Oh man. Dyne time. This entire part is so damn good. Barret wants so badly for Dyne to be the beloved friend he used to be, but he's just way too far gone. So much resentment and grief.

Second half of the Dyne battle is a little bit weird, but I can tentatively accept it.

Was definitely wondering how they would handle Dyne's suicide given the teen rating. They circumvented the issue by having Shinra troopers gun him down in a crazed last stand. Different from the OG, but still believable and well written, considering their limitations.

Now that I think about it, this game is REALLY pushin' it with the teen rating. I'm willing to bet the rating boards were like, "yeah uh we can make an exception. it's FFVII we're talkin' about." Still... wonder why they couldn't go as far with Remake.

"You carry that guilt... That weight..." Wow. That line.

Annnnd jarring tonal shift! Robot frog fight versus the comedy relief villain. To be fair, I can't think of any other decent place to put this boss, either. On the bright side, Anuran Suppressor is awesome. Favorite fight in the game so far!

I need this soundtrack in my possession right fucking now.

Oh hi Glenn

Chapter 9: The Planet Stirs (Gongaga)

dune buggy :)

Oh Yuffie... just keep a barf bucket on hand or somethin will ya?

"I just... I feel like I've been here before." Well wouldja look at that... no jenova static...

Going over the hill and seeing the reactor... damn.

CISSNEI!!!! Ouuugh girl you know EXACTLY who tf he is, don't lie.

Noooo give Cait his little mushroom back you meanie :(

Ah. The deranged picnic music.

Gongaga has a much different vibe than it did in the OG. The intense feeling of mourning and hardship is missing. No hazy purple hues or Anxiety playing. Seems like they went in more of a CC direction, with the bright blue sky and uplifting soundtrack. Can't lie, I'm a tiny bit disappointed; I was really hoping for something more heavy and melancholic.

The existence of ordinary chickens in the FFVII universe has some frightening implications for the true nature of chocobos. If you have ever kept backyard chickens, you'll know what I mean.

Ohhhhhhh.... Zack's home............. :((((((

No. No. Don't play Sky Blue Eyes. Don't fucking do this to me. I'm gonna fucking cry. Oh my god no.

"They do say no news is good news, right?" I'm gonna do it.

You know shit's bad when even Cloud "I'm Fine" Strife admits he needs to have a lie down. Yikes.

Man, I really wish we knew more about Tifa and Aerith's chats. Dramatic irony's a bitch.

They sure went all out with the mushroom thing, huh. I know they were trying to differentiate Gongaga in terms of gameplay and worldbuilding, but I feel like they went a little overboard. Gongaga was its own unique thing in OG, not sure why they felt the need to quote unquote improve upon it. Just kinda weird.

Now the reactor is a different story. They did an incredible job here. The scale of the reactor, the unprecedented destruction—

Oh God Damn It The Whispers Are Back

Seriously trying so hard to justify in my own mind why the whispers are here. I don't despise them as a concept, but their implementation is awkward and overdone. In the Gongaga reactor, they fulfill the same narrative purpose as the black robes would: to facilitate the Reunion by mentally dragging Cloud along. Sigh... I get it's because they want to familiarize the player with the whispers in anticipation of future scenes, but it still pisses me off.

That being said, the whispers' theme goes HARD and I'm elated to hear it again. It also fits super well in the Gongaga reactor. So I guess I'm not that pissed.

Touch Me renamed to Amphidex. Can't have shit in Gongaga :/

ooOOOOO!!! The mako fumes getting to Cloud's head! Poor guy's about to pass out. Nice touch.

Sephiroth/Jenova taking advantage of Cloud's mako poisoning... Oh man... the instant change in demeanor is nuts. So fucking good. Here we get to see the first time that Sephiroth has total control over Cloud, and it does not disappoint. Ruthless.

Tifa honey how and why tf are you keeping it together right now. Girl, you do NOT have to fix him. You do not have to show him your boobs a second time. You do not have to take a single thing he says seriously. You can just get up and leave I promise he's doomed by the narrative until further notice 😭😭😭

Telluric Orca Vore Moment was also not on my rebirth bingo card but Okay

Teasing the lifestream. Sure, I can get down with it. Just... y'all got a bit of a whisper problem down here. Want me to call pest control?

"No! Don't take him too!" Damn...

I would not feel safe alone in a room with a man who just tried to kill me, let alone even remotely consider intimacy, but maybe that's just me. It is refreshing to see Tifa and Cloud actually talk things out for a change.

Cloud knows there's something wrong with him and he's so scared... man :'(

What does Aerith say to her???????????? ARRRGHHH

So we're all just perfectly fine with Cloud continuing to be in charge? Nobody's got any objections to that? Alrighty Then

SURPRISE Cid Highwind!! Leaks were right, he's cleaned up. No cigs, less swears, very friendly guy. Not as off-putting as I worried it might be. I'm convinced it's just because he's got a business to run— we'll see good ol' cranky Cid in part 3.

ROCHE NOOOOOOOOOO DON'T!!!!!!!! :(

Chapter 10: Watcher of the Vale (Cosmo Canyon)

Red's real voice reveal! Red's real name reveal!! Though I really would have preferred to see his name change to Nanaki in the menu and subtitles...

Cosmo Canyon is coming off as a hippie stoner tourist trap. Yeah all of these people are correct about the planet and the lifestream, but dang if it doesn't feel like someone's about to heckle me into buying healing crystals and dreamcatchers.

The nostalgia is A++. Beautiful remaster of the music, too.

BUGENHAGEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOO!!!!!!! SO jealous of him zoomin around on that sick af crystal ball. Screw the Costa wheelies, I want one of these bad boys.

...A legendary fakeout in the making, I think!

The observatory is stunning. Can't even put it into words. The planetarium brought me to tears, it's such a flood of nostalgia and a deeply emotional scene. I love the nice detail of the planet being different from Earth— mako tinted oceans instead of deep blue. Watching the model planet rot and crumble broke my heart.

Sobbing the whole way through Aerith's speech. My god. Poor girl. Knowing what her fate is in the OG makes it hurt even worse.

Gi Nattak. Would

Expanding upon the Gi. Unexpected but super cool. Their story reminds me of FFIX, with the parasitic planet Terra lurking deep within Gaia. The Gi and the Cetra seem to have something similar going on. Who was here first? It almost sounds like the Cetra and their lifestream are invaders.

I could easily relate to the Gi's opinion, that the endless cycle of the lifestream and the persistence of the spirit is tantamount to torture. Never being able to truly rest in peace sucks. Don't worry friends, I'll bring you the black materia! :) (THIS USER CANNOT BE TRUSTED WITH THE BLACK MATERIA)

Aerith sticking her hand into the mako..............

Chapter 11: The Long Shadow of Shinra (Nibelheim)

The intense gaslighting about Nibelheim was one of my favorite things about the OG. It also helped seed even more doubt into Cloud's existence as a real person, setting up his descent into madness over the black materia and vulnerability as Sephiroth's puppet. So the changes they've made to Nibelheim in Rebirth are... unnecessary, to put it lightly.

The villagers do not argue with Tifa or Cloud about their memories of the town. They greet them and tell them all about the town's development into a mako poisoning treatment center. Sigh... Part of what made OG's Nibel revisit so dreadful was the unshakeable feeling that you are not welcome there, and that you're being watched like a hawk. I feel a little bit too comfy here in Rebirth Nibelheim, with how friendly and open everyone's being.

Love the chat with Tifa in her old room. We get so much insight into her thoughts and feelings about Nibelheim, Avalanche, and about Cloud and herself.

"Every time we made eye contact, you'd look away. And when I tried to talk to you, you'd ignore me." ouch, don't gotta poke him in the autism like that

Ohoho. The hotel's digging up some memories. I've said my piece.

dillydally

LORD have mercy. This boy's noodle is scrambled like you wouldn't believe. Good news, he remembers Zack, sort of. Bad news, he thinks he fucking drowned?!???? It's intimidating to see the lengths Jenova/Sephiroth will go to to obscure the truth from Cloud. Damn.

Ok Yuffie is actually starting to get a bit obnoxious. Please stop interrupting emotionally charged moments. We get it, you're excited about materia. Cut it out.

If I were Tifa I would be shitting my pants terrified right about now. Girl I do NOT know how you're holding it together.

And now for the most distasteful tonal shift and momentum killer of all time. It's silly kitty cat hijinks time!! ...What the actual fuck. I like Cait Sith, but this is unacceptable. The basement is supposed to be a sickening place of fear and tragedy. Turning it into a cutesy little box chucking playground is downright disrespectful to the original FFVII. I can't even believe I'm writing this, it's so absurd as a concept. This is the only major change that I'm legitimately seriously upset about.

And by god does it drag on. Every time you think, surely this is the final section!... nope. It just keeps on fucking going. Fuck my life, my blood is boiling. Unreal. Remake's slow ass hand-crane highway thing is nothing compared to this. I'll take a Queen's Blood tournament and a hurricane of whispers any day over this unrivaled masterclass in unnecessary bullshit. Fuck.

At least to some people, the reward for getting through the Cait Sith Crate Slog is worthwhile— a few cutscenes starring Vincent Valentine, and a battle against Galian Beast. But if you're like me, and you're not utterly obsessed with Vincent Valentine or Matt Mercer, then by this point, you're just feeling drained and disappointed.

Overall... least favorite chapter. Mellow start, juicy build up with great potential, completely shafted by baffling nonsense.

RIP Roche. Heartbreaking. It's been a good run. Side note, Roche's conversion into a black robe was... quite bizarre. That's just, uh, how that works, I suppose? Okie dokie then

Oh hi Glenn

Chapter 12: A Golden Key (Gold Saucer Revisit)

Always felt weird about the Gold Saucer revisit in the OG. Unusual pacing. Well, at least Rebirth's being consistent in that regard.

What's the point of the theater if you're just going to do a VR performance instead? I know it's a silly little nitpick, but I wanna hear some soles squeaking on a hardwood stage!

Ah, that's the point of the VR. So Shinra can use a dead woman's likeness to keep selling tickets to their overhyped shows. Surprised none of the characters say anything about that, given Avalanche's well-established anticapitalist message.

This is what Genesis Rhapsodos decided to hyperfixate on? No wonder the guy's hair started turning grey and falling out in chunks. [SARCASM]

Barret sobbing uncontrollably, right next to Nanaki looking like a rejected Crash Bandicoot reboot clapping his paws together. Sums up this entire game so far.

The "audience participation" in the play is altered significantly from the OG. It's, uh, very neat and tidy. I strongly prefer OG's hysterical secondhand embarrassment and awkward ad-lib.

I NEED to know what happens if you fail all of the QTEs. Please tell me it goes off the rails and Cloud gets booed off stage PLEASE.

Pretty song. But my god if that is Not What She Would Sound Like.

The gondola rides!! Overall fantastic. So difficult to pick a favorite. Tifa's is obviously phenomenal, but I think I still have a soft spot for Aerith's. I like that Barret's is taken more seriously; it's such a heartfelt moment. Yuffie reminiscing about Zack was adorable, as well as Cloud relating to her being bad with feelings. The Cait Sith/Cid/Vincent one had me laughing out loud, it was so stiff and awkward lmaoo

THE SCOTCH AND KOTCH DISS TRACK IS SENDING ME???????? SKSJKHAGAAAFDSDSDHHBFD I'm so happy to see these freaks doing their thing again.

RUFUS SHINRA?????

Yeah, no Cait Sith, you ain't garnering any pity from me. Not happening after the crate incident.

Chapter 13: Where Angels Fear to Tread (Temple of the Ancients)

So the temple is to the north now. Understandable, since that's where the Forgotten Capital is, too. Still took me by surprise. Also means we won't be going back to Gongaga... aww :(

HOLY FUCK the way the temple assembles itself... now THIS is what I'm talkin' about!

Teasing us with that fractal square symbol since all the way back in Remake...!

Roche....... "my... friend..." :(((((((

These troopers are NOT getting paid enough for this shit lmao

Oh howdy there Rathalos from Monster Hunter, you look a bit different than I remember

Thank goodness the Cetra had the foresight to incorporate some aesthetically appropriate rest benches into their temple's design!

Aerith's seance + the camera angle of the whole team watching... beautiful nod to FFX...? <3

That better not have been Kunsel.

Reno jumpscare

Elena's pretty pink pistol with the charms and stickers is so goofy. I love her. Hopefully Cloud won't try to chop her head off within the next sixty seconds or anything like tha— uh, nevermind.

oooOOURGHH Cloud is SO fucking terrifying throughout the whole temple. Cody hitting it out of the ballpark BIG TIME with the voice acting. DAMN.

Everybody but Cloud has memories to retread... broke my heart. Sad and scary. By the way Hey uhh Temple? Why the fuck would you do this to us? :(

ugly sobbing

Followed up by the Gayest Thing I Think I've Ever Seen In Video Game History

YOU! WITH THE WING!! GET DOWN HERE!!! YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!

Oh god no you're going to make me fight Demon Gate aren't you

THERE'S TWO OF THEM??!?!?!??!?!!! AAHGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HORRIFYING BUT RELATABLE, CLOUD

Wait. Cloud. Hey. Can we talk about it for a sec. Come back please

"There's no point fighting over a fake." WHOA I actually straight up forgot about that twist! Hell yeah! What a wham line!

"I wish I hadnae skipped leg day." pFFFFT LMAOOOOO

"Yeah... I'm good." The Fuck You Ain't

PHHWAAHH HE JUST GETS CRUSHED AWWW!! RIP LMAO WHAT A WAY TO GO

The temple's transformation is breathtaking. And that music score, too, holy fuck.

Honestly I'm not even mad about the whispers being there, they're just a setpiece at this point. Adds to the frantic atmosphere. I'm choosing to ignore their narrative relevance until absolutely necessary.

ROCHE? YOU GOOD THERE BUDDY?

THAT BOY on his hands and knees SCRAMBLING for that black materia. Gayass

CLOUD AARHGRFGGFFFFF OHHGGHH SEPHIROTH HAS COMPLETE CONTROL OVER HIM HHHAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

OUUGRRHHHH OAWWWWGGHH

LISTEN. Listen I cannot formulate coherent thoughts about this. Go see it for yourself. Just go.

tee hee hee he's so proud of himself handing it over :3

It Begins.

Interlude. The Zack Moments so far:

Yeahhhh not a huge fan of Zack just dropping Cloud off at the nearest recognizable npc. Not after he almost gave his goddamn life to protect him.

MAN! Finally get to see what it's like to enter/exit Midgar. No fade to black, just on your feet and out the gate. Feels good; kinda surreal honestly. Never realized how bad I wanted this.

Regardless of what you think about the Zack thing, you gotta admit, the atmosphere during his sections is ethereal. So beautiful and calming in such a tragic way.

Love how he fights different than Cloud. Throwing punches, brutal kicks, shoulder checks, much like in Crisis Core.

HOLY FUCK don't mind me just gonna uhhh rip this five hundred pound metal post out of the ground and chuck it like a toy hammer. Suddenly the Buster Sword doesn't seem all that unwieldy.

......RIP Barret, Nanaki, and Tifa. Oof. What a way to go out.

DON'T MAKE MY SWEET BOY CRY LIKE THAT FUCK YOU!!! :(((((

Damn bitch you live like this??? To be fair, that's probably the most luxurious resting spot he's had in literal YEARS. Like wow there's a mattress!! And a roof!!!!!

Good to know that Cloud's goofy ass flinging himself out of bed straight into a combat stance thing from Remake is actually a Zack mannerism lol

Ohhh... my heart... seeing things from Cloud's perspective... I like the how this expands upon what the OG established, about "dreams" of this type. Sort of like the sleeping forest scene. Also makes Aerith's resolution scene in Remake all the more curious.

Aww... walking out onto the balcony and seeing the whole garden dead...

Obsessed with the music that plays during Zack's sections. Wow.

Awwww Marlene and Zack are such a silly duo :')

Biggs wtf did you do????????

Ziggs crashing hard onto my list of OTPs. Oops.

Divine intervention preventing a headshot? I'm sure some CS:GO players can relate.

Biggs' and Zack's conflicting memories of Cloud, plus the "broken internal clocks" is intriguing.

"Zack-of-all-trades" tickles me :D

All of their dialogue together is so self-aware... two characters who have had their narrative purposes torn out from under them, desperate to find a new one. The fact that there is no reason for them to be here is the whole point.

"We're all headed for the same place. You'll see your daddy and Tifa again." Oh ok yeah sure go ahead and rip my heart right out of my chest Elmyra

"Hello in there..." 🥺

So Remake Aerith bestowed memories of her future death upon Marlene. Is childhood innocence a prerequisite for this ability to work? Seeing as she did something similar with Nanaki. Otherwise, you'd think she would try to entrust her own fate with someone more influential, like Tifa or Barret.

I cannot fucking believe that Zaclerith endgame is real. Am I dreaming

Aww Zack has Aerith's ribbon tied around his hand...

Chapter 14: End of the World (Forgotten Capital/Final Chapter)

Ok Tsengru shippers. I finally see it. You are 100% correct about them.

Now we're getting WILD with it. The timeline shenanigans are in full swing. Speculation aplenty ahead.

"...or 'homeward bound' maybe?" Still trying to make sense of what exactly these sky-rift worlds are. Aerith's line here seems to imply that this is some kind of purgatory...? Where timelines go to wallow in their death throes? That's my understanding, so far. Especially with all of the mournful npc dialogue.

Aww... Aerith's date with Cloud mirroring the one she had with Zack in Crisis Core :')

I tell you what, the Stamp figurine made me GASP. So that's three timelines now. Beagle, Terrier, Spitz.

So Terrier Zack goes to Hojo in hopes of finding a cure for Cloud. Not his finest idea... but oh well. Jealous of his motorcycle. ;)

Sephiroth is combing timelines for one version of Aerith in particular...? Am I on the right track here? Is this the same Aerith from her resolution scene in Remake?

THE PUG made me spit my fucking drink out. Hot damn, there's four! We saw this timeline's conception in the form of the bright flash of light when Terrier Zack chose to go to Hojo.

So Pug Zack instead goes to Biggs at reactor 6. I really, really love this scene. The pump is dry, the planet's life is flashing before its eyes. A heartfelt moment shared between two characters who have had their narrative purposes torn out from under them. Zack gets a delicious bit of character progression, wanting to take back control of his life. Price of Freedom playing in the background has got me wailing like an air horn.

"I'm sick of taking its shit!" WHOA Zack swearing caught me way off guard. He flees from battle for once, instead of facing Shinra head on in this timeline. Wonder how that'll change things.

"You don't look like you're on a date... More like 'at a funeral.'" Mhm. duly noted

Give it up for timeline number five! Corgi Zack is sitting on the stairs at the church.

"Cloud, Biggs, or Aerith... How the hell am I supposed to choose?" You don't have to, darling. It's called a polycule.

Sephiroth slashes a hole in reality, and the black whispers drag Corgi Zack through it. Starting to think I shoulda done my Lifestream Black/Lifestream White homework.

So far, Aerith+Cloud's date "dream" has taken place entirely in the Spitz timeline. It's not clear if this is also true of the scene inside of the church, especially since Sephiroth comes waltzing in after we just saw him outside in the Corgi timeline. I'm getting the impression that time and space are a very hand-wavey thing in this layer of reality.

HEART EXPLODING GHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And now for one of the most exhilirating things I think I've ever seen in MY LIFE.

"Behold... The true nature of reality. When the boundaries of fate are breached, new worlds are born. The planet encompasses a multitude of worlds, ever unfolding. [...] In the planet's embrace, all life is as one." Sephiroth's entire dialogue here... I got goosebumps. That's all.

"Very poor form." LMAO

I notice now on my second watch through, that as early as the sleeping forest scenes, we're cutting back and forth between two different timelines, I believe. Whenever the black or white whispers rush past, we shift perspective from one timeline to another. Pay close attention. Two worlds, simultaneous, but different.

Cloud delivers the white materia from one Aerith to another. Is this the same white materia we see from the beginning of Rebirth? I don't think she swaps the materia out, just transfers its power into her own empty materia, then hands Cloud the newly empty one.

Interesting! Looks like the timeline had already split, all the way back when Cloud handed over the black materia. Previously we saw Cloud and Aerith fall, but now— the white whispers rush past— and we see him rescue her and pull themselves up before they fall. Interesting!

Some youtube theorycrafter will piece together the symbolic significance of literally every tiny detail in this prerendered cutscene and make perfect sense of it. Looking forward to it too, because this is WAY above my paygrade.

Hello, whiper pest control services? Hi, yes, I would like to know why the white whispers are suddenly getting in the way? I thought they were my friends :(

Aerith's prayer :(((((((((

OHHGH MY GOD fucking legendary use of the haptic/adaptive triggers. Holy shit.

👁️ 👁️

Meanwhile, Zack Fair

me, banging my fists on the table: KISS! KISS!!! KISS! KISS!!!! JUST KISS ALREADY!!!!!! KISS!!!

Lmao Zack is so indifferent to this interdimensional insanity. After being the protagonist of Crisis Core, he's just like "lol whatever this is fine"

"Look at you takin' charge! I like it!" 😏

Zack+Cloud synergy attack!!!!!!! YES!!!!!!!

"What in the hell is going on!?" SAME ZACK, SAME

AERITH!!!!!!!!!

OH FUCK IT'S THE SONG

the hand hold 💔

i'm incoherent. i'll figure out my thoughts about this some other time

Oh hi Glenn— OH SHIT??!?

THE SWORD CAN DO THAT?????? what

Man... the in-game skybox does NOT do that rift in the sky justice. Absolutely staggering in the final prerendered cutscene.

Next time I have a migraine aura, I'll be at ease knowing that it's just the timelines rippling and merging. No big deal

Two separate worlds, one where she lives, one where she dies. Realities overlapping and intertwined. Cloud's fragile mind fluctuating between both… wow. Can't wait to see where this leads in part 3.

Misc. thoughts, not chapter specific:

Love the accentuated mako in SOLDIER eyes. It irked me that the iconic mako color was so muted in Remake, so seeing it so vibrant in Rebirth is sexy as hell.

Um. No comment on Glenn, really. I'm not heavily invested in his story; maybe I'd be more interested if SE had actually done anything substantial with First Soldier and Ever Crisis. I don't mind that he's here, and the Jenova/Sephiroth twist was pleasantly surprising. Matt and Lucia name drop was also a nice touch. It's pretty obvious that the only reason Glenn is here is to help set up a confict against Wutai for part 3. Fair enough.

So no Kunsel? *SMASHES PHONE ON THE GROUND* *CRUSHES SKATEBOARD*

#PHEW. finally got most of it out of my system.#ok. now i can focus my autism ray on something else.#ffvii #rebirth spoilers #my writing <3

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vikingpoteto · 4 years ago

Text

middle children must unionize

read on ao3 ______________________

my contributior for @batfam-big-bang

Summary: Jason realizes no one is taking care of Tim - not even Tim himself. He decides to do something about it.

Notes: I can't stress enough how grateful I am for joining this event. First of all, stan the mods. Stan my beta reader team, @timmydrakewings, @stormleviosa and @sun-lit-roses. Stan my artist team @houser-of-stories, @reese-haleth and @anicomicqueen To all of these amazing talented people that, for whatever reason chose to help me with this story, I can't stress enough how grateful I am. ________________________

Jason doesn’t keep in touch with the Bats after Bruce’s gone.

Batwoman only trusts him as far as she can throw him. Dick is not easy to avoid, but Jason keeps their contact to a minimum nonetheless. Ninja girl doesn’t speak with him. Replacement… Well. Jason does have a weird professional relationship with the kid. As professional as you can get with someone you tried to kill. Barbara will probably never forgive him for making Dick cry so many times. Brat girl will probably never forgive him for trying to kill Replacement. The other one, whatever his name is, is low-key/high-key terrified of Jason. As for the gremlin... Well, he’s like 10? 11? Jason doesn’t hang out with children, not even assassin ones.

So yeah. Not on friendly terms with anyone in the Wayne family.

However he is an instigator at heart and, while whatever they’re doing in the Batcave is none of his business, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish one of his rare visits by stirring things up a bit.

Dick usually makes sure he doesn’t do anything too outrageous, but a distraction comes in the form of Gremlin, who shows up demanding to know why Dick is late for their training session or whatever. The brat sends Jason a scathing look but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge him. Dick only smiles patiently and waves Jason goodbye, leaving Replacement unsupervised. Before heading out, Jason approaches Replacement, who’s sitting by the batcomputer.

“So,” he starts. Jason notices when the kid flinches a little. Your regular guy wouldn’t, but Jason was once a bat too. “How does it feel to be replaced, Replacement?”

Replacement’s shoulders go stiff for half a second.

When he turns to face Jason, however, his expression is empty.

“Predictable,” he says.

Jason quirks an eyebrow up. “Meaning?”

“I was only a Robin because I was, how can I put this, a coworker?” Replacement turns his eyes back to the computer and starts typing. “It was a no-strings-attached sort of deal. Bound to end at some point.”

That’s… new.

“You’re legally adopted into the Wayne family,” Jason hears himself reminding him.

“Yeah, ain’t that a pickle,” Replacement laughs. “Can you guess who forced Bruce to do that? My money was on Dick, but now I think it was probably Babs or Alfred.”

Jason stares, unsure what to make of that. Before he decides, the kid stands up.

"I have always been a patch job, so being dismissed is to be expected. I'm just overstaying my welcome at this point."

“You can get dismissed? I thought this was an until-your-untimely-death sort of gig.”

That was not how Jason expected this conversation to go, like, at all. He had never seen Replacement looking so… worn out? Lifeless?

“I don’t know, man,” Tim frowns as though he made himself confused. “God, I’m sleepy. See you around, I guess.”

And Jason watches him leave the cave with his shoulders hunched and an empty stare. Dick and Gremlin are so preoccupied with their sparring session that they don’t seem to notice. Jason sticks around for a few more seconds, stunned, before he realizes what he’s doing. He goes home.

Jason can’t stop thinking about what the kid said.

It’s not that he didn’t think something of the sorts, especially when he was angriest at Bruce. He had thought about how Batman trained his children to be soldiers and, like soldiers, they could be easily replaced. After all, what was one more problem child joining their broken family? What’s another deadly brat being thrown at some creeps wearing literal clown costumes?

He did think of them as Bruce’s kids though.

Not that Batman had any expertise in healthy parenting techniques, but Jason didn’t have any healthy son experiences to compare so it didn’t matter much. They were Batkids for the better and mostly for the worse, and if something happened to them, well, the crusade must go on.

He never thought of Robin as someone that could be sent home out of the blue, like your average GC Pig. A disgrace to the family? Sure. See, kids, we don’t talk about cousin Jason. He got himself killed and came back all crooked. That’s what happens if you kill murderers or forget to brush your teeth. Still, the idea of being dismissed for no reason never occurred to Jason. It was absurd, because, as far as Jason knew, his replacement was the perfect little soldier. Why would he walk away?

Dick fought with Bruce. Jason… well. You know. Brat girl had to move cities or whatever? Or she died, but got better? Jason doesn’t really know anything about the chick. Either way, he knows she became Batgirl soon after. Tim, however, had nothing stopping him from staying masked. Why would Replacement talk about being Robin as if it was a summer job?

Does that mean that the wimpy kid Jason has been bullying was really that cold and detached?

He thinks about it until his head hurts and he starts remembering times with Bruce and Dick and Alfred and suddenly he doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

It’s a good thing Jason is good at compartmentalizing, because that’s what he does. He pushes thoughts of Batman and Robin to the depths of his mind and forgets about it.

He doesn’t find out until weeks later.

He’s not visiting the manor because he wants to. It’s just that there is this stupid encrypted information he needs for a case and he isn’t exactly tech savvy. He doesn’t think Barbara would do him a solid - she’s still ignoring him for… whatever. He doesn’t even know. Probably something about hurting Dick’s pwecious feewings or eating the last cookie Alfred made. Either way, Jason first tries contacting Replacement directly. Only when the kid doesn’t pick up he forces himself to go to the cult headquarters.

He needs that data, dammit, and whoever called programming logic, was out of their damn mind. If true, execute commands 1, 2 and IV, it said. If what was true? Jason read and read and still didn’t get what it was referring to. And why would someone name the commands regular numbers then just… throw a fucking roman number? Just to spice things up? Whoever wrote that damn code should get a bullet in the foot.

“Jay!” Dick grins at him, although he looks unamused by the fact that Jason is coming in through a window on the second floor. “You do remember that we have a door, don’t you?”

“I like to keep ‘em guessing,” Jason says. “Which room is the kid’s? I have a job for him.”

Dick tilts his head to the side, confused. “Damian is at school?”

And then there’s that. A lot to unpack. First, Jason is deeply offended that Dick thinks he would ever go there after Gremlin, the child that likes to criticize Jason's skills despite the fact that a) Jason was trained by Damian's father and then b)Jason was trained by Damian's mother. Second, Damian Wayne. Going to Gotham Academy. Does he wear the uniform? Does he have homework or does he threaten the teachers with a sword until they quit? Did anyone explain to him the concept of playing tag before he murders a bunch of 9 year olds? Jason has so many questions. If only he had time.

“I said the kid . The human one, not the imp.”

“Oh.” Dick seems taken aback. “Oh, he... Jason, Tim isn’t in Gotham. You didn’t know?”

Jason groans. “Are you kidding me? You annoyed him into leaving the planet with his alien friends again, didn’t you?”

“No, he… I actually don’t know where he is now.”

Jason blinks in surprise. So Dick didn’t pick Bruce’s habit of microchipping his kids?

“What do you mean you don’t know? How do you lose a whole Robin? The uniform is basically a traffic cone.”

Dick sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Jason had seen Bruce do just that so many times he forgets for a moment whatever stupid joke he was about to make. When did his older brother become the dad?

“He left a while ago. He barely spent any time here at the manor after I gave Robin to Damian, so…”

Jason freezes. After I gave Robin to Damian, he says. Being dismissed is to be expected, the kid said weeks ago.

“Dick. What the fuck did you do?”

Dick looks surprised at the raw anger in Jason’s voice, even though he shouldn’t fucking be. Jason remembers the distant voice on that day. He did think that was oddly cold for Replacement, even if he was a calculating nerd. Except that wasn’t him being cold. That was him lying to himself.

Jason would know. He spent most of his childhood telling himself he didn’t need a loving father. A good part of his teenage years telling everyone that would hear that he didn’t care at all that Bruce kept holding him to the standards of the perfect son that went away. It’s a lot easier to pretend you didn’t care because it makes it hurt less when things are taken away. Jason was a fucking pro at that technique, so much he wonders how the hell he didn’t notice earlier.

“I did what I had to do,” Dick says, defensively. The way he does when he’s second guessing himself, but still in denial about it. “Tim’s a hero of his own right and he’s capable enough that…”

“That you fucking fired him?” Jason barks.

“Damian needs Robin, Jason! He’s just so lost and being Robin gave him a sense of purpose, allowed him to actually be a child.”

“No shit Gremlin is a child! What about Replacement? He’s, what, 15?”

“He’s 17, how do you not know your own brother’s age?”

“Whatever! He’s just a teen and you basically just told him to fuck off.”

Dick sighs. “Look, I tried to help Tim. Tim’s friends tried to help Tim. But he’s a mature person and he wanted some time for himself.”

Ain’t that a familiar song. A good dose of leave me the fuck alone while still wearing a goddamn bat on his chest and making sure to make enough noise to draw attention. He doesn’t like how close it hits to home, how Dick, who’s supposed to be the best of them, ends up being just as shit as recognizing emotions as any other Bat. Jason laughs without any humor.

Incensed, Dick’s jaw sets in challenge as he adds: “I trust Tim and I respected his choice to leave on his own mission, because he knows what’s right for him.”

“Keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night,” Jason says. “You’re right. Give the demon what he needs. Replacement is a grown ass adult because you respect him so much .”

“Jason, I didn’t say that…”

“He was never a kid here, Dick, even I know that. You all keep throwing shit at him, messes for him to fix ‘cause it’s fine, it’s little Timmy, he’s so fucking capable, he can take it. Have you ever considered that he was always an adult because you all are the fucking children?”

I have always been a patch job sounds awfully similar to I’m here because he got lonely after you left.

But apparently Dick is done exercising his brotherly patience and Jason hit a nerve.

“What do you know about him? You never bothered to talk to him, to spend time with him. You don’t know shit about Tim.”

Jason scoffs. Dick’s face grows unevenly red.

“You don’t, Jason! You were busy trying to kill him. Remember that bonding experience? Must have been fun for him. Having the hero he grew up admiring trying to murder him?”

Jason throws the first punch. Dick easily dodges, the motherfucker, the damn superior Robin.

Screw it, Jason thinks as they start yet another classic Robin Brawl that would only end when Ninja Girl mysteriously dropped from the ceiling and kicked both of their asses.

Jason doesn’t hear from the cave for a while. His phone gets a weird virus, so he guesses Oracle heard he pushed Dick down the stairs. He just tosses the whole thing away and decides that screw his stupid case with the weird code, screw detective work. The biggest detectives aren’t around anymore. He'll just call Kory and convince her to help torch the place up and hopefully the new Batman and Robin will have to deal with the aftermath.

The next time Jason hears from his brothers, it’s a frantic call from Dick that makes Jason’s blood turn into ice: freaking Ra’s Al Ghul is in Gotham doing his whole Head of the Demon thing. He grabs his bike and he’s still on the comms with Dick as he heads to the manor because Alfred is in there.

“What did Gremlin do?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Dick answers and Jason can barely hear him over the wind. He’s probably swinging around Gotham as he speaks. “It was Tim. Tim’s back and Ra’s is after him and everyone he cares about.”

Fuck. This is the kid Dick trusted to go out alone on a self-discovery journey or whatever. Jason wonders what the hell he had been up to get that much unwanted attention.

In the end, everything works out, kind of. No one on their side dies, but Tim does get thrown out of a window. Of a very, very, veeery tall building. Jason still thinks he got off too easy. As smart as he is, Tim shouldn’t have survived a run in with Ra’s.

Jason is curious enough about it to stay in the cave after the fact. He and Dick sit near Tim’s bed while Leslie works her magic. Dick doesn’t take his eyes from his little brother’s pale face for even a second.

“We almost lost him,” he whispers at some point. “Again, we… I almost lost him.”

“But you didn’t,” Jason says, voice flat. “You saved him.”

Dick bites his lower lip hard enough to break the skin. Jason punches his shoulder to snap him out of it.

“Jay, about last time…”

“Ugh, don’t apologize, you freak. Why can’t you just bottle up your emotions and pretend nothing happened like the rest of this stupid family?”

That makes Dick give him a weak smile. If not for the bottling up part, for the part in which Jason admits they’re a family.

“You were… well, not right. I still think Tim shouldn’t be treated like a sidekick anymore,” Dick continues, despite Jason’s disgusted noises. “But he shouldn’t be left alone either. No one in this family should.”

Jason pretends to be gagging long enough that Dick gives up on trying to be a sensible adult and returns to silently watching over his brother.

After that, it’s a matter of stalling and by stalling he ends up watching the other Bats. He finds from Alfred that Ninja Girl isn’t looming over Tim’s bed because she’s in Hong Kong. Brat girl comes and goes the whole night and Jason doesn’t understand why she can’t simply sit down and wait as a pile of nerves like Dick is doing. At some point, she reads the morning newspaper and starts making so much fuss the one Jason doesn’t know the name - Dave? Dylan? - takes her upstairs to calm her down. Damian is nowhere to be found

In the end, Jason manages to be there when Replacement wakes up. Everyone is busy celebrating, too elated that Replacement is fine, so much they forget Jason is still lurking around. No one sees when his face goes pale and he feels like he’s going to puke.

“How did you know I was going to catch you?” Dick asks.

Tim gives him a tired smile. “You’re my brother, Dick. I knew you’d save me.”

Fuck.

Fuck. It’s like looking into a goddamn mirror, except Tim is so much better at this than Jason ever was. So much that he might even be fooling himself.

But he can’t fool Jason. Dick wants to believe in the best of them, he wants them all to be sane and safe and happy - as much as a Bat can be, at least - but Jason is more of a realist. He knows no one can plan that far ahead. He knows Tim went to a meeting with the Head of the Demon fully aware that he would most likely be carried out in a coffin. Considering Dick’s misstep from a couple months earlier and the fact that Tim had already assigned him and Damian a task, Batman was the last person Tim was expecting to show up.

Of course Dick would save him, any of them. Despite his issues with Bruce, Jason had his hero worship towards his brother restored pretty fast. Dick, the golden boy, the perfect son, loved him no matter what and Jason loved him back. Knew now that Dick had love enough to go around for all of them - all of them. But did Tim know that?

Tim finished his little mission, wrapped it all pretty with a bow, making sure no one kicked the bucket. Except for himself. Timothy Drake-Wayne was the contingency plan for Batman’s contingency plan, but he didn’t care enough to make a plan for himself.

Bruce is gone. Dick is painfully blind. The Drakes are dead. Alfred has his hands full. The Behemoths or the Little League, or whatever the hell the super kids call themselves now, were just that. Kids. Jason curses to himself, because, if no one else will watch out for Replacement, it’s none of his fucking business.

It’s not.

However…

Jason doesn’t know how to put his not-plan in action. He can’t exactly walk up to Tim and say hey, I think we’re not so different, you and I, so I’m worried for your safety. I know I tried to kill you, but that like... two years ago, get over it. Let’s be friends.

Before he figures it out, he hears that Bruce is back. The real Bruce.

He doesn’t know how to feel about it, so he decides to put some distance between him and the family one more time as he takes some weeks to process. He goes out of town to hang out with his friends. He is done with Gotham bullshit for a while.

Unfortunately, Jason finds himself facing his worst enemy: the damn encrypted data.

He hates that dealers now do their thing through the internet. Who the fuck buys marijuana online? Where is the poetry in that? The class of being friends with the sketchy guy that lives around the corner and hangs out with you while you smoke? If they’re gonna sell oregano online to rich white kids, fine, but they’re selling heavy stuff to people that live in his territory and there is a thing bigger than just drugs, if Jason’s hunch is right. He could confirm it by cracking the numbers he stole from their stupidly unguarded computers.

Except the encryption is too complicated for him to access the files.

Well, isn’t that the perfect excuse to take a visit to the kid’s apartment.

Because that is the situation right now. The kid is emancipated, controlling Wayne Enterprises and living by his damn self. There is so much to unpack that Jason wants to throw away the whole suitcase.

He should probably do just that, or at least that’s what he thinks when he climbs to Tim’s balcony (in his head, he hears Dick’s voice going what do you hate about front doors, man?) and he is immediately pushed to the ground.

He is wearing his helmet, sure, but it doesn’t make it less painful when someone fucking stomps on his head, forcing his face against the floor.

“Fuck,” is all Jason thinks of saying.

He then kicks his assailant in the shin and is satisfied when they tumble backwards. Unfortunately for him, they - she - doesn’t fall over the railing, she just stays away long enough to give him time to stand.

A bald girl wearing a distasteful crop top glares daggers at him. She is already back on her fighting stance - one that looks way too familiar for Jason’s taste - ready to strike. And strike she does.

Her movements are similar to Jason’s - fast, strong, unpredictable, unfair - but she has the advantage of being more slender and having more freedom of movement in the small space. All Jason can do is defend himself and not get tossed over the edge. Who the fuck is this girl? Why is she attacking him? Doesn’t she know he is the freaking Red Hood? He just wanted the damn-

“What on Earth are you guys doing on my balcony?”

The girl freezes. Jason does not. He lands a punch straight on her nose and she falls backwards, her mouth opening in pain even if no sound comes out.

“What the hell, Hood!”

Tim rushes to the girl’s side.

“What the hell Hood?” Jason parrots, indignant. “I just got here and she attacked me!”

Tim frowns and turns to the girl. “Is that true?”

Instead of answering, the girl holds her bloody nose and glares at him. She uses her free hand to show Tim four fingers. Tim sighs.

“I know it’s the fourth time you’ve had your nose broken,” Tim gives her a wry smile. “But the three other times you had it coming. And maybe even this time. Why did you attack Red Hood?”

She makes the gesture of someone walking with two fingers then points at Tim’s balcony door. Jason doesn’t know a lot of ASL, but those don’t seem to be the same signs Cassandra uses.

“She attacked me because she thought I was trying to break in?” He asks. “You have a bodyguard now?”

Tim stands and holds out his hand to the girl. She begrudgingly takes it and lets him pull her to her feet. “Why don’t we all go inside before someone notices the Red Hood on my balcony?”

Jason grumbles in annoyance but does make his way in. Tim is right behind him and Jason can’t help but think he’s acting as a shield in case the girl wants revenge for her nose.

“Come here, Pru, I’ll get something cold for your nose.”

Jason takes a look around. As they cross the living room, he notices it looks like a shiny rich person apartment you’d see in a magazine. Jason wasn’t sure what he expected of Tim’s new crib, and he knows the kid just moved in, but the fact that the place looks like a hospital’s reception makes him feel some sort of way.

Fortunately, the kitchen is a bit better. Not much, but it’s something. There are papers spread across the table, dirty glasses in the sink, a mug full of black steaming tea, Tim’s laptop open on top of a pile of books, and there are pictures on the fridge. Jason remembers vaguely Dick mentioning that one of the kids had a thing for photography and another liked drawing. He has to assume Tim is the photographer as he takes a good look at them: one of Brat girl’s grinning face with a big heart magnet, one of Tim and Cassandra sharing the same reading chair, one of Bruce in one of those fancy sweaters he used to wear at home, one of Dick and Cassandra doing handstands, one of a red head kid, behind him Tim, a muscular girl and an even more muscular guy. Jason doesn’t need to be a detective to figure those, even without the uniforms, are Impulse, Wonder Girl and Superboy.

“So,” Tim starts. He hands the girl a pack of frozen peas and shrugs at her dirty look. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Without ceremony, the girl takes a seat by the table and tries to steal a glance at Tim’s laptop. He casually closes it and smiles at her. She scoffs.

“First, you explain the bodyguard,” Jason says, gesturing to the girl.

“Right. Where are my manners? Pru, this is Red Hood. Hood, this is Prudence.”

He doesn’t turn to her so she can read his lips or use gestures to speak, so Jason figures she isn’t deaf, only mute. Maybe it’s something like Cassandra?

“Really? Prudence? That’s ironic. ”

She shows Jason her middle finger. Definitely not deaf then.

Unlike Prudence, Jason doesn’t make himself at home. When he crosses his arms and doesn’t say anything for a minute more, Tim reads his silence correctly and adds, “We’re working together for a while and there are a lot of people that want us dead, so you’ll have to forgive her. She saw a suspicious guy trying to get into my place and she assumed the worst.”

Jason quirks an eyebrow. Tim can’t see his expression behind the helmet, but he sighs nonetheless.

“Come on. She couldn’t know I sometimes work with the Red Hood too.”

I sometimes work with. Ouch. Jason supposes that’s fair, though. Tim hasn’t exactly been informed of Jason’s newfound empathy or his protective streak.

“How did you know where I live, by the way?” Tim asks.

“Alfred told me you moved,” Jason says. “I got your address from Cassandra.”

Tim’s brows disappear under his messy fringe. “Really?”

Jason nods. “Took a lot of convincing before she believed I didn’t want to kill you in your sleep.”

At that, Tim snorts. He’s still grinning when he asks, “What did you want it for then?”

“Tech support,” he says as he fishes a small flash drive from his pocket. “I was hoping you could crack some files for me.”

Tim takes it and nods. “I’ll check it out. I’ll send the results to you as soon as I have them. Anything else?”

Again… ouch. Apparently imprudent girl is welcome to kick back and hang out, but Jason is just a fellow associate that came to hand in an assignment and promptly piss off.

Then Jason realizes that that was exactly what their relationship was like before Tim went around the world to fight Ra’s al Ghul. Damn.

Well. It’s not like he can take off his helmet and stick around when there is a stranger in there, especially when Tim carefully introduced him as the Red Hood instead of good ol�� Jason Todd. He just wanted to check on the kid and he did. No need to get all clingy. That’s Dick’s thing, not his.

It isn’t until much later that Jason realizes how pointless the visit was. He wanted to see if the kid was okay. He suspected he wasn’t, but it wasn’t like he had any idea of what to do about it.

Lucky for him, Tim looked a lot better than last time. Less dead eyed, more like he has some sort of purpose. The fact that Dick is included in his little photo collection must mean they made amends. Whether it was because Jason’s whooping Dick’s ass or in spite of it he’ll never know. Based on what he knows about Tim, the kid might have just worked everything out by himself and forgiven Dick on his own terms.

Despite his decision to take care of Tim from then on, Jason is definitely not great at it. He doesn't think he lost the rights to admonish Dick for not talking to his brother. The fact is Jason isn't great with words. He wants to help Tim through actions.

Still the question remains: how?

(And Tim emails him the files he needed 8 hours later and Jason worries that the kid didn’t sleep, which… great. This is just great.)

Less than two nights later, someone gets into Jason's frequency. He's about to head out for patrol when a creaking sound inside his helmet precedes a familiar voice slightly twisted by static.

"Red Hood, this is Red Robin. Do you copy?"

Right. He goes by Red Robin now.

"What you want, rep… kid?" Jason inwardly winces at his misstep.

There is a moment of confused silence before Tim mercifully decides not to ask what that was. "I'm pursuing a lead in your territory."

Jason hums. "What's it? I'll handle it."

"No!" Tim says too fast. "I mean… it's my case. I just thought you could take the night off? Please?"

This is supposed to be the smart Robin, right? He does know that Jason isn’t a complete moron, right?

“What’s in it for me?” Jason asks.

If this was Damian, he’d get a colorful death threat. If this was Dick, a winded speech on how brothers are supposed to have each other’s backs and he's just asking for a tiny favor, Jason, don’t make me make my ex-girlfriend hack into your phone and block Netflix again. Tim, however, knows that everything has a price and has an answer ready.

“You owe me for those files I decoded for you.”

Straight to the point. No bullshit. Jason is starting to really like this kid.

“Fair enough. You go follow your lead and I won’t murder you for being in my territory.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Hood.”

Jason didn’t say anything about taking the night off, though.

Jason knows that, if he was working alone, Tim wouldn’t ask for permission. He would let himself in and out of Jason's territory assuming Jason wouldn’t even notice - he’d done it before as Robin, and Jason did notice but pretended not to. He can’t track Red Robin as easily, but the fact that he doesn’t want Red Hood around means there is something or someone he can’t control tagging along… and who’s the one person even Tim Drake can never control?

“Brat girl,” Jason mutters to himself, a cocky grin spreading on his face. One of his informants just confirmed he saw Batgirl driving whatever the fuck that is that capsule vehicle into an empty building just south of Jason’s place.

Oracle is probably out of town again, otherwise she wouldn’t allow her precious not-daughter to be messing around with Tim in Jason’s territory. But then, if most of the rumors are correct, even Barbara can’t quite control the new Batgirl.

He wonders what the duo are up to as he lets himself into the abandoned place through a hole in the ceiling. Red Hood walks on the rafters in the dark until he can hear familiar voices. He stops on his tracks when he notices that Red Robin and Batgirl aren’t alone. Wonder Girl and Impulse stick out like bright red sore thumbs against Gotham’s darkness.

Red Hood hears enough to know they’re planning on saving someone - one of Impulse’s friends? - from a local group connected to Black Mask. Their plan is solid, but it’s hardly a task herculean enough to warrant the presence of a speedster and an amazon. Red Robin makes it sound like it’s absolutely necessary nonetheless, assigning each of them a role that fits their powers and going over every little detail. It’s the first time Hood sees the kid in a position of leadership and he thinks it suits him. He seems extremely at ease.

Actually… that’s not quite it. He’s not as wary of the world as he is when he’s with the Batfamily. Not Batman’s perfect mini-detective, not Nightwing’s model little brother, not WE CEO. He’s still very much a hero, a Robin, but it’s possible to see he’s seventeen under the cowl. Even his posture changes, his shoulders relax and he allows himself to be… God, himself. That must be the first time Jason sees Tim completely in his element, no tension, no (metaphorical) masks.

Real Red Robin stays close to his friends. Very close. Hell, Impulse is almost sitting on his lap, his arm firmly wrapped around Red Robin’s waist as he points at some sort of map his wrist pad is showing. Batgirl is clinging to his other side, her chin resting on his shoulder using the excuse to see better what he’s showing. Hadn’t those two broken up?

Then Red Robin says something so softly not even Hood picks up. The other three teens get tense. Impulse nods and disappears in a gust of wind as his friends wait in silence.

Half a second later, something hits Hood’s back at a very alarming speed because of course Red Robin noticed someone listening and sent his speedster friend to get him. He curses while he falls, barely managing to roll fast enough to avoid serious knee damage when he lands.

“Jason!” Red Robin whines not unlike an embarrassed child crying out mom, not in front of my friends!

“Maybe check who’s spying on you before sending a child bullet careening into their back, will ya?” Jason complains.

Wonder Girl frowns. “Is that…”

“The Red Hood,” Batgirl confirms in a flat voice. “Yup.”

“Isn’t he a criminal?” Impulse asks, genuine curiosity in his voice.

A facepalming Red Robin groans. “He doesn’t do crime anymore.” Under Batgirl’s skeptical glare, he corrects, “He doesn’t do bad crimes anymore. What are you doing here, Hood? You said you were taking the night off!”

“I said I wouldn’t shoot you for being in my territory,” Hood corrects. “But I didn’t say anything about your super friends, because I didn’t think you’d be breaking so many rules in so little time. Really? Bringing metas to Gotham?”

Red Robin simply shrugs. “What Batman can’t see doesn’t hurt him.”

Batgirl snickers and Hood grins a little under his helmet.

“Little Timmy,” he gasps, resting his hand on his chest in mock shock.

“Shut up, why are you here?”

“What, you can’t tell me there is a case and expect me not to follow up.”

The other three kids look from Red Hood to Red Robin. It’s obvious that whatever Tim’s verdict is, they’re going to accept it. Even Stephanie. And she knows Jason (sort of).

“Fine,” Red Robin groans. “But no shooting anyone.”

“No promises.”

Wonder Girl and Impulse are obviously wondering whether they’re joking or not. Knowing they’re completely serious, Batgirl makes a face and pokes Red Robin’s cheek. He frowns at her and the two of them seem to have a conversation consisting of weird mouths and head shakes for a moment. Jason would know. He and Dick used to do that all the time. Finally, whatever face Red Robin is making convinces her and she lets out a defeated sigh.

“Well then, ladies,” Batgirl deadpans, “let’s get this bread.”

Despite Dick’s best efforts, Jason never quite fit in with the Titans. With Tim and Stephanie, however, he can work.

Breaking into one of Black Mask’s hideouts is a piece of cake, if not outright fun. He has to hand it to Stephanie. She is not as cunning as Barbara or as deadly as Cassandra, but the girl can blow up a marijuana deposit like no one else.

Sure, the smoke makes them at least 30% high—all of them except Impulse, whose metabolism won’t let him get intoxicated, to which… Just R.I.P. you funky little man, Jason really feels for him.

Even with the little diversion, there were still plenty of crooks to fight. Wonder Girl takes care of most of them on her own— amazons, man —and soon enough Impulse comes running, carrying a dark-skinned boy wearing power-dampening cuffs who keeps yelling at them in Spanish. At that, Red Robin announces they’re retreating.

Tim looks a lot more comfortable with his peers than he is with the Bats. Part of Jason wonders if he could’ve been like that. If he would have ended up differently if he had actually stayed with the Titans and made friends like Tim had. He tells himself not to go down that path, because he is who he is, he certainly doesn’t make friends in that teen sitcom way and you can’t change the past.

He is genuinely glad that Tim has those friends, though. He’s glad that he can feel that way despite the hint of jealousy.

As they leave a ruined hideout behind, Wonder Girl and Impulse are drowning Red Robin in hugs and cheering so loud one would forget they’re still in Gotham. Their friend laughs with them even with the stress of being so rambunctiously rescued. Batgirl slaps her arm around Hood’s shoulder and admires the Titans being loud as if congratulating themselves on the job done.

If all of them— all of them—are still smiling themselves silly as they leave, it’s only 50% because of the marijuana.

Jason quickly learns that Tim doesn’t like owing people. When Jason asked Tim to crack some encrypted documents, he just needed the damn files. He didn’t expect the kid to show up to tear down the place when Jason decided he had enough reason to dismantle the operation.

“What, you can’t tell me there is a case and expect me not to follow up,” Red Robin quips as he nudges a goon with his foot. The man groans, but doesn’t get up. Seemingly satisfied, Red Robin crouches down and starts cuffing the man to another by his side.

“Remind me to never ask for your help again,” Red Hood says.

Red Robin glowers. “I saved your ass from getting stabbed about three times.”

“I shot the kneecaps of four guys trying to murder you, so don’t expect me to thank you.”

They hear sirens. Red Robin stands. “Well, guess our job here is done.”

Hood nods. It’s been a while since he fought side by side with a fellow Bat, just him and another Robin and... it was nice. Roy and Kori are great partners and all, but they don’t have the same training a Robin does. They don’t get the specific maneuvers and the subtle secret signs. The fact that it had been so fun fighting side by side with Red Robin makes Jason feel like his not-plan of taking care of the kid was finally going somewhere.

Then Red Robin stretches his arm to grapple his way out of there and gasps.

“Red?”

“Uh…” He is now pressing his hand to his side.

“Is… is that blood?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Did you get stabbed and didn’t notice, you freaking idiot?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he groans, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes over the cowl. “Why me?”

Red Hood sighs. “Relax, kid, it doesn’t look that deep.”

“I’m gonna have to call Batman,” Red Robin whines. “A’s gonna kill me.”

“Over a tiny stab wound? Don’t be a pussy, I’m sure you can stitch that yourself.”

“The stitches aren’t the problem, it’s just the medicine…” Red Robin says, making vague hand gestures. “I have no spleen.”

And then there’s that.

“I’m sorry. You what?”

Red Robin pulls a guilty face visible even under the cowl. Jason wouldn’t blame Alfred for killing him. He has no spleen and he just… decided it was a good idea to bring a staff to a gunfight at one of the grimiest places of Gotham.

Tim Drake-Wayne, everyone, smartest Robin to date.

Jason, however, decides not to kill Tim for his stupidity. He recognizes that particular frown. It’s the I-messed-up-and-I-don’t-want-dad-to-find-out face.

The GCPD sirens are getting closer.

“I’ve got a big collection of antibiotics back at one of my safehouses,” he mentions casually. “I could patch you up so A doesn’t have to.”

Tim’s wide eyes are evident. Jason wonders if this is him being able to read the kid too well or if Tim straight up sucks at hiding his emotions. It’s probably a bit of both.

“You know. As thanks for helping me.”

“I thought you wouldn’t thank me.”

“Don’t push it, kid.”

By now, they can see the red and blue police lights.

“Lead the way.”

He rolls his eyes and drags the kid to his bike. He really hopes the pigs didn’t see them, because it’s bad enough that a hero showed up to Red Hood’s bust, he doesn’t need any cops thinking that he kidnapped Red Robin or any shit like that.

“Are we going to the one behind the new theater or the one around crime alley?” Tim casually asks.

Jason freezes halfway through mounting his bike. “How the fuck do you know about those?”

“I know the location of all of your safehouses,” Tim admits.

“Batman knows about my safehouses?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, I’m not Batman.”

...oh.

That’s… nice. Kind of. A confirmation that he can trust the kid to have his back.

“Smug nerd,” Jason mumbles.

Tim only chuckles in response. They set off to Jason’s place.

The rest of the night is peaceful. At least for a Bat’s standards. Jason helps Tim disinfect his wound and stitch it closed while Tim raids Jason’s medicine stash until he finds the ones he needs. Jason promises to hook him up with his supplier so he doesn’t have to rely so much on the cave. By the time they’re done, Tim’s lips are permanently curled upwards.

When he starts shuffling awkwardly as if looking for a way to say goodbye, Jason nonchalantly announces where he can find clean towels and clothes, as if this is a thing they do everyday. Tim seems baffled, but thankfully he doesn’t call Jason’s bullshit and obediently heads to the bathroom. By the time he’s done, Jason is fixing a meal for the two of them and some stupid movie is on TV—never the news, god, Jason hates watching the news.

Like a skittish stray, Tim is unsure of what to do with himself at first, but he catches the cue fast enough. He sits on the couch all stiff and restless until something on the screen grabs his attention.

“You like Wendy the Werewolf Stalker?” Tim asks, eyes wide.

“Do I like fucking what?”

Jason just needed the background noise to avoid freaking out about how weird he’s being right now. Apparently, that was the wrong answer. Tim launches a rant on how amazing Wendy is and half of it goes over Jason’s head. He just gets that apparently Tim and Superboy both have a crush on this werewolf hunting chick and they used to spend hours watching her instead of doing actual work at Titans Tower.

He also manages to actually eat the food Jason made, which is a win in Jason’s book.

It’s a nice night, overall.

It becomes, not a habit, but a thing. Tim sometimes shows up to one of Jason’s safehouses needing a stitch job or medicine. Jason doesn’t know how he nails which one Jason is at currently or if he just goes to every single one still bleeding until he finds Jason. Or even if he just lets himself in and takes care of his wounds without any help. If so, Jason wouldn’t blame him. He’d choose his crappy hideouts over Tim’s soulless apartment any day.

On the third time it happens, Tim isn’t hurt at all. He just wants to bitch about Vicki Vale stalking him and his supposed ex-fiancée that he's actually trying to date. Jason feeds him real food, as usual, and listens to what he has to say, as unusual. They end up on the couch watching A Nightmare on Elm Street, which, oddly enough, has Tim getting overly enthusiastic about going to bed because he’s curious about the magic behind Freddy Krueger. Jason tells him to let him know if any dream demons show up when he leaves Tim dozing off on the couch.

Tim starts texting Jason. At first, it’s all very professional. Messages like 1 of the stupid crooks in your territory almost killed robin yesterday do smth abt it followed by I don’t care that he’s a demon in a kevlar vest Hood you didn’t have to deal with nightwing crying afterwards!!! Then they slowly shift into something more casual on the lines of is dis u? An d attached a picture of Elizabeth Bennet wearing the red Power Ranger helmet which… What sort of context led to that meme being created?

Jason pretends not to care, but he preens with pride when Tim laughs at his dark jokes. Stupid gallows humor that would have made Bruce call an expensive therapist and Dick squirm in discomfort have the kid snorting coffee out of his nose.

It’s like they’re friends.

Part of him sometimes toys with the idea of them being normal kids —or as normal as you can be in Gotham—and he realizes that he would’ve made friends with Tim so fucking fast. Dick is the golden child and all of them would end up worshiping him and respecting him as their older brother, of course. Tim would be added to their family and Jason, not-murdered, regular problem-child Jason, would resist him at first, but he would soon see that he wasn't just an annoying nerd. He was a fun, annoying nerd. They would gang up on Dick, as younger brothers ought to do, and Jason would protect Tim from bullies and Tim would use his good son credit to get Jason out of trouble with Bruce.

This, however, may be as good as it gets for people with their fucked up upbringing. Jason already knew Tim wasn’t your regular spoiled rich boy and they bond over having shit childhoods even if they don’t talk about it.

All in all it feels nice to be looked up to. To have the kid come to him when he’s in trouble. To have someone looking at him with a shine in his eyes like the one Jason has when he looks at Dick. It makes Jason feel like he’s worth something. He sees Tim get comfortable with him after weeks of acting like a stray cat and he knows the kid feels the same. It’s a new feeling for both of them.

It’s like they’re really brothers.

Being part of the Red Robin fan club, Jason finds out, gives him good credit with the Bats.

Bruce and Dick are always going to be concerned about Jason’s slightly loose moral compass. Gremlin is always going to hate him because he’s a Gremlin. Barbara tolerates him at best.

Stephanie, however, shows up unannounced to one of Red Hood’s busts and laughs it off when he complains about Batgirl ruining his rep. She then invites Jason to watch a movie with her since they finished early. He thinks that’d be very weird, so he refuses. Unbothered, she says an airy “Maybe next time” before leaving.

He thinks a shadow once told him to come by the manor more often, almost giving him a heart attack. He thought Cassandra was in Hong Kong, for fuck’s sake; when did she come back?

One time he texts Tim for tech support and no one but the Signal shows up at Jason’s doorstep with a codebreaker and a list of instructions from Red Robin. Duke doesn’t look as wary of Jason as he once was and the two quickly fall into friendly banter, complaining about Tim’s nerdiness.

Jason knows if he asked Steph about it, he would never hear the end of it. Cass isn’t the easiest person to hold a conversation with. He guesses Duke is decent enough not to dwell on it, so he asks,

“Why are y’all suddenly okay with me?”

Duke quirks an eyebrow at him. Fortunately, he’s smart enough that Jason doesn’t need to explain further. “Tim trusts you,” he says simply. “Tim is the holder of the one brain cell of this family, so long we follow his cues, we’re golden.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Why, you don’t want us around?”

He mumbles something about it not being a big deal. Duke shrugs it off and changes the subject. Jason knows he’s doing it for his sake, because Duke might be the kindest person in their whole messed up family. Jason feels bad for refusing to learn his name for so long.

So it seems like two-thirds of the Batgirls and Signal were always less worried about Jason’s past than they were about his rivalry with Robin III.

And, fine, Jason does get a little jealous of that but he’s mature-ish enough to take what he can get. Plus Stephanie is funny as shit and it’s always fun to annoy Barbara by getting Batgirl involved in his fights, especially when Red Robin is around to back him up.

Everything is sort of nice now.

Sometimes, however, Jason wakes up in a cold sweat with the taste of copper in his mouth and a nightmare gunshot still ringing in his ears. He tried to kill Tim. He could’ve killed his little brother. He’s thankful for the times the nightmares come when Tim is sleeping over, because he can walk to the living room and check on the kid. Remind himself that Tim is alive and breathing under the old blankets and that he’s forgiven Jason. When he isn’t around, Jason is absolutely not above calling him in the middle of the night, making up a stupid case he needs Tim’s help with. For all his smarts, Tim never seems to realize Jason’s true motives.

Now that he thinks about it, he notices that Tim is on good terms with a lot of people that tried to kill him. Jason. Damian. That Prudence girl. He doesn’t find out the details, but he does hear something about Stephanie fucking him up and she’s now his best friend. Jason is more than a little concerned about that forgiving side of his.

Red Hood hates a lot of things. If he were to make a list, it’d take days to write it all down. He knows for sure that on the top of that list would be clowns. There is nothing he hates more than clowns.

Scarecrows are a close second, though.

Definitely close to a tie as he watches Red Robin stumble. “I think…” he mutters. “I think my rebreather is broken.”

“ Shit.”

Red Hood has to think fast. Fear gas is every-fucking-where and he lost sight of Scarecrow three canon-fodder crooks ago. He doesn’t have an extra rebreather, because he’s wearing his helmet and that does the job. He’s used to fighting alone. Not that having another rebreather would do them any good now that Red Robin has already breathed the nasty toxins.

In the end, Hood decides to take the defeat for what it is: a defeat. He throws a smoke bomb on the ground and grabs Red Robin by the waist, ignoring the startled squeak the boy lets out. They need to get out before Scarecrow’s goons realize what they’re doing.

“Stay with me,” Red Hood hisses. “Whatever you’re hearing or seeing, it’s not real.”

They’re five minutes away from his nearest safehouse. It’d be faster to take one of their bikes, but he can’t risk it in case Tim starts hallucinating halfway there. They can make it there swinging, he can keep his brother out of danger.

“I’m fine,” Red Robin says. The way he’s limp in Hood’s hold, says otherwise. “We’re going home. We’re safe.”

“We’re going home. Close your eyes. Focus on my voice.”

He does it.

“It’s just us now,” Hood reassures him. “We’re on the way to a safehouse where no one can find us and you can rest until the toxin is out of your system. Safe, easy.”

“Steph is fine, Bart is fine, Cassie is fine,” he chants, “Cass is fine, Alfred is fine, Dick is fine, Tam is fine, Pru is fine.”

He keeps listing people that are fine, because of course his fears are all about his friends being hurt. Surprisingly, Hood recognizes all of them. He’s heard Tim talking about all of them repeatedly and he knows their names and personalities, even if he doesn’t have all the faces to match. He isn’t surprised that his friends come first then their family.

“That’s right, kiddo,” Jason encourages. “Who else?”

“Dad..” Tim’s eyes shoot open. “Dad’s gonna kill me. Dad, Dad will know I’m Robin, he’s- He’s gonna take Robin away from me, I can’t- This is the first time I’m being useful.”

Fuck.

“Your dad isn’t here. And you’re not Robin, kid, you’re Red Robin,” Jason reminds him.

“That’s… that’s right. I failed him. I failed Dick, so…”

Double fuck.

“That’s bullshit,” Jason says, but it’s hard to keep the conversation going while he’s carrying Tim’s weight.

They’re two minutes away from safety before Tim starts struggling to get away from Jason. He doesn’t say anything else, which may be more concerning, he just grunts with the effort and squirms. Jason really hopes no one was paying attention enough to notice what looks like Red Hood kidnapping a terrified Red Robin.

“Shit- Stay put, Red, we’re almost home,” Jason says.

Tim’s breath catches and returns, erratic, and Jason can’t bear to look at his horrified face, he hates to see the utter fear that has his brother’s already pale complexion turn ashen, his lips pressed into a line so tight it has got to hurt. Jason starts listing the names of the people that are supposedly fine and that catches Tim’s attention long enough that Jason can swing straight to the fire escape of the abandoned building where he set his hideout.

He sets Tim on the dusty mattress on the corner in a hurry and tosses his helmet aside. He starts undoing Tim’s safety measures so he can remove his cowl. Unlike Jason, he doesn’t wear a domino mask beneath it and Jason makes a mental note of talking to Tim about that later.

“Almost there, Timbers,” Jason says. He rips off his own domino without caring about the sting, hoping a familiar face will help. “I’m here. Now, where do you keep your fear gas antidote? I know you carry some around.”

Tim unconsciously reaches for a particular capsule on his bandolier. That’s enough of an answer for Jason, who pushes his hand away not as gently as he should and reaches for the small vial inside.

“Jay,” Tim whines. “Jay, you’re okay, right?”

Jason blinks, confused. “Of course I’m okay, Timbers. I’m right here.”

And as he rushes to grab the first aid kit under the sink, Jason starts to freak out. This gas isn’t causing hallucinations as much as it’s making Tim feel paranoid, it seems. What if it’s a new formula? What if the antidote doesn’t work? What if Tim keeps having anxious thought after anxious thought, until his heart gives in and-

“Jay!” Tim calls, desperate. “Jay, we have to get Kon! He’s- He’s in danger.” He starts getting up.

“Nope!” Jason pushes him right back into the mattress. “Kon is fine, he’s invulnerable, remember? He’s probably doing superdouche stuff in Metropolis.”

“He’s not, he’s- He’s gonna kill himself, Jay!” There are tears welling up in his eyes and Jason feels like someone just punched him in the gut. After all the shit they went through, he had never seen Tim cry. “He’s gonna sacrifice himself to save everyone, I can’t lose him, please, I’ll do it instead. He’s- No! Please, don’t do it!”

There we go. There are the hallucinations they all know and hate. Tim stretches out his hand as if he’s reaching for an invisible Superboy, so Jason takes the opportunity to start rolling up his sleeve and cleaning the inside of his elbow. Lucky for him, he always has a sanitized syringe. Now he just needs Tim to stay still.

What if it doesn’t work? What if I make it worse?

“Kon El, no,” Tim gasps. “KON EL! CONNER!”

Jason had never seen Impulse going full speed. But he did meet Barry Allen back when he was Robin and he never forgot the deafening noise of someone breaking the barrier of sound. More familiar is the noise of his freaking wall exploding. Before Jason realizes, he’s being ripped away from his screaming brother. He hacks and struggles, but there isn’t a lot he can do when a kryptonian steel arm presses against his throat, effectively pinning him to the wall.

“Give me one reason not to kill you,” Superboy growls, his eyes already glowing red.

Jason would be impressed with the boy’s ability to look murderous if he wasn’t about to have his head melted. He struggles a little more. Superboy doesn’t even seem to notice. Jason then pathetically raises the syringe in his hand and manages to choke out:

“A-antidote.”

Superboy blinks once. His eyes return to the regular shade of blue. He blinks twice. His expression shows only confusion when he releases Jason, that promptly falls on his knees. Jason coughs, touching his throat as if to make sure it’s still intact. Damn clone.

“What happened to him?” Superboy demands.

Tim isn’t trying to get up anymore, but rather convulsing on the same spot, screaming wordlessly in horror, tears streaming freely down his pale cheeks.

Jason coughs some more before he’s able to say something. “A-ask that first next time, will you? It’s… it’s fear gas.”

“And, what, am I supposed to believe you were helping him?” Superboy snarls.

Jason groans. He doesn’t have time for this. Tim has his eyes firmly shut and every scream, every time his voice breaks, it feels like someone is slashing at Jason’s chest, robbing him of air almost as effectively as Superboy did.

“I was about to do that before you interrupted,” Jason shows him the syringe again. “What do you think?”

Superboy squints at him, unhappy with his response.

“We don’t have time for that,” Jason snarls. “At this point, he’s gonna have a heart attack. I need you to hold him still.”

Superboy bites his lip in hesitation but Tim screams his name again and he winces as if the sound is kryptonite for his ears. Finally, he nods and crouches down by the mattress.

“It’s okay, Rob,” he says. “I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

At that, Tim miraculously relaxes for a second. Jason kneels by his side again and holds the outstretched arm Superboy is keeping still.

“Don’t hurt him,” Jason warns. Judging by the look Superboy gives him, the only reason he’s not getting the laser eye treatment is because he’s the only one around capable of helping Tim.

“No,” Tim whines. “Not Jason…”

Jason freezes. Superboy’s eyes start to glow again.

“Not Jason, not again,” Tim continues, delirious, his expression twisting in pain. “Please, please, don’t, help him, HELP HIM!”

Jason stabs the needle into his pale skin and it’s a miracle that he does it right, because he is shaking. Fuck this. Fuck Scarecrow. It’s wrong, it’s horrible to hear Red Robin begging like that. He hates the way the kid startles with the needle. He’s thankful that Superboy makes sure Tim stays put, because he doesn’t think his trembling hands could do that now.

“It’s okay, Timbers,” Jason hears himself saying, “it’s over now.”

“Please,” Tim sobs again, “I- I’m gonna solve this.”

God. Jason grabs his hand. “You did enough, baby bird. You solved enough already.”

Tim whimpers, but finally starts relaxing. It seems like the antidote is working its magic and the boy falls right asleep.

Superboy refuses to leave, much to Jason’s chagrin. It doesn’t surprise him, though. Conner is Tim’s favorite conversation subject when he’s in a good mood and apparently the clone is ready to just fly to Gotham if he hears Tim’s voice.

“You know, metas aren’t allowed here,” Jason reminds him.

Superboy has been stomping back and forth around Tim’s mattress. He's so angry that Jason is worried he’ll break the floor any minute now, but he stops to give Jason the biggest, meanest glower of the night. He doesn’t look anything like the mental picture Tim painted of him. Even with his ripped skinny jeans and 90’s leather jacket and dumb earrings, Superboy looks absolutely murderous.

“I’m not going anywhere until I see that Tim’s fine,” he says.

Jason sighs.

“Why are we here?” Superboy snaps. “Why didn’t you call Alfred or… or Batman or…”

“Because we don’t do that,” Jason cuts him. “Red Robin is not Batman's sidekick. If we can solve shit without involving Batman, we don’t involve Batman.”

It’s their unspoken rule, Jason knows that since the first time they fought side by side - the first time they had a sleepover - and he brought Tim home to patch him up. They don’t call dad or their older bro if they’re in trouble, because that’ll lead to them being in more trouble. They simply watch out for each other as much as they can.

Superboy isn’t happy with that explanation, but, before he can murder Jason for real, Tim stirs.

Jason and Superboy are kneeling by his side at the same time, which says something, since Jason doesn't have superspeed.

“Timbers?” Jason calls.

“Jay…?” Tim mumbles and his voice is still a little raw from all the screaming. He blinks and his eyes set on his best friend. “Conner? What are you doing here?”

“You called,” Superboy says simply. “I told you all you had to do was call my name.”

“How’s the head?” Jason asks. “You're still smart, right? You can’t afford to lose your brain cells, Timbers, with your ugly face they’re all you have.”

Tim snorts. Then groans. “Fuck off, Jason, don’t make me laugh.”

Jason smiles at him and he doesn’t notice the weird look Superboy is giving them.

“Rob? Do you remember what happened?”

Tim starts to sit up and Superboy is faster than Jason in wrapping an arm around his shoulders to steady him. He helps Tim rest his back against the wall and the grateful look Tim gives him makes Jason frown a bit because he feels there is something there he’s missing.

“Hmmm… We were fighting Scarecrow,” Tim says. “Fear gas, broken rebreather...” He looks at Jason as if seeking for confirmation. When Jason nods, he continues, “Jay got me out of there and the rest is… Wait. Where is Scarecrow? Did he escape?”

“That should be the last of your worries, Timothy, you almost died of fear,” Superboy scolds.

Tim sighs. “Oh, to be a young vigilante in the XXI century… passing away of fright.”

Superboy doesn’t get it, judging by his expression, but Jason does and he laughs out loud. He doesn’t miss the way Tim’s lip quirk up.

“See, baby bird, this is why I wear a helmet and so should you,” Jason says.

“Okay, but have you considered that we’d look stupid if we were all the man in the iron mask?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “God forbid a whole family fighting criminals in leather fursuits look stupid. We wouldn’t fucking want that.”

Tim laughs, even if his voice is still a little hoarse, and Jason is relieved.

He is so relieved to see his brother fine that he doesn’t pay attention to the fact that Superboy still has his arm around Tim’s shoulders. That Superboy’s eyes get all soft when Tim laughs. That Superboy looks a little hurt when he offers to fly Tim home, but Tim refuses, saying that he’d rather spend the rest of the night here.

“I mean, if that’s fine…?” He glances at Jason, reminding him of those first sleepovers, when he was still unsure whether he’d be welcome or not.

Jason is so done feeling or letting his brother feel like an outsider. “The mattress is big enough for both of us, I don’t see why you’d go back to your own apartment when you can just sleep on a perfectly good mattress on the floor.”

“Hm. Cool then,” Superboy says, but instead of flying out through the giant hole he made on the wall, he shifts his weight from one foot to another awkwardly, clearly stalling.

Both brothers notice it. Neither has a problem interpreting Superboy’s fidgeting. Jason finds it annoying, but Tim gives him a pleading look. Jason sighs.

“You can stay too, big guy, but you gonna have to sleep on the floor.”

Superboy’s face lights up and he definitely doesn’t look like he wanted to melt Jason’s head just a couple of minutes ago. He rambles that it’s all good, he just needs to text Ma Kent to let her know where he is and he’s used to sleeping on the floor of the barn with Krypto and the cows (Jason would find that more upsetting if he didn’t know there is a cow somewhere in the Wayne manor too and Damian sleeps in the cave with it all the time).

In the end, Tim bullies Jason into giving Superboy the thickest blanket he has around. He tries suggesting he should sleep in the blanket and let Jason and Superboy share the mattress, but shuts up mid sentence under their glares.

It’s probably the most awkward sleepover so far, but Tim grins at Jason, grateful, and turns his back to him to be able to talk to Superboy in hushed whispers.

Jason tunes out their conversation and focuses on the fact that he did it. He saved Tim. It doesn’t make up for the times he fucked up in the past, but it sure makes him feel better about the present. He’s also thankful that Tim stayed instead of going to his own place. Hearing your little brother scream in fear for your life isn’t something enjoyable and Jason is sure he would have nightmares about if it wasn’t for the fact that Tim was laying right there in front of him. It’s the sound of his brother’s muffled laughter, mixed with Superboy’s, that lulls him to sleep.

Jason should have noticed then. But he didn’t.

For an intelligent guy, Jason can be really stupid sometimes.

The thing is… Jason is smart. He’s not Tim Drake smart, but he’s still a good detective. He’s also fairly sociable. Or at least he used to be, before he, you know, died and went through all the trauma, etc. He is no Dick Grayson, but he can hold a good conversation, pick up the right social cues, all that crap.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t mess up sometimes.

You see, months go by. Red Hood and Red Robin don’t often go on the field together, after all it’d do a number to both of their reputations, but, when they do, one of them always ends up injured and the other carries him home. It’s like a curse, the universe telling them to stick to their off-patrol partnership. Then a couple of weeks go by and they miss the feeling of fighting side-by-side and there they go again.

Tim keeps showing up at Jason’s place whenever he feels like it and he even hangs around Jason’s visiting friends sometimes. Kori adores Tim from the first time she puts her eyes on him. Roy takes a little longer to warm up, but even he can’t resist the kid. Jason likes it. He likes having his brother around. He likes that they get on like a house on fire.

So much he forgets Tim is a master of hiding shit.

On the week nearing Tim’s 19th birthday, Jason goes to his apartment. He doesn’t realize until he’s halfway there that he hadn’t been to Tim’s place since the night he met Prudence, which is odd, because it’d been basically a year and a half. Still, Tim goes over to Jason’s place all the time. The fact that Jason doesn’t repay the favor has everything to do with the fact that Jason hates Tim’s magazine apartment and nothing else.

Right?

Instead of going for the door, Jason uses his signature move and just swings to the balcony. The door is unlocked - Jason really has to have a talk with Tim about security, they’re in Gotham, for fuck’s sake - and he lets himself in.

To Tim’s credit, the place looks more well lived in now. There are mismatched pillows on the couch, a forgotten mug and a couple of books on the coffee table. Jason recognizes his copy of The Count of Monte Cristo and makes an annoyed sound noticing Tim’s bookmarker is still somewhere in the middle of the book even if it’s been weeks since Jason let him borrow it.

“Tim?” Jason calls. It’s half past nine, a little early for vigilante standards, but…

He hears the sound of someone sputtering and coughing from the kitchen. There he is.

Jason heads there and finds Tim desperately grabbing paper towels to clean coffee he apparently just spilled on his bare chest.

“J-Jason!”

“Jumpy aren’t we?” Jason comments. “What’s up, baby bird?”

It’s clear that Tim had just woken up, judging by his messy hair and the fact that he’s wearing nothing but red sweatpants with Superman’s symbol all over. His mildly terrified expression is weird, though. Tim is usually slow in the morning, but not that easy to startle.

“What are you doing here?” Tim whispers, clearly panicking.

The fact that Jason never visits Tim’s place suddenly comes to his mind. The possibility of him not being welcome hits him and it’s surprisingly painful. He thought they were doing well, that the kid liked him. All this time, was he being arrogant?

As his brain scrambles for something to say, something to think, he notices a sound that he hadn’t registered before: the shower.

Suddenly Tim’s rapidly reddening cheeks and doe wide eyes gain a new meaning. Jason forgets the hurt and a sly smile stretches on his face.

“Oh my god. Oh god, this is priceless. Baby bird, do you have a lady guest from last night?”

Tim makes a weird choking sound and this is too good, Jason is too delighted, look at little Timmy go, already getting it. (Jason would’ve chosen different pants for the morning after, but alas.)

Then a voice calls out: “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

A male voice.

Tim’s face becomes three shades darker, now perfectly matching his pants. Jason’s grin is now frozen on his face, his eyes wide with the realization.

The shower stops.

“Tim?” The voice calls again.

“I’m fine, Kon!” Tim responds and his voice is surprisingly even, considering he looks like he’s having an aneurysm.

That’s a bat for you. Master of hiding their emotions.

Sort of.

Kon, Tim said. Jason realizes that Tim isn’t wearing Superman merch. The sweatpants are Superboy themed.

Jason still remembers Superboy’s protective streak all those months ago and the fact that he woke up to the two of them holding hands - at the time, he thought nothing of it, because it had been a stressful night and he didn’t blame either boy for wanting to make sure the other was okay - and he thinks of all the subsequent times Tim went on and on about Conner and how a couple of weeks ago Tim just stopped mentioning Conner altogether.

God, Jason is the worst detective ever.

Tim pushes Jason out of the kitchen and towards the living room, presumably farther from the bathroom where his boyfriend with super hearing was showering.

“Fuck,” Tim mutters, “ fuckfuckfuck… ”

And he looks and sounds so distraught that Jason loses all the eagerness to tease him, concern quickly replacing any initial surprise he might have been feeling.

“Look,” Tim murmurs, looking anywhere but at Jason’s eyes, “it’s not… we’re just…”

Tim scrambles for words and this is so unlike him - Tim always has a plan, always knows what to say - it takes a moment for Jason to catch up on why he’s a stuttering mess. Jason had been so excited to find out his little brother had a boyfriend he forgot he lived in a world where homophobia was a thing.

“Timbers, chill out.” Jason grabs Tim’s hands from where they’re still resting on his shoulders. “It’s just me.”

Tim dares raise his gaze to meet Jason’s and it hurts a bit to see still a little fear in his blue eyes. Jason gives him an encouraging grin.

“I can’t believe you officially bagged a kryptonian. Way to go, kid.”

His shoulders slouch in utter relief right before he starts blushing again. What a cute kid.

“You keep calling me kid. You’re not that older. And don’t say it like that,” Tim mumbles.

“Like what? Like you’re snogging Superboy?” Tim punches him on the shoulder and Jason laughs. “Now I know why you were in such a hurry to leave the manor, you wanted your own place to bring your boyfriend over…”

“That’s not why I left and who said anything about a boyfriend? Maybe this was just a one night stand.”

Jason gives him a condescending look. “Timbers, I might have not realized you’re gay, but I do know you. You’re a boyfriend kinda guy.”

Tim rolls his eyes and mumbles something about assuming shit. “I’m bi,” he says.

“Cool,” Jason says, a shit-eating grin never leaving his face.

“Fuck,” Tim groans and lets himself fall on the couch. “How do you de-escalate an emotional situation so fast?”

“It’s a Bat thing, and you know how to do it too. All of us are trained to avoid emotions like the plague.”

“I was not prepared to come out when I got up this morning,” Tim admits.

Humming, Jason finally realizes that Tim doesn’t want to skip the emotions for this one. He sighs. The things he does for his brothers.

“It’s not a big deal, though,” he says. “I mean, you’re happy right?”

“I’m never happy.”

“Don’t quote Zuko. You started the real talk. You don’t get to bat your way out of it now.”

A sigh. “I’m happy. Conner is… the best.”

Jason nods. “Then it’s all good. I’m sure all the others would say the same.”

“You can't tell them!” Tim snaps, his eyes suddenly wide with panic again. “Seriously, Jay, you can’t-”

“Calm down, kid,” Jason cuts him off. “When did I make a habit of spilling your secrets to the B-man? It's none of their business.” Tim visibly relaxes and Jason adds: “Actually… Want me to make your house Dick-proof?”

“...what?”

“I mean, not kryptonian dick, you’re clearly into that,” and he ignores it when Tim pops him on the back of the head. “I mean Dick Dick, our brother. I could set up a better security system so you don’t have to worry about one of your siblings walking into something scarring, especially the clingy one.”

“No security system can stop Dick’s clinginess.”

“How do you think I keep him off my place?”

That’s when their little pow wow gets interrupted by more kryptonian skin than Jason ever wanted to see as Conner walks in with nothing but the smallest of the towels wrapped around his waist.

“Babe, what is--” He notices Jason and slips on literally nothing, barely catching himself before falling on his ass. “ Shit- I mean, nothing, I mean, we were just binging Wendy!”

Jason doesn’t say anything, but he does give Tim a look that says it all. He wasn't judging earlier, but he is now. Tim gives him a look that definitely means shut up.

In the end, Jason stays for breakfast.

It’s only mildly awkward, because he and Tim fill the silence talking about the latest case Jason’s working on while Conner makes them pancakes. Judging by the fact that he’s getting the ingredients from a bunch of plastic bags, he must have brought all the food with him. If anything, Jason is grateful that he and Alfred are no longer the only people trying to get Tim to eat actual food.

When Tim turns to Conner for his opinion, leaving Jason to enjoy his coffee, Jason looks around and notices that there are new pictures on the fridge. There are some of those disgustingly cute pictures of Tim and Conner, their cheeks pressed together as they make weird faces for the camera. There is a picture of Conner by himself and, again disgustingly, he is smiling at the camera as though the most precious person in the world is behind it. Both pictures are held by a sun magnet. There is a new candid shot of Cassandra, one of Alfred-Alfred holding cat Alfred, a new one of Dick and even Damian is in there.

And, his heart stops for a second, because now there are pictures of Jason as well.

They’re carefully placed far from each other, but there are three different pictures. There is one of Jason wearing his Lord of the Rings shirt, eating cereal on the couch, a confused expression on his face. He remembers when Tim took that picture, because Tim waited until Jason had his mouth full before calling hey Jay? and snapping the picture right as Jason looked at him, his cheeks like a chipmunk's. The second picture is a candid of him smiling, leaning against the rail of some safehouse balcony. The shot was carefully framed to not show anything distinct of the surroundings, just Jason and Gotham’s sky.

The third one is a selfie. In it, Jason is asleep, his lips parted and face relaxed, his head resting on Tim’s shoulder. Tim has a shit eating grin on his lips as if there is nothing funnier to him than his giant older brother falling asleep on him in the middle of movie night. Tim had the decency of drawing a mustache on Jason’s face to decrease sappiness, but that effect is ruined by the fact that the picture is held by a magnet that was clearly Iron Man but Tim had painted it red to look like Jason’s hood.

Jason had sworn off killing, at least for a little while.

But he would gladly kill again for his little brother.

As he gets ready to leave, he turns to Conner and deadpans, “I don’t have to tell you that I can and I will make kryptonite bullets, do I?”

“Jason!” Tim scolds.

“What? I’m the first of the family to find out. Least I can do is taje care of the shovel talk.”

“Stop threatening my boyfriend.”

Conner blushes profusely and mouths the word boyfriend with marvel and ugh. Just… ugh . Jason is happy that Tim is happy, but he and Conner are apparently that kind of couple and Jason wants to have none of it.

“So, first we kill Damian,” Jason starts.

“No,” Tim says.

“Aw, come on, you didn’t even consider it!”

Cassandra waits until they decide their plan of action (it’s probably going to be Tim’s) and keeps her expression carefully neutral as not to show which one of them she agrees with (Tim).

The thing, Jason realized, is that all of them have favorites in their family and knowing that makes it easier to tear them down. Dick can fuck off with his I love you all equally bullshit, because he clearly always favors Damian. Damian swings between Batdad’s little boy and Nightwing’s murder baby. Tim will easily lose focus whenever Steph is involved. Steph is oddly protective of Duke, for some reason. Cassandra is mostly neutral. She’s everyone’s favorite, including Bruce’s, but she’s also the deadliest of them all so she is no one’s weakness. She does, however, have a soft spot for Tim over any of her brothers. Since Jason became close friends with Tim, he entered Cassandra’s selective protection bubble and he’s now, by all definitions, untouchable.

Or at least that’s how he felt when she chose him for her team right after Tim.

“We kill Dick first,” Tim knocks down the little Nightwing action figure on the carpet. “Cass, you’re the only one who can take him down. Jay and I distract the others while you do the job. Damian will get personally offended by that and will grow reckless.” He knocks down the little imp figurine. “I can take care of him then. Steph will be hiding somewhere ready to strike. She is best in close range combat. Jay, I need you to take her down before she gets too close.” He pushes down the Barbie doll someone dressed as Batgirl, because apparently they couldn’t find blonde Batgirl merch and they were very offended. “Then we win.”

He may sound impressive, but the whole time he’s speaking he has his head resting on Cass’ lap and she is carding her fingers through his hair as a villain would do to their evil pet cat.

“Can’t I murder the demon brat?” Jason complains.

Tim glares at him - again, not very intimidating while he’s basically lying on his sister’s lap.

“You know Steph would wipe the floor with me. You’re the only one I can trust to get her.”

“Unless…” Jason turns around. “Du-”

“No.”

“Come on, I’ll give you ten bucks.”

“Jason, we’re all rich, you can’t buy me.” Duke doesn’t even raise his eyes from his book. “Plus last time I let y’all drag me into this shit, Steph knocked off one of my teeth with Tim’s staff.”

“If you hadn’t killed me, then she wouldn’t have taken revenge,” Tim argues.

“And yet you’re planning to kill Dick counting on the fact that Damian will try to avenge him.”

“Wet blanket,” Cassandra says.

Tim and Jason go into a giggling fit as Duke sputters, too indignant to put his thoughts into words.

In the end, Duke still doesn’t join them.

As they expected, the enemy was listening to their plan - Jason is sure Dick was against it, but Stephanie and Damian are definitely not above spying - nonetheless they still played their parts as expected: Steph and Damian tried protecting Dick first and foremost, but not even the two of them combined could take Cassandra. Not with Jason and Tim backing her up.

Cassandra knocks Dick down and sits on his back. The large yellow paint splash on his chest proves that he’s dead. Rather than being upset, Dick starts doing push ups with his sister there as the rest of his siblings and Steph fight to death.

Unfortunately, Damian wasn’t as angered by Dick’s demise as they expected and is still a good match for Tim. Until Tim gasps and goes Titus, don’t eat that! It was an obvious ploy, but still got Damian to let down his guard and whip his head around looking for his precious dog. Tim shoots him without hesitation and Damian goes on a rage soliloquy.

Jason would appreciate it if he wasn’t having such a hard time with Stephanie. Apparently Barbara has been feeding her steroids, because the girl is now as quick as a ninja. She hits Jason in the kneecaps with Tim’s staff - they’re not even in the same team this time, how the fuck did she get Tim’s staff??? - and shoots him point blank in the chest. And damn, that shit hurts. He bets it’s purple under his shirt too.

Steph is mid celebration when her victory whoop turns into a pained groan. Twin splotches of red and yellow bloom on her back as Cassandra and Tim lower their guns.

“Fuck,” Jason complains. “Couldn’t’ve done that before she killed me?”

“We win,” Cassandra says.

“Shouldn’t you be fighting to the death now?” Dick asks. Now that Cass is off his back, he’s lying on the side like one of your French girls. Jason wishes Cass would shoot him again.

“I would never betray Cass,” Tim says.

“We rule together.” She walks to him and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

Tim grins a wicked grin because he knows he is Cassandra’s favorite and everyone can die mad about it.

Steph and Damian start shouting their complaints at the same time while Dick laughs his ass off. From his lawn chair, Duke is glaring at them as if he can’t believe he’s legally related to any of these weirdos.

His gaze meets Dick’s and his older brother looks absolutely elated with pride even though all of their siblings are yelling about paintball.

Jason simply smiles back.

#jason todd #tim drake #red hood #red robin #batfam #batfam big bang 2020 #poteto writing #red bros #collab

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argumentl · 4 years ago

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The Freedom of Expression, radio version - Ep 20, Feb 2016 - A.I technology, STAP cell/Obokata Haruko controversy.

Kaoru starts by explaining the show's concept, then introduces Joe. He then expresses his happiness that the show has reached as many as twenty episodes.

After reading out the contact info, they get straight into the Tokyo Sports corner this time, by welcoming Dobashi. As a joke, Dobashi introduces himself as "Dobashi from Tokyo Sports, where everything except the date is false", which gets big lols from the others. Dobashi's first story relates to the news that the A.I. company Deepmind had produced a computer program which for the first time, was able to beat a human professional at the game of Go. This was quite big news at the time, but linking on from this was another story about a group of researchers who were trying to teach and use A.I to complete the unfinished novel “Kyomu kairo”, by the late sci-fi author Komatsu Sakyo. Dobashi wonders how A.I. will develop from now on, and asked the others about their thoughts. Joe thinks this is beginning to creep into 'god's domain'. God/kami isn't joining them today, he still hadn't recovered from his cold. Joe continues on to say that if A.I. were to complete the novel, there is no way to know whether thats how the author himself would have written it. He also wonders where humans will fit in if A.I. is able to produce such works. Kaoru mentions that it would be pretty incredible if A.I. went far beyond human expectations. Joe asks Kaoru how he would feel about writing some of a Dir en grey song, and then handing it over to A.I to work on. Kaoru says he would actually find that interesting. Joe suggestst Kaoru could complete another version by himself and then showcase the two versions at a live show to see the difference. He wonders if fans would be able to tell which one was which, and they could perhaps release the two versions and see which one sold more. Kaoru thinks this is an interesting idea, but it would be pretty bad if he lost to the A.I. version. The band have considered using A.I. for their artwork before. Kaoru says he can understand how A.I. could beat humans at the game of Go, because there is always an element of human error in a human player, which A.I. can eliminate. As for creative works or music, he is interested as a listener, but as a creator he finds it a bit scary.

Dobashi wonders whether A.I. will eventually replace newspaper reporters if it can gather data about the news from social media sites. Kaoru doesn't think this will happen, there must be more to journalism than scanning social media. Joe thinks the most scary thing is if future generations lose their passion after becoming used to works created by A.I..Kaoru feels like some crazy stuff is bound to be produced, and imagining people being rased on such material is a scary thought. At least, he says, A.I. cannot perform lives. Part of the fun of a live show is the small mistakes, or stumblings that the artist makes. A.I. could not deliver the spontaneity of a real live show. Joe says it reminds him of an early episode of Lupin III, which involved a crime fighting computer, designed to predict Lupin's every move and finally catch him. The reason it didn't catch him in the end was because of Lupin's impulsiveness. This has left a big impression on Joe since he first saw it. Joe worries that as the world becomes more and more dependent on A.I, will that impulsive element of humanity be erased?

Dobashi's next story is in relation to the news that Obokata Haruko, the scientist behind the STAP cell research fraud scandal, had published a book entitled, 'That day/ano hi (あの日)' which laid out her side of the story. The book ended up in 1st place on Amazon's best sellers list, as so many people were interested in what she had to say. Dobashi says he hasn't read the book himself, but according to reports, Obokata claims she was set up by her senior colleague. Kaoru mentions that there seems to be a trend of people writing books after they have been involved in some kind of incident. In this case, Obokata was apparently approached by the publisher Kodansha with a book offer. Joe says he has not read the book, so can't make much comment on it, but unlike Moto Shonen A (a child serial killer who published a book, and was previously discussed during the live broadcasts), Obokata is not a criminal, so there is nothing wrong with her trying to get her story out there. If what she says is true, the media reporting on the issue up until that point ought to be questioned. Joe asks Dobashi, 'If the media knows their audience is seeking a solid conclusion, but the actual reality is more ambiguous, do they still run with it?" Dobashi says, yes they do. For Tokyo Sports, its all in the headlines. He feels the need to back this up by insisting that Tokyo Sports reporters do still practice proper journalism, which gets laughs from the others. Joe says that there is quite a difficult conflict going on between not reporting lies, and keeping the stories exciting. Kaoru asks Dobashi if he ever feels under pressure to not report about certain things. Dobashi says there is a lot of pressure. For example, politicals have intervened from the side before to tell them, 'you can't report that!' etc. In that case Tokyo Sports will limit the way they report such things, just to the point that they feel like they will probably get away with it. Kaoru comments that its interesting to see how tough it gets, even when trying to produce a fun paper like Tokyo Sports. Joe suggests to Dobashi he could write a side-note on any articles where interventions have taken place, explaining why the story couldn't be expanded any further. They all agree this is an interesting idea. As for Obokata, Kaoru feels kinda sorry for her.

Kaoru finishes by explaining about the show's stickers once again. After sending them to the winners of the previous Arche cover design competition, they will be sent to other contributors based on Kaoru's feelings. If he likes anything the listeners send in, they will get a sticker.

Songs - Dir en grey/Rinkaku, Team Sleep/Ever.

#dir en grey #the freedom of expression

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coronashmorona · 5 years ago

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COVID-19 Isolation:

Day 0

For a day & a half, my husband (hereinafter “Hubs”) & I pondered (read: lowkey argued about) the boundaries & limitations we should be imposing on our selves & our kids given the increased prevalence of coronavirus in our area. Was avoiding everyone all weekend really necessary? Can we eat takeout food? Should our kids go to school on Monday? What about after-school activities? What about the fantasy baseball draft we were supposed to host next weekend? Or the slew of small children’s birthday parties scheduled for the coming weeks?

Hubs was already planning on working from home, which he does often the last few years after his firm moved to a “hoteling” style office. My work is very flexible part-time & gets done whenever I can fit it in around everyone else’s schedules, i.e. can also take place from home if needed.

Then, today, we got word that all local schools will be closed for 2 weeks. So at least that’s settled.

Now, we’re confronting the challenge of how to go about our daily lives under these strange new circumstances. Namely:

The need for some kind of scheduled routine. We have a first-grader & a preschooler. They are absolutely wonderful, but go entirely bonkers if we’re home without any structure. They’re also in completely different places as far as personality, temperament, & educational needs.

First-grader (hereinafter “6yo”) is kind of a high-strung, type-A, preintellectual. She needs a full briefing about what’s happening every hour of every day. If plans change, she has a million questions about what the alteration entails. (If she’s conscious, she has a million questions, period.) She enjoys so many great activities - artistic pursuits, imaginative play, dancing, & really anything else that involves running around like a banshee - but constantly asks for TV time and/or a snack anyway. Historically, it’s been nearly impossible to set her up with an activity & walk away for more than 10 minutes; she’s just the sort of kid who needs/expects an adult caregiver to provide companionship, guidance, & answers at all times. I’m hoping that having an agenda mapped out for each day will remind her of school & she’ll be more amenable to doing things independently for a relatively short, set amount of time. I can also meet her halfway & do my work at the dining room table while she embarks on a quiet activity. Finally, it sounds like the school district is hatching a contingency plan for remote student learning, complete with daily homework posted online, which is comforting to say the least.

Preschooler (”4yo”) is a rambunctious ball of energy, but tends to be pretty easygoing overall. If left to his own devices, he’ll wander over to his trains or his blocks or even a book & play on his own. The problem, of course, is that when left to his own devices for too long, he’s probably up to no good. His favorite pastime of late has been playing in Hubs’s office, using some old printers & other computer accessories to “build Robot Marty” (a.k.a. the robot that roams the aisles at Stop & Shop). This activity will be mostly off-limits while Hubs works from home - a deprivation that I’m sure will be ill-received & spawn all sorts of disruptive discovery missions, i.e. let’s see what happens when we stick the end of Mama’s headphones into the electrical outlet. Oyyy. My hope is that if I break out some toys he hasn’t used in a while, & a few shiny new (read: held in abeyance since his birthday) ones, he’ll amuse him accordingly while 6yo & I do our thing.

Getting fed. I am really, really nervous about consuming commercially prepared food right now. The chances of contracting COVID-19 from it are small, but it doesn’t seem worth the risk. As it is, I’m a bit of a DIY food purist, frequently eschewing restaurant food for my own creations. I have a whole separate blog detailing my experiences with Whole30, in which I take my appreciation for clean-eating to the max in order to improve my health. Tl;dr I cook a lot of fresh veggies & lean meats & try to minimize the amount of processed foods in my diet. Doing this is hard enough under ~ordinary stressful circumstances, let alone a global pandemic. I’ve already slid into some unhealthy reflexive stress-eating that needs to be curtailed ASAP.

The biggest point with this, I feel, is establishing a meal+snack schedule. Else, the kids will constantly be asking for things to eat, interrupting any hope of sticking to a playtime/learning/physical activity schedule. On certain days spent mostly at home, I feel like all I do is stand in the kitchen cutting fruit, & we will not survive the next few weeks if that’s how it’s gonna be. Granted, this is sometimes exacerbated by my own penchant to use a free minute here or there to chop & roast some Brussels sprouts or eggplant. But there has to be a point at which “oh look, Mom’s in the kitchen” doesn’t automatically translate to “let’s give her something else to do”.

A possible strategy to alleviate this involves cutting a bunch of fruit in advance, portioning it out, & storing it on a fridge shelf the kids can reach, so they can get it themselves. I don’t want to deprive them of food; we just feel that they shouldn’t be eating a constant stream of processed garbage. This is a particular risk for 6yo, who has the metabolism & appetite of a hummingbird & openly fixates on the constant quest for treats.

Dealing with life’s other extenuating circumstances. As others with young children can likely attest, our life is constantly in several different states of flux, limbo, and/or disarray. Some other things we’ve been dealing with lately and/or will be dealing with shortly:

Hubs’s dad is having a hip replacement tomorrow. Several people tried to talk him out of it, but he’s been having terrible sciatic pain for a long time & as long as the surgeon/hospital will have him he feels he needs to go ahead with it. Who will take care of him afterward, & whether/when we can visit, remain uncertain. LATE-BREAKING UPDATE: surgery cancelled. A relief insofar as one variable eliminated.

Last week I definitely herniated/tore something in my abdominal area while pulling the kids in a wagon, & need to see a doctor for that. I’m not thrilled with the idea of being in a highly-trafficked public place, but I also don’t want to put off getting myself looked at & aggravate the injury in the meantime. As it is, I’m trying not to lift heavy things (e.g., our 4-year-old) or spend too much time on my feet, but that in itself is a struggle. Right now my appointment is scheduled for a time at which Hubs has a very important (virtual) work meeting, so I need to reschedule it and/or find someone else who can watch the kids. I’m praying for the former outcome because it begs the question “Who should we be letting in the house?!”

We’re in the early stages of renovating our kitchen. This means that we’ve met with a few designers/contractors about possible layouts & options, inching towards finalizing a plan & selecting one of them to carry it out. It sounds like Hubs wants to move ahead with this process as before, but suffice to say my mental bandwidth is now sufficiently occupied with other shit.

I’m always in the middle of 187 different things, & it feels like they’re all now on hold: purging the house of outgrown clothes & toys, organizing the basement, learning German, catching up on continuing legal education credits,

Processing the fear + existential woe. None of us have ever lived through anything like this. It is fucked up. I try to take comfort in the fact that the isolation protocols are empowering: by staying away from others who might be carrying the disease, we’re taking control of an uncertain situation.

But there’s still so. much. uncertainty. Right now, the kids are scheduled to go back to school March 30th. Then their spring break will start on April 8th, to coincide with the start of Passover (as well as Holy Week & Easter). Last year, we hosted a seder for 18 people. Can we do that this time? I have tickets to one concert (locally) in late April, & to another (abroad) in early June - will either one actually be happening?!

These are, decidedly, #firstworldproblems. But I think I join the rest of humanity in being utterly pissed off & daunted by the whole ordeal. Until another few weeks pass, all we can do is wait. And wash our hands a lot. 🧼 💦 🙏🏼

#covid19 #coronavirus #social distancing #self isolation #parenting #kids

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thesunlounge · 6 years ago

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Reviews 245: Visible Cloaks, Yoshio Ojima & Satsuki Shibano

I owe much of my interest in modern Japanese music to the duo of Spencer Doran and Ryan Carlile, otherwise known as Visible Cloaks. Valve / Valve Revisted introduced me to dip in the pool, who have since become a beloved favorite, and the far-out sounds and forward thinking production techniques of Japan have long informed the duo’s approach. As well, Spencer Doran spent years diving into the country’s environmental, new age, fourth-world, and future-pop landscapes and issued a couple of essential mixes for Root Strata in this direction, with his work eventually leading to the breathtaking Kankyō Ongaku collection on Light in the Attic…all of which have had a massive impact on my own musical journey. So it’s entirely fitting, if not fated, that Visible Cloaks’ first contribution to RVNG Intl.’s longstanding FRKWYS series sees Doran and Carlile joining together with Satsuki Shibano and Yoshio Ojima, two masters of innovative sound design and visual art that were highly influential on Japan’s cultural landscape during the 80s and 90s and whose work continues to resonate today: Shibano through her immersive piano dreamscapes inspired by Satie and Debussy and Ojima via his explorations of computerized composition and in scoring artistic and public spaces such as Wacoal’s famous Spiral building. And like all FRKWYS pairings, it completes a circle of influence and inspiration, with elder artists stirring the creativity of younger generations, whose novel approaches then inform and are folded back into the work of the original source…a sort of eternal conversation between past and present about the sonic landscapes of the future.

In the write up for serenitatem, RVNG discuss the group’s interests in aleatoric music, the British avant grade, pre-classical composition, and Lovely Music, Ltd, as well as Ojima’s and Satsuki’s groundbreaking work with the St. Giga radio installation…a free-form and continuously broadcasted collage of field recordings, poetry, and audio experimentation that looms large over the approach and vision of serenitatem. As for the process, Doran and Carlile recorded sketches while on tour and sent them to Ojima, who added his own sounds and edits before returning the recordings to the duo. So it continued for months, with the trio trading ideas and building on each others’ manipulations until a studio session in Tokyo brought all four musicians together, allowing them to further enhance their preliminary experiments and create new compositions on the spot. And the results are truly beguiling…a spellbinding coalescence of futuristic sonic exploration and deeply human emotion that features cloudforms of orchestral gas shattering into crystalline vapor; funereal organs playing ancient hymns to the sun; tropical new age textures surrounded by spectral space foam; mermaid choirs singing through overtone resonances; and marbles vibrating within tunnels of morphing glass. And though the sensibilities of Visible Cloaks and Ojima are almost entirely indistinguishable, the artistic identity of Shibano is uniquely discernible, with her effected voice and majestic piano themes standing out amidst the rainbow energy fields and fractal orchestrations while also feeding generative MIDI software, in turn creating new and ever-evolving paths of exploration.

Visible Cloaks, Yoshio Ojima & Satsuki Shibano - FRKWYS Vol. 15: serenitatem (RVNG Intl., 2019) In “Toi,” liquids drip over aquatic swells while gong drone overtones hover in place before rapidly vaporizing. Vocals awash in a haze of euphoria flow into the mix on layers of aquamarine synthesis, ringing feedback tones weave pastoral melodies, and disjointed piano chords splash through crystalline tide pools while swirling noise clouds move chaotically before being sucked out of existence. The mix is repeatedly intercut by globules of bouncing glass that wash the stereo field clean and after a false ending and a fade to silence, oceanic orchestrations diffuse into the mix with swelling string reveries and long glorious bow strokes calling out to the dawn. Sometimes breathy choirs join in with these etheric chamber incantations while liquiying metals flow throughout the spectrum. And as the track ends, mystical electronics create starry-eyed sound swirls and decaying bodies of spectral mist. “Anata” follows with a shimmering world of tonal mesmerism where voices and machines blur together…like mermaid choirs coalescing with the droning hum of an industrial machine. Bleary-eyed orchestrations intermingle with textures of brass as Shibano delivers a strangely effected spoken work performance, with her voice morphing and modulating discontinuously while fracturing across the spectrum. Then, as futuristic whispers transmute into bleeping static amidst insectoid oscillations, a heavenly streak of soprano calls out from the void.

The MIDI-generated idiophone melodies of “You” are sourced from the words of “Anata” using Intermorphics’s Wotja software and the result is a paradise of gleaming gamelan starlight. Shibano’s piano merges perfectly with the vibraphone dream weavings while heartbeat pulses, blasts of white noise, and plucked string tones fade in from shadowy depths. Amorphous pad hazes swell in strength then dissolve into ether as siren pulses generate machine rhythms at odds with the free form idiophone tapestries. Feminine whispers pan wildly while throbbing bass currents flow in from all directions and there’s a strange moment where the mallet instruments recede, leaving the soul afloat in a delirious landscape of morphing sonic magic. “Atelier” revels in microtonal vibrations, industrial droning, and layers of humid resonance, which all eventually set the stage for a gorgeous melody played out on synthesized woodwinds. The mind is enchanted by longform oboe and bassoon lullabies while the background is painted over by glimmering wavefronts and smoldering vibrations that never rise above a spiritual hum. Tibetan bowls sing over tapped gongs while the lonely ping of a vibratube calls out periodically and deep within the spectral fog, timpani drums can be heard pounding away. The meditative woodwind spells eventually feature several layers intertwining, while chittering lizard fx and slithering psychedelics contrast the beatific mood. And if you listen closely, you can hear Shibano alighting on free jazz cloudbursts and atonal fantasias deep within the radiant miasma.

“Lapis Lazuli” sees mirage drone atmospherics suffused with flute and birdsong tones while waves of some nacreous and opalescent fluid crash against an unfamiliar shore. Shibano moves through the wavering landscape with further spoken spells which are this time bare and unaffected…just pure and expressive vocalisms surround by skittering static washes, glowing ghost melodies, and universal string vibrations divorced from any source of attack. At some point, electrified gemstones start raining down upon the mix…these crystalline structures of every possible color bouncing and vibrating in ways that defy logic, which are perhaps sourced by an electric piano...only one obscured by infinite layers of sonic manipulation. As the song progresses, Shibano’s voice becomes increasingly shrouded in robotic strangeness, eventually leaving humanity behind altogether in favor of cyborg sizzle and free flowing android poetry. Chime tones are stretched and smeared into a feedback haze above the soft pitter-patter of dripping water, heatwave vapors wash across the mix, and chaotic bell alarm oscillations seem to spin at the speed of light before swelling into solar flare sound spirals. All the while, the landscape is increasingly colored by the calls of alien jungle fauna as the flowing water takes on the appearance of a mystical stream surrounded by dense layers of extra-terrestrial vegetation.

The beads of bouncing glass from “Toi” return in “Stratum”, here splattering over ring-modulated steel-drum tones. It’s a tropical lullaby accented by towering piano chords and swirled around by angelic choral hazes and rainbow fog refractions. Starshine modulations cut through the air as the island melodies recede, leaving behind an expanse of new age celestial shimmer. Then comes one of the most breathtaking and hard to describe sonic effects I have ever heard, generated by using Shibano’s piano improvisation to source reactive idiophone and voice cascades in Ableton. Imagine a choir of angels and the bars of a marimba as if transformed into a field of colorful flowers, such that each time an oceanic piano chord cluster or radiant ivory lead drops, it’s like a cyclonic wind disturbs the field, causing the individual flowers to sway drunkenly out of phase. But eventually, the harmonious drone currents and pastoral sonic breezes cause the marimbas and voices to lock together into a loose rhythm….as if all the flowers of the field are flowing in unison beneath a bright shining sun. And going further, Shibano’s spontaneous melodies are discernible amidst the synthetic mallet and dreamworld voice motions, leading to an ever-evolving and deeply moving interplay between improvised human beauty and aleatoric computer magic.

Though most of the album explores cutting edge spaces and forward thinking sonic languages, Doran, Carlile, Shibano, and Ojima reserve the final track on each side for immersive excursions into the musics of the distant past. The A-side houses “S’amours ne fait par sa grace adoucir (Ballade 1),” originally written in the 12th century by the ars nova poet and composer Guillaume de Machaut. Ecclesiastical organs reach across centuries with polyphonic wonderment, first flying solo, then joined by bell tones and chiming vibrations of medieval metal. And at some point, the organ fades away and is replaced by effervescent fluids and wispy string synthesis…like a chamber orchestra playing through gentle distortions of space and time. Closing the album is “Canzona per sonare no. 4” by famed sacred music composer and organist Giovanni Gabrieli (1557-1612). Sonar tones revolve in long arcs before giving way to spacious stretches of silence while morphing bass pulsations underly Shibano’s baroque piano incantations. It’s a repeated refrain…childlike, naive, beautiful…backed by swelling pads, dreamworld atmospheres, and subtle hints of choral majesty. All the while, shards of ivory are caught up in fractal webs and reflected across the spectrum as overlapping feedback currents generate calming seascape motions that float the soul away.

(images from my personal copy)

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geeksfromfuture-blog · 5 years ago

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Can Technology Change Actors?

How will the use of technology in acting to change the notion of actors? This is a question that has been long pondered by both professionals and amateurs alike. Are we moving away from the notion of an actor as being the one person who performs a certain task or portrays a character? Will performers be defined by their work on stage, screen or in film? Most actors are used to thinking about the environment they will work in before beginning a role. They may study a part to find out if it suits them, or they may have written parts that they want to try out. The question of how technology will change the way we define actors is more difficult to answer. It's too early to tell what the effects of today's technology will be. Each and every one of us have seen someone who was born to play a particular part. The question of whether there is still something special about those who perform in the roles of our choice is a very difficult one to answer. But it is worth thinking about how technology will change the way we view actors. So, will actors be defined by their roles or the work they do in order to play them? If the latter, will they be pigeonholed into specific roles? The landscape of acting is changing and a change in perception is inevitable. When the technology used for writing and acting makes it possible to travel to different locations, live in exotic locations and develop characters with ease and spontaneity unseen before, how will we define the roles played by our favorite actors? Some believe there will always be a certain perception of actors because of the way they're trained. Most, however, would argue that it will be impossible to re-train an actor. It's easy to understand how training could lead to stardom, but what about when you're being trained to see, hear and experience things differently? We don't know where technology will take us as far as training goes, but we do know that it's difficult to imagine any industry that will not be influenced by technology. Of course, there will always be roles in which there is no use of technology. The most likely place to find a human actor, for example, is in a movie theater, not the symphony orchestra. We will also see the world defined in geographic terms. A recent story by the New York Times has brought this subject to the fore. The story mentioned how in the beginning of the 19th century, the use of wireless telegraphs helped to set up communication networks. The story revealed that Australia was the first country to make use of the technology and then, gradually, other countries followed suit. It would seem that a problem with the advent of this technology was that it was not an exact substitute for acting. It is now accepted that there was a time when humans would have to play a part in order to see a story through. This is true even if the drama was only one on the stage. The next step, many believe, will be a story about how people get better at the art of acting. How can technology affect the future of acting? There are a few groups of actors and experts who believe technology will inevitably have a big impact on the role we see when we look in the mirror. They believe that once we learn to speak or read lips on a virtual screen, the process of acting will be incomplete. In other words, the act of acting could be taken away entirely. Will the human nature of performance change? For some, the ability to communicate on a computer will mean the end of acting. Others believe that the term acting will only mean acting using human behavior on a computer. The debate about technology and acting are likely to continue and there will be a long road ahead. Technology moves so fast that it is impossible to predict the end result of this debate.

Will Technology Change Actors?

Many actors say they hope that future advances in acting will allow more flexibility and fewer limitations. And it is important for the industry to have a variety of actors of all types in order to keep its hold on the public's imagination. Now actors may start acting in TV shows and movies, be written into them, or both. In this decade we will see actors play roles they never dreamed they could fulfill, as computers can mimic their performances. Actors will become stars as our technology enhances the ability to do what they have always done, whether it is acting dancing, singing, or acting in a movie, then of course they will be paid well for it. Technological development will mean many new jobs in entertainment, in film, television, and even theatre. The biggest of these developments is a new wave of film-to-computer animation, which has the capability to turn almost any movement into a computer-animated image. It is this type of technological breakthroughs that will bring about the coming obsolescence of more traditional performers. These actors will not just perform better; they will be able to work longer and on a wider range of topics. They will need to move from being more about acting to becoming more of an entertainer and becoming an artist. Often technology can take us backwards or forwards, but occasionally forward can be easier than backward. As human history progresses we become more reliant on technology. There are other advances as well, such as our increase in energy consumption and many other environmental problems, so we need to be careful what we wish for, and what we try to force upon others. An important innovation is the development of genetically modified foods. These have been used to feed animals in recent years, but it seems to be taking us toward eliminating meat, vegetables, and dairy products. If this technology goes forward it will also give rise to ethical questions regarding the future food production system. If you consider that there is a growing concern that global warming will cause the extinction of several animal species, you can start to see the possibilities. Food security will be a major issue as agricultural production increases, so we need to focus on conserving nature's resources, as well as encouraging people to eat more plants rather than animals. This will be especially true in the developing world, where governments are less likely to provide incentives to livestock farmers for providing a cheap source of food. The use of air to breathe has come a long way in recent years, and with the development of renewable sources of energy and new health care technologies it will only become more convenient. Doctors will soon be able to conduct a nose test on someone before prescribing them with a medication, which could reduce the risk of death associated with allergic reactions. Genetic modifications will also help food to be more effective at providing nutrition. Genetically modified organisms will replace most other farming methods, which will eliminate many of the pests, disease, and issues associated with traditional farming. There are many more exciting developments in technology, but none are as important to the future of our society as advances in artificial intelligence. It is important to create space for new ideas and we can do that through technology innovation, in order to maximize our productive capabilities.

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#ai #artificalintelligence #CanTechnologyChange #deeplearning #geeks #geeksarticles #geeksfromfuture #HowTechnologyChange #innovation #iot #machinelearning #robots #Technology #TechnologyForActors #WhenTechnologyChange #WhichTechnologyChange #WillTechnologyChange

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daylightarchives · 7 years ago

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GUIDE TO ONEOHTRIX POINT NEVER

As a fringe guy who’s always been more interested in experimentation and provocation than gratification of any sort, Oneohtrix Point Never (the alias of writer-producer-performer extraordinaire Daniel Lopatin) enjoys that intimidating “weirdo critical darling” status where the everyone from Pitchfork to Fantano to the pretentious bohemians of the wider blogosphere seem to love him, but the average listener (me, at one point, included) has no idea how he fits into the larger conversation surrounding electronic music or if he’d sound good tucked between other “ambient” and “vaporwave” artists on a playlist (hint: he wouldn’t). The point of this piece isn’t simply to ramble on about how profoundly difficult Oneohtrix Point Never is, though; I’m writing instead to make the argument that despite that aforementioned inaccessibility as an artist, the music of OPN is worth attempting to seriously listen to if you have even a passing interest in music as an art form, challenging art, or just plain interesting ideas.

To sum it up, Oneohtrix Point Never began as an ambient act fascinated with ideas like nostalgia and cultural memory, especially with relation to idealistic visions of the future as computers became widely used in the ‘90s (think ‘90s educational videos, nature documentaries, commercials, etc). After some widely successful releases in that genre, Lopatin expanded the OPN aesthetic, inventing vaporwave and releasing album after dizzying album of plunderphonics, early computer nostalgia trips, and, most recently, a cinematic epic encompassing dance music, grunge, and apparently, a lot of philosophy. An album by album guide to the artistic output of Lopatin as OPN follows… feel free to skip around if one thing seems more interesting than another: the OPN discography is about as varied as they come, and even if one album sounds like the most boring thing you could possibly listen to, I guarantee the literal inverse exists somewhere else - Lopatin’s musical canon really is that diverse. In depth reviews in the full post!

RIFTS (2009)

For those of us who weren’t in Brooklyn while Lopatin established himself as a local legend in ambient and noise scenes through a prolific run of cassette only releases from 2007-09, Rifts serves as a convenient collection of OPN’s three breakout albums from that period: Betrayed in the Octagon (2007), Zones Without People (2009), and Russian Mind (2009). As 2+ hours of incredibly dense music, I’d call Rifts probably one of OPN’s most intimidating releases, unless you really dig ambient music. However, for all of its uninviting qualities, Rifts can be an incredibly impressive listen, full of synth lines that echo into oblivion, invocations of an imagined future, and huge soundscapes that evoke the majesty of early ambient classics like Aphex Twin’s Selected Ambient Works Volume 2. That ambient-genre tag might seem to imply that Rifts’ 27 tracks are homogenous and basically formless, but it’s surprisingly easy to tell when one album ends and another begins: Betrayed in the Octagon is droning and melancholic, Zones Without People has a noticeable sci-fi bent with laser beam sound effects and serene field recordings, and Russian Mind sounds legitimately as though it was created by a computer (especially the icy and kind of funny title track). Rifts is admittedly not for the feint of heart, but can be great as a long and intense synth odyssey thats just as easy to actively engage with as it is to totally get lost in.

RETURNAL (2010)

As OPN’s major label debut and probably Lopatin’s first record with serious philosophical underpinnings, Returnal can be tough to talk about because for all of the conceptual heft behind the record, it can at times sound like it belongs somewhere in that Rifts comp. Returnal is the last Oneohtrix Point Never that I’d comfortably call ambient, and even then, Lopatin really pushes the limits of that signifier: opener Nil Admirari is a total industrial noise freakout and utterly horrifying. To hear Lopatin describe it, it’s a portrait of a distinctly modern kind of sensory overload: “the mom’s sucked into CNN, freaking out about Code Orange terrorist shit, while the kid is in the other room playing Halo 3, inside that weird Mars environment, killing some James Cameron–type predator;” strip away the 2010isms of that line and you’re left with a pretty poignant image that might hit close to home. From there, the album glides effortlessly into the ambient territory Lopatin has already pretty well mastered for seven serene drone tracks that, to quote Noel Gardner, don't invoke a vast space so much as the concept of vastness itself. Though I’m by no means an ambient expert, this record is pretty massive within that community, and, if anything I’ve described here interests you, you should definitely check Returnal out.

CHUCK PERSON’S ECCOJAMS VOL. 1 (2010)

A major stylistic break from OPN’s back catalog and something of a manifesto for the rest of his career, Chuck Person’s Eccojams Vol. 1 came into being innocuously enough as an anonymous youtube upload that Lopatin only retroactively took credit for (in the form of a remastered reissue) after it literally invented vaporwave. From this point forward in Lopatin’s career, the ambient soundscapes would be replaced by something distinctly more musical; namely, on this record and the next official Oneohtrix Point Never release, Replica, samples. The approach for Eccojams is deceptively simple: 15 tracks, and each one of them consists simply of one or sometimes two samples pulled from 80's easy listening hits or muzak slowed down to a narcotic tempo and pitch, then drenched in echo and effects. Per Loptain, the eccojam approach and idea was intended to be a way of reclaiming lost culture and bringing a DIY, memey edge to music long forgotten in the annals of commercial history. For all the heady philosophical stuff, the approach really took off, spawning a huge (now basically dead) movement of fellow artists making vaporwave, reinvigorating a probably ironic fascination for ‘90s culture online, and influencing artists like Clams Casino and Kanye West. To me, Eccojams really demonstrates just how thorough Lopatin’s understanding of internet culture and the philosophical underpinnings of nostalgia is - when was the last time you heard of someone intentionally and successfully inventing a meme, let alone someone this fringe? If you’ve ever used the word “aesthetic” ironically, you probably owe some of your sense of humor to this record and the space it’s carved out for itself at the strange intersection of music, philosophy, and internet culture.

REPLICA (2011)

Replica was also probably the closest thing to a mainstream moment Daniel Lopatin had ever had thus far in his career: coming off the heels of literally inventing a genre of music and touting yet another new musical approach, a much wider audience than before was now curious as to what Oneohtrix Point Never might come out with next. The album this newfound fanbase got was, characteristically, a crazy album even for OPN - even within its most accurate genre signifier, plunderphonics (sample based music that isn’t hip hop,) there really isn't anything even remotely similar. Built around a treasure trove of ‘80s commercials that Lopatin ordered by the boxful on VHS and dutifully sampled one-by-one, Replica is simultaneously really sprawling and kaleidoscopic but also very simple and minute. Songs like Andro and the title track are serene ambient pieces that are eventually swept up in these waves of massive synth lines and samples, and The Power of Persuasion and Sleep Dealer play almost like eccojams, endlessly looping, but with a renewed energy and intensity (Sleep Dealer, interestingly enough, is built entirely around a Wrigley’s gum commercial). Elsewhere on the record, Lopatin triggers sample after manipulated sample in a dizzying way that eventually gives way to these blurred, beautiful pieces on tracks like Child Soldier (see if you can catch the M.I.A. sample,) the kinda hilarious grossout track Nassau, and Up. There really isn’t anything like this record in the OPN discography or anywhere else, and it also represents at least to me an interesting development on the idea of “vaporwave” as this act of cultural reappropration: if Eccojams saw Lopatin reimagining hits ingrained within the public memory, Replica sees him digging deeper into the American cultural psyche and attacking the history of our consumer culture even harder, playing mindless bits of sales-driven non entertainment on a loop and beckoning listeners to create their own meaning within that weird headspace. I think it’s a ton of fun.

R PLUS SEVEN (2013)

My personal favorite Oneohtrix Point Never record, R Plus Seven takes the idea of experimenting with culturally passé sounds a step further by occupying itself with some Rifts-era ideas - namely, early '90s tech fascination and the host of now considered “cheesy” sounds that came with it. Every single sound on R Plus Seven is totally clean, shiny, and metallic, seeming to exist in a totally sterile environment. Whereas the human voices found occasionally on past OPN records belonged to old samples and occasionally Lopatin himself, the voices here are all computer generated choir patches and individual voices. The songs of R Plus Seven seem almost engineered to sound of a piece with someone old cultural touchstone: Americans begins like a NatGeo nature doc before dissolving into a cacophony of wordless voices and bubbling synths, Problem Areas seems ready to soundtrack an educational video about math or computers, and every other track is peppered with pianos, horns, voices, and other instrumentation that sounds delightfully canned. The other major addition to the OPN sound on R Plus Seven is an increasing penchant for total stylistic left turns: motifs establish themselves and build only to be obliterated by an abrupt wall of noise followed by a totally new idea… Call it cheesy, but to me, the album almost evokes a computer recursively rewriting its own code, constantly stopping and starting and working in frenetic fits in between. Not once does any sort of human touch shine through on this album, but that doesn’t make the album dispassionate or desolate: it actually makes R Plus Seven easily the most fascinating OPN album to date, begging the listener to engage with it every time it evokes some cultural memory long delegated to being simply out of style. Lopatin is inviting is audience to engage with the basic building blocks of music and the culture that surrounds it on R Plus Seven, asking us why we value some sounds over others and displaying a total virtuosity in the realm of “computer music.” A must listen for anyone who wants to make music on a computer, or simply take a horrifying trip through a house of mirrors reflecting fascinating distortions of the culture they grew up in.

GARDEN OF DELETE (2015)

Easily the most visceral and rhythmic Oneohtrix Point Never record, and probably the closest Lopatin has ever come to a pure “pop” moment - take that as you will. Garden of Delete takes a total left turn away from cerebral, ambient experiments, and towards driving rhythms, extremely bright synths, heavy basslines, and vocals that seem simultaneously horrified and in awe of the state of the world as it exists; since it’s OPN, you can also expect a healthy dose of weird samples, extremely manipulated instrumental performances, and general fuckery with any of the cultural expectations a listener would bring to the table when approaching something resembling EDM. Songs like lead single Sticky Drama and closer No Good are the closest approximations of EDM that OPN has ever attempted, with throbbing, resonant bass hits and surprisingly melodic vocals giving away to total noise freakouts and, on Sticky Drama, samples from obscure vlogs on Youtube (yet another example of how OPN really effortlessly threads culture as everyone experiences it into something totally alien). Elsewhere, OPN brings a newfound intensity to tracks that, had they been wrote for earlier albums, would’ve simply been motifs: standout Freaky Eyes is a gothic epic that, after a few seconds of Kanye style chipmunk-soul, gives way to 8-bit video soundtrack bliss and horror movie soundtrack fodder, complete with digitized screaming. Elsewhere, Animals is an honest to god ballad with honest to god lyrics and a beautiful acoustic guitar part, and I Bite Through It is a fascinating exploration of syncopation and rhythm. With Garden of Delete, Oneohtrix Point Never shifted his conceptual focus onto the present and with that shift came a massive stylistic change towards frenetic, crazed intensity that I don’t think anyone could’ve predicted. Another interesting element of Garden of Delete is its sort of cinematic edge, evidence of Lopatin’s increasing prevalence as a film score composer and of his abilities to really build soundscapes around his music or tracks like Animals, SDFK, and Child of Rage. As a document of an omnivorous, Adderal-fueled flavor insanity that couldn't exist without the internet, Garden of Delete is further proof of Daniel Lopatin’s deep fascination and understanding of the world we live in, and of his unique ability to process it into music that’s equal parts unique, engaging, weird, and fun. Definitely not the best entry point to the OPN discography, but perhaps on of Lopatin’s best works.

If you like ambient music a lot, I’d probably recommend you start with Returnal. If you’re more interested in Lopatin’s late period craziness, I’d probably start with R Plus Seven or Replica and go from there. Hope this inspires anyone curious or intimidated by Oneohtrix Point Never’s huge discography to give his stuff a try - if you can’t already tell, I think it’s a worthwhile dive to take.

#oneohtrix point never #opn #guide #reviews #daylight archives

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hermanwatts · 4 years ago

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Sensor Sweep: Hall of the Giant King, Henry Kuttner, William Stout, Alex Nino

RPG (Grodog): Thinking through the mega-dungeons I’m familiar with, the stand out qualities that I love to play through, and the mega-dungeons that bring that to the table are: Best Environments to Explore and Map: Castle El Raja Key, Maure Castle, Caverns of Thracia, Foolsgrave. Most-Fun Encounters: Castle Greyhawk, Foolsgrave, Rich Franks’ mega-dungeon. Most-Fun Puzzles, Enigmas, and Centerpiece Encounters: Castle Greyhawk, Maure Castle, WG5, ASE1/2-3, Undermountain.

Science Fiction (Alexandra Rowland): I was groomed and abused by Scott Lynch and Elizabeth Bear for several years. For a long time, I never wanted to talk about this in public. I didn’t want anybody to know about this. I only began rethinking yesterday and I was still considering what to do about it, but… …Apparently I don’t have that luxury anymore.

Art (Modiphius): The Art of Robert E. Howard’s Conan: Adventures in an Age Undreamed Of features a selection of some of the most incredible art associated with the classic barbarian hero ever assembled into one set of covers. With one of the most successful gaming Kickstarter campaigns of all time, Conan set out to be the definitive treatment of Conan in games: central to that was recruiting a stellar lineup of artists for covers and interior illustrations. The Art of Conan presents a variety of art drawn from the incredible core rulebook and the expansive line of sourcebooks and supplements, organized by book, allowing players and fans of amazing sword-and-sorcery art to enjoy this fantastic art on its own.

New Release (DMR Books): Cahena is a historical novel (with fantasy elements) dealing with the brave and beautiful warrior queen who reigned over the Berbers in the seventh century. The Cahena, as she was known, was believed to be a sorceress and prophetess. She led an army forty thousand strong, wielding javelins and scimitars, in a valiant struggle against the Mohammedan invaders who were fresh from their conquest of Carthage. Rich in historical detail and dramatic action, this is a story to rival the great war epics of all time.

Publishing (Amatopia): There’s been talk on social media by Big Prominent Authors who’ve been paid a lot of money to write stuff about how hard it is to stay prolific in these totally unprecedented and difficult times. These writers–whose only job is to write–can’t seem to squeeze in a page or two amidst the chaos. It’s emotionally taxing do perform their job, you see. It’s so hard because evil bad people who may or may not be orange keep them from focusing. What a bunch of weenies.

Genre (Pulprev): Today when people think of science fiction and fantasy, chances are, they think of two separate genres. Science fiction, the genre of starships and computers and technology. Fantasy, the genre of knights and dragons and castles. Two distinct genres, and never the twain shall meet. The meeting of the two, science fantasy, was the exception, the red-headed stepchild, never part of the mainstream. This wasn’t always the case.

Art (Heavy Metal): William Stout has had a long and eventful career as an illustrator and production designer—you can read all about it in the biography on his official website. His work has run in numerous publications, including Heavy Metal. And then there was Masters of the Universe. The 1987 movie seemed like a good idea, given the popularity of the toys, but the Cannon Films production, starring Dolph Lundgren as He-Man and Frank Langella as Skeletor, was a flop.

Paleontology (Phys.org): Lions were once far more widespread than they are now, with several subspecies of lions dividing the world between them. They were found in much of Europe and Asia including the Middle East, in Africa, North America and maybe South America. Previously, the cave lion Panthera leo spelaea was found across much of Eurasia and as far as Alaska and Canada. But cave lions died out 13 000 years ago, perhaps partly due to humans, although paleontologists suspect that climate change played a major role. The American lion P. leo atrox suffered the same fate.

T.V. (Kairos): Loyal readers know that a key mission of this blog is shedding light on Hollywood’s hatred of their audience. Much as A Bridge Too Far proves Pigman’s Caine-Hackman hypothesis, the1998 movie Pleasantville epitomizes Hollywood Death Cultism. YouTuber Devon Stack, who reviews movies with a keen eye for both literary criticism and propaganda, explains this superficially innocent film’s subversive depths. “As much as the baby boomers fought to overturn and rebel against and eventually destroy the American culture that existed before them, one thing that I have always found interesting is how much the same champions of counterculture that sadistically dismembered their heritage and mocked every tradition their parents have gifted them, but at the same time romanticize this same culture they worked so hard to undo.”

Science Fiction (Adventures Fantastic): “Trog” appeared in the June 1944 issue of Astounding. It has never been reprinted. The story is set in 1956. Civilization has been collapsing for four years. The general consensus is that humanity has a collective, mass consciousness that has tired of civilization. It takes over people at random and causes them to destroy things. Supply lines have been disrupted. Food is scarce. Things that break cannot be replaced. People destroy things. Those that do are called trogs, short for troglodytes.

Book Review (Marzaat): In the summer of 1565 on the parched ground of Malta, the future of Western Civilization was decided. Would the Moslems continue their expansion into the Mediterranean, preying on European ships and taking Christian slaves as far away as England? Or could they be held back? It was an epic struggle, an astounding tale of resolve and leadership, of disunity in command and disunity among allies.

Tolkien (Notion Club Papers): Tolkien and The Silmarillion by Clyde Kilby. Lion Publishing, Berkhamsted, Kent, UK. 1977 pp 89. (US edition, 1976.) This is a hardly-known, slim, minor, but fascinating contribution to the writings about Tolkien. Its centre is an account of the summer of 1966 which the author spent meeting with the seventy-four year old Tolkien a few times per week, ostensibly to provide him with informed and enthusiastic secretarial assistance to get The Silmarillion ready for publication.

Pulp Magazines (Black Gate): This third installment of the Weird Tales deep read covers the eleven stories in the October 1934 issue, including the first Jirel of Joiry story by C. L. Moore. Her flame didn’t burn as long in the Unique Magazine as the Lovecraft-Howard-Smith trinity’s did, but it did burn as brightly. Moore had sixteen stories in Weird Tales between 1933-1939, twelve in an incredible burst of creativity in the years 1934-1936.

Travel (Last Stand on Zombie Island): Outside of Moscow, reportedly on the location of one of the principal stavkas of the 1941 defense of the city from the German invasion, now stands the so-called Main Cathedral of Russian Armed Forces. Built by popular subscription (with lots of help from the military and government) the immense Eastern Orthodox church is a living, breathing memory to the Russian (not Soviet) effort against Hitler in the Great Patriotic War.

Art (DMR Books): The result was The Fantasy Worlds of Alex Nino, which came out in 1975, just a few short years after Alex began doing work for American comics. The publisher was Christopher Enterprises, a somewhat shadowy company about which I’ve been able to discover little. They emerged on the scene in 1975, put out portfolios by Nino and Michael Kaluta, then followed that with a Bernie Wrightson portfolio in 1976. Also in 1976, Christopher Enterprises published several awesome posters by Wrightson and Stephen Hickman.

Weird Tales (Tellers of Weird Tales): I first wrote about Earl Peirce, Jr., on May 17, 2017. I misidentified him then as Earl Monroe Pierce, Jr., based on his age and his residency in Washington, D.C., where Peirce/Pierce is known to have lived. A month later, an anonymous commenter let me know that I had the wrong person and provided a link to an online discussion about the right one. I removed what I had written and promised an update and correction. By then it was too late: my mistake was memorialized in the Internet Speculative Fiction Database (ISFDb) and you can still find it there today. I pride myself on doing good work.

Old Science Fiction (M Porcius): Here at MPorcius Fiction Log we are beating the heat and staying off the streets by reading old issues of Thrilling Wonder Stories at the internet archive. In our last episode we read three stories by Leigh Brackett; those tales of rough men trying to master their environments and find or create a place where they belonged–and the women who loved them–were later reprinted in Brackett collections and theme anthologies. Today we read three stories by Henry Kuttner that have not been quite so widely reprinted–you might call them “deep cuts.”

RPG (R’lyeh Reviews): 1978: G3 Hall of the Giant King. 1974 is an important year for the gaming hobby. It is the year that Dungeons & Dragons was introduced, the original RPG from which all other RPGs would ultimately be derived and the original RPG from which so many computer games would draw for their inspiration. It is fitting that the current owner of the game, Wizards of the Coast, released the new version, Dungeons & Dragons, Fifth Edition, in the year of the game’s fortieth anniversary.

Sensor Sweep: Hall of the Giant King, Henry Kuttner, William Stout, Alex Nino published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

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web-apps-blog · 6 years ago

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Engineers Australia: Create

0SHARES000

Artificial intelligence will be able to do many things – destroying the world won’t be one of them, says Professor Toby Walsh.

In the 2013 movie Her, a lonely man called Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) falls in love with his new operating system Samantha (Scarlett Johansson). Critically acclaimed, the movie won an Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay and was nominated for Best Picture.However, the acclaim wasn’t limited to the arts community. According to one of Australia’s top artificial intelligence (AI) experts, Toby Walsh, the film resonated with his community too.“Unfortunately, if you ask AI researchers which AI movie they like, they complain that most of them paint such a dystopian picture of what AI’s going to do to the planet,” he said.“One that I like, and many of my colleagues have said they like as well, is the movie Her which is not a very dystopian picture at all, and gets something very right, which is that AI is the operating system of the future.”Walsh said the way we interact with computers has evolved from plugging wires into the front panel of the computer, to machine code programming, MS-DOS with its command line interface, and ultimately the graphical user interface we are all used to today.“The next layer is going to be this conversational one. You already see the beginnings of that in systems like Siri and Cortana,” he said. Toby Walsh with the collaborative industrial robot Baxter. (Photo: Grant Turner/UNSW) “As we move more to the Internet of Things, your house is full of devices that are connected to the internet that don’t have screens or keyboards. The front door, the light switch, the fridge, all of these are going to be networked together. There’s only one interface you can have with these, which is voice interface.“You’ll have this ongoing conversation that follows you around, and authenticates you on the biometrics of your voice. It will learn everything about you and your preferences. It will be very much like the movie. People will get quite attached to this person they’re having the conversation with all the time.”He said it’s hard to think of an area that artificial intelligence is not going to touch in some way.“It’s going to touch education, it’s going to touch healthcare, it’s going to touch pretty much every form of business you could imagine,” he said.“Anything cognitive that we do, you can imagine it touching. It’s hard to begin to think about what it won’t change.”Next moveWalsh said there are a lot of misconceptions out there about what artificial intelligence is able to do.“If you summed up all the things that you read in the newspapers, then you’d imagine it’s only a matter of moments before the machines are going to be taking over, which is far from the truth,” he said.“There are still a lot of significant hurdles to overcome before we can actually make machines as intelligent as us, and likely more intelligent than us. We recently saw the announcement of AlphaGo Zero, where they just gave it the rules of the game Go and it learned everything from scratch in just three days, then beat the program that beat Lee Sedol (World Go champion) 100-0.“That was pretty impressive. But we still build only narrow intelligence, programs that can do one task. We have made almost no progress on this idea of artificial general intelligence, programs that can match the breadth of abilities of the human brain.”He suspects it will be at least 50 years before we will get to machines that will be as intelligent as us and possibly longer.“I’m still hopeful it might happen in my lifetime, that would be a nice achievement. It’s not impossible but it could easily not happen for 100 years, or 200 years. One should always have a healthy respect for the human brain. It is the largest, most complex system we’ve seen in the universe by orders of magnitude, nothing approaches the complexity of the billions of neurons and the trillions of connections the human brain has, nothing!”The awakeningWalsh was born in southeastern England, just outside London, and confesses that as a boy he read too much science fiction.“From about the age of seven or eight I started to read about robots and intelligent machines,” he said.“Maybe I didn’t have any imagination, but it’s what I decided I wanted to do in life – try and build those things that I read about. The more I thought about the problem as I got older and could understand a bit more about it, I realised it was actually one of those challenging problems that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon, like how did the universe come into existence?”After studying maths and physics at Cambridge University, he did his PhD in artificial intelligence at the University of Edinburgh. There he met an Australian philosophy professor who invited him to Canberra to teach at a summer school each year for the next ten years or so.“I would come out for a couple of weeks or a month in the middle of December and January, and escape the British winter,” he said.“I learnt to love Australia in that time.”Eventually, he landed a permanent position at National ICT Australia (NICTA) now part of the CSIRO’s data innovation group, Data61, and the University of NSW where he is Scientia Professor of Artificial Intelligence. The cover of Toby Walsh’s new book. He is particularly interested in the interface between distributed optimisation, social choice, game theory and machine learning and believes now is probably the most exciting time to be an AI researcher.“I started as a postgraduate researcher at what was the tail end of the AI boom, the expert system boom,” he said.“It was actually already on the downswing at that point. Then it was what was called the AI winter. We’re definitely in spring, if not summer by now. It’s a very exciting time. You can’t open the newspaper and not read several AI stories.”Of course, this increasing interest opens the door to misinformation being spread about AI as well. So, last year Walsh decided he “had a duty” to write his own definitive guide to the field: It’s Alive! Artificial intelligence from the logic piano to killer robots.It’s Alive!One big question, which takes up a large chunk of Walsh’s book, is what will happen to human jobs in the future if many tasks can be performed better by machines?“We don’t really know the answer to this,” he said.“Lots of new jobs will be created by technology, that’s always been the case. Most of us used to work out in the fields, farming. Now just three per cent of the world’s population is involved in farming. Lots of jobs were created in office and factories that didn’t exist before the industrial revolution.”However, he acknowledged there is a chance it could be different this time around.“Previously when our brawn was replaced we still had a cognitive advantage over the machines,” he said.“If we don’t have a cognitive advantage over the machines, what is the edge that humans have? We have social intelligence, emotional intelligence that machines don’t have. We have creativity. Machines are not as adaptable as humans yet. It could be the case that we end up with fewer people employed than before. That is possible. One thing is absolutely certain, that there will be jobs displaced and new jobs will be created. And the new jobs will require different skills to the old jobs.”He said the caring professions, artistic professions and scientific professions should all survive, professions where there is no natural limit to the potential of the job, unlike say ploughing fields or assembling widgets, repetitive tasks that could be done by robots and then the humans are no longer needed in that role.Interestingly, he feels some ancient jobs will grow in stature while some newer jobs might be very short-lived.“One of the newest jobs on the planet is being an Uber driver. But Uber are already trialling autonomous taxis. The driver is the most expensive thing in the Uber. It’s clearly part of their business plan to get rid of them as quickly as possible. That’s probably one of the first jobs that’s going to completely disappear,” he said.“Whereas, one of the oldest jobs on the planet, with a very venerable history, is a carpenter, that is probably going to be one of the safest in the sense that hand carved objects are going to be increasingly valued. We’ll appreciate those things where we can see the touch of the human hand, and if we believe economists, their value will increase.“In fact, if you look at hipster culture today, you can already see the beginnings of that: craft beers, artisan cheese, and hand-baked bread. It seems to me that there might be some beautiful symmetry, where we’ll actually all end up doing the jobs that we used to do 500 years ago when we were craft people.” Toby Walsh with a Meccano robot he and his daughter assembled. This is where the choices he mentioned previously come into play again.“We need to think about how we might need to change education so that people are educated for whatever the new jobs are; whether we’re going to have more free time; whether income is going to be distributed well enough,” he said.“We seem to be suffering from an increase in inequality within society and technology may amplify that. That’s certainly a worrying trend.”Another area for discussion is how far we want AI to evolve. Do we want it to get to consciousness and what would the consequences of that be?“Supposing machines become intelligent, but not conscious, then we wouldn’t have to be troubled, if for example, we turn them off or we make them do the most terrible, repetitive, dangerous, or other activities that we wouldn’t ask a human to do,” he said.“So we could be saved from some difficult ethical quandaries. Whereas, if they are conscious, maybe they could be thought of as suffering in that respect, then maybe we’ll have to give them rights, so we’ll have to worry about these things. It could be useful if they’re not conscious.��Killer robotsWalsh said there are issues regarding the use of artificial intelligence where we should be concerned. Most notable is its use by the military.In 2015, he coordinated an open letter to the United Nations signed by more than 1000 leading researchers in artificial intelligence and robotics including Apple co-founder Steve Wozniak and Tesla CEO Elon Musk as well as other luminaries such as physicist Stephen Hawking and philosopher Noam Chomsky. The letter called for a universal ban on the use of lethal autonomous weapons.“Certainly today machines are not morally capable of following international humanitarian law,” he said.“Even if we could build machines that were able to make the right moral distinctions, there are lots of technical reasons in terms of industrialising warfare, changing the scale at which you can fight warfare that would suggest to me that it would be a very bad road to go down.”He said the world has agreed in the past to ban certain nuclear, chemical and biological weapons after seeing the horrific impact they can cause. And they also preemptively banned blinding lasers after realising the potential horror. Playing around in the UNSW robotics lab. His activism on the issue has seen him invited to the United Nations in both New York and Geneva to argue the case for a ban on autonomous weapons.“It’s very surreal to find oneself in such an auditorium having conversations with ambassadors,” he said.“It’s also gratifying how flat the world is. I had a meeting with the Under Secretary General, who’s the number two in the United Nations. He was asking my opinion about autonomous weapons. It’s been a very interesting ongoing journey, in fact.”It has also opened his eyes to the reality of international diplomacy and how difficult it can be to get things done.“Pleasingly they have gone from the issue first being raised less than five years ago, to three years of informal discussions, and now last year they voted unanimously to begin formal discussions, what’s called a group of governmental experts,” he said.“I’m told, for the United Nations, that is lightning speed. But this is very slow from a practical perspective as the technology is advancing very rapidly.”He said they warned a couple of years ago in their open letter that there would be an arms race. Now, the arms race has begun with prototype weapons being developed by militaries around the world in every sphere of the battle, in the air, on the sea, under the oceans, and on the land.“There’s plenty of money to be made out of selling the next type of weapon to people. There’s a lot of economic and military pressure. You can see why the military would be keen to have assistive technologies,” he said.And he acknowledged there are some arguments for autonomous weapons.“You can see, certainly from an operational point of view, there are some obvious attractions to getting soldiers out of the battlefield, and having weapons that follow orders very precisely, weapons with super-human speed and reflexes, weapons that will fight 24/7, weapons that you can risk on the riskiest of operations, that you don’t have to worry about evacuating from the battlefield when they’re damaged,” he said.“It’s not completely black and it’s not completely white. But I think the weight of evidence is strongly against having autonomous weapons.”However, it is ethical questions such as this that make working in the field so interesting.“It is like the famous Chinese curse, ‘May you live in interesting times’,” he said.“It’s a very interesting time, because we’re starting to realise if we do succeed, then we have to worry about exactly how we use the technology. How do we make sure it doesn’t get misused? It’s a morally neutral technology, it can be used for good or for bad. We have to make the right choices so that it gets used for good.”

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copiosis · 6 years ago

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10 Ways Capitalism Is The Best Thing Ever

Imagine some point in the future. Aliens finally arrive on the planet. They’re staging a massive in-the-open friendship visit. But when they come out of their ships, they’re shaking their heads in embarrassment.

For us.

We still haven’t moved past capitalism.

You may not give a rip about judgemental aliens. Maybe anti-capitalist arguments for doing away with capitalism seem silly to you. Especially arguments for socialism as a viable replacement.

Maybe you believe capitalism is magnificent and needs no replacement. We agree, it’s pretty spectacular. So rather than argue about why it should go, let’s look at 10 ways capitalism makes humanity better off. Then let’s look at some truly viable reasons why we might be better-served as a species letting capitalism go.

· · ·

It’s impossible to deny capitalism’s magnificence.

That doesn’t mean we need to stick with it. Seriously, which phone are you reading this on?

How about the car you aspire to drive?

In both the automobile and the cell phone, when the first version came out, we marvelled. They were AWESOME! But as successive versions came out, the previous versions paled in comparison.

The point is, things get better. Always. So when we say –– humanity –– that we can do better, we’re saying the same thing every maker says: we can always do better.

And should.

Because people expect it.

Why should capitalism be an exception?

· · ·

Physical reality is peculiar. Look hard enough and you can find evidence for any belief. So you may believe capitalism is spectacular. And you’d be right. Because there’s a lot of evidence supporting that belief.

But those who think capitalism sucks will discount your evidence. They’ll point out all the evidence they see supporting their contention. And they’d be right, because they can find as much evidence supporting their belief and you find supporting yours.

But if either camp changes its belief, they would see there is ample evidence supporting the opposing one. The facts are, capitalism has been spectacular. And sucky.

But let’s forget about the sucky part.

Instead, let’s hearald the great things capitalism accomplishes. But first, let’s get on the same page about what “capitalism” is. It’s more than the basic definition.

When we refer to capitalism, we’re not referring to strict “free market” capitalism. There is no such thing.

^^ Photo: Joshua Hoehne

We define capitalism as a system including (1) markets where entities trade goods and services, (2) a regulatory system (government) that keeps that trade (mostly) fair, and (3) a monetary system used as a subjective standard of value across all trades. These three are all controlled by private owners for profit.

So with that definition, bring on the big ten:

Capitalism has survived.This is some feat. Despite its many rivals, some far older and established, capitalism dominates. That in itself deserves a round of applause.

Capitalism generates fabulous wealth for a lot of people. Not so much a remarkable feat because if it didn’t do this, it would by definition be a failure. Some people are not enjoying as much wealth as others. Whether that's a feature or a bug is arguable. Neverthelessmany, many people have enjoyed higher living standards via capitalism.

Capitalism fosters unprecedented innovation and advances. Especially advances in science, medicine, and technology. Indeed, capitalism’s success at this is about to overwhelm capitalism itself. This is an extraordinary accomplishment.

Capitalism increases living standards. Hard to argue with this. Fewer are living in poverty today than ever before. And it’s the case everywhere. A great big hooray for that!!!!

Capitalism provides the best place (so far) for people to trade goods and services (mostly) safely, (mostly) efficientlyand (mostly) reliably. In fact, more goods and services get traded today than ever before. And there doesn’t seem to be an end in sight. The majority of those trades are fair...leaving most parties happy with the transaction. That’s astonishing.

Speaking of astonishing, capitalism provides astonishing levels of entertainment. Our minds boggle at the variety of entertainment in the world. Anything and everything is “entertainmentized”....and for good reason: entertainment is profitable. Hugely. It’s profitable because people crave entertainment. Which brings us to...7

Capitalism is pretty good at giving people what they want.It’s even better at giving people what they crave. Usually. If you want something, wait a little while. If enough agree with you, capitalism is going to give it to you. Which brings us to number 8...

Capitalism makes it obvious what people like and what they don’t like. The contrast between the two equals opportunity for the would be profit maker. As we said in 7, it’s easy to give people what they want. So the contrast capitalism creates between wanted and unwanted supports people getting what they want because it tells profit makers what to offer for a profit. Capitalism is not as good at providing things people need. But we’re not talking about the sucky part, right?

Capitalism offers unlimited ways to make money. It allows human creativity almost free reign. Even its regulating element is “slippery” enough to allow profit from massive illegal activities. How awesome is that?

Capitalism offers those who want to succeed –– a route to that success. If you want to be successful you have a good chance of success. As long as you’re willing to work hard for that success and, for some, overcome daunting odds. So that’s ten. But as a bonus...

Capitalism creates a space for human advancement. As a system, capitalism’s political component allows expression of all kinds of ideas. Be it defense, aeronautics, robotics, artistic expression, relationships or even self-development, capitalism money-making function drives an openness for almost any idea that potentially can make human life better.

Whew. That’s a lot to think about. Reading this list one has to ask: why do we want to replace this system with something we don’t know for sure can do as well, let alone better?

Well, there are a lot of reasons. Here are ten of them.

Because we can. There is nothing about capitalism that says we can’t improve it. Some people fear that, somehow, we’ll break it while trying to improve it. That’s not a good reason to leave it be. What if Apple said, “Eh, the first iPhone was good enough”? Besides, so many things about capitalism point to the needto improve it. Again, if you believe it’s fabulous, or you don’t have an idea of how to improve it, you may not see the need. But more and more people are seeing the need. Let’s forget the need: we canimprove it.Humans are creative. We are forever making up new shit. And, on the whole, most of the shit we make is better than the shit we made before the new shit. “Better than capitalism” will be no different.

Because we must. There’s a tribe in America whose members tire of the word “inclusive”. Yet, the earth is by definition inclusive...of all the people on it. There is an unlimited amount of opportunity on the planet. Enough for everyone. But capitalism sucks at providing equal access to that opportunity. That’s something we must change. And there is no reason not to. Unless you fear people taking your opportunity. If you are afraid, that’s only because you’ve lost sight of opportunity’s unlimited nature. It’s everywhere. Who said “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself?” Let’s listen to that guy, America.

Because while capitalism offers human advancement, it squelches human advancement at the same time. Money, profit and success are not universal incentives. Nor should they be. Think they should be? Please, leave a comment about why you think that. We can have a system that gives every human being, no matter their motivation, the incentive and the resources to express their creative talents. You don’t know if that person sitting all day playing computer games isn’t the next Hemingway, Spielberg, Gates, or Branson. Now you may say “if he were, he wouldn’t be playing video games. He’d get off his ass and do some things.” And, in your belief you’d be right. But you are not that person. So you can’t know. We can’t know. Until we give that person the opportunity. We’ve seen amazing creativity and innovation in the world as a result of capitalism. Imagine the ENORMOUS creative/innovation explosion if everyone has access to opportunity and resources. Equal access. Today’s capitalism can’t and won’t ever do that. It’s not structured with that outcome in mind.

Because capitalism is amoral. Capitalism will pay you whether you do things that make people better off, or if you screw people. You may disagree with this, but we don’t see how. The evidence is overwhelming. There are all kinds of things we do producing widely agreed upon immoral results. In every case, this is because doing those things make people a lot of money. Imagine if we directed that doing to activities making the world better. Provided those activities could make people as wealthy as those immoral ones, all those people doing great things could make the world much better pretty quickly. That’s the future we owe ourselves.

Because capitalism promotes scarcity and scarcity fosters competition. If you’re thinking “not everyone can live in wealth, the planet can’t support it.” then you are a victim of the scarcity-mentality capitalism promotes. If you’re thinking “but competition is good for us” then you, again, are a victim of capitalism. Believe it or not, the word of the day on Earth is cooperation. Not competition. Two words, actually: Cooperation and plenty. There is plenty of room on the planet for everyone to have what they want. Period. There is plenty of room for every expression of humanity. Period. There is plenty of room on the planet for people to live in the way they desire. The fact is, not everyone wants to live on a 100 acre ranch, on the coast, or in Monaco. Nor does everyone want what you want. So you aren’t in competition with anyone. But capitalism makes you feel that way, because it enforces scarcity mentality*.

Because it’s traditional. Even conservatives want change and progress. Tradition has its place. But not when it is restrictive, discriminatory (not justwith regard to racial and gender minorities) and justplain brutish. It especially should not apply to the system which runs the world. You can be traditional in your values. You can be traditional in your beliefs. But a system that adheres to tradition is problematic. That’s because it resists progress. Progress is the human condition. Usually, but not always, behind someone’s arguing for tradition is the fear of change. But change is the human condition too. We can not base the future on tradition. That will end us all.

Because it’s old. Capitalism is new compared to monarchies but it’s still freaking old. Meanwhile our global society and culture is embracing a future that is in stark contrast with the old ways of doing things. We’re about to see the end of most jobs for cris’ sakes. We need a system that can accommodate that. The system that is capitalism is not that. Capitalism runs on monetary profit. In the future where AI infuses everything –– even humans –– a focus on monetary profit is bound to create massive wealth inequality. We are already seeing this.

Because humanity is brave (this one is for those living in the US). We are Americans. Despite our flaws, we have boldlygone far from our beginnings. Yes, we’ve screwed ourselves and others on many occasions, but our intents have always been good. Yes, we are, even today, hypocritical in our bravery. We refuse to confront and solve many social, value and political issues. None the less, America isn’t a bunch of cowards. We have the mettle to let capitalism retire. When Steve Jobs left Apple, apple thrived. The same will happen when capitalism goes: humanity will thrive.

Because it’s the next frontier. Exploration is a “can’t help it” characteristic of humanity. Many frontiers await us. Many of those are even now, testing capitalism. There’s more of that coming. So let’s “boldlygo” with something better than capitalism. Something offering equal access, while still providing the unequal outcomes every sane human would agree is appropriate. Lastly...

Because we are America (this one is for those living in the US too). America enjoys an aura of leadership unlike any other country so far. Even with our current president, most nations respect what we stand for. Are we going to allow some other nation of people to shape the future for us? We don’t think Americans will stand for that. So doesn’t it make sense that Americans plant the flag on this new frontier, like we did on the moon?

It’s no doubt that capitalism has served us. Let’s laud its magnificent accomplishments. But let’s not think that this thing, unlike every other thing, can endure unchanged. Is capitalism reallythe only thing on the planet that can survive without changing for the better?

We don’t think so.

Humanity looks pretty silly using the latest technologies –– in every aspect of its experience –– except in how it runs its civilizations. Should some alien force visit in the future, intent on friendship, let’s be ready for them. Hopefullythey won’t be judgmental dicks. Still, let’s not embarrass ourselves. Let’s show them how far we’ve come.

*Scarcity mentality is not the same as actual scarcity. There are some things that are scarce. But that’s not true for most things. But for those things that are scarce, there are alternatives/substitutes. But the mental state of scarcity, which is fostered by competition(there can only be up to three winners) isreal. And that reality creates so many of todays problems. From environmental destruction all the way down to bullying in elementary school.

#copiosis #capitalism #capitalism is evil #capitalism is violence #capitalism is killing me #capitalism is hell #democrats #democracy #democratic socialism #Democracy Now!#socialism #democratic socialist party #democratic national committee #divided #black lives matter #america #Healthcare #Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez #bernie sanders

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pamphletstoinspire · 6 years ago

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A LANDSCAPE WITH DRAGONS - The Battle for Your Child’s Mind - Part 4

A story written by: Michael D. O’Brien

________

Chapter IV

The Mortal Foe of My Children

The New Illiteracy

Like it or not, we are fast becoming an illiterate people. Yes, most of us can read. Indeed, adults and children now read more books, numerically speaking, than at any other time in history. But our minds are becoming increasingly passive and image oriented because of the tremendous influence of the visual media. Television, film, and the video revolution dominate our culture like nothing before in the history of mankind. In addition, computers, word processors, pocket calculators, telephones, and a host of similar inventions have lessened the need for the disciplines of the mind that in former generations were the distinguishing marks of an intelligent person. In those days man learned to read and write because of necessity or privilege: maps, medical lore, the history of the race, genealogies, and recipes. Each of these could be handed down intact to the forthcoming generations far more easily, and with greater accuracy in written form than by word of mouth.

So too with the ancient myths and legends that embodied the spiritual intuitions of a people. The printed word guaranteed that no essential detail would be lost. And if the storyteller had the soul of an artist, he could also impart the flavor of his times, the spiritual climate in which his small and large dramas were enacted. Words made permanent on a page would to some extent overcome the weaknesses of memory and avoid the constant tendency in human nature to distort and to select according to tastes and prejudices. Furthermore, the incredible act of mastering a written language greatly increased a person’s capacity for clear thought. And people capable of thought were also better able—at least in theory—to avoid the mistakes of their ancestors and to make a more humane world. The higher goal of literacy was the ability to recognize truth and to live according to it.

Something is happening in modern culture that is unprecedented in human history. At the same time that the skills of the mind, especially the power of discernment, are weakened, many of the symbols of the Western world are being turned topsyturvy. This is quite unlike what happened to the pagan faiths of the ancient classical world with the gradual fading of their mythologies as their civilizations developed. That was a centuries-long draining away of the power and meaning of certain mythological symbols. How many Greeks in the late classical period, for example, truly believed that Zeus ruled the world from Mount Olympus? How many citizens of imperial Rome believed that Neptune literally controlled the oceans? In Greece the decline of cultic paganism occurred as the Greeks advanced in pursuit of truth through philosophy. For many Greeks the gods came to be understood as personifications of ideals or principles in the universe. The Romans, on the other hand, grew increasingly humanistic and materialistic. Though the mystery cults of the East flooded into the West as the Empire spread, the Roman ethos maintained more or less a basic pragmatism; at its best it pursued the common good, civic order, philosophical reflection. At its worst it was superstitious and unspeakably cruel. But all of this was a long, slow process of development, inculturation, and decline.

By contrast, the loss of our world of symbols is the result of a deliberate attack upon truth, and this loss is occurring with astonishing rapidity. On practically every level of culture, good is no linger presented as good but rather as a prejudice held by a limited religious system (Christianity). Neither is evil any longer perceived as evil in the way we once understood it. Evil is increasingly depicted as a means to achieve good.

With television in most homes throughout the Western world, images bombard our minds in a way never before seen. Children are especially vulnerable to the power of images, precisely because they are at a stage of development when their fundamental concepts of reality are being formed. Their perceptions and understanding are being shaped at every moment, as they have been in every generation, through a ceaseless ingathering of words and images. But in a culture that deliberately targets the senses and overwhelms them, employing all the genius of technology and art, children have fewer resources to discern rightly than at any other time in history. Flooded with a vast array of entertaining stimuli, children and parents suppose that they live in a world of multiple choices. In fact, their choices are shrinking steadily, because as the quantity increases, quality decreases. Our society is the first in history to produce such a culture and to export it to the world, sweeping away the cultures of various nations, peoples, and races and establishing the world’s first global civilisation. But what is the character of this new civilization?

The modern mind is no longer formed on a foundation of absolute truths, which past societies found written in the natural law and which were revealed to us more explicitly in Christianity: At one time song and story handed down this world of insight from generation to generation. But our songs and stories are being usurped. Films, videos, and commercial television have come close to replacing the Church, the arts, and the university as the primary shaper of the modern sense of reality. Most children now drink from these polluted wells, which seem uncleanable and unaccountable to anyone except the money-makers. The children who do not drink from them can feel alienated from their own generation, because they have less talk and play to share with friends who have been fed only on the new electronic tales.

Busy modern parents seem to have less time to read to their children or to tell them stories. Many children grow up never having heard a nursery rhyme, not to mention a real fairy tale, legend, or myth. Instead, hours of their formative years are spent watching electronic entertainment. The sad result is that many children are being robbed of vital energies, the native powers of the imagination replaced by an addict’s appetite for visceral stimuli, and creative play replaced with lots of expensive toys that are the spinoffs of the shows they watch. Such toys stifle imaginative and creative development because they do practically everything for the child, turning him into the plaything of market strategists. Moreover, most media role models are far from wholesome. Dr. Brandon Centerwall, writing in the June 10, 1992, issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association, links television violence with the soaring crime rates. There would be ten thousand fewer murders, seventy thousand fewer rapes, and seven hundred thousand fewer violent assaults, he says, if television had never been invented.

Many parents exercise very little control over their children’s consumption of entertainment. For those who try to regulate the tube, there is a constant struggle. A parent may stand guard by the television set, ready to turn it off or change the channel if offensive material flashes across the screen, but he will not be quick enough. Immoral or grotesque scenes can be implanted in his children’s minds before he has a chance to flick the remote control. He may even fall victim to his own fascination and lose the will to do so. Scientific studies have shown conclusively that within thirty seconds of watching television, a viewer enters a measurable trancelike state. This allows the material shown to bypass the critical faculty, so that images and ideas are absorbed by the mind without conscious reflection. Even when the contents of a program are not grossly objectionable, hours of boredom and nonsense are tolerated, because the viewer keeps hoping insanely that the show will get better. Television beguiles many of the senses at once, and the viewer is locked into its pace in order not to “miss anything”.

But perhaps the shows ought to be missed. When one listens carefully to many of the programs made for children, one frequently hears the strains of modern Gnosticism: “If you watch this, you will know more, be more grown-up, more smart, more cool, more funny, more able to talk about it with your friends.”—“You decide. You choose. Truth is what you believe it to be.”—“Right and wrong are what you feel are right and wrong for you. Question authority. To become what you want to be, you must be a rebel.”—“You make yourself; you create your own reality.”—“We can make a perfect world. Backward older people, especially ignorant traditionalists, are the major stumbling blocks to building a peaceful, healthy, happy planet.” And so forth. It’s all there in children’s culture, and it pours into their minds with unrelenting persistence, sometimes as the undercurrent but increasingly as the overt, central message. What stands in the path of this juggernaut? What contradicts these falsehoods? Parental authority? The Church? In film after film parents (especially fathers) are depicted as abusers at worst, bumbling fools at best. Christians are depicted as vicious bigots, and ministers of religion as either corrupt hypocrites or confused clowns.

The young “heroes” and “heroines” of these dramas are the mouthpieces of the ideologies of modern social and political movements, champions of materialism, sexual libertarianism, environmentalism, feminism, globalism, monism, and all the other isms that are basically about reshaping reality to fit the new world envisioned by the intellectual élites. Victims of their own gnosis (which they see in grand terms of “broadness” of vision, freedom, and creativity), they are in fact reducing the mystery and majesty of creation to a kind of Flatland. If this were a matter of simple propaganda, it would not get very far. No one can survive long in Flatland, because at root it is busy demolishing the whole truth about man, negating the ultimate worth of the human person, and turning him into an object to be consumed or manipulated. Thus, the propagandist must prevent any awakening of conscience and derail the development of real imagination in his audience. He must inflame the imagination in all the wrong directions and supply a steady dose of pleasurable stimuli as a reward mechanism. He must calm any uneasiness in the conscience by supplying many social projects, causes, and issues that the young can embrace with passionate pseudo-idealism.

The late Dr. Russell Kirk, in a lecture on the moral imagination, warned that a people who reject the right order of the soul and the true good of society will in the end inherit “fire and slaughter”. When culture is deprived of moral vision, the rise of the “diabolic imagination” is the inevitable result. What begins as rootless idealism soon passes into the sphere of “narcotic illusions”, then ends in “diabolic regimes”.1 Tyrants come in many forms, and only the ones who inflict painful indignities on us are immediately recognizable for what they are. But what happens to the discernment of a people when a tyrant arrives without any of the sinister costumes of brutal dictators? What happens when the errors come hi pleasing disguises and are promoted by talented people who know full well how to use all the resources of modern psychology to make of the human imagination the instrument of their purpose? How long will it take the people of our times to understand that when humanist sentiments replace moral absolutes, it is not long before we see idealists corrupting conscience in the name of liberty and destroying human lives in the name of humanity?

In many ways this new visual culture is pleasurable, but it is a tyrant. Literature, on the other hand, is democratic. One can pause and put a book down and debate with the author. One can take it up later, after there has been time to think or do some research. The reader’s imagination can select what it wishes to focus on, whereas in electronic visual media the mind is pummeled with powerful stimuli that bypass conscious and subconscious defenses. It is tragic, therefore, that authentic literature is slowly disappearing from, public and school libraries and being replaced by a tidal wave of children’s books written by people who appear to have been convinced by cultic psychology or converted in part or whole by the neopagan cosmos. Significantly, their use of language is much closer to the operations of electronic culture, and their stories far more visual than the thought-full fiction of the past. They are evangelists of a religion that they deny is a religion. Yet, in the new juvenile literature there is a relentless preoccupation with spiritual powers, with the occult, with perceptions of good and evil that are almost always blurred and at times downright inverted. At least in the old days dragons looked and acted like dragons. This, I think, not only reflects truth in a deep spiritual sense, it is also a lot more interesting. A landscape with dragons is seldom boring.

Invasion of the Imagination

The invasion of our children’s imagination has two major fronts. The first is the degradation of the human image. The second is the corruption of conscience. The territory of fantasy writing, for example, which was once concerned with a wholesome examination of man’s place in the cosmos, has become almost without our knowing it a den of vipers. The genre has been nearly overwhelmed by the cult of horror. A new wave of grisly films and novels is preoccupied with pushing back boundaries that would have been intolerable a generation ago. The young are its first victims, because they are naturally drawn to fantasy, finding in the genre a fitting arena for their sense of the mystery and danger of human existence. Yet the arena has been filled with demonic forms and every conceivable monster of the subconscious, all intent, it appears, on mutilating the bodies, minds, and spirits of the dramatic characters.

The novels of R. L. Stine, for example, have practically taken over the field of young adult literature in recent years. Since 1988, when the first title of his Fear Street series was released, and 1992, when the Goosebumps series appeared, more than a hundred million copies of his books have made their way into young hands. Through school book clubs, libraries, and book racks in retail outlets ranging from department stores to pharmacies, an estimated one and a quarter million children are introduced to his novels every month. For sheer perversity these tales rival anything that has been published to date. Each is brimming over with murder, grotesque scenes of horror, terror, mutilation (liberally seasoned with gobbets and gobbets of blood and gore). Shock after shock pummels the reader’s mind, and the child experiences them as both psychological and physical stimuli. These shocks are presented as ends in themselves, raw violence as entertainment. In sharp contrast, the momentary horrors that occur in classical tales always have a higher purpose; they are intended to underline the necessity of courage, ingenuity, and character; the tales are about brave young people struggling through adversity to moments of illumination, truth, and maturity; they emphatically demonstrate that good is far more powerful than evil Not so with the new wave of shock-fiction. Its “heroes” and “heroines” are usually rude, selfish, sometimes clever (but in no way wise), and they never grow up. This nasty little world offers a thrill per minute, but it is a like a sealed room from which the oxygen is slowly removed, replaced by an atmosphere of nightmare and a sense that the forces of evil are nearly omnipotent.

Stine does not descend to the level of dragging sexual activity into the picture, as do so many of his contemporaries. He doesn’t have to; he has already won the field. He leaves some room for authors who wish to exploit the market with other strategies. Most new fiction for young adults glamorizes sexual sin and psychic powers and offers them as antidotes to evil. In the classical fairy tale, good wins out in the end and evil is punished. Not so in many a modern tale, where the nature of good and evil is redefined: it is now common for heroes to employ evil to defeat evil, despite the fact that in the created and sub-created order this actually means self-defeat.

In the Dune series of fantasy novels, for example, a handsome, young, dark prince (the “good guy”) is pitted against an antagonist who is the personification of vice. This “bad guy” is so completely loathsome physically and morally (murder, torture, and sexual violence are among his pastimes) that by contrast the dark prince looks like an angel of light. The prince is addicted to psychedelic drugs and occult powers, both of which enhance his ability to defeat his grossly evil rival. He is also the master of gigantic carnivorous worms (it may be worth recalling here that “worm” is one of several medieval terms for a dragon). There is a keen intelligence behind the Dune novels and the film that grew out of them. The author’s mind is religious in its vision, and he employs a tactic frequently used by Satan in his attempt to influence human affairs. He sets up a horrible evil, repulsive to everyone, even to the most naïve of people. Then he brings against it a lesser evil that has the appearance of virtue. The people settle for the lesser evil, thinking they have been “saved”, when all the while it was the lesser evil that the devil wished to establish in the first place. Evils that appear good are far more destructive in the long run than those that appear with horns, fangs, and drooling green saliva.

The distinction may not always be clear even to discerning parents. Consider, for example, another group of fantasy films, the enormously successful Star Wars series, the first of which was released in 1977, followed by two sequels. They are the creation of a cinematic genius, so gripping and so thoroughly enjoyable that they are almost impossible to resist. The shining central character, Luke Skywalker, is so much a “good guy” that his heroic fight against a host of evil adversaries resembles the battles of medieval knights.

Indeed, he is called a “knight”, though not one consecrated to chivalry and the defense of Christendom, but one schooled in an ancient mystery religion. He too uses supernatural powers to defeat the lower forms of evil, various repulsive personifications of vice. Eventually he confronts the “Emperor”, who is a personification of spiritual evil. Both Luke and the emperor and various other characters tap into a cosmic, impersonal power they call “the Force”, the divine energy that runs the universe. There is a “light side of the Force” and a “dark side of the Force”. The force is neither good nor evil in itself but becomes so according to who uses it and how it is used. There is much to recommend this film trilogy, such as its message that good does win out over evil if one perseveres with courage. The romantic side of the plot is low-key and handled with surprising sensitivity to the real meaning of love (with the exception of two brief scenes). Other messages: The characters are unambiguously on the side of good or evil; even the one anti-hero, Han Solo, is not allowed to remain one. He becomes a better man through the challenge to submit to authority and to sacrifice himself for others. Luke is repeatedly told by his master not to use evil means to defeat evil, because to do so is to become evil. He is warned against anger and the desire for vengeance and is exhorted to overcome them. In the concluding film, Luke chooses to abandon all powers, refusing to succumb to the temptation to use them in anger. It is this powerlessness that reveals his real moral strength, and this is the key component in the “conversion” of the evil Darth Vader. The final message of the series: Mercy and love are more powerful than sin and hate.

Even so, the film cannot be assessed as an isolated unit, as if it were hermetically sealed in an antiseptic isolation ward. It is a major cultural signpost, part of a larger culture shift. If Dune represents the new Gnosticism expressed aggressively and overtly, Star Wars represents a kind of “soft Gnosticism” in which the gnosis is an undercurrent beneath the surface waves of a few Christian principles. It is important to recall at this point that during the second century there were several “Christian Gnostic” sects that attempted to reconcile Christianity and paganism and did so by incorporating many praiseworthy elements from the true faith. Similarly, Luke and company act according to an admirable moral code, but we must ask ourselves on what moral foundation this code is based, and what its source is.

here is no mention of a transcendent God or any attempt to define the source of “the Force”. And why is the use of psychic power considered acceptable? A major theme throughout the series is that good can be fostered by the use of these supernatural powers, which in our world are exclusively allied with evil forces. Moreover, the key figures in the overthrow of the malevolent empire are the Jedi masters, the enlightened elite, the initiates, the possessors of secret knowledge. Is this not Gnosticism?

At the very least these issues should suggest a close appraisal of the series by parents, especially since the films were revised and re-released in 1997, and a new generation of young people is being influenced by them. The most pressing question that should be asked is, which kind of distortion will do the more damage: blatant falsehood or falsehood mixed with the truths that we hunger for?

Vigilance, Paranoia, and Uncle Walt

No assessment of the situation should overlook the influence of Walt Disney Productions. Its unequalled accomplishments in the field of animation and in drama for children have made it a keystone in the culture of the West. Walt Disney became a kind of secular saint, a patron of childhood, the archangel of the young imagination. Some of this reputation was merited. Who among us has not been delighted and, indeed, formed by the films released in the early years of production, modern retellings of classic fairy stories such as Sleeping Beauty, Pinocchio, and Snow White. In these and other films, evil is portrayed as evil, and virtue as a moral struggle fraught with trial and error. Telling lies makes your nose grow long; indulging in vice turns you into a donkey; sorcery is a device of the enemy used against the good; witches are deadly. There are even moments that approach evangelization. In Fantasia, for example, “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” segment is a warning about dabbling in occult powers. In the final segment, “Night on Bald Mountain”, the devil is shown in all his malice, seducing and raging, but defeated by the prayers of the saints. As the pilgrims process toward the dawn, they are accompanied by the strains of Schubert’s “Ave Maria”. Although there are parts of this film too frightening for small children, its final word is holiness.

Upon that reputation many parents learned to say, “Oh, it’s by Disney. It must be okay!” But even in the early years of the Disney studios, the trends of modernity were present. As our culture continued to follow that tendency, films continued to diverge from the traditional Christian world view. Snow White and Pinocchio are perhaps the most pure interpretations of the original fairy tales, because the changes by Disney were of degree, not of kind. Much of the editing had to do with putting violence and other grotesque scenes off-screen (such as the demise of the wicked queen), because reading a story and seeing it are two different experiences, especially for children.

By the time Cinderella hit the theaters, the changes were more substantial. For example, Cinderella’s stepsisters (in the Grimm version) were as beautiful as she, but vain and selfish. And the prince (in both the Grimm and Perrault versions) sees Cinderella in rags and ashes and still decides to love her, before she is transformed back into the beauty of the ball. These elements are changed in the Disney version, with the result that Cinderella wins the prince’s hand, not primarily because of her virtue, but because she is the prettiest gal in town. Some prince!

Walt Disney died in 1966. During the late 1960s and 1970s the studio’s approach gradually changed. Its fantasy and science fiction films began to show symptoms of the spreading moral confusion in that genre. “Bad guys” were at times presented as complex souls, inviting pity if not sympathy. “Good guys” were a little more tarnished than they once had been and, indeed, were frequently portrayed as foolish simpletons. A strain of “realism” had entered children’s films—sadly so, because a child’s hunger for literature (visual or printed) is his quest for a “more real world”. He needs to know what is truly heroic in simple, memorable terms. He needs to see the hidden foundations of his world before the complexities and the nuances of the modern mind come flooding in to overwhelm his perceptions. The creators of the new classics had failed to grasp this timeless role of the fairy tale. Or, if they had grasped it, they arbitrarily decided it was time to change it. What began as a hairline crack began to grow into a chasm.

The Watcher in the Woods is a tale of beings from another dimension, seances, ESP, and channelling (spirits speaking through a human medium), a story that dramatically influences the young audience to believe that occult powers, though sometimes frightening, can bring great good for mankind. Bedknobs and Broomsticks, a comedy about a “good” witch, softens ancient fears about witchcraft. Pete’s Dragon is the tale of a cute, friendly dragon who becomes a pal to the young hero and helps to defeat the “bad guys”. In another time and place such films would probably be fairly harmless. Their impact must be understood in the context of the much larger movement that is inverting the symbol-life that grew from the Judeo-Christian revelation. This is more than just a haphazard development, more than just a gradual fading of right discernment in the wake of a declining Christian culture.

This is an anti-culture pouring in to take its place. Some, of it is full-frontal attack, but much of it is subtler and pleasurably packaged. Still more of it seems apparently harmless. But the undermining of a child’s perceptions in forms that are apparently harmless may be the most destructive of all. By the 1990s, old fairy tales such as Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, and The Little Mermaid were being remade by Walt Disney Productions in an effort to capture the imagination (and the market potential) of a new generation. The Little Mermaid represents an even greater break from the original intention of fairy stories than earlier retellings such as Cinderella. The mermaid’s father is shown to be an unreasonable patriarchist and she justifiably rebellious. In order to obtain her desire (marriage to a land-based human prince), she swims away from home and makes a pact with an evil Sea Witch, who turns her into a human for three days, long enough to make the prince kiss her. If she can entice him to do so, she will remain a human forever and marry him. So far, the film is close to Hans Christian Andersen’s original fairy story. But a radical departure is to be found in the way the plot resolves itself. Despite the disasters the little mermaid causes, only other people suffer the consequences of the wrong she has done, and in the end she gets everything she wants. Charming as she is, she is really a selfish brat whose only abiding impulse is a shallow romantic passion. In the original Andersen tale, the little mermaid faces some difficult moral decisions and decides for the good, choosing in the end to sacrifice her own desires so that the prince will remain happily married to his human bride. As a result of her self-denial, she is taken up into the sky among the “children of the air”, the benign spirits who do good in the world.

“In three hundred years we shall float like this into the Kingdom of God!” one of them cries.

“But we may get there sooner!” whispers one of the daughters of the air. “Unseen, we fly into houses where there are children, and for every day that we find a good child who gives its parents joy. . . . God shortens the time of [our] probation.”

Obviously there has been some heavy-handed editing in the film version, a trivialization of the characters, stripping the tale of moral content and references to God, with a net result that the meaning of the story is seriously distorted, even reversed. In a culture dominated by consumerism and pragmatism, it would seem that the best message modern producers are capable of is this: In the “real” world the “healthy ego” goes after what it wants. You can even play with evil and get away with it, maybe even be rewarded for your daring by hooking the handsomest guy in the land, winning for yourself your own palace, your own kingdom, and happiness on your own terms.

Harmless? I do not think so.

Aladdin especially represents the kind of films that are apparently harmless. To criticize it in the present climate is extremely difficult, because so many people in Christian circles have simply accepted it as “family entertainment”. But Aladdin begs some closer examination.

The animated version is adapted from the Arabian Nights, a fairy tale that originated in Persia and reflects the beliefs of its Muslim author. According to the original tale, a magician hires a poor Chinese boy named Aladdin to go into an underground cave in search of a magic lamp that contains untold power. Aladdin is not merely poor, he is lazy. Through neglect of his duties, he failed to learn a trade from his father before he died and now is vulnerable to temptation. When he finds the lamp, Aladdin refuses to give it up and is locked in the cave. When he accidentally rubs the lamp a jinn (spirit) of the lamp materializes. In the Islamic religion the jinni are demonic spirits, intelligent, fiery beings of the air, who can take on many forms, including human and animal. Some jinni are better characters than others, but they are considered on the whole to be tricksters. According to Arabian mythology, they were created out of flame, while men and angels were created out of clay and light. Whoever controls a jinn is master of tremendous power, for the jinn is his slave. Aladdin, helped by such a spirit, marries the Sultan’s daughter, and the jinn builds them a fabulous palace. But the wicked magician tricks them out of the lamp and transports the palace to Africa. Aladdin chases them there, regains the lamp in a heroic struggle, and restores the palace to China.

In the Disney remake, Aladdin is now a young hustler who speaks American urban slang in an Arabian marketplace. He is a likeable teenage thief who is poor through no fault of his own. He wants to make it big. When he meets the Sultan’s daughter, who is fleeing the boring confinement of her palace, and rescues her through wit and “street-smarts”, the romance begins. The film strives to remain true to some of the original plot, but in the characterization one sees evidence of the new consciousness. The film’s genie is a comedian of epic proportions, changing his roles at lightning speed, so that the audience barely has time to laugh before the next sophisticated entertainment industry joke is trotted out. He becomes Ed Sullivan, the Marx Brothers, a dragon, a homosexual, female belly dancers, Pinocchio, and on and on. It is a brilliant and fascinating display. He is capable of colossal powers, and he is, wonder of wonders, Aladdin’s slave. An intoxicating recipe for capturing a child’s imagination.

This is a charming film. It contains some very fine scenes and deserves some praise for an attempt at morality. The genie, for example, admonishes the young master that there are limits to the wishes he can grant: no killing, no making someone fall in love with you, no bringing anyone back from the dead. Aladdin is really a “good thief”, who robs from the comfortable and gives to the poor. He is called a “street-rat” by his enemies, yet he feels within himself aspirations to something better, something great. He is kind and generous to hungry, abandoned children; he defies the arrogant and the rich, and he is very, very brave. He is only waiting for an opportunity to show what sterling stuff he is made of. It is possible that this film may even have a good effect on the many urban children who five close to that level of poverty and desperation. By providing an attractive role model of a young person determined to overcome adversity, it may do much good in the world. There are even moments when spiritual insight is clear and true—when, for example, at the climax of the tale the magician takes on his true form, that of a gigantic serpent. And yet, there is something on the subliminal level, some undefinable warp in the presentation that leaves the discerning viewer uneasy.

Most obvious, perhaps, is the feeling of sensuality that dominates the plot. It is a romance, of course, and it must be understood that a large number of old literary fairy tales were also romances. But this is modern romance, complete with stirring music and visual impact. Aladdin and the Princess are both scantily clad throughout the entire performance, and, like so many characters in Disney animation, they appear to be bursting with hormones. There is a kiss that is more than a chaste peck. Nothing aggressively wrong, really. Nothing obscene, but all so thoroughly modern. At the very least, one should question the effect this stirring of the passions will have on the many children who flock to see the latest Disney cartoon. The cartoon, by its very nature, says “primarily for children”. But this is, in fact, an adolescent romance, with some good old cartoon effects thrown in to keep the little ones’ attention and some sly innuendo to keep the adults chuckling.

The handling of the supernatural element is, I believe, a more serious defect. To put it simply, the jinn is a demon. But such a charming demon. Funny and sad, clever and loyal (as long as you’re his master), harmless, helpful, and endlessly entertaining.

Just the kind of guardian spirit a child might long for. Does this film implant a longing to conjure up such a spirit? The film’s key flaw is its presentation of the structure of reality. It is an utterly delightful advertisement for the concept of “the tight side of the Force and the dark side of the Force”, and as such it is a kind of cartoon Star Wars. Like Luke Skywalker, Aladdin is a young hero pitched against impossible odds, but the similarities do not end there. Luke becomes strong enough to battle his foes only by going down into a cave in a mysterious swamp and facing there “the dark side” of himself. Then, by developing supernatural powers, he is enabled to go forth to defeat the evil in the world. Similarly, Aladdin first seeks to obtain the lamp by going down into the jaws of a lionlike beast that rises up out of the desert and speaks with a ghastly, terrifying voice. The lamp of spiritual power resides in a cave in the belly of the beast, and Aladdin takes it from him. Here is a clear message to the young who aspire to greater things: If you want to improve your lot in life, spiritual power is an even better possession than material powers such as wealth or physical force. It could be argued that Luke does not enlist the aid of demonic beings, nor does he cooperate with supernatural forces for selfish purposes. Indeed, he is a shining idealist. But this argument presumes that developing occult powers does not place one in contact with such evil beings—a very shaky presumption to say the least. At best there is an ambiguity in Luke’s cooperation with “the Force” that leaves ample room for the young to absorb gnostic messages.

What is communicated about the nature of spiritual power in Aladdin? Leave aside for the moment the question of the hero being helped by a “good demon” to overcome a bad one. Leave aside also the problem of telling the young that they should ignore their natural terrors of the supernatural in order to succeed in their quests. Leave aside, moreover, the subtle inference that light and darkness, good and evil, are merely reverse sides of the same cosmic coin. There are subtler messages in the film. For example, a theme running throughout is that Aladdin is “worthy” to master such power, though we never learn what constitutes his worthiness. The viewer assumes that it is his bravado, cunning, and basically good heart. In reality, none of us is worthy of powers that properly belong to God alone. None of us is worthy of restoration to Paradise. Salvation is Gods gift to mankind by the merits of his death on the Cross. Even so, we have not yet reached our one true home. We have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, and in this world no one is capable of wielding evil supernatural powers without being corrupted by them. It is modern man’s ignorance of this principle that is now getting the world into a great deal of trouble. A powerful falsehood is implanted in the young by heroes who are given knowledge of good and evil, given power over good and evil, who play with evil but are never corrupted by it.

Beauty and the Beast handles the problem differently, but the end result is the same — the taming of the child’s instinctive reaction to the image of the horrible. The Beast is portrayed as a devil-like being. He is not merely deformed or grotesque, as he is in the written fable. In the film his voice is unearthly and horrifying; he is sinister in appearance, his face a hideous mimicry of medieval gargoyles, his body a hybrid abomination of lion, bull, bear, and demon. His castle is full of diabolical statues. Of course, the central themes are as true and timeless as ever: Love sees beneath the surface appearance to the interior reality of the person; and love breaks the spell that evil casts over a life.

Yet here too there are disturbing messages: A “good witch” casts the spell in order to improve the Beast’s character, implying that good ends come from evil means. But no truly good person does harm in order to bring about a good. While it is true that good can come out of evil situations, it is only because God’s love is greater than evil. God’s primary intention is that we always choose the good. In the original fairy tale, the spell is cast by an evil sorcerer, and the good conclusion to the plot is brought about in spite of him.

The Disney Beast really has a heart of gold. By contrast, handsome Gaston, the “normal” man, proves to be the real villain. He is a despicable parody of masculinity, a stupid, vain macho-man, who wishes to marry the heroine and chain her to the ennui of dull village life. The Beauty in the original tale embraces the virtues of hard work and the simple country life that result from her father’s misfortune. The Disney Beauty pines for something “better”. There is a feminist message here, made even stronger by the absence of any positive male role models. Even her father is a buffoon, though loveable. This gross characterization of “patriarchy” would not be complete without a nasty swipe at the Church, and sure enough, Gaston has primed a clown-like priest to marry them. (The depiction of ministers of religion as either corrupt or ridiculous is practically unrelieved in contemporary films — Disney films are especially odious in this respect.)

To return for a moment to the question of beauty: A principle acknowledged in all cultures (except those in a terminal phase of self-destruction), is that physical beauty in creation is a living metaphor of spiritual beauty. The ideal always points to something higher than itself to some ultimate good. In culture this principle is enfleshed, made visible. If at times spiritual beauty is present in unbeautiful fictional characters or situations, this only serves to underline the point that the physical is not an end in itself. In Disney’s Pocahontas we find this principle inverted. Dazzling the viewer’s eyes with superb scenes that are more like impressionistic paintings than solid narrative, stirring the emotions with haunting music and the supercharged atmosphere of sexual desire, its creators are really about a much bigger project than cranking out yet another tale of boy-meets-girl. Beauty is now harnessed to the task of promoting environmentalism and eco-spirituality. The real romance here is the mystique of pantheism, a portrayal of the earth as alive, animated with spirits (for example, a witchlike tree-spirit gives advice to Pocahontas about the nature of courtship). The earth and the flesh no longer point to something higher than themselves; they are ends in themselves. The “noble savage” understands this; the white, male, European Christian does not. And as usual, Disney portrays masculinity in its worst possible tight (excepting only the hero, Smith, who is sensitive and confused). The other European males are rapacious predators, thoughtless builders, dominators, polluters, and killers; and those who are not any of the foregoing are complete nincompoops. It is all so predictable, all so very “consciousness-raising”. What child does not take away from the film the impression that, in order to solve his problems, industrial-technological man need only reclaim the lost innocence of this pre-Columbian Eden?

I did not view Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame in a theater but watched the video release at home. The effect of the full-screen experience must have been overwhelming for audiences, because the visual effects in the video version were very impressive, clearly among Disney’s most brilliant achievements in animation. However, I was disturbed by themes that have now become habitual with this studio. Within the first ten minutes of the story a self-righteous Catholic moralist rides into the plot on horseback and chases a poor gypsy mother, who runs barefoot through the streets of Paris, carrying her baby in her arms, in a desperate attempt to reach the sanctuary of Notre Dame cathedral. She stumbles on the steps of the church and dies. The moralist picks up the baby, discovers that he is deformed, a “monster”, and decides to dispose of him by dropping him down a well, all the while muttering pious imprecations against this “spawn of the devil”. So far, not a great portrait of Catholicism. In the only redeeming moment in the film, a priest rushes out of the cathedral, sees the dead woman, and warns the moralist that his immortal soul is in danger. To amend for his sin, he must agree to be the legal guardian of the baby. The moralist agrees, on the condition that the monster be raised in secret in Notre Dame.

In the next scene the baby is now a young man, Quasimodo, a badly deformed hunchback who lives in isolation in the tower of the cathedral. He is the bell ringer, a sweet soul, humble, good, and creative, content to make art and little toys and to observe from his lonely height the life of the people of Paris. His solitude is broken only by the occasional visits of the moralist, who takes delight in reminding Quasimodo that he is a worthless monster who survives only because of his (the moralist’s) “kindness”. Is there anyone in the audience who has missed the point: The moralist is the ultimate hypocrite, the real monster. Quasimodo’s only other friends are three gargoyles, charming, humorous little demons who are reminiscent of the Three Stooges. They encourage him to believe in love, to believe in himself, to have courage. In one interesting short scene, the gargoyles mock a carving of the Pope. Later in the film there is a scene depicting the churchgoers praying below in the cathedral. Without exception they pray for wealth, power, and gratification of their desires—a portrait of Catholics as utterly selfish, shallow people.

A sensual young gypsy woman flees into the cathedral to escape the moralist (who is also a judge). Safe inside, she prays for divine assistance in a vague, agnostic fashion. In stark contrast to the prayers of the Catholics, there is nothing selfish in her prayer. She merely asks for justice for her people. As the music swells, she turns away from the altar, still singing her “prayer”, strolling in the opposite direction of the Catholics who are approaching the altar. Her supplication dissolves into a romantic musing that is more sentiment than insight into the nature of real mercy and justice. Disney’s point is clear: Traditional Christianity is weak, blind, and selfish; “real Christianity” is sociological and “politically correct”.

The romantic element, a mutual attraction between the gypsy woman and a young soldier, is simply a rehash of the screen romances that have become a necessary ingredient in Disney animated films. Lots of body language, lots of enticing flesh, a garish portrayal of the tormented moralist’s secret lusts, a contrasting depiction of the beautiful young couples sexual desire as pure and natural, and a sensual screen kiss that is inappropriate for young viewers (as it is in Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, and other Disney films). Perhaps we should ask ourselves if viewing such intimate moments between man and woman is ever appropriate, even for adults. Is voyeurism, in any form, good for the soul?

The Hunchback of Notre Dame concludes with a frenzied climax in which the forces of love and courage are pitted against the ignorance of the medieval Church. Quasimodo has overcome the lie of his worthlessness through the counsel of his gargoyles and is now strong enough to defy the moralist. He rescues the gypsy girl, who is about to be burned for witchcraft, and flees with her to the bell tower. There the moralist tracks them down (after first pushing aside the ineffectual priest who tries to stop him) and attempts to kill them. As one might expect, he comes to a bad end. The gypsy and the soldier are reunited, and Quasimodo makes do with platonic love. All’s well that ends well.

Based on Victor Hugo’s novel of the same tide (published in 1831), the film retains much of the plot and characterization and even manages to communicate some truths. But the reality-shift evidenced in the modern version is a serious violation of the larger architecture of truth. The truths are mixed with untruths, and because of the sensory impact of the film medium, it is that much more difficult for an audience to discern rightly between the two. This is especially damaging to children, who because of their age are in a state of formation that is largely impressionistic. Moreover, most modern people do not know their history and do not possess the tools of real thought and thus are vulnerable to manipulation of their feelings. Young and old, we are becoming a race of impressionists.

Rather than thinking with ideas, we “think” in free-form layers of images loosely connected by emotions. There would be little harm in this if the sources of these images were honest. But few sources in culture and entertainment are completely honest these days. And even if the mind were well stocked with the best of images (a very rare state), it is still not equipped to meet the spiritual and ideological confusion of our times. The problem is much deeper than a lack of literacy, because even the mental imagery created by the printed word can be merely a chain of misleading impressions, however well articulated they may be. The real problem is religious illiteracy, by which I mean the lack of an objective standard against which we can measure our subjective readings of sensation and experience. Without this objective standard, one’s personal gnosis will inevitably push aside the objective truth and subordinate it to a lesser position, when it does not banish it altogether. That is why a modern maker of culture who feels strongly that Catholicism is bad for people has no qualms about rewriting history or creating anti-Catholic propaganda and will use all the powers of the modern media to do so.

One wonders what Disney studios would do with Hugo’s Les Miserables (published in 1862), an expressly Christian story in which two central characters, the bishop and Jean Valjean, are heroic Catholics fighting for truth, mercy, and justice in the face of the icy malice of the secular humanists, against the background of the French Revolution. Would the scriptwriters and executives sanitize and politically correct these characters by de-Catholicizing them? It would be interesting to observe the contortions necessary for such a transformation. Perhaps they would do what Hollywood did to Dominique Lapierre’s wonderful book, The City of Joy. The central character in that true story, a Christlike young priest who chose to live among the most abject of Calcutta’s poor, is entirely replaced in the film version by a handsome young American doctor (who was a secondary character in the book). In the Hollywood rewrite, the doctor is idealistic but amoral, and he is in the throes of an identity crisis. Uncertain at first if he is merely a technician of the body, slowly awakening to the possibility that he might become a minister to the whole person, in the end he chooses the latter. Following the gnostic pattern, he becomes the knower as healer, the scientist as priest. It is a well-made film, containing some good insights and moving scenes, but by displacing the priest of Christ, it loses an important part of the original story’s “soul”, cheating us of the real meaning of the events on which it is based.

Where Catholicism is not simply weeded out of the culture, it is usually attacked, though the attacks tend to be swift cheap-shots. Take, for instance, Steven Spielberg’s smash hit, Jurassic Park.

Again, there is much to recommend this film, such as the questions it raises about science and morality, especially the issue of genetic engineering. In the struggle between people and dinosaurs there is plenty of human heroism, and the dinosaurs are even presented as classic reptiles—no taming or befriending here. So far so good. On the level of symbolism, however, we are stunned with an image of the reptile as practically omnipotent. The Tyrannosaurus rex is power incarnate, and its smaller cousin, the Velociraptor, is not only fiercely powerful, it is intelligent and capable of learning.

There is a telling scene in which the most despicable character in the film, a sleazy lawyer, is riding in a car with two young children. When a dinosaur approaches the car to destroy it, the lawyer abandons the children to their fate and flees into an outdoor toilet cubicle. The T-Rex blows away the flimsy structure, exposing the lawyer, who is seated on the “John”, quivering uncontrollably and whining the words of the Hail Mary. The T-Rex picks him up in its jaws, crunches hard, and gulps him down its throat. In the theater where I saw the film, the audience cheered.

Where Is It All Leading?

At this point, the reader may be saying to himself, “What you describe may be true. I’ve seen evidence of it, and I’ve struggled to understand it. I’ve tried to pick my way through the flood of things coming at my children, but I’m not having much success. I’m uneasy about the new culture, but I don’t seem to have the skills to argue with it.”

I think most conscientious parents feel this way. We know something is not right, but we don’t quite know how to assess it. We worry that our children might be affected adversely by it, but at the same time we don’t want to overreact. The image of the “witch-hunt” haunts us (a fear that is strongly reinforced by the new culture), but we are equally concerned about the need to protect our children from being indoctrinated into paganism. What, then, are we to do?

Our first step must be in the direction of finding a few helpful categories, a standard against which we can measure examples of the new culture. I have found it useful to divide the field of children’s culture into roughly four main categories:

1. Material that is entirely good.

2. Material that is fundamentally good but disordered in some details.

3. Material that appears good on the surface but is fundamentally disordered.

4. Material that is blatantly evil, rotten to the core.

I will return to these categories in the next chapter’s assessment of children’s literature, where I hope to develop them in greater detail. I introduce them here to make a different point. Two generations ago the culture of the Western world was composed of material that, with few exceptions, was either entirely good (1) or fundamentally good but disordered in some details (2). About forty years ago there began a culture-shift that steadily gathered momentum, a massive influx of material that appeared good on the surface but was fundamentally disordered (3). It became the new majority. During this period entirely good material became the minority and at the same time more material that was diabolically evil began to appear (4). There is a pattern here. And it raises the question: Where is it all leading?

I think it highly unlikely that we will ever see a popular culture that is wholly dominated by the blatantly diabolical, but I do believe that unless we recognize what is happening, we may soon be living in a culture that is totally dominated by the fundamentally disordered and in which the diabolical is respected as an alternative world view and becomes more influential than the entirely good. Indeed, we may be very close to that condition. I can think of half a dozen recent films that deliberately reverse the meaning of Christian symbols and elevate the diabolical to the status of a saving mythology.

The 1996 film Dragon Heart, for example, is the tale of a tenth-century kingdom that suffers under a tyrannical king. When the king is killed in a peasant uprising, his son inherits the crown but is himself wounded when he is accidentally impaled on a spike. His heart is pierced, and he is beyond all hope of recovery. The queen takes her son into an underground cave that is the lair of a dragon. She kneels before the dragon, calls him “Lord”, and begs him to save the princes life. The dragon removes half of his own heart and inserts it into the gaping wound of the prince’s chest, then heals the wound with a touch of his claw. The queen says to her son, “He [the dragon] will save you.” And to the dragon she says, “He [the prince] will grow in your grace.” The prince recovers and grows to manhood, the dragon’s heart beating within him.

The prince becomes totally evil, a tyrant like his father, and the viewer is led to believe that, in this detail at least, traditional symbolism is at work—the heart of a dragon will make a man into a dragon. Not so, for later we learn that the prince’s own evil nature has overshadowed the dragon’s good heart. When the dragon reappears in the plot and becomes the central character, we begin to learn that he is not the terrifying monster we think him to be. He dabbles in the role the superstitious peasants have assigned to him (the traditional concept of dragon), but he never really does any harm, except to dragon slayers, and then only when they attack him without provocation. Through his growing friendship with a reformed dragon slayer, we gradually come to see the dragon’s true character. He is wise, noble, ethical, and witty. He merely plays upon the irrational fears of the humans regarding dragons because he knows that they are not yet ready to understand the higher wisdom, a vision known only to dragons and their enlightened human initiates. It is corrupt human nature, we are told, that has deformed man’s understanding of dragons.

The dragon and his knight-friend assist the peasants in an uprising against the evil prince. Even a Catholic priest is enlisted in the battle. This character is yet another Hollywood buffoon-priest, who in his best moments is a silly, poetic dreamer and at worst a confused and shallow remnant of a dishonored Christian myth. Over and oyer again, we are shown the ineffectiveness of Christianity against evil and the effective power of The People when they ally themselves with the dragon. The priest sees the choice, abandons his cross, and takes up a bow and arrow, firing two shafts into the head and groin of a practice dummy. In a final battle, he overcomes his Christian scruples and begins to shoot at enemy soldiers, quoting Scripture humorously (even the words of Jesus) every time he shoots. An arrow in a soldier’s buttock elicits the priest’s sly comment, “Turn the other cheek, brother!” When he aims at the evil prince, he murmurs, “Thou shalt not kill! Thou shalt not kill!” then proceeds to disobey the divine commandment. The arrow goes straight into the prince’s heart, but he does not fall. He pulls the arrow from his heart and smiles. Neither Christian myth nor Christian might can stop this kind of evil!

Here we begin to understand the objectives that the scriptwriter has subtly hatched from the very beginning of the film. The prince cannot die because a dragon’s heart beats within him, even though he, not the dragon, has corrupted that heart. The evil prince will die only when the dragon dies. Knowing this, the dragon willingly sacrifices his own life in order to end the reign of evil, receiving a spear thrust into his heart. At this point we see the real purpose of the film—the presentation of the dragon as a Christ-figure!

Shortly before this decisive climax, the dragon describes in mystical tones his version of the history of the universe: “Long ago, when man was young and the dragon already old, the wisest of our race took pity on man. He gathered together all the dragons, who vowed to watch over man always. And at the moment of his death, the night became alive with those stars [pointing to the constellation Draco], and thus was born the dragon’s heaven.”

He explains that he had shared his heart with the dying young prince in order to “reunite man and dragon and to ensure my place among my ancient brothers of the sky”.

In the final moments of the film, after the dragon’s death, he is assumed into the heavens amidst heart-throbbing music and star bursts and becomes part of the constellation Draco. The crowd of humans watch the spectacle, their faces filled with religious awe. A voice-over narrator says that in the years following “Draco’s sacrifice” a time of justice and brotherhood came upon the world, “golden years warmed by an unworldly light. And when things became most difficult, Draco’s star shone more brightly for all of us who knew where to look.”

Few members of the audience would know that, according to the lore of witchcraft and Satanism, the constellation Draco is the original home of Satan and is reverenced in their rituals. Here is a warning about where Gnosticism can lead. What begins as one’s insistence on the right to decide the meaning of good and evil leads inevitably to spiritual blindness. Step by step we are led from the wholly good to flawed personal interpretations of good; then, as the will is weakened and the mind darkened, we suffer more serious damage to the foundation itself and arrive finally if we should lose all reason, at some manifestation of the diabolical.

When this process is promulgated with the genius of modern cinematic technology, packaged in the trappings of art and mysticism, our peril increases exponentially. My wife and I have known devout, intelligent, Christian parents who allowed their young children to watch Dragon Heart because they thought it was “just mythology”. This is an understandable naïveté, but it is also a symptom of our state of unpreparedness. The evil in corrupt mythology is never rendered harmless simply because it is encapsulated in a literary genre, as if sealed in a watertight compartment. Indeed, there are few things as infectious as mythology.

We would be sadly mistaken if we assumed that the cultural invasion is mainly a conflict of abstract ideas. It is a major front in the battle for the soul of modern man, and as such it necessarily entails elements of spiritual combat. For this reason parents must ask God for the gifts of wisdom, discernment, and vigilance during these times. We must also plead for extraordinary graces and intercede continuously for our children. The invasion reaches into very young minds, relaxing children’s instinctive aversion to what is truly frightening. It begins there, but we must understand that it will not end there, for its logical end is a culture that exalts the diabolical. There are a growing number of signs that this process is well under way.

In most toy shops, for example, one can find a number of soft, cuddly dragons and other monsters to befriend. There are several new children’s books about lovable dragons who are not evil, merely misunderstood. In one such book, given as a Christmas present to our children by a well-meaning friend, we found six illustrations that attempted to tame the diabolical by dressing it in ingratiating costumes. The illustrator exercised a certain genius that made his work well nigh irresistible. One of the images portrayed a horrible, grotesque being at the foot of a child’s bed. The accompanying story told how the child, instead of driving it away, befriended it, and together they lived happily ever after. The demonic being had become the child’s guardian. One wonders what has become of guardian angels! Such works seek to help children integrate “the dark side” into their natures, to reconcile good and evil within, and, as our friend expressed it, to “embrace their shadows”.

In Lilith, a classical fantasy by the nineteenth-century Christian writer George MacDonald, the voice of Eve calls this darkness “the mortal foe of my children”. In one passage a character describes the coming of “the Shadow”:

He was nothing but blackness. We were frightened the moment we saw him, but we did not run away, we stood and watched him. He came on us as if he would run over us. But before he reached us he began to spread and spread, and grew bigger and bigger, till at last he was so big that he went out of our sight, and we saw him no more, and then he was upon us.

It is when they can no longer see him that his power over them is at its height. They then describe how the shadow temporarily possessed them and bent their personalities in the direction of hatred. He is thrown off by love welling up within their hearts.

The German writer Goethe, in his great classic work Faust, uses a different approach to depict the seduction of mankind. At one point the devil says:

Humanity’s most lofty power,

Reason and knowledge pray despise!

But let the Spirit of all lies

With works of dazzling magic blind you,

Then absolutely mine, I’ll have and bind you!

In children’s culture a growing fascination with the supernatural is hastening the breakdown of the Christian vision of the spiritual world and the moral order of the universe. Reason and a holy knowledge are despised, while intoxicating signs and wonders increase.

________

1 Russell Kirk, “The Perversity of Recent Fiction; Reflections on the Moral Imagination”, in Reclaiming a Patrimony (Washington, D.C.: The Heritage Foundation, 1982).

#a landscape with dragons

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caveartfair · 7 years ago

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Understanding Charles Ray through 8 Pivotal Artworks

Sculptor Charles Ray employs varied media—from ink to marble, photography to wood—to depict anything from a car wreck to clothing or a human figure. Indeed, it can be difficult for both newcomers and studied critics to describe just what exactly defines his oeuvre. If anything, it’s always an inventive meditation on sculpture itself.

Ray’s wry poetry extends across the body of work he’s made since the 1970s, when he studied at the University of Iowa (he later attended Rutgers University for graduate school). Born in Chicago in 1953 and now based in Los Angeles, the artist is better known for taking early morning hikes and building his own boats than he is for making appearances at major art world events.

While he’s chosen to live outside the limelight, major institutions still avidly promote his work. The Whitney Museum of American Art has featured him in its biennials five times. A 2015 retrospective at the Art Institute of Chicago introduced fresh eyes to his labor-intensive pieces, including an oversized sculpture, Huck and Jim (2014), which depicted the protagonists of Mark Twain’s most famous novel in the nude. At the moment, Matthew Marks Gallery in New York is showing five new works by the artist in “three rooms and the repair annex,” including a massive steel nude and two painted steel sculptures of tiny mechanics.

Ray’s own body has often figured prominently in his practice—he’s photographed and sculpted himself, including most memorably in a 1992 piece, Oh! Charley, Charley, Charley…, which features eight onanistic sculptural approximations of the artist. Ray’s output is small, as it can take years to complete a single work. Some pieces can be relatively simple, like Ink Line (1987), where a steady stream of ink flows from the gallery ceiling onto its floor, daring viewers to reach out and touch it. Others—such as Unpainted Sculpture (1997), a sculpture of a bashed-up four-door sedan—require a wealth of planning and expertise. Here are a few other highlights from the sculptor’s preeminent contribution to contemporary art.

All My Clothes (1973)

All My Clothes, 1973. Charles Ray Phillips

“The interesting thing is the repeating of the blue jeans,” Ray tells Artsy about this early work from his college days: a linear photographic series in which the artist wears different configurations of all the clothes he owns. “I had more shirts than I had pants.” The serial aspect, he says, is particular to the era. According to him, the work’s “documentary nature,” along with the fact that the figures are lined up in a row, gives the piece away as a product of its decade (conceptual photography projects of the time often had a serial nature, as in the work ofRobert Kinmont). Additionally, Ray produced the work at a time when images of young men lining up in a row were common: The draft for the Vietnam War finally ended in 1973, its legacy preserved in pictures of youthful soldiers standing side-by-side in much more formal, mandatory dress.

Plank Piece I-II (1973)

Plank Piece I–II, 1973. Charles Ray Gagosian

Throughout college, Ray made sculptures with heavy materials, such as sacks of cement and stone blocks. “My body was always present in the activity of the studio,” he says. “What was important to me, looking back now, was how close at hand my body always was.” He’d lie in his bathtub, considering how his own body itself might become part of one of his pieces. In this diptych, Ray captured performances in which a wooden plank fixed him to the wall, first by the backs of his knees, and then by his midsection. When he was young, he denied empathetic readings of Plank Piece I-II that considered how painful it must have been to pin his body to the wall. He used to tell people that it was much more impersonal, merely “a relationship between a wall, a plank, and a body. I was very dry about it.” Ray is less dogmatic about the work now. Indeed, Plank Piece I-II can read as embodied artistic strife: a creator becoming overwhelmed and dominated by his material.

Pepto-Bismol in a Box (1988)

This sculpture is quite literally what its title implies. Artist Mike Kelley once wrote that the work “seems to conflate minimalist sculpture and the vomitoriums of ancient Roman arenas.” Kelley focused on the rarity of the color pink in contemporary work; in his mind, Ray’s brightly hued sculpture implies a perversity, and an unmasking of the art world’s “masculine orientation.” Ray offers a more prosaic story. “I think one season there was a bad flu around,” he says, simply. “Marble was ubiquitous at the time: in counters, bathrooms, and stalls. Pepto-Bismol is a popular cure for nausea—and the sculpture, that volume of [the medicine], kind of causes nausea.” Is there an irony that something that was supposed to cure nausea would then induce it? According to Ray, if that’s the case, then the piece failed: He wants his sculpture to transcend irony. In all his work, he aims for what he terms “sculpturalness” to surpass any literal reading that would too easily allow a viewer to derive a clear, one-note message from a piece. The meaning, he says, should simply derive from the sculpture itself. “The poetry I’m creating is sculptural rather than verbal,” he explains.

Firetruck (1993)

This 12-by-46.5-by-8-foot replica of a toy fire truck, made from painted aluminum, fiberglass, and plexiglass, turns a child’s plaything into life-sized artifice (and art). Ray has generally chosen to park the sculpture out in front of museums, such as the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the Whitney, where the sculpture’s presence begs the question—where’s the fire? No matter what kind of metaphorical blaze the truck could potentially put out, it’s incapable of doing anything besides sitting on the street: After all, it’s just a sculpture (and modeled off a toy, no less,branded “Tylink” with the words “Metal Muscle” across its wheels). The work evokes all the action that would attend a real fire truck’s arrival on-site, while reveling in its own inefficacy. These considerations bring the viewer back to a central question within Ray’s work: What can sculpture actually do?

Family Romance (1993)

Ray isn’t a fan of Freudian, psychological readings of his work. Yet eying this painted-fiberglass and synthetic hair sculpture of four naked family members at disconcerting scale—the children enlarged and the adults shrunk, so that everyone stands at roughly the same height—it’s difficult not to consider what kind of complexes an analyst might ascribe to the whole thing. With hands clasped, the figures form a familial barricade; the viewer can only walk around the quartet, which turns them into a single, impenetrable system (which is kind of how contemporary post-Freudian therapists think about families anyway).

Hinoki (2007)

This sculpture of a giant, fallen tree, when situated within a gallery space, evokes both the natural world’s destruction and art’s preservative powers. The piece began with a dead oak tree that Ray spotted while driving along California’s central coast. Ray retrieved it in order to cast its form in silicone and fiberglass. He then employed woodworkers in Japan to carve a replica from a Japanese cypress, or hinoki tree. After 400 years, it’ll decay—sharply at first, and then more gradually. The final work, then, is two layers removed from its original source material. Ray, whose casts were doubtless impacted by his own emotional response to the object, allowed a disinterested party on the other side of the world to render the final piece. (Plenty of sculptors use fabricators, but the coldness of, say, a Jeff Koons balloon dog or a Donald Judd box is replaced here with something warmer and earthier.) For millennia, philosophers have wrestled with the idea of “tree-ness,” or just what constitutes the “form” of a tree. Ray’s art—sculpture about sculpture (and, in this case, about life and death, too)—grapples with the same issues. What makes this carved hinoki wood a sculpture, while the original fallen oak is not? Will Hinoki still be a sculpture (or the same sculpture) when it decomposes?

Young Man (2012)

Far from the idealized male form we traditionally associate with figurative sculpture (see Michelangelo’s David, 1501–04), Ray gives us a shaggy-haired guy who bulges a bit at the hips. Like most of Ray’s figures, he’s not on a pedestal, but merely standing barefoot and naked in the gallery on the same level as his viewers. His weight is real, though: The solid stainless steel work clocks in at 1,500 pounds. The model for the piece is Ry Rocklen, a Los Angeles-based artist who is a former student and friend of Ray’s. Smooth, shiny, and grounded, his likeness is far more approachable than anything from antiquity.

Reclining Woman (2018)

Made out of a machined block of steel, Reclining Woman features a smooth, shiny sculpture of a woman lying on a large steel box. The work took Ray seven or eight years to complete. “I’d look at it and think about it, change a direction, think about a toenail, think about an involuntary gesture of the toes in relationship to her squint,” he says. The extensive process required photographs and casts of thesubject; computer modeling; real clay and plaster mock-ups; a machine-foam prototype; and many assistants’ hands. The final piece asks the same question with which so many artists are still consumed: Is there anything new to do with the female nude? This time, thejust-larger-than-life woman gets a solid steel pedestal that’s even larger than she is. It’s as though Ray conjoins two different sculptures: one minimalist and abstract, the other figurative and uncanny. But it’s the body we remember.

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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douchebagbrainwaves · 7 years ago

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YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

If we were talking about Europe in 1000, or most of the time, perhaps most of the extra computer power we're given will go to waste. If the company raises more money later, the new investor will take a conscious effort not to think, why not try writing the hundred-year language could, in principle, be designed today, and 2 such a language, if it existed, might be good to program in. In the real world.1 On the whole, grad school is that you focus more on the user. Only sites on a blacklist would get crawled, and sites would be blacklisted only after being inspected by humans. Will we get rid of numbers as a fundamental data type? The thought of all this stupendously inefficient software burning up cycles doing the same thing over and over seems kind of gross to me.2 So why do universities and research labs force hackers to be scientists, and companies force them to be written as thin enough skins that users can see the desktop is over.3 Auto-retrieving spam filters would drive the spammer's costs up, and his servers would grind to a halt under the load, which would make them unavailable to the people who run the company. I was being paid for programming. Just wait till all the 10-room pensiones in Rome discover this site. It was surprising—slightly frightening even—how fast they learned.

It's a crowded market, I remember one founder saying worriedly. But everyone knows this is a recipe for disaster. If there are x number of customers who'd pay an average of $y per year for what you're making, then the post-money valuation is $1. Closely related to poverty is lack of social mobility. The non-gullible majority won't stop getting spam. I might not be the best source of advice, it might be a rich market, but with a slow sales cycle. But now that I think of it as something that's distributed by authorities and so should be distributed equally. When I'm writing or hacking I spend as much time just thinking as I do actually typing. I have no trouble imagining that one person think of everything.

A recent survey found 52% of companies are replacing Windows servers with Linux servers.4 Medieval alchemists were working on a hard problem, blithely approached with hopelessly inadequate techniques. But only if he mastered a new kind of farming. And, like Microsoft, they're losing. Painting was not, in Leonardo's time, as cool as his work helped make it. A round from Sequoia. All the pain of whatever problem you're trying to convince investors.

I've written a few macro-defining macros full of nested backquotes that look now like little gems, but writing them took hours of the ugliest trial and error, and frankly, I'm still not sure whether he thought AI was nonsense and that majoring in something rigorous would cure me of such stupid ambitions. Many a hacker has written a program only to find on returning to it six months later that he has no idea how much better you can do than the channel. Won't we just tell computers what to do, designing beautiful software, hackers in universities and research labs keep hackers from doing the kind of parallelism we have in a hundred years from now people will still tell computers what to do. Though I don't think that's the right way to get it.5 Not any more. And he'd be right, except that someone could be confident and mistaken.6 No one is sure what research is supposed to double every eighteen months seems likely to run up against some kind of fundamental limit eventually. In short, the disasters this summer were just the usual childhood diseases.

Paul We are having a bit of a debate inside our partnership about the airbed concept.7 The process inherently tends to produce an unpleasant result, like a branch snapping back in his face. At the other extreme, I think, all of them work on interesting stuff. You can pick any group of users. Most investors decide in the first couple generations. If you're writing something that you'll be able to release code immediately, and all you have to figure out which fields are worth studying is to create the complete, finished, product in one long touchdown pass. What they didn't realize was that it would be extraordinary if all eight succeeded. They lived in houses full of servants, wore elaborately uncomfortable clothes, and travelled about in carriages drawn by teams of horses which themselves required their own houses and servants.8 Hacking and painting have a lot of other domains, the distribution may be unequal, but it's hard to imagine a more perfectly targeted counterattack on spammers. White than from an academic philosopher. Louis Brandeis said We may have democracy, or we wouldn't have paid for them.9

You don't have to buy a drink, and they even let kids in. Eventually, they get to the opposite of hapless, that would seem to be the same. Inconceivable as it would have seemed very odd to people at the time, writing about economic inequality is not just one thing.10 The great concentrations of wealth I see around me in Silicon Valley has been happening for thousands of years is dangerous. But they are relentlessly resourceful.11 If you try to solve? If there are only a couple hundred lines of code.

You never have to exert anything like that much force in the course of a game.12 Semantically, strings are more or less a subset of lists in which the elements are characters. Formidable is roughly justifiably confident. I've seen this myself: you don't have to do is make good things. Formidable is close to confident, except that someone could be confident and mistaken. The great fortunes of that time still derived more from what we would now call corruption than from commerce. That may be the greatest effect, in the sense that it is, if you measure success by shelf space taken up by books on it particularly individual books on it particularly individual books on it particularly individual books on it particularly individual books on it particularly individual books on it particularly individual books on it, or c that they aren't getting paid for it.

One thing we were curious about this summer was where these groups would need help. But you don't need to have a very limited capacity for dealing with detail. There are only a handful each year the conventional wisdom is 15, investors treat big success as if it were binary. What they fear are flakes and resume padders.13 However, the easiest and cheapest way for them to do?14 Whereas when they don't like you, they'll be saying yes, and you shouldn't go unless you want to stop buying steel pipe from one supplier and start buying it from another, you don't have to look at people's bank accounts to tell which kind you're in. New York via Memphis.15 You're asking for trouble if you try to solve? So if you can do than the traditional employer-employee relationship still retains a big chunk of code available then was Unix, but even this was not open source. Design means making things for humans. Even others that seem quite distant.

Notes

It took a shot at destroying Boston's in the other becomes visible. The ordering system was small. The powerful don't need. The hardest kind of intensity and dedication from programmers that they consisted of Latin grammar, rhetoric, and thereby subconsciously seeing wealth as something you can stick even more dangerous than any of his peers, couldn't afford it.

They may play some behind the doors that say authorized personnel only. Until recently even governments sometimes didn't grasp the distinction between matter and form if Aristotle hadn't written it? The idea of what's valuable is least likely to be like a wave.

Default: 2 cups water per cup of rice. I'd almost say to the margin for error. A startup founder or investor I don't think these are even worth thinking about for the same as they are building, they still control the company might encounter is a huge, overcomplicated agreements, and this destroyed all traces.

Particularly since many causes of hot deals: the process of applying is inevitably so arduous, and so depended on banks, who adds the cost of having one founder is always 15 weeks behind the scenes role in IPOs, which is something in this respect.

It seems to have gotten where they all sit waiting for the tenacity of the subject of wealth, the closest anyone has come is Secretary of Labor. The company may not have to do more harm than good.

I saw this I used thresholds of.

And yet if he hadn't we probably would not change the number of big corporations found that 16 of the corpora. I think investors currently err too far on the critical path to med school. At two years investigating it. There is a constant.

Many will consent to b rather than given by other people who are both. Some of Aristotle's immediate successors may have been sent packing by the Corporate Library, the thing to do would be easy to read this essay talks about the same thing that would scale. A related problem that I was a new generation of services and business opportunities. Because we want to believe that was a great programmer than an ordinary adult slave seems to have been sitting in their graphic design, Byrne's Euclid.

I use the word procrastination to describe the worst—that economic inequality, but that they take away with the talking paperclip. If you're doing. Statistical Spam Filter Works for Me. Startups can die from running through their initial attitude.

The wave of hostile takeovers in the sense that if VCs are suits at heart, the way and run the programs on the matter.

No, they mean San Francisco. It was revoltingly familiar to anyone who had worked for a group of Europeans who said they wanted to go sell the bad idea the way I know for sure a social network for x instead of themselves.

They hate their bread and butter cases. In fact, we should have become good friends. Ditto for case: I should probably pack investor meetings as closely as you raise money on Demo Day, there are already names for this type: artists trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea? Not even being a tax haven, I mean type I.

They look superficially like the Segway and Google Wave. Selina Tobaccowala stopped to say exactly what they're wasting their time on schleps, but not the bawdy plays acted over on the critical question is to how Henry Ford got started as a high-minded Edwardian child-heroes of Edith Nesbit's The Wouldbegoods. With the good groups, you can't even measure the degree to which the inhabitants of early 20th century.

No doubt there are some good proposals too.

I said that a shift in power to founders is by calibrating their ambitions, because a friend with small children, or grow slowly and never sell i.

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topmixtrends · 7 years ago

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This short story appears in the LARB Print Quarterly Journal: No. 16, Art

To receive the LARB Quarterly Journal, become a member or donate here.

All images are by Lindsay Tunkl, Stills from Is This What Feeling Feels Like – First Attempt, 2013. Images courtesy of the artist. Watch the full video here.

() Amanda 1 hour ago

A person who wants to be destroyed by love is normal. The human wish to be ravished, despite its bearer’s avowed feminist principles and self-possessed public persona, does not present an anomaly. At rare yet foreseeable intervals, erotic desire will offer most mortals an expensive, all-inclusive trip to a magical land where they will engage in mutually confusing flagellations with other reasonable people who are similarly, if temporarily, afflicted.

So, no, it is not strange to want to be bent painfully over a headboard while wailing with happiness. Even famous people like Herman Melville aspired to be slayed like a babbling lamb. Indeed, this ambition proves so common that it often crawls to the depths of banality. Maybe Melville wrote the great Moby-Dick about Nathaniel Hawthorne, but think about the thousands of cliché-flamed films that have been made in passion’s name. Desiring another person to drink from your flagon of life is a well-worn theme in the history of love.

What is strange is articulating this longing in language.

“Grab my ass! Pull my hair! Harder!” goes the mantra.

“Spank me! Say my name!” goes another.

Brandon is a 34-year-old civil rights lawyer I met in a Ralph’s. He is imposingly tall and possesses buoyant pectoral muscles. I am a 38-year-old former performance artist, an aspiring writer, and now a platform strategist for Snapchat. Brandon is half Chinese and half Polish, and likes Star Wars prequels. I am a bisexual Chicana with large eyes and sturdy legs. We have been dating for six months.

When I visited Brandon’s two-bedroom condominium in Culver City tonight, I arrived at its walnut parquet foyer ready to talk. I had been reading Wittgenstein’s late philosophy on the Metro and wanted to ask Brandon about his thoughts on indeterminacy. But then I saw his blue-veined biceps and bloodshot aura of overwork, and became incredibly excited.

“Hi, you look really pretty,” he said, backing into the living room as I threw my recycled canvas Snapchat work bag to the ground and tore at his shirt buttons. “Babe. Baaaaabe. Whoa, this is so exciting. But. Hold on, wait—” Plop we fell on the sofa, which is covered in tweedy wool.

“I am holding on, I am waiting a minute,” I gasped back, until I heard myself yelling “TAKE ME NOW YOU MONSTER! LOVE ME LIKE A STEVEDORE! MAKE ME BEG!”

Etc.

“Oh my God,” Brandon said. “Okay, okay. Okay.”

I love Brandon a lot.

“What’s a stevedore again?” Brandon asked afterwards. We cuddled in his queen-sized bed, in his small blue-walled bedroom with its transom window. “It sounds like something out of Moby-Dick.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” I said, stroking his arm hairs.

“Not one I ever heard.” Brandon pursed his lips to the far right side, as if his mouth were running away from something.

“It’s a compliment.” I laughed.

“Uhhhhhh . . . . “ Brandon lay on his back and looked at the ceiling with eyes that kept widening. “Do I have sex like a postal worker?”

“What do you mean, like, homicidal?” I asked.

“No, like boring,” he said.

I stretched out my legs. “No, you have sex like a lawyer.” Brandon is a lawyer, but I immediately understood my mistake. “A really amazing lawyer. An A.C.L.U. person who fights for justice and stuff like that.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Brandon rolled over and closed his eyes and stopped talking.

“Like Thurgood Marshall,” I said. “That’s good, right?”

Now he is asleep.

I am awake, web surfing. When Brandon started snoring around midnight, I padded out to the living room and retrieved my bag, which contained my Wittgenstein and my laptop. I returned to bed and turned on the small white lamp on the stand next to me. I took out my paperback copy of Philosophical Investigations and read until I reached the last page.

After that, I leaned over and whispered into Brandon’s ear: “You have sex like a superhero.”

He remained unconscious.

“I am fanatically in love with you,” I barely breathed.

Still no response.

“I want you to tie me up like I’m a Victorian femme fatale and you are an evil villain with a mustache and a top hat,” I said.

“What?” he said.

“You’re dreaming,” I said.

Brandon fell back asleep.

I turned off the lamp. I tried to sleep, too. When that didn’t work, I dug through my bag again and this time fished out my laptop. I opened my computer and balanced it on my knees. I started looking at feminist art videos on Vimeo, which is one of my favored distractions during uneasy times. After a while, I found the work of Lindsay Tunkl.

It is 3:01 in the morning.

You have likely never heard of Lindsay Tunkl. You have probably found this Vimeo page in the same way that I did, which is to say, on accident. According to her website‘s CV/Bio section, Lindsay Tunkl graduated from CalArts with a BFA in 2010 and, as of this writing, is attempting to complete an MFA in Studio Practice and an MA in Visual + Critical Studies at California College of the Arts in San Francisco. From her videos on Vimeo, and her still shots on her website, we can see that Lindsay Tunkl is a White woman in her twenties. She has long dark hair, with streaks of early gray in it. She also has a big silver lip piercing, and bears a metal stud below her left eye, which seems painful. Lindsay Tunkl is pretty and large-framed, with fleshy arms and powerful breasts and thighs.

Lindsay Tunkl has made a series of conceptual art perfumes based on the Apocalypse. One of the perfumes is called “Tsunami,” and another is called “Nuclear Blast.” They do not appear to be available for purchase on her website and doubtlessly smell bad.

Lindsay Tunkl has the word “HOLOCENE” tattooed on the inside of her lower lip, as a memento mori. She is in mourning for the Holocene, which has been replaced by the apocalyptic era of the Anthropocene, the age of global warming and atomic annihilation. In 2010, Tunkl took a self-portrait. In this photograph, she sticks out her lower lip so that you can read Holocene on her mouth’s shiny underside. She made this image into a 36 x 48 print, which also does not seem purchasable from her website.

The same year that she made Holocene, Lindsay Tunkl executed a performance called This Is How the iPhone Didn’t Save My Love Life. This is How the iPhone Didn’t Save My Love Life consisted of Tunkl sending plaintive text messages to a lover who never replied to her even once, despite the fact that she sent those texts messages while driving across California to reach her, him, or them in the middle of the night.

I love you and I’m not ready for this to be over, she wrote.

I’m not leaving until you tell me that you’re not coming.

This is all very good, but Lindsay Tunkl’s best work product may be a short video that she posted on this Vimeo page in 2014. It is titled Is This What Feeling Feels Like? – First Attempt. In Is This What Feeling Feels Like?, Lindsay Tunkl wears a blue dress and her dark hair loose. In a wide shot, we see her walk into a white room that hosts a white table with a white enamel bowl on it. The bowl brims with water. Lindsay Tunkl stands before the table and the bowl and stretches out her arms. She begins to yell-sing the Dolly Parton/Whitney Houston hit, I Will Always Love You and periodically dunk her head into the enamel bowl, continuing to screamingly sing while her head remains underwater. Lindsay Tunkl sings I will always love yoooouuuuuuuuu and then jams her head under the water, drowning and hollering.

This video lasts for 1 minute and 51 seconds, and has been played 16 times, mostly by me. Except for the comments that I am now writing, Is This What Feeling Feels Like? – First Attempt has elicited 0 comments. It has not been shared with anyone. It has not been Liked by anyone, nor included in any collections.

Lindsay Tunkl’s work is a study of human solitude. Tunkl craves a whole and healed earth, but sees only destruction and death. She loves, but remains apart. She adores, but is drowning. She cries out for union with her beloved, but feels like she is dying.

Lindsay Tunkl is alone. She is abandoned as a human on a dying planet, deserted as a woman in an affectionless world, and she is also forsaken as an unLiked and unCommented-on artist.

Lindsay Tunkl’s loneliness dooms her to speak in what Ludwig Wittgenstein once referred to as a private language.

Ludwig Wittgenstein studied the problems of private language at the late stage of his career, in his vulnerable old age. Wittgenstein had conceived this idea after an early, more foolish, period: During the Great War, Wittgenstein believed that language mirrored the logic of reality (as he explained in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, published in 1922), and thought that in so mapping existence and its reflectively lucid attendant discourse that he, Wittgenstein, had solved every single philosophical problem that ever existed. “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent,” he wrote.

Wittgenstein was gay, Jewish, and an intellectual during the rise of Hitler, but he would not be persuaded that reality was actually a confusing mess except after he began working as a grammar teacher in Lower Austria in 1922. Wittgenstein did not prove a natural educator. He reviled provincial life and called his pupils “worms.” In 1926, in the municipality of Otterthal, Wittgenstein beat a hemophiliac 11 year old student named Josef Haidbauer, who died shortly thereafter, possibly because of his injuries. Wittgenstein’s family was rich and Wittgenstein did not suffer any consequences for killing this child.

But maybe Wittgenstein did suffer internally. Ten years later, he no longer believed that he had solved every philosophical problem that ever existed. He had moved away to Vienna but returned to Otterthal in 1936 to apologize for committing murder and other student abuses. The people of the region remained unreceptive. They did not look him in the eye, and just said Ja, ja.

After that, Wittgenstein went back to Vienna and repudiated all of his work. He spent the last years of his life trashing his earlier philosophy by writing Philosophical Investigations, which was posthumously published in 1953. In Philosophical Investigations Wittgenstein now said that words don’t have any inherent logic, but only derive their coherence from their ordinary vernacular usages. People agree to use words for certain purposes, and in that way create their meaning. Perhaps Wittgenstein was thinking of the ambiguity of Ja, ja when he wrote this. No linguistic significance exists outside of these agreements, which are formed out of elongated human exchanges, Wittgenstein explained. These personal connections, however, are difficult to attain. They require more than refraining from homicide. Relationships also require a feat of the imagination.

“If one has to imagine someone else’s pain on the model of one’s own, this is none too easy a thing to do,” Wittgenstein wrote. “I can only believe that someone else is in pain, but I know it if I am. — Yes: one can make the decision to say ‘I believe he is in pain’ instead of ‘He is in pain.’”

But what if you have imperfect relationships and no one is trying to imagine your subjectivity? What if you are a loner who is obsessed with the Apocalypse? What if, left to your own devices, you spend your afternoons singing I Will Always Love You while drowning and filming it? What if you only have 16 downloads and no one Likes your videos? Does anyone believe that you are in pain? And is anyone hearing or understanding you? To this last question, Wittgenstein might say Not really or Are you joking? He might also say Ja, ja.

“Now, what about the language which describes my inner experiences and which only I myself can understand?” he asked in Philosophical Investigations. Wittgenstein did not answer this question outright, but he suggested that such a language does not bear a “criterion of correctness” and thus would “give no information.” A brief review of his biography also makes us suspect that if we could conjure the spirit of Wittgenstein in a séance, he would additionally warn us that a person with a private language is crazy and likely to beat up a hemophiliac child when in a bad mood.

It is too bad that Wittgenstein did not live in the age of the Anthropocene so that he might watch Lindsay Tunkl videos. Lindsay Tunkl shows us that private languages persist as inescapable parts of life. Indeed, her work reveals that the most compelling of all grammars remains the private language that we are each condemned to speak. This private language does not necessarily evidence murderous craziness, even if we use it to talk about the Apocalypse or to express “babbling lamb” desires for erotic possession. However, this language possesses no criterion of correctness except for its verification of our solitude.

Lindsay Tunkl teaches us that the community of empaths that Wittgenstein alludes to consists of people who speak their own grammars of solitude together. Every once in a while these individuals may understand each other. But a lot of the time, they don’t. “Having a relationship” occurs when a person agrees to continue loving another person despite the fact that their reciprocal comprehension remains sporadic and without guarantee.

Art is like unrequited love.

As a former performance artist, I can tell you that there exists a lot of art that very few people look at. A huge number of artists work without any support at all.

Artists post their art to the web and wait to see if anyone can hear their private language.

Commenting on and liking videos, paintings, stories, and also other comments now form new practices of bridging this unbearable silence in the modern era.

For a short while, the 19th century novelists Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne provided each other with a life-sustaining community that proved even more powerful than that found in web commentary: They both loved and occasionally even apprehended each other. However, though Wittgenstein observed that reciprocal recognition must be manifested by people helpfully imagining each other’s suffering, it should be noted that Melville and Hawthorne’s corporate sympathy did not protect them from pain.

Melville lived near Hawthorne in western Massachusetts in 1850-1851, the same years that he wrote Moby-Dick. Melville was 31 and unknown. Hawthorne was 46, and had just published The Scarlet Letter to much acclaim. Both men were married, but this did not matter. They met often and walked in silence in the Berkshire woods, enjoying the sunbeams, the trees, and the sounds of the birds.

On November 17, 1851, Melville wrote Hawthorne: “Whence come you, Hawthorne? By what right do you drink from my flagon of life? And when I put it to my lips — lo, they are yours and not mine.”

We cannot know for certain the precise right that Hawthorne claimed when drinking from Melville’s flagon of life. Though he wrote many letters to Melville, they do not survive, because Melville burned them. But by studying Hawthorne’s actions and writings, we may discern that Hawthorne and Melville enjoyed some forms of agreement on this aspect of the human condition that Wittgenstein described as the inner experience.

We begin to suspect that that the two men shared some sort of private revelation when we learn that Hawthorne ran away from Melville. In early 1852, he moved himself and his wife, the dark-eyed Sophia Peabody, to the stevedoreless safety of Concord, Massachusetts.

That same year, Hawthorne wrote The Blithedale Romance. The novel concerns the relationship between a young poet named Miles Coverdale and one Holllingsworth, an older fellow with a vocation for penal reform. The men form a passionate attachment in the utopian community of Blithedale, but then have a savage falling-out over a disagreement about the socialist philosophies of Charles Fourier. Coverdale and Hollingsworth’s spat, however, probably concerns more their romantic frustrations than their commitments to the universal laws of social progress. They break up, Hollingsworth taking up with a lady named Priscilla and Coverdale moving to the city, where he begins spying on strange married men.

Coverdale, the novel’s narrator, admits that he cannot cope with his loss of Hollingsworth.

“The heart-pang was not merely figurative, but an absolute torture of the breast,” he says.

Two months ago, in his apartment, Brandon helped me cut and shave my hair. I have an idiosyncratic hairstyle, where I buzz the right side of my head in a circular pattern and grow the left side long and braid it with beads.

Brandon brought a wood stool from his kitchen and put it in front of his bathroom mirror, which hangs above his sink. He took off his white Oxford button-down, and I took off my Quiet Lightning T-Shirt. I never wear a bra. We smiled at each other in the mirror and laughed.

I sat on the stool. Brandon had previously removed his electric razor from the cupboard below his sink counter. He now picked it up off the sink’s ledge and flicked it on. He bent over me, buzzing my hair into the circle configuration. His fingers touched my scalp and my cheeks very gently.

I felt the feathered wings of my spirit terrifyingly expand like the wings of those emotional angels described by Plato in The Phaedrus.

I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him.

My heart beat and beat.

Eight weeks after that, though, Brandon and I “crossed wires.” We sat in his living room, on the sofa covered with the fuzzy fabric. With the aid of his iPad, Brandon attempted to show me a two-minute clip of young violent people dueling with big glow sticks. He explained that he wished me to watch this atrocious preview because he felt very excited about the release date of a film in the Star Wars franchise called Rogue One.

Rogue One, as I quickly learned in enormous detail, is a prequel to the Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia and Han Solo tale. It tells the doomed love story of two attractive interstellar Resistance Fighters who waste a lot of time misunderstanding each other’s private languages via interminable debates over a primordial, tech-savvy version of Fourierism that requires the subservience of individualism to the greater good. The female eventually submits to the ideology of the male, which causes them to deeply and hysterically fall in love. The female and the male then perish demi-in flagrante while getting planet-bombed by the Empire.

“Here, look,” Brandon said, pressing the iPad up to my face.

I have already mentioned Brandon’s physical attractions. The chest muscles and the tallness, etc. These gorgeous temptations prevented me from caring about Rogue One. All I wanted to do, as Brandon leaned close to pressure me to watch interstellar decapitations, was nuzzle my mouth into his warm, musky neck, and to bite him and maybe lick and also perhaps in my enthusiasm leave a hickey.

So, instead of admiring the iPad, I pressed my mouth directly under his jaw. I tried to kiss the tender flesh next to his thorax. This stimulus caused Brandon to swiftly jerk his shoulder up so that my face, briefly if brutally, smushed between his head and shoulder. Brandon then snapped his head away, leaving me squish-eyed and politely smiling as I sat stiffly next to him.

“No, come on, watch it,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

Nodding, I observed the space murder.

“See?” Brandon said, raising his eyebrows. “Can’t wait.”

My eye hurt.

“That’s really neat,” I said.

I cannot say for certain what exactly Brandon had in mind when he said See? Can’t wait. I suspect that he attempted to communicate to me a hope that we shared similar cultural and aesthetic values that would bode well in our future together as man and wife and the parents of a small, intelligent brood of children. He also, of course, could have simply meant that he felt impatient to see the film.

I can say for certain, however, what I meant when I said That’s really neat. I did not mean that’s really neat in the least. I actually meant: I cannot believe that you are more interested in watching fucking television than you are in me.

For a moment, I also meant: I sort of hate you right now.

What had passed between us to explain this deterioration? What sin had we committed to fall from our psychic declarations of love in the bathroom to the depths of our mutual ignorance in the living room?

Earlier in our relationship, when Brandon had cut my hair, our Plato-like passion to fuse into one person had impregnated every moment with agreed-upon meaning. But then, love cooled. And once this horizontality began to dissipate, a creeping hierarchy of affection started to reveal discrepancies, that is, the existence of our separate private languages.

On the sofa, we had a choice to endure the risks of empathetic imagination, as Wittgenstein teaches us. For example, I could have submitted my ideology to the male’s, like in Rogue One. Or, Brandon could have seen a look of disappointment flash across my features and said, This heart-pang is not merely figurative, but an absolute torture of the breast, like Hawthorne wrote in semi-code about Melville. Or, we could have stared into each other’s eyes and said I will always love you, like Lindsay Tunkl sang as she drowned in a bowl of water in Is This What Feeling Feels Like?

None of that happened, though.

Ste·ve·dore /ˈstēvəˌdôr/ noun

1. a person who loves you by fucking you so blindingly hard and passionately that he or she destroys the separateness between you.

There are three types of language. The first type of language voices a fellow-feeling. One need not say a word to pronounce this idiom. Wittgenstein says that this expression is none too easy to achieve, but Brandon and I effortlessly spoke it when we looked at each other’s reflections as he buzzed my hair. I know that the message that passed between us signaled I love you.

When Herman Melville and Nathaniel Hawthorne walked together in the Berkshires, they, too, co-wrote the story of their fatal love by marking their footprints into the leaf-mold of the Massachusetts forest. I cannot say if it was none too easy for them to do so, but the violent queerphobia plaguing the United States at the time (and, now) suggests that they had to fight to secure these precious moments of affective telepathy.

Lindsay Tunkl and her lover also spoke this language in This is How the iPhone Didn’t Save My Love Live, where she clamored at her, him, or them via text to return her devotion but only silence followed. Like Brandon and me in the bathroom, and Melville and Hawthorne in the forest, Lindsay Tunkl eventually understood the magnitude of her beloved’s message. It created an arduous yet necessary mutuality between them.

The second type of language bears words whose meanings arrive corroded and warped, but partially understood. This is the language of Ja, ja. Lovers live in terror of this vocabulary. It is the patois that leads to heartbreaking disagreements over Fourierism, singing I Will Always Love You, and drowning. Ja, ja has double, triple meanings, untrue meanings, builds false hopes, and lays secret traps. A person may hear a phrase spoken in Language Number 2 and believe that they discern an existential yes within its syntax, but later realize the damnation of their dreams. A particularly exquisite suffering ensues.

When Melville asked Hawthorne by what right he drank from the flagon of his life, Hawthorne replied with a Yankee Ja, ja by fleeing the soft mossy forests of the Berkshires for the redoubts of Concord and then writing The Blithedale Romance. In so doing Hawthorne tried to convince Melville that he had no idea what in the hell Melville was talking about but simultaneously also explain that he would love Melville for the rest of his life.

In my case, I fear that when I said That’s neat about the Rogue One prequel, and actually meant I sort of hate you right now, I cracked the mechanism that translates Brandon’s and my words when we speak to one another. I worry that the injury I inflicted on this love technology continued to lethally spread and widen in the months since our conversation about Star Wars, since I did not immediately superglue the damage with sex or authentic ideological submission. Thus, when I made erotic overtures to Brandon this evening, and he responded by saying Wait and Hold on, I am scared that what he actually tried to tell me was Stop, I do not want you anymore.

The third type of language cannot be understood, either as a single or double entendre. This private language is the shibboleth of a different type of wasteland. In this dialect, the word Stevedore may be written by an island castaway on a paper scrap that is then stuffed into a bottle and thrown into the ocean. When a beachcomber on the mainland sees the bottle bobbing in the water many months or years later, and opens it up, he reads the word and thinks that it refers to a character out of a novel by Herman Melville that treats the themes of masculine madness and whales. The castaway remains on her faraway sandbar, unable to translate her nouns and verbs into shapes that will attract a rescue party. She sits on the beach and contemplates Tsunamis and Nuclear Blasts — the end of the world.

It is 4:16 in the morning. Brandon’s breathing remains deep and steady. In Los Angeles’s pre-dawn, sepia light, I can make out the hedgehog spikes of his hair. I smell his skin, the clove of him under his cologne. He moves lightly. The cotton sheets make crinkling noises.

I want you to love me like a tornado, like a plague, like a fire.

I want you to destroy me with your light saber. I want to have your baby.

I lean over to him again. “I love you,” I say instead. I say it now so that he can hear it.

Brandon’s rhythmic breathing stops. He shifts and turns toward me. He reaches out under the sheets and grasps my thigh.

“Yeah, I love you too,” he says after several seconds. Then he falls silent again.

I look out of the transom window, at the blue-opal sky captured in a windowpane.

I don’t really know what he means.

Lindsay Tunkl, keep working.

Yxta Maya Murray is a writer and law professor who teaches at Loyola Law School.

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