#Ce's diary posts

[tiskycat]

Me having to cook something before watching Dungeon Meshi: “uggggh this is such a chore ughhhhhhhhhhh”

Me having to cook something after watching Dungeon Meshi: “I am just like Senshi fr”

[beastsovrevelation]

I have this yearning to drag the characters and ships I hate through the dirt on my blog, but I just... I have no energy to waste on drama. And, I know it feels vile, I'm not really on a crusade to hurt others.

[ruthplaysthesims]

"Alors que j'étais assise dans le jardin, j'ai fermé les yeux et je me suis retrouvée dans le même paysage où j'étais il y a quelques semaines... Sauf que cette fois, je portais une robe blanche... Et je n'étais pas seule. Je l'ai vu. Le même homme mystérieux que j'avais vu il n'y a pas longtemps. Pourquoi était-il là, parmi tous les gens ? Il ne semblait pas remarquer ma présence jusqu'à ce qu'il se retourne pour me faire face. Nous nous sommes simplement regardés pendant ce qui semblait être une éternité. J'ai entendu une voix grave murmurer "réveille-toi". Quand j'ai cligné des yeux, je me suis retrouvée dans ma chambre une fois de plus... Serait-il insensé de s'éprendre de quelqu'un que l'on vient à peine de rencontrer...? C'est absurde. Je devrais savoir mieux que ça. Je ne peux pas me permettre de me retrouver dans cette situation à nouveau ! Je ne veux pas que ma maison soit à nouveau réduite en cendres. Ça ne vaut pas le risque."

-Raina A.

Translation : As I sat in the garden, I closed my eyes and suddenly found myself in the same scenery I had been in a few weeks earlier... Except this time, I was wearing a white dress... And I wasn't alone. I saw him. The same mysterious man I had seen not long ago. Why was he there, of all people? He didn't seem to notice my presence until he turned around to face me. We just gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity. I heard a deep voice whisper "wake up". When I blinked, I was back in my room once again... Would it be foolish to be infatuated with someone I had only just met...? That's absurd. I should know better. I can't allow myself to be in that situation again! I don't want my home to be destroyed once more. It's not worth the risk.

-Raina A.

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Decided to turn the next chapter of Raina's diaries as my post for speak your language day!!

[crystalromana]

Apocryphia Bipedium- Ian Potter

[FIXED THE WONKY MOBILE EDITING. >.< IT LOOKED FINE ON DESKTOP]

[I am obsessed with this short trip so I had to bring it to Tumblr. Yes I did just copy and paste this page by page out of the pdf and formatted it. I think about it all the time. Anyway.

Apocrypha Bipedium takes place in the gap between Time of the Daleks and Neverland. Enjoy]

A Suggestive Correlation of The Cressida Manuscripts with other Anomalous Texts of the Pre-Animarian Era as proposed for Collective Consideration by Historiographic Speculator Anctloddoton.

In my selection and placement of the following extracts from the literature of the extinct worlds, I have attempted to draw suggestive parallels between some of the Problem Texts of the humanoid cultures. Obviously, the records of those times are now so fragmentary that any conclusions we draw from the surviving evidence must remain speculative. We cannot know what evidence we are missing, thus the linking of events posited by the presentation of these documents must remain a tentative hypothesis at best.

HS A From The Primary Cressida Document – Suppressed Texts of the Vatican Library, A Mysteria Press Original, 2973 CE.

The past is another country, the Doctor used to say. By which I suppose he meant it’s a nice place to visit but you wouldn’t want to live there, and you can have real problems with customs when you arrive.

I grew up in the future myself, which makes living in the past tricky at times. Liverpool was a great place to grow up if you were into the past though. It was full of it; the Campus Manor theme park, the castle, the Beatles Memorial Theatre, The Saint Francis of Fazakerley Museum, the Carl Jung Dream Tour, Post-Industrial Land and all those cathedrals, you were tripping over history everywhere. Mummy’s parents came from there too, so it was practically like we knew reallife olden days people.

It was much better than Liddell Towers where we lived in New London – most of the history near there seemed to be about some silly girl who’d let a professor of sums take photos of her and fell down a rabbit hole, or about those awful Daleks wiping out Southern England with mines and things. Much duller and hardly any variety in the rides at all.

Here in the actual olden days there’s not much past anywhere, just loads of future, and the rides are even less fun, all carts and donkeys and hardly any roads. We’re moving again, you see, dear diary. Even though the conquering Greeks don’t really seem to want to colonise any of Asia Minor themselves they don’t seem to want any Trojans settling back down anywhere round here either. They’ve occupied what’s left of the city, I suspect mainly so Menelaus can find all the expensive bits of Helen’s jewellery she seems to have mislaid, and seem keen we don’t hang about too nearby. Mymiddon Hoplites apologetically move us on now and again, clearly wondering when they can decently be allowed back home to start fighting amongst themselves again, and so we pack up and move. Some of their chaps are still feeling rather tetchy for no good reason apparently. Troilus says there’s a silly rumour going around that some terrible woman, probably a goddess, went around whipping up aggression amongst the Greeks a few years ago by magic, leaving marks on their necks that mean they can’t calm down!

It doesn’t make any sense to me. I think I might just be getting the cleaned up version of a soldier’s tale actually. I think that happens with me a lot. People treat me like a silly little girl sometimes, which isn’t really fair when I come from the future and know all sorts of things they don’t. I’m an adult now, even if not being born yet does make me about minus four thousand officially.

I don’t think Agamemnon’s Greeks really know what to do now to be honest, and after a decade’s anticipation I don’t think the trade routes or the princess they were sacking Troy to get are quite as good as they were hoping. I think they’re just hanging around stopping us settling down and looking for lost costume jewellery until they can think of something better to do. Some of the Ithacans are moaning it’ll be another decade before any of them get home at this rate. Bless them.

Running out of room, dear diary. Will write more when I have some new goats’ hides.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It! The True Confessions of a Ka Faraq Gatri not just written for the money when trapped on a primitive planet and needing cash to buy parts by ‘Snail’, Boxwood Books, 300 AGB.

Of course the hairy kangaroo had been at the mind rubbers and didn’t even realise the sword was there! How we laughed. Terrible namedropper, Zodin, but worth her weight in soufflé all the same

Naturally enough, mention of name-dropping reminds me of another anecdote, this one relating to dear old Bill Shakespeare, one of the finest writers and most atrocious spellers of any age. I’ve met him several times now and hope to again if I ever get off this pre-warp- engineering dustball. The last time was during that sticky business with poor Kitty Marlowe and those Psionovores from Neddy Kelley’s old scrying glass that I related in Chapter 9, but perhaps our most awkward misadventure together was the time I introduced him to some of his own characters, who included, as it happened, a dear, dear friend of mine.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress by Charlotte Elspeth Bollard, Library of Kar-Charrat. The work, having suffered some worm damage in the Great 2107 AD Cock Up, is presented here in the Elgin decorruption.

Travelling with Wilf and the Doctor was a curious experienced already felt somewhat out of sorts with time, having discovered my very existence was making history split in two, but sharing a home with a boy from the 16th Century and a man who seemed to come from nowhere so much as his own imagination, merely heightened my feeling that I no longer belonged to any era.

We three fellow time travellers had so very little in common beyond having all read the plays the boy had not yet written that the small talk had been small indeed, and, after a few days of the Doctor failing to get Wilf home, the atmosphere had become a little tense.

Wilf, it further transpired, had difficulty reading anything written in more modern Anglish than his own, which meant there had been little of a literary nature to distract him during his sojourn with us once he had read and re-read the Doctor’s picture books about Frinchs, Sneetches, Ooblecks and Cats in Hams.

Thankfully, towards the end of Wilf’s stay with us the Doctor had discovered a futuristic version of Lido called Peter Pan Pop-O-Matic Frustration that we could enjoy playing together and those last long hibiscus-scented afternoons in his music room passed pleasantly enough, without young Wilf having to constantly relate the escapades of besocked foxes to us.

The Doctor always won our games, usually coming from behind implausibly late in the day, and nearly always using some devious subterfuge to gain victory. Indeed, it was observing the childlike joy on the Doctor’s face at his underhand triumphs on the Peter Pan Pop-O-Matic Frustration board that I first realised just how much of Peter there was in his nature. Naturally, we loved him enough to pretend not to notice his cheating (I sometimes think the whole universe did) and at times towards the end we three had so much fun that I almost forgot I was a paradox, unpicking creation like Penelope at her tapestry in the heroic age we had just left.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur – works attributed to William Shakespeare collated by Heinrich Von Berlitz and Leopold Kettlecamp, Ampersand and Ampersand, 85 AH.

This passage from The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy – fragmentary foul papers of a naive work once attributed to the very young Shackspur, is worth quoting in full.

Act 2, Scene 1. A room within the box. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow and Young Will.

Doct. Here at last! Our journey finally through. In fifteen hundred and seventy two. Young Will, regard the ceiling viewing dome – Stratford on Avon, the Hathaway home.

Will. But sir, on those bare hills, no swarths do roll. And no houses nestle ’twixt those craggy knolls – The sun burns with a fierce un-English light And that beach there is not a Warwick sight! That’s not Stratford displayed above us

Char. – Lest the Avon’s turn’d to sea, ’Od love us!

Many scholars have disputed the authenticity of this piece of alleged Shackspurian juvenilia, pointing out, fairly, that it does appear to be the only one of his extant works that the Bard biroed in a twentieth-century school jotter otherwise festooned in swirly ink blots and doodled hexagons. However, if Shackspur did travel in Time, as several scholars suggest, this objection falls away. A more compelling argument for its inauthenticity is the verse style, experimenting uniquely within the Shackspurian canon with strict iambic pentameter composed entirely in rhyming couplets. Whilst dreadful, it is nothing like as appalling as that in Shackspur’s earliest known adult writing

***

From Tales from the Matrix – True Stories from TARDIS Logs Retold for Time Tots by Loom Auntie Flavia, Panopticon Press, 6833.8 Rassilon Era. Part of the Wigner Heisenberg Collection, The Mobile Library, Talking Books Section. Location currently uncertain.

The Doctor flicked the temporal stabiliser off and pulled down the transitional element control rod taking him out of the Vortex. Quite the wrong way to actualise and quadro-anchor even a Type 40 Time Capsule, isn’t it? Exiting the interstitial continuum at the perihelion of a temporal ellipse can cause serious buffering in your harmonic wave packet transference and sever your main fluid links, can’t it?

‘Here we are, Stratford on Avon, 1572!’ announced the Doctor proudly and wrongly. If he’d ever bothered to use his Absolute Tesseractulator to pinpoint his dimensional locations he wouldn’t have made these kind of mistakes, of course, but the Tesseractulator had never come out of its box, had it?

Charlotte Pollard, the Doctor’s friend, came over to him and flicked on the ceiling scanner.

A friend’s an Earth thing. It’s a bit like having a colleague or fellow student you co-operate with, but without any exams or project targets at the end to make the co-operation meaningful. There was a fashion for having them on Gallifrey at one time, ask some of your older cousins about it, they might remember.

Charlotte squinted at the view outside. It didn’t look like the Stratford she’d visited, with neither alien enslavers nor half timbered tea shops anywhere in sight. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

‘Positive. Ish,’ replied the Doctor. William Shaxsberd, a young man they’d promised to drop off in 1572, put down his coloured crayons and came to join them.

‘It does not look much as it once did, Doctor,’ said William, looking at the ceiling and cricking his neck.

The Doctor followed suit. The dustbowl outside was certainly not Warwickshire in any era he’d visited, ‘No. Indeed not,’ he admitted. ‘I think the rift in the Vortex is introducing a random element into my calculations.’

Do you remember the rift in the Vortex, from last time? That’s right, the Doctor made that too! It was due to the paradoxical interaction of two paravertical chronostreams further complicated by three retro- temporal augmented causal feedback loops, wasn’t it?

‘Another random element?’ asked Charlotte, ‘More random than the way you play “eeny meeny miney mo” with the buttons?’

‘Ha, Charley,’ said the Doctor. ‘Tres amusent.’

Charlotte turned to William to explain, ‘That’s French, Will, for “I’ve been banged to rights, Miss Pollard”,’ she said.

‘I somehow knew,’ William replied.

‘Really?’ asked Charlotte. ‘How?’

‘It’s a Time Lord gift, Charley,’ said the Doctor, ‘and yes it would be awfully de trop to ask how it works.’ Or at least that’s whatCharlotte thought he said. William heard something quite different of course.

Well, let’s get out there then,’ said the Doctor, opening the doorswithout taking any proper readings.

‘Er, why?’ asked Charlotte.

‘Because until we know how far out the rift has shunted us in spaceand time we won’t know how to get to Stratford, 15 diddlydiddly...’explained the Doctor, waving his hand vaguely as he searched hismemory for the end of the four digit number he’d lost interest in.

‘Seventy-two,’ prompted William.

‘The very same.’ The Doctor beamed, ruffling the young man’s hair in a way that, thanks to the TARDIS telepathic circuits alone, seemed endearing rather than insufferable and over familiar.

William and the Doctor headed for the doors. Charlotte was troubled though.

‘Won’t my temporal instability cause untold problems to wherever we are?’ she asked, quite sensibly, all things considered.

‘Oh, very probably, I expect,’ replied the Doctor airily, ‘but if you spent your whole life worrying about the consequences of your actions you’d never get anything done and the consequences of that would be unthinkable, wouldn’t they? Faint heart never bowled a maiden over,you know.’

Charlotte scowled. ‘Mind,’ added the Doctor as he stepped out of the control room, ‘neither did Katie “the Beast” Davies, if I remember my22nd-century Wisden correctly.’

That was an allusion to the Earth game Cricket, wasn’t it? It was the Earth’s planetary sport, despite the fact that humans were the worst players of it in the galaxy if you remember.‘

Doctor, I find your words confusing,’ said William as he followed him out.‘It’s a Time Lord gift, Will,’ Charlotte whispered. ’You’ll get used to it.’

* * *

From The Primary Cressida document

New hides! This keeping a journal business is awfully tricky when you’ve no paper around, but before mummy died, she did make me promise I’d write one when I eventually settled down. It’s a family tradition that’s been handed down for generations apparently, not that I ever saw mummy’s.

Anyhow, Troilus is still very eager to settle soon, but where? I’ve ruled out going east to the Holy Land because from what I remember from history and my travels we’ll get no peace there and the rest of the Med and Adriatic has already been bagsied. Troilus reckons Aeneas will have already have set up somewhere by now and we should have gone off on his boat when we had the chance. I just nod, and try to explain wave particle duality to the little ones.

I have a vague feeling I learned something about Aeneas from the UK-201’s didactomat box way back in the future. I think he ended up with Dido in Carthage for a bit, which confuses me because I thought Dido’s music was Late Classical, which must be after this period, surely. I’m sketchy on the details to be honest. I only remember it was Dido and not Sister Bliss because the planet we crashed into on the way to Astra was named after her.

Funny thinking about Dido, that was the place I’ve called home longest in recent years. I’ve been a nomad a while really – split between London and Liverpool as a girl, never knowing whether to talk posh and southern or not, emigrating to off-Earth with daddy, hopping about through Time with the Doctor, and now traipsing around Turkey with Troilus and his mates before its even called that or has any tourist facilities to speak of. I think I must have ‘space travel in my blood’ as one of those Baroque composers put it!

I’ve been wondering when I should discover electricity and plumbing a bit recently, these fleeces don’t clean themselves like proper clothes, so the sooner we can invent the twin tub the better. Are we before or after that Monk who invented things too early here, I wonder? I don’t want to mess things up like he did, but I’m shocking on dates. I just paid attention to the stories in the history books really, not the order they happened in. If I’d known the way round history went was going to be important I would have had the machine teach me it. Of course, as a child you never expect all that history around you is going to run away into the future like it has, do you? I’ve decided I’ll probably start with a steam engine and see if that messes up my memory of the future. The way I see it, it’ll be impossible for me to invent anything that’ll stop me being born so I can’t do too much harm.

I casually suggested making things out of iron the other day, which I know is a big step forward but everyone just laughed. Too brittle and hard to work compared to bronze or tin, they said. I suppose they’re right. You have to do something to it to make it strong, I remember that. I just don’t remember what that something is. For all I know my quad physics equations and could still compose a cogent analygraphfor the fall of the Mallatratt Protectorate, I’m a bit rusty on a few of the basics. Going to take us years to get garlic bread and sound radio at this rate.

Of course, I had a bit of training for life without the mod cons on Dido, so I can cope, but what makes things really fiddly at the moment is that my future’s past is catching up with my present, which is complicated enough to write down, let alone experience.

We’ve just bumped into the Doctor as a young man, and I’m sure it’s really bad form for me to let on I recognise him when as far as he’s concerned he’s not met me yet.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

My plan was pretty much the usual one, to go out and see if we could find out the year and our whereabouts in a way that wouldn’t arouse any suspicions, and then hang around until nightfall to get a better fix from the position of the stars. It may sound dull but I’ve found if I do that I usually find something or other to get embroiled in before sunset.

We stepped circumspectly out of the Ship and set off in search of the nearest habitation, ready as ever to improvise any number of cover stories to explain our presence and strange garb. As luck would have it we soon ran into one of the locals, and were able to subtly winkle out the info we needed on route to his encampment.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

People say you should never look back of course, advice we’ve been ignoring since Orpheus and EuroDisney, but I can’t help thinking that if the Doctor hadn’t landed us in the aftermath of the Trajan War a lot of that beastly business with the Time Lords might have been avoided later.

As usual the Doctor rejoiced in dropping straight into the middle of things without a moment’s forethought. Impossible, exasperating man,I tried to protest but somehow he just brushed my complaints away with a smiled shouldn’t have let him, but he did have such a lovely smile.

* * *

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 3, Scene 2. Another part of the hillside. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow and Young Will.

Doct. Yoohoo! Mister Goatboy, excuse me please, Could you tell me what time and place is this? Char. Discreet as ever.

Enter a Goatherd.

Doct. Yes, but awfully brave. Young man, there is information we crave. What land is this and what year are we in? We’ve lost track of both in our travelling.

Char. Oh I give up, you’re so inconsistent.

Doct. Just smile prettily, act like an assistant.

Char. But I never know what trick you’ll pull next!

Doct. Just grit your teeth, smile and stick out your chest; Magic’s best tricks work by misdirection.

Char. So I’m just here to stir his –

Will. Affection?

Doct. Quite so Will, a pretty face inspires trust. True, I’m afraid, if not awfully just. This chap will tell us the time and the place And Presto well head straight back into Space!

Goat. Eleven eight three BC is the year This is Hisarlik in Anatolia. I expect you’re traders from Phoenicia To be garbed and garbling here so queer. You’ve been ship wreck’d and concuss’d I’ll be bound. Which’ll be why you have no goods around. We must offer you shelter at the least Pop back home with me and well have a feast.

Char. How can he know he lives before Our Lord?

Doct. It’s just a translation device that’s flaw’d. It’s an awfully clever mechanism But it causes the odd anachronism. Kind goatherd, we would love to share a meal And watch the evening stars above us wheel. For by such means we will precisely know Our station now and where we next must go. Exeunt Omnes.

From Tales from the Matrix

‘Do we really need to do this?’ asked Charlotte as the band trudged wearily after the herdsman in their impractical shoes, ‘Surely the date and location he’s given you is enough?’

‘Perhaps,’ the Doctor replied, ‘but studying the stars will allow me to be more accurate. Besides, I’m famished. We haven’t eaten for minus three thousand years, bear in mind.’

So the Doctor and his companions blithely headed off into further temporal confusion, unaware that the goatherd had seen the TARDIS arrive and knew full well who the Doctor was already.

There’s a lesson there for anyone who thinks it’s clever to keep their TARDIS in one form, don’t you think? The Ionic Column factory preset might look nice, for example, but when using it means every Grun, Za and Caius in the Cosmos knows who you are immediately, it rather defeats the point of a chameleon circuit.

From The Primary Cressida document

One of our herdsmen saw the TARDIS arrive in the next valley this afternoon and instantly recognised it as the mobile temple that had prefigured the city’s fall, and the Doctor as a younger version of the old man from my tales.

He sent his mate back to tell us so we all had time to prepare ourselves and could all pretend we believed the Doctor’s implausible story about being a trader from Phoenicia when he turned up an hour or so later.

It’s definitely him, probably about 40 years before we met. He dresses similarly, his hair is curlier and darker and his face looks a bit different, but the years are never kind, are they? Amazingly, he’s almost as vague as a young man as he was when old, if not quite so ummy and erry. I’d always assumed that was because he was getting on a bit.

Thankfully, no one here’s too thrown by the idea of time travellers after me relating all my adventures to them, though one of the boys did ask me why the Doctor didn’t walk and talk backwards when his past was in the future. I was very clear why not when I started explaining it, but I must admit I got a bit confused as I went along. He hasn’t recognised me of course, dear diary, and we’ve invited him and his friends to have tea tonight.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

Well, imagine my embarrassment when we arrived at the fellow’s encampment and who was in charge but my old friend Vicki (now calling herself Cressida of course) and her new husband Troilus, who I’d never actually met, due to quite heavy escaping commitments around the time they got together.

I realised with a start that young Bill Shakespeare was due to write a play about this couple in a few years, and that unless I was careful thismeeting would almost certainly be what inspired it, thus complicating Bill’s already tortuous history further and bringing yet another new paradox to mine. I’d only let Vicki go away with Troilus at Troy’s fall because once I heard she was calling herself Cressida I’d assumed it was predestined (well, I was young, I believed in that kind of thing), I knew there was a play about the couple by Shakespeare and thought I was helping history take its course by hitching them up. Now, if I’d only done that because my future actions would one day bring that play about, I’d accidentally made a big chunk of my past dependent on my future, which, as you know, isn’t really the accepted way of going about things.

I reasoned it was vital for the tidiness of the time line that I kept Bill from learning the background of Troilus and Cressida in any detail, ideally forgetting as much of their present as he could too.

To complicate matters further, Vicki had actually seen Bill as an adult on my time telly, the Time Space Visualiser. She was never the most historically careful of girls, and I feared that if she found out who he was, she’d probably tell him all about his future at the court of Elizabeth and getting the commission to write The Merry Wives of Windsor and the inspiration for Hamlet on the same day and how he’d sprained his wrist in his rush to write both.

All it might take, I thought, would be one slip from any one of us, accidentally mentioning the words TARDIS or Zeus Plug over dessert, say, and causality would be tangled up like President Pandak’s kittens in twine, quicker than you could explain what you pop in a Ganymede socket.

Luckily, it seemed Vicki hadn’t spotted how anachronistic our garb was and hadn’t realised I was her old friend, seeming to completely swallow my inventive tales of sea faring, despite Charley’s rather fanciful insertions about hook-handed pirates.

I had, of course, underestimated her, as a quick and entirely accidental glance at her diary before dinner proved. Not knowing I could regenerate, she had taken me for my young self in my first form and thought she was protecting me from foreknowledge!

This, of course, suited my purpose. All I reckoned I had to do now to save Time from chewing itself to bits was keep Will busy and make sure Vicki didn’t relate her history to any of us over dinner.

Oh what tangled webs we weave, when tidy temporal strands we try to leave.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

Mr and Mrs Troilus seemed a sweet couple, he a lanky chap with a curly beard and a well-meaning expression and she a rather enthusiastic young thing with big eyes, yet the Doctor had become rather shifty from the moment we met them. I knew he was preoccupied by something, but I had, at that time, no idea what. After some fun, improvising tales of derring-do on the high seas to prove our credentials as traders, he took me to one side and explained that I had to get Wilf as squiffy as possible at the feast that night for reasons it was simpler at that moment not to explain. He said history depended on me getting the boy so drunk he could neither speak nor remember his behaviour the next morning. I’m normally quite good at that kind of thing, it was hardly my fault the Bawd was a functioning alcoholic at the age of eight.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 4, Scene 1. An encampment in the mountains. Enter Mistress Charley, Doctor Shallow, Young Will, a goatherd, Troilus, Cressida, divers villagers and guards severally.

Doct. Hello. (Aside) Her! ’Tis Vicki, I should have guess’d. I never with good geography was bless’d Hisarlik is the modern name for Troy. Quite a temporal tangle, boy oh boy! (To Cress.) Ha ha, my hearties! We here are sailors three. (Aside) I can but hope she does not see ‘tis me.

Cress. (Aside) Deceit upon deception! Can this be The Doctor who I first took it to be? Is this him when young as I assumed? Or must deeper deceit be presumed? I’ll play along until the truth I know. (To Doct.) Good mariners, welcome and hello.

Will. (To Char.) What’s this strange accented charade about?

Char. (To Will) Who knows, we’ll be, I bet, last to find out.

From Tales from the Matrix

Yes Time Tots, exactly! The first thing any of us would have done would have been to get out of there quickly before we compromised the causal nexus. Staying for tea and imbibing too much ethanol, which you’ll recall the Doctor had a particular weakness for on his mother’s side, doesn’t strike any of us as sensible!

From The Secondary Cressida document (a transcribed fragment allegedly found at a Church of Rome jumble sale) – Even More Suppressed Texts of the Vatican Library, A Hatper-Mysteria- Ellerycorp Press Original, 2977 CE

My ruse worked, the robot’s read my carefully exposed diary and thinks I suspect nothing! He’s so obviously not really the Doctor it’s not true, but he doesn’t know I know that yet, so we have the advantage. He’s definitely a Dalek robot double like that other one they sent after us.

They’ve probably made him the young Doctor this time to make it less obvious. He does look a bit like he could be him sometimes if you’re not paying attention, but if you look closely his face is all wrong and his voice goes a bit funny sometimes like that other robot’s did, almost doing my accent at times! I think he’s probably feeding on my jumbled memories or something.

We’ll overpower him and his companions at dinner tonight and destroy them, they won’t expect me to know how to deactivate them.

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

I’ve always been keen on wine, particularly the heavier oaky reds, though I find there is a rather tiresome tendency for them to be drugged by villainous blackguards sometimes, rather impairing the subtleties of the flavour, but wine in the Homeric era was quite a different proposition. What can I tell you about it except that it tasted awful but did the job?

It wasn’t the heavily resinated stuff the Greeks later went in for, thankfully, nor indeed that watered-down muck the ancient Romans used to dish out at parties, but I think it’s telling that the most flattering thing Homer had to say about it in the whole of The Iliad was how like the sea it was in hue. When you bear in mind he was blind, you can tell he’d had to ask around a bit to find anyone with something positive to say about it.

The food wasn’t much better either. It can be terribly hard eating out when you travel like I do. These days at home, I generally try to eat only things that don’t have a central nervous system, or that I’ve knocked up in the food machine, but sometimes, when you’re a guest, qualms like that have to go out of the window, particularly on worlds ruled by intelligent plants, where you’re best advised not to ask for a celery stick and to just stick your toes in damp soil like everyone else at the table.

Even then I try to stick to my principles and not eat anything with a sense of self, parliamentary democracy or sultanas in it.

This dinner was a particularly awkward affair; Charley acting like a slightly sloshed pirate queen, Vicki acting like she didn’t know me, Bill acting up, singing lewd madrigals that officially weren’t due for invention yet in his rather reedy girlish voice, and all the while me worrying about causality falling apart around me rather too much to fully enjoy the dolmades.

Suddenly, half way through the proceedings, the impossible happened: it took a turn for the worse. Vicki shouted out ‘Now!’, and lunged at my chest and started tearing at my waistcoat.

From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

My recollections of the ensuing events are somewhat hazy; I had been struggling to match young Wilt measure for measure, you might say, when I saw the Doctor being attacked. I launched myself at his assailant and missed, I’m told, briefly losing my dignity and consciousness in the process.

A shocking melee ensued by all accounts, with Trajans tearing at our clothes with cutlery and all the usual business with tables being turned and the like breaking out; I’m only glad I can’t remember the full details, because what little I do makes me blush quite enough.

It’s quite possible I told someone I loved them, and was sick later too. I’ve never been brave enough to ask. The next thing I remember clearly was being in the main tent with the Doctor explaining a lot and me apologising a bit, just in case.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Troy

Act 5, Scene 2. At dinner beneath the stars.

Cress. Take that, false Doctor! But where are your wires? In sparks and puffs of smoke you should expire. Could it be that you are the Doctor true?

Char. Get your claws off him, he’s mine, you wild shrew!

Will. Oh, Pillicock sat on pillicock

Char. Will you stop that terrible singing, Will? The Doctor and I are under attack From this Troyan host, while you’re supping sack. Join in the scrap and cease your carousel Lewd songs, anyhow, douse all arousal.

Doct. Vicki, Will, Charley, all, put down those knives! You’re all making the mistakes of your lives.

Cress. Vicki, you say? You should not know that yet. If you’re the young Doctor, we’ve not yet met.

Doct. Vicki, the reason that I know your name Is that inwardly I am still the same Man who left you at Troy some years ago, I can change my looks, if you didn’t know. Char. Doctor, do you mean that you know this wench?

Doct. We travelled together many years hence. I think it’s time I explain’d the full truth Of why I’ve deceived you all, forsooth.

Will. If she’s an old friend then tell me why You did keep that fact from Charley and I?

Doct. This is an old friend, Will, but, what is worse, She features, in decasyllabic verse, In a drama that you shall one day pen That means I shall leave her with this Troyan, If you only write it because you’re here Chronological conundra appear. Effects and causes whirl and spin about, Go through the wringer and turn inside out. The egg that hatches out your chicken Does in that self same chicken thicken.

From Tales from the Matrix

Then in direct contravention of fifteen universal laws of Time and two local statutes, the Doctor sat down and explained everything that had happened, and, in explaining it, he brought all the things he was worried about happening that hadn’t into the open, didn’t he?

Of course, it turned out that some of the things he was worried about were of no concern at all, but as a result of relating them he brought worse problems about.

I expect most of you have read stories about the Doctor in other books, and I expect some of you think he’s quite clever, even though he breaks a lot of rules, don’t you? Well, you’re right! In a crisis, he’s just the kind of person you need around, he can come up with ideas almost no one else could. The only problem is, when you’re not having a crisis, he’s just the kind of person to cause one.

From The Primary Cressida document

How embarrassing. It turns out the Doctor was the Doctor after all, only older and with a new face for some strange reason. The girl who drinks too much is his latest companion and the little boy with the dirty songs and the voice like a girl is William Shakespeare! Nice enough lad, no wonder he ends up in the theatre with that voice though, perfect for all those drag roles they gave boys. We had a lovely chat about Dido and Aeneas and told each other about our scrapes with the Daleks, and I let slip the odd thing I knew about his future.

He’s told me we should go and settle in England. Apparently there’s an old book he’s read by a chap called Geoffrey that says relatives of Aeneas were the first Britons I think it’s a super idea, ’ I know Troilus will like it in England, and I think we’ve persuaded the Doctor too! Just think! could be one of my own ancestors passing on my secret diaries for years and years, a bit like mummy’s family did! How smashing would that be?

From Not Necessarily the Way I Do It!

Of course I decided in the end that honesty would be the best policy and that as long as everyone knew the full facts, and swore not to be influenced by them, we could probably darn the hole in causality in such a way that it wouldn’t show. I sat everyone down in the central tent and explained. Well, what a Charlie I looked!

*** From The Dairy of an Edwardian Adventuress

Ridiculously, the Doctor had been worried about Wilf getting inspiration for the play Troilus and Cressida from meeting the real Troilus and Cressida! I protested that Wilf had already read his own plays in the future anyhow, but the Doctor countered that they’d have been corrupted playing texts and in a court of law it would be hard to prove that was down to him, whereas if Will had got any of the plot or characterisation directly through his adventures with us that was a bit more serious.

That was when Will started laughing.

From The Pseudo-Shackspur

The Noble Troyan Woman of Tray Act 5, Scene 4. A tent in the camp.

Will. But Doctor, I did not invent the tale Of Troilus and Cressida’s love that fail’d. Why, Geoffrey Chaucer told it years ago! I cannot believe that you did not know. Have you read even half of what you claim Or do you just like dropping well-known names? Cressida’s tale is part of tradition Not the result of my precognition Of future perfect past present events, If you will forgive me my mangled tense, And my quondumque futures version Should have put you off this girl’s desertion.

Char. You should have read your Brodie’s Notes on Will. The phantom threat you feared from his quill Was nothing but an insubstantial shade, And there’s a real spectre here I’m afraid. I’m half a ghost of Christmas yet to come, Remember, I’ve made history come undone. You’ve got paradoxes enough to be Getting on with, as far as I can see, So why do you search for new ones instead That only exist inside of your head?

Doct. If I had known the work of me laddo Would I have found menace in my shadow? I here resolve to watch much less TV And be the reader I do claim to be. For half my erudite orations Come straight from books of quotations.

From Tales from the Matrix

‘What was Helen of Troy actually like then?’ asked William Shaxberd as he helped himself to more wine.

‘Is,’ corrected the Doctor, prissily.

‘She’s a good egg by all accounts,’ said Vicki, politely not mentioning the fact she thought her looks had gone, ‘and Menelaus was happy enough to have her back, even after all the bother, so she must be quite nice when you get to know her, I suppose.’

‘Well, she would have to be a good egg really,’ said William, ‘Her father was a swan supposedly.’ Like most young human men of his generation, he knew the salacious bits of Greek Mythology surprisingly well.

‘Half human on his mother’s side?’ smiled the Doctor, thinking himself clever. ‘Aren’t we all?’

‘No, just men,’ said Charlotte through a falafel.

‘She has two birthdays they say, one when the egg came out of her mother and another when it hatched,’ Troilus revealed, leaning forward over the table and whispering in that conspiratorial manner people sometimes do when divulging well known but dubious trivia.

‘It would have been an easy birth if she was born an egg,’ said Vicki ruefully, one hand on her stomach.

‘An easy lay, you mean,’ William corrected.

‘So Paris said –’Troilus began, his eyes a twinkle.

He was shouted down by his wife seconds later, barrack room tale untold, and one of those awkward silences ensued that dinner party guests in all cultures and times know only too well.

‘Have you actually read Troilus and Cressida, Doctor?’ asked Charlotte a little later.

‘You ask me, who had a hand in some of Shakespeare’s finest work – who put the mixed metaphor in the “To be or not to be” soliloquy, who hired the bear for The Winter’s Tale, and who really shouldn’t have passed on the story of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, if I’ve read Troilus and Cressida?’ replied the Doctor, rather over-egging it in that way he usually did when he was on the defensive.

‘Yes!’ they cried as one.

‘Well, no,’ admitted the Doctor. ‘It’s supposed to be one of the better ones, and well, you know, I’ve been busy. I’ve still not managed to tune the Time Space Visualiser in to catch all of The Golden Girls and I’ve been trying for decades.’

‘She doesn’t end up with Troilus in it, she ends up with Diomede, andit’s set during the war not after it!’ said Charlotte patiently.

‘Diomede! That was Steven!’ Vicki laughed.The Doctor looked confused. ‘Vicki and Steven were just friends,weren’t you? Just the odd haircut and getting locked up together, Ithought.’

‘Yes, that’s right, how many times do we have to go through that?’Vicki explained, giving a petulant Troilus a peck on the cheek.

‘Well the legend must have got a bit confused by the time it gotwritten down I think Chaucer got it from a foreign book,’ said William,draining his goblet.

The Doctor beamed, thinking he’d got away with his tinkering again.‘So Troilus and Cressida weren’t predestined after all!’ he said

‘Well, only because of your lack of reading,’ snorted Charlotte.

‘Oh that is a relief,’ said the Doctor taking the wine jug from William and helping himself without asking.

‘Now what about this business of giving us charts to help us reach this Britain young Will spoke of?’ asked Troilus, passing the Doctor a goat’s cheese nibble.

‘I really shouldn’t,’ explained the Doctor. ‘If you go there, on the basis of the frankly dubious history of Geoffrey of Monmouth then Vicki is in danger of becoming one of her own descendants, which is at least as badas the things I’ve been trying to prevent all day.’

‘Oh go on Doctor, please!’ begged Vicki. ‘We could mine tin in Cornwall and I’d promise not to invent anything I shouldn’t as long as I lived, not even roller skates!’

‘I don’t think I should. I’ve made enough of a mess looking after young Charley here, the repercussions of me sending you to Britain because the unborn Shakespeare suggested it could be horrendous,’ said the Doctor, finally being responsible for once in his lives.

‘Oh go on Doctor, I’m unborn too, remember, so that shouldn’t matte rmuch,’ said Vicki.

‘And I’m only half here,’ said Charlotte grimly ‘Why stop messing about now? You should have stayed at home watching these Golden Girls of yours if you weren’t prepared to get involved in real people’s lives. They’re messy and not always in the order you’d like and sometimes too short, and they’re not always better for having you in them, but you either face that or hide away somewhere, don’t you?

’The Doctor kissed her.

‘What was that for?’ asked Charlotte.

‘To shut you up,’ he said. He tapped Vicki on the nose and smiled,’Come on, let’s carry on the party, and in the morning, when rosy-fingered Dawn has done her bit, we’ll sort out a good map of Europe for the Trojans and get them started on their boats. Any consequences which haven’t happened yet we can worry about later!’

Some of you will be shocked at just how naughty the Doctor was in this story: jeopardising the stability of all those will-have-might-have-been futures out there depending on him by interweaving all those strands of destiny connected to the Dalek race and all on the basis of a whim.

The Doctor already knew Dalek causality was partially snagged in a loop in Time and his friend was the focus of a temporal anomaly, but of course he had spent a jolly long time in the Vortex, hadn’t he? That meant his causal connections to events future, past and maybe- somehow were a great deal more jumbled up than most people’s and he was quite good at judging just how likely to snaggle the Web of Time his whims might be.

Or so he thought.

The Doctor believed in two very wrong things you see; firstly, in something he called personal morality that he thought was more important than doing the things simply everyone knows are right, and secondly, that he was cleverer than everyone else and could always sort things out.

He deserved what happened to him next, didn’t he?

Document from the Braxiatel Collection Shakespearean Ephemera wing, a note found in the effects of William Shakespeare by literary assessor Porlock. It is not believed to be in Shakespeare’s hand though it bears some graphological similarities to the disputed Scarlioni Hamlet manuscript.

List of things not to mention

The Daleks,

That you’ve met me before when we meet next (because you didn’t mention it last time, you know),

That you’ve read half your plays already

That I wrote all the good bits in Hamlet, [‘good bits’ later amended to ‘rubbish bits’ in a different hand]

The idea of cigars (until Raleigh gets back from abroad),

That cigars will end up named after some of your characters,

That someone called Raleigh will go abroad,

That Troilus and Cressida had a lovely marriage and lived happily ever after in Mousehole, no matter how the story goes in Chaucer,

Oh, the places you’ve gone and the things that you’ve seen

[evansblues]

Hi EvansBlues, Red Flower here,

I was wondering if you were planning to do a post for the collective on the energy for the lunar eclipse on October 28 ? October has been a powerful month in terms of energy, and the end of the month may have some messages for us ?

I'd also like to give a message to the collective about healing, because there's a huge healing going on right now for humanity. Once again, I'm going to use CE's prism, since this page is dedicated to him and without realizing it, he has already embraced his role as leader of the collective.

Do you think sometime after Chris’ FS comes into the picture, he’ll quit some of all his vices ie smoking, alcohol, etc?? Not because she asked him to, but he won’t see the need to be use them at all or a lot.//

Chris will quit his bad habit before FS will come to the picture, cause when you're on the move to achieve reunion with your soulmate, it means your vibration is responding to the energy of the other. As long as his energy is low, he has no right to approach her. Someone who has a healthy lifestyle and has managed to understand who she is cannot be attracted by chaos. Right now, CE is chaos.

People who get out of addiction do so not because they've been asked to, but because they're fed up ! They're fed up with not feeling good. It's the only way to never fall back into addictions. Before FS, he'll want to focus on his health. Both mentally and physically, and this will enable him to establish a kind of routine that will bring him stability. He's also going to write, because as he won't be able to talk to the people around him about what's really going on in his head, he'll want an escape route to get out what's inside him. I don't know if it's a diary or just words on scraps of paper; but it'll help him get his emotions out. For alcohol and drugs, he'll need someone. But it won't last long, because he already knows deep down that it's a bad thing; in reality he just needs to talk without being judged. To get what's inside him out and free himself. And a little before the meeting with FS, when he'll have understood that he's the answer to all his questions, a profound spiritual awakening will take place. The people around him won't recognize him, because he'll be reborn : the famous Phoenix !

This is how the balance of light and shadow works. You have to illuminate the shadows to be able to see them, so that it no longer haunts you.

Namaste. Infinite Gratitude :)

I’ll do another eclipse reading and possibly one for Samhain. I wait for the energies.

[werewolf240moon]

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Hellow !

Un petit extrait d’Ayakashi 03 (partie 1, la seconde moitié est dans le post qui suit) pour la route !^^ (une des parties sympas du tome, le “Hiro Gaiden”).

[A little snippet of Ayakashi 03 (part 1, second half is in the next post) for the road!^^]

[(one of the cool parts of the tome, the “Hiro Gaiden”)]

Beaucoup le savaient, Hiro, comme Haitani font partie de mon petit package de persos pour qui j’ai beaucoup d’affection (mon “top 10” , qui est plus en fait un “top 15”^^).

[Many knew that, Hiro, as Haitani are part of my small package of people for whom I have a lot of affection (my “top 10” , which is more actually a “top 15”^^)]

Et j’avoue que pouvoir montrer pas mal de choses à leur sujet me fait super plaisir.

[And I admit that being able to show quite a few things about them makes me really happy]

J’espère que ce tome vous permettra de les redécouvrir et de les apprécier autant que moi !^^

[I hope this tome will allow you to rediscover and enjoy them as much as I do!^^]

Hâte de vous montrer biiiien plus via ce prochain tome qui sortira début Octobre 2024 ! (le tome avait été initialement prévu de mon côté pour Japan Expo, mais … voilà, petite incompréhension avec mon éditeur qui ne l’avait pas prévu aussi tôt; qu’à cela ne tienne, j’ai… rajouté des pages en bonus, pour le coup. UuU=)

[Looking forward to showing you soooo much more through this next volume coming out early October 2024! (the tome was originally planned on my part for Japan Expo, but… there you go, a little misunderstanding with my publisher who didn’t plan it so early; that’s not what it’s like, I’ve… added bonus pages, just in case. UuU=)]

Bref, à vos agendas pour les fans de la série, le tome est pour bientôt, et vous verrez, il sera mis bien en preview quand même à la JE.^^ Plus d’infos à suivre ! ^^= ********

[Anyway, on your diaries for fans of the series, the tome is coming soon, and you’ll see, it will be previewed well anyway at the European Championship.^^ More info to follow! ^^=]******** @poizongirl

[eisforeidolon]

I’m so annoyed by this J-vorce and Jared and Jensen are avoiding each other crap. Even if they were purposely not doing the same European cons as each other by choice (besides JIB), and not because they cost too much to book together, it still wouldn’t point to them not being friends or disliking each other. They are still actors and wanting to be the main focus of a con (without sharing the spotlight) isn’t exactly a crime or indication of a falling out. It’s business, especially when they haven’t actually started in anything together in three years now. Also, as you’ve pointed out in your posts, they are still doing plenty of cons together, as in almost all North American ones and JIB. And they still do both gold and the main panel together with CE. They don’t have to do that if they don’t want to. The Vampire Diaries bros only do a shared Gold Panel from what I’ve seen. J2 could demand that if they really wanted to.

You also pointed out that we can’t actually tell the state of their relationship based off of just public appearances or cherry-picking things they’ve said. I totally agree with this. But, if how they appear in public counts for anything, I can say they still get along really well in person based on how they acted while doing photo ops together (in between pics, not counting poses that have been requested) as they were in super good moods in Charlotte last weekend when together. I also had their joint Meet & Greet, and while I can’t talk about what they said, I can confirm that they appeared very comfortable with each other and got carried away with reminiscing about joint experiences. I know they are actors, but even in the more "private" setting there was no stilted interaction or awkwardness, and it’s not like we’ve never seen either guy come across slightly awkward with another actor during a panel.

Honestly, even if their friendship has changed, I still enjoy seeing J2 together and I really don’t get a vibe of dislike between them at all, so unless one of them says otherwise, I’m just going to assume they are still friends while also being grown-ups who have busy separate lives. I barely see my own friends because of work any family commitments and we aren’t even actors.

You're absolutely right and clearly too sensible to be in this fandom. Quite honestly, my expectation (well before prequelgate) was that they'd probably make more of a point of promoting themselves and their new projects separately than they actually have done. Because while it looks good to still have friendly relationships with former coworkers, being seen as one half of J2 isn't exactly the most sensible way to promote themselves anymore.

The people who are so obsessed with the idea of them doing literally ANYTHING separately being A Very Important Clue about the state of their relationship that should get super extra special weight because because?

They KNOW their fave!J must hate the other guy now, because they really really desperately want it to be so. They just have to find the right proof, and everyone will have to admit how superior they are for seeing The Truth before everybody else!

Which should sound very familiar, because it's just

They KNOW their ship is real, because they really really desperately want it to be so. They just have to find the right proof, and everyone will have to admit how superior they are for seeing The Truth before everybody else!

wearing a new hat. New day, same old secret decoder rings and fandom is a competition bullshit.

I agree with you, I haven't seen any kind of increased awkwardness in their interactions. Is that because their relationship hasn't significantly changed or because they're just that professional? I have my opinion, but I'm not sitting around breathlessly waiting for the next time they do/don't do a con together thinking surely this time will prove they really can/can't stand each other. Because ... FFS.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Christopher F. Rufo

Published: Apr 17, 2024

Katherine Maher has a golden résumé, with stints and affiliations at UNICEF, the Atlantic Council, the World Economic Forum, the State Department, Stanford University, and the Council on Foreign Relations. She was chief executive officer and executive director of the Wikimedia Foundation. And, as of last month, she is CEO of National Public Radio.

Mere weeks into this new role, Maher has stepped into controversy. Long-time NPR senior editor Uri Berliner published a scathing indictment of the self-professed “public” media service’s ideological capture. Rather than address the substance of these criticisms—which will ring true to anyone who has listened to NPR over the past decade—Maher punished Berliner with a five-day unpaid suspension. (Berliner announced his resignation from NPR earlier today.)

But Maher has another problem: her archive of 29,400 tweets.

I have spent the past few days exploring Maher’s prolific history on social media, which she seems to have used as a private diary, narrating her every thought, emotion, meeting, and political opinion in real-time. This archive is a collection of her statements, but at a deeper level, it provides a window into the soul of a uniquely American archetype: the affluent, white, female liberal—many of whom now sit atop our elite institutions.

What you notice first about Maher’s public speech are the buzzwords and phrases: “structural privilege,” “epistemic emergency,” “transit justice,” “non-binary people,” “late-stage capitalism,” “cis white mobility privilege,” “the politics of representation,” “folx.” She supported Black Lives Matter from its earliest days. She compares driving cars with smoking cigarettes. She is very concerned about “toxic masculinity.”

On every topic, Maher adopts the fashionable language of left-wing academic theory and uses it as social currency, even when her efforts veer into self-parody. She never explains, never provides new interpretation—she just repeats the phrases, in search of affirmation and, when the time is right, a promotion.

Maher understands the game: America’s elite institutions reward loyalty to the narrative. Those who repeat the words move up; those who don’t move out.

Next, you notice the partisanship. Maher was “excited” about Elizabeth Warren in 2012. She “just [couldn’t] wait to vote” for Hillary in 2016. She once had a dream about “sampling and comparing nuts and baklava on roadside stands” with Kamala Harris. She worked to “get out the vote” in Arizona for Joe Biden but slightly resented being called a “Biden supporter”; for her, it was simply a matter of being a “supporter of human rights, dignity, and justice.”

Donald Trump, on the other hand, is a “deranged racist sociopath.”

If you read Maher’s tweets closely, you also get glimpses of the human being. She spent much of her time in airports, taxis, meetings, and conferences. She expressed anger over the fact that most first-class flyers were white men, then noted that she went straight “to the back of the bus.” In her thirties, unmarried and without children, she felt the need to explain that “the planet is literally burning” and that she could not, in good conscience, “bring a child into a warming world.”

Behind the frenetic activity and the moral posturing, you wonder. Maher once posted her daily routine, which involved yoga, iced coffee, back-to-back meetings, and Zoom-based psychotherapy. She resented being served maternity advertisements on Instagram, she said. She was not “currently in the market for a baby” and would not be “tending her ovaries” according to the dictates of American capitalism. 

Americans, even CEOs, are entitled to their opinions and to their own life decisions, of course. But the personal and psychological elements that suffuse Maher’s public persona seem to lead to political conclusions that are, certainly, worthy of public criticism.

The most troubling of these conclusions is her support for radically narrowing the range of acceptable opinions. In 2020, she argued that the New York Times should not have published Senator Tom Cotton’s op-ed, “Send in the Troops,” during the George Floyd riots. In 2021, she celebrated the banishment of then-president Donald Trump from social media, writing: “Must be satisfying to deplatform fascists. Even more satisfying? Not platforming them in the first place.”

As CEO of the Wikimedia Foundation, Maher made censorship a critical part of her policy, under the guise of fighting “disinformation.” In a speech to the Atlantic Council, an organization with extensive ties to U.S. intelligence services, she explained that she “took a very active approach to disinformation,” coordinated censorship “through conversations with government,” and suppressed dissenting opinions related to the pandemic and the 2020 election.

In that same speech, Maher said that, in relation to the fight against disinformation, the “the number one challenge here that we see is, of course, the First Amendment in the United States.” These speech protections, Maher continued, make it “a little bit tricky” to suppress “bad information” and “the influence peddlers who have made a real market economy around it.”

Maher’s general policy at Wikipedia, she tweeted, was to support efforts to “eliminate racist, misogynist, transphobic, and other forms of discriminatory content”—which, under current left-wing definitions, could include almost anything to the right of Joe Biden.

The new CEO of NPR, then, is a left-wing ideologue who supports wide-scale censorship and considers the First Amendment an impediment to her campaign to sanitize the world of wrong opinions.

Maher is no aberration. She is part of a rising cohort of affluent, left-wing, female managers who dominate the departments of university administration, human resources, and DEI. They are the matriarchs of the American Longhouse: they value safety over liberty, censorship over debate, and relativism over truth.

Each social gambit is designed for smothering the institution in ideology. Maher says that she knows “that hysteric white woman voice.” She has “done it.” And while she might not be proud of it—she is aware that she has “a big fat privilege pass”—she is willing to do what it takes to move the dictates of conventional left-wing opinion into a position of domination.

It didn’t begin at NPR, and it won’t end there.

--

==

The First Amendment being viewed as an impediment to what she wants to do, is not a good look for the CEO of a publicly (i.e. government, i.e. taxpayer) funded broadcaster.

[shoehorseconstant]

it's funny seeing people who've followed me on here for years (probably since i was "michael konietzko") who never interact with my posts ever but are still active because it's like... i hope you're enjoying scrolling past my diary every day. we don't know each other and i don't think i post specifically enough on here about things that happen in my life that you would really know what my posts mean alors il faut deviner ce qui se passe dans ma vie et c'est vraiment magnifique

[mrpseunom]

"CTE isn't real" - man who is probably suffering from it.

Just saw a post on Reddit sharing this article:

And wanted to write about it. The Reddit post itself was eight hours old, anything I posted would be washed away like a sand castle, so I wasn't going to. Then I remembered I made a Tumblr blog for what I hope will someday become my writing handle, figured I could just dump my thoughts on the matter here just to get it out of my system. Treat this like a diary.

Anyways, here we go.

Steve Austin isn't a scientist. I think if you gave him an IQ test today, he'd probably score above average, but not to a degree that makes you do a whistle. He's quick witted, got a good head on his shoulders, learned from past mistakes, and a whole load of other colloquialisms towards 'He ain't math smart, but he knows his ass from a hole in the ground.' Whether he believes in it or not though, CTE is real, but for once and on an individual level I don't condemn him like I usually do science deniers. I won't apologize on his behalf or try and excuse it, but I do understand where he's coming from.

If you compare Austin to his most generalised peers, other retired professional wrestlers, the most obvious difference would be in his legend. Although Austin didn't climb up the totem pole of the world like the Rock did, Dwayne Johnson is the only one who could compare to him in terms of fame, fortune, and legacy. They were the pinnacle of the pinnacle in terms of wrestling stardom. And looking at them now? They're both... Fine. Neither one of them seems to be suffering truly horrendous side effects from a career fraught with brain injury.

Steve WAS seriously injured though. His neck was broken at one point during a match thanks to his opponent's mistake, and it completely changed his entire methodology towards how he performed his job. He went from being, to use a metaphor, a seamster who made complex and intricate doilies to spinning silk. His wrestling style was forced to change from chain-wrestling into big, flashy moves that weren't hard to pull off outside of the fact that fuck they hurt. So he does comprehend that life-changing things can occur in the ring, it's just that CTE wasn't one that hampered him.

Don't let the change in his work fool you, though, he was still fantastic at what he did. He wasn't just handed his spot on the top of the bill on a silver platter, he fought tooth and nail to get it, and it was inarguable that he deserved it. Despite what my own borderline-communist views might tell me to say, affluenza is a real thing. Neither he nor his only true equal in the industry suffered from debilitating mental issues after their careers were over, the only ones who did were those beneath them. It's not hard to imagine how that could lead to him having a (less than altruistic and externally mindful) point of view that says CTE isn't real, 'the consequences of sucking at your job do though'.

As I said, this isn't me making excuses for him, it's just me putting into words why I'm able to understand it well enough that I don't think way less of him for it.

It's such a dissonance to know that you've gotten hit in the head with chairs, been dropped on your skull by uncareful amateurs, been punched square in the jaw more times than you can count, and been in countless other CTE-causing situations and NOT suffering from it. Not noticeably, anyways. Although no one but whoever does a potential autopsy on the man can say for certain, it wouldn't surprise me at all if Austin was a great deal less intelligent than he could've been. That he does suffer from it, but that it's dropped him to a level that falls within the bell curve of normality and thus leads to him seeming unaffected.

Plus, the disease only gets worse. I'm sure there's some treatment that will come out tomorrow or next year or next century or in Futurama that will cure it, but for now, as far as I know, it's a degenerative issue that only has the one trajectory. And that's a terrifying thought if you've still got enough of your brain to recognise the reaper might come to collect his due. Can you imagine that paranoia hanging over your head like a guillotine, that someday everything will have changed without you noticing, and suddenly you have some orderly napkinning your lips between bites of oatmeal or apple sauce? Trying to live with the notion you've sacrificed your cognitive well being for all that fortune, fame, and legend; but the tab hasn't been paid yet?

I'd probably deny that such a thing is possible too.

Ignorance is bliss.

I can't write off or ignore Steve Austin denying CTE is a real thing. I can't pretend like I don't think less of him, because that man is a hero to countless kids and young adults who dream of being the king of wrestling, just like he was. Charles Barkley once infamously said in a commercial that 'I am not a role model', but that doesn't mean that when you've taken all that your industry has to give anyone, people aren't going to model themselves after you. It's a dangerous thing to tell impressionable and reckless dreamers that there's no consequences to putting your brain at risk.

I can't write it off, but I do understand where he's coming from.

[tiskycat]

Me: *making stew for dinner*

The Alphonse Elric in the back of my mind:

[ramrodd]

Mark: An Eyewitness Account

COMMENTARY:

YOU and Robyn Wals and John MacDonald are so close to the same epiphany as Molly Worthens but you are blinded by the ideological blinkers of the criticql historical method of the Post Modern Historic Deconstruction, History is a zero-sum subset of literature. A minor genre, thoughmetaphycially necessary for a healthy society. Forensics occurs in the here/now of the mythos and , like F. Scott, carried backwars against the current. As you read this, your eyes are moving along with the wave of the futue that William F. Bukcley proposed to accomplish with Project 2025. Project 2025 started out as the Young Americans for Freedom, the leading  edge of the Conservative insrugency committed to dismantling the administrative state of the neo=liberalism of Eisenhower's 1956 Presidetnil Platform and replacing it with a rip-off of the harmonization of Mars's Das Kapital and Hitler's Meim Kampf with a dab of Atlas Shrugged and a midgen of the Turner Diaries thrown in for the white supremacist thugs How project 2025 got started is pretty much the same way the Jesus Conspiracy got started as a consequence of the Talking Cross and the public slaughter of Sejanus a year and a half before. By the astronomy, Good Friday occurred in 33 CE.  A collegue of Peter J. Williams tacked it down using the astronomy charts of the Magi. That's the point:. The Palestine Bible, as a proxy for the genre, is a literary project of the Magi, beginning with the Book of Job. In terms of Christian literatue, the primacy rests on Cornelius. He is the common denominator in the Gospels and Acts. He is the linke between Luke and Theophilus. HE was in the room with Pilate during the interrogation of Jesus of Nazareth, He probably prepared the paper work for the transmittal of Pilate's euangelion to Tibeius and arranged for the pony express to expedite the delivery. Pilate's lost euangelion is the first written record of JEsus. It was composed of the harminizaton of Mark 15:1 - 16:8 and the Gospel of Peter. I don't know if the Magi had the Talking Cross in mind when they launched the Book of Job literary project, but the object of the exercise was to create the metaphysics necessary to produce Apollo 11.  I think they expected to put man on the moon by 3240 CE, but the Talking Cross accelerated that process by 1200 years. And that convenant between the Jewish god and the centurions of the Italian Regiment represented by Cornelius was the tidings of Joy Pilate reported to Tiberius and all the rest that was reported in Book V of Tertullian's Apology, Cornelius had Pilate's euangelion when the Holy Spirit arranged for Peter to come in out of the cold and provide testimony from inside the Jeesus Insurgency, summurized in Acts 10,:34 - 43, This becomes the narrative arc of the Gospel of Marrk that connects a series of dots from the intelligence archives of the 10th Legion generally understood to be Quelle. And Peter's Confession in harminization with the contents of Pilate's euangelion become the euangelion of Mark 1.!, Acts 15:7 and the 19 citations in Paul's Epistles. I don't hold a bried for the "lost Gospel of Mark" and all the controversy, but the nature of the literature around it suggests to be the working of an editorial board which includes Cornelius and St/Mark in Alexandria and Theophilus as to the composition of the Gospel of John, which is the memoirs of St Makr from when he was a 12 year old John Mark who encounters Jesus during the Passover of his Bar Mitzvah year and gloms unto Him as his rebbe, until he is 15 at the foot of the cross and is totally grossed out when the sokdier splits Jesus wide open to make sure He is dead. The Gospel of Mark is a psychological flat line, bu the Gospel fo John comes straight from the Shadow of John Mark/St. Mark like hearing a favortie song from your childhood if you are into Jungian Psychology. Hegel's Post Modern Litary Deconstrucion reveals all this without all the drama over what Jesus said to whom, or didn't say, accroding to the Jesus Seminar v Pr0-Life solo scriptura. N.t. Wright believes he rejects Hegel, but he's the essence of the harmonization of Paulice Theology with the Cruid Christiology of the Chruch of England,         You all have wonderful scholarship and if you re-organize it around Richard Bauckham's eye witness thesis but with Cornelius as the source of the midn map and not Peter  you will be delighted with the New Insights to the Gospels yuo can bring to Bart "GIggles" Ehrman's seminar.    

[unholyobsessions]

Do you still take request by chance ce if so for what shows??

Hey! I haven’t been writing much but if you wanna request something please feel free!! It would do me some good lol. I write teen wolf, julie and the phantoms, i wouldn’t be opposed to writing some marvel stuff too. I wrote criminal minds for a good bit as well as the vampire diaries. I’d also love to write some hsmtmts if you’d be interested! Or something from Bridgerton, since i recently read the books. I have my masterlist and request guidlines linked on my pinned post!! Thanks for reaching out :)

[marie-swriting]

Who I Write For/Pour Qui J'écris

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

Steve Harrington

Chrissy Cunningham

Robin Buckley

Teen Wolf

Stiles Stilinski

Kira Yukimura

The Vampire Diaries

Stefan Salvatore

Katherine Pierce

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Anthony Bridgerton

Marvel

Kate Bishop

Carol Danvers

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Sam Wilson

MCU!Peter Parker

TASM!Peter Parker

Steve Grant

Marc Spector

Criminal Minds

Emily Prentiss

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

The Maze Runner

Thomas

Newt

Top Gun

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Natasha "Phoenix" Trace

Heartstopper

Nick Nelson

Charlie Spring

Tori Spring

Tara Jones

Darcy Olsson

Tao Xu

Elle Argent

Isaacs Henderson

Outer Banks

JJ Maybank

The Internship

Stuart Twombly

Celebrities

Shawn Mendes

Dylan O'Brien

Dove Cameron

⚠️Please read this post to check some specifics rules for some characters/Merci de lire ce post pour certaines règles spécifiques pour certains personnages

Characters I might write for/Personnages pour qui je pourrais écrire

Stranger Things

Max Mayfield

Lucas Sinclair

Dustin Henderson

Mike Wheeler

Nancy Wheeler

Will Byers

Jonathan Byers

Teen Wolf

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

The Vampire Diaries

Klaus Mikaelson

Supernatural

Castiel

Jack Kline

Marvel

Natasha Romanoff

Yelena Belova

⚠️This list might change in the future/Cette liste peut changer plus tard

[primusliber-traduzioni]

Bring Me the Horizon - Post Human: Survival Horror, traduzione testi

Mettete fine alle mie sofferenze

La mia mente sembra la mia nemica numero uno

(da: 1x1)

1. Bring Me the Horizon – Dear Diary, traduzione

Caro diario,

   Caro diario,

Non so cosa sta succedendo ma c’è qualcosa che non va

Il cane non la smette di abbaiare e mi sa che ho la TV rotta

C’è la stessa cosa su tutti i canali, c’è da impazzire

E prima qualcuno mi ha morso

Che cazzo di giornata

   Sta finendo il mondo

Cazzo, che noia

Mi si spegne il cervello, isolato

Dio è uno stronzo, e noi siamo i suoi scarti

Traumatizzati per colazione

Io altri survival horror non li digerisco

   Caro diario,

Mi prude dappertutto, come se avessi degli insetti nella pelle

Il cane è diventato rabbioso (Basta, cazzo!), mi spacca la testa

Continuo a svegliarmi e riaddormentarmi

Non so dove sono stato

Che fame che ho

Che diavolo succede?

   Sta finendo il mondo

Cazzo, che noia

Mi si spegne il cervello, isolato

Dio è uno stronzo, e noi siamo i suoi scarti

Traumatizzati per colazione

Io altri survival horror non li digerisco

   Caro diario,

Il cane ha smesso di abbaiare, probabilmente perché gli ho mangiato la faccia

“Buono. Prurito.”

La TV dice che non c’è più la razza umana

Un po’ triste che la mia intera esistenza sia stata uno spreco

Vabbè, fa niente, non è mica la fine del mondo… aspetta

       2. Bring Me the Horizon – Parasite Eve, traduzione

Parasite Eve

   Накривил е калпачето ей така, па така

Нанагоре-нанадоле, ей така, па така

Накривил е калпачето ей така, па така

Нанагоре-нанадоле, ей така, па така **

   Ho la febbre, non respirarmi addosso

Sono uno che non crede in nessuno

Non mi fanno andare via perché ho visto qualcosa

Spero di non starnutire, di non… ecciù!

Davvero, abbiamo solo bisogno di aver paura di qualcosa

Facendo solo finta di provare qualcosa

Lo so che non vedi l’ora di scappare

Voglio farti girare

   Per favore, restate calmi

È arrivata la fine

Non possiamo salvarvi, buon viaggio

È il momento che stavate aspettando

Non prendetelo come un avvertimento: questa è una guerra

   È la Parasite Eve

Te lo senti nella pancia, sai che sta venendo a cercarti

Lascia i fiori come segno di lutto

Non ti dimenticare cosa ti hanno detto

Quando ci dimenticheremo l’infezione, ce la ricorderemo la lezione?

Se non ti uccide l’attesa, lo farà qualcos’altro

   Scatenatevi

   Ho sentito che hanno bisogno di avere più segnale

Inseriscono chip e codici pin negli aghi

Metti in quarantena tutti quei segreti in quel buco nero che chiami cervello prima che sia troppo tardi

Davvero, vogliamo solo urlare qualcosa

Fare solo finta di credere in qualcosa

So che vuoi il sangue

Voglio farti girare

   Per favore, restate calmi

È arrivata la fine

Non possiamo salvarvi, buon viaggio

È il momento che stavate aspettando

Non prendetelo come un avvertimento: questa è una guerra

   È la Parasite Eve

Te lo senti nella pancia, sai che sta venendo a cercarti

Lascia i fiori come segno di lutto

Non ti dimenticare cosa ti hanno detto

Quando ci dimenticheremo l’infezione, ce la ricorderemo la lezione?

Se non ti uccide l’attesa, lo farà qualcos’altro

È la Parasite Eve

Te lo senti nella pancia, sai che sta venendo a cercarti

Lascia i fiori come segno di lutto

Non ti dimenticare cosa ti hanno detto

Quando ci dimenticheremo l’infezione, ce la ricorderemo la lezione?

Se non ti uccide l’attesa, lo farà qualcos’altro

   Puoi sprangare le finestre

Puoi inchiavare le porte

Ma non puoi più continuare a lavartene le mani di ‘sta roba

Se tutte le fonti del re e tutti gli amici del re non riescono a trovarsi il culo coi patogeni

Se la vita è una prigione e la morte una porta

Questo non è un avvertimento: questa è una guerra, guerra, questa è una guerra

   È la Parasite Eve

Te lo senti nella pancia, sai che sta venendo a cercarti

Lascia i fiori come segno di lutto

Non ti dimenticare cosa ti hanno detto

Quando ci dimenticheremo l’infezione, ce la ricorderemo la lezione?

Se non ti uccide l’attesa, lo farà qualcos’altro

È la Parasite Eve

È la Parasite Eve

È la Parasite Eve

   Non possiamo salvarvi

Non possiamo salvarvi

Non possiamo salvarvi

Non possiamo salvarvi

Non possiamo salvarvi

    ** Questo in bulgaro dovrebbe significare “Si è messo il cappello storto / Proprio così, proprio cosà / Da questo lato, dall’altro lato / Proprio così, proprio cosà”. Viene dalla versione del brano popolare Ergen Deda eseguita dal gruppo Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares.

       3. Bring Me the Horizon – Teardrops, traduzione

Lacrime

   Lacrime

   Ci facciamo del male per divertimento

Alimentiamo a forza la nostra paura e alla fine il cuore non sente più niente

Dipendenti da un amore di natura solitaria

   Quello che vorrei sapere è come abbiamo fatto a diventare così stressati, paranoici

Diventa tutto tetro

Niente mi fa diventare triste quanto la mia testa

   Ho quasi finito le lacrime

Mi tengo il dolore, tanto poi passa

Non riesco a mantenere la presa

Scivolo via da me stesso

Dio mio, è tutto un gran puttanaio

Ma io non riesco a provare niente

Il vuoto è più pesante di quello che credi

   Inciampo sul bordo

Fuori come un cancello, non mi scende più

E se mi senti, mi sa che sai cosa si prova a essere soli

   Ma quindi come abbiamo fatto a diventare così stressati, paranoici?

Diventa tutto tetro

Niente mi fa diventare triste quanto la mia testa

   Ho quasi finito le lacrime

Mi tengo il dolore, tanto poi passa

Non riesco a mantenere la presa

Scivolo via da me stesso

Dio mio, è tutto un gran puttanaio

Ma io non riesco a provare niente

Il vuoto è più pesante di quello che credi

   Di umore suicida, violento, tragico

Ho perso l’aureola, adesso sono il mio stesso anticristo

Di umore suicida, violento, tragico

Ho perso l’aureola, adesso sono il mio stesso anticristo

   Ho quasi finito le lacrime

Mi tengo il dolore, tanto poi passa

Non riesco a mantenere la presa

Scivolo via da me stesso

Dio mio, è tutto un gran puttanaio

Ma io non riesco a provare niente

Il vuoto è più pesante di quello che credi

   Ho quasi finito le lacrime

Mi tengo il dolore, tanto poi passa

Non riesco a mantenere la presa

Scivolo via da me stesso

Dio mio, è tutto un gran puttanaio

Ma io non riesco a provare niente

Il vuoto è più pesante di quello che credi

   Lacrime, lacrime

Ho quasi finito le lacrime

Il vuoto è più pesante di quello che credi

       4. Bring Me the Horizon – Obey, traduzione

Obbedisci

   Nuovo giorno, nuovo ordine post-traumatico

Lobotomizzato e mi sento benone

Ho fatto il passo più lungo della gamba quando sono andato a vedere più da vicino

Per cui mi sono piantato una forchetta nell’occhio

Mi sa che sto impazzendo, cazzo

Non so da che parte girarmi, adesso sono cieco

Distruggiti, si sta di un bene a eclissarsi

Perché vorresti farti del male?, morire per qualcos’altro?

Vedi che la tua coscienza non si metta di traverso

   Obbedisci, ci auguriamo che passerai una bellissima giornata

Obbedisci, non volete che usciamo a giocare

Via, sù, sù, non c’è niente da vedere qua

È tutto sotto controllo, stiamo solo giocando d’azzardo con la tua anima

Obbedisci, qualunque cosa tu faccia, evita di svegliarti e sentire odore di corruzione

   Nuovo giorno, nuovo incubo sistematico

Commemoriamo una vita fantastica

Mordimi per primo, poi ti mordo io

Risata melodrammatica

Mi sono piantato un coltello nell’occhio

Mi sa che sono impazzito, cazzo

Lobotomizzato e mi sento benone

Distruggiti, si sta troppo bene a eclissarsi

Perché vorrei farmi del male?

Dovrei morire per qualcos’altro?

Ho lasciato che la mia coscienza si mettesse di traverso

   Obbedisci, ci auguriamo che passerai una bellissima giornata

Obbedisci, non volete che usciamo a giocare

Via, sù, sù, non c’è niente da vedere qua

È tutto sotto controllo, stiamo solo giocando d’azzardo con la tua anima

Obbedisci, qualunque cosa tu faccia, evita di svegliarti e sentire odore di corruzione

   Quando la tua libertà è letale, dimmi come fai a farti del male

Vi definite pacifici

Voi mostri siete persone

Voi mostri del cazzo siete persone

   Obbedisci, ti facciamo vedere come ci si comporta

Obbedisci, è più carino se non vedi le catene

   Obbedisci, ci auguriamo che passerai una bellissima giornata

Obbedisci, non volete che usciamo a giocare

Via, sù, sù, non c’è niente da vedere qua

È tutto sotto controllo, stiamo solo giocando d’azzardo con la tua anima

Obbedisci, qualunque cosa tu faccia, evita di svegliarti e sentire odore di corruzione

Odore di corruzione, odore di corruzione

       5. Bring Me the Horizon – Itch for the Cure (When Will We Be Free?), traduzione

Prurito per la cura (quand’è che saremo liberi?)

   So perché sei qui, sei stufo della paura

Non ne puoi più del mondo di fantasia che hanno creato in modo che non puoi vederci chiaro

Qualcosa si sta staccando dalla corrente

C’è un glitch nella tua fiducia

Hai un prurito per la cura, ma hai paura di uscire dalla porta

Sono qui per dirti che c’è un universo che vive senza legge

Qualcosa si sta staccando dalla corrente

Perché continui a chiederti: quand’è che saremo liberi?

   Voglio diventare un regicida

Qualcosa si sta staccando dalla corrente

C’è un glitch nella tua fiducia

Voglio diventare un regicida

Qualcosa si sta staccando dalla corrente

C’è un glitch nella tua fiducia

       6. Bring Me the Horizon – Kingslayer, traduzione

Regicida

   Ciao, stai cercando l’altro lato?

Hai l’impressione che non torni mai niente?

Hai un piede nella fossa?

Ti ecciti col dolore come se fossi corrotto?

Ho bisogno di sapere a chi sei fedele

Di’ un po’, hai intenzione di abbaiare o di mordere?

Vuoi davvero girare il coltello nella pancia del mostro?

   Alzati, cazzo

Svegliati, cazzo

Formatta il sistema e fai un salvataggio, cazzo

Sei una marionetta

Quando ti taglieranno via i fili, non tornare strisciando

   Regicida, distruggi castelli in aria

Regicida, per l’eternità mio amato

Sacrificherei la vita per trovarti, angelo della lama

Regicida, vieni a prenderci dalla notte

   暗い、この見えない世界

まだ消えない未来

ただ手に入れたい un altro mondo *

   Errore del sistema

La vita è criptata

Tu sei modificato come un virus in una filastrocca

Artificiale fino al giorno che muori

Sciocco programma, sei corrotto

   Alzati, cazzo

Svegliati, cazzo

Formatta il sistema e fai un salvataggio, cazzo

Sei una marionetta

Quando ti taglieranno via i fili, non tornare strisciando

Sei da solo

   さあ 時の

扉を開けて

行こうよ **

   Regicida, distruggi castelli in aria

Regicida, combatterò per te fino alla morte

Regicida, distruggi castelli in aria

Regicida, per l’eternità mio amato

Sacrificherei tutto per guidarti, non dovrai mai lottare da solo

Regicida, vieni a prenderci dalla notte

   Questo è un campanello d’allarme

Entriamo nel vortice dell’ignoto

Sei pronto? Non ti sento

   Volete ‘sta roba qua?

E beccatevela, cazzo, merde schifose

    * Questo in giapponese dovrebbe voler dire: “Buio, questo mondo è così buio che non ci vedo / Il futuro non scomparirà / Ma io voglio ottenere un altro mondo”

   ** Questo invece: “Adesso andiamo ad aprire la porta del tempo”

       7. Bring Me the Horizon – 1x1, traduzione

1x1

   Mettete fine alle mie sofferenze

   Disconnesso dal mondo di nuovo

No, il sole non splende nel posto in cui son stato

Ma perché continui a far finta che io non esisto?

Sento di essere pronto a morire, ma non riesco a impegnarmi

   Per cui mi chiedo: quand’è che imparerò?

Mi darei fuoco per sentirmi bruciare

Ho paura che non verrò mai aggiustato

   Mettete fine alle mie sofferenze

La mia mente sembra la mia nemica numero uno

Non riesco a guardarmi negli occhi

Non so cosa fa più male: tener duro o mollare

Rivivo i miei ricordi, e mi uccidono uno dopo l’altro

   Mi sono autosabotata di nuovo

Ho il cervello tipo un uragano

Io e quella troietta, no, non possiamo essere amiche

E non me ne frega proprio niente, no

Mi ha fatto sprofondare in un posto oscuro

Senza amore

La gemella malvagia nel sottoscala

Oh mio Dio, mi sa che mi aspetta una lunga notte

Sono sola, sono sola, sono sola, sono sola

Terrorizzata, ma non provo più niente

L’annichilimento non è mai sembrato così bello

Taci!

Tappati la bocca, parli troppo

   Mettete fine alle mie sofferenze

La mia mente sembra la mia nemica numero uno

Non riesco a guardarmi negli occhi

Non so cosa fa più male: tener duro o mollare

Rivivo i miei ricordi, e mi uccidono uno dopo l’altro

   E sono qua a fissare il vuoto di nuovo

Non lo sa nessuno in che pasticcio mi trovo

Le voci che ho nella testa dicono che sono solo paranoico

Ma fa male alla salute quanto mi odio

Soffoco

Il peso mi trascina a fondo

   Mettete fine alle mie sofferenze

La mia mente sembra la mia nemica numero uno

Non riesco a guardarmi negli occhi

Non so cosa fa più male: tener duro o mollare

Rivivo i miei ricordi, e mi uccidono uno dopo l’altro

Già, mi uccidono uno dopo l’altro

E mi uccidono uno dopo l’altro

       8. Bring Me the Horizon – Ludens, traduzione

Ludens

  ��Alcuni si oppongono al futuro, alcuni rifiutano il passato

Comunque sia, è un bel casino se non riusciamo a scollegare il fatto

Che un mondo ricoperto di cavi non è progettato per durare

Per cui non fare la faccia sorpresa quando comincia a impallarsi il programma

   Come faccio a creare una connessione se non possiamo nemmeno stringerci la mano?

Sei come un fantasma che mi saluta

Tramiamo nell’ombra, ci vediamo sulla forca

Fermi in un loop per l’eternità

   Lo sai perché i fiori non sbocciano mai?

Ci riprovi o fai riprendere il dolore?

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

Venite fuori, è ora di vedere la marea

È lontana dagli occhi, ma non lontana dal cuore

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

   Le botte potranno anche farmi male, ma la fitta passerà presto

Invece gli insulti sono capaci di scavare tante di quelle fosse che non sai più dove mettere piede

E non mi sento più al sicuro se non c’è qualcuno che mi segue

E l’unico modo per nascondermi è dare spettacolo di brutto

   Come faccio a creare una connessione se non possiamo nemmeno stringerci la mano?

Sei come un fantasma che mi saluta

Tramiamo nell’ombra, ci vediamo sulla forca

Fermi in un loop per l’eternità

   Lo sai perché i fiori non sbocciano mai?

Ci riprovi o fai riprendere il dolore?

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

Venite fuori, è ora di vedere la marea

È lontana dagli occhi, ma non lontana dal cuore

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

   E tu questa la chiami una connessione?

E tu questa la chiami una connessione?

E tu questa la chiami una connessione?

E tu questa la chiami una connessione?

Pff, ma fammi il piacere

Pff, ma fammi il piacere

Pff, ma fammi il piacere

(Okay)

   Lo sai perché i fiori non sbocciano mai?

Ci riprovi o fai riprendere il dolore?

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

Venite fuori, è ora di vedere la marea

È lontana dagli occhi, ma non lontana dal cuore

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

Un nuovo Luden, nuovo Luden

   Lo sai perché i fiori non sbocciano mai?

Ci riprovi o fai riprendere il dolore?

Ho bisogno di un nuovo leader

Abbiamo bisogno di un nuovo Luden

       9. Bring Me the Horizon - One Day the Only Butterflies Left Will Be in Your Chest as You March Towards Your Death, traduzione

Un giorno le uniche farfalle rimaste ce le avrai nel petto mentre cammini incontro alla morte

   Vicinissimo al punto del non ritorno

Perché cazzo hai continuato a mandare tutto a rotoli?

Non voglio doverti seppellire

Ma mi sembra che non ti entra niente dentro quel cranio

Un giorno le uniche farfalle rimaste ce le avrai nel petto

Mentre cammini incontro alla morte esalando il tuo ultimo respiro

Non mi piace farti notare che io te l’avevo detto

Però guarda quanto si vedono i lividi

   Di’ un po’, come sarà stare senza avere le mie braccia strette intorno, strette intorno a te?

Scommetto che fa impressione quando comincia a venirti via la pelle dalle ossa

Per il mondo non esistevi più, adesso non esisto più io per te

Sei una presenza in casa tua, non hai più niente da perdere

Com’è possibile che ti ho lasciato affondare le zanne fino a questo punto?

Lo sai che non sei capace di respirare da solo

   Salvarmi non è più possibile

Perché ho continuato a sfidare la sorte?

Il buco che man mano ti ho scavato nell’anima è diventato troppo grande per non farci caso

Un giorno le uniche farfalle rimaste ce le avremo nel petto

Mentre camminiamo incontro alla morte esalando il nostro ultimo respiro

Pensavo avessimo un futuro, ma non abbiamo la minima chance

   Beh, di’ un po’, come sarà stare senza avere le mie braccia strette intorno, strette intorno a te?

Scommetto che fa impressione quando comincia a venirti via la pelle dalle ossa

Per il mondo non esistevi più, adesso non esisto più io per te

Sei una presenza in casa tua, non hai più niente da perdere

Ti ho lasciato affondare le zanne fino a questo punto

Lo sai che non sei (sono) capace di respirare da solo

Come fai (faccio) a respirare da solo?

   Tramonta il sole sul nostro amore, temo

Liberando nell’atmosfera la nostra solitudine

Le sorti della nostra possibilità di ribaltare la sorte stanno cambiando

Non pensavo di arrivare mai a vedere che mi cadessero le unghie

Non c’è l’amore nell’aria, non c’è l’amore nell’aria

Non c’è l’amore nell’aria, non c’è l’amore nell’aria

[valdis-d]

Esami, per l’ordine e per la mente

3 Dicembre 2022

Questa cosa è definitivamente diventata una specie di diario. Ho modificato tutti i post e aggiunto le date, come si fa con i veri diari di bordo da marinaretti. Mi rendo conto che mi trovo a scrivere solo nei momenti tristi, e non capita mai qui di vedere qualche momento felice. Ma questo perché non ho un momento decisamente più felice della norma da tanto tempo. Da qualche anno ormai, non ho un momento di emozione e batticuore. Provo a ritornare con la mente indietro, ma non c’è niente di ciò. Certo, ci sono stati attimi e giornate più serene, momenti allegri. Ma lo spettro nero della palla nera è sempre aleggiato. Come se stessi camminando in una piazza, su un lungo mare, e la situazione è calma, come direbbe S. i vibes sono buoni (che modo stupido di dire) e c’è anche allegria. Eppur, dietro un lampione o un albero, seminascosto come per farsi vedere da nessun’altro che da me, che mi fissa con sguardo vacuo, c’è questo me, adolescente o più giovane comunque, non magro ma consumato, non solo spento ma addirittura grigio e scuro in volto, che mi guarda e sembra mimarmi con il labiale “io sono comunque qui, dopo tornerai da me”. Dovrei disegnare questa metafora, quest’immagine. E non c’è stato momento, o serata allegra in cui io non sia tornato a casa e non abbia ripensato a tutto, che non sia ritornato nel fango. Come se queste occasioni fossero gli attimi in cui raggiungo la superficie per respirare, ma ho un sasso legato al piede, che impone la maggior parte del mio tempo sott’acqua. E fossero quelle le occasioni diverse, e la tristezza la normalità, e non il contrario. 

Oggi ho affrontato l’esame di stato. Pensavo fosse molto, molto più semplice. Siamo stati bocciati in metà. Io so che dovrei scusarmi, che ho fatto troppe cose insieme, che forse non avrei dovuto. Ma gli altri ce l’hanno fatta, perché io no? Gli altri, gli altri.. Io passo la mia vita a mettermi in confronto con gli altri, in una competizione in cui metto la mia depressione a gareggiare con i filtri di instagram. E’ razionalmente impossibile vincere, o nemmeno pareggiare. Questo esame rappresenta l’ennesima delusione. Io funziono così: incapace di riconoscere eventuali notevoli meriti, insensibile di fronte a eventuali possibili fallimenti. Ingigantisco, io vedo solo difetti e sconfitte. E sempre tutto è sotto esame, tutti sono sotto test. Niente è rilassante, e tutto deve essere perfetto. E nel mio intimo, anche inconsciamente, mi odio profondamente. 

Un po’ invidio mia sorella. Lei ha tante amiche con cui parla, tutti i giorni, dei suoi problemi. Anche intimi. Non so, e non ho memoria che lo sia, non so se sia sempre fortunata con le amicizie. Ma almeno lei ha la forza di aprirsi con qualcuno, di aprire la corazza. La mia corazza non si apre. Dico corazza ma in realtà è una camicia di forza, che mi impedisce di vivere serenamente. Serenità, anche quella na robba che continuo a lamentarmi di non avere. Non scopro il fianco comunque, non mi fido, ma vuol dire anche che non ho con chi stringere un legame. Io non ho nessuno. Io ho solo la terapia, in cui parlare dei miei problemi. Ho un amico che si fa sentire quando c’è da raccogliere i kiwi, ma che per dare confidenza non si è più mostrato. Un’amica che ho sempre paura di disturbare. Altri che vanno, altri che vengono e poi se ne vanno. Chi ridicolmente non trova un paio d’ore in cinque mesi per trovarsi, ma poi ti manda messaggi prestampati, scontatissimi, perché è evidente che ha paura che ti arrabbi. Ma lasciami andare no? 

Le serate così sono deleterie. Mi sdraio sul letto, chiudo gli occhi e l’oscurità mi prende. Mi alzo, cammino avanti e indietro, e penso. Penso tantissimo, il cervello non si riposa mai. Io penso troppo, perché non penso nemmeno cose belle.