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shenlongshao · 4 years

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GGStrive Redesign Analysis: Ramlethal Valentine

Welcome to the continuation of the redesign analysis series! This time, the returning character is Ramlethal Valentine, who was first introduced in GG XRD Sign. This will be another long post, so I hope you enjoy reading! RAMLETHAL VALENTINE ------------------------------------- There’s been many positive and shocked reactions when she was revealed. “Whoa! I didn’t think she would make it!” “Yes! She’s here! She looks cute, yet commanding at the same time.” and etc. was said(the best reaction is seeing my friend @valentinecult reaction~). I think it was a nice surprise seeing her after most of the legacy characters were revealed. Next is examining her previous look.

Out of all the characters introduced in Xrd Sign, Ramlethal’s design perfectly fits the mixture of cool and unorthodox in Guilty Gear. First is her black and white hat in shape of a wide V or “cat ears”. It has four black buttons in pairs of 2 on the frontal sides while there’s a mint-green, four-leaf clover on the upper right side. There’s a white buckle strap around the lower sides of the hat, and the cap has a wide, circular shape instead of a narrow one. Next is her sentient cape with the inside akin to gums and the helms with razor-sharp teeth. The high shoulder pads shares the color scheme of white with black trim and yellow buttons. While the cape it mainly white, there is lime-green within the collar and the upper part with black trim. Underneath her cape is a white leather, tube strap top with a round, golden yellow buckle in the center between her boobs. Similarly designed straps are on her upper thighs, and the wrist straps close to her elbows. On her lower body is short-shorts akin to swimwear and on her feat is just foot guards colored in white with thick, black trim with a hint of green in the middle. What I think is amazing about this design is how it perfectly conveys what she is; unique. There’s the essence of a powerful, commanding presence and intimidating(you can see it in her animations like her entrance, in Story Mode, and some of her winning poses). While there’s some sex appeal from what she’s wearing underneath her cape, the aspect of it is really about athleticism. It conveys how Ramlethal is capable of fighting hand-to-hand, even if it isn’t the main way she fights. There’s a hint of cuteness too with the four-leaf clover and focusing on Ramlethal’s facial features. Since her main colors are white, green, and black, it’s time to examine how it relates to her personality! Color Personality and Meaning of White: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-white.html You are well-balanced, sensible, discreet and wise. You tend to have a great deal of self control. You are confident, poised and self-assured when at your most positive, but can also be very choosy and fastidious when the mood strikes. You can be very critical of yourself and others (in your need for perfection) - but you try to be fair and impartial as well. The challenge for you is to be open-minded and flexible and to communicate your needs and desires. White is totally reflective, awakening openness, growth and creativity. You can't hide behind it as it amplifies everything in its way. While there are very few negative connotations to white, particularly in western culture, too much white can be cold, isolating and empty. It implies a feeling of sterility, detachment and disinterest, providing little stimulation for the senses. White may indicate the completion of a cycle in your life - you may find you have a desire for white clothing or white in your surroundings at a time when you are moving in a new direction in your life - for example, planning an overseas trip for the first time, or moving house after a long time in one place, or in seeking a new relationship or a new career direction. Many people use white as a recall of their youth and innocence. It reminds them of a time when their lives were easier and less complicated. Too much white can cause feelings of isolation and emptiness Color Personality and Meaning of Green: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-green.html You are stable and well balanced or are striving for balance - in seeking this balance, you can at times become unsettled and anxious. Having a personality color green means you are kind, generous and compassionate - good to have around during a crisis as you remain calm and take control of the situation until it is resolved. You are intelligent and love to learn - you are quick to understand new concepts. You have high moral standards and doing the right thing is important to you. You like to be accepted, appreciated and admired for the good you do in the community as well as in your family life. You are a loyal friend and a faithful partner, gentle but not passionate. Having a personality color green means you are strong-willed and do not like to be told what to do by others. The color green relates to balance and harmony. From a color psychology perspective, it is the great balancer of the heart and the emotions, creating equilibrium between the head and the heart. From a meaning of colors perspective, green is also the color of growth, the color of spring, of renewal and rebirth. It renews and restores depleted energy. It is the sanctuary away from the stresses of modern living, restoring us back to a sense of well being. This is why there is so much of this relaxing color on the earth, and why we need to keep it that way. Being a combination of yellow and blue, green encompasses the mental clarity and optimism of yellow with the emotional calm and insight of blue, inspiring hope and a generosity of spirit not available from other colors. This is a color that has a strong sense of right or wrong, inviting good judgment. It sees both sides of the equation, weighs them up, and then usually takes the moral stand in making appropriate decisions. On the negative side, it can be judgmental and over-cautious. This color relates to stability and endurance, giving us persistence and the strength to cope with adversity. Color Personality and Meaning of Black: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/personality-color-black.html You are independent, strong-willed and determined and like to be in control of yourself and situations. With black as your personality color, you may be too serious for your own good - bring some colour into your life to lighten you up - life should be fun. You like to keep people at a distance, guarding your emotions and creating an impenetrable barrier between yourself and others. With a personality color black, you may be looking for protection from any negativity that surrounds you. You may be going through a stage of self-denial, not allowing pleasure and joy into your life. You hold things inside and are not good at sharing yourself with others, possibly out of fear. You are methodical in your work, making sure everything is completed as required, down to the last detail .It may be a color of comfort to you, allowing you to retreat and hide from the real world. You may be a teenager or young adult hiding behind black while searching for your own identity or your own true colors. You may be rebelling against society or your family. You may have lost sight of your direction in life and are going through a very negative phase. You may be suppressing your own desires and aspirations. The color black relates to the hidden, the secretive and the unknown, and as a result it creates an air of mystery. It keeps things bottled up inside, hidden from the world .In color psychology this color gives protection from external emotional stress. It creates a barrier between itself and the outside world, providing comfort while protecting its emotions and feelings, and hiding its vulnerabilities, insecurities and lack of self confidence. Black implies self-control and discipline, independence and a strong will, and giving an impression of authority and power. Teenagers often have a psychological need to wear black during the stage of transition from the innocence of childhood to the sophistication of adulthood. It signifies the ending of one part of their life and the beginning of another, allowing them to hide from the world while they discover their own unique identity. In beginning, Ramlethal is seemingly just a stoic person who’s structured to following the orders of her mother(Ariels a.k.a. Universal Will) and seeing herself as just a tool. But throughout the story of XRD Sign, there’s glimpses of her having emotions and her own thoughts, which is highlighted more due to interacting with Sin and Bedman. The colors of white, green, and black definitely shows this aspect along with how she developed. Even though she is a Valentine, I notice she doesn’t fully follow the convention of being based on Aria like Elphelt, Jack-O, and the original Valentine. Ramlethal is more based on Justice; one of the things is observing how Sol reacts to her in comparison. Ramlethal not only gained emotions, but understanding and accepting her own identity; giving her the needed confidence to follow her own path. This leads to her being redesigned for GG Strive!

The general concept of Ramlethal’s design is kept while also being new. First is examining the aspects that are the same or similar to her previous look. Her sentient cape is mostly the same, except it seems to look a bit more polished. There’s no lime-green detail on the upper part of her cape, and the yellow buttons on its high-color is gone. Black button-like detail are within the second part of the collar and around the chest area. There’s also a large, leather buckle strap wrapped around her along with little ones that are left unfasten. And lastly, the teeth at the helms of the cape, but this time it’s covered with black, metal guards with a green cross. The straps around her upper thighs has extra detail with light gray buckle within it. Her foot guards are also the same, but there’s no black trim or green color on it. Her white short-shorts is another thing kept from her previous design. The interesting part is adding the bandages to her from when she survived the explosion(Raven healed her). In Revelator, the bandages were gray, but for Strive, they’re red. Time to look at what this color means for Ramlethal~ Meaning of Red: https://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/color-red.html Red is energizing. It excites the emotions and motivates us to take action. It signifies a pioneering spirit and leadership qualities, promoting ambition and determination. It is also strong-willed and can give confidence to those who are shy or lacking in will power. Being the color of physical movement, the color red awakens our physical life force. Next is looking at what’s different starting with her hat. The shape and style is obviously of a military general, which makes sense due to it’s stated Ramlethal is a brigadier now. Let’s take a closer look!

On lower sides of her hat and center, there’s the detail of four-leaf clovers, which I circled. There’s also something written on the silver plating part in the front, but unfortunately it’s hard to tell at the moment. And now for the rest of the hat.

Other Guilty Gear fans have already mentioned this, but the frontal part of Ramlethal’s hat the golden cross; the same one seen from Illyrian government such as the army, the 3 Kings(like Leo Whitefang), etc. The aspect of the four-leaf clover on her hat is kept, but the shade of green is different. It’s a vibrant shade of emerald, symbolizing her growth and likely feeling more inspired. The second biggest change is she no longer has a tube-strap underneath her cape. Instead, she has a sleeveless, white vest with a layered black shirt with emerald green trim. It’s more formal, but still her own style because of how it exposes her midriff. And the last new part of her design...

Is the white fingerless glove with black trim on her right hand. It adds to Ramlethal’s toughness and accentuates the essence of the design. I really love the upgrade from the previous design, which I thought her older look was cool enough. It emphasizes the commanding presence she has, but also the essence of someone who others can depend on. It does make curious if the bandages are even the same ones from Revelator, or are they new ones put on her? This is another design that I think is done well! Rating: S++++++++++(Join the Army!XD)

#guilty gear #guilty gear strive #ramlethal valentine #character analysis #character redesign #Captain Ram!

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a-student-out-of-time · 4 years

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Rambling about V3 Again

Today I saw a really interesting quote from author Brandon Sanderson and it honestly got me thinking. He talked about what he considers the single worst thing you can do with critique in writing, and that’s if a critic “tries to make your story into one they would write, rather a better version of one you want to write.”

That got me thinking about V3.

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that V3 is a very polarizing game, and I’ve seen many people talk about how they would’ve preferred to see the story play out, from character arcs to deaths to story conclusions. And while I do honestly enjoy seeing alternative perspectives and takes and AU’s, I feel like a lot about the game, what it’s trying to say and be, is skewed by those ideals.

I’m not saying that the critiques about the game are invalid, because there are a fair share of flaws with the game. What I am saying is that we end up talking so much about what we wish V3 could’ve been that what V3 was trying to be often ends up lost in that, and I want to talk about it.

It wasn’t until I really saw this quote that I was able to articulate all my likes and dislikes about the game and the reactions to it into a cohesive whole, which is what I’d like to do here.

So let’s ask this: what was V3 really trying to be?

Let’s start from the game’s theme: the relationship between truth and lies. This is best exemplified by the fact that you have the option to lie during trials, that you can use deception to find the truth. That’s a very different take from the previous games, where hope was associated with finding and confronting the truth.

Kokichi is another example, as he’s a self-admitted liar who claims to lead a criminal organization and it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s thinking or saying. Yet Kokichi actually helps bring the group to several truths: he helps find the culprit in trials, he reveals Maki’s identity as the Ultimate Assassin, tells the truth about Gonta murdering Miu and it’s thanks to his actions that the group later discovers the reality of their situation.

Throughout their journey, the group is confronted by numerous truths they don’t want to acknowledge, even refusing to do so and attacking people who continue to push them through. And with every revelation, there’s always those lingering details that don’t really make a lot of sense.

Let’s look at the game’s main narrative. At the start of the game, Kaede remembers she was kidnapped in broad daylight, thrown into a van, and brought to some abandoned school with a bunch of other people. She doesn’t act like a particularly nice person and is dressed differently, at least until the Monokubs arrive and give everyone their new clothes and memories. From that point, the narrative shifts considerably.

Kaede is suddenly an outgoing, optimistic leader and Shuichi is a sullen, withdrawn detective who serves as her deuteragonist for Chapter 1. She’s resolved to escape the Killing Game and tries to rally the group together. However, when her methods don’t prove successful and they start drifting away from her, she considers saving them by any means necessary and goes so far as to attempt murder against the mastermind. When that happens, she’s found guilty and executed, leaving Shuichi to take up her role as protagonist.

As you go through the game, using devices called flashback lights that apparently reawaken lost memories, you learn more and more about the reason that the group was brought here: the Gofer Project. When meteors began raining down on earth, all seemed lost until they established this project to send a group of survivors into space to colonize a new planet. A group of Ultimates.

They had established early on that Ultimates have even greater rights in this world: they’re the only ones allowed to vote and hold office. As the meteors came down and the news of this project got out, some people formed a cult that believed it was divine judgement and that mankind should be destroyed. That’s when they began the Ultimate Hunt, pursuing the candidates for the Gofer Project across the world. The Ultimates, with no other way out, decided to erase their memories of talent and live their last days as normal people.

To protect them, the people in charge spread a false story that the Ultimates had died, even holding a fake funeral for them and sent them into space secretly. However, while everyone was in cold sleep, one member of the cult- Kokichi- had sneaked aboard and piloted the ship back to the ruined and now inhospitable earth. They have no way back and no way to survive outside, and thanks to Kokichi’s claims to be the mastermind, they’ve been killing each for nothing. The group ultimately loses hope.

However, they’re resolved to continue on in their fight against the mastermind when they find a flashback light that reveals they weren’t just any ultimates: they were the next generation of ultimates from Hope’s Peak Academy. It wasn’t really the meteorites that got everyone, it was an alien virus that pushed mankind to the brink of extinction. That the cult that rose in the wake of this was Ultimate Despair.

That seems like a definitive way to link this game with its predecessors...until you really begin to stop and pick it apart. If this was about saving mankind, why did nobody have their memories right away? Why would you only bring 16 people? Why students who don’t make them suited to colonization? Why people like a death row inmate, a serial killer, a self-proclaimed liar and criminal, and an assassin?

Furthermore, going through many Fte’s highlights how much of the characters’ backstories seem very out there. Gonta wasn’t raised by wolves but a race of dinosaur people living in the woods, Kirumi is so hyper-competent that she became prime minister during the meteor crisis, Korekiyo’s killed almost 100 women and yet has never been caught, Maki can attend high school despite Japanese orphanages being too underfunded for kids to usually attend, Tenko’s neo-aikido breaks all the rules of traditional aikido and she's impulsive, has low pain tolerance, and disregards fair rules, none of which are very befitting of a martial artist.

And to conclude, even I thought that the reveal of their connection to Hope’s Peak felt very fanficy and out there, especially when the game had made no references or implications of it beforehand. But the reason for all of this is simple and effective:

None of this is real. It’s all staged.

Chapter 6 reveals that everything from their identities to the outside world they thought they knew was all just a fabrication. In truth, Tsumugi shows herself as the mastermind and that they’re actually in the 53rd season of an in-universe show called Danganronpa. Something alluded to even in the beginning of the game with the Team Danganronpa logo. This moment was very make or break for a lot of people, but let’s treat it fairly.

According to Tsumugi, the outside world has become a peaceful, boring place and Danganronpa is the only source of real entertainment the people have. A place where people literally come to have their identities replaced with those of Ultimates and then made to kill each other. This, as it turns out, was an outgrowth of the actual series we’d played before. A game that’s gone over 53 times.

This revelation is devastating for the characters. The lives and memories they’d known were all fabrications, which Tsumugi claims to have intentionally written. The Flashback lights were designed to implant fake memories to manipulate them, which is why that Hope’s Peak connection was set up after everyone gave up following the reveal of the outside world. A truth that could lead the world to despair, a lie that could lead the world to hope.

She even goes so far as to show everyone’s audition tapes, claiming that Kaede, Kaito, and Shuichi himself were willing to participate in the killings out of sheer misanthropy, popularity, and morbid excitement

Kiibo is also revealed to be the audience’s means of interacting with the game, able to carry out their wishes and can even be hijacked and used as a way to fight against the characters’ decisions.

In the end, Tsumugi claims that the ongoing battle of hope vs despair needs to continue in perpetuity and that the survivors need to sacrifice someone, since only two people can survive Danganronpa. Shuichi, however, convinces Maki and Himiko not to vote for anyone and actually convinces the in-universe audience to give up on the series. Kiibo then blows the set to hell and allows Shuichi, Maki, and Himiko the chance to escape and see the world outside and what sort of influence they could have.

Now, let’s this break this down piece by piece here, because I feel like this part of the game is often conflated. Often I’ve seen people say that Chapter 6 is a giant middle finger to fans of the series, that nothing about the series really mattered, or that the flaws of the game can simply be attributed to bad writing on the creator’s part.

I honestly used to be in that camp myself, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more I feel those statements don’t hold up to scrutiny. We often conflate writing and narrative decisions we don’t like with bad writing. However, if the creator deliberately wants the narrative to move in that direction and has made intentional foreshadowing, references, and motivations that match it, we can’t simply equate that with it being “badly written.”

It’s not bad simply because we would’ve preferred they do something different. There’s a lot of very acclaimed books out there that I’ll admit I don’t care for because of their narrative decisions, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re badly-written.

Furthermore, if something intentionally doesn’t make sense in-story, that is not bad writing. That is purposeful on the part of the creator, not a plot hole. The Gofer Project is not supposed to be a logical narrative, it’s meant to serve V3′s role: deconstruction of the nature of the series. It does this in many different ways:

Sequelization: 53 is a ridiculous amount of entries in a franchise and as I’m sure we’re all aware, as the number of entries goes up, the writing quality tends to go down. The Gofer Project story was purposefully meant to be nonsensical because it’s a story in an in-universe franchise that jumped the shark long ago.

A lot of people found it confusing or ridiculous that Shuichi and Kaede would have a romantic connection despite knowing each other barely a few days. That’s also the point; quick romances are a convenient narrative device to establish a means for character growth, followed by fridging her, a bad narrative trope designed to propel Shuichi toward development. Tsumugi even said as much during Chapter 6.

Similarly, Maki’s role in the story and her feelings for Kaito were reminiscent of that as well, with him helping her come out of her shell.

When you go back, you can see Danganronpa is loaded with references to other series. Tsumugi is an obsessive otaku and went so far as to fill the entire story with deliberate references and callbacks to things she enjoys.

The Monokubs are deliberate references to executive decisions to add more marketable and merchandisable characters as the series drags on.

The fact that there are (supposedly) people willing to sign up for a killing game deconstructs the idea that some in the fandom may have had. That is, actually being in a killing game would not be fun or exciting, but horrific and traumatizing. Most of us wouldn’t be badass detectives or heroes, we’d be scared out of our minds, afraid, and want to find a way out.

Furthermore, Shuichi being repeatedly told that he’s just a fictional character and that his role is to be the protagonist, to go through hardships and come out stronger for the audience’s entertainment pisses him off so much that he wants no part of it.

The climax is ultimately a deconstruction of what the series is famous for: the battle of hope vs. despair. In-universe, this has been reduced down to a simple narrative where the audience wants the same thing again and again: to see hope win in the end. Because hope keeps winning, the audience keeps wanting more. It’s become so formulaic that the audience doesn’t want to break out of its shell and just wants to see it over and over.

The final PTA against Kiibo is not meant to be an insult to the audience, but a representation of fighting against toxicity and entitlement in the fanbase, especially the ones that don’t want change. It’s not saying “you’re stupid for liking this series,” it’s saying “don’t be like these people.”

And how does the game? An unsatisfying ending that’s so bad that it drives the audience to give up on the show, finally allowing the killing to stop. Tsumugi decides she can’t live in a world without her favorite show and decides to die.

And that brings me to what I think is the ultimate thing that people conflate about the ending: that it’s all fiction, so nothing about it matters. That the entire franchise was fake, so it’s not worth your time.

That’s exactly the opposite of what V3 is trying to say.

First, Tsumugi is a completely unreliable narrator. The kind of person who let fiction consume her entire life, yet she believes it can’t change reality. She’s a liar and a hypocrite, and there’s no way of knowing if anything she says about the outside world is even true. It could be like she says or it might not be.

The fact that they have technology that can remove memories and add fake ones adds an entire dimension of ambiguity to everything she says, especially when you consider how the beginning of the game does not match up with what she says. We have no idea what the kids were really like before the killing game, so why should we believe anything she says?

And how can we be certain of her claims that she just wrote everything as planned? Kokichi and Kaito managed to put together a plan that completely threw her and Monokuma for a loop

Shuichi, Maki, and Himiko ultimately choosing to take the words of Kaede, Kaito, and Tenko to heart, even if they were part of a fictional narrative, is proof that they still had an influence on the trio. They choose to take something meaningful from their experiences regardless of the reality of their situation. And that’s something we all do.

The media we consume has an influence over who we are as people, and it’s part of why so many of us have such strong attachments to works we love. They were often influential in help shape who we are as people now, for good and for ill, and it’s important to take that into account.

V3′s message is that yes, that is important, and that you should read and enjoy stories and fiction, just as long as you don’t let it consume your life. They can influence you and even the world at large, and so it’s our responsibility as writers, artists, and creators to use that influence positively, to use the medium as a way to change the world for the better. That the only way for stale franchises that we’re tired of seeing over and over is to demand change, even if that means walking out on them. That the only way for things to change is for us to take action and demand change.

And by the end, we may not see immediate results, but we can at least work hard at trying to bring them about. V3 ends with Shuichi, Maki, and Himiko facing an uncertain future in a world they really know nothing about, but hopeful that their actions can and will change the world for the better. Real life doesn’t have solid, satisfying conclusions and it always doesn’t play out like a story, but that doesn’t mean you should give up on ever finding something satisfying or hopeful out there.

This, by no means, is me saying that V3 is a flawless story. I can point to numerous critiques that I still think hold water. However, Sanderson’s point is that we shouldn’t criticize a work based on what we wish it was rather than how it is and what it was trying to do.

I know there’s a lot about the story that bothers people, I know there’s a lot that wasn’t polished and a lot that feels uncomfortable and hard to swallow. Like Shuichi, coming out feeling confused, lost, unsure of what to do, but choosing to see merit and things to take to heart even in a story that turned out to be full of lies and uncomfortable truths.

If you didn’t enjoy V3, I wouldn’t force you to enjoy it. If you did love it, then you should love it. These are all just my thoughts on a story that, as time goes on, honestly feels more and more relevant to me.

#mod talks #a student out of time #mod rambles #danganronpa v3 #v3

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agreasyonion · 4 years

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LOGAN’S PLAYLIST LETS GO

1. The Elements by Tom Lehrer: I love Tom Lehrer so this made me happier. Possibly a reference to the early “teacher” vines (though I’m not sure that’s supposed to be Logan,) when Character Thomas was studying science or Logan just being nerdy.

2. White & Nerdy by Weird Al Yankovic: Logan wanting to be cool, but, by the title, is “white & nerdy.”

3. Algorhythm by Childish Gambino: Very interesting choice (I love it, keeps me up even later.) The original song is, supposedly, a negative critique on society (wow I hate that word,) varying from selfish intentions from misguided aspirations in the logical way.

4. Fitter Happier by Radiohead: In a fitting playlist called “Ok Computer,” it decscribes an ideal future, or rather pointing out our own. It does this in a way to reflect our world: unemotional, cold and uneasy but by only describing modern life. A bit like how Logic can be.

5. Medicine by STRFKR: Wow, already hitting me heavy. STRFKR do make some very philisophical songs; I think this one is about how you can either be perfect and not realize it, or know you are and grow lazy and egotistical. However, for Logan’s case it could be about him ignoring all the other parts of his identity because, to him, Logic can’t be Logic with anything other than the hard facts and figures, right? This one kind of stumps me (I’m going on a whim with all of these, by the way.)

6. The Watchtower - Unreleased B-side - Bonus Track by The Dø: The watchtower is the symbolized “logical viewpoint” for Thomas or Logan hiding away all his other details, because Logan thinks that it’s the safest way to continue because he may embarrass himself, or be wrong, which would, to him, go against the ideaology of Logic never being wrong, feeling things, and not being “weak.” Of course, this is slowly tearing him apart.

7. The Breach by clipping. : Not only does it fit in with the whole rapping part, oh boy does it match. In the album, this is supposed to be a computer (wow) on a spaceship containing human slaves (wow) being shipped into cargo as they plot to break out. The computer briefs the situation in rap (kind of sounds like someone,) before being cut off by static, gunshots and alarms, implying the humans have broken out. Maybe this could be Logan during an anxiety attack, or any other mental breakdown? Who knows.

8. Letter C by Zach Sherwin: Logan daydreaming of being cool, being liked and standing up for himself or having something right to say, but only coming up with the ideas later. This is really fitting for him, scarily almost.

9. Galaxy Song by Monty Python: This is definitely Logan calming down Virgil. Change my mind. I think there is a pattern with the structure of the songs.

10. Streaks by ANIMA! : Logan encouraging either everyone or Virgil (if we are sticking to the structure,) to feel better, even if it’s not in the typical way. Also acting like a teacher with students.

11. What I Do For U by Ra Ra Riot: Logan being unappreciated and wanting to get recognized by Thomas and/or the other sides. Ouch.

12. Erase Me by Ben Folds Five: It’s the depression song! Logan feeling like he is constantly getting pushed aside and ignored, possibly feeling like Patton or Roman are more appreciated. Mainly going with Roman, because of the next song.

13. ART IS DEAD by Bo Burnham: Logan is very confused. I am a very mixed bag about this one. Maybe Logan making fun of the whole entertainment (cough cough Roman’s) career, maybe he’s confused about how he needs attention and recognition badly, but sees that as an imperfection? Seeing how hard the others work and having an identity crisis as he viewed himself as the hardworking one, realizing he’s not the only one in that situation and is improving slower than all the other sides? Perhaps it isn’t actual art, but rather Patton’s work for his emotional stability and realizing how important he actually is? hhhh

14. Equation from The Little Prince: Link back to Pattons (I kind of smell Logicality here, but hey.) Logan is naturally questioning about how to express himself without the fear of being ridiculed. Mainly it’s about him asking if he’s good enough, and what does his work do to benefit Thomas.

15. Sunrise from In The Heights: Could be platonic or romantic with either Roman or Patton, but it looks like Logicality to me (based on canon based, or not,) because of the romantic subtext and confirmed ships. Logan is Benny and Patton is Nina in this song, especially when we see Logan trying to learn a langauge at the start of a video (it’s four in the morning and I’m too tired to research.) But mainly, it’s due to Benny craving more and more knowledge from Nina.

16. One More Time with Feeling by Regina Spektor: Logan is trying to be more open and expressive! Yay! Or maybe not, I don’t know. Possibly Patton trying to teach him, literally or just by taking example, how to be more open and honest with himself.

17. In My Mind by Amanda Palmer: Logan wishes he was like the others. This is a big yikes. On an upside, he wants to improve rather than being stuck, and learn how to be more open.

18. Not Perfect by Tim Minchin: Logan accepting that they’re all not perfect, and perfection is impossible, but that’s okay, despite what they have felt, or are going through, or just with Character Thomas as a person. Also, Logan’s playlist does include quite a few comedy pianists.

19. Human by Tank and the Bangas: Another song from the same band as Pattons. It could be to Thomas, to any other side, or to himself.

20. Time Adventure from Adventure Time: First of all HOW DARE YOU, second of all is is this forshadowing? Like, I get I ended this similarly with Pattons, and that this is just the what it’s thrown into this mess, but is it? With Pattons playlist, it ended with “So Long,” while Roman’s ending song “GO,” is about exiting a stage and becoming your true self, while Logans is the end of Adventure Time. “You and I will always be best friends.” You and I. Two. I know not all lyrics can be perfect, and it’s probably referring to all sides, or just Patton, but this has got me suspicious.

Will add when I actually get some sleep lmao

#sanders sides #sanders sides theory #thatsthat24 #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #help #hhhh

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ghost-chance · 4 years

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I came out to my husband as bi/bicurious/YesILikeChicksTooButIAmNotOpenToExperimentingStopAsking long before I ever brought it up on Tumblr. He's only one of two people I know IRL who I'm...you know...and honestly, I only ever admitted it to Cold because he kept catching me "respectfully looking" at other ladies. I don't regret getting it off my chest - pun not intended, please don't throw shoes at me - bit sometimes I wish to heck I could just erase the memory in his mind.

Being bi doesn't mean I don't mind him checking out other women right in front of me. Being bi doesn't mean if I express discomfort at him checking out pinups on his phone at the dinner table, all he has to do is share them with me and all's fixed. Being bi doesn't mean he should feel safe trying to bribe or egg me into bringing another woman into our bed. Being bi doesn't mean any of these things are okay...so why would anyone think they are okay?

To be honest? I am not comfortable with how I am, and I may never be. I was raised in the Bible Belt by a family where everyone was baptized, and the most scandalous thing someone could do was have a second glass of wine at Christmas dinner. I volunteered for the church and went every Sunday, and my first test for a boyfriend was how they handled a service.

As I grew, my world grew, and my understanding of things changed. Sometime in college, at the end of a term, one of my favorite professors admitted to me, embarrassed and nervous, that he was gay. In retrospect my answer of "So? Is that supposed to bother me?" probably could have been phrased better, but it seemed it was just what he needed. Several years later, I had an in-chat meltdown with that same professor - bawling, snot-nose, and everything - because I realized in retrospect that my delusional ass had a massive crush on my (female) best friend throughout high school, and I was then attracted to a female neighbor and having almost an identity crisis. I couldn't wrap my head around it. I was a good, God-fearing young lady, and I had a boyfriend...so why was I feeling what I felt? Why did I feel something so wrong if I was a good person? That professor helped calm me down, and gave me the validation and guidance I needed. Even now we're linked on my personal Facebook, and I only hope when I reach his age I have that much humor.

I hadn't fit in at church in years, and I stopped attending before college; during Gran's funeral dinner, I half expected to hear the voice of God bellowing "GET YOUR HARLOTRY OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!" when I stepped through the door. No such thing happened, but it was still almost being there.

So many things my church said were wrong...so many things I just didn't see as moral or immoral. Homosexuality, gender identity, tattoos, piercings, marriage or lack-thereof - there are so many so-called "issues" that the church sticks its nose into that really aren't the church's business...and most of those issues are non-issues to me.

It's none of my business what your gender identity is, or your orientation, or your religion-or-lack-therof. It's not my business if you have a dozen tattoos, five kids, no marriage license, and a perineal piercing. (Although that last one sounds like it would hurt like a b*tch.) I accept people based on the quality of their hearts, and I don't...farkin'...judge people for anything else.

...everyone, that is, except myself. I'll judge myself for what I can't change every single time. According to my upbringing, being attracted to men is expected for my gender; being attracted to women is grounds for eternal damnation. Ask me if other people would go to Hell for it, and chances are, I'll say something like "F*ck that, if you're bound for anything, it's greatness," and rattle off a whole grocery list of reasons why. Ask me the same question regarding myself...chances are I'll shut down, table the thread for a while, ghost everyone I was chatting with, and reappear weeks later steadfastly refusing to acknowledge the conversation ever happened.

I'm a woman...and other women...::sigh::...yes, I'm attracted to them. I've embarrassed the daylights out of myself trying to "look straight" while admiring a few ladies who fit my type and then some. But...that attraction brings me guilt, shame, fear, worry, and worse. I admire a shapely ass and hear my father condemning Cold's hair as "too feminine." I sneak a peek at a nice pair and remember my mother bawling that she's terrified I'll go to Hell because I wasn't baptized. Every time I'm reminded that I really am attracted to women, I'm slapped upside the head with a reminder of how my family would react if they knew.

I'm a bisexual tomboy married to a man, and thanks to strict religious grooming, my attraction to women makes my heart sick...but...I can't change it...and sometimes, I feel like I wouldn't even if I could. I don't know. It's easy to speculate when options will never arise. Either way, being Bi doesn't excuse others from being pigs. It doesn't give anyone the right to be a dick about it, but people are dicks anyway. While we're throwing around declarations - because when are folks on Tumblr NOT doing that - bi folks shouldn't have to deal with people using them as an excuse to be pigs, and if they're uncomfortable proving their same-gender or opposite-gender attraction, they shouldn't have to force themselves into it. You don't know what may be holding them back, and forcing someone to choose between admitting attraction and proving that attraction could do irreparable damage.

The internet is the only place I can be who I really am. If you're bi, bicurious, or YesILikeChicksTooButIAmNotOpenToExperimentingStopAsking, any blog of mine is a safe place for you, and I respect you.

...and as far as I'm concerned, Hell is only in the equation if you consider life without chocolate Hell.

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idiosyncrasy-at-its-finest · 4 years

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I want a vibe

this tab has been open on my computer for so long... last edit was Nov. 1... I planned on proofreading or even just rereading before uploading but... idk, these are my thoughts. I don’t need to censor, refine, edit myself. these are my thoughts and a part of who I am– or at least discovering who I could be... it’s now Nov. 17, 2020. clearly I’ve dwelled on this topic for a while, but only with it hanging like an apparition in the back of my mind.

Something about writing directly on tumblr makes me feel so… wow, she’s a writer and can’t put the feeling into words. I feel like there’s more purpose and intent to it. I don’t quite feel more professional, but I…

I know there’s this thing called synesthesia. Here is Wikipedia’s definition: perceptual phenomenon in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. I used to want it. It’s a cool idea, to have so many things invading your senses. But not invading, just… popping in to say hi!

Cognitive. Maybe. I associate certain things with very specific mental images. Typing directly into tumblr has me feeling like I’ve got wide-rimmed, bookish glasses resting on my nose. The middle’s broken, but’s been poorly stuck together with a piece of old tape, the edges sticky with fuzz. My hair’s in a messy bun and in the afternoon sun it’s glowing a light chestnut, hues of red streaking through. I’m in a big sweater and there’s a cup of peppermint tea beside. It’s hot. I only drink cold tea because my tongue is very sensitive.

But I’m writing in google docs right now because I’m in class. And I don’t quite want the people behind to see I’m on tumblr. Not that I’m embarrassed, but I’m not proud either. It exists, and it’s mine and I don’t need anyone else’s thoughts on it because it’s not for anyone else. Just for me.

I want a vibe. I’ve been getting into Corpse Husband’s stuff recently– but not his original scary content. I’m too much of a chicken for that. And even in seventh grade I started listening to panic! and fall out boy more often. Twenty one pilots too. Eighth grade was when MCR joined the mix. And even when I was little, I wanted to be called “it” because I didn’t like the stereotypes associated with being a girl, but I didn’t want to be a gross boy.

I always pictured myself as some sort of hardened youth. She wears flannel, swears a bit too much, hard exterior but a good friend, kind of detached. And no, I don’t swear, and I only own one piece of flannel. I am sort of detached, but more so hyper, silly, tangential… occasionally detached. So when the default me that people see is a bubbly and fun girl, I feel almost mean pulling out the side of myself that I feel a bit more comfortable in. The cheerful me is not a fake version, I am completely and fully a child at heart, and I love to have fun. But, I’m also mean and I like to tease people. I’m somewhat physical, but I never hit any of my female friends and when I moved at the end of sixth grade, suddenly I didn’t have many male friends. Now, when the urge comes to punch someone– however teasingly– I can’t. Because then my female friends’ feelings will be hurt.

My current fashion sense is comfortable. It’s not trying at all. It’s jean shorts and a top. Loose jeans and a top (but I live near the equator, so I only wear jeans on rainy days in this year-round-summer climate).

Anyway. Corpse. I found myself wanting black nail polish.

It’s Saturday now, the next day. I’m not in class. I’m still writing on this doc.

Anyway. Corpse. Black nail polish. But I don’t want to get into that, because using nail polish implies I put effort into my appearance, I cared about what color my nails would be for some aesthetic appeal. I want to wear combat boots because I’ve always thought that the laced up shoes, clunky and powerful, looked… cool. I want to be cool– my version of cool. But then combat boots would look nice with fishnet-clad legs leading into them. And then some type of corset, some chokers, dark eyeliner, and suddenly, yes, mom, it is a phase.

But I also want baggy jeans and tight tees for the simplest way to be comfortable and to flatter my figure. I like wearing skirts, because they’re typically more high waisted, and the area of my torso that cinches in is much higher above my waist. But I manspread a lot and am never careful when sitting or jumping. I want to emphasize how fun and kind I am. I want silly earrings and bright tees with motivational quotes on them, and either mom jeans or a cute skirt, or maybe high waisted shorts. A faded light blue.

I want what I wear to have some meaning and to reflect my personality, but I can’t even figure out what that is. I know people say you can be a ‘baddie’ and a soft girl, dress how you are and show off the multitudes of your identity, but it’s strange to me. To think one day I might go out with a ponytail, sweatpants, and a black tank, and the next, I’m going out wearing ripped lace up boots, black jeans, and heavy makeup (though I don’t wear makeup and I don’t intend to).

This isn’t very poetic, nor is it doing the best job explaining my feelings, but I don’t know how I feel. I also just don’t want to invest much time into altering my appearance.

Hi I’m back! It’s the next day. Clearly a lot of thought is being put into this. Not this the writing, but this the concept. Idea. A lot of people will comment– on youtube, instagram, twitter– things like “Corpse’s vibe: (followed by dark emojis, chains, wilting roses) Corpse’s personality: (insert cute flowers, blushes, pink hearts)”. And it got me thinking. If this whole identity crisis and vibe dilemma was spurred on by Corpse (it’d taken deep root in my mind previously, but I just sort of ignored it due to the amount of effort it would take to deal with it), then why not… be like Corpse? I can keep my personality and just… express the other parts of myself in other ways.

Yes. But then the issue would be buying corsets and explaining them to my mom. Or asking my mom to buy them. And then having my mom see me in them. And then wear them outside. Oh my gosh. What about my dad?

A somewhat joking end to this, but… I don’t know. I think I’d feel confident in stompy boots and black lace up dresses (not lace itself, I don’t like how itchy it is), but I’d also feel… not like myself. And I’m motivated enough to go ahead and make that myself, so. For now. Maybe when I go to college, I’ll collect a diverse wardrobe. Dress up at home. And then occasionally go out once I’m thinking less about what I wear and more about how what I wear makes me feel.

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damnslippyplanet · 4 years

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goth club au nonsense

So @notoriousfish shook me upside down and some 90s Goth Kid AU twitfic fell out because we both have a lot of lingering feelings about clove cigarettes and stompy boots.

I refuse to try to make this be an actual fic right now; No More WIPs For Me Until I Finish One, As A Treat. But I do want to save it for future consideration. So I’m just gonna drop it here, for the record.

+++++

pls feel free to imagine LWJ attempting to study in a corner while the Goth Club crowd is giggling handsily all over the place, leather-bound throats tipped back in laughter, clove scent everywhere even though indoor smoking is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses

and it's disruptive and rude and disrespectful of quiet hours but also he can't help but wonder what it would be like to be the hands for whom WWX goes quiet and still under an eyeliner pencil, or to cinch up a corset or or or or

there's no good reason he should wait up, and if absolutely pushed he would say it's because he's appropriately concerned about his dormmates' safety or that they're sneaking back in after curfew

he would never say it's because something about the way WWX is when he comes back, loose and easy from - what? drinking? dancing? does he fuck someone in a shitty club bathroom? not knowing makes LWJ's imagination unbearably creative - makes LWJ's entire body go hot and wanting

It starts with the cloves, probably. WWX catches LWJ looking stressed and offers him one. LWJ tried one of LXC's Springwaters once and it was...fine? He didn't feel the need to try it again. But the cloves smell different. Complicated? Like autumn? Fire and dangerous things.

And honestly when was the last time anyone even noticed he was stressed. When anyone but his family bothered to peek under the mask. What if he just - let this awful, beautiful boy be nice to him, for five minutes.

(It's a terrible idea because afterwards he tastes the lingering spicy-sweetness on his own lips which means now he knows what WWX's mouth tastes like and it's...not something he needed to know. It's pushing out math equations, he's pretty sure, a whole part of his brain gone.)

He doesn’t accept an invitation to join the group the first time or the fifth; he doesn't believe WWX means it any more than any casual invitation he issues, the arms he slings around just about anyone's shoulders, it's not...none of it's FOR LWJ. Letting himself think it is would just be borrowing trouble.

But eventually. Edging up on winter break, maybe, JC's down with a cold and NHS is reluctantly helping with a family thing and Mianmian left for the club an hour ago because she had a cute girl to meet and was impatient with WWX's dithering about wardrobe.

WWX just shows up at LWJ's door with four pairs of nearly identical boots and is like I AM HAVING A CRISIS AND YOU'RE MY ONLY HOPE. LWJ is. Well. He'd fully intended to sort out the boot crisis and send WWX on his way. But apparently he's planning to WALK.

In the FRIGID NOVEMBER AIR. WEARING MESH. JC would make him wear a coat or take a Lyft but he's not there. If LWJ doesn't go along, WWX is going to probably die in a ditch and it's going to be his fault.

(He wants to pile four coats on WWX. He wants to strip him out of the mesh entirely. He's short-circuiting a little bit, improbable and contradictory impulses flying every which way. In retrospect he's never actually sure how he ends up wearing WWX's boots to the club.)

LWJ lets WWX bully him into dark clothing - "THERE ARE BLACK LIGHTS, YOU WILL GLOW LIKE A BEACON IF YOU SHOW UP LIKE THAT, IT WOULD BE AMAZING BUT YOU'D HATE IT, PROBABLY" - and in the process he manages to drape a sweater around WWX's shoulders.

It makes him feel a way, probably, mingled satisfaction and nerves. He does not trip on the way to the club. He wore WWX's clunky boots, not the ones with the heels.

(He will live for a week on the way WWX looked at him when he tried on the ones with the heels, though. It was like being personally noticed by the sun.) He, yes, keeps WWX warm. Cups his hands together to ward away the breeze when WWX lights up another cigarette.

WWX can't actually be looking up at him through his eyelashes as he drags the first puff deep, making sure the burning ember will hold, their heights are all wrong for it. It feels that way anyway, somehow?

Something about the mascara, maybe, and the angles of their heads bent close together against the outside world. How does makeup work. How do faces work.

It's only a few blocks. A ten minute walk. It's not a surprise that WWX spends it talking - he talks SO MUCH, LWJ is not sure how they are even the same species - but it isn't the bright foolish chatter he usually overhears.

WWX saw one of the books LWJ was reading for his honors thesis and he has THOUGHTS about it. They're insightful. They're *helpful*. They're punctuated with emphatic waves of the cigarette that almost put LWJ's eye out once, and *no one* is that excited about LWJ's topic but LWJ. It's...unexpected. And then they arrive.

LWJ expects that WWX is going to pull him inside into the thudding frenzy of god only knows what bacchanalia he's imagining inside, a pulse he can feel through the thick concrete walls, and he assumes WWX will disappear into a crowd and LWJ will lean against the wall.

Eventually he'll feel he can politely leave, and maybe WWX will return his sweater the next day and LWJ will give the boots back and it will be fine. A small adventure, which is all LWJ's regimented schedule and heart really have time for anyway.

The thing is, though, that WWX still has half a cigarette left. (It's the third one. How does he still have LUNGS to talk this much.) And he just...leans back, against the horrifying wall smudged with god knows what, and looks up at the cool clear sky.

"This is nice, isn't it?" he says. Like he's not going anywhere. Like the club isn't pulsing at his back like a living thing he was so frantic to get to twenty minutes ago. "Let's stay out here a little while," he says, as if LWJ might say no.

Holds out the pack for LWJ to light up too, if he wants. If he does, it will take so much longer. By the time he's finished, WWX will have lit up again and how will they ever get inside at all? Later, he'll think that this was the moment.

There were things he missed along the way that he'll understand later, flirtations he misinterpreted, moments he closed his eyes to. But this one is unmistakable: when they chose each other. He takes the pack and the lighter from WWX's hand. WWX smiles so gently.

LWJ doesn't kiss him, not then, but that's when he knows he will.

#slippy writes things #the untamed fic #mdzs fic

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 5 years

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The Siren & The Healer (6)

Natasha Romanoff arc

Chapter 6: The Flashes

Platonic Natasha x fem!Reader, Loki x fem!Reader (soulmates?)

Theme: With cracks between the most powerful superheroes of the earth, Natasha Romanoff does not find rest when she is assigned on a mission to find the missing pieces of a puzzling power that once nearly got into the hands- rather, tentacles- of Hydra. In order to unearth the pieces, she must dig through her own past and make a decision that might decide the fate of the earth in the coming wars.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, friendship, and whatnot

Chapter warnings: Flashes. I have honestly forgotten what counts as warnings

A/N: This was written a few years ago with an OC in mind so reader has a name but it is a reader insert.

Word Count: I need to build up my resume and it kills me that I cannot put ‘part time fanfic writer on tumblr and AO3 with a decen following’ on it because some people are just cowards.

MASTERLIST in bio, love

Time: 1000 hours

Location: Vienna

The highest quality of teakwood, most expensive beige tiles and white paint that smelled like a walk in a pinewood forest- these were all the things you took in from the villa these group of buffed strangers took you to. Not to mention it being smack in the middle of a high-profile residential area where the personal property- along with your privacy- extended to nearly a kilometer. With two stories housing an open contemporary style house, the entirety of the villa's so-called four walls were just endless glass looking out at the green belt of shrubs and evergreen trees making up for the seclusion of the estate. Or, according to you, making up a hell of peeping entertainment window for all the nosy neighbours.

Safehouse, they said.

We'll all be safe here, away from prying eyes, they said.

Let’s stay here till we know what to do with the asset, they s-wait.

“Here,” the redhead called out, gesturing at the sofa while Brunn brought you a glass of water, “have a seat. You must be quite confused by all of this.”

You took the glass and barely planted your ass on the expensive-looking sofa before turning to look at Red. “Confusion would be an understatement but yes.”

“Keosha, right?”

You looked up from the glass after gulping it all down. “I...never told you my name.”

“No, you didn’t,” Red affirmed with a smile, “this is Keiko and Brunn. That’s Aneka. Nakia. And my name is-”

“Natalia Romanova,” you finished her introduction for her, making Natasha question whether it was fear or awe she was seeing in your eyes.

“I go by Natasha Romanoff in my close circle but you’re correct,” she stated, sitting down opposite you. “I apologise for the ruckus. We had to get you out of there. It wasn’t safe.”

“For whom?” you asked, recalling the cries of those men tux as two women ended their careers.

“For any of us,” Nakia called out from the farther end while examined her gear.

“Why? Was it because of the creepy guy who walked over to me in the parking lot yesterday? It was his office I was visiting today when all that...weird shit went down.”

It took a few seconds for you to realise how everyone seemed to be stirred into motion by your statement but before you could register and reason with them how you were in no way involved with that shady man, Keiko brought her tablet forward to show you a grainy picture caught by a security camera time-stamped for today right when you were in his office.

“Is this the guy?” Keiko asked.

“Yes! That’s him!” You were nearly shouting before the tablet was even in your hands.

Natasha and Nakia exchanged a look before turning back to face you.

“So, was last night the first time you saw him?” Natasha leaned over towards you with a look of curiosity, something you were not finding comfortable.

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling a sudden rush of cold air run down your neck. “What’s going on?”

“Was someone else there when he met you?”

The cold seemed to run right along your spine, freezing it with the words coming out of Natasha’s mouth; your first thought just being the loud thumping echo of ‘ Harry ’. “What’s going on? Who is he?”

Natasha and Nakia could see your instincts kicking in, going through all the worst scenarios. So, there was someone else there.

“Keosha,” Nakia came closer to sit next to you, her accent heavy on her lips and in her voice, “we promise to explain everything. But you have to help us out so we can prioritise protecting the people we think might be in danger. Will you help us do that?”

“He’s fine. We have eyes on him. Our people will keep watch on anything unusual.”

Your heart finally let go of the strings of worry it’d been stretching for the last one hour. “Oh, thank God!” you whispered, rubbing your forehead before slumping into the bean bag. Natasha watched you pause in between the emotional crisis to look up at her and Nakia. “Oh, um, just tell your guys to not be shocked if he turns off the smoke alarm. He’s not a...good cook.”

And suddenly Natasha could see flashes of Tony making- or trying to make- frittatas for the gang before Steve had to run in with a fire extinguisher.

“I’ll take care of it.” Brunn’s voice from the other side of the house- where he has set up a small security station of his own- broke Natasha out of some pleasant memories.

“Right,” she stated, wiping her hands off her thighs as she sat down in front of you in a bean bag.

A moment of silence floated between the two of you, your ears on alert yet your bodies taking in the rest after the morning you two had. It was a pleasant lull with a note of the unsaid assurance and affirmations. And unspoken fear of the unknown. Her insides were okay with the truce that had just happened between the two parties on the exchange of information but something inside her was afraid of still being in the dark. You were calm right now only because that man’s identity had been revealed and you were given the word of world’s deadliest assassin and spy that you will be protected. What was tingling under all of this was the presence of the Black Widow. She doesn’t just appear somewhere. If she’s there, it means there is blood. There will always be blood. All the reports you’d read after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. pointed to it. And what was your equation in all of this was still a mystery to be solved. That was what the Black Widow was thinking as well.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of much help,” you finally blurted, tired of keeping so much inside. “I wish I knew what this man was looking for. All he was interested in was the lame healing practices of my college committee.”

Natasha raised her brow, “Healing doesn’t sound lame,” she shrugged, “what kind of healing does your college group do?”

You forced out a chuckle. “Oh, it’s nothing. I mean, not something on the scale of what you and your friends do...did...”

Feeling the smack you got from your internal voice in the back of your head, you let your voice fade at the end of that sentence not sure of what the dynamic was between the heroes at this moment. But that did not stop Natasha from moving forward, letting her arms rest on her knees and one palm supporting her face, her eyes stuck on you, waiting in anticipation.

Oh, crap , you stated internally to her, don’t look at me like that.

Sighing, you raised your hands a little, making them move about with all that you explained to her. “We-um...they’re healers in the sense that they use the life force flowing through them to heal things. And by things I mean, healing people, situations, diseases, ailments, uhh future opportunities. I know it sounds like a bunch of bull-”

“What’s our life force?”

...did not see this coming.

“Uhh...it’s the energy. Inside us, around us. It’s present in everything.”

“Even in things that aren’t alive?”

“Yup. Like this sofa. Or my phone. Or your...that thing on your wrist.”

“When you say you can heal people-” Natasha’s eyes widened and her brows creased just enough to let you know she was calculating it all- “you mean you can heal anything about them?”

You opened your mouth to answer before stopping short and shutting it up. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Could you heal their addictions?”

“Oh, yes. I’ve done that once.”

“How about incurable diseases?”

“Yeah, don’t tell the pharma giants about these guys, okay.”

She smiles a perfect smile, making your heart flutter. No one should be allowed to have that perfect a smile.

“Could you heal past trauma as well?”

“I’ve never done that. But I’m sure it could be done.”

“And future outcomes?”

Your lips make a thin line barely resembling a smile before you lean in over to her. “Okay, here’s the thing. I have healed the future. Or at least I have tried to. But the thing us healers had to keep in mind always while doing any sort of healing was that this life force has a brain of its own. It takes your effort to the point that needs to be worked upon. And often you find that that point and your intended circle do not coincide. Not to be that guy but that’s where people start to lose faith and do not see the good that is brought because they’re too busy letting their vision be clouded by the one thing that didn't go right for them despite all they put into it.”

Natasha looked down at your hands resting on your thighs, trembling a little from the cold and a little from the conversation, unconsciously tearing the tiny lint balls from your warm leggings. “People are fickle with faith,” Natasha mentioned in her low voice, “not many realise its worth in the darkest of times.”

“Not much to lean on in the dark times when the hope goes away with that last ray, is there?” you call back softly.

“Is that what you tell the ones you heal?”

“Before healing others, we’re supposed to heal ourselves. Just like to protect others, you first need to protect yourself from the line of fire. But this all garbage now. I don’t do it anymore. I left the practice a long time ago.”

Now, Natasha was more curious than ever. “Why?”

You wet your lips and rub your hands on your thighs to warm them up. “Tell me what happens you try to defend a bunch of civilians like me from..say...huge scary aliens. One too many.”

Just as you posed the question, the creases on Natasha’s brows disappeared. “It takes a toll on you. You can’t keep up after a while.”

“Exactly.”

Both of you could smell the smokiness of the mac and cheese being cooked in the kitchen by Brunn, lighting up your previously scared and dormant hunger pangs.

“I was taught that if I fell, I should get up and dust away anything that says I cannot, even if that meant my death,” she enunciated, “but later on I found out that when fallen, you could have a pair of hands to help you get back up. To help you find the strengths you never thought you could have. Because it is difficult to find out your entirety by yourself, Keosha.”

You smiled and turned your head down. “I’m done with the whole healer business, Ms. Romanoff-”

“Natasha.”

“...okay. Natasha. It only seems appealing till it goes where you want it to go. And right now, I want to go devour that mac and cheese.”

Your words forced out a chuckle from Natasha. She got up to go to the kitchen with you only to watch you struggle to get out of the bean bag. “Looks like you do need a hand.”

“Okay, Black Widow, not everyone has an amazing flexible body like you. Now help me out of this cursed thing!”

It was hard to fall asleep. Harder to let his mind be still. Ironic, isn’t it? To be laying down in a spaceship that was floating in the vast nothingness and his mind was the one that was making the loudest sound. No matter how much he tried, the agitation did not stop.

Getting up on the makeshift bed in the back of the ship, he tried to take deep breaths to calm down his horribly fast heartbeat.

Come back , he told his insides, forcing his consciousness to walk away from the noise into the existing calm inside the ship, closing his eyes, letting his senses concentrate on all that was going on around him. The sound of controls, Drax’s snoring, Mantis’ flowy yet curious movements around him, the feeling of Nebula’s silent footsteps- his favourite- and sting of Quill’s glare.

Observe , he announced to his heart and head, calling them in to confer what it was that bothered them, slowly opening up the hatch to a path that led to all that had happened till now, making them retrace their steps back. Back to the gates of Hel, to those mysterious eyes, to the face of his mother, to the cold void, to the explosion, to...to the ship, to-

Blinding flashes of red, white and green played with his mind, bringing with them their theme- cries of tortured souls. But that wasn’t it. Images punched his aching consciousness between the blinding lights. There were too many. One of them was of someone falling down a cliff- a pale contrast to the purple hues of the sky in the back- once a picture of soothing green, once a painting of snow-like white; one of them crying for help while one smiled in satisfaction. Another image was a haze of orange surrounding him. Or that’s what he thought till he could hear heavy breaths echoing through his ears; breaths stifling the urge to cry or whimper. Once he even thought he heard a feminine voice cry out a name in despair before the orange haze was lit up by another flash and replaced with rusty darkness. Rusty. Coarse. Grained. Slowly replaced by smoke rising from torn up metal that once covered fingers. The tears and smoke went by the six gems resting in perfectly made slots, up the charred skin of the arm where itwere supposed to be protected by that red-painted metal. The image kept going up the totalled arm while a scream rose from a distance, breaking the gut-wrenching scene away to a figure in the dark shaking him while shouting with a piercing, broken voice, “SHE’S ALIVE!”

The runes stolen by Rocket from Knowhere fell with a loud clatter, disrupting all the activity in the ship to have all eyes on a breathless Loki sweating himself pale.

“Little God having nightmares?” Quill rolled his eyes before turning back to man the ship. Gamora, Nebula, and Mantis paused whatever they were doing to look at the raven-haired mess trying to breathe some life back in himself. Rocket and Groot tried to converse telepathically about the new guy so as not to catch Quill’s unwanted attention.

“What’s wrong?” Gamora asked, taking a careful step in Loki’s direction, who- by now- had dented the frame of the makeshift bed with his tensed hands.

Everything , he wanted to scream, his gut giving up on him, wanted to throw out anything that was inside. His head swirled. He tried to make the nausea stop by leaning against the wall of the ship, letting extra heat in his head be siphoned off by the cold plates.

“You,” he huffed weakly, his brows rising as he felt his insides turn once more, “you were suppos-hed to be de-ead.”

Nebula and Mantis turned to look at Gamora, their eyes trying to hide the shock in this sudden revelation.

“What are you talk-”

“How?!”

“Loki, you need to rest.”

“How are you alive right now?”

Mantis ran over to Loki- who was now clutching his torso for his dear life- and touched his forehead, feeling the burn sear through her skin.

“He’s burning up!” she cried.

“Put him to sleep!” Nebula ordered.

“What the heck is going on back there?” Quill shouted.

“Nebula,” Gamora forced her sister’s attention to herself, “what is he talking about?”

“Get away from me,” Loki hissed at Mantis.

“You need help,” Mantis announced, her resolute voice breaking towards the end at the piercing green eyes looking at her with nothing but threat.

“Mantis!” Nebula shouted.

“SLEEP!”

Within seconds, the agony-struck figure of Loki was limp on the mattress, deep in sleep.

“Now,” Gamora fumed, looking at the ladies, “tell me what he meant by that before I cut both of you open.”

Before anyone could say much, Gamora felt her shoulder jerked by Quill’s figure walking in the middle of the scene, looking around him in pure confusion.

“What’d I miss?”

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thejoyofviolentmovement · 1 year

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New Audio: Nashville's Cold Equations Shares "120 Minutes"-Era MTV-Like Anthem

New Audio: Nashville's Cold Equations Shares "120 Minutes"-Era MTV-Like Anthem @cold_equations @paulmoak3 @HeyGroover @romainpalmieri @DorianPerron

Drew Kohl is a Nashville-based singer/songwriter. Relocating to Nashville back in 2014, Kohl quickly immersed himself in the city’s country/Americana scene, dressing the part and writing and performing folk-styled material. He has toured with the likes of Kiely Connell and Ray LaMontagne — and he has played at The Chicago Theater, Louisville Palace and lengthy list of other venues. But after…

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#Cold Equations Identity Crisis #Cold Equations S/T LP #Identity Crisis #indie rock #Kiely Connell #Louisville Palace #Nashville TN #New Audio #New Single #Paul Moak #Ray Lamontagne #singer/songwriter \#Single Review #Single Review: Cold Equations Identity Crisis #Single Review: Identity Crisis

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all-things-are-nothing-to-me · 5 years

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Communization: The senile decay of anarchy

Communization: The senile decay of anarchy (or re-inventing anarchy) – fragment of the unpublished pamphlet “FAI Reloaded” by the Conspiracy of Cells of Fire.

i) Frozen Marxism

Today’s era smells like engine oil, cheap labor sweat and naphthalene of the morality of voluntary obedience… We do not want to be defined by the culture of techno-industrial fascism, the white uniforms of scientists, the neckties of technocrats, the eager silences of ordinary people, the stupid smiles of consumers… We do not match with the aesthetics of the glass world of flat television screens, the digital imitation of the life of social media, the display windows of lifestyle, the lens of security cameras. We do not fit in the society of captivity, the police checks of our identification papers, the supervision of security guards, the laws of the judges, the locked doors of prisons. We do not settle for the average normality dictated by morality, we don’t amuse our boredom with psychotropic drugs, we aren’t covered by the coldness of empty relations, we don’t read… Marx.

Today we live to the rhythm of a generalized crisis. Our daily life is throttled from the tyranny of numbers. Our life resembles an accounting book, whose calculations always find it deficient and indebted. They overwhelm us with financial terms and definitions, one half of which are unknown and the other half of no interest to us. The wandering charlatans of all ideologies, roam from one financial conference to the other and bombard us with ramblings and often incomprehensible interviews-speeches, each of them presenting his own social antidote to the economic crisis. On the shelves of the ideological supermarket every faithful consumer will find the antidote that suits him, in all shades. There are “revolutionary” antidotes, even “anarchist” ones. In Greece, the neo-communists, ex-anarchists, mix in the cauldron of ideologies anarchist labels, with plenty of frozen Marxism, anti-imperialism and a pinch of disguised national liberation. The new tension of “serious” anarchy dresses itself in a formal way and launches the trend of anti-capitalist struggle on a red background. The rhetoric of the neo-communists – “anarchists” talks about everything. In an effort to build a social marketing of propaganda for the masses, it promotes generalizations sanctifying the “oppressed people” and “workers” who, obviously, for them are “not accountable” for their responsibilities and silences, uses covertly socially palatable national references, such as “the Greek people”, “our country” and promises “social salvation” with the coming of post-revolutionary society, preaching in the assemblies of the need for centralized-structures… It seems that some neo-communists already rehearse their future offices. Perhaps, this what they train themselves for now, selling hegemony, experience coming from age and the wisdom of a leader within the anarchist milieu.

There, then, where some see an opportunity, because of the economic crisis, we see a trap. A trap of sinking in the swamp of confusion, of fantasies about the social “good” deriving from Marxist analysis, of certainties about revolutionary subjects, of economism.

First of all, the global crisis we are experiencing today is not just a crisis of numbers, financial figures and mathematics, but part of the overall crisis of values and conscience in the world of authority. It is the cannibalistic crisis of western lifestyle which after it grew big consuming blood and oil from the “underdeveloped”, it now feeds from the flesh. Today, the “developed world” not only lives in the grip of economic tyranny, but also in the desert of spiritual and emotional bankruptcy.

Unlike the Marxists and their “anarchist” great-grandchildren, who want to interpret life with the rationality of mathematics, we seek our liberation inside the blasts of a permanent existential revolt of relations, situations, values, morals, and everyday life.

Even the economy, which is the center of the tedious analysis of the communists, for us it is not a series of ordered numbers leading to the equation of the class struggle. Instead, the economy is, first and foremost, a hierarchical social relationship that speaks the language of money. Money is a symbol of accumulated power. It is a property title that owns objects, land, time, admiration, relationships, people. The anarchist challenge, then, cannot be trapped in the demand for “better wages”, “lower taxes”, “economic equality”… One cannot destroy the morality of property by making it equal and uniform to all.

The experiment of communist totalitarian regimes spawned monsters, dictatorships of the proletariat and obedient subjects. One cannot exorcise ugliness with a new ugliness, simply by changing the name to something more “social” and imagining that through the “anti-imperialist struggle”, the country won’t become a “modern colony “.

Even if one removes money, authority will find new beads and mirrors to swap for the obedience of the natives. Besides, authority is older than capitalism and money. So we laugh, but also get bored from the analysis and the texts of the anarcho-marxist theoretical moles. They write and rewrite super-analysis, but their figures don’t add up, as they cannot understand that life does not fit in the labels they stick to it … “proletariat,” “class struggle,” “anti-imperialist struggle”… First of all, anti-imperialist struggle does not require an overall anti-state perception of the anarchist struggle. Anti-imperialist struggle is also being conducted by the bureaucratic fossil of KKE (Greek Communist Party). At the same time, reading behind the lines both in the texts of the ex-anarchist now communists, we see a deliberate crypto-patriotism. National references (our country, the Greek people, etc.), focusing on the “foreign capital” (as if capital has a nationality), combined with the complete absence of anti-state edges is at least suspicious. The neo-communists – ex-anarchists do not speak for a moment about the destruction of the state. Instead, they speak in a denunciatory, political way aiming for its wide consumption and present themselves as the far left of the left government, which they denounce, but without openly declaring war against it. The extra-parliamentary opposition to the leftist government of SY.RI.Z.A. has nothing to do with anarchy and freedom. We do not seek neither a reform of the system, nor its leftist grooming; all we want is its total destruction. However, we live in strange days and we have to rearm even the most fundamental parts of anarchy…

Authority, then, is not just ugly, sullen faces attached to miserable bodies decorated with suits and ties, in the same way anarchy is not “honest worker’s sweat” and “The reading of the complete works of Marx and Bakunin“… Surely the first ones must become ideal shooting targets for Kalashnikov bursts, but this is not enough…

Authority is a social relationship.

Authority is born even in our friendships, in our meetings, in our love, in our daily lives.

Again, we have to cast it out of our relations. Of course, this is done only through a belligerent/armed confrontation with the existent, as our searches are not a hippie inner meditation but practical wishes best expressed when our fingers fill magazines with bullets and our hands arm our weapons to “talk”…

ii) Overcoming revolutionary myths

The class of the poor, the oppressed, the “ones at the bottom”, the workers, is a faded label, which for us does not represent anything in itself . They are words that are lost in the void and their echo is immersed in a past that has been overcome. The working class is a massive forced social identity, which crushes the uniqueness and particularity of the individual, of every different man under its weight. The people is the fairytale that connects a variety of persons with completely different perceptions, habits, anxieties, thoughts, personalities, characteristics most of them regressing into confusion, homogenized in the mouths of politics experts with the name “the people”. The people, the society is the realm of contradictions. It is the common place of origin, and we who deny the ethics and values of society also come from it, but it leads to different options of destinations. Within the society reside slaves who want to look like their bosses, subjects who worship order, conservatives who defend normality, the petty bourgeois who worship property, the fascists who fear everything different, the good citizens who fall in love with the privacy of their home and the cleanliness of their furniture, the underclass that envy the ensconced, the ensconced who are indifferent, the poor who grumble but are afraid to act, immigrants, delinquents who admire the privileged… At the same time, within the same society, there are progressives, sensitive philanthropists, leftists, pacifists, communists, libertarians, anarchists, revolutionaries even the nihilists-negators of society.

What is called “the people”, “society” is all the above mosaic of relations between a fog of persons, some of them connected with an affinity of perceptions and experiences, others at a fierce war with each other.

The people is always seen in a positive way. The people are claimed by all, from the fascists and conservatives to leftists and anarchists. The people are “poor”, “honest”, “depressed”, “wronged” and of course “wise” when voting… The people and the working class, according to political experts, is eternally deluded, thus always in need of guidance. Marxists and their anarchist great-grandchildren are always willing to guide (in the name of “the people” of course) and offer the promised land, the post-revolutionary society. In their texts, posters and events, they always speak in plural, using the collective “we” of the people, the workers, the proletariat, considering that, presenting themselves as part of the proletariat, they will become more likeable and the take the people on their side. The funny thing is that, usually, the political representatives of the proletariat have no connection with it, as, to put it in a “class” way, they come from petty bourgeois or middle-class layers (eternal students, regulars and owners of coffeehouses, economically dependent from their parents etc. .).

As new messiahs–liberators , they address the motley mass of the working class, considering it as the ultimate revolutionary subject. But from within the working class comes the indifference of many, the misery of the petty bourgeoisie, the patriotic cannibalism, the 500,000 voters of the fascist Golden Dawn, law-abiding citizens, informants, the conservatives, the pious of the churches, the faithful TV-viewers, the zombies of the digital world and social media, the happy consumers…

What connects us as anarchists with all these people?… From the absolute nothing, until irreconcilable hostility. Anarchy and the labor movement followed two parallel lines and it is geometrically proven that parallel lines do not intersect. Why, then, should we acknowledge the oppressed in a general and vague way as “brothers” and talk about class war, along people with whom we do not have anything in common? Better to put forward the overall anarchist attack that eliminates all these illusions of the common front of the oppressed. Because right now, all that connects us with the oppressed is the economic condition we are required to live in. But the common coercive economic condition we experience as marginalized, along with the poor, the unemployed, workers, migrants is a forced condition and not a conscious choice. Except from all of us who consciously chose the social margin and refused material privileges, what most oppressed people desire is not to destroy the world of exploitation, but to move to their bosses’ mansions, wear their clothes, imitate their manners and, in turn, oppress all those under their authority. The slave who seeks rights without having a liberating conscience will soon seek to wear his master’s suit. One only needs to notice the accumulated micro-authority that oppressed ones bear inside them when they express it against all those they believe to be “weaker” than them; the native against the immigrant, the immigrant against his family, the “most experienced” workers against their new colleagues… This is the class of modern proletarians. A mix of mercenaries of misery and cannibalism, ready to offer their services to the highest bidder. Oppressed people with oppressed complexes, wanting to be like their bosses.

We don’t want, therefore, to seek comrades and allies inside coercive common conditions we did not choose, but through common choices.

We are neither tricked nor pleased by ephemeral alliances with those who fight for a better salary or rights and reforms of the existent’s misery. We may find ourselves next to them behind barricades or in conflicts with the cops, but we’ll never meet with them substantially unless they demolish their internal moral identity of the worker, the student, the unemployed, the demonstrator and unless they refuse the world of order and laws all together.

We don’t care about those who, having nothing to lose, go out in the streets, but about those willing to lose everything to regain their lives from the beginning…

Besides, among the first ones, you’ll find the biggest traitors, who, in the first hitch or in front of the lure of an economical promise, will desert you, squeal you or even turn against you…

In contrast, in the latter case, you’ll find some of your closest and most authentic comrades and accomplices… How many times have we not found ourselves in the middle of a stormy sea of confusion and contradictions? The same people with whom we were side by side, throwing rocks and Molotov cocktails at the cops and sharing times and moments behind flaming barricades, in the context of a corporatist claim of a “wild strike” for better salaries, returned fast to their daily routine and shielded themselves again with the uniform of the lawful citizen, voter, family man, TV-viewer right after their claim was either satisfied or rejected. From the “wild strike” of Chalybourgia, we ended up with the mobilization’s total control by the union adjacent to the Communist Party and the warm welcome of Golden Dawn’s MPs, who rushed to show their solidarity to the “Greek worker’s” struggle. From the barricades and the flaming nights in Keratea and the sabotage of the landfill facility installation in the area, we ended up with high election rates for the Golden Dawn in the same area.

But even the “wild youth” reciprocates in its contradictions. From student squats and attacks against cops it jumps without a second thought to pogroms against immigrants and panegyric fiestas of national pride (“athletic” successes of the national football team).

It is not enough, therefore, only to occasionally overcome the law by throwing a rock or a Molotov cocktail. This is surely a necessary step. However, along with the bank or the police vehicle which we’ll torch, we ought to torch all the authoritarian residues inside us, the moral preconceptions and the conservative stereotypes we inherited from this world.

Of course, as we hate criticism for the sake of criticism and the degradation of digital pseudo-nihilist dirge, that criticizes everything except from the deformed “super-ego”, our position is clear. As much as we want to want to crush the petty politics of the newly minted anarcho-marxists, we evenly want to demolish the ivory tower of the “ideologists’” theory of pure anarchy.

We analyze and decode the complex of society’s explosive contradictions, not to remain spectators and admire our “authority”, but to organize strategically our anarchist attack. There are the so-called intermediate social struggles, some of which (i.e. students’ squats) are interesting due to their composition and their diversion, which may trigger chaotic situations that are the ideal field of expression of our hatred for the system. Obviously, we’ll not be absent from these struggles, without forgetting, of course, that the “ideal” is blotted by reality and what’s left from the rose is the thorn.

However, as we don’t cage ourselves into demands and reformist notions, we maintain our characteristics and don’t lose ourselves in petty political discounts to become socially “liked”. Therefore, we invade as anarchists and don’t hide behind other social masks (unemployed, worker, demonstrator); in contrast, we wear the hood and attack, without fearing the pit of contradictions of the intermediate struggles.

So, if we want to destroy this world of organized exploitation and boredom, we must talk about the overcoming of classes and not wiggle the shroud of “class struggle” as a flag. Red anarchists that talk about class struggle have a corpse in their mouths which has begun to rot. In continuous anarchist insurrection, all classes are abolished. The individual, discovering in a liberating manner its conscious self, is in total rupture with the class of which it comes from, whether this is the proletarian one or the petty bourgeois. We refuse every class because it’s a result of fissions triggered by the system. Every class bears inside it the characteristics and ethics of the existent. The beloved child of red “anarchists”, the proletariat, carries inside it the ethics of labor, the pseudo-pride of patriotism, the worship of petty ownership, the remains of religious conservatism… This is the sad representation of the confusion which triumphs inside the intermediate reformist labor struggles that never overcome their myopic self to acquire an overall liberating perspective.

iii) About Black Anarchy

We renounce, therefore, any notion of “class struggle” which, in its most radical form, the Marxist variation, aims to the conquest of power through the dictatorship of the proletariat. We spit on the “experts” of revolution, the communist leadership, the veterans and the “anarchist” personas of public relations that compete with each other for the position of the greatest helmsman of revolution.

Besides, liberation will come when we smash the heads of our self-appointed “liberators”.

We refuse to wait for the objective conditions of mass uprising. The preparation of big masses as a precondition for the “revolution” against authority only triggers postponement.

We know we live in times of “crisis”. Some ex-anarchists chose to follow the Marxist rhetoric of pragmatism, economism, thinking that they speak the language of political realism. They could not stand as anarchists; they’ll prove to be incompetent as Marxists…

Their arguments already transform and lead to obsolete alliances with individuals and political milieus that define themselves in terms of political opposition. Anarchy no longer has anything to do with them…

We insist on anarchy’s blackness.

In chaos, disorder, living dangerously, nihilism of action, in the armed confrontation with the existent, in the fire of the continuous anarchist insurrection.

We reject all the idealized principles that revolutionary theories talking about the future liberation and social harmony promise. Life offers no guarantees. The time is now and the place is here…

Let’s be honest; we don’t know how a liberated tomorrow will be “functional”. That’s exactly why it’s liberated.

Because it’ll be full of possibilities, questions and doubts. Whoever seeks for certain answers and Marxist certainties will soon seek the guarantee of authority and priesthoods of red power.

We maintain our questions and black flag…

This is black anarchy.

Anarchy, however, demands the organization of the new anarchist urban guerrilla, if we don’t want it to degenerate into a meaningless poetic chatter, doomed to be followed by the alternative integration in the system. Concepts that are not armed, like anarchist individualism, nihilism end up being harmless words in the mouths of even more harmless individuals who confuse anarcho-nihilism with the subculture of “antisocial lifestyle”.

Anarcho-nihilism combines the propaganda of words with the propaganda of shootings, fire, dynamite. Its dynamics is forged on the anvil of actions where consciousness and experience meet in a never ending dance and not in the keyboards of the digital world of noting.

Therefore, the anarchist urban guerrilla has the possibility to carry anarchy from abstract theory to practice where our desires are armed and trigger our own reality.

The Conspiracy of Cells of Fire and FAI are the reflection of our desires. We promote the creation of an informal network of cells and groups of anarchist affinity with the aim to diffuse the practical theory and attacks. We weave our own spider web… We organize our attacks against the outposts of the world of organized exploitation and boredom. We hit the banks, the police stations, the courthouses, the prisons, the ministries, the party offices, the corporate empires and whatever guards and reproduces the values of this world. Of course, we don’t forget that new anarchist urban guerrilla’s target is not just the blowing up of things and execution of authority’s officers, but, simultaneously, the destruction of social relations that bear inside them the poison of power. Therefore, in parallel with the organization and diffusion of FAI and CCF via bullets and bombs, we desire to smash with our texts all these daily social conventions and slap the mentality of willing obedience that are half of the authority’s power…

We hate the hand that holds the whip as much as we hate the back of those who uncomplainingly accept its hits…

Don’t follow me… I’m not leading you…

Don’t walk ahead of me… I’ll not follow you…

Carve your own path… Become yourself…

WE ORGANIZE 10, 100, 1000 cells of Informal Anarchist Federation and Conspiracy of Cells of Fire

ATTACK FIRST AND ALWAYS FOR ANARCHY

Conspiracy of Cells of Fire – FAI/IRF

Imprisoned Members Cell

#Conspiracy of Cells of Fire #ccf #anarchy #communism #nihilism #post left anarchy #the invisible committee #tiqqun #anti tiqqun #fai #irf #attack #direct action

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kitcat992 · 5 years

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Identity Crisis | Chapter 3: Grounded

“Beginning clinical trial 10.F—G in three...two...one...”

The liquid dropped from its contained, secured case the moment the buzzer went off, the sound piercing and sharp. The feel of it always got to him; dense, thick, slimy, and somehow worse than all the times that came before. Like a raindrop, it hit the back of his hand with a pluck.

It was hot.

It was always hot, burning against his skin, sizzling at the touch. He had lost count of the chemical burns that scattered along his body, scars that told stories of the many attempts he endured in the pursuit of health. Life. A chance.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. No, never in the battery of tests he subjected himself to was it ever lost on him. He was destroying his body in the attempt to heal it.

It wasn’t ideal, and certainly not his first choice in the grand scheme of things. But they didn’t have time — he didn’t have time. There was no animal testing or research studies that could be done before reaching him.

Not if he wanted a chance.

So he closed his eyes, tight. Tight enough to feel the muscles in his face twitch and scream and beg for the release that he wouldn’t give until he heard the word ‘success’. He held his breath and bit his tongue through the searing pain that spread across his skin, rendering his fingers numb and his wrist rigid with immobility, all as he waited.

It always felt like an eternity. He would often think of Emily in these times. Deep, mahogany hair that countered her smile of pure sunshine, one he’d still picture every night before going to sleep, accompanied with the purest, brightest blue eyes he’d ever witnessed before. Even now, decades after becoming nothing more than a memory to him, she kept him calm. As long as he had her memory —

“Host organism Symbiote cytoplasm results produce...another failure for organisms protoplasmic material in binding with subject.” The voice, albeit calm, professional and tame, was nails on a chalkboard to his ears. “The changes formulated to the cell structure from clinical trials 9.E—G appear to be unsuccessful.”

His eyes stayed closed, though the pressure on his eyelids lessened greatly. He could feel the burning begin to fade on his hand, the tell-tale sign that the liquid had dropped off, running down and off his skin like water in the shower. It would fall down into a drain placed beneath his feet, where the earth shattering disappointment made it feel like his legs had wavered despite the ground staying still.

His heart beat heavily and he fought to control the emotion, taking in three deep breaths to remain composed. Each lifted his chest high, pulled his shoulders back taunt. He kept those blue eyes in his mind, fighting to remember exactly what shade they were. Always close to sky blue, but never quiet so pale. Vivid, like ice.

“How would you like to proceed, Mr. Osborn?”

And with that, he opened his eyes to the world around him, no longer able to stay in the memory of a better time and place, a memory of warmth and content. His environment was sterile and cold, a lot like the expression he wore on his face. Because if twenty-eight years of owning and running his own business had taught him anything, it was to never show weakness.

“You are...highly credentialed, Doctor Frye.” Norman grabbed the towel offered to him by one of the many scientists standing nearby, slowly but confidently wiping his hands with it. “I have the upmost faith that you will figure it out.”

The towel was damp, saturated with a cooling gel to ease the burns that blistered on his skin. He smeared it generously across the back of his hand, stepping down cautiously from the platform where he stood. The other techs began to scatter, leaving all but one white-coated doctor standing amidst the departing crowd.

“Sir, with all due respect,” Doctor Frye started, “I have been surveying the progress on this project since day one. And since we’ve discovered that this Symbiote bio-structure won’t bond without the DNA markers of it’s original conception, you continue to try and change the cell nucleus of the genetic make-up with no success.”

Norman approached him with long strides, confident steps that spoke more than his words ever could. He cocked an eyebrow high in the air and discarded the towel to the side.

Doctor Frye held his tablet firmly in his grip as he continued, “This is the tenth failure, and the tenth time my team has played God to the membrane of an organism that cannot thrive without the mutation markers of its birth host.”

“And as we are both aware,” Norman was quick to respond, his tone smooth yet firm, “the birth host perished two years ago with an autopsy report that showed no remaining embryo fluid in the sack. Is that a fact you fail to recall or do you simply prefer that I remind you the cause behind our perennial struggles?”

There was something unique in Doctor Frye that Norman respected. For starters, the man was never afraid to stand up to him, talk science with him, throw equations back and forth. He had intense grit, a dedication to his craft, dare he say an unhealthy need to be present at the job at all times. It played greatly in his favor, the unfortunate passing of Frye’s wife, leading him to divulge all his time into his work. It kept the good doctor focusing on the cure Norman so desperately needed.

“That spider was our last chance at finding success with this project, Mr. Osborn,” he reminded, his voice going so far as to pitch with unnerve. “Without injecting the mutated cells directly into your bloodstream, there’s no way this Symbiote bio-suit will bind to your genetic DNA. It requires the mutated markers of that radioactive spider.”

As the doctor spoke, Norman began to roll down the sleeves to his white button-down, taking care in buttoning the cuffs back together on each arm. He never once looked down during the task, keeping his eyes focused intently on Frye, frowning a bit as he digested what was said.

“Your vacillation is disconcerting to hear, doctor. It seems you’ve forgotten that sitting beneath my entrepreneur credentials lays a scientific genius with doctoral degrees in chemistry and electrical engineering. So when I say this can be done, I say it with more than just words,” Norman’s words were even, clinical, nearly emotionless. “I say it with the knowledge and ingenuity to substantiate the matter.”

Aggravated, Doctor Frye shook his head with animated exaggeration, spinning around as Norman began to walk past him.

“You aren’t listening. You don’t — !”

Norman calmly turned to face him, so close that it physically startled the doctor, his muscles so tense it showed in his lips.

“This Symbiote is a living organism. And like all living organisms, you can work with its biology,” Norman insisted, his tensely knitted eyebrows the closest thing he had shown to frustration so far. “I would advise that you not allow any defeats to keep you from pushing forward onward to success.”

Deliberate to linger on a hard stare that created a sheen of sweat across Doctor Frye’s forehead, Norman gave a curt nod when the time felt right. Only then did he walk passed the man, careful to avoid bumping shoulders.

He made it to the door before a voice was heard again. It wasn’t unexpected. Norman would have paused there in anticipation regardless of what sound came his way; the doctor had grit, after all.

“You have to give me clarification here, Mr. Osborn. Why can’t you lend my team the formula for the OZ Experiment Arachnid No. 00? We’ll create it from scratch, we’ll give the Symbiote the DNA markers it requires to bind and latch onto it’s subject matter,” he paused for a beat, his throat constricting as he stressed, “You, sir.”

There was enough hesitation from Norman to make it seem like he had been pondering up a response. In reality, he had one ready to go long before the man had ever asked the question. It was a sore subject. It had become the bane of his existence. The loss of all his files, the OZ formula, the records of the arachnid experiment from years ago that could easily save his life — gone. And why?

“Because, Doctor Frye,” Norman said, swiping his badge to gain access out of the laboratory, “those records were recently loss in a very unfortunate...water-logging incident. Now carry on. I expect progress by the morning.”

The heavy weight of the door closed loudly behind him, an echo that shot through the air. Norman was walking down the halls before it had even slammed shut.

— — —

Can I just say...I’m really going to enjoy writing this character?

(¬‿¬)

#fanfiction #marvel #mcu #irondad #spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #peter whump #whump #venom #symbiote #norman osborn #if the MCU isn't going to provide a good series of stories #then goddamn it I'll do it myself

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maxksx · 5 years

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There is no metaphorical level to this (as Mikkel suggests in an email). It couldn’t be further from being a rhetorical conceit, a provocative but ultimately substitutable – and deferrable in its substitutability – literary gesture, and this is precisely where its horror lies. In terms of the problem at stake, a resistance to metaphor equates to a refusal to be held to ransom by the suffering of another and the guilt that gesture entails. There is no substitutability, no debt, and no metaphor. This is because there is no real divide between the intensive and the abstract. Their fusion is flush with reality production in its most abyssal, magmatic dynamism. The transcendental aspect of the process pulls abstraction and intensity together, and it is this level that houses the real darkness – the nature of the empirical component darkness produces is linked to it via a break (since the transcendental is generative of it) and concealment is coincident with production … a duplicity hard-coded into the verb ‘to skin’. Reality is cold. Being forced to think it from a starting point that may be otherwise – necessarily is otherwise – is the whole of the crisis. But the crisis is a test. What does it mean to think this thought? To really think it – to be struck by it? It induces madness. Of course it does. That’s the point. It generates non-metaphorical blind spots in representational assimilation, traumatic punctures exploited by an icy transcendental updraught, the sounding of a bell, Cyclonopedia’s infamous plot holes, events – like the one that occurred on the corner of Guangxi Lu. That was the empirical sputtering out on the edge of something else. All modern voyages begin here: in the rift that yawns between what is, what happened and what is yet to come. To paper it over too quickly with an unconsidered act of rote conciliation would have been nothing more than simple social deception. Vapid symmetry. The death of the virtual. Even flight can be a trap. Nothing is kinder and more brutal than immobility. Under its spell the ground rises up, signalling in the xenopoetic rhythms that beat beneath all objects, beneath epistemology, beneath conceptuality – beneath the skin. To liberate what is singular, one becomes impersonal. If that is coldness, then it is the kind that protects empathy, affirms inhumanism, and holds the portal open for real metamorphosis, even if in the end – swapping our identities for the form of time – it will cost us all the names we have, in writing under them, already agreed to lose.

#amy ireland #šum journal #shanghai frequencies

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freewheelen · 5 years

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DEMO RIDE: 2019 Husqvarna Svartpilen & Vitpilen 401/701

Size does matter, and in this case, smaller is better.

It’s no secret that Husqvarna’s dirt bikes and dual sports sell themselves. Touting a storied motocross/scramble history, it’s easy to see why the off-roaders are so popular with the public. On the other hand, the company hasn’t seen much success with its street-oriented lineup. With 2019s still occupying the showroom floor and the pressure of Q3 looming, Husky recently visited Azusa, California to jumpstart the sales of their Svartpilen & Vitpilen lines. Labeled the Real Street tour, the series of demo events featured both models in their 401 & 701 variations, casting a veritable spotlight on their often overlooked street bikes.

But the Svartpilen & Vitpilen aren’t afraid of the spotlight, you could even say they were crafted to bask in it. The first thing you’ll notice when you gaze at the Svartpilen & Vitpilen is the unconventional design. It’s not a stretch to say that the aesthetics of the lineup resemble something out of a Scandinavian furniture catalog. With minimal, flowing lines, the Svartpilen & Vitpilen would feel right at home with your Poäng and Klippan.

Yes, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but the neo-retro style aims directly at a younger, urban demographic that gravitate toward classic, simplistic forms with a utilitarian edge. Whether you fancy the looks of the bikes or not, you have to admit that the fit and finish is quite impressive. However, I do feel the designers tragically overlooked the speedometer, as its more akin to a gym teacher’s stopwatch than a proper gauge. Not to mention, the highly reflective glass and mounting angle make render the information illegible. Aside from the hideous - and quite useless - instrument cluster, the Svartpilen & Vitpilen reek of smart sophistication.

But I can see how that elevated design could be a barrier for potential buyers. Due to the refined, “Swedish” aesthetics, one could quickly distinguish these models from their intra-brand cousins, KTM’s Duke and Enduro. With hopes that the public will embrace these models the same vigor as they’ve taken to KTM’s lineups, Husky is just trying to get more booties in the saddle, and I’m more than happy to oblige.

Sharing the motor of KTM’s 390 Duke and 690 Enduro R, Husky’s Svartpilen & Vitpilens benefit from two well-tested mills. Both engines push the boundaries of power that a single-cylinder engine should produce. Despite the lack of pistons to share the load, the vibrations on the 401 & 701 aren’t excessive (take that assessment with a grain of salt - I ride a Harley).

While the 701 delivers its power in a smooth, linear fashion, I found myself smitten with the 401′s punchiness. Glancing at the spec sheet, I noticed that the 701 reaches peak torque of 53 ft-lb @ 6,750 rpm with 75 hp topping out @ 8,500 rpm. Comparatively, the 401′s max torque (27 ft-lb) hits @ 6,800 rpm and horsepower (42 hp) @ 8,600 rpm. With about half the power and three-quarters of the weight of the 701, the 401 shouldn’t feel nearly as torquey. Additionally, both motors achieve max torque and horsepower at practically identical rpms, leaving me perplexed with my preference for the 401 - aside from the butt dyno.

No, I can’t support my fondness of the little thumper with cold hard data, but I can attest that the majority of the riders attending the demo agreed. I know anecdotal evidence is the least persuasive argument, but the 401 simply felt like a more agile from side-to-side and provided great acceleration in short bursts. And I may be rationalizing here, but those darting characteristics seemed appropriate for two models that translate to white arrow (Vitpilen) and black arrow (Svartpilen). The 701s weren’t bad motorcycles in the least, they just didn’t imbue the same excitement as they’re diminutive counterparts. Size does matter, and in this case, smaller is better.

But the size variation didn’t stop at the engine. The differing braking systems on the bikes occupied two different build quality standards. Even with the 401′s “budget” brakes, both systems felt well-suited for their classes with adial-mounted Brembo clampers blessing the 701s and ByBre calipers getting the job done on the 401s.

Despite the fact that both models lack dual-discs, the calipers delivered a reassuring bite while riding in urban environments. Yes, an extra rotor and caliper up front would certainly push the models in a more performance direction but we didn’t take the Svartpilen or Vitpilen into the twisties and the stock brakes would suffice where most buyers would ride these bikes - in the city.

When judging the two models on ergonomics, I kept their natural habitat - urban environments - in mind, as both maintain a fairly sporty position. Starting with the Vitpilen, I immediately noticed the aggressive, forward-leaning stance. Positioning my head directly over the front wheel, the Vitpilen made me want to slalom through mid-day traffic at full throttle. However, that state of mind prooved more enslaving than freeing. After all, I was on a demo tour. If “it’s better to ride a slow bike fast than a fast bike slow,” nothing is worse than living that platitude in reverse. If you’re looking for a nimble, aggressive, lane-splitter, the Vitpilen has you covered, but make sure your journey is manageable, as I already felt the tension in my wrists by the time we returned from the short ride.

On the other hand, the Svartpilen utilizes high-rise bars to position the rider at ease. From the upright posture, I was content to stay in line and putt along at a legally acceptable speed. Sure, I tugged on the throttle from time to time, but the relaxed stance felt more conducive to congested road conditions. If the Vitpilen’s ergonomics equate to a Supersport, the Svartpilen would be it’s Naked/Standard counterpart. Both bikes are aimed at city-dwellers and while it would be a stretch to say that either of them let you stretch your legs out, neither of them feel cramped. Though I’d probably opt for the Svartpilen in most situations, if I were visiting one of the local canyons (GMR, HWY 39, etc), I’d certainly side with the Vitpilen.

While the ergonomics shift the rider into different postures - and different states of mind - the road manners of the bikes are quite similar. With all models under 6 inches of travel, I could easily flat-foot each bike. Despite its smaller stature, the 401s benefited from the same WP 43mm inverted forks that graced the front end of the 701s. On the road, each bike was compliant and responded immediately to my every input. Particularly, the Vitpilen - with its clip-ons and head-down posture - reacted to every adjustment of my body.

Not only did the suspension allow the bikes to cut from side-to-side, it also made the 401s and 701s feel planted. From soaking up potholes to providing stable steering at speed, KTM’s proprietary suspenders highlighted how fun these machines can be. On the contrary, the lack of suspension travel on the Svartpilen did beg the question: couldn’t this model be much more fun? Aside from ergonomics and a few bits of design (paint mainly), how does the Svarpilen distinguish itself from the Vitpilen?

And that’s where I got to thinking about the lack of sales for these two models. After taking everything into consideration, it seems like Husqvarna’s “Real Street” motorcycles are going through an identity crisis. Are these bikes retro or performance? Can you consider a motorcycle “premium” (as the price would suggest) the dash looks more like a digital alarm clock and it doesn’t come with dual-disc brakes? But maybe it’s less of an identity crisis and more of a false identity. For instance, Husqvarna outfits the Svartpilen with dirt tracker styling yet they can’t endorse taking the low slung machine off-road. Even with the aesthetic hinting at dirt-capabilities, the Svartpilen is essentially a naked bike with knobbies.

Broadcasting a false image can ensnare potential buyers - or it can turn them off (like it did for me). Intoxicated by the snappy acceleration of the 401, I actually looked into purchasing a Svartpilen following the demo. But the lack of off-road capability soon soured my initial enthusiasm. If it can’t hang in the brown, why outfit it with Pirelli Scorpions? Why adopt tracker design cues? What’s the point of making form decision if it’s contrary to the function? That disillusionment made me look at the Svartpilen & Vitpilen differently.

With an MSRP of $6,299 for the 401 and $11,999 for the 701, it’s easy to see why the KTM-owned brand is having problems moving units. Coupled with the unconventional design (which I actually love but can understand how some wouldn’t), Husqvarna has it’s work cut out. Along with the lackluster sales figures of the Svartpilen & Vitpilen, the Real Street Demo stop in Azusa failed to highlight the full capabilities of models. With the near highway miles away, riders were relegated to a jaunt around the block. As a result, I never got the gearbox past 3rd and that doesn’t instill much confidence in potential customers. The combination of disorganization, bikes-to-rider ratio, wait times, and early wrap-up, I’d venture to say that the demo barely moved the needle on these two bikes.

With all that said, if you’re looking for a stylish motorcycle to ride in the city, Husky’s street lineup may be a good option. The brand continues to promote their 0% APR (up to 48 months), so you may score a new Svartpilen or Vitpilen for a great price. For my intents, the bikes are too niche in design and too specialized in purpose, but that doesn’t mean they won’t work for you. I guess the best advice I can give to potential buyers is to test ride as many motorcycles as possible. I know I will be!

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