#I can feel myself constructing narratives about these two it’s getting dangerous

[sad-boys-book-club]

"&" Ampersand - A Literary Companion: Intros & Narrators

Hey everyone!

I'm excited to dive deeper into the literary companion I created for Bastille's upcoming project “&”. As you might realize from my previous post, each song has been paired with two books that complement its themes, so I’ll be breaking down why I chose each one of those books for each song.

Let's start with our first gorgeous, chef's-kiss of a track Intros & Narrators.

David Foster Wallace - "Oblivion: Stories"

This one might be a more obvious choice, as Dan’s lyrics explicitly refer to Wallace in the pre-chorus with “David talked about the daily trenches of adult life.” For anyone who might not be familiar with David Foster Wallace, I think most of his work can be a bit intimidating—who wouldn’t feel discouraged when facing the 1,079 pages of Infinite Jest? It gives me tendinitis just to consider the endeavor! But he’s a really talented (although controversial) author and a certified name you’ll see on multiple ‘1001 books to read before you die’ kind of lists.

I first came across his writing when I was still in university (Journalism grad here), when an overly excited J02 professor claimed that Consider the Lobster had changed his outlook on post-modernist literature. At the time, I was a bit skeptical—all I’d heard were jokes about hipsters carrying copies of Infinite Jest without ever reading it—so I did some digging into who this highly regarded author was. Not to take up much of your time, dear reader, so if you’re interested in learning more about him, I recommend checking out the movie The End of the Tour, which follows David Lipsky (Jesse Eisenberg), a reporter with Rolling Stone magazine, as he interviews DFW (brilliantly played by Jason Segel) during his book tour. It’s a bit of a depressing watch though, as Wallace struggled with depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, and suicidal tendencies, which eventually ended in him ending his own life.

Anyhow, back to Bastille and some less depressing topics.

The reference in "Intro & Narrators" is a direct reference to David Foster Wallace‘s 2005 commencement speech to the graduating class at Kenyon College. The speech is long, definitely worth reading in its entirety, but if I could pick one single bit that feels the most relevant it is as follows:

“Probably the most dangerous thing about an academic education—at least in my own case—is that it enables my tendency to over-intellectualize stuff, to get lost in abstract argument inside my head, instead of simply paying attention to what is going on right in front of me, paying attention to what is going on inside me. As I’m sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotized by the constant monologue inside your own head (may be happening right now).”

The speech ended up becoming the posthumously published book This Is Water, however, I think Wallace's third and last short story collection, Oblivion: Stories (which I’m now wondering if it inspired the band’s Oblivion too), feels like a much better choice thematically and might be a better introduction to Wallace’s body of work. Just like the song, these short stories delve into the unreliable nature of our perceptions and the complex narratives we construct about our lives. Wallace's verbose, complex, convoluted style (including a bunch of words you might have to search online, at least, I did) works really well in those short stories, and is a sort of joke into the whole idea of an "unreliable narrator"—I think he’d argue that no one can be actually reliable when it comes to speaking about ourselves.

Aparna Nancherla - "Unreliable Narrator: Me, Myself, and Impostor Syndrome"

A lighter read, because life is all about finding a balance between existential musings and humor, Nancherla's book is a candid exploration of personal identity, mental health, and the ever-present impostor syndrome. Aparna Nancherla, a stand-up comedian and actress known for her roles in BoJack Horseman, Master of None and The Standups (also, for publishing a lot of essays on the New York Times), brings her unique voice to a collection of essays that tackle personal identity, mental health, and the ever-persistent specter of impostor syndrome.

Imagine a painfully timid person thrust into the limelight, grappling with a skyrocketing career and the gnawing fear that everyone will soon discover she’s a total fraud. That’s her reality, and she shares it with a raw vulnerability that is both touching and hilariously relatable. As a South Asian woman navigating the overwhelmingly white, male-centric world of comedy, Nancherla’s insights are as sharp as they are entertaining. Be warned, though, you'll laugh, yes, but you’ll mostly find yourself nodding along, recognizing some of the truths she unearths about self-doubt, mental health and the human experience.

With a background in Psychology, Nancherla doesn’t just present her experiences; she backs them up with research, adding depth to the whole thing. There’s a saying that comedy is the refuge of the chronically sad, and Nancherla embodies this paradox perfectly (as do, famously, a lot of stand-up comedians—Bo Burnham’s pandemic-inspired Netflix special Inside, immediately springs to mind). Stand-up comedy can often create the illusion that comedians are perpetually happy-go-lucky individuals, effortlessly tossing out jokes right and left in their day-to-day life. That is so far from the truth. You’ll find most of them are actually perfectionists with a capital P and little control freaks, obsessing over every word and timing to make sure their jokes land perfectly (this is not a dig at comedians, the same can be said for any other creative profession: writers picking out the perfect dialogue, actors who go method to embody a character, musicians who just can’t seem to stop tinkering with a melody…). 

Why does this book pair so well with this song, you ask? Well, both Nancherla and the song delve into the concept of being unreliable narrators of our own lives, often judging ourselves more harshly than anyone else ever could. The struggle of introverts in the public eye, the tug-of-war between creating art and performing a persona—these themes echo through Nancherla’s essays and Bastille’s lyrics. 

That's it for this one. Stay tuned as I continue to break down each song and its literary companions. I hope these pairings enhance your listening (and reading) experience.

Feel free to share your thoughts and any other book suggestions as well!

With love,

Cat

[bonaesperanza]

Okay, I finished it and I LOVED IT and I’m gonna be talking about it incessantly in the next time period. I’m gonna be making a series of posts about what I liked because I just can’t stop thinking about it, I’ve screenshotted paragraphs I really loved and made notes and stuff, which I actually NEVER do but I just loved it this much, and I am so in love with how nuanced and well-constructed everything about these books is, but I guess I first wanted to kind of… explore what made me react so negatively to it at first and how I was really really wrong? In case it convinces someone to keep on with it?

Full disclosure, I decided to finally read this after having it sit in my TBR pile for around 2 years because I love strategy, whether military or political, and I love guile-based competence porn, but I also love character studies of fucked up people with intense personal relationships, and it’s really hard to find both in the same narrative. I’ve been on a binge of the former for a while now and I was craving the latter without wanting to let go of my competence porn lol. I was first recommended this in a Reddit thread on political fantasy and that’s why it was in the TBR pile, but I was also told that it was quite sexy, and then in the meanwhile I saw a poll on “oversexualized stories” where it was next to ACOTAR, my most hated book of all time, and tbh by the time I cracked it open I had lowered my expectations to “it’s gonna be a decent dark erotica with crudely sketched in ‘scheming’ that I can only hope doesn’t strain my sense of disbelief too hard”.

And this was actually really working against my enjoyment of the book, because at its core this is not dark erotica the way I define it, and I’ve read a lot of dark erotica when I was younger. Basically for me BDSM-flavored dark erotica works by… externalizing a fantasy, like I don’t know, in the simplest possible terms with a noncon fantasy there’s a part of you that wants it and part of you that doesn’t and this gets externalized into one character forcing another one into something but you are actually controlling both parts of the narrative. Or like you have this constant sense of hyperactivation/danger around sex so the love interest in the dark erotica fantasy really IS dangerous and therefore your anxieties are externalized and your feelings are justified. And this is usually done in one of two ways: you make the characters basically sketched in blank slates and let the readers fill it all in with how they themselves feel about what’s going on, which usually leads to lots of people loving it and some people hating it because they are filling it in with their own dislike of what’s going on, OR you build 3D characters whose psychology is magically tailor-made to have them somehow be compatible and make each other better and benefit from the dark erotica situation in some way, making a work of a higher literary quality because now you actually have fully realized characters.

So I came into the experience fully expecting that I was supposed to vicariously sorta enjoy what was happening to Damen, and some of your tags/comments on my previous post really made me wonder why I was reacting so viscerally to this because I have read books with worse assholes and grimmer worlds and more orgies with dubious consent without blinking an eyelash.

And then I figured out that this was all a feature and not a bug, because Damen actually isn’t either of the character types that I described above, and actually one of the few things you learn about him in like chapter 1 is what kind of sex he likes, and he immediately comes off as a bit of a service top, and also as someone who takes a lot of pure, honest joy in his body unblemished by self-consciousness or shame, and he fucking hates all that’s going on around him and I was supposed to hate it too, but I was operating under the reflexive assumption that this is erotica so the author expects me to enjoy myself while reading it. Which actually… yeah, looking back on it it’s excellent writing, because in one offhand paragraph about Damen reminiscing about some random people he’s fucked you’ve set the key through which the events of the next 200 pages will be framed, and I as a reader didn’t even notice how it happened for a long time while fully reacting based on those setups. And I REALLY should have just based on the accurate and TBH kinda haunting depiction of derealization that Damen has at some of what’s happening to him.

Basically the basic-ass dark erotica recipe that I was expecting would have been for Damen to start being a bit more submissive due to external pressures (like having to cooperate to free the slaves), and then Laurent rewarding him for it with affection, and then Damen learning that he enjoys this, and I DID NOT want this to happen to Damen because it was completely incongruous with his character and his desires and the way the world was presented, so I felt really scared that it would go that way and was reacting really viscerally to it.

Uh, on a more personal note, and in retrospective having read the entire series, I feel like there’s a lot there about submission when it’s coerced or expected vs. submission when you want it and it pleases you, and how the first fucks up the second, and as a pretty subby person I really vibed with that.

Reading the Captive Prince books and it's the most surreal experience ever. I hate all the characters and think it would be for the best if that entire geopolitical region was just glassed with some sort of out of orbit weapon. I spent the first half of the first book disgruntled because I had been promised politics and strategy and leadership and all I got was awful arrogant shitheads indulging in society-sanctioned BDSM, which I can get at home by simply calling one of my exes without taking the effort to read an entire book. There's a twist and I could tell what it was at the 20% mark.

BUT. Then the actual politics start and it's actually... great? And the author actually... understands how things work? Very very well? And is also great at illustrating it in an engaging manner? Like here is this extremely skilled person who perfectly understands architecture and supply lines and political maneuvering and military discipline who wrote a book about things they enjoy and that I typically don't, but I have such mad respect for their skill that I am actually getting seriously into it. I love me a scheming mastermind where the author takes the time to explain HOW they gain everyone's loyalty or pull off the political scheme instead of just going 'oh, this character is a scheming mastermind!!'.

Also once both the boys turn out to be Secretly Competent and show it to each other they get the best Grudging Respect vibes and I am just a sucker for that way more than I am for the whole pet kink. Yesterday at this time of day I was swearing up and down that this was just another run of the mill fantasy-romance-erotica thing like a SJM book or, like, that Gild series, and that I would never be sold on it but right now I am 98% sold on it and staying in on a Friday night to finish the second book.

Storytelling skill really does matter.

[personalityisnice]

I'm of two minds about the third personality to seemingly arise from Taliesin Jaffe's perpetually undead Lavender Tiefling.

On the one hand, Molly's narrative is rife with themes related to the uneasy balance of memory and identity. Lucien is alien to the Nein when he meets them because he is like Molly in some ways but isn't him. His personality is just familiar enough to be not quite right, even without any of Molly's memories. It's familiar but in a twisted, ''off'' kind of way. And this feeling of not-quite-right only gets more profound as he progressively reveals how mad and dangerous he truly is.

New boy is, as far as we can tell, not the mad tyrant Lucien was, but still has that sense of wrongness to him. Arguably more so than Lucien, because he's so much closer to who Molly was. He is a Tealeaf, after all.

And this interplay between identity and memory confronts the cast and audience with uncomfortable questions about how joint memories and experiences can shape relationships and how much those can fail to matter in how a friend develops and lives their lives. The Nein rightly agree to let Kingsley be who he is and accept he isn't remembering them, but you can tell it's painful even as they respect his choices. The closeness they had as friends through their memories is within sight but still completely out of reach.

On the other hand, I can't seem to make myself forget the fact that Molly sighted the greatest lie he ever told as the con he pulled where he convinced an entire town he was royalty.

Or kingley.

I also can't shake from my mind Taliesin Jaffe's repeatedly demonstrated love for stupid puns.

Matt confirmed in his epilogue that Kingsley remembers at least some of the fight between the Mighty Nein and Lucien, where he was trying desperately to help them with almost no way to do so. And Molly wouldn't know that Yasha suffered a very similar fate and was still embraced by and loved by the Nein in the wake of her liberation. He might've wanted to give them an excuse to not be around him.

And the tiefling in question seemed to remember them before he woke up at the Blooming Grove. Or in other words, before he had his faculties together enough to construct a con.

Do I think this is the case? I'm not even 15% sure this could be what's happening. So don't say that I am.

Do I think it's something that circus-born strutting peacock of an asshole would do even if he didn't? That, even if that's not what's going on here, it would be 100% in character for him to do so?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

[lucemferto]

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT TECHNOBLADE (or A Narrative Analysis of the Dream SMP Doomsday Event) - Script

Heyo! Per request I am posting the script to my video of the same name here on tumblr. I must warn you that just reading the script will probably not give you the full experience, so I would encourage you to watch the video (linked above).

There might also still be a lot of grammatical errors in the text, because I don’t proofread.

Okay, so! I don’t want this to turn into a reaction channel OR a Dream SMP channel for that matter! I am planning on doing a big dumb, way too long analysis video on the Dream SMP which will – at my current pace – come out in five years. I am already way too late on this one.

Spoiler Alert for the Doomsday Event that took place on the 6th of January in the Dream SMP. Surely the worst thing to take place on the 6th of January 2021 … I’m sorry, what’s this about the Capitol?

In case you don’t watch the SMP and need context: The Dream SMP is a Minecraft Multiplayer Server, that, throughout the last year, has transformed from a normal Let’s Play to an ongoing new-media series streamed by multiple high-profile streamers such as Dream, TommyInnit or Technoblade. It comes complete with script – by which I mean loose bullet points – and story events. It has attracted a large fanbase specifically invested in the story and less so in the actual gameplay content. Like I said before, I will probably do a big video on the Dream SMP at some point in the future.

The storyline is long and complicated and trying to explain it all would take up the majority of the video and there are other channels who have already done a much better job than I could ever hope to do, so give them a watch. I’ll try to summarize all that is pertinent to what I will talk about in this video.

Okay, let’s speedrun this summary. Cue the music!

Major Players here are TommyInnit, a founder of the independent nation of L’Manburg, Technoblade, an anarchist who was deep in conflict with L’Manburg, Tubbo, Tommy’s best friend and current president of L’Manburg, and Dream, the ruler of the Kingdom of the Dream SMP (even though he is not the king, but we’re not going to get into that right now). Tommy had in the past been exiled by Tubbo for endangering L’Manburg’s shaky peace with the Dream SMP. Tommy had then teamed up with Technoblade, who was hellbent on destroying L’Manberg after some prior altercations – more on that later.

Tommy and Tubbo came into conflict during a festival set-up to celebrate the friendship between L’Manburg and the Dream SMP. After punching out their feelings, Tommy came to the realization that his friendship with Tubbo was more important than his vendetta against Dream and those who exiled him. Techno took that change of heart badly and teamed up with Dream to destroy L’Manburg … and that’s exactly what happened.

Techno and Dream, with little to no opposition, obliterated L’Manburg with no hope for recovery leaving its inhabitants stranded hopeless and alone.

… And that’s what you missed on Dream SMP!

Okay. So, usually I just put whatever thought slime drips out of my mouth hole into your subscription box. But then I asked myself: “Am I not taking this a largely improvised nonsense story from a bunch of 16–24-year-olds a little too seriously?”. And then I remembered. I’m a pretentious bitch. I made an 18-minute video explaining why the popular commentary YouTuber memeulous is secretly the time travelling Anti-Christ, REASON HAS NO SWAY OVER ME!

So, like the English Major drop-out that I am, I will present you with two theses, which I will then combine into one … supratheses! That word doesn’t exist, I just coined it, it’s mine! I am very smart!

[I know words, I have the best words!]

 Thesis #1: The Fandom focuses too much on Character Analysis in Favour of Narrative Analysis

The Dream SMP is truly something special. It is uniquely singular in how it tells a story of this scope through its chosen medium. While there is an overarching script that lays out the plot points of the future, each of the 30+ streamers on the SMP are their own cameraman, director, writer and actor. You cannot watch “the Dream SMP” – if you attempted that, you would be 80 by the time you caught up to the Doomsday Event. You have to choose whom to watch. You have to choose your focal point character.

Because by the way the story is told and consumed – aka in such a compartmentalized fashion; you watch one streamer and get one character’s perspective – it has sort-of unintentionally conditioned fans to look at the SMP and its characters less as one coherent story with messages and themes and more as sports teams they can root for. You’re Team Techno or Team Tubbo or Team Tommy or Team JackManifoldTV (formerly known as Thunder1408) and every other side is in the wrong! It’s like Twilight for a decade old children’s game about virtual Lego!

Okay, I’m exaggerating, but the amount of discourse perpetuated by and revolving around so-called “apologists” – a terrible term that unfortunately has caught on – is really not something that I think is good for how we interact with the story of the Dream SMP.

The Dream SMP is discussed a lot on character-based level, which is, like I said before, hugely advantaged by the way the story is consumed by its audience. With traditional, visual media such as film for example, the audience can be made more aware of what messages the narrative might try to communicate on a narrative level without the need for an explicit narrator to tell you the moral.

As an example, in a movie you could have a smash-cut from the Butcher Army’s discussions about neutralizing the danger Technoblade poses to Techno being nice around villagers or taking care of animals. This would communicate on an extradiegetic level, that the Butcher Army is in the wrong with their assumptions. Alternatively, you could contrast Techno’s declarations that power corrupts and that Tubbo’s administration is cruel with Tubbo choosing not to punish Ranboo for his association with Techno – thus the narrative would communicate that Techno’s view of Tubbo and by extension the government is one-sided and not true to reality.

Stuff like that helps the viewer understanding a story holistically and manages to communicate stuff like themes and morals without having to solely rely on in-character logic and argumentation, which, as Ghostbur put it so eloquently, is comprised of a bunch of unreliable narrators.

Character analysis is great if we want dive deep, if we really want to give a character flavour and understand their motivations. It helps make the universe feel like it is alive, like it’s real. But – and this might be a shocker for you – it’s not real. It’s written. It is construction – and as such, in its construction, it has messages and themes and morals, intentionally or unintentionally.

By being so focused on specific characters and their individual journeys, viewpoints and motivation we really run the risk of not looking at the bigger picture and fail to see what the overarching narrative is actually communicating. And we may also fail to understand how characters might or might not fit into the overarching narrative.

Speaking of which …

 Thesis #2: Technoblade experiences very little Meaningfultm Thematic Conflict

Okay, let’s talk about Technoblade. I’m sure I’m not going to get any hate for this one.

I want to preface by saying that I don’t watch Technoblade’s streams; I catch up though clip channels and summaries. I’m mainly watching Tommy, Tubbo and Quackity – which is honestly already more than I can handle – but I want to be clear that while I’ll try to be as even-handed as possible – like I explained previously – the way I consumed the storylines will undoubtedly leave me with some bias.

Also, needless to say, I’m talking about the character Technoblade, not the actual content creator, unless I specifically say so. That should be obvious.

Now, I’m not doing a Technoblade character analysis, because that would be hypocritical of me – seeing how I just bitched about the overwhelming amounts of character analyses in the fandom – but I’ll try my best to summarize what is necessary.

Technoblade’s interesting in that he is a very static character – at least inwardly – he doesn’t change much. He is very steadfast in his beliefs and ideals and has very little introspection. He doesn’t question himself; he doesn’t waver, he is never in a bind about whether what he’s doing is right or wrong. He is very much a parallel to early TommyInnit – who, of course, famously said “I’m always in the right”.

And I want to emphasize that I mean this in no way as a critique of Techno’s character. A static character provides a nice contrast to more dynamic characters and can balance them out. It can also be utilised by the writing as a character flaw – which is what I hope content creator Techno is going for.

Like Techno doesn’t have a lot of empathy in the sense that he is particularly skilled at or interested in trying to see the viewpoints of others. There is never an attempt to reconcile, for example, the goal of the Pogtopians to reclaim L’Manberg and install another administration with his desire for an anarchist society. This is also compounded with his overreliance on violence as the only tactic for conflict resolution – Techno has a whole thesis statement about violence being the only universal language. I’m sure you’ve heard the quote.

And lastly, what really drives this all over the edge, is his all-or-nothing approach when dealing with the enemy – he is not so much eye for an eye as he is – to use another biblical example – you make fun of me for being bald and I’ll sic two bears on you that maul and kill you and 41 other children.

There’s also the open and completely unacknowledged hypocrisy of a self-described anarchist working together with a man that installs and dethrones Kings with his every whim – someone who – and I cannot stress this enough – hits about every box when it comes to the definition of tyrant.

So, what I’m saying is that Technoblade is the Dream SMP equivalent of Dick Chenney. C’mon you know it’s true! He will bomb that freedom into your country whether you want him to or not. That’s some cogent political commentary in the year 2021.

Okay, so now that I’ve outlined his character, what kind of conflicts does Technoblade face. Well, it’s mostly physical or external. He fights a lot whether it’s against Quackity or Sapnap or bodying Karl Jacobs five times in a row. And – with the exception of maybe Sapnap – none of it is challenging. Technoblade is the best PvP-Player on the server – there really isn’t much tension to be had from a purely physical fight.

So, how are these fights supplemented emotionally. Well, internally there is not a lot going on. As I said before, Technoblade isn’t really an introspective character. Even during his shouting match with Tommy there’s not a sense that Technoblade is wavering or unsure of himself in the way that Tommy is. He exposits that one of the reasons, he acts like he does is that he feels dehumanized; that people only use him like a weapon and then discard or even try to neutralize him once he’s no longer useful.

But that is not something that Technoblade has to grapple with – it’s not conflict for him, it’s more conflict for Tommy. Technoblade is self-assured in that he’s a person and not a weapon – it’s almost like there was a character arc there, where Technoblade self-actualizes and breaks away from the people that want to use him. But we didn’t see any of it. Technoblade unleashes the withers; then he goes into retirement because he wants to be, I suppose, and then he returns to violence as a reaction to the Butcher Army. There is a story of vengeance here, but not any conflict about being used. There is never a point where we see Technoblade come to this realization or comes to assert himself.

In season 1 there’s never a push from Pogtopia where the narrative frames them as exploiting Technoblade. He fights with them of his own volition, he gives them weapons and armour of his own volition. Nobody pressured Techno into procuring their inventory for the fight. And in Season 2, he’s the one to approach Tommy about their potential partnership – he is in the position of power here, explicitly not Tommy.

Like, I’m sorry, if this ruffles some feathers, but I really don’t see this arc where Technoblade is being used. There’s a story of misunderstanding and maybe co-dependency – but not of dehumanization. This entire line of thought seems to solely reference that moment, where Tommy says to Sapnap “I have the blade” during one of their wars – which, to base an entire emotional arc around that without any further set-up, is, and I’m sorry to say that, incredibly flimsy.

Okay, so we covered physical and emotional conflict? But what about conflict on the narrative level? Well, that leads me to my suprathesis …

 Suprathesis: The Narrative is Unclear on how it treats Technoblade … and that’s Not Good.

Here’s a Hot Take: The narrative of Season 1 treats Technoblade way less sympathetically than that of season 2.

Let me explain. The narrative of Season 1 revolves mostly around Wilbur and Tommy. The emotional fulcrum of the overall narrative is Wilbur’s rise and fall from Grace – and Tommy succeeding him as symbol of L’Manberg’s “special”-ness. Now I will talk about all that more in detail, when I talk about Season 1 of the Dream SMP. So, you’ll just have to go with me on this one for now.

Technoblade, by contrast, doesn’t really have much going on thematically in Season 1. He mostly exists as a sort-of utilitarian character – he is an accessory to make story beats happen. Like him executing Tubbo doesn’t open up any sort of thematic conflict involving him – on a character level it sets up antipathy between him and Tommy and it grants us some insight into how he operates with his violence speech – but on a larger-scale narrative level it really just shows how far Wilbur and Tommy have drifted apart in how they react to the event.

His biggest contribution is during the Season 1 finale, but even there he plays second fiddle to Wilbur. Not just because Wilbur does way more destruction with his explosion than Techno does with his Withers, but also because Wilbur had an emotional and thematic climax to his arc and by extension the entire storyline. Like Techno’s is a cool moment and very epic visual but in terms of thematic relevance, his Theseus-speech is really more set-up for Season 2.

And Season 1 is very unambiguous about L’Manberg being good and Tommy’s ideals ultimately being morally justified – I mean, they have a whole speech about it in the end and it was built-up throughout the entire Season – Techno is cast in a … less than sympathetic light. He is, if not a villain, then definitely an antagonist.

But with Season 2 the narrative is either uninterested in or not very clear on exploring Technoblade’s flaws.

Like ask yourselves: is Technoblade’s character ever consciously challenged by the narrative? Are his actions ultimately shown to not be in the right? Are his beliefs about government and power ever called into question? Are the negative consequences that his actions cause ever shown to be larger than the “good” he does?

I think what exemplifies this the most is how the Butcher Army event played out on December 16th. Now, during that event, the Butcher Army, which was comprised of Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy and Ranboo, managed to apprehend Technoblade, who at that point was living the quiet retirement life, and tried to have him publicly executed – without trial.

Now, smarter people than me have pointed out that the Butcher Army had a bevy of in-character reasons that can justify or explain their actions. And that’s definitely interesting, but as I said before, I want to get away from that and look into how the Butcher Army is treated on a narrative level. Because this is one of the few instances where the otherwise grey-loving Season 2 has some very clear narrative intent when it comes to morality.

The Butcher Army is very deliberately framed as almost cartoonishly corrupt and violent. They very forcefully investigate Philza, mock him and then put him under house arrest – and there’s just no remorse in the script even from normally sympathetic characters like Tubbo.

Compare and contrast with the Tommy-exile scene, which is also an act of moral ambiguity and is treated as such. And things get even worse once the Army arrives at Technoblade’s abode and attack him after he softly tells them that he has left that live behind him. They then proceed to take his horse hostage, mock him and execute him without fair trial – and I haven’t seen it but from live commentary I gathered that Techno really played up the whole softie-schtick before the Butcher Army arrived. I mean, before the big Technoblade vs Quackity fight, Quackity had whole villain monologue for Christ’s sake.

And even afterwards, the Butcher Army really plays up the corrupt angle with Tubbo proposing a festival as a guise to publicly execute someone. And again, I know that on an intradiegetic there’s nuances and it’s not really comparable to the Red Festival, but in combination with what the audience has seen up until that point and with how much it feeds into the already established themes of history repeating itself and becoming like your predecessors, it really does not paint a pretty picture of the Tubbo administration.

You can feel the heavy hand of the script on your shoulder, which is a feat seeing how – as discussed before – that’s not something that can be easily accomplished in this medium.

And that is what I mean when I say that Technoblade is not really challenged by the script and is in this case even emboldened by it. Because after this whole ordeal the thought of Technoblade taking revenge by destroying L’Manberg doesn’t seem like such an extreme response to the viewer – even though in my opinion, it is.

As of right now it is too early to say how the narrative will judge Technoblade’s actions in the future. Will they be framed as extreme but ultimately justified or perpetuating a cycle of ever-escalating vengeance? Will we ever see a government that’s not just at best misguided and at worst completely awful?

Ultimately, I believe and hope that Technoblade will be challenged by the narrative, mostly because a character that cannot, believably, be physically challenged, who doesn’t have any meaningful internal conflict about what he’s doing; and who does come out on the other side having everything he always believed in be proven completely in the right by the narrative, would be incredibly boring. Not just to watch but also to play as.

As it stands now, if the destruction Techno, Phil and Dream inflicted upon L’Manburg is framed as ultimately in the right, I would find it personally a distasteful message to send. I would ultimately say that the “correct” way to counter corruption in government is to completely obliterate the entire country. Like we’re not talking simply disbanding the government – that’s not what Doomsday was – we’re talking complete and utter annihilation. And that would be cynical and depressing. Like, call me a big softie, but even bothsidesing this argument would be bad.

Like, I’m not calling for Technoblade to be transformed into or treated a monster like Dream. But I personally feel like the narrative needs to acknowledge that the Doomsday was something that was taken way too far and that it ultimately brought more harm than good. And Technoblade needs to held accountable by someone who is not a cartoonishly corrupt government-official or who is in conflict with him anyway, like Tommy.

I thought Philza or Ranboo could do that but seeing how their storylines are progressing I don’t believe that will be the case. But who knows, maybe Captain Puffy will come through for us. We stan a Queen.

 Conclusion

So, yeah, I made this entire video just to air out my grievances with how one-sided the mode of analysis is in the fandom, because no person actually involved with the production of Dream SMP will ever see this.

But after everything I am cautiously optimistic, that content creator Technoblade knows what he’s doing. He has talked in the past about how his character is a bad guy and he loves his Greek myths. After all what’s more Greek myth than hybris being rewarded with punishment? [Technoblade never dies] That bodes well for him.

Also, this isn’t the video I promised at the end of the last one!

[ineffable-endearments]

Okay. Now I'm going to submit some theories about how I think Crowley and Aziraphale specifically are going to go in the future of Good Omens.

Again, this post is not really...specific theorizing about plot events. It's big-picture stuff.

With that said, this post will get a bit heavy at times, in the sense that it will contain opinions that not everyone will like. It drifted into rambling about queerbaiting and all that stuff. I'm not going to spam anyone's dashboard with drama over it, but it's very possible someone else might try. It's also not really a negative post, depending on what you want to hear, I suppose. But if you're only in the mood to read fluff today, you'll probably want to pass it up.

Oh! Also it's very long, and sexuality is discussed in a vague way that doesn't involve any story elements or body parts.

For starters, I don't think Good Omens 2 - or even 3, if that comes about - is going to have anything explicitly sexual or romantic between the two of them, where "explicit" is things like the characters giving outright definitions of their relationship or outright discussing exactly what goes on between them, either on or off-screen. I also don't think there's going to be kissing or "hooking up" (come on...that person on Twitter shouldn't have even asked). Those actions are too blatant for what Neil has already said about the series. While they technically leave some room for interpretation, they probably don't leave enough.

I DO think it's quite possible other characters will continue to define the relationship FOR them and Crowley and Aziraphale will continue to not deny it.

As far as the queerbaiting debate, "is Good Omens queerbaiting"...it's gonna depend how you define it. I always learned that queerbaiting was basically where the creators intentionally make it look like a character is gay or otherwise queer but then swap that character development out for a cis identity and hetero relationship at the end. The point is that the "bait" leads to queer audiences being actively hurt. That's the behavior that seems awful to me, and I don't see Neil and company doing that.

However, I think it's far and away the most likely option that it will be left up to interpretation whether Crowley and Aziraphale are, you know, a buddy duo or a romantic couple or some sort of ineffable queerness all their own off-screen. So if your definition of queerbaiting is "the characters seem gay to us, but homophobes can tell themselves they're not," then yes, I think that debate will follow us to our graves if we let it.

I am a cisgender, possibly straight (?? demi/bi? I might never find out) woman. There is absolutely no way I could ever tell anybody, ESPECIALLY not gay guys and nonbinary people - the people Crowley and Aziraphale tend to resemble the most - how to feel about their treatment in the story. All I can offer is that I'm one flawed individual and there are things I have the emotional capacity to handle and things I don't. Crowley and Aziraphale as both a canon construct and a fandom pairing mean an absurd amount to me, and I can't hang around in spaces where people are constantly talking about how my own interpretations of them are not enough, or how the story is written with ill intentions. I don't want to stop anybody from venting about it, but I am going to be removing myself from those situations.

I like to imagine 1990 NeilandTerry, or TerryandNeil, as a sort of two-headed God who came up with Crowley and Aziraphale, set them loose on Creation, and now are watching them get up to way more ridiculous stuff in the brains of their fans than they'd ever imagined in the first place. I like to imagine them watching, amused and bemused, as their creations fall in love in thousands of universes, and saying, "Well, we didn't specifically Plan for this, but we did promise free will."

This is psychoanalytical toward a public figure and is therefore a bit dangerous, so please take it with an entire mountain of salt, but I sometimes think perhaps Neil sees some of his and Terry's friendship in Crowley and Aziraphale, and suspect that he wants to reserve the possibility that they could be platonic because he and Terry were platonic, while at the same time leaving room for the fans to have their own interpretations, too. Because if there's one thing that comes up really frequently with Neil, it's his belief in imagination and how much stories matter to people. He can have his little corner of the universe where A and C reflect himself and Terry, and we can have...literally anything we want, as long as we're willing to extrapolate just a little bit from canon. It's not even that much extrapolation! It's just "Yes, they love each other, so what exactly does love mean to you?" and if love means kissing, well then, if we can think it, we can have it.

Given that Neil has written LGBT+ characters before, I think he has non-bigoted reasons for wanting Aziraphale and Crowley to remain undefined, and given even the small chance that those reasons may involve the grieving process for a dead friend, I believe it is unkind to argue with him about it or hold his reputation hostage over it.

With that said, do I want canon kissing/hooking up/all that stuff we put in fics? Listen, I can't deny that I do! Personally, I'd be over the moon. I'd probably be so happy I'd have to go to the hospital to get sorted out. Even the thought of it makes me giddy and light-headed, because that physicality is a part of my own experience of love.

However, there are a lot of people who would feel left behind if that happened. Ace and aro people in the fandom whose love for their friends and partners is just as strong as mine, but who are sex-repulsed or just don't want to see kissing on-screen. The loss of Crowley and Aziraphale as a pairing who are extremely easy to interpret as queerplatonic would be hurtful to them, and I do not want to see them hurt like that. I don't think Neil does, either.

So, once again, the "best for everyone" option becomes a really strong canon relationship based in both narrative function and profound affection, which has genuinely thoughtful queer undertones and leaves open the logical possibility for romantic or sexual encounters but does not insist that they must happen. People, especially fans who are super invested, tend to have an easier time imagining scenarios that take place off-screen (e.g. kissing, sex) than they have erasing scenarios that they've already seen in canon (e.g., if someone wished they could continue viewing it as an ace relationship but they were shown "hooking up"). Also, while relationships are super emotional and extremely subjective, I'd argue that in a long-term adult partnership, the non-sexual connection is more important than the sexual one. As a fan, I'd prefer to extrapolate "they love each other so maybe they'd have sex" rather than "they're sexually attracted to each other so maybe they'll intertwine their whole existences together."

It probably isn't necessary to add, but I will anyway: I'm aware that Good Omens is sort of sacrificing social leverage - the ability to whack homophobes over the head with canon if they try to deny the show's queerness - and is thus not really contributing to making specifically gay relationships more widely seen and accepted. However, I don't think all stories have to invest heavily in every social issue they touch on for them to still be meaningful. I also do think Good Omens is an excellent example of a relationship that is extremely profound without being heteronormative.

I don't think the next season is going to be a rom-com. It will likely not even be a "love story," where the definition of "love story" is "a story that follows the development of a relationship and employs certain plot beats to make its point." Remember that conflicts and breakups are key to love stories, so if it IS a love story, then we're going to have to watch the relationship get challenged in ways some of us might have thought were already resolved in season 1! And while that could be thrilling and ultimately very good, it would also be likely to undercut some of the careful headcanoning and analysis we've already done. Any sequel is going to do that to some degree, but a second love story would probably do it a lot, with interpretations that people are even more protective of.

I'm sort of thinking the next season is likely to be a fantasy-heavy mystery, only because those are the two concepts Neil's introduction led with - an angel with amnesia who presents Crowley and Aziraphale with a mystery. Crowley and Aziraphale's connection to each other can still absolutely be a major theme! It can still be the thread stitching the plot together! It just probably, in my opinion, won't escalate and escalate and escalate like it did in season 1. And it will probably be woven in there among a lot of other plot threads that are, in many moments, louder. Still, I'd love to be left with the impression of these two existences, the light and the dark, subtly becoming more intimate, subtly growing more comfortable in this shared place they've chosen in the universe, gradually starting to behave like they know they aren't alone in the world anymore, all while other things happen to and around them.

Nonsexual physical intimacy - a really great hug, or leaning together on the sofa, or a forehead touch, or something like those, something that could happen in a lot of different kinds of relationships but is undoubtedly based in deep trust and affection and a desire to be close...that's the dream, for me. Oh, how lovely it would be.

Of course, I could be just absolutely, embarrassingly wrong about all this. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

[flipflap-flipflap]

[Alright take-two on this damn post.  First one got eaten by post editor right as I was ready to post.  You see how long this is?  Save to drafts, kids.]

I’m here to shove a manga on you: Ookami Shounen Wa Kyou Mo Uso O Kasaneru (The Boy Who Cried Wolf Also Told a Lie Today).  It’s a gender bending romance.  Despite how awful that probably sounds, it’s actually really fucking good and I do not say that lightly. 

(No spoilers, this is all in the first chapter)  A high school boy insecure about his intimidating face, Itsuki, has fallen for a shy loner girl, Tokujira, who does not seem specifically phased by his naturally scary face.  So he takes a risk and confesses, but she turns him down brutally.  Itsuki goes to his sister to lament his insecurities about his face, which he (more or less correctly) attributes as why he can’t make connections.  To give him a new perspective on his appearance, his sister (trans btw) gives him a makeover while he’s sleeping and then kicks him to the curb of her salon - fully crossdressed.  On his way home, Itsuki (♀) ends up bumping into Tokujira, and she mistakes him for a boyish girl.  Under this misunderstanding, she asks "her” for a favor...

She has androphobia, and she has it bad.  So much so she can’t even look at men without snapping violently or becoming physically ill.  And Itsuki (♀) is just boyish enough to trigger her, but not enough to lock her down.  So she asks for “her” help, to see if she can desensitize herself to her phobia. Itsuki’s in a bind for a couple obvious reasons, not the least being the guilt of deceiving Tokujira. But nonetheless, he genuinely wants to help her.  So, he decides to continue crossdressing, diving into a lie that he soon finds he has no easy exit from.

I really recommend this manga.  I cannot say that enough times.  It is phenomenal, shattering tropes left and right in fun and interesting ways.  Do yourself a favor and give this manga a try.

Personal feelings and meta analysis below the cut.  It’s, uh, ungodly long, and will get very spoilery.  But I will flag spoilers.  And there will be pretty pictures?

(Also, no, I did not go into this planning to compare a manga about crossdressing to the abolitionist writings of Frederick Douglass, but reality deserves to be a bit absurd sometimes.)

Before you think I’m getting spoilery, with the intro I gave or anything I don’t mark as spoilers, I’m really not.  Everything outside of spoilers is right on the package at the start.  It sounds like I’m spoiling late-game stuff, right?  That’s something that was really fantastic to me: this manga doesn’t spoon feed you.  There’s no arcs of pure silent angst, even at the lowest point in the story. These kids are smart, they think and intuit on the spot, and they share what they’re feeling with each other like good friends do.  Like that next panel down there with Itsuki introspecting about his confidence level while crossdressing?  That’s from the first chapter!  These kids are smart.  And god damn that is so nice to see.

There was a lot I liked about this manga, but at the top is how compelling the protagonist and his internal conflict are.  Right from the first chapter he’s already wracked with guilt about what he’s about to do: deceive this girl by pretending to be a safe space.  But Tokujira told Itsuki (♀) she hopes to one day be able to fall in love, and Itsuki wants to ensure she can have that - even if it’s not him that gets to confess to her.  He’s fully aware of exactly how fucked up what he’s doing is, and is appropriately beating himself up over it in a really realistic way.  But although the guilt never fades, it slowly gains company in happiness. He enjoys this new, fragile life he has constructed around the two precious new friends he's made as a girl.

It was probably easy to gloss over in the synopsis, but arguably the biggest part of Itsuki (♂)’s conflict is his complex about his face.  He looks dangerous, and because of that he is afraid to even lift his head or smile in front of others.  But as Itsuki (♀), he smiles and laughs without fear.  It becomes immediately clear to him on the first day that he's a more confident person while crossdressing.  Happier in a way he can't be as a man.

Botan is easily my favorite character in the series.  She’s introduced early on, as Tokujira’s first and only friend before Itsuki (♀).  At the start she’s a dangerous third wheel, a serious threat to Itsuki’s ability to keep up his lie.  And though the situation is (thankfully) defused rather quickly, she becomes a massive source of internal conflict for Itsuki. Nonetheless, she becomes a dear friend for both Itsuki ♂ and ♀. She’s just so...*chef’s kiss*

^This face is the repository of all my love and affection.

Mark my words, this is the first and I assume last time I will ever say this: love triangle good. You know it’s inevitable in a romance genre piece, but this manga approaches the trope in a new and compelling way. [Spoiler] Needless to say, it’s between Itsuki, Tokujira, and Botan.  But...there’s two Itsukis involved, ♂ and ♀, and in the center of it all is this lie. His lie stops being about him: it's about not hurting these two girls he cares so much about. [/Spoiler]

On a more personal note, I saw so much of myself in Itsuki’s older sister, Ibuki.  She runs a salon, catering especially to crossdressers and transwomen.  She’s a self-described “Youthling”, an alien from the planet Youth, obsessed with observing the exciting and turbulent lives of the youths of earth.  For more or less for the same reasons most of us do: transpeople don’t tend to get the youths we want, if we allow ourselves to experience youth at all. So it’s nice to be able to enjoy it vicariously, through this younger generation that is able to more fearlessly pursue the lives we couldn't. 

^Incidentally, one of my favorite interactions in the manga.

Despite getting Itsuki into this crossdressing mess, she’s someone he can always return to and confide in, and get good, helpful advice from.  Her whole philosophy is to give young people agency to explore their identities and find themselves, and though she tells Itsuki the road he's taking is dangerous as soon as she learns what he's doing, she'll always support him however she can.

That, I feel, is what separates her from other, more creepy/pedophilic enabler types, like Sawako from K-On! or Lucoa from Dragon Maid. It’s a refreshingly honest and respectful portrayal of a quirky adult just trying to be a good older sister.

The last thing I want to say, and I’m not going to even mark this as a spoiler because of course it’s going to happen and if you can’t predict that then you’re not my problem, is that Itsuki of course eventually has to drop his lie.  All I’ll say about it is that it is probably going to live in my head for years. Everything about it, the lead up, the execution, the fallout, and the recovery, are all so masterfully crafted for maximum emotional impact.

That’s all I want to say exclusively about my personal feelings.  On to analysis.  There will be a lot more contextual spoilers here that, even without reading the parts I’ve specially blocked off will probably leak through.  Read at your own risk, but I would recommend revisiting after you have finished the manga.

One thing I really want to talk about is language.  That’s right, I’m going to compare a crossdressing manga to The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, the autobiography of a freed slave turned abolitionist. Douglass talks about a concept that has remained imprinted on my mind ever since I first read it: how and why slaves struggled to comprehend the concept of freedom.  This wasn’t anything to do with fear or “racial inferiority” like pro-slavers would argue, but rather with a lack of vocabulary.  They have all of these feelings and things they know to be true, but lack the words to make meaningful sense of them.  For Douglass specifically, his life completely changed when he learned the word “abolition.”  It was like a floodgate burst, as he was suddenly able to put meaning to feeling, create context from chaos.

And that’s right, we see that happen in a big way, with Tokujira.  This should be an obvious development, but as it happens late in the manga I will mark it [Spoiler].  As Tokujira and Itsuki (♀) practice things like talking, eye contact, holding hands, etc., Tokujira naturally starts to fall for Itsuki (♀).  But she doesn’t understand that.  An important part of her character is that, growing up, she focused on expanding her vocabulary as much as humanly possible in the hopes of being able to better articulate herself.  So words are very important to her.  It’s not until she sees a work of lesbian fiction on display that she finally realizes that’s the word she’s looking for.  The floodgate bursts, and all of her emotions suddenly make sense.  She realizes she loves Itsuki (♀). [/Spoiler]

And I think that is a vital and underexplored concept when discussing LGBT youth, especially in countries where even knowledge of these concepts is taboo.  The reason so many LGBT youth struggle with their identities, especially trans youth, is because we do not have the vocabulary to conceptualize our feelings.  I am always excited to see this concept play out, especially in this context.  It’s such an important thing that needs to be addressed more broadly.

Moving on, I want to talk about historical context of the genre as it relates to what the author did here.  Notably, I want to talk about a specific trope rampant in Japanese queer fiction, specifically early lesbian fiction: the idea that queerdom is a meaningless, youthful phase that children will naturally and inevitably grow out of.  It’s problematic for obvious reasons.

[HELLA HELLA SPOILERS]  My kneejerk reaction to the ending of this manga was that the author fell into this trope.  In the end, Itsuki comes to the conclusion that he does not need to crossdress.  So again, kneejerk.  But...it really wasn’t like that.  He never had any dysphoria; crossdressing was always just a necessity of his circumstance.  Nonetheless he learned to analyze and value his experience crossdressing as a woman, and because of that grew as a man.  And as part of his journey to understand his identity we, through him, see why some people crossdress.  Along with his example, we see why his sister, a bona fide post-op transsexual, has made it a permanent change to her life.  Likewise, we see Miyama, who crossdresses purely for the gender euphoria, but has no (stated) interest in going all the way.  These are all presented as valid and meaningful. [/Spoiler]

Crossdressing, and gender nonconformity in general, is portrayed not as some one-dimensional fetish like cultural taboo would depict it to be, but rather a meaningful exercise for exploring and critically analyzing your own identity.  For some, yes, it’s a phase, but an importantly transformative one when done right.  While for others, it is a gateway to a new way of experiencing and enjoying life.  Or, it’s fun just for the pragmatic reasons...

I honestly cannot recommend this manga enough.  Tragically, I cannot imagine it ever getting an official english translation, so you’ll have to settle for a  scanlation like the one I linked in the title up top (and here, again).  It’s a really good translation, though the site is predictably sketchy.  Warning for lots of NSFW ads.

Read it, and then come talk to me about it!!!  There is basically zero fan community and I need to fangirl with someone!

[psychedelictrashpanda]

It’s been awhile, weird old blog with unspecified direction. How about more of me me me?

I finally did DMT again, and WOW. It’s been at least a full decade since the last time. I still didn’t quite “break through” enough to “meet the entities” again but mein GOTT was it healing. Speaking of God, we’ll get to that soon... But before smoking the dimitri, I was beginning to sustain a mania in slow motion with dissociatives again. Not to any extreme like I did with PCP long ago (btw, glancing at my Eyehategod poster, I realize that horror/metal fest when I was blasted on PCP the entire time was all the way back in 2013! It seems to much more recent, but the way these drugs interact with memory is very peculiar. or maybe it was the traumatizing effect of it and other things at the time that makes me block out and thus distort the time signature of the memory... I digress). And I don’t have the destructive tendencies I did in the past anyway, so I’ve never been apt to push it as far as I was when I was shooting up 3-meo-pcp and blacking out for days at a time. I mean, I did push it I suppose. For the main George Floyd protests I was loading up on a combination of things. Can’t even remember if that was my sober window between methadone detox and the suboxone I’m on now. But, I was combining bits of weird PCP offshoots with opiate offshoots (4-map iirc) and/or kratom with maybe a drop of benzo... straddling the line between going overboard and a “party dose” for lack of a better descriptor; between recreation and desperation. In retrospect, I was summoning the courage to act like my old self used to in these sorts of situations. That is, giving it my all, being novel about it, idk, summoning the spirit of Dr Gonzo I suppose (who, after reading his two books, was more slimey of a jerk than he’s presented in Hunter’s stories. well, I need to finish the Cockroach People book, he started getting into his attraction to underage girls as a young 20-something man himself and ugh, gross). My true wild & adventurous spirit has been hampered, weighed down with anxiety and depression and all manner of undiagnosed mental illness. Who knows if it’s more the drugs or the environmental factors that trigger drug use, but the spirit is tortured like Griffith in the torture dungeon, the heart is wrapped in a black grime guarded by the Beast of Darkness, the will is subordinated to authoritarian capitalist hegemony...

Where was I? Oh so I started suboxone for the second time in my life innnn... February I want to say. Last time I did it I was able to detox myself simply buying subs off the street, but I did it too quick. That’s been one problem, every time I detox rapidly it’s too harsh a push back into reality and I succumb to relapse less then a year into sobriety. The reason reality is harsh is the same reason my stance on anti depressants has been further cemented. I’ve articulated it better lately... Basically I believe it’s a weird solution to depression to force your chemical makeup into the right position to function properly in the same environment that caused it in the first place. “It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.” One of my conversations with a young college friend really illuminated why many don’t even consider this position. She was insistent there’s no cause of depression, you’re just born with a fucked up mind. Now sure, hereditary disposition is a thing, as a drug addicted child of an addict I should know. But for example she pointed to another friend with hard depression and was like “his life seems fine what explanation could there be?” But I put forth maybe his childhood of having to closet his homosexuality in a hard conservative family that had the possibility of disowning him if they knew about it contributed to that “natural chemical imbalance,” as it’s implied. YES, some people NEED it. But for the most part, it really seems to me to be what I’m gonna call the thyroid phenomenon. That is to say, a medical explanation for a small fraction of severely affected patients is used as a broad brush by the public to diagnose themselves. Forewarning: I am not fat shaming here, forgive the example. Dietary practices are a personal thing so my feelings are stronger as well. Anyway, it seems to me as soon as this thyroid malfunction became a hard biological explanation for obesity beyond the psychological, suddenly everyone was a candidate. It’s fine to think “maybe I have it” but when a growing and significant portion of the obese crowd started screaming they all had thyroid problems and can’t help themselves, when a teensy percentage actually do... well it sort of touches on the “addiction as a disease” narrative that’s never sat well with me. Addicts use the disease reasoning to skirt personal responsibility. I'm not denying it is a disease, but I believe calling it as such in the public discourse isn’t terribly constructive. (Okay, you’re seeing an opinion change in real time here... I changed my mind.) I was vehemently against the narrative, but I need to readjust to simply make people WARY of the narrative. As an addict, I could easily see myself using the excuse of it being a disease as a fatalist function; that is to say giving in, relinquishing personal control over my fate. Hereditary disposition, Rat Park, addiction as a disease... there’s also a severe lack of control it all conjures. Paradoxically, drugs can used to meticulously control your state of mind. I can’t control my desire to control myself?

God where was I going with this... Oh! God! May as well mention I’ve been warming up more and more to the spirit of monotheism beyond it’s structural and institutional dimensions. I could get deep into my recent past of not believing in the idea of a spirit, soul, etc. How the pendulum of my ideology swings between cold rationalism and loose spirituality, especially as I go through phases of rebellion against perceived oppressors. Growing up in a red state with a lot of Christian ideals, society around me was always telling me everything I seemed to like was the work of Satan. Naturally, I started reading into Satanism. I never self identified with occult-esque belief structures, except maybe chaos magick because it’s whole idea is to merge whatever practices work into something of your own, but I did staunchly identify as anti christian. Not a hard thing to do when you’re already a metal head, which definitely fueled the trajectory. Not to mention metal helped goad me into DXM use (thanks Velvet Cacoon ya bunch of goons), the first real psychedelic journeys I had. Because I never gave real consideration to myself having depression, I moulded my personal ideology around the symptoms it causes. Which is why for awhile after coming to terms with depression as a problem I probably have, I was only able to identify it in retrospect. I never felt it in real time because it was so old-coat to me, I adapted to it like an addict adapts to their drug of choice and ti becomes their world. So I would decide to skip social events, let my room get messy, watch only old comfort shows, etc... but only AFTER emerging from that state was I able to immediately look back and think “wait... I was doing all those things because I was depressed.” In the moment, it’s rationalized as “I don’t want to see these people for these reasons” or “I want to watch spongebob because it’s fun and an old favorite.” Rationalization, the concept of the west, serves as a detriment to the individual in a number of manners. This is one. I was a MASTER at rationalizing away my drug use. Statistically, more people die from this this and that, why be worried that I’m on this drug instead? Statistics quelled the perceived danger. It was also a formative tool in my skills of justification. I always felt I had to justify every action I took, but that’s getting back into family matters...

But why not bring that up? it’s a sore spot. I feel like the tables have flipped from my dad always saying “you all just think I’m an asshole!” to me thinking I’m the asshole. It’s too much to get into but I’ll touch on a couple important things... I’ve learned a major source of my anxiety is not being able to draw the boundaries between business and family and myself, because they’re not properly defined. When I’m told by my bossfather after explaining the distress I feel simply thinking about the family company, and he goes typically all-or-nothing when I touch on crucial issue and says “if you want out just tell me you want out”, I can’t separate between whether he’s saying it as a father or as a boss in the moment. He would say, “of course I just mean the company”, but where does company end and family begin? It’s also an intense pressure, maybe shame, simply typing this and thinking in the back of my head about someone who might read and think “what a spoiled brat, has a family company and blah blah.” But who put all that in my head? He says he’s changed from the days of putting immense pressure on me with the sort of sentiments that cause that shit in my head like always telling me how great I have it and all the opportunities, shit, I’m feeling it right now, the frustration and I can’t even identify these emotions. At least I am aware of them, that’s a huge milestone for me. But the only thing that’s changed is he sees me as a the broken mother fucker I am and treats me as such. Sometimes it’s nice, and sincere sympathy, other times his frustration with having to check his language all the time is palpable so it does no good to do so. The immense pressure, the intense urgency, the confusing complexity, all those market pressures haven’t changed. This is evident when we were driving somewhere and I suggested not worrying about the fastest route on the map because one minute isn’t a big deal and he insisted that one minute IS a big deal. Sweating one fucking minute indicates a mountain of reputational pressure. In a way, that one minute is putting business ahead of family, but I feel harsh saying it because as he’s pounded into my head the business is what allows the family to survive. Not to mention why put the crack head of the family above that one minute (not literal crack, but it was obvious as soon as he saw I was “fucking around” on ketamine he decided to not take me as seriously) Still, I’ve made my decision that survival reasoning is fucking bullshit already. He’s the one that wants a mansion and wants enough mailbox money for us not to have to worry ever again, so he’s the one deliberately creating the pressure. Maybe he hasn’t considered how hardened he’s become to those feelings after a lifetime in the street and in prison. I really feel for mom. She’s okay now, but her spirit... It’s part of the reason I can’t relax myself at home. He has always painted her as dead weight in the past, never getting a job, sitting watching TV, but he’s unable to connect the dots psychologically because we’re all layman that part of the reason she’s like that is because her actions have been demonized already so who the fuck she got to prove herself to? Same reason I fell into relapse sometimes. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t sort of deal. The damned if I don’t being the reputation of yourself you have to live with after getting sober. He says “don’t worry about it” but I couldn’t accept that because the reason he doesn’t trust me (never mind respect, that’s even further away) is informed by my past. I can’t complain that he never allowed me to contribute to a crucial decision like choosing the building for the dispensary, talking about whether we want a certain investor or not, etc, is because that’s not something to entrust to a druggie. I’ve always felt he let me play make-believe CEO and gave me an allowance for it, while telling me otherwise. He’d say “this is all for you” but he’s making the decisions that truly move mountains and then putting it on us. Which is why I have a hard time saying “I want out”, he can be a baby about things just as much as I am, and I fear he’d let his entrepreneurial drive be affected by my departure. Sigh, this is already getting to be a headache to think about... He’s tired. I’m tired.

There was also something I wanted to say regarding the role social constructs play in all this, but it’s getting long enough already. Suffice to say I’ve been getting into psychoanalysis lately and it’s scratching the right itch for knowledge and wisdom. I can see why Zizek is enamored with Lacan, and why it’s so important to mix it with Marxism. And not to toot my own horn, but what the hell... There are a lot of lofty ideas I’ve been coming across that are already parallel to ideas I’ve developed through my own life experience, and it makes me think I’m meant for this sort of stuff. If I’m lucky in my pursuits (not to put too much weight on the luck aspect), I’ll be a journalist of some sort. Articles, video essays, whatever. Need to rein in my indecisiveness and dispel FOMO tho.

Back to DMT. But not really. Earlier in the summer I got some straight Ketamine and it was also immensely healing. But it has a great abuse potential, especially for me, so it’s harder to “hang up the phone” after I get the message as TmK would say. It made me feel again, and start to understand what love is. Partly because it conjured all these lost feels I had for Kat. She’s great people though, I think I’d just stress her out too much. Idk. Whatever. My love life is a total mess. Anyway after I ran out I wanted more of course and stumbled on some DCK, a somewhat rare ketamine offshoot. Coupled with my increasing propensity to trip acid more than once a week, they started building on each other. I was happier and happier at home, but at work/fam was getting more and more distressed about my place in that whole show. In his show. Simply thinking about the company, especially after having read that article about procrastination and how much it resonated with me, caused me unnecessary levels of distress. Normally as quickly as I can feel that, my mind will tuck it away and bottle it up somewhere so I can go about my day. The problem with drugs is they cause you to act instead. So he was doing the usual “it’s so easy! you’ll have it made!” and I interrupted with this torrent of shit I’ve been holding back forever, and he would not yield on his “you didn’t let me finish...” Incidentally, has he really never picked up on every time I interrupt I already know what he’s talking about? I said as much, something like “it’s not the labor” and he keeps saying “no you’re not listening” as though a frivolous detail changed the main thrust of the fact he’s always trying to make it easier for me. I wish he could simply let me go off and have the strength to take it a little less seriously, but considering how often I take things personally I shouldn’t be surprised he does to. On top of this, his brother/my uncle was in the hospital for some serious shit. But another reason I picked this time is because I only feel safe even confronting him when non-involved parties are around. He doesn’t care that I don’t feel safe confronting him though, he says “don’t worry about me” so maybe I shouldn’t. I feel like such an asshole about it, but that feeling is conjured by the ideological structure he helped to create. Where does my shame end with him being the causation and start with my personal ideology? How much can a person create their own ideology, truly? It’s about as small a window as free will, I imagine.

SO after feeling awful for going off after having all this stuff build up in my mind, I felt awful and went home to drug up some more. Again, not recklessly to the extent I used to be. But I did a fat line of DCK while on a couple hits of LSD and a smidgen of Zolpidem (a wholly underrated substance). Everything was getting to me all at once. A perfect storm of my problems. All the while another doubt caused by ideology from without (society and family both) was making me think it’s all the drugs. But the developments I’ve made are huge strides, I’ve matured so much from it all. And I realized every time I do this, those developments are wiped clean because the validity of them is rendered null due to both the general social stigma of drugs and my history with them. And maybe that’s a major trigger fo rmy relapse in the past. I’m not suppose to be on drugs, but I dabble, have incredible experiences and make strides of maturity, but because it’s drugs the exact opposite effect is percieved from the outside; the experiences are simple chemical euphoria, the strides of maturity are false delusions. It triggers a sharp roll back down hill. I wish someone respected me for who I am, I feel so alone sometimes.

Drugs as an umbrella term, drugs as a vice for the worst dregs of society. There are so many problems in our world regarding drugs. I could write a book. But how much I’ve written here touches on another pressure I feel. IS it simply him again? When he asks “you’re gonna be gone in a few days right?” is that what’s making me feel like this is a waste of time? I’ve got to get out of here. It’s so hard though. I simply have to be strong. The strength is in me to take the massive cut to pay and benefits when I move. Maybe I’ll get a portion of my strugglers card back and shit heads like Blasey Shomas can’t simply say “why don’t you take care of yourself instead of daddy taking are of you?” anymore. Part of me wants to say he says that because he’s driven by his own emotions and not smart enough to directly debate my claims, his insults should hold no weight. Another part of me is truly trying to be... I don’t know a proper term for it without sounding egotistical, but “enlightened”? This is why monotheism is sounding more interesting to me. Jesus’ position about those dregs of society. I’ve always tried to be a trusting person, understanding of people’s struggles, the ideologies they function under that make them lash out or otherwise act the way they do, etc. I even changed my wording there from “I’ve always been” to “I’ve always tried to be.” Not so much for my usual reasons of dodging a committing claim (which I’m working on -- instead of “I think ___” just say what I believe to give the claim more sense of authority so as to be taken more seriously), but trying to be more humble. And not to think lowly and use myself as a punching bag like I used to... ugh, whatever. This post is messy enough.

So that night after having done DCK every day for a couple weeks and tripping every other night on acid, I was at my wits end on what to do, where to go next, everything. The outside world is crumbling, the inside world is lost. I finally whipped out that DMT I’ve had for a long while, something inside told me it was time. Oh duh it was the wits end part, I had no other chemical recourse. I sat in my bed with a foil sculpture loosely resembling a pipe, repeated to myself “it’s okay, just let it happen to you, it will be okay.” A part of me even had a small fear based on those rare reports of those interdimensional beings mentally raping some people, but I don’t know what to make of those experiences, seem like flukes. I took my three deep hits and set the pipe aside as soon as the rusb began and laid back. It wasn’t enough to break through, so I need to get a proper pipe, but it was enough for a “being” (which I am convinced is a part of your mind, not from another dimension or otherwise external source) to appear before me. At least I think. Whatever it was slowly came closer, reassuring me that I’d be okay. The most profound part was an overwhelming sense of all these puzzle pieces suddenly falling perfectly into place where they should be. As though the answers to all my struggles obvious and within me the whole time. For example as soon as I came back I adjusted my posture, as that’s something that I’ve been wanting to work on, and because I was reminded of that just now I adjusted my posture in my seat while writing this. I felt an overwhelming sense of forgiveness toward myself, I think. Amazingly, the inebriation I felt before the trip was largely dissolved, as though the stuff I was on somehow all lost it’s potency. The distresses melted away. At least, the power behind them was nulled. I’m still facing the same problems, but there’s a zen(?) quality to my thinking when they come up in my mind. No longer will a pin drop trigger everything I’m feeling all at once. When I came-to completely, I started BAWLING. In being overwhelmingly consoled by the trip, I became inconsolable. Tears of joy. Tears of healing. And that was the main takeaway. The loudest words of the experience were “Now the healing can truly begin.” At the same time, now the real work also begins. 

Balance is key

[bcwallin]

One Nostalgia Later

Zero barely talks about his great lost love. As the “aged proprietor” of an “enchanted old ruin” known as the Grand Budapest Hotel, he tells his life story by skipping around her presence, touching on the existence of his “darling Agatha,” but avoiding falling into the pit of despair. Beautiful things don’t get to be completed in his world, where poems are always cut off, nice sentiments are interrupted, and the dark specter of war and disease cuts short any hope of living long, living with love. The man who “struck one as being, deeply and truly, lonely” knows what it is to lose.

For a brief time, Zero and Agatha shared a love. They were outcasts, ignored, working in service jobs that required self-abnegation—he as a hotel lobby boy; she, the pastry girl at a bakery. We see them in their bedrooms; it’s not much. “We did not have 50 Klubecks between the two of us,” recalls the older Zero. They worked long, demanding hours and had few moments to spare. Zero’s meals were held with the rest of the hotel staff. Agatha suffered the overbearing, watchful eye of her boss at the bakery, Herr Mendl. Being together was difficult, but the few moments they shared were rapturous. Their courtship felt like young love feels: furtive, secretive, and bursting with flushed emotion.

That young love never gets to mature. Agatha dies too early. “An absurd little disease,” the older Zero says parenthetically of the cause of death. So, every moment is preserved in amber, but never lingered on for too long. “She is a nearly absent presence in the story, by Zero’s choice: a narrative door marked ‘Do Not Enter,’” writes Matt Zoller Seitz, in his book about the movie. “He won’t speak of her. It’s too painful, and he’s too private.” But the aged Zero can’t tell his story without including her, try as he might. And we get glimpses.

On one good day, Zero and Agatha go to a carousel. They’re accompanied by Herr Mendl, but they barely notice. Zero gives his love a gift. He’s so anxious for her to like it, he can’t even wait for her to open the wrapping before he bursts out with what it is. He can’t contain his love in the inscription, either: “For my dearest, darling, treasured, cherished Agatha, whom I worship. With respect, adoration, admiration, kisses, gratitude, best wishes, and love.”

Throughout their courtship, the world around Zero and Agatha bursts at the seams with the portents of war, as newspapers tease, armies gather, and the brightly colored, idyllic world of the fictional state of Zubrowka teeters on the brink. The start of the war, after all, sees the appearance of black-clad death squads, and eventually, the draining of color from the film itself. Darkness and death loom quietly, but no matter what’s going on in the world, a first love is a first love. And it’s all encapsulated in a single image.

Agatha’s face takes up the center of the boxy frame—her gaze is transfixing. She stares lovingly, straight through the camera. We’re Zero, locking eyes with her. The colors shift over her face as carousel lights turn behind and around her. She is radiant, then shadowed, then red. She has the slightest hint of a smile, her head tilted, just so. Agatha stares with her deep blue eyes and it’s near-impossible to look away. But who would want to?

In this single moment, the music fades as if it’s playing somewhere else, the lights haze, as the focus can only be directed toward Agatha. Time is frozen, if only for a moment, as we experience the ecstasy of loving and knowing you are loved. Of early love, with its rushed heartbeats, tingling limbs, empty stomachs, stuttering lips, and sweaty brows. We hold onto this eternally familiar moment. As Italo Calvino once wrote, describing a different, frozen moment in time: “The suspicion that has gripped me is precisely this: that I have come to find myself in a space not new to me, that I have returned to a point where we had already passed by.”

* * *

The Grand Budapest Hotel continues a literary tradition that’s stretched from Dante to Moulin Rouge!: women die tragically and their lovers memorialize them in their writings. Agatha is an ideal, an image. Like Madeleine to Scotty in Vertigo (but less creepy), like the woman of an aged Mr. Bernstein’s tale in Citizen Kane (but more meaningful), Agatha exists as a memory or a reference.

With its frames within frames of shifting perspectives and aspect ratios, The Grand Budapest Hotel is distinctly literary. Its opening monologue is lifted nearly verbatim from Beware of Pity by Stefan Zweig, an author whose work is credited with inspiring the film, whose mustache seems to appear on more than one character’s face, and whose disappearing world is fictionalized as the setting. Zweig’s non-fiction is a great example of the longing for a lost place; his fiction for lost people. In his novella Journey into the Past, Zweig chronicles the long-awaited reunion of a man and a woman who had once been deeply in love, years ago. “How much time, how much lost time, and yet in the space of a second a single thought took him back to the very beginning.”

Zweig’s stories are often framed as recollections told over, as stories shared with strangers because of their absolute meaningfulness—much like the memorializing by grieving lovers of literary tradition—because these memories needed to be stories, to be remembered by somebody else. Zweig’s framing characters look to create the literature of their own lived stories. Journey into the Past sees two characters, Ludwig and an unnamed woman,  returning to their own story, with one seeking to consummate his unrequited love of nine years’ distance. They had had an emotional affair, tucked into passionate glances and tacit communication, years earlier, while her husband was alive. They kissed where they could, but they had to hide from the servants who always seemed to be around at the least opportune time. Ludwig’s desires were never fully satisfied and he was called away on business so he could build his fortune. And he and his love made a promise to be together once he’d return.

But the trouble with remembering love is that its amber glow sets up dangerous expectations. After being away far longer than he’d have liked to be, Ludwig is greeted fondly by the woman’s staff. He joins his love to the literary tradition and wonders to himself, as Zweig writes, “Odysseus…the household dogs recognize you, will the mistress of the house know you again too?” He’s been away for nine years. He’s gotten married, but he still returns for a rendezvous with the woman he loved and lost, to fulfill a promise she had made him, but which she realizes she cannot keep. Ludwig recalls a couplet from a French poem by Paul Verlaine: “In the old park, in ice and snow caught fast / Two specters walk, still searching for the past.” The poem, which cuts off there in Zweig’s story, imagines a dialogue between lost lovers:

—Does your heart still surge at my very name?

Do you still see my soul when you dream?—No.

—Ah, the beautiful days of inexpressible bliss

When our lips met!—It may have been so.

—How blue the sky, how hopes ran high!

—Hope has fled, vanquished, to the black sky.

Like Jay Gatsby or Mr. Bernstein or Lemony Snicket, wondering what might have been, Ludwig and Verlaine’s narrator and an old Zero romanticize their visions of love as time goes by.

“Any adequate view of nostalgia will acknowledge that it involves a felt difference between past and present: the very irretrievability of the past is salient in the experience,” wrote philosophy professor Scott Alexander Howard. We may seek to stay in the past through memory, Howard tells us, because the present seems worse, because we didn’t realize how good life was, or because we’re spontaneously overtaken by nostalgia. Nostalgia may mean that we see the past as a time that was better, and while that doesn’t necessarily mean that our vision of the past is false, it does mean that things get amplified to a whole other level:

The nostalgist knows the past in question was unpleasant at the time, but in memory it is altered by certain effects: for example, the memory has acquired a gold patina, or it seems to be an uncanny distillation of a whole time period. Neither effect strikes the self-aware nostalgist as true to the quality of one’s experiences at the time when those memories were encoded. Yet they are part of what is targeted by nostalgia. The emotion seems to be directed precisely at the “fictional” features of the memory image—things which one recognizes to be not inside the scene on the other side of the window, but drawn onto the glass.

That amber glow or gold patina grows as we distance ourselves from a disappeared world. Zero’s story, his world, his love are by definition irretrievable.

The carousel (in reality, a wood frame built around a camera setup) is irretrievable. The lights (in reality, constructed to be evocative more than representative) are irretrievable. The shared moment—stolen between long shifts of service as Herr Mendl looks on—is gone, and its memory is a fictionalized, amberized construction of nostalgia and longing.

As the elder Zero looks back, the once garishly pink and red hotel now looks like a holdover from Soviet-era architecture, its colors a drab collection of beiges and oranges. The grand ballroom holds few diners and the place, in general, is empty. Guests push their own elevator buttons, serve themselves from vending machines, and, at times, even retrieve their own keys.

And Agatha. Zero holds onto her memory, but reveals very little of it. She has 15 lines in the film’s screenplay. The first time we hear of Agatha, the older Zero avoids saying much, and talks of her only when he has to. It’s all gone and irretrievable. Sort of.

* * *

One cold November night at Penn Station, the poet Alandra Markman, then going by the pseudonym Allan Andre, wrote a poem for me and a friend (we missed our train, but the delay was worth it). “One nostalgia later” gave a compelling portrait of family meals, “as winter nights dissolve into warm / recollection and company we’re still keeping.” The way the poem goes, we create our nostalgia as we live through moments, readying our stories to be told and remembered some time later on. “Let every glow, mechanical or felt, be one / with the shadows we’re still casting, / and guide our bodies into greater light.”

The story of Zero and Agatha’s love was created on the carousel. In that moment, we see their love blossoming, deepening, exploding with the soft-focus lights of ecstasy. The elder Zero tells us he’s exercising restraint, avoiding talking about Agatha as much as he can, but if he were truly offering a utilitarian telling, there’d be no need to include this gaze frozen in time. In that moment, we never see Zero head-on, never see the reverse shot of adoration. It’s only Agatha and light. And us.

The elder Zero tells the story to a writer, the writer remembers it long enough to write it as an older man, the older man’s book becomes important enough for him to become a beloved national author, and through the eyes of a devotee, we read this book. When Stefan Zweig incorporates listeners into the story, it’s not just for the purpose of framing. The value of a memory is in how it feels to the rememberer, but the value of a story is in how it feels to the one who hears it. It is the storyteller himself who seeks out the opportunity to tell his story—the older Zero needles the writer into admitting his curiosity and offers, of his own volition, to tell it  in full. The telling is not for the benefit of Zero himself; he is giving something to the author, creating an experience for his audience. With its multiple framings, The Grand Budapest Hotel tells us that we are the viewers, the listeners, the readers. We are part of the experience, and we create our nostalgia as we experience it, so we can tell the story later of a place with bright reds, dark blacks, and swirling lights.

I remember The Grand Budapest Hotel, and I remember those swirling lights and the clutched breath and the deep longing. I think about that one frame of Agatha, frozen in time, holding her lover’s gaze—holding our gaze—as the darkness briefly clouds her face. Every time Zero and the writer and Wes Anderson tell me the story, I see that darkness and I face the irretrievability. I don’t feel nostalgia; I feel regret. For Zubrowka and everything it represents. For the grandness of the Grand Budapest. For Agatha.

* * *

When Calvino wrote about his frozen moment, it was in the story “t zero,” in which the narrator, a hunter, faces a lion L, the arrow A just fired from the hunter’s bow at the time tx. The hunter considers the possibility that A will collide with L at point X and he will be saved, or that A will miss the target L, which would then sink its very sharp claws into his chest in the less preferable of situations. It feels familiar, the narrator tells us, though not because of a comparable lion he’s fought or some feeling of ancestral memory lodged in his DNA. “If I say this moment I am living through is not being lived for the first time by me, it’s because the sensation I have of it is one of a slight doubling of images, as if at the same time I were seeing not one lion or one arrow but two or more lions and two or more arrows superimposed with a barely perceptible overlapping, so the sinuous outlines of the lion’s form and the segment of the arrow seem underlined or rather haloed by finer lines and a more delicate color.” He is experiencing a sense of timelessness, as if he’s lived through this moment in time and space, again and again. “What, after all, is the use of continuing if sooner or later we will only find ourselves in this situation again?”

While the elder Zero withholds a lot, rewatching The Grand Budapest Hotel can feel like a slight glimpse into the heart of an old man, thinking about his lost love and the potential of bright colors and bursting emotion that could have continued for the rest of his life (the internet loves a revisionist theory about a movie—what if the Grand Budapest Hotel of the past only looks that way because of how Zero remembers it?). Calvino’s hunter is doubtful. Zero seems assured. He memorializes his beloved with the hotel that stands for their love. With the story he tells of her. And he lets us see a little.

And we see the near-imperceptible smile, the tilt of a head, the unblinking eyes, the brightness and the dark. We see the warm glow of memory that says how great this was and the hint of sorrow asking how great this could have been.

Originally published on Bright Wall/Dark Room

[ilkkawhat]

All the numbers. (If not all then pick and choose a handful to answer).

lol you’re really going for it anon, huh?? 😂 bless your heart. I’ll do all of them and then idk. if anybody wants to send any again, I’m sure I can have a different answer

(I did just answer 7 & 22 so I’ll leave those out. rest below the cut)

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

I guess if you count all of my active WIPs that have been sitting dormant for months or years, there’s those since I like. I know what I’m doing in pretty much all of them, just as I know what I’m doing in some of my unpublished WIPs, but I think I just need to be in a certain mood/energy to do certain ones (ie, Agony esp is a very heavy fic so I gotta be able to Deal with that)

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

I deleted those 😂😂😂 but some of my reeeeeealllllly old stuff is still out there and I cringe thinking about that and though I could easily delete those too, I’m keeping them just since the harddrive that has the docs for it is corrupted lol

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

Just all over the place these days tbh. Even chapter to chapter it’ll change, I’ll write snippets in future chapters--and I’m talking like three or four chapters ahead--just to get it out there. But then there’s other days where I’ll sit and just write and not stop.

4) favorite character you’ve written

Nick Stokes, of course 💜💜💜

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

Any of the Macgyver characters outside of Jack. Cause though I’ll claim not to all the time, I do know that I know the CSI characters (though I’m surprised I’m able to write in their POVs outside of Nick.) I grew up with them. I have a bond with them. The mac characters? I’ve only known for like. two years now and not even that well anymore since I’ve stopped watching the show. 

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

Expanding on details. Almost every fic I write, I’ll read it again later and be like “ah shit I should have run with this idea...” but I guess that’s how I can do a sequel/missing scene

8) favorite genre to write

hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt, really I mean we’re talking like borderline horror)

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

See I haven’t really honed in on any one particular thing that inspires me to write. It comes out of nowhere, and the following list of things doesn’t like, always work. When I’m listening to a song. When I’m driving in the car. When I’m watching something unrelated to the source material (totes got some inspiring vibes watching Falcon and The Winter Soldier yesterday tbh lmao) When I dream. When I go on a walk. When people send me asks and I just go the fuck off and suddenly ten chapters later I’m writing a fic that they probably didn’t even want (coughSpecimenStokescough)

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I think the last couple times I’ve like, really written it’s been in silence. Definitely alone. Don’t got people to write around, really lmao (unless you count my parents being in other rooms with obnoxiously loud televisions and tablets)

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

All of it. And I’m sure it’ll keep improving.

12) your weaknesses as an author

Dialogue. I don’t know how people talk 😂

13) your strengths as an author

Detail, description, and I also like to think--emotion? but idk. It’s hard for me to assess my strength tbh

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

Oh YES! At least for the longer WIPs like Last Breath or Agony. And listen to it on a loop when I’m trying to brainstorm or write if I want to write with music on. I’ve been starting to link the playlists when I’m doing with the fic (which is not many so far)

(I think Hellbound is the only one-shot I made a playlist for that I didn’t share)

15) why did you start writing?

I honestly can’t remember, cause I think I’ve been writing stories (fan fiction or not) ever since I was in middle school?? Maybe even elementary? But I do feel like I had gotten more encouragement for it than drawing from the few people in my life that did actively cheer me on, and there’s just something about writing that is so...fulfilling? Esp since I can’t like. Just manifest the images or make the “movie” in my head, at least I can write them down and hopefully convey what I see/feel in my mind through words.

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

All my neglected OCs lmao. I did and I guess on some level still do want to make an original series.

In a chilling way Veronica also haunts me cause I realize how much of that like, darkness in myself I put in her. 

And Nick, well, he’s just always on my mind.

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

Just fucking go for it! Don’t give a shit if anybody will read it or not. Take your time, flesh out those details. Describe what you see, what they see, what they feel. 

If you think you’re going too far...you’re not. 

keep going

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

I mean any fan fiction I read in the past has probably influenced me on some level. I know that when I came back to CSI in 2018, reading all of kristen999′s nick whump def encouraged me cause I was like “oh...there’s others like me who like to see him hurt!?!?” and I do think that maybe sometimes after I read a fic, I might like. Try to incorporate those styles I see. The way words are described, sentences constructed. Not like, copy of course but I feel like a long time ago my writing wasn’t really idk, novel-like? very short, almost read like a script whereas now, since I’ve seen the way people write their stories (some novel length stories, too), I flesh mine out a lot more.

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

I don’t 😂 Thinking of my bigger projects like Agony, I do just kind make up some of it as I go with a rough outline although sometimes it is a bit more detailed--like First Flight actually has a super detailed outline but I know that once I start writing, something might come up, some twist I didn’t think of before--or even one that somebody suggests to me, but idk I feel like I do have a way of tying everything together regardless? Cause especially with those bigger WIPs I will try to go back and re-read if something seems familiar or if I’ve forgotten a detail, or if I’m planning on diving back into it after a long break from it. 

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

Depends. I feel more accomplished with the long sit down sessions so I target that, but lately it’s been little spurts with maybe one big dump at the end of the week.

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

Mostly cringe, but there are times I’m like “holy shit this is really good???” 

like I remember recently I re-read Agony and loved it, when I wanted to delete it maybe like. a week before that. I think it honestly depends on my frame of mind, and why I’m going back to read the fic? Cause I’ve had times where I’m like “wait what was this one?” and then I read it and laugh at how bad it is, but then other times where I’m like, “I wanna read that one fic I did...” and then I do and it makes me happy.

But, I will always kinda criticize at the same time--”aw, I could do this better, I could have expanded on this,” etc

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

My life is suuuuuuper boring so. not really lmao. One of my earliest CSI fics that actually created what I consider to be my number one OC (she’d be the lead in that original series I mentioned earlier) came out of me sitting and staring into a campfire lmao. 

also there was this teacher I had (one of those good IRL supports) that told me a story of something that happened to her (or was it her daughter?) and I turned it into a story (back in my teen days) so. I guess there are somethings. 

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

Expert? No. But I will do numerous google searches to try and figure some stuff out and get lost in a rabbit hole of “research” for a while and hope that when I do write it, it comes off as I know what I’m doing when really, I do not lol.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

haven’t really written much in this past week, and certainly nothing to be proud of, but this line hit me like a ton of bricks for Specimen Stokes and I’m in love with it:

“Because, my dear specimen, I wanted to see if you loved the danger...or if you loved me.”

[sinnerburrito]

Jeremy's Companion Dialogue

It could have more stuff but i think it's big enough already.

- Can you tell me about yourself?

If you are up to listen the three hour long narrative of how I bravely explore the wasteland, sure why not?

I'm a courier, just like you, minus the whole "shot in the head" ordeal, used to be a prostitute too, a very good one, now I just deliver packages, read fortunes, steal, ya know, the usual.

- Fortunes?

Call it what you want, magic, lucky, madness. I know and see things... sometimes.

- And what do you see? (Answer differs based on karma/ affiliation)

You're a odd one, the cards you have is always shifting, but right now I see ...

Independent: a bright light smiles to you, thousands of wheels will guide you to freedom out a hill. The Bull don't know what's under its roves.

Legion: Blood paint the crosses, be careful with the fox, 83 is a large number and the man in gold will be not be followed.

NCR: Old laws of the old world has no place here, Shady, Sands, everything is corrupted. To others live some has to die.

MR. House: An delayed delivery, seven went and six came back, are you ready to bet all your caps in a platinum dream?

- Uh... Prostitute?

Look we all did things we are not proud of. It kept me alive and I'm thankful for that, but I'm out of this business.

-(Confirmed Bachelor) Maybe I can change your mind?

Maybe. But i think it would cost you 100 caps to try.

- Nice Tattoo.

Hey thanks. Is a family thing. And it actually goes around my body so if you're nice, I might show you one day.

-What's your thoughts on the Legion?

You're really asking me that? For real?

Okay I'll let that pass cause you got shot in the head but I'm a tribal and then a Legion slave some years ago. What the fuck you think it's my opinion.

-You don't look like a tribal.

Can't blame you. I only dance wearing my feathered headdress with paint in my body in very special occasions.

-Whats your thoughts on the BoS?

Same as the Legion, but not that bad.

I say i wouldn't beat the living shit of a Brotherhood member if they stood in a 1km radius near me.

- What's your thoughts on the White Glove Society?

They have quiet a....refined taste. Just stay away from them, trust me, better not try our luck to see if the rumors are true.

I know them seem polite but don't get fooled, I'm a fool myself and even I can can see what's up.

-What's your thoughts on the Omertas?

Oh, I'm going to be honest with you, they have a special place on my heart, there's not a single day I don't think about them what they did and keep doing.

I don't think they're a suitable sacrifice but this won't stop me to throwing every and single one of them into The Pit.

- Looks like you have something personal against them.

Is that obvious? Well, I do, and no, I won't elaborate.

- What's your thoughts on Mr. House?

Dude's a mineral and somehow still kicking everyone in the guts.

He's not so different from the Brotherhood. He only has more power.

- What's your thoughts on The Followers of the Apocalypse?

I'm on the fence about them. They're good but also not, kinda hypocritical if you want me to be honest, I think they sometimes act like everyone else is just poor lost stupid souls.

And for an anarchist group they depends an awfully lot on the NCR.

But you see, I have a talent to break bones, mine specifically, I don't know where I would be without their help. Probably alone in a shallow grave.

Oh fuck, sorry.

- What do you know about Benny?

The guys at The Tops? Head of the Chairman ? Checked train wreck?

A whole fucking lot.

If I could write it would be a hell of a book. He's an asshole as much he's ambitious.A compulsive backstabber too beautiful for his own good.

Don't underestimate him, if he have a plan for that chip of yours: Listen.

After his personal quest is completed

- So the Vipers are your family?

No No, I came out of a egg.

Yeah I guess so, I guess Ma still alive, somehow. I heard I had a sister once, ironically she didn't woke up after the Great Awakening but this was before I born.

My father....I have no idea, he was a missionary, whatever that means, i think he was sacrificed. That's all I know.

And you? Do you remember anything before the shooting?

- Yes/ No/ Just few things.

Well, maybe it's for the best, a opportunity to a fresh start.

- Let's talk about your tatics.

Constructive criticism only.

- Use a ranged weapon.

I was afraid you would say that./ Keep your distance just to be safe.

- Use a melee weapon.

No need to ask twice. / I'm already using? /Stab stab stab.

- Be agressive

Like that ever worked/ Have you noticed I'm not really an intimidating person?/ Like...angry?

- Be passive

For you? Always./ Anything for you, dear. /Oh,l I like your style.

- Wait here.

I'm not responsible for my actions from now on. / Okay I'll wait here...by myself...in this dangerous place. / Don't be long.

- let's trade equipment

These pockets are not just for Aesthetic. / If I find anything interesting I'll keep. / Be my guest.

- Overburdened

Okay, maybe it's better if my pockets just compliments my fashion sense. / Do i look like a damn Brahmin? / I knew you would break me in half but this is ridiculous.

- I would like you to go the Lucky 38.

(If his quest is not completed) The casino? At The Strip? Sorry, but I will wait for you at Freeside wandering aimlessly like a vagabond. / All those lights make me dizzy but okay / will try not steal anything there.

- Why don't go the The Strip?

Why don't you mind your own business? Sorry, it's not your fault. I just want to avoid conflict, that's all.

* In Courier's iron sight*

Do you have a death wish?/There's easier ways to get rid of me, ya know? / Of all the thing you could shove in my face, why the gun?

*Courier lays mine*

Uh...I feel like I should keep my distance./ It's a honor seeing such tatical magnificent working. / Full recovery my ass.

- It's time for us to part ways.

Awn fuck, I'm terrible with goodbyes./ I thought we had a great thing going on./ Okay, I'll go then. All by myself. In the big bad Wasteland.

*Player steals items or pickpocket*

Go, steal from the rich. / I could show you a tricky or two. / Just keep your hands off my stuff.

*Injured*

Have you seen my kidney by any chance? /Is this blood mine or yours? Nevermind. / I don't get paid enough for this.

*Crippled limb*

Quick question, bones are supposed to be inside the body, right? / It's ok, it's ok, I'm not going to cry. Not in front the mailman. / I don't think this sound is a good sign.

*Dying*

*Incomprehensible mumble* / See you in the other side. / Run...

Location

-Goodsprings

So peaceful, you can even hear the cazadores buzzing around./ Do you hear...never mind" (close to the cemitery) / Is it too much to ask to see your shallow grave?

Would you freak out if i told you never really left this grave? (By the Courier's shallow grave)

-The Strip

Can you believe a guy like *him* runs a place called The Tops?/ This place reeks of cheap cologne and bad sex. / Ugh, this lights will give me a migraine.

- Gomorrah ( unlocks completing his quest and let him in charge)

Welcome back! Thirsty? Hungry? Horny? We got you covered. / Hey if it isn't our Or Royal Highness of Vegas / Don't look in the backroom.

(If the player enter former's Clanden's secret filming room, after picking a Very Hard Lock, Claden himself will be tied up to a chair with a camera set up right before him. It's impossible to either free or kill him).

- Gomorrah / The Fort ( unlocks selling him back to The Omertas or to the Legion)

* Yawns* / Next time give me something to work with. / Already? (After the Player has sex with him in the Fort or Gomorrah)

How the hell do you still alive? / Enjoying the view, asshole? / Told you, you never left that grave.

-The Tops

Do i look presentable? / I know why we here, don't kill him, please. / I regret giving Benny that fucking gun.

- Companions

Craig Boone, why I feel a bitter taste whenever he's around?( When Boone is nearby)

Bad knees my ass, I saw him running from a cazador (when Raul is nearby)

How Grandma Lily can stand Leo? Guy's an asshole. (When Lily is nearby)

Think I have any chance? (When Arcade is nearby)

*Hums Heartaches by the Number* ( When Cass is nearby)

Don't you have to steal a child's Pib-Boy or something? (When Veronica is nearby)

[loveamongthesailors]

Well, Pathologic 2, you’re One years old! It’s as good a moment as any to reflect upon and shatter the time-lines you’ve drawn out for us. OR; Reading His-Story Against the Grain

i saw this post about pathologics incongruous timeline stuff the other day and i ended up Getting Into It.. this piece draws on stuff from patho classic but its focused on patho 2, especially on a comparison ov the Diurnal and Nocturnal “endings,” and contains spoilers for both games, probably, i guess, on varying levels ov abstraction and explicitness. i/m going to attempt to stand on a street corner and point towards Pathologic’s overall construction/presentation ov “time” as the Now-time, Exploded time, Messianic Time.

from dear daniil dankovsky, on Angels; “An angel is a nightmare. Their purpose is to instill primal, oppressive horror. I think if angels existed, they’d resemble a divine pillar of light---from the heavens to the earth. Devoid of anything remotely human.” We commend this Puppet for his drama but would like to take a slightly different approach. Even awful dreams are good dreams, if you’re doing it right.

 IX

         “A Klee painting named ‘Angelus Novus’ shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe which keeps piling wreckage and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm is blowing in from Paradise; it has got caught in his wings with such a violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This storm is what we call progress.“            

         on the content ov patho and in a real Life context, im also going to be discussing genocide ov Indigenous people, colonial Violence, police brutality, and anti-Black violence in this piece. i’ll also be contextualizing some views on History through the writing ov Walter Benjamin, a German born Jew living in the early 20th century, and friend ov Bertolt Brecht, who you may be familiar with if yr into patho. In 1940, shortly after writing On the Concept of History (referenced here),while fleeing persecution for neutral grounds, he was trapped in catalonia by a franco government cancellation ov travel vistas and,under threat ov repatriation to nazis by the spanish police, commited suicide on the night ov september 26. His theses were passed on by surviving members ov his group who were granted “safe” passage after his suicide, being later taken under the care ov Hannah Arendt and Theodor W. Adorno. His Grave reads -in German and in Catalan, reproduced here in english-

"There is no document of culture which is not at the same time a document of barbarism"

(from section 7 ov On the Concept of History)

    i will also be using sections from baedan, which has been dear to me over the years, on Benjamin’s Concepts. some songs will be dispersed throughout (featuring Laurie Anderson, Owen Pallett, and some good ol tmg), with relevant links beneath. you’ve heard that old Brecht aphorism about dark times, singing, whatever? i’m nearly sick to death ov it. these stories, in addition, will be based on a few things i know Myself. follow the threads as you see fit <3

Because History is Stories...That we half-remember... And most of them never even get written down. And so when they say things like "We're gonna do this by the book," You have to ask "What book?," Because it would make a big difference if it was Dostoyevsky or just, You know... Ivanhoe.

xxx

“Read what was never written,” runs a line in Hofmannsthal. The reader one should think of here is the true historian. ~ Walter Benjamin, omitted notes to the theses on history  

//// //// //// ////

Isidor Burakh: All I wanted was for you to understand, not to follow any particular fate.

...

Isidor Burakh: The Town needs to move forward, but it doesn’t insist. Facing the Future is the the way of Love. Facing the Past is the way of Love. But the two are incompatible, and it broke my heart. //// //// //// ////

      so,,, depending on who you ask within Pathologics narrative, the history ov the Town-on-Gorkhon stretches back to Time Immemorial, constitutes a few hundred years ov settlement, or only goes back about as far as You have been playing the game. You’ll hear conflicting narratives around just about everything in this Town. Simon Kain, hundred something years old, mystic, spiritual founder ov a several hundred year old settlement. an executed general’s vengeful daughter, Artemy and Rubins foggy backstories ov military service, what military?, what war? Who sent in the Military and Inquisition, how can We get at the Powers that Be? looking outside ov the narrative and towards history for these sorts ov questions will give us All and None ov the answers. 

       The Termitary (internment/interment/intermediate/immediate/intermittent)  looms over the Home ov Isidor Burakh, Menkhu and sole Medical Practitioner ov the town(excepting disciples. consider the spread ov knowledge, what different Knowledges are at hand and how they perpetuate...we can see how Isidor himself looms from his grave Quite well!), colleague ov radical intellectuals from the Capital and serving with Simon in tandem with the Mistresses to hold the Town together by force. Everything is Happening at Once.

        Look at What/Who is Moving this Story Forward. Different ruling families will give you again, different Numbers, different Stories. One can’t trust the Numbers, we say! and One can hardly trust the Stories either, mind you. This engenders an approach based on following Patterns, exploring Roots, pulling back the curtain to ascertain the shape ov things, reading the lines so to speak. one Bull or Several bulls? silly question. again, we’re trying to looking beyond the Numbers. consider Time as a Multiplicity. consider Rhythmic and Linear time, Time Stratified, Unending Time, Plague Time and Empty Time, Lived Time and Time un-Lived, if one pleases!

XVII                                                    

           “Historicism rightly culminates in universal history. Materialistic historiography differs from it as to method more clearly than from any other kind. Universal history has no theoretical armature. Its method is additive; it musters a mass of data to fill the homogoneous, empty time. Materialistic historiography, on the other hand, is based on a constructive principle. Thinking involves not only the flow of thoughts, but their arrest as well. Where thinking suddenly stops in a configuration pregnant with tensions, it gives that configuration a shock, by which it crystallizes into a monad. A historical materialist approaches a historical subject only where he encounters it as a monad. In this structure he recognizes the sign of a Messianic cessation of happening, or, put differently, a revolutionary chance in the fight for the oppressed past. He takes cognizance of it in order to blast a specific era out of the homogenous course of history—blasting a specific life out of the era or a specific work out of the lifework. As a result of this method the lifework is preserved in this work and at the same time canceled*; in the lifework, the era; and in the era, the entire course of history. The nourishing fruit of the historically understood contains time as a precious but tasteless seed.”                                                   

*The Hegelian term aufheben in its threefold meaning: to preserve, to elevate, to cancel.

          Everything is happening at once, already, and, for the purposes ov Our story, A plague is on. (why is there a plague on?  in this Specific Case, read: Specimen, there is a plague on because infection serves as a very useful allegorical device. haha. see also dominant theories ov infectivity in russian imperial medicine, policy, and social science) Crisis as Inflammation. Violence and Control intensified along multiple vectors. Mobs, Witch Burnings, The Quarantine, districts carved up and kept under surveillance, the Town Police, Arsonists, government or Otherwise, the Military, the Inquisition, Hangings in the square, tallies ov the Dead in the Termitary... Was any ov this new? did it Crystallize from thin air? here’s an aphorism: There’s Nothing New Under the Sun. what can we find beyond the Sun’s reaches? what has the Sun given us, and what has Earth? shall we keep them apart? whose bodies are restricted in their movement over the earth, and how severely are they restricted? who is targeted? who enforces the control? is this what Crisis looks like? when did the Crisis start?

VI                       

           “To articulate the past historically does not mean to recognize it ‘the way it really was’ (Ranke). It means to seize hold of a memory as it flashes up at a moment of danger. Historical materialism wishes to retain that image of the past which unexpectedly appears to man singled out by history at a moment of danger. The danger effects both the content of the tradition and its receivers. The same threat hangs over both: that of becoming a tool of the ruling classes. In every era the attempt must be made anew to wrest tradition away from a conformism that is about to overpower it. The Messiah comes not only as the redeemer, he comes as the subduer of Antichrist. Only that historian will have the gift of fanning the spark of hope in the past who is firmly convinced that even the dead will not be safe from the enemy if he wins. And this enemy has not ceased to be victorious.”

//// //// //// //// 

But do not be scared Surely some disaster will descend and equalize us A crisis Will unify the godless and the fearless and the righteous

...

In a certain slant of light the feeling will hit me Like a man against the waves and a violent wind Waking up in a bloody morning With the warmth of his forgiveness around me The shared dream left me shaking The memory is threatening to capsize every ship upon the sea

xxx //// //// //// ////

      Pathologic, having mapped out these lines, and being a concatenation ov narrative fiction that could not have existed without the precondition ov colonial expansion and the Extermination and Assimilation ov Indigenous populations and Life ways, can be can be unwound through a conventional historical approach by investigating various moments, epidemics, and movements in The Steppe (and all Land and Living Beings subsumed by Russia’s internal colonization) and looking for similarities, sources, influences, reflections, distortions... You’ll never find quite an exact parallel to the events ov pathologic, and you will find that the Trick that the devisers have given you in fact resides in laying out what can be gleaned from the Tangled view.

“…they make the work a process of learning or experimentation, but also something total every time, where the whole of chance is affirmed in each case, renewable every time,”

         — Gilles Deleuze, Difference&Repetition

//// //// //// ////

“For Benjamin, the conclusion of the movement of history through time is not some inevitable utopia—capitalist, communist, or otherwise. Rather than viewing the progression of civilization as an accumulation of gains and reforms toward freedom and justice, history can be seen as the continuous defeat of the exploited by their oppressors; the intensifying alienation of beings and their re-construction into capital. History not only serves to justify today’s rulers, but also to encode our memory with a narrative that reads historical events as a necessary chain of events along the path toward some future revolution or techno-utopia. He describes this as “a view of history that puts its faith in the infinite extent of time and thus concerns itself only with the speed, or lack of it, with which people and epochs advance along the path of progress.”

//// //// //// ////

     In your Twelve Days in the town as a Healer, what did you see? piles ov wreckage, debris, bodies stacked under streetlamps flickering in the night? a town spreading across a steppe? a Utopia growing through the Earth? do you think you saved any lives, and was any-body's life yours to save in the first place? a Plague moving through living organisms? a Plague moving through non-living organisms? did you observe any Organisms, living or otherwise, over the course ov the play? do you have Mirrors in your house? have you seen a still, clear, body ov water recently? what are the waterways where you live called, and have they been called anything else in the Past or Present? did you become the Haruspex, and following what paths does becoming-haruspex entail? are you winning, son?

When the hunger turns in on itself, it begins to devour its host Who do you turn to for help? Who do you love the most? When the word comes down the wire that they're looking To make an example of you Skin and bones around a campfire beneath the stars No good end in view I dance with the ones that brought me I dance with the ones that brought me here

xxx

         did you observe a Fever? can you feel a Fever? can you Imagine a great crack ov lightning striking across the Steppe, illuminating in raw detail the beauty and horror ov all that you have experienced? how would it smell afterwards? can you smell the Twyre on the air? is Twyre even a real thing? what may influence your imaginary ov its scent? Feel small, dirty hands reaching out for beetles, marbles, raisins, souls within nuts and names without people. Living on pemmican, Living on military rations. razors, fish-hooks, scalpels and syringes passing through the hands ov children as well. noticing the flows present in everything, spots where they are arrested, and the intensities they assume. we could run through the Game and Count up the Number ov Clocks present, and we could also look at how many hours we have Clocked in our Playtime, and the date ov this Play’s Production. did the Kains succeed in their mission to Produce Time? was this the Kain’s mission Alone? how is your mental Clock? We got the Body Count at the end of the day, and commentary too. cant beat that courtesy, *hem hem* but again, looking beyond the Numbers. how many Bulls did you see? when is a question also a trap? 

XVIII                                                  

       “‘In relation to the history of organic life on earth,’ writes a modern biologist, ‘the paltry fifty millennia of homo sapiens constitute something like two seconds at the close of a twenty-four-hour day. On this scale, the history of civilized mankind would fill one-fifth of the last second of the last hour.’ The present, which, as a model of Messianic time, comprises the entire history of mankind in an enormous abridgment, coincides exactly with the stature which the history of mankind has in the universe.”

what are the Consequences ov inserting Living Beings into a Linear Framework? where did Architecture come from? how was this Story constructed? What do you remember about the Town? 

We can take the Diurnal “ending” as a fairly straightforward allegorical Byway for the Forces ov Progress. Boundaries are set, You are not the Town, the Town is your Soul-and-a-half.( wikihow to not be a cartesian dualist, consider also Spinoza if laying bare the path ov immanence was ov interest to you) What lays beneath the Sunlight? what still lays beneath the Earth? What time is it? things are weirdly cozy, in some ways. mimesis, echoes, ghosts. Are their voices still heard? grace tallies up the bodies. are You ready to Leave Artemy here? is this a comfortable future for you to imagine? how are you with uncertainty? Does the costume itch? do you ache at the seams, or are your joints sore from all the strings pulling at them? got arthritis? i’ve used stinging nettle. can a Story devour a human being? why would something with that power stop at One?  

What Do You Think Will Happen Now?

One can also make the Choice to step into the Darkness. One with many names has returned to the Earth,(”One” ov many False Deaths and Smart Tricks too. love ya girl <3)... taya as mistress-ov-bulls, grace as mistress-ov-dead, changeling as mistress-ov-absolutley-whatever. Mistresses, Mist, Tresses, Bulls, Brides, Worms, Plague...the Theme/s to note here is/are Multiplicity. Is there a difference between imagining the future and the past? Where are you? Where did You come from? the Nocturnal ending already asks enough questions to make me quite happy. sitting next to the Girls now, looking out at the New Sky. same as the old sky, Full ov Magic. if we take Death ov the Author into account, we could say that the Polyhedron belongs to the Dead in more ways than one. We can see your house from here! i wouldn’t say we’ve even gotten to the Prophet yet. When did our Hero leave us? did We have any use for Heroism? the Steppe is in the Stone Yard now. The World is returning to Life. what does it mean for me?

how many angels can dance on the head ov a pin?

how many worm brides can dance in the cathedral?

   ....“The way in which the dead are present is as the “caress” of a “breath of… air,” as an “echo,” or as a sister who one no longer recognizes. In other words, the past is present and everywhere, touching us every moment and “in the voices we hear,” but only suggestively, in and in spite of our own inability to recognize it. But the possibility for redemption, the weak messianic power, lies in the chance that we might.

In the intimate, ever-present opportunity he describes there is a tremendous deal at stake. For, he writes in the fourth thesis, the “refined and spiritual things” that live in the class struggle “as confidence, courage, humor, cunning, and fortitude, and have effects that reach far back into the past… constantly call into question every victory, past and present, of the rulers.”

Later, turning to the historians he criticizes as tools of the ruling classes, Benjamin makes it clear in his seventh thesis that their resurrection of the past is an entirely different kind. The nature of the sadness—rooted in an indolence of heart—that Flaubert described feeling in his historical study of Carthage is clearer, Benjamin says, when we remember that the historian’s empathy is always with the victor, and thus with the present rulers. It is the kind of sadness, then, that gathers to the loyal servant or minion in knowing that it is being used for its ruler’s purposes”

         “Figured another way, the task of interruption requires us to locate the clocktower that we could fire upon to stop the day. Homogenous time no longer flows through the monolithic machines in the city centers. Now, a range of technological advancements have diffused and integrated the machinery of time into our very thoughts and rhythms. Everywhere we go, we are surrounded by and permeated with devices which serve to manage the regime of time. Where once a singular apparatus mediated our relationship to time, its dictatorship is now imposed by an innumerable array. A desire for interruption must now reckon with the countless apparatuses that segment our memory and integrate our very being into capitalist time. But rather than waste time lashing out against all these clocks one after another, let us cut through to what underlies them.

           History’s servants promise us a shining future. Whether by means of technological innovation, hard work and sacrifice, or the Revolution, we are assured of a heaven-on-earth of light and crystal. But all of these glimmering apparatuses can only serve to adorn the monumental pile of wreckage in which we live. All around us, the carnage and corpses of our ancestors form the architecture of our daily existence. Not only the walls and freeways and shopping centers, but the smart phones, pornography, surveillance and entertainment systems—all monuments to the same enemy that has never ceased to be victorious. Capital, Leviathan, civilization, society: so many names for the process which turns life into an assemblage of death, which would integrate us as machines into a grander machinery. Futurity is the logic that drives this regime of subjection and assimilation, but is also the science which desecrates our memory of those who also struggled; the treachery which turns their struggles into so many more ideological cadavers. Where living beings once struggled to be free from futurity’s domination of their lives, we are told that they dutifully sacrificed themselves for society’s future. We too are called upon to procreate and raise up children who might one day live better lives than we. But just as we were born into the halls of the dead, so too would our children be the stillborn janitors of these halls, breathing circuits embedded in a massive cybernetic cadaver. Ghosts call out to us: they ask that we tear apart the sutures of this Frankenstein’s monster which they’ve come to constitute. They call on us to cremate their remains and bury the ashes, to end the reign of the dead over the living.”

//// //// //// ////

"I am not afraid," ze said "Of the non-believer within me Nor delight at the pain of my enemies Nor tears for any friends I have lost" ...

I’ll never have any children I’d bear them and eat them, my children

I’m gonna change my body In the light and the shadow of suspicion I am no longer afraid The truth doesn’t terrify us, terrify us My salvation is found in discipline, in discipline

xxxx

//// //// //// ////

“It is apparent from the foregoing that all accumulation is cruel; all renunciation of the present for the sake of the future is cruel.”

— Georges Bataille, The Accursed Share, Volume III

//// //// //// ////

“The Haruspex is blood and organs... ...The Haruspex’s overarching idea is the interconnectedness of everything and restoring the connections... ...The Haruspex hears (rhythms)... ...The Haruspex: water + forward vector. „ — [from the game’s design documents]

“ The Haruspex, a butcher, a killer, one could even say a murderous psychopath, gets the warmest character arc. It’s about love. „ — [from the game’s design documents] 

//// //// //// ////

Infinity Mirrored Room—All the Eternal Love I Have for the Pumpkins -

Yayoi Kusama, 2016

//// //// //// ////

       A long “personal” anecdote: there’s music on the air and i hear a familiar buzzing. it isn’t twyre growing, nor it is the hum ov flies. we Keep bees here, to get honey.  I should try to remember to bring some to my wife tomorrow, though making the journey on its own is a bit daunting these days. 1 hive, 2 hives, the bees build and swarm and our Keeper rearranges the frames, adds in new boxes, tries to give them enough space that they'll stay within our domain. I think about the complex roles being fulfilled within the hive, and how any egg can grow into a so called “Queen” if need be. These Hives haven’t always held the same populations, sometimes a swarm will depart and won’t be Recovered. Look around the neighborhood, find the buzzing tree, you may be able to get them back yet but... have you tried getting a swarm ov bees into a box before? good luck finding the queen! (hoping i don’t have to do this but a bit excited by the prospect at the same time.)

        Our honey bees didn't originate from this region, i see them in the “yard” alongside native bees (one tries to plant for Everybody) but obviously, Our Hives are here so i’ll always see more ov the honeybees as long as they’re occupying them. Native bees to our Bioregion are leading very different lifestyles. Different threats, dynamics, and places in the ecosystem as well. Bumblebees are the most Beloved. Native Bees here- vital pollinators, ground and stem burrowers, more solitary souls than most, but are any ov us really alone? what are their favorite flowers?

          I think about Bees a lot now. I’m standing here thinking about Bees, and where I’m standing is in between the entrance ov the Hive and their favorite Ceanothus (see also soap brush, red root, buckbrush, see medicinal uses...). Very precious grounds to these Bees, not somewhere where I’m welcome. I Haven’t always known as much about bees. I get stung right inbetween my pinky and index fingers, on the palm ov my hand. yeowch! Bad luck, but i could still use a shovel the next day. This was an anecdote about Paying Attention to Your Surroundings.

       The Ceanothus isn’t flowering anymore, and hasn't been for a few “weeks” (i think?) The Bees have other concerns now. In fact, it was heavily damaged in a snow storm a couple years back, and half ov its branches collapsed under the weight ov the ice. Its a bit ov a twisted thing now, what remains still flowers but what remains is not so much. At some point in the future upon yr reading ov this, it will have been cut down and possibly dug out ov the earth. I wouldn't be surprised if a few more, smaller, iterations made their way to this space in remembrance/ tribute. The branches lost in it’s first wounding are still stacked up nearby, all sorts ov creatures love that stuff. Dead trees in the back that Birds still frequent stay for the birds. We never get that many plums because we’re not smart or quick enough, or as willing to take one great bite ov a fruit and let the rest fall to the soil. I didn’t really get stung by a Bee in a situation exactly like what i described up there, it’s drawing on a few different times that sort ov thing happened. I hope you’ll forgive me for my obscurantist tendencies.

       Looking past the Hives and onto the Streets, I am a White Settler(family fled the reach ov the Soviet Union to integrate into America, family fled family to a different part ov land under the Reaches ov said “America”,cave fled family but stuck with the Land, recurring patterns, what would my views be if i had grown up in Czechoslovakia? geography, chronology, trick questions) living in a segment ov Town that, until 1968, was a legally a Sundown Town, see Racial Restrictive Covenants. I still don’t see than many Black ppl around my neighborhood. I do see grocery store parking lots swarming with cop cars, more cops than i can Count, at least two k9 units, all to pursue One Black Body through the rainy night, My own Body lets me move through the world without these Forces being brought upon me in this intensity, lets me Watch.

          Certain alignments ov directions ov Struggle have brought me into the position ov the Other at the end ov the cudgel, a body in a crowd under the looming eye and long barrel ov the sniper, the surveillance camera. Visibility is a Trap. Any ability i have to Get Off The Hook is based not on Luck or Fate, but due to the way the color ov my skin is reflected in the eyes ov Those in Power. what can i do from inside This Skin, and what can i do with the veil ov a mask obliterating my “selfhood”? How are we to heal? If you didnt read this into my Musical choices already- im a bit ov a flaming/smoldering queer. sitting in the planned parenthood lobby, one among many, gripped by recollections ov the devastating history ov HIV/AIDS and a cluster ov other Crises, memories ov beloved souls lost to policies and hegemony ov extermination and neglect. blood in vials, piss in jars. how does the time spent waiting for results feel?(how long? weeks months?)

           I have more free condoms on hand than i’ll ever get through. A veritable theoretical eternity ov Safer Sex. There are Reasons why Queer Institutions give access to free condoms. But i’ve gotten them from some delightful Quakers as well. on another squeamish, libidinal subject, administering self injections isnt so daunting when you’ve seen it done a Million times before. It’s like watching somebody sneeze, or pinching yourself. HRT as potions, mechanical intrusion to will a slow transformation. getting into the fat is easy, some other avenues less so. “This requires the Gentle Hand of a Surgeon, step aside!” i know a lot about what Doctors Don’t Know. (veins and arteries as streets- easy. nerves as streets - you hear this a bit less. streets as eyes, the opening ov your mouth with a railroad track running down it, eyes as streets, whose streets? fuck streets! tear up the concrete)

          The aforementioned streets are closed to Traffic due to the Quarantine, and i hear folks and families from the neighborhood walking/hoverboarding/skateboarding/biking down the street,(mostly the new work from home yuppie class and their spawn respectively, but there's some real ones around here too. all ages. have yet to live anywhere that people don't ask me for cigarettes) chattering away, masks or no masks. If i take a long walk down past the cemetery, I’ll find myself passing by a Native American Youth Home, created to provide support for a population that is currently disproportionately represented in this Town’s already Massive Homeless population. (their covid19 resources and donation info) Even with the Plague on, New Condos are built and Old Condos stay empty. Who do the bones in the soil beneath my feet belong to? When did all ov this Start, and how Long will it go on? why does the Map look the way it does? I would rather listen carefully than dig. This Story is not the only Story, nor should any be.

      do i remember how the damp asphalt smells Here after Lightning Strikes? do i remember the feeling ov my body thrown to the concrete and the chaos and disorientation ov Crowds mobbing over me, slick with rain and sweat? who saw, and how many hands reached out to lift me up, who saved who? is that my blood trickling down the sidewalk? Flashbangs and Flashes ov Lightning, take yr pick. you can get similar experiential learning in the moshpit. this is an anecdote about Paying Attention to Your Surroundings.

i’ll try to bring us nearer to the point with baedan’s conclusion, a reflection on the First thesis from On the Concept of History. I will leave it up to You to investigate the original text if you are so Inclined.

//// //// //// ////

           “For every pretty theory that presents itself, study it only in the way that a cat studies its prey: for the enjoyment of the hunt, to be sure, but also so as to seize upon whatever unique revolutionary chance may appear as in a flash of lightning. So that when that narrow gate opens, you pounce without a moment’s hesitation. In the meantime, by all means, enjoy the diversion of the theory’s lines and moves, but if you are to avoid becoming its tool you must ever have in mind to shatter the system of mirrors and confront the dwarf that has been pulling the strings all along. Faced with this ugly little creature behind all the lines of play you’ve enjoyed and suffered, able at last to read the lines of its face and the dark of its eyes, as time stands still and the entirety of the past falls to you, you will have to make a deeply ethical decision that nothing in all the games before could prepare you for. The only decision that truly matters.”

//// //// //// ////

Artemy Burakh: Any Choice is Right as long as it’s Willed.

//// //// /// ////

Hansel and Gretel are alive and well And they're living in Berlin She is a cocktail waitress He had a part in a Fassbinder film And they sit around at night now Drinking schnapps and gin And she says: Hansel, you're really bringing me down And he says: Gretel, you can really be a bitch He says: I've wasted my life on our stupid legend When my one and only love Was the wicked witch

She said: what is history? And he said: history is an angel being blown backwards into the future He said: history is a pile of debris And the angel wants to go back and fix things To repair the things that have been broken But there is a storm blowing from paradise And the storm keeps blowing the angel backwards into the future And this storm, this storm is called progress

xxx

TLDR; pathologics shitty timeline is cool because it fosters a metagame where the imperative is to make history explode in real life.

specific thanx to: every1 included above, my local subversive lit dealers, Whoever gave the talk last ABF about Queer Wanderings in the anti-nazi Underworld, have not stopped carrying those stories with me since. thanks to the Dear Listener, thanks 2 my wife for pragmatic and personal encouragements <3

a personal acknowledgement to the lives and legacies ov the dxʷdəwʔabš (Duwamish) people, past and present, First People ov the Land i currently Occupy, alongside the entire City ov so-called “Seattle.”

[marvel-ousnesss]

The pirate and the witch (part two)

Word count:  2568 Pairing: Harry Hook x daughter of Narissa!reader

Summary: Y/N, an orphan vk who was taken to Auradon at a young age, returns to her old home by request of the crown prince. However, things tend to go south at the Isle of the Lost.

Warning: Mild cursing

A:/N: Okay people, here's the second part! I'm really enjoying writing this and already working on part three. Feel free to ask if you wanna be tagged and to point out any mistakes or typos that you see. Enjoy 😬

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE DISNEY DESCENDANTS CHARACTERS NOR THE SANDERSON SISTERS. All credit goes to the creators, writers, and producers. Same with the HP charms, credit goes to J.K Rowling.

Part one     Mobile masterlist    Part three    Part four

— So, how was it? — Asks Ben, who's currently sitting on the couch of his and Chad’s dorm, with the brightest grin plastered on his sweaty face. His tourney gear discarded on the floor next to him, I can tell he took it out in a rush right before he called me.

I chuckle at his excitement; kind of resembles a golden retriever puppy. Sitting cross-legged on the simple bed, I stare at the screen of a tablet with the royal crest of Maldonia on its green case. Just parted ways with Harry and, even if it’s hardly four pm, I’m utterly exhausted; but Ben won’t stop calling me until I tell him everything.

— Where to start, where to start,— I pretend to think, scratching my chin with my index finger and frowning my brows. — Being chased by bandits, being kidnapped by wicked witches, who, by the way, may have found a way to practice magic, or having a VIP ticket for Uma’s pirate ship?

— That does sound like quite an adventure, but let’s cover the basics first. How’s the place?

I sigh, setting jokes aside.  — Miserable, Ben, whatever you discussed with your father will seem like a children’s tale.

—Something needs to be done about it — he states, — but I’m gonna need your help in convincing my father.

—I’m sure it will be fine, he’s all about second chances, right?

I don’t even know if I completely believe what I’m telling Ben. I remember standing outside of the Royal Courtroom, fidgeting, uncertain of what those who I thought were meant to be good and forgiving would decide for me. The funny thing is that Auradon’s oh so great and just king was the most reluctant to let me be part of his kingdom, claiming that I had an intrinsically wicked nature.

However, I manage to spit my words between gritted teeth— See? You’ll do great.

— I really hope so.

— Look, for now, just sit tight and behold my wonderful narrative skills. We’ll plan our scheme later, — I wink.

— Okay, go on.

So, I tell him everything, no detail spared. Even if it is supposed to be a prison island, it is atrocious to have people living in such conditions. From the poorly constructed infrastructure to the lack of resources that has resulted in people fighting like animals over things such as a rotten apple or half a loaf of bread.

— I’m glad you saw it all first hand, and with all of this, I really believe that we can convince my father to do something about it.

— What I’m most worried about is the embargo that he placed, many goblins are out of jobs because of it, and the malnutrition and sickness here have drastically raised since.— I frown my brows.

— We’ll need statistics to show that, and maybe he’ll abolish the limitations on resources and re-establish the goblins’ jobs.

— Keep talking Mr. crown prince, I only yawn when I’m utterly fascinated.— I roll my eyes and smile when I hear the familiar voice of my second favorite prince.

— Manners, Charming, the grownups are talking,— I fake scold as Chad pops on the screen behind Ben.

— Wow Y/N! Really looking like the evil witch you are— he snarls.

I don’t give it any thought ‘cause a) it’s Chad who’s talking and b) I am dressed in a purple leather jacket and a navy blue top, not to mention my smokey eye makeup. So, I brush him off.

— I miss you too, Chaddy. But, I'd love you to shut up before I go and make you.

—I guess it is true, ‘once a villain, always a villain’.

— Guess it is true, Prince Chad charming, of Cinderellasburg, is even more delicate than his mother’s set of porcelain.

— Seriously, though, don’t let the Isle get to you too much.

— Are you, gods forbid, worried about me?

— Nah, just don’t want real VKs living among us, do we? — when he says this, he playfully punches Ben on his shoulder.

…

—And so, I ended up flirting with none other than Harry Hook in the flesh.

When I utter the word flirting, Chad’s nose scrunch makes both me and Ben burst into laughter.

—Yes, Chad, we flirted, and, dare I say, I enjoyed it. Anyway, after we escaped the cage, we walked together and he ended up inviting me to ‘keep the heid’ back at Uma’s ship,

— I think that may be good for getting to know them, — suggests the crown prince. — You know, figuring out which of them are in worst scenarios.

— Sorry to break it to you, Ben, but it wouldn’t be safe for Y/N to go hang with a bunch of pirates.

Even if our relationship is playful and full of bickering, Chad can get super protective sometimes. It is something that I appreciate, really, but when he smells possible danger, he tends to get worse than my mom.

— I did decline his offer but, seeing that not going would mean agreeing with dearest Chad, — I shrug — I’m gonna go. Right now.

Much to Chad’s dismay, we say a brief goodbye.

— Be careful,

— Don’t let them infect you!

I chuckle at them and hang up. Then, I put the tablet under the bed, grab my cloak, and head out the door.

…

Now closer to the docks, my ears are flooded with the stomping of dancing feet and the cheers of shanties, accompanied by what sounds like a piano and guitar duo. I arrive and cannot help but smile at the sight. Before my eyes, I find some of the most dangerous and vile people of the Isle dancing and singing around a fire that’s set on a barrel in the middle of the ship.

I approach the crowd and, when I catch the first mate’s eye, he stops playing and laughs.

— I knew you’d come. Couldn’t resist m’charms.

I smirk, — just came for a good time, Hook. Don’t you ruin it already.

— Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your new toy? — asks the sea witch, emerging from the crew of pirates, who are now quizzically looking at our interaction.

— I’m Y/N.

— Ooh, the witch, — she inquires. — Harry hasn’t shut up about your little encounter earlier today.

— Hasn’t he? — I quirk a brow at him but don’t even get him to blush.

— Gonzo, — intervenes Harry. — Take over would ya? I’ve business.

The music continues to play and the pirates continue to sing and dance. A blond guy, Gil, I believe, offers me a pint of beer, but I politely refuse. He doesn’t seem to mind, as he drowns the whole thing in one gulp and I quietly chuckle. I proceed to take off my cloak and leave it in the rack, embracing the cold wind. Then, I approach Harry.

— So, are you gonna teach me how to dance this thing, or did you invite me to stand in the corner of the deck all night?

— Are you trying to flirt with me, lassie? — he asks.

— Do I look like someone who’s interested in you? — He’s about to respond but I cut him off, — you know what? Don’t answer.

I grab his hands and pull him to the designated dance floor with me. I’m genuinely curious about this type of music, back home we don’t have anything similar. Next thing I know, he hooks his arm through mine and we’re jumping, spinning and cheering around the dance floor, avoiding a collision with the rest of the crew members.

After a few songs, I suggest we take a break and grab something to drink, so we make our way to the barrel located at the end of the deck.

— Ain’t gaunnie tell me that was yer first time dancing shanties, ‘cause I ain’t taking mince.

He speaks as he fills the first glass with beer and hands it to me, then he scratches the back of his neck with one hand and places the other on his belt buckle.

— Well, believe it or not, it was — I defend myself, fixing my simple hairdo.

— then let me tell ya, yer a natural.

— thanks, — I smile.

He looks at me with curiosity.

— err... I mean, of course I am.

After he fills his own glass, we sit on the front edge of the Lost Revenge’s plank and let our feet hang above the water.

— Why haven’t I seen you 'round, — he takes a gulp of his drink.

I try to do the same but encounter an unpleasant sensation, so I take a small sip and place my glass on the floor, next to me. — I already told you, lone wolf.

—Bullshit. I know the lone wolves, —he claims — easy prey for the crew. Besides, ain’t seen you at school either.

— I don’t go too Serpent prep.

—Oh… you attend the Witch school?

— Not exactly, — I release a breath, not wanting to get further into the topic — but, let’s just say I don’t like having attention on me. How bout you, Mr. first mate, aside from the badass handsome pirate act?

Truly, not to my surprise, he avoids my twist to the conversation. —Ooh, so ya think I’m badass and handsome too…

— Don’t let it get to your head, sailor, no one likes a cocky pirate. — My words come together with a playful side push.

— Aww lass, yer just lying to me in me face, — he whines, — you seem to drool over this cocky, badass, handsome pirate.

A bit frustrated, I exclaim, — Such a dickhead!!! How do they put up with you?

Then, our eyes land on the figure who had just stopped behind me.

— We just do this… — Uma tries to push her first mate off the ship, but he holds onto the railing.

— Funny, captain, — grumbles my date (if one could call it like that) — ya know the crew’s all at my feet.

Uma rolls her eyes, — Yeah, right. The only one ‘at your feet’ is little hellcat here.

At this, he scoots closer and smirks, attempting to place an arm around me, but I slip away. — Don’t get your hopes up, Pirate, haven’t hooked me yet.

Once again, the captain’s voice captivates our attention. — Hey Harry, why don’t you bring me and your new conquest some more beer?

I glance at my half-full glass, — I’m good.

— Nonsense, I insist.— Uma’s gritted teeth hint that she’s not asking out of politeness. In fact, she’s not asking at all.

— Aye aye captain.

As soon as we are left alone, Uma takes the spot that was previously occupied by her first mate, — Don’t know you, so don't trust you. Straight to the point, why would a random wannabe witch like you pop out from nowhere and come to my ship?

My answer is simple and blunt, — If you haven’t noticed, I’m here with Hook.

—That’s not what I’m asking so don’t play dumb with me —, she does her best to stay calm. — Just wondering… haven’t seen you around and, when I do, you have the biggest flirt of the Isle suddenly interested in you, there’s gotta be more to your tale; power, dominance, what d’you want?

My feet swing as I think of a quick response. — Nothing, really. As for Harry, guess I’m that irresistible.

Uma chuckles at my words, but her smile disappears faster than it came.

—Take this as a warning, don’t you dare try anything stupid. Have that in mind and you’re welcome whenever you want. — she mocks, with an overly excited grin. — Any toy of Harry is a friend of mine.

Before I can reply, the shanties stop playing and low, menacing growls are emitted by Bonny and Jonas. We turn around and notice that the two female members of the squad that rules the Isle are now on deck with us.

Mal glides into view, with leather boots hitting the wooden floor. — Awww shrimpy… you threw a party? It kind of hurts that you didn’t invite us.

Uma huffs before standing up and then faces Mal with a demeanor that gives me the creeps. Both Harry and Gil stand at her sides, with a hand on their swords; everyone else takes no time in mimicking their stance. As for me, I stand in the middle of the crowd and begin channeling my powers, just in case.

—You know snooty little witch, you’re sounding just like your mother; a cheaper and less intimidating copy, though.

She did kind of paraphrase Maleficent.

Raging, Mal growls and her eyes emit a bright green glow.

— See? My point exactly.

Now, with more tension in the scene, Harry steps in. — And what a cute little lap dog, — he laughs, approaching Evie. When he gets to her, he deadpans — sit.

The evil queen's daughter refuses to let herself be affected, so she limits her reaction to an eye roll. — Charming, Harry.

— Okay, as much as we’d love to stay and chat, we have an Isle to run. Not that you’d understand, anyway.

On cue, they both laugh and walk away.

— Now, boys.— Mal’s voice is heard through the length of The Lost Revenge, and Jay and Carlos, who must have managed to sneak inside while the crew focused on the girls, kick and spill casks full of water and rotten shrimps all over the ship.

However, their smirks turn into frowns when Carlos’ barrel rolls over and knocks the bonfire down, making the flames take grasp of the wooden floor.

Both intruders and some crew members jump to the water as the fire grows, but I approach it and firmly say ‘aquamenty’. The water shot from my hands extinguishes the fire.

Pirates gasp and Uma approaches me with an expression of simultaneous anger, relieve and, dare I say, gratefulness. — Not such a wannabe, after all.

Harry stands next to her, smirking at me, yet his expression changes when his eyes dart to the damaged deck.

—Still, — he sighs, — the damage is pretty bad. Can you do something about it, doll?

I hesitate — I mean, I could try. But I haven’t perfected that spell yet.

I place a hand over the burnt wood of the deck and whisper — reparo.  

Immediately, the floor of the deck restores itself and the broken barrel that previously contained the blaze stands back up. Satisfied, Uma goes to check on her crew.

Mental note: ask about the gang war.

Harry, however, gets a step closer to me and helps me up,— you’d be useful ‘round here, I could get Uma to let you in.

— As captivating as that sounds, I'm not really a team player.

I turn around but, before I can part, he captures my wrist, —yer breaking me heart, dollface.

— We already had this conversation, handsome, you don’t have one of those.

Tags: @aspitefullittlebeing​  @treestarrrrrrrr​

[clairebeauchampfan]

NYT; wrongthink vs. groupthink

The resignation letter of Bari Weiss, an Op-Ed editor of the New York Times. My highlighting in bold. 

“It is with sadness that I write to tell you that I am resigning from The New York Times.

I joined the paper with gratitude and optimism three years ago. I was hired with the goal of bringing in voices that would not otherwise appear in your pages: first-time writers, centrists, conservatives and others who would not naturally think of The Times as their home. The reason for this effort was clear: The paper's failure to anticipate the outcome of the 2016 election meant that it didn't have a firm grasp of the country it covers. Dean Baquet and others have admitted as much on various occasions. The priority in Opinion was to help redress that critical shortcoming.

I was honored to be part of that effort, led by James Bennet. I am proud of my work as a writer and as an editor. Among those I helped bring to our pages: the Venezuelan dissident Wuilly Arteaga; the Iranian chess champion Dorsa Derakhshani; and the Hong Kong Christian democrat Derek Lam. Also: Ayaan Hirsi Ali, Masih Alinejad, Zaina Arafat, Elna Baker, Rachael Denhollander, Matti Friedman, Nick Gillespie, Heather Heying, Randall Kennedy, Julius Krein, Monica Lewinsky, Glenn Loury, Jesse Singal, Ali Soufan, Chloe Valdary, Thomas Chatterton Williams, Wesley Yang, and many others.

But the lessons that ought to have followed the election—lessons about the importance of understanding other Americans, the necessity of resisting tribalism, and the centrality of the free exchange of ideas to a democratic society—have not been learned. Instead, a new consensus has emerged in the press, but perhaps especially at this paper: that truth isn't a process of collective discovery, but an orthodoxy already known to an enlightened few whose job is to inform everyone else.

Twitter is not on the masthead of The New York Times. But Twitter has become its ultimate editor. As the ethics and mores of that platform have become those of the paper, the paper itself has increasingly become a kind of performance space. Stories are chosen and told in a way to satisfy the narrowest of audiences, rather than to allow a curious public to read about the world and then draw their own conclusions. I was always taught that journalists were charged with writing the first rough draft of history. Now, history itself is one more ephemeral thing molded to fit the needs of a predetermined narrative.

My own forays into Wrongthink have made me the subject of constant bullying by colleagues who disagree with my views. They have called me a Nazi and a racist; I have learned to brush off comments about how I'm 'writing about the Jews again.' Several colleagues perceived to be friendly with me were badgered by coworkers. My work and my character are openly demeaned on company-wide Slack channels where masthead editors regularly weigh in. There, some coworkers insist I need to be rooted out if this company is to be a truly 'inclusive' one, while others post ax emojis next to my name. Still other New York Times employees publicly smear me as a liar and a bigot on Twitter with no fear that harassing me will be met with appropriate action. They never are.

There are terms for all of this: unlawful discrimination, hostile work environment, and constructive discharge. I'm no legal expert. But I know that this is wrong.

I do not understand how you have allowed this kind of behavior to go on inside your company in full view of the paper's entire staff and the public. And I certainly can't square how you and other Times leaders have stood by while simultaneously praising me in private for my courage. Showing up for work as a centrist at an American newspaper should not require bravery.

Part of me wishes I could say that my experience was unique. But the truth is that intellectual curiosity—let alone risk-taking—is now a liability at The Times. Why edit something challenging to our readers, or write something bold only to go through the numbing process of making it ideologically kosher, when we can assure ourselves of job security (and clicks) by publishing our 4000th op-ed arguing that Donald Trump is a unique danger to the country and the world? And so self-censorship has become the norm.

What rules that remain at The Times are applied with extreme selectivity. If a person's ideology is in keeping with the new orthodoxy, they and their work remain unscrutinized. Everyone else lives in fear of the digital thunderdome. Online venom is excused so long as it is directed at the proper targets.

Op-eds that would have easily been published just two years ago would now get an editor or a writer in serious trouble, if not fired. If a piece is perceived as likely to inspire backlash internally or on social media, the editor or writer avoids pitching it. If she feels strongly enough to suggest it, she is quickly steered to safer ground. And if, every now and then, she succeeds in getting a piece published that does not explicitly promote progressive causes, it happens only after every line is carefully massaged, negotiated and caveated.

It took the paper two days and two jobs to say that the Tom Cotton op-ed 'fell short of our standards.' We attached an editor's note on a travel story about Jaffa shortly after it was published because it 'failed to touch on important aspects of Jaffa's makeup and its history.' But there is still none appended to Cheryl Strayed's fawning interview with the writer Alice Walker, a proud anti-Semite who believes in lizard Illuminati.

The paper of record is, more and more, the record of those living in a distant galaxy, one whose concerns are profoundly removed from the lives of most people. This is a galaxy in which, to choose just a few recent examples, the Soviet space program is lauded for its 'diversity'; the doxxing of teenagers in the name of justice is condoned; and the worst caste systems in human history includes the United States alongside Nazi Germany.

Even now, I am confident that most people at The Times do not hold these views. Yet they are cowed by those who do. Why? Perhaps because they believe the ultimate goal is righteous. Perhaps because they believe that they will be granted protection if they nod along as the coin of our realm—language—is degraded in service to an ever-shifting laundry list of right causes. Perhaps because there are millions of unemployed people in this country and they feel lucky to have a job in a contracting industry.

Or perhaps it is because they know that, nowadays, standing up for principle at the paper does not win plaudits. It puts a target on your back. Too wise to post on Slack, they write to me privately about the 'new McCarthyism' that has taken root at the paper of record.

All this bodes ill, especially for independent-minded young writers and editors paying close attention to what they'll have to do to advance in their careers. Rule One: Speak your mind at your own peril. Rule Two: Never risk commissioning a story that goes against the narrative. Rule Three: Never believe an editor or publisher who urges you to go against the grain. Eventually, the publisher will cave to the mob, the editor will get fired or reassigned, and you'll be hung out to dry.

For these young writers and editors, there is one consolation. As places like The Times and other once-great journalistic institutions betray their standards and lose sight of their principles, Americans still hunger for news that is accurate, opinions that are vital, and debate that is sincere. I hear from these people every day. 'An independent press is not a liberal ideal or a progressive ideal or a democratic ideal. It's an American ideal,' you said a few years ago. I couldn't agree more. America is a great country that deserves a great newspaper.

None of this means that some of the most talented journalists in the world don't still labor for this newspaper. They do, which is what makes the illiberal environment especially heartbreaking. I will be, as ever, a dedicated reader of their work. But I can no longer do the work that you brought me here to do—the work that Adolph Ochs described in that famous 1896 statement: 'to make of the columns of The New York Times a forum for the consideration of all questions of public importance, and to that end to invite intelligent discussion from all shades of opinion.'

Ochs's idea is one of the best I've encountered. And I've always comforted myself with the notion that the best ideas win out. But ideas cannot win on their own. They need a voice. They need a hearing. Above all, they must be backed by people willing to live by them.

Sincerely,

Bari “

It’s all there; the Left’s engrained anti-semitism (so often now cloaked by ‘respectable’ anti-Zionism), the refusal to admit of other opinions, let alone to acknowledge the possibility of  their validity, the narrowing of the mind, the cancel culture, the terror of the twitter storm and the mob in the street (”the people” as they like to call themselves) , the sheer spinelessness of the institutional ‘leadership’ unless it is in support of those people who have the ‘right’ opinions.   Sadly, exactly the same process is going on at The Guardian, the BBC and our once great universities. Only Illiberal Groupthink is allowed, and former bastions of liberalism close down independent thought, the better to signal their virtue. 

[docfuture]

Princess, part 12

       [This story is a prequel, set in an alternate 2012, several years before The Fall of Doc Future, when Flicker is 16.  Links to some of my other work are here.  Updates are theoretically biweekly. Next chapter is partly done so I’m going to try to get it out early in September.]

Previous: Part 11

      Recovery--and a start at change and learning.       Flicker thought about the wrap up of her first session, and Stella's comments on paying a bit more attention to the ways other people were already helping.       "... and I just suppressed thinking about it at all because the frustration got real bad when I didn't," Flicker had said.       "Understandable," said Stella.  "Did you consider talking to Armadillo?"       "I talked to her about some general stuff, but she's... old."       Stella nodded slowly.  "I can see how the Database might have given you the impression that sex was invented sometime in the 60s.  And Armadillo was already middle-aged by then."       "That's not fair.  It just that the primary sources were so indirect and coded about it.  And left so much out.  The Database doesn't..."  Flicker frowned, then sped up to check a few things.  After a while she slowed back down.       "Well, crap," she said.  "I learned most of my 20th century history when I was randomly bouncing around the Database reading whatever caught my interest when I was 11 or 12.  So I missed stuff.  And I didn't go back, and made some implicit assumptions."       "You might find a discussion with Armadillo illuminating," said Stella.  "Have you considered that Doc might not be the person contributing the most to the collective judgement of your social maturity level that the Database uses to set your default access levels?  He seems willing to delegate to people he trusts, and of those, Armadillo clearly has had experience with children."       "Oof.  No, I hadn't thought of that."  Flicker sighed.  "Sometimes I wonder about the amount of time I spend mentally running circles around things without looking at what's at the center."       "Don't be too harsh on yourself.  You blame most of your social difficulties on mental differences, poor references, and lack of practice.  But the form of your education mattered, too.  You never went to school before your graduate work, and you did most of that remotely.  You learned from Doc, the Database, and direct observation--primarily of static scenes because of your speed.  And the bulk of educational material in the Database was written by and for typical humans, with all the embedded assumptions that entails."       "I really like the Database.  And the summaries help."       Stella shook her head.  "Not always.  Not if you don't know what's missing.  The Database AI made judgements when you were younger about what was appropriate at the time.  This shaped your knowledge map, which was already going to be very different from most humans.  So do your Database access restrictions.  Information revealed selectively or out of order can harm.  And if the Database can't reveal A to you--for, say, privacy reasons--and revealing B without A would cause harm, it will restrict B as well.  I'm sure Doc must have warned you about that."       "Yeah, but a lot of his restrictions seem arbitrary."       "Many will, if done right.  Database restrictions can and do cause bias problems, but overriding them is inherently risky.  The Database AI has to balance that, and there are no optimal choices, because the whole idea of the Database as an 'objective' knowledge map is a illusion.  The Database is biased by what gets recorded.  Your access to it is further biased, and what you actually do access is even more biased.  But the idea that you are necessarily getting closer to impartial truth when you override a warning is dangerous."       "So I can mess myself up with overrides."       "You already have.  Repeatedly.  Information shaping is one of my more powerful tools.  Cruder forms of it are in widespread use and getting more effective every day.  But perceptions come pre-shaped."  Stella had sipped from her cup of coffee before continuing.  "For example, you are highly proficient in many math-heavy technical subjects not usually mastered until graduate school, and awkward in areas typically covered by early childhood education or peer group socialization.  So when you made your implicit assumptions?  Of course you missed things.  However."       Stella was good at an 'I have a secret to share--eventually' style of speaking that was both mildly annoying and very effective at focusing attention.       "Yes?" said Flicker.       "Anyone would.  You just missed different things.  Others might have helped with some of them.  But no one could predict them all.  Not Doc, not the Database, not me.  So do what you can, but don't be too hard on yourself when mistakes happen."       "Ah.  I'll try to remember that."       *****       Flicker tried to follow Stella's initial guidelines, which focused on short term recovery, stabilization, and 'stop making this worse'.  Avoiding patrols was the most important and hardest to follow advice.  Physical therapy and exercise were tedious, but not difficult.  The dietary changes... were trickier.  Flicker had lost weight from the accident and the isotope exchanger sessions which she really couldn't afford.  And her kind of pseudo-shapeshifter healing depended on adequate body mass.  Stella forwarded some funny essays on cuisine and recovery for shapeshifters supposedly written by a French werewolf, and had the Database reset her food and drink related warnings, with an eye to both mental and physical health.       She'd also pointed out to Flicker that it only took a few early incidents of plasma in the GI tract while pushing the limits of her entropy dumping to cause lasting aversion to eating much while on call.  So when she later started to feel like she was on duty almost all the time, she stopped eating proper meals except with friends.  Staying off patrol for now made it possible to change that, but not easy.  Theoretically, she could eat like an Olympic athlete in training while exercising appropriately, and recover quite quickly, but that wasn't realistic.  She was stubborn, but so were her habits.       She couldn't patrol, but she could keep busy by surveying--updating Database geographical and obstacle data--and doing interior construction and finishing work on her house.  Back-ordered materials had piled up.  Flicker used power tools mainly for precision and delicacy; she had custom hand tools for speed and power, and boxes of regular hammers and screwdrivers to replace the ones she wore out or broke.  Superspeed and robotic help let her make rapid progress in the half days she was putting in to it.  Common areas and guest rooms were finished, and recreation areas, a wider variety of workshops, and Database node expansion rooms were all taking shape.       Making time to talk and eat with friends wasn't sophisticated advice, but it was obviously helpful.  She'd had dinner with Jetgirl and her husband yesterday.  Good food, carefully non-specific sympathy, then after dinner, 'girl talk' with Jetgirl.  Which meant tech geekery--they spent a few hours discussing the instrumentation and results from Speedtest, and Jetgirl's suggestions for some issues Flicker had encountered expanding her robotics workshop.  Reliable comfort.       The aftereffects from the cybernetic interface withdrawal were finally mostly gone, and Flicker's metabolism and appetite seemed to be responding to her exercises.  She was definitely putting on muscle faster than a human could.  And she'd mentioned her problem to Stavros, the owner of her favorite Greek restaurant, he'd gotten a look on his face like he'd been personally called upon to save the world, and now she had enough takeout in her fridge to feed a starving pseudo-mythological extradimensional being for a week.       Today, a visit with Armadillo.  She had promised something interesting.       Flicker had once asked Armadillo why she hadn't picked the name Glyptodon instead, because that seemed closer in size and fearsomeness to her appearance.  Armadillo had laughed and said she'd never heard of them at the time--the late 40s.  The two of them were at Armadillo's house, sitting at a table with an impressive feast.  It was not unusual for Armadillo; with super strength, near invulnerability, and half a ton of mass, she ate a lot, and saw no reason not to enjoy it.  Armadillo was cheerful and a good friend, as well as effectively family.  And at an age of 98, she knew a lot of history, especially the kinds that didn't usually get recorded very well.       The main reason Flicker didn't visit more often was an embarrassing one: When she'd been younger she'd had episodes of severe insomnia.  But Armadilo knew how to spin a story to help.  So when the biological part of Flicker's brain was working, it associated Armadillo's stories strongly with drowsiness.       Which didn't mean they were boring.       Armadillo was sharing some anecdotes from the late Pre-Net era--the 50s through the 70s--when Luce Cannon, Belle Tinker, and One-eyed Jack had been prominent superheroes.  They had set precedents that ended up shaping the way the Database had been assembled.  The norms Luce had established as a practical way of preserving relationship privacy and security without centralized infrastructure required narrative indirection and implication in order to discuss certain subjects at all.  Armadillo was very good at the style needed.  Unfortunately, that and the lack of unrestricted Database references hindered the usual ways Flicker updated her memories, so she was having trouble with details.  But there were definitely differences from the way she'd thought about the origins of the Database.       "Huh," she said.  "I always assumed that Doc decided everything important when he first built the Database, and the rest was just legacy format and historical records."       "Not entirely," said Armadillo.  "Luce knew all about records and careful access--she built her own intelligence operation, after all--and Belle was already starting to convert some of them to electronic form and building early bots in the fifties.  But reliability for anyone but Belle was always a problem, and she didn't have the level of conscientiousness about documentation that Doc did."       "Um.  Doc isn't always that great about documentation.  He gets--"       "The Database AI or someone else to do a lot of it.  I know.  But someone does.  Heck, I've done my share.  Belle was way ahead of her time, but we never found anything but cryptic notebook scribbles for some of her weirder stuff.  Left a bit of a mess after she was gone.  Doc brought in organization, documentation, robustness, and speed, and then extended it to everything.  But the first Database grew out of what he built for Luce not long before she died.  And Luce set some access conditions, which Doc won't change without a good reason.  So don't blame Doc for all of them."       "So the age restrictions are from Luce?"       "Some of them, yeah--but they aren't hardcoded, they're more flexible; we knew they'd have to accommodate aliens and extradimensional beings and whatnot.  It's really a maturity threshold."  Armadillo smiled.  "But I have a treat for you."       "Oh?"       "There are a few things I have personal discretion about.  And you've hit a block involving one of them twice now.  It's a good example of how we handled a few things back in the day, and might help you understand some of the ambiguity.  I can show it to you, but you'll have to put your visor on locked standby or take it off--no unrestricted electronic images of this are allowed."       Flicker frowned, but arranged a protocol with the Database and pulled back her hood.  Armadillo pushed back a plate, picked up a small case, opened it, and pulled out a large photographic print.       "This is a copy of the last known good photograph of Belle Tinker.  The original is in my family photo album in one of Doc's vaults."       Flicker moved her chair closer to get a better look.  It was a group photo, centered on a younger Armadillo.  "What's that blacked out area?"       "Non-superheroes with living relatives.  The photo is from my 60th birthday party in 1974."       Given the date, Flicker wasn't surprised that Armadillo was a bit narrower--she'd still been slowly adding mass.  But...  "Head spikes?"       Armadillo laughed.  "Yeah, that was my last try at regrowing them.  I'd been on a trip to Tokyo the previous year, and there was a translator around during a Kaiju attack.  I ended up stopping it by talking to the big fellow about the relative effectiveness of head spikes for challenge bellowing.  We had a nice talk, and everyone went home happy.  No property damage, even.  So I decided to give them another try.  But mine were only a little stronger than steel, so they kept breaking off--same kind of problem you have with your hair.  I finally gave up in 75?  Or maybe 76?  But really, I'm the least interesting person in that photo.  I'm curious what you think about the others."       "Okay," said Flicker.  "But that goblet you're drinking out of...  Is that a demon skull?"       "Yep.  The goblet was a birthday present.  It would have been rude not to try it out."  Armadillo nodded towards a nearby cabinet.  "I still have it, but I hardly ever use it anymore.  Little call for it, and it's tricky to clean."       "Um, okay."  Flicker studied the image of the woman with red hair, a lab coat, safety glasses, and an expression of indulgent patience.  "Belle has the same kind of 'I could be in my lab working on something cool' face I've seen Doc make.  Most of the contemporary sources I found in the Database were really bad at describing her.  She'd have been, what, in her late forties?  She looks younger than that, fit, and tough, I don't understand what was going on."       Armadillo smiled.  "There were a few that treated her reasonably--but they tended not to emphasize appearance.  Belle did not fit any 'feminine' stereotype back then, there were a number of media bigwigs who really didn't like her, and she didn't humor patronizing reporters.  So it was common for them to distort or belittle her intelligence and accomplishments, insult her appearance, attack her character, or just use bad pictures.  If they had to write about her at all.  That's one reason why the quality of much of what you found about her is poor."       Another woman with short dark hair was leaning against the table with a relaxed smile, but a very clear presence.       "Did Luce Cannon always look like she was in charge?" asked Flicker.  "I mean, it was your party, but..."       "She could hide it, but she was keeping an eye on someone who could get overenthusiastic."       A girl wearing a black outfit was smiling intently at the camera with a predatory look.  She appeared to be around eleven; it was hard for Flicker to judge ages.       "Is that a toy sword?" asked Flicker.  "It looks awfully realistic."       "Nope.  That was Katya's first magic sword.  She outgrew it; it's in the vaults now."       "Magic sword?  Wait... Katya?  That's Jumping Spider?"       "Oh, goodness no; she wouldn't use that name for years.  That's Katya the... Hunter, I think?  She switched from the Devastator sometime around then.  This was only a year after Luce started teaching her."       "Did... What... Why is she waving a sword around at your birthday party?"       "It was a compromise; she wanted to make a little pyramid out of the other skulls for the picture, but Luce vetoed that as unsanitary.  Just as well; Belle said they smelled pretty manky."       "Other skulls?"  Every time Flicker got a question answered, she immediately had several more--and she couldn't speed up and check the Database because her visor was off.       "Besides the one Jack and Belle turned into the goblet for my birthday present.  It was Katya's idea, so she got to hunt the demons, and she went a little overboard getting spare skulls.  Jack took her to the dimension where they lived--nasty place, but they were immune to poison, which was handy."       "...it's a magic goblet."       "Oh, yeah, it detoxifies anything in it," said Armadillo.  "If I ever want to be absolutely sure I can't be poisoned or I'm worried about contamination, I use it.  But it's usually overkill, it makes most non-alcoholic beverages taste kind of funny, and properly cleaning the precipitate chamber is a pain."       "Doc never let me hunt demons when I was ten," muttered Flicker as she studied the figure standing next to Belle in the photo.       "Mores change, and your adoption process wasn't complete yet.  It would have been awkward to explain."       "Did One-eyed Jack ever show any sign of aging?  It doesn't look like his appearance changed at all in pictures."       "Nope," said Armadillo.  "At least not from when I first met him in '50 or so until he disappeared in the nineties.  White hair, neatly trimmed beard, and the eyepatch.  He almost always wore that hooded robe and carried that staff with the magical doodad on the end.  Occasionally he'd switch to a really old style suit and a dress cane--he could do an impressive Offended Aristocrat act.  But his apparent age never changed.  I suspect he was some kind of shapeshifter, and I know he could create illusions, though, so I'm not sure anyone really knows for sure."       "Wait.  Disappeared?  The Database lists him as 'presumed dead' with supporting evidence; someone found his eyepatch and a scrap of robe near a small crater in the Topaz Realm and Doc verified they were genuine."       "Yep.  Doesn't mean he died.  He might have just decided it was time to stop being Jack.  Hard to believe someone as careful as him would botch a portal like that, and it seemed awfully pat that it happened somewhere with enough ravenous scavengers to ensure the lack of remains wasn't suspicious.  If he was a shapeshifter, there could be someone with his memories who looks quite different running around somewhere.  And he had a saying: 'Sometimes you see something coming and all you can do is get out of the way.'  I think that's what he did."  Armadillo grinned.  "But then, I've been accused of being sentimental from time to time."       "Okay," said Flicker.  "If you're suspicious about Jack, what about Belle?  She was declared dead, but all the Database says is that something catastrophic happened to her portal generator late at night and she was gone afterwards.  Jack is recorded as testifying that as far as he could tell, she hadn't been murdered or kidnapped, definitely wasn't alive on Earth, and he wasn't able to tell quite what happened with the portal.  But Doc said that if she really wanted to burn her bridges, she could have set the portal generator to self destruct, then gone through to somewhere before it blew.  He still has the remains of it in the vaults."       Armadillo looked out the window.  "All true.  She seemed kind of withdrawn for a while before that.  Well, withdrawn for her--she was always full of more ideas than she had time to try.  She'd had a disagreement with Luce and the Volunteer for a couple of years over... I guess you could call it public policy.  She made some predictions that turned out to be pretty accurate, and the first part of one of them had just happened--that was '80.  It's conceivable she might have just been tired of Earth.  But then she was kind of close to Jack, and he was pretty down afterwards--and if she went somewhere else, I don't know why he wouldn't be able to visit.  I tried talking to him about it once, and he just shook his head.  So I really can't say."       "Were they a couple?" asked Flicker.  "Database is ambiguous--they at least pretended a few times, but it wasn't clear what was going on.  I assume it's okay to ask about that now that they're both gone?"       "Heh.  It's not forbidden to ask, and they worked well together in the lab when Belle wasn't out causing trouble with Luce.  I'll say this; Belle never showed interest in most men--she'd roll her eyes at most of my jokes--and Jack never showed any interest in anyone but Belle.  But it could just have been cover; a convenience for both of them."       "Oh."       Flicker frowned at the last figure--a middle-aged man in nondescript clothing, leaning back in the chair beside Armadillo.  His glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose, his fingers were laced over his chest, and his eyes were closed.       "Who is the guy beside you, and why is he asleep?"       Armadillo smiled.  "Oh, he'd had a long day, then a nice meal, so he just was catching a little nap.  He sometimes answered to the name of Chandler Devon."       Okay, now I know I'm being tested.  Flicker sped up.  The name was vaguely familiar--why?  She glanced at Luce again, then remembered.  Chandler Devon was connected to Luce Cannon in some way, perhaps one of her agents, or possibly romantically linked--but that had been a shaky source.  Documentation about him had been really spotty, with large gaps.  He'd been a skilled enough amateur geologist to get a few articles published, later in life.  But his fondness for volcanoes had apparently done him in--he'd disappeared during the Mount Pinatubo eruption a few years after Luce's death.       That made the third nominally dead person in the picture with a missing body.  The only person who was definitely dead and buried was Luce--she'd died of cancer in the late 80s.       There were several odd things that required explanation about 'Chandler Devon'.  Why was he even at Armadillo's party?  Had Luce brought him?       Why hadn't anyone woken him up for the picture?  It was a memorable occasion.  Was it a prank?       Wait.  Armadillo had said she was the least interesting person in the photo.  What could possible make him more interesting than her?  If he--       Oh.       So that's what he looks like when he's asleep.  But how did he manage...  Luce.  Of course.  She was the original super spy.  Jumping Spider's teacher.  If anyone could cover everything he'd need, it would have been her.  That explained so much.  He'd gone more than fifty years without anyone--       Idiot.  Everyone in that picture probably knew.  He'd always had a family.  A family of choice.  They just never, ever gave it away.  Even when they disagreed with each other.       But still, a few years after Luce died, he decided it was time to stop being Chandler Devon.  Could he still maintain cover?  Probably; Jumping Spider was 27 by then, and Doc was 17, with the Database up and running.  But the Lost Years were about to start, and Doc had seen that coming.  No longer worth the trouble, maybe?  How much had Luce meant to Chandler Devon?       A lot to think about, most of it not even about Belle.  But there was etiquette to be observed.  And as far as Flicker could tell, it was to indicate obliquely that she'd guessed, but not say anything unambiguous.  She could come up with something.       She slowed back down--and found herself blinking back tears.       "He looks like...  someone who works very hard," she managed.  "And doesn't get a chance to relax very often.  I'm glad no one woke him up."       Armadillo nodded slowly.  "So was I."  She started to put the picture back in the box.       "Wait," said Flicker.  "Who took the picture?  I thought I knew, but now I think I was wrong."       Armadillo paused.  "Another time, maybe.  You probably have enough to cogitate about today already."       "Yeah.  Yeah, I do."

Next:  Part 13

[paganqueer]

[REVIEW] Cassandra Clare’s “Queen of Air and Darkness”

RATE:  ☆ ☆ ☆

The book, for me, started slow. After I started reading it, I forgot about it for almost two years (though I, too, am one to blame, for... reading slump issues). It took a few chapters for me to get the rhythm of the book, even though I've been reading Cassandra Clare's works for a while now. But my favorite thing about the book was the construction of the characters: Cassandra Clare is exceptional at it. The book has more than five main characters and many others who, despite secondary, also have complex storylines, and most of those had good development, which is a master work. Julian's character is almost flawless: the way his empathy and apathy are described throughout the book are just phenomenal. I really liked Diego and Kieran's character arcs/developments; they were genuine and apologized for their wrongdoings and made up for it, which is not an usual trope in fiction (usually, a character's death is used as a redemption arc, which I personally find lazy). Helen and Aline were just perfect, I'd read a whole series just about them being domestic. And the different portrayals of grief in the book were just... perfect. The message that each person experiences grief differently is powerful and very clear with the Blackthorns. Dru's character in special particularly touched me, because of how much I saw myself in her: the body image struggles and all her insecurities about not being mature enough are things I have personally struggled with and they were portrayed adequatedly.

There were characters and aspects of some characters I disliked and think that could've done better, though: I love Ty's character. He's one of my favorites in the series, but we don't have a chance to see his point of view. Most of what we see are Kit's impressions of Ty. That's something I feel the book lacks. His arc involving grief related to the loss of Livvy, his twin sister, is an important aspect and plot point of the book and we never get to see ourselves how he feels about it, we're only told. Also, Emma Carstairs. I had high expectations about her during "Lady Midnight" (Book 1 of the series). She seemed cool and badass and as a chaotic lesbian, I'm all for it. But! Her character started to feel flat throughout the series. As a reader, I forgot about the fact that she'd lost her parents at some point in "Queen of Air and Darkness", and at some point in the book it feels like she remembers that 'fun fact' out of sudden, and we (I, at least) get "Oh, yeah, there was that". Her comments with Cristina during their conversations about their love lives, especially about Mark and Kieran, they just don't feel... genuine? It feels like bad, cringeworthy Wattpad fanfiction from 2013, and I know Cassandra Clare could do better than that. I just couldn't get myself to relate to the descriptions of Emma's feelings, she just felt distant, as though her real personality was hidden from me and I had to unlock level 10 of reader to be able to access it. There was Ash, who I know is supposed to be the focus of another saga, but his character felt kind of flat. When he was still young, pre-Thule Ash, it was reasonable for him to be flat, as a way to show he's still in development. But I think that an Ash point of view chapter where he's in Thule, talking to Sebastian, to Jace, about Annabelle and how he feels about Julian, Emma and the others... that would help making his character slightly less... well. Boring. He has potential to be interesting, but isn't yet. I also missed more about Cristina: we get plenty of how she feels about Mark and Kieran, Emma and the Blackthorn's in general, but her past is also important to understand her character. Of course, many of those criticisms can be excused due to the fact that there were too many characters and the final version of the book was about 900 pages long. Now, about the pace of the narrative... Everything happened very quickly, and I'm assuming part of the reasoning for that is the amount of time spent in narrating the events that happened in Thule. Although that alternative universe's events become important later on, all those pages about it just weren't needed. With so many character arcs, some of the pages spent on Thule could've been used to make the stories of some characters feel more natural: a chapter on Ty's point of view, a conversation between Cristina and Emma about their childhoods and griefs etc. As to the conclusion... It was a mess. The book was messy in general, but the ending was... just straight-up weird. I'll start with the fact that there was no significant loss in the final battle. No important characters died or had explicitly stated trauma. At some point, we thought Emma had killed Jace, but instead of building up the characters' feelings about that, them considering taking Emma and Julian down because they were dangerous but suffering because of that, tension because of the fear of Jace being dead... All of that could've been used! Something that also could've been nice was seeing one of the Blackthorn's talking to Tavvy, talking to him about how the things he'd seen in the battle affected him. Having to save his older brother who was basically a father figure for him from dying, it surely impacted him somehow. Also... Emma and Julian turning into freaking giant angels? That just felt like Cassandra Clare didn't know how to resolve the conflict and threw that there as a lazy resource. It felt lazy. That was never hinted as a possibility and I don't even remember foreshadowing. She could've included a hint about the possibility of that happening in Emma and Julian's research on the parabatai bond, but that just... appeared out of nowhere. It was just messy. And I won't even comment on the Cohort conclusion (yes, I will. I'm MAD). Starting with, Horace and Zara should've died. Or, at least, Zara should've been punished too in a similar way: becoming mad because of her decay would be an interesting way out. Also, leaving all of the Cohort together was dumb. The whole power of the Cohort was manipulating the people, using the number of blind followers as their advantage. Leaving Zara with fellow Cohort members was an opportunity for her manipulating them and planning something, that much is obvious. They should've been held each in separated prisons, unable to contact each other. It would've been interesting, though, to see the Cohort rising up without Zara and Horace. Them separating Zara from the rest and Horace being dead, assuming they were all just manipulated, but being surprised that the Cohort wasn't only Horace, Zara and Manuel, which could be an introduction of them as villains for the next series. But Zara was one of the main antagonists in the series, being Emma's direct rival. Emma giving up revenge was a good message, but a victory was introduced without the decay of one of the main antagonists. That just feels weird! Anyways! I had to give it three stars, because, regardless of how messy it was, I care about those characters and Cassandra Clare is amazing at developing (most of) them. Plus, there are some plot points I genuinely enjoyed such as Ty's entire character arc, Julian's character arc that was just perfect, and Dru. I loved the way Dru's feelings were portrayed: Though she isn’t the protagonist of that saga, she’s still relevant, her feelings were shown and her interactions with the actual protagonists. Her character had depth, it was just enough to create antecipation for the next series without giving too much away, which I just loved. 

[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 2

The Best Intentions

Part 2

Ansgar crossed his legs beneath him and leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking in protest. Considering, he folded his hands in his lap, tented his thumbs and rubbed them slowly together. In spite of his seemingly calm exterior, within his mind was churning… burning, a combination of annoyance and anger and what… fear? Yes, of course, fear.

His reputation was one of perfection. Not a single client unsatisfied. Not a single claim on a single contractor’s bond. If there’s a problem… he fixes it. Yet, here was a woman who, as she put it, was pleading for someone to do something about the condition of the building that he… that his company built.

Resolved, he bent forward, elbows on knees, and stared hard at the girl. With every ounce of sincerity he could muster, he said, “You won’t have to wait any longer, Froken Lindberg. I am…,” he paused, “mortified, to say the least that you had to go to the lengths you did just to get an audience with someone at my company who could remedy the situation.”

“Well,” she countered, her voice wavering, “you should be.”

Ansgar let forth with a bark of laughter. Not condescending laughter, mind you, but true and honest surprise. He smiled, that time the grin reaching his eyes. “Yes, I should be,” he affirmed. And with that, he stood, removed his suit jacket and crossed to the closet. He shrugged into his blue logoed Carhartt coat, flung his tool belt over his shoulder, and fished out an aluminum clipboard case.

“What are you….?”

He whirled. “We’re leaving, Froken Lindberg,” he clipped. “Now.”

“Yes,” she stood, clutching her papers to her chest, “but… where are we going?”

Ansgar brightened. “To the Opera House, where else? I need to see this sprinkler system for myself, I think. I am an engineer, you know. I have some experience with fire protection design. Maybe I can sort this today for you… and,” he shrugged, “you know, perhaps get the Prima Donna off your back.”  

“To avoid the riff-raff,” Ansgar nodded with his eyes glued to the door that led to the lobby, “out there, we’ll go out this way.” A tilt of his head signaled behind him.

That was the moment she saw it, the same moment that he lifted his hand to the wall behind his desk. He palmed with a swipe to reveal an invisible door. The seam blended in so nicely with the built-in bookcase that Joline missed it. A reader lit up in recognition of his touch or fingerprints or body temperature, Jo couldn’t know, and the door popped open with a click.

Jo raised her eyebrows at him and the hidden gadget. “Such technology, such toys.”

Ansgar huffed a deep sound of proud amusement. “Correction. All the technology. All the toys.” And with another dip of his head, he directed her through.

“Mischief managed.”

“Pardon?”

Jo grinned inwardly. “Something my nephews told me. From their favorite book. This—“ She pushed her hands out in front of her into a long marble corridor, gesturing before her. Uniform doors led off to other offices or conference rooms, she guessed, but the hallway seemed part of a typical office building. “This feels very, ‘I solemnly swear I am up to no good.’ Making a secluded break from… well, whatever you got going on back there.”

“Ah, the riff-raff, the circus… The press can be a blessing and a curse,” he took the lead down the bland corridor. “I use them when absolutely necessary and avoid them at all cost at all other times.”

“And you needed them today? Why?”

His shoulders adjusted under his jacket in a wave of… disgust? Stress? “The vultures smell blood. They’re chasing a story, an exclusive.” As soon as the press release published online of his return as acting CEO in an internet blast, the swarm came flocking in.

“And what’s that? The story? The exclusive?”

Ansgar effectively ducked and avoided her question by pointing with two very straight and very long fingers to his right through another door. “To the carpark, and my car. You’ll show me the improvements that need doing at the theatre, and we’ll come back here to schedule the work.”

Where he led with a steady assured gait, Joline followed. Out of necessity, more than anything else. She met him stride for stride, nearly, thanks to the three inch Louboutins. “Your lobby and lounge, so much like the opera house,” she commented to draw attention away from her unintentional pry. “Patrons and tourists parade through to gawk at the structure. Is that your stamp then?”

As they entered the covered garage, Ansgar fished his key fob from his pocket and clicked the button for his car. His brand new red Tesla Roadster chirped in response, and he nearly purred at the familiar sound. “I’ll assume responsibility for that, Froken Lindberg,” he replied proudly.

One of her eyebrow arched skyward. “Well,” she countered, “despite all the technical issues,” she intoned to knock him down a peg or two, “ticket sales are up. Season subscriptions increased six, close to seven, percent over last year. Audiences are responding to the slated new season, the season I put together.”

“I’ve been away. Missed most of the current series, I’m afraid,” Ansgar closed the door with a quiet ‘click’ after ensuring his guest comfortably in her seat. He strode quickly around the back, opened his own door and folded himself within. Continuing, he said, “I didn’t give up my series ticket, though. Seat A10 is still mine.”

“Hm,” the woman huffed. She crossed her legs, and Ansgar wondered if she was purposefully or subconsciously showing him the crimson underside of her shoes. “I hate empty seats.”

Ansgar shrugged. “It’s paid for, what do you care?” He hand-over-handed the wheel, expertly winding the roadster between the cement abutments and into the daylight of the open garage door.

“It’s not all about the money, Herr Martinsson,” she retorted. “You of all people should know – for everyone involved, it’s more about the audience, and their response.”

Ansgar held in a chuckle. He knew perfectly well.

***

Ansgar tipped his head back, following the line of the woman’s pointed finger. “There?” Ansgar, standing atop a folding aluminum scaffold, pointed as well.

“That’s where it went off the first time.” She called up to him.

“Got it.” Ansgar nodded sagely, glancing down at her. He pulled his hard hat off and looked up again as he pushed his hand through his hair. “I actually think I see the problem, Froken Lindberg; and you would not believe how simple it - and the solution - actually is.”

Her eyes went wide. “You do?”

He nodded again, looking down at her. “I do. And when I find out who erred here, heads are going to roll, I assure you. However,” he paused, “I think you, too, may be putting some folks on the chopping block here.”

“What… what’s the problem?”

“Kick off your shoes and come up here.” He reached down. “Take my hand.”

He was somewhat surprised that she did, actually… toe out of the Louboutins, take his hand. Her hand felt warm and smoothly calloused in his. The hands of a woman who, literally, had her fingers in every aspect of an operation. She gripped him tightly, pleasantly, as he heaved her up - moving his hand to her shoulder as he steadied her on the scaffold. “Good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replied, quickly, gripping one of the iron supports. “What’s the problem?”

“There,” he shone the beam of his torch at one of the pendent heads. See the colour of that glass bulb in there?”

She nodded. “It’s green.”

“It should be purple or better yet, black,” he explained. “That head you have there is only rated for temperatures of up to about ninety three degrees. A purple bulb is rated for about 182 degrees, black about 227. These heads are the wrong rating for this type of environment, you see?. All these hot stage lights… the ambient air around the heads gets too hot, bursts the bulbs and….”

“Sploosh,” she demonstrated, her fingers flaring out.

“Sploosh. Precisely.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, “but… why would I be upset at my own employees? Where’s our fault if your sprinkler guy put in the wrong heads?”

Ansgar pointed. “There,” he pointed with the beam of his flashlight, that time on the finished underside of the house right loge. “You’ve a set of properly rated heads sticking down there, all right and good for the designed use, but – it also looks as if there have been some modifications of the original design.”

She squinted. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ask your lighting designer what I’m talking about. She’s bracketed in a brand new lighting pipe there, clamped some eight-inch non-LED fresnels upon it, and did so in a space not originally meant for lighting to be in the first place.” He looked down at her, his lips twisted, a shrug in his shoulders. “First of all, one should never ever hang incandescent lights directly beneath a sprinkler head no matter what the rating – and second of all… isn’t it against fire code to hang lights of a certain temperature so close to a seating area?”

Jo peered up into the face of her inspector, reading between the words he spoke, between the lines of his narrative. “These modifications…,” she pointed over her shoulder to the new problem, “they’re dangerous?”

Ansgar nodded, “Without the proper clearance. There’s code for safety.”

“And if I’m to understand you correctly,” she led, feeling the unease sink into her stomach, “this was deliberate?”

“It appears that way.” He landed the statement as delicately as he could, but it appeared that someone tread the path of sabotage.

The woman popped down off the scaffolding to step downstage where she’d left her file. “The first incident report came after last season.” She shifted through her pages, trying to locate the very report she referred. She’d studied them many times over in the months since the trouble began. Checklist after checklist signed off by a designer and two techs invalidated by one engineer review.

If only someone from Martinsson Construction had come sooner…

Despite the skirt she wore, she plopped down to spread the papers out in front of her. “Work orders, they came through but stated that there was nothing wrong.” She slid the signed sheet along the stage floor towards Ansgar. “’These things happen…’ they said. ‘Accidents’ this one contractor told me. That’s why I came to you… well, Weissing.”

It wasn’t panic she felt. It wasn’t fear or hysteria. It was annoyance. Disbelief. Perhaps a little anger thrown in, but she’d never let anyone see that. Instead she put her head into solving this plague on her tenure as house manager. Fix it. Fix it for good and move forward. “How long to sort all this?”

The engineer still had his head stuck up in the mess of lighting, sorting out just how to fix it, what safety measures he could employ to see this didn’t happen again. He called down, his voice raised for the distance. “Not long. An afternoon, at best.”

“Herr Martinsson, who would have the most to gain for doing this?” She stopped shuffling to look upstage where he stood when hee’d climbed down from the scaffolding some minutes later. The very image of aristocratic bad boy. Starched white shirt beneath a work jacket, topped with a hard hat. The leather and metal work belt slung around his slim waist appealed to her for reasons far beyond her understanding. The contrast between the expensively tailored, highly groomed man and the hands-on worker made for a gorgeous picture.

“I can’t answer that, Froken, not without knowing the key players.” He picked up some of her pages to look at some of the names, to see if he recognized the names of contractors that missed the obvious. The sodding theifs.

She sat in silence rolling the problem over in her head. Could it be a lack of education or knowledge in her trusted employees? Or was it a case of foul intentions? She didn’t want to believe it of her people. When she reigned her thoughts in from solving the problem, she glanced up again.

A furrowed brow knitted over his long nose, he chewed the corner of his lip as he concentrated on the work orders and the checklists. His hand worked at the base of his neck, tracing a v shape below is Adam’s apple. A strangely attractive self-soothing gesture as his focus zeroed in.

“May I—“ she intruded on his reading. She laughed at herself and her predicament of being trapped on the floor. “May I please borrow a hand? I…uh…got myself into a spot of trouble.” She gestured at her seated position on the floor and reached up for him. “I’m in danger of showing my talent for very unladylike positions.” She continued laughing at herself and the challenges she put herself in.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he offered his hand to heave her up off the floor.

“Thank you. I forget… I’m always back here for with the tech guys, building, moving, lifting. This,” she ran her hands along her skirt, “this doesn’t do me any favors.” She tipped her head back looking up into the fly loft. “How long can I impose on you, Herr Martinsson? May I ask you to survey some other problem areas?”