#I guess the difference would be condescension and the capacity to recognize that people other than yourself also have inner lives

[good-to-drive]

I know it’s annoying as hell when someone won’t shut up about a piece of art when you know there are better examples of that genre or concept that they should be looking at, but there’s an alchemy that happens when someone connects with art that just can’t really be explained or explained away and you will literally always look like the asshole if you try to facts-and-logic someone out of knowing that they've experienced it

[justformyself2]

Notting Hill.

A/N: Wow, who also need a good story to be pumped for the apocalypse? raise your hand please!

Not really sure if you guys know about this story, but June 27,2020 is the date, look it up lol. You know what else we could be doing before going to hell once for all for lusting so much over John Krasinski? 

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BLACK LIVES MATTER NOW AND ALWAYS.

Well, now that i said what i said, let me finish by telling you, this is an important story for me. The past months have been extremely rough and i struggled like never before to fight for something i love to do not be consumed by dark thoughts, regardless of the past, i’m proud to be posting this right now, no matter how long it took for me and how minimal it may seem, goddamn i feel happy to create and write, and for you guys, in whatever you need to do, dream of doing, don’t let dark thoughts guide you into staying stuck, shine, do what you love, we all have the capacity.

This is my participation on my friend’s @lullabieswrappedinlies​​ rom-com writing challenge (go check her out, she is so damn creative and amazing)

This story is based on the movie Notting Hill and will be added on my masterlist. or tell me you want to be tagged if you want to keep up.

BEFORE YOU JUMP IN BE ADVISED

. Pairing: Reader x John Krasinski.

. It contains strong language.

. Click here for soundtrack of movie if you are in your feelings today

                                                   JOHN’S POV

“John, we will be ready in five.”

“Ok.”

I press the phone once again against my ear, listening to her heavy sigh. It is easy to mold her face into my brain with dexterity. The bushy eyebrows, casting a shadow under piercing blue eyes, seeking to grab my soul, she succeeding to combine it all with a condescending smile on her lips. Condescension which I have to kiss it off.

“Well, if you want to go, then go.”

Deep down, she was still trying, and I can’t take that for granted.

“I don’t want to go. I need to go, an enormous difference. It’s work.”

I aim to be the diplomatic debater, the mediator, and the opponent. She is better than me at being the third party, perfecting the act of passive-aggressiveness in chosen phrases, fuming through her nose on the other side of the line. An act I wish to interpret as a genuine breathed laugh with no second intentions; my five minutes seemed to multiply.

“Call you later?”

I say.

“Yes.”

She answers

“Love you.”

She hanged up.

                                                            --------

                                                      Y/N POV

“This book is so weird and sexist, holy shit.”

You put the phone down, and Nova throws another eighties romance book into the cardboard box with its copies.

“Language.” You sing at her in a scolding tone. 

“Sorry.” She sings back. “But you know I’m right. They are always pairing a young girl with some fifty years old, control freak who prey on them with their big, strong, tan hands.”

You giggle, and she looks satisfied.

Regardless of the narrative that anyone could quickly review, it was ‘in’ right now, as Agnes said, and what her bookclub wanted. “Un plaisir coupable.” she completed; the thin red lines that were her lips stretched in a laugh, causing her blue contacts to squint. 

Soon enough, the scavenging for the material began, and you found the yellow pages, delivered with weird smells, phone numbers, and addresses written on the inside of the covers, but still readable.

“They paid and are coming to pick them up tomorrow. It’s the only thing I care about right now. Also, don’t let her catch you saying that you hear me? I will help finish this then we can close before your mom shows up and kill me when she finds out you are here.”

You move from behind the counter, seeing the digital hour hit past ten pm on the laptop.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, she already knows.”

The unconcerned Nova grabs a box, and you grab another following her quick steps, twisting to the right almost at the end of the hall, entering a room that was once a decent private office before it became nonfunctional. 

The reserved bookshelf for Agnes club waited empty, a last-minute metal book rack next to the bay window. To create an illusion of a comfortable place for a book club, orange curvy chairs, which Alexis begged to be thrown out, along with the red Arabic carpet left behind with the chairs by the old owner. Every time you enter the space taking a deep, immediate, frustrated breath, Alexis wins a point.

You place the box down, looking at your niece.

“Kyle?”

You ask, and Nova hums softly, doing the stocking job.

 Kyle, more than a name it was first a banned topic usually discussed between a limited couple of sentences. His name was a warning, along with his unrequested presence at random, unannounced times. It became harder since Nova wasn’t at a manageable age anymore. It was tough at fifteen, and as the time passes by, sweetness gains the bitterness, and innocence, gone.

“Well, you know you will always have a second bed, Donkey misses you.”

You gain a laugh while she finishes her box.

“Oh God, can’t believe you still keep him there.”

You shrug impulsively, paying attention to your own hands, arranging the books and their horizontal titles on a pile.

“It was your favorite toy, why would I throw it away?”

“You know why.”

 A pause and a deep breath came from her, triggering the thought, long forgotten about, that people still expected you to be mourning over material remains.

“It’s okay to throw away with the rest of the others, it’s been a long time.”

Her auburn hair was now being tied in a bun. Your fifteen-year-old niece, holding a peaceful outside appearance, didn’t mind sounding more mature than you wanted to admit.

 “Good... then we can donate, not throw it away.”

“Even better.”

She agrees quickly, stomping on the empty cardboard box.

Nova turns out the lights as you awaited for her, leaning against the glass door on the entrance, blowing hot humid air into your cold fingers and watching over nothing other than a middle-aged man with a red beanie walking a Greyhound on the other side of the empty street. 

Notting Hill wasn’t known for its nightlife. It was almost a deserted city by eight and in the light of day, Portobelo Rode fruit market brings it to life. On weekdays, stalls and its hay baskets, packed with succulent fruits and greens, filled the streets along with shouted invites, half prices and sweet-soured smells invading each corner; on weekends the baskets shape-shifted to antiques of all kinds, genuine or handmaid, the crowd and the stalls multiplied in the small village. 

In-between buyers and sellers of what you could harvest or find in your gramma’s basement there was your store, a bookstore, one corner away from your home, squeezed in the middle of Linda’s cafe and a self-employed yoga instructor that recently rented Mr. Walsh’s house, a retired Navy who moved to Greenwich with his daughter-in-law three weeks ago; his red door house now held a big white plaque with ‘Sivananda Yoga’ written in cursive gold letters, phone number and social media included under the picture of a woman in the lotus posture.

“A yoga studio, nice!” Says Nova, coming closer to the four steps leading up to the red door.

You close the store and covers her shoulders with your arm when the icy wind started building up.

“We could try it someday, your mom-.”

“Hates trying new things.” She completed. “Don’t even bother.”

 “That is where you are the wrong baby. It may seem like this now, but I wish you could have seen your mom in her prior days. Wow... She was glorious.”

The feeling of wandering eyes aiming at your face became stronger as you carried her along the street under your embrace.

“Before my dad, I guess.”

A tiny part of your soul lighten up, recognizing itself in your niece’s words, but there was no place to fuel her fiery tone.                                                                                           

“To be honest, I don’t know, but people change Nova, everyone eventually, even the ones we thought we had figured out, including ourselves.”

“Whatever, I don’t want him back in the house again if she puts him back, I’m moving with you.”

The decisiveness in her voice sent bad vibrations along your back. 

Unusual memory mechanism. Alexis visited your mind, vivid as if you could see her across the street you were crossing, she waiting and shivering at your front door because you forgot the spare key in the store again. 

After the scolding she would show a rose-colored box from Fincher’s cafe under her arm, comporting the most amazing banoffee pie, your favorite pie from your favorite place. 

Fincher’s cafe, that was once located two blocks away from where you two lived was closed when the old owner went bankrupt and reopened in Queensway street, she would drive there every weekend to bring that rose-colored box under her arm and wait for you on the couch, once the spare key was in the fake birdhouse, with the TV turned on and the plates placed on the center table next to the wine.

“See, I don’t think that will happen.”

“How could you know? Didn’t you just said people change?”

“And love changes people, your mother has more for you than you could ever imagine and without measuring efforts. She wouldn’t make any decision that would hurt you, trust me.”

Nova quickly disengage from the conversation, staying on mute abruptly, leaving a temporary gap for thoughts of doubt to occupy. Your heart is worried, but a grown-up, worried heart shouldn’t be shown while trying to pass a sense of security. That included waiting for Nova to fall sleep before calling Alexis.

You climb the four steps and opens the blue door, face to face with smiling Rudolph from last Christmas, hanging by a thread along with Santa, waiting to be taken down as the feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I ate at home so if you don’t mind I will go to bed now.”

Unreeling the red knitted scarf, the tenth big piece Alexis attempted to make at her knitting fase, Nova doesn’t look behind once. You watch her back as she went upstairs to the guest room, her special fort at five, and now her hideaway at fifteen, with fewer toys and Donkey, an old stuffed toy still sitting in the shelf waiting for no one in a room cleaned every week.

You dismiss the purple scarf from around your shoulders, the third big piece on your sister’s collection, not as good as the tenth, but it warmed you inside to observe her trying to hide a proud smile in seeing what she made wrapped around Nova and you.

A stupidly cold breeze hits the back of your neck before you turned around to close the door, the phone rings along with squealing tires of a black car on the other side of the street.

                                                           1

[docholligay]

A Crack of the Heart Crystal

@rhiorhino YOU WERE MY SPARKLEE...and I’ve had this in my drafts since before my trip whoops, so I hope it serves, I used your “Haruka fucks up in an early days mission” There were many things Michiru Kaioh quite enjoyed about her new partner. Partner, no, that perhaps seemed a bit intimate, considering the fact that they had been forced together by fate. Comrade...that seemed either a bit Communist or a bit jovial, and she couldn’t decide which she liked the least. Colleague. Yes, that seemed to fit the best, at the present moment, whether the relative distance of it pleased her or not. Her colleague had a number of very positive attributes, some of which, Michiru was pleased to say, she had noticed long before she’d realized Haruka Tenoh was Sailor Uranus.

Her raw athleticism, her keen sense of physicality, her kinesthetic grace--these things benefitted them in the field, and also, strangely, seemed to lower Michiru’s requirements for the heating bill, though this particular benefit she thought best kept to herself.

But for all of Haruka’s gifts, both practical and aesthetic, there were certain things that worried her.

For one, Haruka had a hero complex. Michiru recognized that this would not be seen by most as a negative for someone, who was, in fact, a superhero, if they could be called that. But Michiru saw things differently. Courage and impetuousness and commitment to duty were all very well in the storybooks,  but in the context of an intergalactic war, she simply saw it leading toward an even earlier grave.

Discretion is the better part of valor, she had told her once, after Haruka had charged unthinking toward an enemy, the shot from its arm digging deeply into her shoulder.

Haruka had simply shrugged, and mumbled something about how she knew that.

“You don’t understand a word, I don’t believe.” She had snapped it dismissively, and leaned forward. “I mean to say it’s more heroic to avoid danger than to run straight into it like some...foolish cowboy. Do you understand that?” Haruka’s brow had knitted in embarrassment, her shoulders riding up. In later years, Michiru would look on this moment of condescension with great shame, wondering how she ever ended up with Haruka lying beside her, but in this moment, all she felt was irritation.

Haruka pulled away from her ministrations, the edge of the bandage flopping with the movement of it.

Two inches, maybe? From her heart. We can die, Haruka, if we are injured too gravely, too quickly. Do you know that? Do you know that I have no wish to see you, pale and quiet, on the ground?

However, heeding her own advice, she thought it better not to ask Haruka what she did and did not know.

The tension of that moment had passed, replaced by new and constant tensions between them, and in several months it had developed into an uneasy partnership, bound together by the twin ropes around their necks, placed there long before birth, waiting together for the drop.

__

She’d been in the bathroom half an hour, which even she had to admit seemed excessive. She was meeting Michiru at a cafe downtown in...too soon. To discuss business. Official business. Official SENSHI business.

Her hair seemed unwilling to lay down and accept the meeting in either a business or an official capacity, however, and it this only added to her frustration. She tried, always, to give off some air of respectability when she met with Michiru, particularly after seeing the circles she ran in, and the girls who courted her.

She assessed herself in the mirror. Her jacket was clean and she had mended it reasonably well, and the vest, she thought, did not match, but it did go, and both looked like something she might have seen in a discarded GQ, and covered the thinness of her shirt. She tugged at the edge of it. It isn’t too much, with jeans, is it? No, there was a shoot that had something llike this, pretty sure. Maybe not. No. Yes? I mean yeah.

Her hair sprung up again, and she sighed heavily as she headed to the cafe.

For all of her concerns over her looks, Michiru did not seem to notice one way or the other, and Haruka felt an immediate disappointment and relief, looking at her elegance and beauty, a silver bracelet hanging from her delicate wrist, smelling softly of roses and jasmine.

“Haruka, I believe I’ve found our next target.” It was a difficult guess, always, but then again, Michiru had a way of relishing in the times that life was difficult, for, at the very least, they confirmed her suspicions about the larger world.

Haruka leaned forward over the picture of the girl and bit the inside of her cheek. Oh god, not her. Whoever they took the Talismans from would die. But many would live. You must sacrifice them for the greater good, Haruka. You must sacrifice yourself.

She was a sweet-looking girl, grinning brightly over her many cooking awards. Her name was Emi, and she had gone to school with Haruka before this whole talisman mess. She gave Haruka leftovers after school, a lot. Begged her to take them, said her family would never eat them. She did that for other people, too, and pretended like she didn’t spend her free period cooking for it.

She was kind. It made sense she would hold a pure heart.

“You’re sure?” Haruka mounted as a weak defense.

“Of little in life am I absolutely certain, but it seems a fair assessment.” She took a sip of her tea, and looked over at Haruka. “Is there any particular reason she seems a poor choice? Some scandal of which I am unaware?”

“No.” Haruka shook her head and touched the edge of the photograph. “Not at all.”

Michiru looked over at her kindly, a sudden sadness seizing her as she studied Haruka’s woebegone gaze.

__

If occasionally, life gives us gifts, today’s gift was that, as the pure heart was pulled from Emi’s body, it seemed clear to Haruka that it wasn’t a talisman.

She would have conceded the point that she wasn’t entirely sure what the talismans were supposed to look like, and Michiru had not seen fit to share that information, but she was fairly certain that it would at least look different, and Emi’s pure heart looked the same as all the others.

She threw a swing at the daimon, but it was quick, and dodged nimbly around her, catching her in the side. Michiru came around the back of it, her small fist drilled in behind its ear, and she took Haruka by the hand, leading her to the side for a moment’s breath.

“It isn’t a talisman, Uranus, we may as well leave the daimon to it.” She brushed a piece of imaginary dirt off her skirt and began to walk away, her earlier kindness forgotten amidst the realization of how tough this particular foe could be.

Haruka shook her head firmly, a tin foil covered dish appearing in her mind. “No.”

Michiru looked at her, annoyed to be directly disobeyed. “I beg your pardon? You are aware, I hope, that we are a finite resource.”

Haruka did not meet her gaze. “I can’t let Emi die. She’s nice.”

“This is madness.” She threw her hands in the air. “I will not back you.”

But she was ignored, denied even the dignity of a response, and Haruka headed back into the fray, silently wondering why the daimon couldn’t just return the heart crystal, and then Haruka would detransform and take Emi home, and no one would be the wiser. If it wasn’t a talisman, all of this was unnecessary.

She reflected on these things as she whirled around the daimon, but quickly realized why Michiru had been so reluctant to fight it--it was swifter and more agile than others they had fought, and as quick as Haruka was, she struggled to match the creature.

There was also the question of the spears it carried, which added an exciting tone of doom to the affair.

She was caught out, and she had overplayed her hand, and she was exceedingly aware of all of these things, and yet she could not compel herself to stop, could not join Michiru and forget about Emi lying there. She knew the world depended on their lives. She knew that someone would have to be sacrificed, and oh, how she wished she were strong enough to have it be someone who had showed her kindness. Michiru had that strength. She did not. She was nothing next to Michiru, in every sense.

The spear was coming.

Haruka closed her eyes, and prepared for the sharp blade into her ribcage.

Instead, there was a strong shove from the side, and Michiru snatched the spear out of the air, whirling it and stabbing it deep into the chest of the daimon. She did it with the elegance and grace with which she strolled down the sidewalk, and Haruka was not sure she had ever seen her fight with such ferocity. It was as terrifying as it was dramatic, and if Haruka knew as much about art then as she would come to know, she might have compared it to Judith slaying Holofernes, remembering how it felt to stand in that room with the huge painting and bask in its terrible beautiful violence.

Haruka tenderly scooped Emi’s pure heart up from the ground and placed it into her chest, ignoring the pain, just pleased to see her stir, even slightly.

Michiru turned to Haruka, her face dark.

“I hope you’re pleased.”

__

In later years, the seesaw of justice and discretion settled, and Michiru and Haruka read each other well enough that the arguments on matters of military strategy were rare. In those times, after a battle, they would gently bandage each other’s wounds, drink tea or hot cocoa, and wrap up together, gently adjusted into the most comfortable position for them both. It was warm and intimate and it almost made the battles themselves worthwhile, for Michiru.

But that time was still years off, and all Michiru felt right now was the sour mix of relief and anger in her mouth. She set her purse down on the table in the entrance, just hard enough that the chrome feet of her Hermes back cracked against the cool tile of the small table.

“I apologize the girl was your friend, but her life is only one, Haruka. We are the only ones who can stop what is going to happen. We two. If you throw that away for some--”

Haruka had limped in weakly behind Michiru, but the accusation found her with a renewed vigor, breaking through the exhaustion and fear into pure bellicose frustration.

“I KNOW YOU THINK I’M STUPID!”

Michiru whirled around and stared her in the eye. “I think you are foolhardy and impetuous and that you believe these things pass for gallantry, but they most certainly do not.”

“JUST SAY WHAT YOU MEAN FOR FUCK’S SAKE”

“I AM AFRAID YOU WILL DIE, HARUKA.” Her voice cracked, just the smallest, most fragile twitch, like the miniscule line in the glaze of an old pot, barely visible to the naked eye.

But there it was, laid just a little bare.

Haruka recoiled as if she’d been bitten, taking a step backwards, her eyebrows knit in confusion. Her mind flickered to the hopeless, terrible thoughts she had dreamed, that MIchiru could ever look on her with anything other than passing tolerance, that she might ever know what it was to really touch MIchiru, in the soft way that cherry blossoms caressed her cheek as they fell to the ground, unconscious of the gift they had been given.

And for a moment, just one lost moment, she thought she saw that hope reflected in Michiru’s eyes.

But of course, Michiru’s eyes were an unending sea, and she saw only herself, as Michiru shook her head.

Haruka cleared her throat. “The mission’d be harder with one.”

Michiru looked up and gave a soft huff.

“Yes. The mission.”

[mattgrips]

Divinity

Power -> The potential to do work (overtime). A simple scientific attempt to ascertain the meaning of power. A great definition to establish power grids and make batteries but without further elaboration, it’s hard to see it in more of the kings and rulers kind of sense. Certainly, the president is powerful -> he/she can do a lot of work (overtime). I don’t know, that doesn’t sound right to me. A powerful engine can produce a lot of work to move a hunk of junk around, but the way a president/manager/CEO does work is more indirect – they are only one piece in the system where many other movers expend additional energy that accumulates into the later fruits of collective labor. But following the same logic, I would be hard pressed to isolate an individual engine component and declare it as powerful. There’s a lot about us people that isn’t taken into account when looking into power in this abstract sense.

The difference is Will. Once this is established, it is easy to see how power is both defined and allocated within a system of human beings. Now power is not a matter of how much work one can do, but how much work one can command. Following this additional concept into our universe is a snowball of newer concepts amalgamating into our anthropocentric worldview: respect, class, shame, pride, reputation. All wonderful terms that help us distinguish each other and enrich a world that would be rather dull without. I’m partially kidding – obviously power is one of the first ways we are introduced to our vices and fallibility. By inventing power we have essentially created the currency that enables our vanity, greed, and selfishness to run amok in the world. Life is no longer indifferent matter and energy. It now has us. Woohoo

I’ve cut going into a longer tangent to get to the original point of my post. Obviously, just like with ‘purpose’ (discussed in my previous post) the combined elusiveness and necessity of power has inspired many to try and write a book about it. The massive pile of power-related books attempts to see power in many different perspectives; from diplomatic (The Prince) to military (The Art of War), to business (Something by 50 Cent probably), to fantastical (fables i guess). Obviously this isn’t a topic that is only found in specific publications. Power is an apparent revelation in literally everything we do, so many perspectives exist outside of literature. It’s all quite a bit to wrap your head around. Luckily there exists a book that has compiled most of our history of power into a comprehensive anthology for totally academic and not pecuniary purposes.

Enter Robert Greene’s ’48 Laws of Power’. I picked it up last week and have enjoyed reading it up to this point. Much like other books, it is filled with obnoxious and facetious rhetoric, but it’s all good because it’s all in reference to historical accounts where it was okayy to talk like a sociopath. I can go on about the 48 Laws’ many contradictions, impracticalities, and immorality but to do so would be like intelligently discussing youtube drama. It would force me to talk like I was above the book’s pettiness, cynicism, and condescension. I most certainly am not, and I appreciate a book that understands when a topic is too broad and undefined to be talked about in a way that has no humor and play in it.

So I’ve enjoyed this book for what it is -> the book equivalent of Assassin’s Creed: an action packed adventure sprinkled in with historical tid-bits meant to not so much explicitly teach me something, but take me through a journey of the human experience through story, myth, and anecdote. And it does quite a good job. The stories are engaging enough to have me pondering many things happening in my life.

I want to discuss on the last law I read about today. Law number 30: ‘Make your accomplishments seem effortless’

I like this one because it’s one of the less objectionable laws. Also, it is one of the laws that has a more coherent connection to the underlying concepts of power that the book is trying to express (assuming the author had an underlying logic to his writing and was totally not just regurgitating content into a marketable way for money). Throughout the book, there has been a recurring theme on maintaining appearances. Greene cleverly recognizes that in the game of power most people are more equally matched than the power differences we observe in the world suggest. What differentiates people from each other is more of a matter of public perception. Two people can perform at the same caliber of whatever on the public stage but still be perceived very differently. One may be seen as the more honest competitor, or the more likable character, or be attached to a more noble cause, or a higher virtue. Whether these perceptions are true or not is not a practical concern in terms of transaction costs, and societal well-being. If there is to be any social fabric keeping us together, people can’t be in continual skepticism throughout the day. The result is a world based on appearances which creates a playing field where objectivity is obscured and people can be exalted to higher realms that any physiological, intellectual, or conscientious basis could never accomplish.

This is the only idea that is so apparently and consistently followed throughout the book. There are so many gaps in our perceptions of everything, all of which require too much rigorous work to actually figure out. Also deterring us is the likely prospect that whatever we discover will be a thousand times more boring than whatever we can imagine in our heads. Of course this last point is subjective as many find wonder and excitement in what others would call dull, but there is a well-defined picture of what the ‘public’ finds objectionable, boring, exciting, and just even though this majority is becoming more and more blurred these days (ill elaborate later).

Anyways, one of the many gaps in our worldview is the one inquiring on the varying capacity of human potential. The main driver of this gap is the inconsistency in seeing amazing human beings on TV, radio, stories etc. while also seeing the abysmal existence most of us live out for whatever reason. How could it be that some live to be great men and women while I struggle to get up everyday? Possible rational (but not necessarily true) explanations can be drawn from the social sciences, using a varying arsenal of socio-economic theories, or from the physical sciences where we can explain everything away with biological and atomistic determinism. If I’m really unfortunate , I may end up with an explanation that puts sole responsibility on myself, and my ego would hate that.

No matter how you slice it, finding a rational explanation for the outcomes of other people’s lives as well as my own is way too rigorous, and boring. What is more natural/probable (not necessarily more desirable) is subconsciously drawing conclusions from what I see from the outside. From the limited time I spend with people, I pick up clues on how happy, stressed, and well-adjusted a person is. Drawing these conclusions within the context of other things I know about the person will draw even more inferences. A person I see as stressed out and know as a working class shmuck will draw sympathy from my mind. A person I see as sad and know to be well-off will draw disgust. A person I see as easy-going and think to be in a highly difficult position will seem like a god to me.

And with this emerges the most well-defined aspect of power -> appearances. Finally a framework that can be elaborated on in a productive studious way. From this a multitude of Laws come about aside from Law 30. Law 5: Protect ya rep; Law 3: Conceal your intentions; Law 12: Use selective honesty; Law 21: appear dumber than your mark. All recognize the reality that we can’t background check every person we meet and have to use expedited forms of perception to form a worldview. From this we have a beautiful world of acts, stories, narrative, rhetoric; it’s all just one big play!

But I did emphasize Law 30 for a reason. It’s because while other Laws seek to have the user be perceived as ignorant, virtuous, or innocent, Law 30 aims to exalt the user into Godlike status. This brings us back into the gap of human potential. Because of this inconclusive aspect in our psyche, many of us won’t be too against the possibility that some among us are exceptionally divine. It makes life fun and brings excitement into our existence without actually taking on the stress that undertaking divinity in our own individual lives would entail. So even though it may be unlikely that an individual is divine, under the right conditions, many of us would want to believe that some of us are paragons.

This certainly brings excitement into my own personal life. To say that I don’t place existential burdens on celebrities, idols, and myths by holding them to unreasonably high standards would be dishonest. The trick (i guess) to not making this totally messed up is by a) being aware of how I am viewing people to continually find ways to reduce harm in the world; and b) using the use of idols as role models to continually push me to achieve greater things. Don’t sound that bad now eh? Oh well. Either way, this perception of divinity allows me to enjoy an exciting and productive thought process. I love my favorite bands, authors, and public figures based on how divine they seem to me. Outward appearances matter for me in this. I look out for: absolute disinterest (or even disgust) for others, elusive social media, lack of engagement, but of course with the occasional burst of exceptional performance or amazing revelation that asserts why I think whoever is amazing in the first place.

This is is really the idolized character I place in my mind. I hate it when someone on a screen I don’t know tries to reach out and establish a personal connection with me, and continually tries to establish relatableness with me. For me I really don’t want validation of who I am from others. I think I get that enough from my own existence. What I truly seek out are people to attach aspirations and goals to. I think many people do that too. And in that lies the empty space for people to obtain power from. Whether you think that’s unfortunate, or exploitable, or whatever, I find that it is a definite reality, and kind of makes life interesting.

Of course there are other people, or rather times when people, are on the other side of the coin. Sometimes we do look to others to feel validated in our current state. Sometimes we’d probably want someone to say things like ‘you can do it too!’, but from my experience I think those times are few and far, and are used in toxic ways that ultimately stagnate any sort of growth in an individual. I’m not sure if our tendency for this sort of comfort is on the rise, or just a simple pattern that occurs in all generations as they age. Whatever the actual answer, this is yet another vacancy for others to claim influence and power over.

Appearing divine by observing the 30th Law of Power does have its obstacles in this day and age. There is an increasing need and ability for transparency and accountability from anybody who does anything. How is one to give the appearance of ease when people now demand to see everything, from behind the scenes, to documents, to emails of all the workings of the system we live in. Obviously this is a great thing, I’m just saying that it is now harder to take on an exalted appearance now.

Which brings me to the actual point I was trying to make in this whole blog post. I didn’t think it would take this long to lay the groundwork for the only original contribution in this blog post but thank you for reading this far in. As the future brings in less ways to isolate yourself and give off appearances through subtle signals, there is still one signal that brings divine hope. It’s simple: Happiness. This world is an increasingly aware place that places a lot more emphasis on what to be sad about than anything. The world wants people to be aware that everything they do holds a negative consequence to someone else, and that the world is a large injustice that should just be done away with. With this in mind, how else can one go about life without being solemn, dull, and disillusioned?

This disillusion simply brings in the vacancy to obtain power through a new ‘illusion’ (I use illusion loosely because I don’t mean it like something different from reality. Rather I’m using illusion as anything that differs from what the public would like to enforce as ‘reality’). Before, the amazement from watching a virtuoso performance was partially by seeing how easy heshe made it seem. In other instances, where I see myself, I can see it beneficial to give the appearance that I can carry on my duties with happiness, hope, and optimism. Taking on Engineering and Law School, very socially demanding occupations, I have the feeling that society sees STEM and continuous learning to be undertakings of present sacrifice for future gain. A rational, and BORING perception of someone. How exciting would it be rather, to see someone undertaking such an act for deeper reasons. To see someone pursue something for virtuistic, philosophical, dare I say it divine ambitions.

I think this is why I derive much enjoyment from the book. Not for its simplistic listing of steps to crush enemies and feel all high and mighty. In its words, it kind of sets a framework of appearances that allows for creativity, innovation, and fun to be had when thinking about public perception, the human experience, and how power all plays a part in it.

That’s pretty neat.