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thinking-through-some-things · 5 years ago

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sure is interesting how many people will talk about propaganda and being a careful consumer and then just. turn around and act like disney is somehow above political and economical problems.

it's astounding how many people say "disney should just own everything! then we wouldn't have to worry about who owns the characters! think of the crossovers!" and honestly don't see a problem with that. even people who understand, to some degree, 1) corporations aren't your friend, and/or 2) monopolies are bad.

so many of us just look at Disney through the rose-colored glasses of childhood nostalgia, and because of that, we can't conceive of disney as being yet another corporation that values profit over art and people. except it is.

we're so blinded by the endless franchises disney pumps out, and the innocence we associate the company with because of the content that it produces/has produced, that time and time again we'll ignore shady business practices, poorly done films/shows, complaints and strikes of disney employees, etc., all because we cannot picture disney as yet another company that prioritizes profit above all else.

but it is.

i don't blame you if you like disney movies — so do i! but disney is not perfect, and it is not infallible.

disney's animation is not inherently better than other companies. on a technical level they may be able to achieve more, but 1) they have significantly more money than any other animation company so this should be expected, and 2) all this has resulted in a homogenous style that doesn't take artistic risks — because it's safer, profit-wise, to stick with a reliable art style that has proven to sell well.

disney movies are not intently better written than other films. sometimes it's just that disney has a solid corner of the market in popular but niche genres. sometimes it's that they can afford to hire better (or just. more) writers, or out-bid other studios for strong scripts.

disney movies are not better movies simply because they are disney. sometimes it's just that you've forgotten their bad films and only remember the ones you like. and sometimes you like bad films because they're disney and you expect them to be good.

it's time we started looking much more critically at disney. it's time we started expecting more from them.

"they can't include gay characters because they have to worry about conservatives/international markets." bullshit. disney can afford to include gay characters. they can afford to have a film that underperforms. they just care more about money than representation.

"the animation is so advanced! it just looks the same because that's what's in style." disney could be producing some really unique and unusual stuff. they can afford experimental styles and plot choices. they just won't try that because they won't risk losing money.

i can't tell you how many times i've seen people say "i don't like that disney does xyz, but i'm still going to see this film because it's disney." i get it. i've been there. but when are we going to stop letting disney dictate our entire media experience?

honestly, disney is killing so many creative industries and genres.

remember how disney decided to scrap their 2d department because it wasn't making as much as 3d animation? and nearly the entire animation industry followed their lead? and now we have an endless supply of subpar 3d animation, because few studios have the resources disney has? most us animation studios just poorly imitate disney's style, which is why the most interesting and innovative animated films today come from outside the us.

why does competition matter? look at animated tv shows vs films. since disney dominates the animated film industry, other studios have struggled to break free of their control. but in television, cartoon network and nickelodeon have maintained just enough of a share of the market to encourage a variety of animated styles — and netflix's growing list of animated shows, including many international options, have resulted in a boom of really good animated shows in the past few years.

i'm not saying these other companies are better than disney, only pointing out that, by forcing disney to share the stage with a serious competitor, these companies are forcing disney to take more chances and be more creative.

and. touching on marvel and star wars. part of the reason disney has been successful with these films is yes, they knew how to cater to the right audience at the start. but now they're just relying on brand/franchise/star power, flashy effects they can afford, predictably successful plot points, and pure nostalgia to get people's attention (and money).

marvel movies don't even have to be good anymore. regardless of what you think of the movies, you're going to go see the next one. because as long as you liked one character, as long as you're invested in one story, you have to see every. other. marvel. film. to have any idea what's happening in the next film with that one character. it's gotten to the point that there's really no point in watching new films if you haven't already watched previous ones because they don't explain basic information if it was mentioned in another marvel movie.

also. because disney's marvel films are the most popular and recognizable superhero films, most viewers expect all superhero films to look and feel like marvel films — especially since there are so many that it feels like that's just. how superhero movies look. so instead of seeing a wide variety of superhero films trying different storytelling tactics, visual effects, narrative justifications, etc., we see, again, poor imitations that lack disney's budget and really different films that get rejected because they don't match our expectations.

the live action remakes really are the epitome of this problem (and before anyone says anything, no, the live action films are not about copyright law. that's not how copyright works).

first of all, disney could be taking daring risks and really challenging these films. they could have, for example, given middle eastern or indian directors, costume/set designers, writers, etc. crew members the chance to take a film that, while loved by many, has been criticized by others for being orientalist, and turn the film into something that reflected and appreciated their culture(s) from a personal perspective; and disney, in turn, could have helped those people move up in a competitive and hard-to-break-into field.

but they didn't do that.

or beauty and the beast. disney could have gone in a completely different direction, telling a brand new story and challenging ideas of social convention and love. or really pushed the aesthetics of the film.

but they didn't.

except for a few minor changes and an overblown "first gay disney character!!!" campaign (that amounted to almost worse than nothing), the live action was practically a carbon copy of the animated one. they played it safe and used the same predictably popular elements, and the few "feminist" jabs they added in were so uncontroversial that no one in 2017 would complain about them except laughably misogynistic people who hated how preachy those moments felt. in other words, even the "politics" they added in were safe.

ironically enough, my favorite disney live action film has been cinderella. i though it was visually interesting and different, and the changes to the script/plot focused on personal freedom and survival and retaining your sense of empathy despite abuse. but it didn't do as well monetarily for disney, it is, categorically, a failure. so we're likely to see disney rely more on close retellings than changed stories.

i don't think all disney films are bad, nor do i think you're a bad person for liking disney/pixar/marvel/star wars films. but if you think disney is the only company that does x well, or that they really should just own y company, or who cares if they do z, then you need to take a step back and re-evaluate.

we need to stop excusing disney. we need to stop thinking the company is cute. as a corporation, their goal is not to coddle you or make the world safer and nicer. their goal is to make money. full stop.

if you want to see a disney movie, fine. go see it. but don't watch it just because it's disney. make them earn your business by. actually. making good movies.

(sorry this is really disorganized and definitely missing points. it should probably be like. five separate essays. oops.)

#disney #capitalism #media #propaganda #spider man

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coaldplay · 5 years ago

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Promise of Mother’s Love: chapter 4 - “Let it go”

Three years later.

Summer.

Naruto didn't like Mondays. Not because it was a Monday and a beginning of the week. No. He didn't like Mondays, because it was the day of learning fuuinjutsu.

He went to the grandpa a few times a week, always just after Academy lessons. He stays there until Mirai comes and takes him back home. Sometimes, it was a happy moment. Sometimes, he was sad it was over.

Today, it would be of 180' degrees opposite of the latter. Like every Monday.

He sighed today for what seemed the 100th time. He was sitting there, on Monday, in grandpa's house, on pillows, just next to a low table, with Sarutobi-sensei. He called him Sarutobi-sensei only during these lessons, and in a sole purpose of mocking the old man.

He was sitting here working on fuuinjutsu, instead of doing something productive. He didn't consider fuuinjutsu useful. It wasn't. For him, it was just drawing weird stuff on a big roll of paper.

He sighed again.

"Today, Naruto, you are exceedingly active."

They worked together, sitting opposite to each other.

"Yeah... no joke."

Naruto heard a soft laugh.

He sighed again. He was so sleepy.

"You didn't get enough sleep today, Naruto?"

"You know it's not that, Sarutobi-sensei. It's fuuinjutsu. It's so boring."

"Will you stop calling me sensei, please? It sounds strange from you. And this surname..."

"You are my sensei, though. Should I just call you by Hiruzen only?"

Hiruzen winced.

"No, no. That is just too much."

"Yeah... it almost didn't come through my throat."

"Happy we agree on this, Naruto."

"Sure. You're welcome."

Hiruzen sighed mentally. Mentally, because he didn't want to be like Naruto, who had a strange habit of sighing. He must've learned that from the Naras, and there it went, trying to pass itself down on him. He would not let it do that to him. Not in a million years.

He sighed, physically.

"Fuuinjutsu isn't boring," he muttered.

"Something's wrong, Sarutobi-sensei? You ain't so young anymore. Don't forget that."

"You will never let me forget."

"Bingo!" he shouted playfully.

"You play bingo, Naruto?" Hiruzen asked surprised.

"No."

"So how...?"

"Just saw it the other day. You should go there. It's a game for people just like you. Old people. Maybe you'd finally meet a sweet old lady? She'd make you tasty cookies. Everybody knows how much you love 'em. Real tasty cookies. Delicious."

Naruto very much liked to make fun of him. He would make a fine comedian in the future, if he wasn't training for a shinobi.

But the good atmosphere had to end, when Naruto finally showed him his work, full of hopeless hope.

"Again."

The very-soon-to-be a nine-year-old lost his patience though.

"How many times do I must tell you, that I don't make it in fuuinjutsu?" said Naruto, annoyed, folding his arms.

Hiruzen didn't answer at first. He never reacted to anger. He reached for his pipe and began to rub in the tobacco. It wasn't until he almost ended to do so, when he started speaking, noticing Naruto calmed down a little.

"Naruto, list all areas of shinobi practice."

Namikaze looked at him in surprise. It took him a little off guard.

"The ninjutsu, the taijutsu, the genjutsu, the kenjutsu. And last, but not least," he spread his arms, showing work in front of him, "the fuuinjutsu."

"Oh, yeah, how very much he likes to show off," thought Hiruzen, laughing inside. He only nodded his head though.

"Yes. Now list the most famous masters of each of them."

"Hmm?"

It surprised him even more. This talk had made no sense to him, but whateva.

"Start with genjutsu."

"Genjutsu... it's probably Kurenai, Kurenai Yuhi? Hey, hardly anyone masters genjutsu, so it was easy."

"Oh, oh, yes. You're right. Kurenai is a genjutsu master, indeed. Kenjutsu?"

If he named Itachi or Shisui, he would get a little worried.

"It's a little harder. I think either the samurai from the Iron country or the Seven Masters of the Sword, from the Mist."

"Taijutsu?"

"Honestly, I don't know. This Maito Gai... or was it Guy? He is said to be very good, but I don't believe it."

"Oh? Why?"

"He looks so stupid! How does someone like him could be a taijutsu master?"

"You would be surprised, how much differs an outside look from what's on the inside, Naruto. You must know a person better before judging one. Remember that. And for you know, Maito Gai is a powerful taijutsu master. What about ninjutsu?"

Naruto looked at him suspiciously and folded his arms.

"Admit it, this whole talk is only for making me say that you are best at ninjutsu."

Hiruzen laughed at this.

"So don't say it, Naruto. What about fuuinjutsu?"

Naruto looked down.

"My father, the Fourth Hokage."

Hiruzen popped his pipe.

"Yes, Minato is one of the best living people, when it comes to fuinjutsu. But you are wrong."

It surprised Naruto.

"How is that?"

Hiruzen pointed his finger at the painting hanging on the wall.

"Could you take this off and bring it here?"

"Okay..."

He felt that he knew the sign from somewhere, but he didn't know from where. It felt as if having a word at the end of the tongue, but one can't say what word it is.

When he sat down and put the painting on the table, the Third asked:

"What do you think about this, Naruto?"

"I've seen this sign somewhere, but I don't remember where exactly."

Hiruzen nodded approvingly.

"This is the emblem that is placed..."

"...on shinobi jackets! Of course!" finished Naruto, facepalming himself.

Painted was a red vortex circle on a white background.

"Yes. Every shinobi of Konoha, as I told you, should know the basics of every field of ninja arts. Without these basics, you can't be an effective shinobi, Naruto."

"Yes, yes, I know, you don't have to repeat yourself, old man."

"This is not the only reason, Naruto, that I want to teach you fuuinjutsu."

"Really?"

"This symbol you see here is an emblem of the Uzumaki clan, Naruto. You see, in the first year of the Academy, you study the history of Konoha. The First and Second Hokage were from the Senju clan. Members of both these clans, Uzumaki and Senju, were very distant relatives. Their common roots were, ohoho, very ancient times. A thousand of years, at least. Half-legendary. What you don't learn at the Academy though, is that the Uzumaki clan was once Konoha's most faithful and greatest ally. My sensei's wife, the First Hokage, was from the Uzumaki clan. Her name was Uzumaki Mito."

"Uzumaki clan... was? As if, they aren't there anymore?"

Hiruzen nodded sadly, looking away.

"Twenty-four years ago, during the war, Uzushiogakure, home of the Uzumaki, was conquered and destroyed. Every man, woman and even young ones. Every building, there is no stone left on another stone. Few Uzumaki survived. Only a few families, which was because they were far away from home during the invasion. They did not have a home to come back to, so one of those families came here, to Konoha. It was them, who taught your father fuinjutsu. A lone mother with one daughter."

"Maybe...?"

Hiruzen shook his head.

"No, they won't teach you. Unfortunately, the woman who was your father's sensei died shortly after she passed every bit of her knowledge to Minato. Huge loss, I say."

"What about the daughter?"

Hiruzen gave him a long look.

Naruto deserved to know, It wasn't that big of a state secret really, since she died and who knows where Kyuubi is now. And she was Naruto's mother. He could not tell him though, that they suspected suicide... he was too young for that.

"She died not long after her mother."

Naruto nodded.

"It was during a mission to find other of her clansmen." Hiruzen added.

And Naruto felt it was a lie.

Kakashi stood with flowers in his hand in front of Memorial Stone.

The fact, that he was here, wouldn't surprise anyone. People knew, where to look for him, when he was, almost always, running late.

People used to be full of respect for his mourning. As years slowly passed, it didn't raise such feelings no more. Only politeness, which he found mocking. He preferred when people felt anger and irritation over his stupid mannerisms.

Sometimes though, they who knew, just looked at him with pity in their gaze.

He thought, they didn't remember another Kakashi, who wasn't standing in front of Memorial Stone for hours no end. Who was arrogant and laughed at them for their inability to stand against him; and who was, at the same time, strangely likeable more often than not, although he himself didn't know why that seemed to be the case.

Strangers were overwhelmed by his fame. Ninja, who knew a thousand jutsus, right?

No more than a two hundred.

Chidori no Kakashi, they named him. Kakashi of a thousand screeching birds.

Ain't helping with making new friends, is it?

Didn't help him with the ones he already lost.

His friends no longer remembered the Old Kakashi. As far as there has ever been someone like that, for he wasn't so sure anymore.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into years. His whole past... from before... was just an abstraction, incomprehensible and foreign.

These years today turned into a decade. What he had become?

"Let's go," said Minato Namikaze. Kakashi felt like a beaten dog, when he followed him.

Obito and Rin were buried side by side on Hokage's orders. The Uchiha clan and Rin's parents tried to protest, but his sensei was adamant.

At least in this way they will finally be together.

This, however, did not comfort anyone. Silver-haired only saw the irony that was spitting on his face. Obito's body wasn't even here. Only Rin's.

"Why, Rin, why? Did you really want to meet him so badly? Didn't you know what promise I gave to him?"

He could say no more, before he fell to his knees in front of the grave and cried.

Hours later. Same place.

A figure in a black coat appeared out of nowhere.

Obito took off his mask. He wanted Rin to recognize him.

If only he could, he would save her from them. From Kakashi. If only he could make it back in time.

Obito looked at the grave that was marked with his name.

He felt no feeling, except one and only one, which was the only thing that gave him his strength.

Love he still felt for her. Always. Since the time, he first laid his eyes on her.

He stood there for a while, not speaking.

If only he could make it.

"It's time," said black Zetsu, who was without white half.

Fugaku didn't look up, when the door to his office opened.

"Sasuke, it's late. Why aren't you in bed?"

He didn't ask for anyone. And no one ever comes at this hour. It must be his second son again. He thought he was too big for that, but apparently he was wrong.

There was no answer.

He waited for a few seconds, still a pen in hand, writing.

Only then did he look up.

And he frantically stood up, knocking over the chair. He immediately took a stance, ready to fight.

"Who are you?! What is this intrusion?!"

In front of him stood a tall figure in a dark coat, just as tall, reaching the floor. It had also very long sleeves.

A mask with flaming patterns was visible from under a wide hood. It only had one hole, for the left eye.

"Who are you?! Speak, damn you!"

"You really don't know who I am?" the man asked in a puzzled tone.

"Is that some kind of a stupid joke?! Why would I know that?!"

Madara expected Fugaku to recognize the mask. It seems that the Fourth has concealed at least some of what happened nine years ago.

"You should know. After all, we're both Uchiha."

"Who the hell are you?! If you are actually an Uchiha, you should know that such intrusion is considered an assault on the clan's head. The penalty is death."

"I know. I created that law, mind you."

What?

"What?"

The man in the mask sat down in front of the desk. His every move was observed by Fugaku.

"Sit."

That voice... there was something about it, that made him feel a twinge of fear.

Even if he was an Uchiha, he was something utterly different.

He took his chair and placed it on its place.

He sat.

"Now, we can talk. And, you heard me. I created that law. My name is Uchiha Madara."

Laughter, terror, surprise. Calm. Madara was impressed by how quickly Fugaku managed to calm his mind down, though his face showed suspense.

"Whether or not you believe me, it does not matter. I haven't come to take my place from you."

Fugaku didn't like this tone.

"I thought the First Hokage killed my predecessor in Valley of the End."

Madara pointed to a place, where there would probably be a second hole for a right eye.

"Izanagi."

Fugaku nodded. He wasn't very surprised. It was a kinjutsu, but Madara must've known it. The elders suspected this, but kept it a secret from everyone outside.

It could be considered an act of treason. At this point, the irony of that statement was laughable.

"Why are you hiding your face from me?"

However, the fact that these suspicions turned out to be, at least maybe, true, disturbed him nonetheless.

"Only a few people are still alive, who keep the knowledge of what I looked like in their memories. It will be finally forgotten, when they die."

Fugaku raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Why are you disturbing the peace of this village, Madara?"

Fugaku sensed his eyes on him. He looked into the hole in the mask and watched it closely.

Sharingan.

"Is that what you call peace? What you name peace, I call calm before the storm. Let's talk why I am here."

Autumn.

No one said a word about Fourth Hokage, even though they were at his son's ninth birthday.

Naruto was sitting on the windowsill and watching Konoha's night panorama.

He couldn't sleep.

His father hasn't come. Again.

Today were his 9th birthday. Everyone who did come, long ago went to their homes and laid asleep in their beds.

He couldn't take his eyes off of this city' landscape.

Konoha was sleeping. Yellow light from the lamps, who were only light sources except the moon, created a melancholic vibe.

A clock on the wall in his room showed one o'clock at night, but he wasn't weary. What he felt, did not feel like that.

He sure was often tired. Academy courses, Third's lessons. He felt a slight consolation in that from today, he was a genin. Officially.

He dreamed about it, he truly did, but now it felt bland. Like it was just another day, that one becomes genin. That was a peak moment in his life and yet, now, when he was alone, and it was late at night, he couldn't feel the happiness he certainly did feel, when he got the news.

For his father, even though he gave him a promotion, did not come to celebrate his birthday. That was so much different from years before.

The wind blew strongly. Sound of rustling leaves filled the empty space between his heart and body.

Somewhere in the distance dog barked.

Naruto jumped off the sill on the floor and opened the window as wide as it was possible.

He liked the cold. When the wind blew on his face, he felt just free.

Freedom. And ease.

Oh, how much he loved that feeling.

He stood by the bed and widely spread his arms, welcoming it and begging it, in his mind, to stay. It never did.

He smiled, when he felt chills all over his body. It was freezing cold, but for these couple of seconds, he always forgets about everything.

He wanted to be like the wind, uncontrollable and playful, free and not bound by anything.

He felt cold tears running down his cheeks.

When he opened them, his eyes went to the picture of a smiling Fourth Hokage, that was framed on his bedside.

He grabbed it and threw it out the window as hardly as he possibly could, screaming loudly until it hit the ground below.

He closed the window with a bang and threw himself on the bed, sobbing.

Naruto left the building, and then without even looking up, headed for the academy gate. He knew where to go.

On Thursdays, he always comes home by himself, alone.

Like every winter, he was happy to be outdoors. The snow creaked pleasantly under his boots. He was dressed in a warm orange jacket and blue, thick pants. Cold pinched his cheeks playfully, and he was smiling widely because of this.

He passed by snowball battle which was always there near academy, during the winter. Kids were laughing loudly.

He ain't a girl, so he is safe with just passing by. Nobody will attack him just like that, for they knew his revenge was always sweeter than most people's.

Some minutes later, he found himself at the crossroads. He glanced sideways. It's been a long time since he was in the Academy Park.

He sat on the bench and pulled out a map of Konoha.

He began to study it.

"A shinobi must know his village as well as the back of his own hand," he heard Third's voice.

To visit, there was left only one place. He has never been there, he thought surprised.

Well, he can do it today. He stood up and took the walk to the place. He put the map to his backpack - he didn't need it anymore.

He wasn't afraid. Right?

As he passed through the main gate of the cemetery, a wide square appeared to his eyes.

A tall board with a map painted on it, stood next to one of the benches.

He looked at it. The whole cemetery, square, divided into nine, numbered from 1 to 8 and a star.

He noticed it. On the map. The golden star. Grandfather's two sensei. The First and The Second.

He felt joy. Euphoria, even.

He never felt anything like that.

He didn't notice the moment, when he started running. People were turning around, surprised. Naruto was slipping between them without stopping for a moment. In his blue eyes they could see only happiness.

These people were blind. Are. Will be.

The Eyes were wild. They were mad. Every time they turned, they turned again, never focusing on anything longer than a quarter of a second.

What people ever saw, were his blue pupils. People always see what they want to see. If someone ever noticed him, he was always the esteemed son of Minato Namikaze.

Naruto was watching himself from above.

But these eyes, they were the Eyes, even though now like of a madman.

When the son of Minato passed the inner gate, son of Minato immediately noticed a large rock with a strange, angular shape. Behind it was a half-round high wall with thousands of inscriptions. They were dead names.

Lamps lit everything brightly.

Naruto awakened in his own body, out of euphoric amok.

He felt, he had to look behind himself. He was tempted to do it.

"No."

But he was doing it already.

"No! No, no, no! NO!" he shouted.

But the temptation was too strong. He gave up.

And suddenly, when he saw, what he must've seen before, the world around him stopped.

Every single man, woman or child disappeared. What was left, was only a strange smell.

Foul odor of the Death.

He had no right to know, but he knew anyway. The stench of the battlefield and hundreds of rotting bodies.

White tombstones to the horizon. There were hundreds of them. Thousands. Hundreds of thousands. They filled his field of view. They covered the sky and the sun, and every star. Day, night, day, night, were passing by minutes. Arranged in rows, even, and clean. His field of view widened.

He still was watching himself and being himself from above at the same time.

Naruto heard his laughter. He sounded evil.

Then, suddenly, despair of hundreds came upon him. Despair, hate, longing, sadness.

Why didn't he notice them before as he was running on this straight path? He fell to his knees.

He was so cold.

Hate.

Increasingly, everything was in the end obscured by hatred.

He felt, as if he was drowning. On his whole body, he felt the Hatred. It wanted to tear him apart.

He raised his hand to look at it, but when he tried to do so, his forehead burned him with great pain.

"The end," he heard himself say. He did not know why he did that.

And then pain disappeared.

He fell to the ground with his whole body. He tried to get up on all fours. He managed to do it, even though he had no strength. The only strength he still had, was of his will.

He raised his head. Suffering, despair, hatred, sadness of thousands of people who visited this place. Every. Single. Day.

He watched them. Days were like seconds, stages of the moon passed by, and full moons were like minutes to him. He did not see people, only blurs of their bodies and their feelings.

A strange feeling of... fullness overlap him. He felt, as if millions of souls were crushed inside of his chest and between his hands, between his fingers.

He tried to breathe. He could not catch it.

He was terrified. He wanted to scream, but couldn't catch a foreign air. He felt a stinging pain in the left chest. It was his heart.

Something appeared above him. It was watching him.

It seemed to him, that it was Death herself, who was looking straight at his small posture. He felt so small in her presence. He raised his eyes.

It was a giant figure of a strange looking head. At its base, fiery purple flames were burning, and her eyes were like nothing out of this world. Royal purple, cut with black circles centering. They were looking at him.

And he was watching himself.

People were passing him all the time, paying no attention to anything. They were blurs, months passed like seconds.

Nobody looked at him. Nobody cared about him. Only thing they ever saw him as, was a son of Hokage. The Hokage they knew better than his own son knew him. This son stood in front of him smiling now.

Suddenly, Death stuck out a snake tongue from her nightmare giant lips, which entwined the neck of a son of the Hokage, who stood in front of him. Disgusting tongue raised the boy, holding him by his throat.

Huge head opened its mouth and devoured a son of the Hokage.

Naruto shook with coldness, that suddenly enveloped his entire body.

The cry of the devoured boy dripped with anguish and horrible pain. Behind him he heard a snarl of an animal. He didn't understand, but felt this animal was full of anger and hatred. He could hear it clearly, even though he knew that there was nobody around him.

Then, he realized that he was the one screaming. He found himself in the mouth of this monster in a form of a large head with purple flames surrounding its base.

Suddenly nine black flames appeared in front of him, which hung in the air opposite of him, orbiting slowly in a two-dimensional space.

He looked around.

He was on a meadow.

He felt nothing.

He looked at the black flames.

Six of the nine flames moved: three forming an external triangle between them, three forming an internal one.

Then, every of the nine started spinning, faster and faster, until they blurred into three thin lines, creating three black circles: internal, central and external.

Then, color purple enveloped the inside of this strange creation.

"Let it go", he heard a woman's voice.

He felt a blissful calm.

He slept through the rest of the night with no dreams.

Naruto opened his eyes. It was still a night. He stared at the ceiling of his room.

"They lie," someone near said.

Boy did not respond.

"They lie."

"Who lies?"

The Voice laughed.

"You don't know...? Ah... apparently you do know. Konoha lies. Your grandfather. Aunt. Uncle. Everyone lies. To you."

A pause.

"And you realize that. You feel anguish. I know this. You know this. You can feel my hate, don't you?"

A pause.

The Voiced laughed again.

"One thing only makes us distinct. You lie to yourself, just like everybody lies to you. You don't know any different. But I do."

"Who are you?"

"I have many names, but I am now your conscience."

"What do you want?"

"I want nothing that you can give me. Let's not talk about what I want. Let's just say... you have a part of me. Not that you knew it before. In the end, they always hide you in your cell."

Naruto didn't respond.

"I know you, Naruto. In the same way that you know they lie. I think you understand, what that means... or you don't and I am wrong about you?"

Naruto closed his eyes. A single tear ran down his cheek. The Voice laughed yet again, mockingly this time.

"Yes, boy. This is your first answer. You have this gift from me. In the future, you will know more about it and about yourself. And now... one more thing... you will inform no one about me or I'll kill you just as easy, as if by a snap of my fingers."

Even if the Voice did not blackmail him, the boy wouldn't inform anyone; and they both knew it, which Naruto was sure of.

The Voice wanted to tell him and Naruto knew what the Voice said in his last sentence, was true.

They are now in this together, are they?

The cemetery was exactly like in his dream, even though only in his dream he had seen it before coming here in person.

He didn't hurry. He had time.

The board. The map. The numbers. The golden star. Everything was the same.

He finally reached the centre.

The only difference was in the silver-haired tall shinobi.

"Who is buried here?" he asked famed ninja.

The man looked at him. One of his eyes was covered under Konoha band.

Kakashi wondered who was observing him for so long. Now, he knew. He looked back at Memorial Stone.

"No one." shinobi responded blankly.

Naruto did not know why, but he felt shivers going on his spine.

"So why are you here, Kakashi Hatake?"

Ninja snorted.

From a child's perspective, everything has always been so simple. Naruto was visibly confused that he laughed.

"I'm sorry, Naruto Namikaze."

The boy nodded. He did not show a surprise, when famed shinobi knew his name. Kakashi thought that was to be expected from Hokage's son.

"I am here for those, who were and for those, who couldn't be buried here."

"You need not to sense other's negative feelings to talk to people, you know?" Naruto smiled warmly. "Time has come for your sadness to go. I say to you: let it go."

After that meeting Kakashi finally started to let it go.

After a few years, he repeated the phrase, when he finally did... let it go.

#naruto shippuuden fanfiction

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dragimal · 7 years ago

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alright just finished Crybaby, and here are my Opinions

(big spoilers for anyone who wants to watch it, and if u do plan on it, be aware of major trigger warnings like hardcore gore/body horror, death, full-on nudity/sex, and sexual assault. some of these elements are present in most dman adaptations to some degree anyways, but imagine those adaptations ramped up to 50)

things I liked:

- art style! I’m a HUGE fan of the fluid, gangly style, and it works so well w/ the high-action, intense fights

- the crying theme. it's a rly nice visual indicator that Akira is still in there, and how much he was affected by all the death and heartbreak. one of my fave parts of Akira as a character is how he has to reconcile his demon instincts w/ his humanity, so to see Crybaby Devilman break out into tears is esp powerful

- the development of the side characters. the bullies are some of my fave characters in the original, and I rly like how they were adapted into disenfranchised rappers in this one (and I esp love the relationship the one rapper had w/ Miko briefly like?? precious). speaking of Miko, she was EXCELLENT, easily one of my new faves, and her confession to Miki was heartbreaking. I also love that one gay runner (forgot his name..), and his camaraderie w/ Miko was truly mlm/wlw solidarity at its finest (before he y’know.... betrayed humanity...)

- I also rly like the approach to Miki’s character in this one; making her strong and capable was a good move. some ppl may know that I have mixed feelings abt og Miki, b/c I like her individually, but I hate how whenever she’s w/ Akira she bullies him for being soft (at least pre-Devilman) and forces him to protect her in fights she instigates. I like how Crybaby completely cut that from this adaptation and just made her awesome and actually nice to Akira. and believe it or not, I actually ship them in this adaptation, which is shocking to me b/c I’ve only ever shipped them in the chibi “Go Nagai World” adaptation and Devilman Grimoire. like that bit where Akira was all over-acting like, “oh yes, I saved you!” and swept Miki off her feet? I die. actually I ship Miki w/ several ppl in this adaptation, like Miko (of course), and that one bald rapper. also, was her “witch” nickname a reference to Grimoire? if it was, that’s cute <3

- the restructuring of the plot points to fit a slightly new plotline were mostly p good. like it was cool how Crybaby had Jinmen possess Akira’s dad, making for a double-whammy of pain seeing both his parents die at once. or how Devilman sucked Ghelmer straight out of Miki and burned the water out of his own body. just some neat changes. also I didn’t think any adaptation could ever top Jinmen’s subplot in terms of heart-wrenching pain, but look at that! Miki’s demon-bro topped it! thanks Crybaby I didn’t need my heart anymore!!!!!!

- Miki’s cat became a demon?? 10/10 easily the best part of the series

things I didn’t like:

- Ryo. just.... fuckin Ryo. part of me wants to like Ryo in any dman adaptation, so I didn’t actively hate him while watching the show, but the more I think abt how his character was portrayed in this, the more frustrated I get. like, Ryo is easily my top fave character from Devilman as an overall franchise (if not necessarily every specific adaptation), alongside Akira. so to see this character I love just whittled down to what he is here... it hurts, man. for those who aren’t super familiar w/ og Ryo, let me show u a panel that I think encompasses his temperament

Crybaby Ryo is cold, calculating, and largely unemotional. og Ryo, on the other hand, rapidly flips between stone-cold, almost comically blank, and hysterical. he’s not a “cool” character necessarily; Go Nagai may have attempted that portrayal originally, idk for sure, but any reader will tell u that’s not the outcome he achieved, nor how he was eventually portrayed in the OVAs. og Ryo is unhinged and clearly not emotionally prepared to take on the world, but by GOD that fucker’s gonna run in guns a-blazin’ or die trying. the simplest way to describe him is, “nihilist conspiracy theorist with a gun, oh god why does he have a gun who gave him that-”

just imagine this guy w/ a gun, shades, and blonde mullet, and that’s Ryo. but instead of getting that Ryo in Crybaby, we get, “unemotional nihilist (with a gun)” Ryo, and that’s rly all there is to him

and one of the worst things abt Crybaby Ryo is that he’s so.... reprehensible. not that og Ryo doesn’t do some terrible things-- he absolutely does-- but he either does them in such a hilariously goofy manner, or he’s so earnest u can’t help but shake ur head at him like, “Oh Ryo~” (again, not to excuse him, but trust me, there are ways to make villains charming, and Go Nagai originally hit on that p damn well, whether intentional or not). plus I don’t rly remember og Ryo ever killing ppl for the sake of “covering his tracks”. I only ever remember him killing ppl who were directly harming himself/Akira, and then just injuring ppl as a part of his goals (like that scene w/ him slashing ppl at the black sabbath is in the og version, b/c the sabbath needed fresh blood to initiate the transformations). I could be wrong, but I don’t think og Ryo particularly cares who sees him committing crimes, so long as he’s not directly confronted abt it. he’s.... not exactly a gr8 strategist in that respect... or at all....

and this is double sad for me b/c not only does og Ryo actually have emotions, but he’s so clearly pining for an oblivious Akira throughout the story, which is why they’ve always been my dman otp. there are some cute moments b/t Akira and Ryo in Crybaby (the pool scene, mainly), but they seem more instigated by Akira on an unwilling Ryo, and Ryo seems to only keep Akira around for the muscle/demon-power, so I can’t rly buy Ryo’s apparent “affection” for Akira here at all....

- there was too little build-up to Akira becoming Devilman. like the whole first volume in the 5-volume og series is dedicated to Devilman’s buildup and initial transformation, yet only one ep of this 10-ep series is dedicated to it. this fails for several reasons: 1) the longer build-up in the og establishes how close Ryo and Akira rly are, and how willing Akira is to help Ryo, even at the expense of his life. 2) the og build-up gives you time to get attached to Akira before his transformation, and not only feel his pain at losing parts of himself to the transformation, but also the ability to recognize when his Akira-brand humanity is making an appearance post-Amon. 3) why the hell did Akira believe Ryo so readily? why isn’t he concerned at all about either demons’ existence or Ryo’s mental health? where’s Akira’s classic, “WHERE’S THE PHONE,” reaction??

- now setting aside my love for og Ryo, and Crybaby Ryo’s likability as a character for a sec, Crybaby’s approach to Ryo RLYYYY fucks up the entire Satan plotline for me. in the original, Ryo also doesn’t remember being Satan, so he is also trying to help humanity. but in the original, you FEEL that! you can feel how hard he's trying, and yeah he goes abt it in often dangerous/morally dubious ways, but in the end (before he regains his memories), his goals are for humans. he's a, “sacrifice the few for the many,” kinda guy-- which is absolutely questionable, but still has humanity as a whole in mind

Crybaby Ryo, on the other hand, doesn’t feel like he has ANY protectiveness for humanity, even when he's still under the impression he's a human. hell, I thought this adaptation had him start out knowing he’s Satan and actively manipulating Akira for his plans the whole time, that’s how little I believed in his want to protect humanity (I mean, the 2004 live-action film went that route, so u can’t rly blame me for being wary). maybe it would have been different if I had come into this fresh, not knowing Ryo was Satan, but I just never bought that he was anything but manipulating everyone specifically for the demons, so I was kinda surprised when he started to “regain” his memories b/c I thought he already HAD them. which is just frustrating b/c that big reveal is one of the best twists ever, in the original! b/c u believe this weird gun-toting dude’s rly truly trying to help out humans, but it turns out he’s been in the demon’s league the whole time!

b/c of this, the Crybaby ending also severely lacks the emotional punch of the og end, when Satan realizes they were wrong (and no, ”you taught me abt love,” is not the same thing as confronting their mistakes)

- and that leads into how Crybaby dropped the ball on the demons in general too. in the original, the demons were Earth’s original lifeforms, but this didn’t please God, so he tried to wipe them out. Satan was the only angel who defied this, trying to protect these creatures who had the right to keep living. THAT was why Satan was cast out of heaven, and Satan convinced the demons to freeze themselves into hibernation until they could later confront God together. upon reawakening, Satan and their demon crew are pissed to find the world taken over by humans, and THAT’S why demons have a grudge against humans. thus, Satan decides to disguise themself as human and tuck their memories away in order to intimately learn the weaknesses of our species in order to end us. all the demons were in on this plan, and were willing to sacrifice themselves to the cause. in the end, when Satan is sitting on Sadness Island w/ (half of)Akira, they realize that in their rage, they turned into exactly what they originally opposed, but it’s far too late to reconcile their mistakes

what’s the motivation of Crybaby’s demons? uh... fuck man, idk. snuff films? I guess they want to be revived, but why aren’t they in on Satan’s plans? why are they all surprised when Devilman is made, when this is a specific goal in Satan’s grand scheme? why didn’t Jenny reveal this plan to anyone else? how did demons’ “essence” survive, can we plz have more of an explanation for that? it doesn’t make sense???

not that the og didn’t have its own weird explanations for things (”global warming is melting the demons out of their hibernation! also here’s a complete misinterpretation of evolutionary theory!”), but idk man, at least it mostly made sense w/in its own canon, I think.

- the one other big thing that bothers me is the fact Devilman, the franchise, exists Crybaby? like I get that it’s just a joke, but it wasn’t just one-off, like this is brought back SEVERAL times, and it rly breaks my immersion every single time. like if the dman franchise exists in Crybaby, why is anyone here surprised by anything? and it’s not even an obscure story in-canon, it’s popular enough that ppl recognize the character, and Miki’s brother is obsessed w/ it. so if there’s a rly popular story that already reveals more-or-less Satan’s entire plan to the public, why are ppl so shocked?

the only way I can justify this is that it seems like maybeeee the only part of the dman franchise that’s present in the Crybaby universe is the 70′s tv show, which has a distinctly different plot from the original, and doesn’t feature Satan at all. but even with that explanation, not everyone who’s watching Crybaby knows that, and it’s still immersion-breaking even knowing that. like if they wanted a cute reference to Go Nagai’s works, why couldn’t they have featured Mazinger Z, or hell even Violence Jack

- some of the psych horror of the og/OVAs was cut and that’s a real bummer b/c it was honestly more horrifying than the gore. like og Miki’s parents phasing thru the walls/furniture when Ghelmer is attacking? that haunts me. also a lot of the demons in the og sacrifice themselves by merging w/ humans and killing the humans and themselves in the process in order to increase mass panic in the humans, which is a horrifying but cool tactic

- thankfully these bits were p quick, but everything involving the Amazon natives was....... uncomfortable at best. like, fair-skinned boy being worshiped as a god by darker people? hmmmmm. like idek why that part even existed, why didn’t Ryo just immediately wake up on that island where Akira lived, why did he have to be raised by the people in the Amazon only for him to become an orphan on that island anyways. Akira could have still found him on that cliff later on, it’s not like Satan Themself would have died if he wasn’t cared for as a baby. it would even make sense for Crybaby Ryo, considering that lack of affection in his formative years could have made him into the sociopath he is today

also when Ryo was explaining how old monsters of myth are demons, there were a few shots of gods shown, like.... Ryo.... those aren’t monsters those are religiously/culturally significant figures wtf are u doing...

- this adaptation is weirdly sexual? I mean, most dman adaptations have weirdly sexual elements, but most of the time it’s purely nudity with some /hints/ at sexual elements. like, ppl just Happen To Be Naked, and also sometimes make sexual comments. not that this isn’t questionable in and of itself (Silene’s og design, w/ her tail feathers UNDER her buttcheeks is uhhhhhhhhh), but it never felt like sexual assault or anything when ppl were fighting; ppl just happened to have their Whole Titty out when fighting. in Crybaby, there’s a blatant connection between the violent gore and the sex, and it’s uncomfortable at times. like I’m not necessarily a squeamish person, so most of the time I wasn’t that affected, but when Akira-- our hero-- effectively raped Silene on-the-fly during their fight I was like NO THANKS

overall opinion?

despite how long the “didn’t like” section is, I do like the show a lot. it’s strong as an independent series, and there is a lot to love as a dman fan as well. however, Ryo is not only an important character to me, but to the Devilman franchise as a whole, so to drop the ball on his character isn’t just insulting to me personally, but weakens Crybaby’s overall lore/plot in places it should be strongest

#shut up ashley #devilman #devilman crybaby

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cameoamalthea · 7 years ago

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Child Sexual Abuse, Consent, and What I believe

When I was little, a toddler in water-wings, my mother encouraged me to press my genitals against the pump jet of a swimming pool. She said to let it tickle my private parts.

I only had abstinence only education and didn’t know what masturbation meant for girls until I was 19 years old. I didn’t understand what my mother had taught and encouraged me to do, in public, as a toddler, until I was an adult. It horrified me, and I still don’t know how to feel about it.

My mother was abusive, but I didn’t think she was a child molester. The men she dated...not so much. She liked men that hurt her, she choose men that weren’t safe and she didn’t think about safety.

When I hit puberty things changed. I was outgrowing being her baby and she got back into heavy drug use. Since I couldn’t be her baby, she saw me all grown up. At 12.

She encouraged me to drink, to do drugs, to have sex. She set me up with her friend’s kids, other drug users who she sold too, who has sons around my age. She wanted me to do sex work, but didn’t want to force me. I think she thought if she could get me into sex and partying, I’d agree.

She guilt tripped me about it a lot. She abused and neglected me and put my life in danger (I almost died so many times) but would always insist she was a good mom, because she’d provided for me for all these years, and because she never sold me. Her friends, the ones with teenage daughters, they helped their moms earn money on the street, but she wasn’t making me do that. I should be grateful. She owed the cartel a lot of money, she could sell me, but she wasn’t. She said I was ungrateful when I refused to come home and started staying on a relative’s couch because I was afraid. If I really loved her, I’d die with her. After all, she’d never sold me. Never made me do what she’d done plenty of times.

Just the threat. And the reality that she left me alone with even more dangerous men and pushed me to do things I was too young to do.

It was fucked up. Sometimes it’s hard to wonder if I’m fucked up, but rationally I know the child isn’t responsible for the parent’s choices.

For my part, I survived by focusing on school. I’d pretend to have essays I needed to do so I could stay over at my relatives to use their computer (and do the extra work I made up, in case she checked). I got into praying the rosary, and became Christian. I vowed to be abstinent until marriage.

I kept my vow. On my wedding night, I discovered I couldn’t consummate the union until I had surgery to repair some internal damage. Even after I’d healed, I didn’t want sex. Last year I did a year of pelvic floor therapy and it helped. I’ve blogged about it, tagged recovery. I’m also doing DBT and other therapy.

I was sent to live with out of state relatives at 14, and I was on my own at 18. I went to college and earned a degree in Creative Writing, with a minor in pre-law. My pre-law minor was a blend of criminal justice and social justice, with a focus on crimes against women. I wrote research papers on the impact of porn on violence against women (none - as far as I could find). I wrote a research paper on sex trafficing. I wrote a research paper criticizing Twilight romanticizing abuse. I compared U.S. laws to international laws and thought about what policies protects minors from abuse.

I went on to law school. I loved Constitutional law and became Vice President of my school’s chapter of the ACLU. I agreed with the Comic Book Defense League on censorship cases. Stories don’t have to be perfect. You can and should criticize media for how it reenforces harmful norms in society, but not insist that some things shouldn’t be depicted. Questioning what’s being presented is inoculation against continuing to follow harmful norms without thought.

I’m deeply anti-censorship and pro-art. I’m deeply pro-criticism. I’m deeply anti-child abuse and exploitation. I’m in favor of looking at norms and policies and asking, is this helpful.

I never wanted to be sexual as a teenager. I wanted to be good and pure and have something about me that was valuable despite the fact I had nothing in the world. Abstinence Education taught me that.

But when I looked at classmates who had sex as young as 14 or dated college guys at 17, I didn’t like that I was judging them.

I didn’t agree with the idea that gay people were going to hell, or a girl was somehow dirty if she had sex. The more I studied feminism in college and moved toward pro-sex feminism and rejected rad feminism, the more I was exposed to actual sex education and unlearned shame, I couldn’t judge people.

If someone wanted to have sex at 14, it was their choice. Not necessarily a smart choice, but still their choice. What was bad was when they weren’t really given a choice. When they were forced into sex or pressured into sex, and taken advantage of by older partners or abused by people their own age.

The more I learned, the more it bothered me that we don’t really emphasize the importance of consent. Our culture doesn’t value educating people so they can recognize abuse and make informed choices. American age of consent laws don’t criminalize exploitation of young people, instead they treat them like their parent’s property to control - we haven’t outlawed child marriage.

I’ve represented children in CPS custody. In my state, the children get their own lawyer, and I argue what’s in their best interest to the Court. The cases drag on forever because the law requires doing everything possible to reunite parent and child. To give the parent every chance. Because the parent has a fundamental right to their child.

What other relationship do we have a mandate that the victim has to reconcile with the abuser?

My belief is that children are people, and they should have their own rights. The right to have their best interest come first and not be forced to be with parents who don’t take care of them. That when they’re old enough to make informed choices, they should be able to make choices. Including not being forced to drop out after 8th grade because of the parent’s religious belief, not being forced into marriage, not being punished for their sexuality or sent to institutes because of it. The right to consent to sex when they’re old give consent. The right not to be exploited, coerced or taken advantage of adults in power. (I really like Germany’s approach).

#csa tw #child abuse ts

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giraffodil · 7 years ago

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Failure Update? LONG POST SORRY

Personal stuff below (I am on mobile, scroll fast) I got super frustrated and decided to take a drive and now I am half way over to the grad school I was going to (from New Mexico to California and I am in Flagstaff Arizona) I COULD just drive the rest of the way over and get my damn self started in the semester. But I have already sent in notification that I am dropping out. BUT I haven't heard confirmation from anyone that they got my email or have done anything about it. BUT I have declined my job transfer in California and accepted my job back in NM. I am still fairly fucked but now slightly to the west of where I was before. I mean, having extreme anxiety attacks that make one barely able to function for days is a fairly good indication that maybe one shouldn't take the most stressful and demanding road available. But failing at this awesome opportunity isn't exactly soothing for my anxiety disorder either. I might as well go over and pick up the damn bed couch thing I had shipped to my dorm that Amazon couldn't cancel delivery on in time. I have no idea how I would get it and/or my money back through the dorm folks. But how surreal and painful would it be to show up, not move in, say hello goodbye, and trundle back home? BUT how terrifying and overwhelming would it be to start the semester off on the heels of an extreme, literally crippling, 3 day long depressive episode? There were hours when I wanted to get up off the floor but literally couldn't. It was bad. I don't know about living in the dorms with this condition. Much less trying to balance a demanding school schedule with the possibility of losing hours or days to this illness. On the other hand, if I go back to NM, I am seriously thinking about looking into getting a therapy dog so I will feel safer living independently. I have a connection to a group who trains them. Please, universe or whatever, help me through this one eh? What am I supposed to do with my life? How do I move forward with my recovery from this mental illness? Do I push through to try and conquer my fears and achieve my highest potential? Do I redefine success and the good life on my own terms and pursue a gentler life? What kind of work will bring me the satisfaction, pride, and joy I need? What about the financial resources I need? The personal growth? The contribution to my community? And for that matter, what is my community? Do I need to have some big impact on the state of justice in the world or just survive and make a few people happier? I am ok being a little poor but will my future kids resent the fact that I could have had a more affluent life but turned it down? What about my parents when they need help In their old age? In what kind of setting should I look for my future partner? What if things get too Naziish here and I need to leave the country? What if I can't manage my student debt? What if I try to be an entrepreneur and don't make it ad go bankrupt? What if I try to make it as an artist and can't support myself and have to keep a day job I hate forever? What if I just get a mediocre regular job like all my friends and lose the ability to follow my passions altogether? What if I was never ever destined to be extraordinary and was always fated to live a dull, ordinary, unremarkable life? What if I look back on my life when I am 80, like my dad, and struggle to find anything significant I have ever done past the age of 25? What if, like my dad, I let my mental illness alienate me from everything except a tiny little world where I can micromanage everything? What if, like my great aunt, I become a spinster and die a virgin? What if by registering on a dating site as a wlw I end up on a registry of known homosexuals to be targeted by alt-right Nazis if they rise in power? What if the attack on the arts and science cuts off both of my possible career interests? What if I become totally dependant on my mom for support for my mental illness? What if I don't find another love of my life and she dies and I am utterly and completely destroyed? What if something happens to my cats? What if Steven Universe gets canceled? What if Eichiro Oda dies before One Piece gets finished? What if I die on accident but because I am known to have had suicidal thoughts the insurance companies don't pay my parents anything? What would happen to my poor mom if I really did harm myself, would she ever be ok again? What do the people at my maybe grad school think of me and my struggling with mental illness? Are they fed up and want me to quit and get out of their hair? Are they rooting for me, and will be disappointed if I don't pull it together and get my degree? Are they entirely too busy to give me a second thought and won't notice or care if I make it or not? What about my potential roommates and classmates and peer mentor and employer and such? How well would they tolerate someone like me who cries a lot and flakes out and is fat and makes too many excuses? What if my potential roommates are homophobic? What if they're lesbians but better than me and don't accept me? What if I run into people I met last year and it is painfully awkward? What if the professors resent me for taking a spot away from another student who could have been successful TWICE? What if I can't find a therapist or get a bad one or have to be on a waiting list for a month or can't get insurance? What if Medicaid suspects me of fraud for some reason and kicks me off and demands that I pay them back for my medications and I can't and I end up in trouble with the law and with terrible credit? What if we inherit a ton of money from the ranch and my mom no longer qualifies for financial aid for her meds and she has to choose between spending her inheritance on medicine or risking her leukemia returning incurably? What if she has a coughing fit and chokes to death while I am away? What if my dad is about to pass away but he doesn't tell me because his paranoia makes him think I don't care or I hate him? What if I find a girlfriend, fall in love, and my extended family finds out and tries to cut my mom and I out of our inheritance? What if my yoyoing on this whole grad school thing has alienated me from my few remaining friends? What if my confidence is permanently fucked by this? What if my mutuals unfollow me for dumping like this? What if my car full of all my worldly possessions is stolen? What if I just get fatter and fatter until I am morbidly obese? What if my new gay haircut gets me attention from homophobes but not other wlw? What if I have a billion cavities or undiagnosed cancers or am diabetic? What if I try to post this long thing and Tumblr loses all of it?

#long post #Personal #wall of text #negative #worries #depression cw #anxiety cw #mental illness cw #paranoia cw #what if

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takespaceblog · 7 years ago

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Welcome Back

After a seven-month hiatus, Take Space is back and reporting from Cambridge, England where I will be spending the next year "reading" for my MBA degree aka going to Business School.

Before getting into all things English, I must apologize for the prolonged radio silence. Profound writer’s block overtook me after the election and inauguration. Depression led to anger led to apathy. Circling the stages of grief should’ve been fuel for the creative fire but it wasn't. Half-written pieces lay in the cloud leaving space for those spurned into action by the election as I found more and more convenient reasons not to write and instead drank more champagne than is probably healthy.

When abroad I convinced myself actual travel writers were better equipped. A piece of humor wasn't appropriate—the world was falling apart. Political pieces were over done. And anything personal on mental health, women's rights, or sexual harassment were better explained by someone who suffered more than I. These bits of negativity plagued me until the relevant event that inspired the act of writing was over and I off the hook. I even attempted a piece on writer’s block but it sits unfinished as well.

I didn’t write and there is no real excuse. To simply blame the election is just another easy way out. The orange man does not have nor deserve that much power over me. So let’s begin again.

****

Cambridge, England. My new home. To be honest, It smells a little like cow shit. I suppose that’s the price you pay for idyllic views like these.

Founded in 1209 (or more than 500 years before the United States became a country), Cambridge is the third oldest surviving university in the world. Alumni include Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, Stephen Hawking, and Jane Goodall just to name a few. And despite offering no formal theatrical training, many of the British greats attended including Eddie Redmayne, Ian McKellen, Hugh Laurie and Emma Thompson.

Though fun to name drop, that’s besides the point. I came to Cambridge to experience something beyond my conception, to expose all my senses, and to force my brain to think in ways that I never thought possible. Moving to another country and embarking on a path so different than my own before embodies all that Take Space entails.

Over the next year, Take Space will be my place to share what I’ve learned living in another country and attending business school. An actor getting her MBA is still almost as novel to me as it is for everyone that I encounter, so I'm sure to have many stories as I take such a giant leap outside my comfort zone.

Before I close for the night and let jet lag take over, I must mention my original aim for this blog—to highlight badass women Taking Space. I got away from the intention over the last year, but it’s more important than ever to support our fellow sisters. The election exposed many weaknesses in our society, perhaps none greater than the horrible truth that we were not ready for a female president. While a systemic issue, my chosen fields of business and entertainment are especially rife with sexism, so I will do my best to put a spotlight on those Taking Space. To start, I leave you with my post-Obama reading list— 25 books by women that have inspired me, engaged me, enraged me, and got me through the new Trumpian era.

Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body. Roxane Gay

Option B: Facing Adversity, Building Resilience and Finding Joy. Sheryl Sandberg & Adam Grant

The Namesake. Jhumpa Lahiri

Birds of America. Lorrie Moore

The Price of Salt. Patricia Highsmith

Janesville: An American Story. Amy Goldstein

The Art of Relevance. Nina Simon

Homegoing. Yaa Gyasi

My Name is Lucy Barton. Elizabeth Stout

A Book of American Martyrs. Joyce Carol Oates

Ghettoside A True Story of Murder in America. Jill Leovy

Men Explain Things to Me. Rebecca Solnit

Girls & Sex: Navigating the Complicated New Landscape. Peggy Orenstein

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube: Chasing Fear and Finding Home in the Great White North. Blair Braverman

Shrill: Notes from a Loud Woman. Lindy West

The Light of the World. Elizabeth Alexander

Lab Girl. Hope Jahren

In the Darkroom. Susan Faludi

The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone. Olivia Laing

Feminist Fight Club: An Office Survival Manual for a Sexist Workplace. Jessica Bennett

An American Sickness: How Healthcare Became Big Business and How You Can Take It Back. Elisabeth Rothenthal

You Cant Touch My Hair. And other things I still have to explain. Phoebe Robinson

The Round House. Louise Erdrich

H is for Hawk. Helen MacDonald

Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar. Cheryl Strayed

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the-face-in-the-mirror · 8 years ago

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Cars Fandom Tag

Hello~ everyone! :3 I was tagged by the amazing @pixelthenerdcat In this Cars Fandom tag, and so I shall be doing it. Clearly :3

For the Cars films, what is your…

Favorite male character:

Lightning, all day every day. Ever since I watched the movie as just a tiny child (which I still can't remember if I actually went to the theatre or not) he has always been my favourite. He just kind of has this certain degree of sass that I respect in a character 😎 Also, he's a cute little cupcake. That's also why 😎

Favorite female character:

Definitely Sally! :3 While I may not have understood how developed characters were supposed to be like when I was younger, I definitely get the message now, and Sally Carrera fits everything on the bill. Having such a well developed female character with genuine feelings and opinions and who's not just there to be a love interest *cue glares at various books which failed this* is really refreshing to me :3

She is a sweet baby angel that I shall protect with my life.

Least favorite male character:

Nowadays, I really can’t say that I have a least favorite character at all in these movies, since I’ve actually come to adore all of them... even if some of them are assholes with no hope of redemption B3

But if I have to pick one, I’d say Chick Hicks. Speaking from when I was a kid and watching these movies, I really didn’t like him. Mainly for the sheer fact that he was the ‘villain’ of the movie, and he did some pretty bad things. *i.e. crashing The King* But after some years away from these films, I’ve actually come to like him quite a bit. :3

Least favorite female character:

Again, I don’t really have a least favorite character at all at this point; but if I have to pick one, I’d say Holley. I think she’s a good character overall, but I also think that she didn’t get enough development in Cars 2. She obviously has character, and is quite the badass when it comes to it, but in the end they just sort of made her out as a bit of a love interest. And not just because Mater kept saying that she was his girlfriend, and she agreed in the end.

Favorite scene:

Of all of the amazing ones: when Lightning pushes The King across the finish line, forfeiting the Piston Cup in the process.

This has been favorite scene for years, just because it really shows how much Lightning has developed over the course of the movie. At first, he was so determined to win it and become the first rookie who did, mainly for the fame and because he knew it would skyrocket his career. But, in the end, he let it go, because he knows that they’re ‘just empty cups’; and helping a (quite literally) broken person finish their last ever race is more important than fame. :3

Oh, what is this dripping from my eyes? TwT

Favorite actor and their role:

Well, I don’t really know too many of the actors, to be honest... But, personally, I think Larry the Cable Guy (is this seriously his name? Like actually? o.o) would be my favorite. His role as Mater is absolutely perfect, and he just captures the character so well, like, I’m crying.

Favorite Cars videogame (yes this includes mobile games like Fast as Lightning):

Please don’t judge me when I say that I really didn’t know that there were multiple games for this movie. O_O And even if I did know, I don’t know what they’re called. So, just because I favor online games more than anything else, I’m gonna say The World of Cars Online. Probably an unpopular opinion, buuutt... you know~ B3

OTP:

Do I have to pick one? O_O

Well, in terms of straight couples... My OTP is definitely SalQueen! ^w^ Those two are just so perfect for each other, and just the ship itself is so well rounded by fanfiction, and fanart, and I love it! OwO

Now in terms of gay ships... KaCiao is my incomparable power ship B3

BROTP or Platonic OTP:

Again. Do I have to pick one? O_O

Well, if we’re talkin’ friendships, then Lightning and Mater shall forever be my answer! OwO They’re friendship is so amazing, and beautiful, and pure, and my babies are too precious for this world help me TwT

And in familial terms: Doc and Lightning. Are. Perfect. Just the bond they have, and the mentor/student, father/son dynamic in there just melts my tiny little heart every time TwT

NOTP:

Doc and Lightning. Like... No. Just no. Okay? They have a father/son relationship, we don’t need this. Okay? Now get that out of here o-o

(no offence to the people who do ship it, of course, but it’s just not my cup of tea)

Why do you like the films:

*takes a deep breath in* *hands both movies and all the trailers to you*

Okay, but in all honesty, I just really love these movies because of the emotions its evokes, and the characters they’ve developed, and the messages put in them. Had I never seen these movies, I would’ve never imagined anthropomorphic cars, like, at all. So... Kudos, Pixar B3

What are you hoping to see the most in Cars 3:

Pain. And tears. And suffering. Because I’m the most intense emotional masochist you will ever meet, and I love to watch my children suffer.

... That sounded weird. O_O

Okay, now for some fandom related questions:

Favorite part of the fandom:

The fact that this fandom is just so small, with a really tight-knit community is probably my favorite part about it. It’s not too big, but it’s not too small either, and there’s hardly any problems, from what I’ve seen.

It’s really refreshing to come to a fandom that’s just so small and pretty well problematic. Especially coming from the larger fandoms, which I was mixed up in for awhile. The drama in those is actually overwhelming O_O

Favorite Cars fanartist:

Honestly? I haven’t been here long enough to have a favorite fan artist O_O

However, I have seen some art pieces here and there, and I really have to say: you guys are just all amazing, and I love you guys :3

Favorite Cars fanfic:

*loud screeching in the distance* *pastes fanfic to the wall and points*

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12243009/1/Crash <---- This one OwO

Also known as Crash by @pixelthenerdcat who is an amazing fanfic author. And I determined to read all of her fics B3

What you enjoy putting out in the fandom (this could be anything, including rambly text posts):

Rambly text posts B3 Not very constructive, I know, but it sort of does something. Maybe. Sorta. Probably not B3

Do you think the fandom will survive after the release of Cars 3? (I know, evil question, but still >:D

Uh. Yes! OwO I’ve seen quite a few people touch on his subject; about whether or not the Cars fandom will just sort of break up after the third movie comes out. But, honestly? I think that if you guys have managed this long, and are still a pretty tight group, then you’ll last for a good while after Cars 3.

Especially since we’re gonna be havin’ feels for days! OwO And fanfiction that shall induce more feels! OwO And probably some heartbreaking headcanons that’ll ruin our lives, but you know how fandoms go B3

So, basically: Yes. I think the fandom will definitely survive after the release of Cars 3

What made you become part of the fandom?

Actually... I can’t say anything specific for this O_O Maybe it was the knowledge of Cars 3 coming out, maybe it was seeing what a great fandom and community you guys are, maybe it was any number of things! I can’t say for sure, but I do know that it was for all the best reasons :3

You guys are amazing, and I feel so honored to actually be a part of a community where people get me; even if I am fairly new :3

So, yes. I love you guys :3

#Cars #Cars 3 #Cars Fandom #Cars Tag #Am I supposed to tag people in this?#I don't think so...#I hardly know anybody that hasn't already been tagged anyway soooo #I'm a part of the fandom now yaaaaaay :3 #Love ya'll :3

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perpetualcollapse · 8 years ago

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The noise in my head

2016 really did a number on me. The election brought everything crashing down until all thats left is a crushing sense of dread and hopelessness about the future. In fairness though, it was’t just the election that made me feel this way. As an artist and creative person it has become so hard to make a living. After years of working for corporations that wear you down by degrees until you feel like a husk (being under paid and over worked the whole time), I moved into teaching— while this is far more rewarding I arrived at the moment the schools were being corporatized. It’s nearly impossible to find full time work. As an adjunct instructor you can’t advance in your profession, and you get paid only a fraction for what you do, leaving you grossly underpaid and again overworked. My art practice has been on life support for so long any sane person would have pulled the plug already, but I hang on. I work all the time. Days, nights, weekends and rarely get any genuine time off.

This isn’t living, it’s surviving. I must admit I am surviving quite well, but at a cost. My artistic and personal life have suffered immeasurably.

I’m not alone. Most people I know work multiple jobs, with financial uncertainly always hovering nearby. It’s immobilizing. Half the country has spend the last decade or more groveling to barely get by while a fortunate few live in a bubble of wealth and privilege. Is any kind of work worth hundreds of percent more than any other? No. It’s perverse. What is assigned value is so distorted. Anything that makes a quick profit, no matter how dishonest or damaging to the world is KING. Everything else is looked down upon by the champions of this wicked lie which frames the rest of us as failures in every practical respect. I can reject this all day long, but still need that money in the bank to survive. It is a violation of spirit, of everything ‘America’ claims to be, and still serves up as a slick illusion in commercials, programs and all manner of social messages 24/7. The ‘American Dream’ of possibility has been hopeless warped into ‘what you can get away with’ as the results of the election so painfully prove. As an artist it is my work to create something to make this visible– visceral, to the world, but how can I when I work all the time? It’s intentional. Republicans declared war on the youth and intellectuals of the country after the student led protests in the late 60s. That and their tacit war against the civil rights movement have redefined everyone who wasn't rich and white or who didn't blindly follow their doctrine of corruption into enemies. THEY ARE THE ENEMY of what this country was created to be. The forces of this evil (and it is an evil) are most of our politicians, who have chipped away at our standard of living to gain power and more wealth for themselves as they sell us out to the biggest donors. Show me a national level politician who isn’t filthy rich. You can’t. It only gets worse and worse.. Are we finally at a breaking point? I don’t know. Americans’ capacity to accept less and call it the same appears to be limitless. The same can be said of being fed lies. The whole concept of “Post–Truth” should scare every thinking person into action, yet I am afraid it won’t in enough numbers too make a difference until it’s too late. It may already be too late, even for the planet. I started this blog because I was too busy to make art or write seriously (had a text based blog before this) and visuals can say so much on their own and tumblr makes it so easy. There is a value in that, though it is difficult to qualify. I love the personal curation here and on platforms like Pinterest and especially instagram which require original work— it is one of our few ways we can easily express ourselves in this hyper-commodified world. I follow all kinds of art, alternative, culture, style and tech blogs. I learn something new constantly, but it won’t make me a dime, but it’s still worth it. I started this as a visual reference and kind of virtual scrapbook. I love getting glimpses into other people lives. It make me feel less isolated and often gives me hope and is very inspiring. There is a great value to that. Since the election I haven’t been posting much or if I do its information in reaction to our precipitous devolvement in to some kind of neo-fascism because I’m so distressed and am struggling to process it. In light of our situation mere entertainment feels vulgar to me. I feel a need to inform, but I am also completely burned out from the whole thing and my daily routine. Plus, honestly, no one (or hardly anyone) is really going to read this. If it somehow survives, maybe someone digging in the digital ruins in the future? who knows... the point is I may as well be talking to myself. Maybe the possibility that someone is listening, reading or viewing is merely the need for connection, acknowledgement that this is actually happening and I’m not alone in how I see it. Just the idea that someone may see it, nod knowingly before moving on to the next thing is enough for me to make the time to do it.

I want to get back to using tumblr as a way to decompress (I can’t even look at Facebook these days, and can barely tolerate the bad news everyday). This is one very little way I keep from losing myself.

Some perspective: I want to acknowledge that I am very aware I am lucky (in the biggest picture). Very, very lucky. As a cis white male, even a gay male I experience so much less strain that so many others and I know it. I am very aware and very concerned that so many other people, especially trans people and people of color are suffering in very real and very terrible ways. Even though I feel paralyzed in the scope of what I can do, I can voice my views and stand with those who genuinely need support. I will get by, but some of those people are in real and present danger. We can reach out to each other in solidarity, we can stir ourselves to take any action we are capable of. We can contact our representatives, we can become a chorus of voices against the tidal wave of fear, lies, and stupidity. That has a value too.

#personal

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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I May Destroy You: a Bold Show Only a Survivor Could Write

https://ift.tt/3h2mtbs

Warning: contains spoilers for the I May Destroy You finale

Michaela Coel’s I May Destroy You is a tour de force creation of laser-focused storytelling. A creator working at the current height (but clearly not yet the apex) of her power, Coel’s take on trauma and consent is the kind of prestige exploration that only a survivor could write. The series starts with Coel’s pitch-perfect take on the nuts and bolts of trauma, from the intrusive thoughts and sarcasm toward art therapy to the ringing we hear when main character Arabella is triggered to Arabella downplaying her own trauma by comparing it to various global tragedies. But Coel goes beyond that and puts every kind of consent under the microscope, pushing the audience to look at the aspects of rape culture that make us the most queasy, even if – especially if – they’re inside ourselves.

With Arabella’s drug-induced blackout in the first episode, I May Destroy You sidesteps the depiction we’re most used to seeing of sexual assault – detailed, graphic imagery of “what happened” – in favor of a more guttural and nuanced portrait of the thing that lasts: surviving sexual assault. As a result, the show has so much more to say than the usual fare, staying with Arabella and her friends for at least a year to see the changes great and small after the assault, and to examine consent across their lives from a number of different angles. Only someone who’s spent so much time swimming in this topic could write it so intensely and accurately.

Usually, when rape and sexual assault are depicted in mainstream storytelling, they are used as a storytelling device — a time-saving shorthand to further the plot for a male character who has a relationship with the victim, to show how deeply evil the perpetrator is, or perhaps to make the victim seem more sympathetic or to provide her with sufficient motivation to be an active protagonist in her own story. (Why else would LadyCops exist?) These tropes are discussed in heteronormative terms because most sexual violence on screen ignores the reality that men are survivors too, and that LGBTQ people are disproportionately affected, as are, for that matter, BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color).

Even when stories are primarily about sexual violence, the narratives tend to follow the same repetitive beats. The rape revenge movie, the Good Survivor™ who self-actualizes their way to justice—and also love! It’s lazy storytelling to retread the same arcs, but with the exception of a wonderful few, like Sweet/Vicious, The Assistant, The Magicians (which righted itself after a triggering start) and hopefully the forthcoming Promising Young Woman and Run, Sweetheart Run, it’s near-universal.

Enter I May Destroy You.

Drawing from a personal experience of sexual assault, Michaela Coel’s 12-episode show is a fictional depiction of Arabella, a millennial writer living in London who was drugged and raped while out for a drink one night when procrastinating on a deadline. Like many survivors, it takes Arabella some time to accept the label the police investigators assign to what happened to her, though they generally treat her well, certainly better than we’d expect here in the States. Don’t get too comfortable, though – for as well as Arabella is treated, her friend Kwame, a queer Black man, experiences something entirely different when he goes to report a rape.

From the beginning, it’s clear the investigator doesn’t understand sex between men and isn’t interested in taking Kwame’s information. He is afforded no privacy while the investigator takes his statement, while a door with a sign saying it must be closed is clearly left open. Kwame isn’t offered support or understanding – instead there’s a sense of judgment surrounding the circumstances, since he used a hookup app. The investigator brushes off the possibility of taking a DNA sample since, they say it wouldn’t prove anything since they had consensual sex, ignoring that at least then they would know it was the correct person. The entire interview is far too casual, with the investigator asking if he was penetrated or not almost as an afterthought, on their way out the door. We don’t have to imagine what an interview with a woman reporting sexual assault would look like, because we’ve just seen it, a few episodes ago. Even between two young Black Londoners with immigrant parents, there’s a hierarchy of privilege and treatment.

Kwame internalizes his experience and withdraws from the world. It takes his friends a long time to realize something is the matter, in part due to concern over Arabella. When they do, Arabella isn’t supportive and doesn’t equate their experiences, even going so far as to accuse Kwame of manipulating or somehow violating the consent of a woman he slept with by not disclosing his sexuality, as though anyone is entitled to that information in the first place. (Kwame primarily sleeps with men but patiently explains that it’s a spectrum and that after being raped, sleeping with men isn’t safe for him, he’s interested in sleeping with women, and he’d like to explore that.) For her part, the white woman Kwame slept with seemed all too eager to fetishize a Black man and then sing the n-word and use the f-word. He called her out on the latter, she became indignant, and she weaponized the language of consent and rape culture to turn the conversation off of her use of slurs and onto him, calling him cancelled and a predator. In her words, “I guess anything that you may have found offensive you wouldn’t have heard if you hadn’t have come into my house under false pretenses,” and I truly hope she warmed up before that stretch.

I May Destroy You Review: Fresh, Frank, Fluent Drama

By Louisa Mellor

Unbelievable review: an insightful masterpiece from Netflix

By Delia Harrington

The fact of being a survivor alone doesn’t make a person an expert on all things consent and sexual violence. Some survivors choose to go deep on the research, become a certified rape crisis counselor, earn their Master of Social Work degree, or otherwise advocate for survivors in a technical capacity above and beyond their personal experience. But many do not, and it takes years for those who do. Survivors are not infallible; some of the most damaging, victim-blaming things I’ve heard have come from survivors in the early days of denial or crisis, including myself. The awful things we’ve said are usually more about the internalized shame and doubt we’re feeling about our own story than anyone else.

In Arabella’s case, becoming a warrior-survivor makes her feel strong and safe. Her and Terry’s limited understanding of sexuality causes them to be confused by a gay man wanting to have sex with a woman at all, and she gets hung up on that rather than seeing kinship with Kwame and understanding that sex with men is a safety issue for him at the time. Instead, she sees kinship with the racist, sexist white woman Kwame had the misfortune of hooking up with. At this moment in time, Arabella is more comfortable placing Kwame in a box where all men are perpetrators, and any information not shared is manipulation, rather than viewing him as a fellow survivor.

It’s completely understandable. It’s sadly not all that rare. And it’s completely unfair to Kwame. It’s also the kind of messy dynamic most people would not dare to write, let alone lay at the feet of a lead character who’s a survivor of sexual assault. But there’s more humanity in Coel’s take on survivors as fumbling, imperfect, traumatized beings than some sort of beatified victim persona or the ruined/broken/fallen woman trope. Survivors aren’t perfect or magic; we’re people healing from trauma. And for a decent part of the series, Arabella, like so many of us, is pretending she either has nothing to heal from or that healing isn’t an active pursuit. Wouldn’t it be weirder if we were just completely fine?

Coel captures the difficult phenomenon of social media as a public survivor. The push-pull of receiving much-needed support from unseen online followers, while fending off disturbing efforts from trolls and an inner urge to lean too hard on strangers. Social justice can make a survivor feel powerful, and online activism is the most readily accessible for most survivors. At any time of the day or night, you can send off a tweet or post and hear back from a chorus of support – or not. But like any coping mechanism, it helps until it doesn’t.

Being a public survivor turns you into a beacon for others in need. In many ways it’s a good thing, but receiving dozens of survivor stories every single day can become overwhelming. How do you respond adequately to all of them? How do you connect people to help if they need it? How do you read them all without triggering yourself? Coel deftly shows the realistic downsides of social media activism without lampooning it. It’s not that social media is ineffective, so much as it consumes Arabella. The survivors in her DMs need real professional assistance, something she can’t provide – she’s still going through it herself. As things come to a head toward the end of the season, Coel shows the other side of what it means to be a personality who becomes famous for their social posts on a traumatic topic. Yes, Arabella says a lot of smart things about sexual violence. But Arabella also needs to put down the phone and eat a real meal, get a good night’s sleep, go to group therapy, and spend time in the present tense with her friends.

Finally, there is the show’s ending. One could be forgiven for mistaking I May Destroy You for a whodunnit. After all, the primary question most sexual violence narratives ask are who did it, what exactly did they do, how devastated is the victim, and how will the perpetrator be punished? But in its kaleidoscope of possible endings and Arabella’s command that all of her perpetrator’s various incarnations leave her apartment, she and the show make it clear that this isn’t really about her perpetrator after all. It’s about Arabella, her healing, and the people who make her life full and strong. So she goes to the garden and hugs her neglected roommate Ben, their tending of plants (at publisher Sally’s suggestion) marking the passing of time.

While many survivors desire justice, the law and order portion of surviving is limited, if it exists at all, compared to disclosing to loved ones, getting triggered in public, reevaluating relationships with victim-blamers, having tough conversations about consent, negotiating how to keep a job and housing with lowered productivity – all things Arabella has worked through over the course of the season. Viewers may want to see fire and brimstone, but that would be unrealistic. It also might not even help. And as the various scenarios played out, presumably all versions of how it could have gone down plucked from Arabella’s mind, it’s not like survivors haven’t thought about this before. Instead, a part of her heals and moves on. She doesn’t forget, but she’s not in crisis or living on a knife’s edge anymore. She has enough psychic distance to write her book. She can put her friends’ needs above her own again, when they need her.

The ending may not feel satisfying to everyone, but it’s real. It certainly resonates with me, in spite of the somewhat stressful, chaotic nature of watching her spend so much time in the presence of her perpetrator. These are all very real dynamics that are playing out all the time, and the public conversation is catching up to that. It’s time that our media did too, rather than retreading the same old ground, but it’s not altogether surprising that only someone who’s thought about the topic so deeply would know how. The world of surviving sexual violence is rich with stories and experiences, if only people would actually look. That’s why it’s so frustrating to see the same stories told about this topic over and over again. But when survivors like Michaela Coel are in the driver’s seat, everything changes for the better. In I May Destroy You, she slices through the quaint stories we’re used to hearing, in favor of nervy narratives that reveal queasy truths we might not yet be ready for. One might assume that the show’s title is the perpetrator speaking to Arabella, or vice versa. But as we the audience hide from the truth about rape culture, wrapped up cozily in our own myths and assumptions, it turns out the title is the voice of Coel, speaking head on to all of us, with a glint in her eye.

The post I May Destroy You: a Bold Show Only a Survivor Could Write appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/2Wkcqqw

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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theblognoonewillread-blog1 · 7 years ago

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Preface

It’s been a hard year for a lot of people. The current administration has been full of fraud, ill will, open bigotry, and more. That has weighed down on my mind, as it has with many others. But in my case, I already had a fairly full dance card in terms of personal issues that can exarcebate the clinical depression I was diagnosed with decades ago.

I do not fit the profile of the average American today, at least according to social media. I’m in my 50’s, I am a man of color, I’m gay, and I’m single. I am also currently unemployed and do not have a permanent dwelling thanks to Hurricane Harvey, which has complicated the matter – no job, no proof of income, how does one get a place without having to turn to horror-style properties on Craigslist?

I am also not “hot”, not “uneducated” (a four-year degree seems to be of little use to all but the most business-driven in America now), not carrying rippling abs or sporting a huge member, the lack of reputation meaning getting it on with anyone is practically impossible.

For some time I have had a hard time finding my “tribe” - that group of people, that community, with which one should be practically inseparable because they’re so alike, so together, so similar in energy. I’m a Midwesterner who relocated to the Gulf Coast over 30 years ago – for work, of course. For maybe 6 or 7 years I had a sort of built-in community but it was never a completely square fit. Then I found a gay-friendly community in town but ran into a variety of issues there also. Gay America has many of the same problems straight America has – just a matter of degrees.

So, the complicated nature of my things not working out left me, this holiday, with no invites to dinner, no home to go to, and – even more annoying – no permanent place to call home. For over four months now, an extended-stay hotel has been my “apartment.” The morning light comes in too early, and I often hear the roar of a highway nearby. It is a utilitarian place, not a personal one.

As an alternative to sleeping in the entire day – a depressing prospect unto itself – I decided to drive to a casino one state over and enjoy their sumptuous buffet. The annoying thing was, thousands of other people had the exact same idea. It made the casino aisles crowded with people aimlessly drifiting about, walll-eyed and (in some cases) predictably tipsy. It occurred to me that casinos have become a sort of adult day-care center. A younger adult child can drop his aging mother or father at the door, then drive off while the parent drifts around, entertaining himself/herself with the prospect of getting rich, or at least the occasion thrill of hitting a win on the slots.

So here I was, sitting among them, practically speaking with nothing in common with them except our need to distract ourselves. My distraction had a purpose – to get through the day, to survive it. When contacts on social media said they hoped I was having a great day I left it open, silence. I didn’t want to risk disapproval by telling them the truth. Miss Manners might say that not “dumping” on friends is good social policy for holidays, but I have to wonder if she’s ever had bouts of depression or loneliness.

Coincidence and, perhaps, universal cruelty – as I was typing this I heard Gloria Lynne singing a song I’d not heard. I used SoundHound to identify it - “All Alone.” Thanks, universe.

There is a fine line in America between letting others know what downers are going on in your life and being labeled a “drama queen.” I feel perpetually like I have to do a Herculean editing act on what I say to (as I thought earlier today) present my situation in a palatable fashion so as not to send others running. The problem is that in doing that, I don’t get the benefit of just dumping it all out there, of letting raw emotion drive how I communicate. I resent having to edit what I say. And it’s worse on social media like Facebook – when I admit I’m not having a good time I get crickets. One guy who asked about my job situation today, when I looked at our message feed, I realized we hadn’t spoken in two months. I sent a quick holiday greeting and got one back. I can only imagine he’s tired of bad news so maybe I’ll do what I’ve done with so many others in recent years – add him to my Restricted List: we have a connection in form only, but little else. On such a list, no one sees my warts – they see the edited “media feed” to entertain.

It has been said that depression is the fastest growing disease in America today. I can absolutely see why – no one feels like they’re being heard. No one feels anyone gets them in the workplace, in dating, in their communities, in their families, anything. And the authority and moral leaders we used to have, they’re all on the take in various ways so no one is there to do anything for us when we hurt.

This situation, of course, is worse for folks like me – older, black and middle-aged are three whammies today’s society can’t relate to. It’s never happened that anyone has ever asked me point-blank, “Why don’t you go to a coffee house with people your own age?” That’s because no one has opened such a place. Not many businesses market to the middle-aged, it’s assumed we’re washed up, don’t spend any money and are set in our ways. And we’re not sexy – so no one presumably wants to look at us. I think a coffee place where anyone over 35 was made not just to feel tolerated, but appreciated. Right now, the closest we have to that is either Starbucks or the bars – nothing in between.

I’d love a middle-aged friendly place. I wouldn’t want it to be exclusively that age group, I like diversity, just be interesting is all I ask. Boring people come in all ages, classes, education levels.

I am a bit of a complicated person. Those complications are part of why I think I have largely been a social misfit. I don’t act like anyone else (less superficial). I don’t carry myself the same way as others. The whole migration to typing messages rather than actually talking is part of my depression – a female friend of mine I’ve known for years, we don’t even really talk on the phone! I don’t like this! Years ago a guy I worked with, he and I used to talk on the phone and get together once a week to watch TV at his apartment. We did that for YEARS. He was the first guy I came out to.

Since then I have had “relationship” (I guess you could call it) fall apart for a variety of reasons. One guy is a bad listener. Another has no time (too “busy”) - that is almost always the kiss-off. It gets worse when it comes to business or getting a job hookup – I know NOBODY. Guys I worked with at previous jobs? No support. Not the way it happens for others. It has occurred to me that for the 30-plus years I spent in my last city, only TWICE did anyone else ever offer to walk a resume in. The results both cases were nil, but at least I had that. The irony of that is that I work in the information technology industry – I’m supposed to be connected to other smart people. Sadly, the industry has become commoditized so everyone’s disposable. Even my colleagues at a consulting place I used to work for, I have nearly zero contact with – that should have been gold.

About the name of this blog: I chose it because I have the idea that the average American right now, and the younger, the more pertinent this is, feels entitled to be happy. They don’t want to hear about anyone else’s issues, they don’t want to learn to be a part of a larger whole like a multi-aged community or coalition – they want their gaming systems, their movie and TV services, and they want their social media. And that is ALL. I really wish I could be around in 30 years to see where many of these folks are at – whether the depression we have now is worse then because that generation never bothered to learn from others, because they chose to separate themselves.

I met a guy at an art show several months ago. Showed him my business card and he made some comment about how millennials are supposed to be more open-minded and carefree. Then he did a sprint away from me, figuratively, that would have made Carl Lewis jealous. Tried to contact him on social media and got partially blocked. That was enough for me to drop it at that point.

The people I wish would read this blog almost certainly won’t. They’re too “busy”, too “distracted”, too “happy.” Perhaps some of my resentment is little other than envy. Maybe I’m seeing something that isn’t real, that isn’t there. But it’s so … uneven. So that is why, in my tag line, I say that if you’re already happy, this blog is not for you. This is for the rest of us who you studiously avoid being involved with because you feel our adversity would contaminate your life and lifestyle.

I may not post here often, and I actually tried doing a blog like this years ago. Maybe someone out there will see himself in this blog. I wish I had a positive message to share but right now, I don’t.

One of my big resentments right now is with the so-called universe. I jokingly have said that because there’s only one universe, it doesn’t have any competition and – like any monopoly – can afford to be sloppy. That is not a completely original idea; I actually stole it from a Calvin and Hobbes cartoon when he was telling his father about Santa Claus – not entirely unrelated.

I have found myself in recent years railing against the universe, feeling that it is – intentionally (it seems) – withholding good things from me. Why, for example, am I in one of the ten largest cities in the U.S. but not getting “run into” smart people, connected people, whatever? I would be disgusted to find out IT thinks the problem is entirely mine. Really? A group of people take a 400-year headstart and you can’t make any corrections for that down the line? We have to wait centuries for social justice to come? How powerful are you?

And then – as we’re repeatedly told ad nauseam – we’re not the center of the universe, so much so that the message is almost, “Don’t want anything, ever.” Were human nature based exclusively on Buddhism with its concept of detachment it might have something there. But right now? Not so much.

I am not asking to be the “center” of the universe. I am just wanting to be the center of a tribe – to be connected, celebrated, loved. It is sorely lacking and between my emotional depression and my inability to earn money, it is costing me a FORTUNE.

By the way – if you’re a fundamentalist or an evangelical, TUNE OUT. Way too many of you folks could have changed the result of the last election but you didn’t. You harp on the same issues over and over – sexual minorities, racial minorities, all you’re about is separatism and punishment. I daresay if Christ returned to earth you’d run him in as a Middle-Easternerner and bitch about him on AM talk radio.

That is it for the moment. This is an experiment. If it doesn’t work I could wind up living on the streets – that is, if I can’t get all my ducks in a row and the universe doesn’t give a shit.

Stay tuned.

#depression #middle age #aging #racism #homophobia

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