#Vivaldi you can't do the same thing over and over again and call it a new symphony

[anonymouswarriorhumanist]

The Trope of the Prodigy and the Genius

Class, Privilege, Capitalism and the Myth of 'Talent'

Do you just see the young 8-year-old girl able to play Vivaldi so effortlessly, you wonder why the heck you can't do the same. Do you observe the news of people going crazy over a child who skipped grades or finished school early and is now going to college at the tender age of 11? Do you see the chess prodigy becoming a grandmaster at 12 years old when you cannot even tell a rook from a knight? Do you lament your childhood and woeful life when your best friend is a skilled ballet dancer, practising for a decade when you cannot even walk properly (personal for me)?

If YES, then welcome to this Dilemma. I cannot put a name on it since it can be anything like genius, talent or whatnot people use it to praise others and distinguish some but hear me out on this.

It is capitalism guys. Look, I know that capitalism is to blame for EVERYTHING but let's add one more thing to its already inflated list of sins throughout centuries and that is: The Myth of Talent and the Creation of 'Genius'

See ik I can imagine the eye rolls but since my thoughts are in a jumble, let me start with a genius and its idea.

So, I feel it is fixed that a capitalist society does not give a shit about us in general as normal people who are not billionaire CEOs or Presidents/Prime Ministers. But unless you help capitalism or suck up to it, it will not put you on a pedestal and adore you more than your own parents could love you. However, things change when you have something called a 'skill', a 'talent' or are a 'genius', right? People look at you with awe and wonder in their eyes, your boss hails you as the bestest amongst the best, and your teachers think you are the eighth wonder of the world. And all this boils down to Whatever the fuck you bring to the table for capitalism to bloom. Notice how it always is about how much you can work or think or give.

Your boss complimented you as a 'talent'. Bestie, wake up, they do not give a fuck about whether you were having a bathroom breakdown 20 mins before. All he cares about is how much you worked today, and what you will do tomorrow (ableism says Hello.)

Your teacher praised you and called you a 'genius'? Babe, all they care about is how much you score on a shitty objective paper that will decide whether you are desirable in this world or not according to your brain/mental capacity (ableism says hi again and so does the Golden Child Syndrome).

Many of our authority figures in this world whilst we live, even our own parents sometimes (yikes), fall into this trap of praising us not because of who we are (or that us living on this shithole planet and breathing on it is itself is a beauty) but rather what we offer: be it our talent, qualities, etc, etc. And this is the Ultimate Capitalism Trap- Make a shitty world and mentally ensnare people by loving them for what they offer and then taking control of their minds with the whole 'genius'/'talent' bs and reducing them to mere skills and capabilities.

This goes on to my next aspect of this: Privilege and Class.

'Talent' and 'Genius' DO not fall out of trees, it has to be cultivated, right? Nurtured in a child, adored and encouraged?

NO.

It NEEDS TO BE FED.

FED by class: money, wealth, privilege. Child prodigies do not jump out of the sky onto their chessboards, pianos or blackboards. It takes a HELLUVA upbringing filled with sheltering and privilege that lead people to cultivate such 'talents'. Upper-class/caste upbringing, family wealth and present, doting (slightly overbearing) parents all contribute to such things more or less.

Now, Am I shitting on 'prodigies' and 'Geniuses'? NO. All I am pointing out is that their glamorisation is not only ableist and rooted in capitalism but rather there are inherent dynamics of privilege and wealth at play to make them who they are. I am certainly not negating the fact that many people do rise up even from underprivileged backgrounds but keep in mind that in most cases, they are the exception rather than the norms. In this world, when most marginalised communities are struggling (be it Palestinians being genocided, Black and Dalit people being incarcerated and killed), 'talent' can only come from conventionally privileged backgrounds and wealthy upbringings.

So, my main point: We live in a world where everyone seeks validation by being different, by seeking to bring something new to the capitalist table hell-bent on flipping us over eventually (yet we still place all our chips on it :) and are even forced to coz no other choice atp). But sometimes, being a normie is NICE, being a non-talented person and a non-genius is great tbh. Not only are you not putting too many chips on the capitalist table but are instead accepting yourself and letting YOURSELF BE. Coz that is what MATTERS. When you give up and protect yourself and get over that FOMO, you are defying that capitalist conditioning, when you rest, you are going against every cell in your being guilting you for taking a breather.

AND THAT IS AMAZING.

So instead of being a 'prodigy' or a 'phenomenal genius', let's just REST and do the bare minimum in this capitalist world and just close our eyes and think about kittens and puppies and procrastinate more and more coz we are human, not fricking machines. (Procrastination and the guilt around it need a separate post btw). One day, just take a stroll with your earpods in at midnight wherever you are and sorta kinda defy capitalism in your way...............yeah comrade???

AND JUST BE AND LET IT HAPPEN

(Love Tame Impala ;))

[mikepemulis]

*hands you motivation in a jar and pokes you to go write* Your writing is amazing and I can't wait to read more! I don't really know what prompts you're looking for but I'm always a sucker for Murphy siblings content :D Or dancing!Connor

this was going to be fluffy and then it like ultra was not. upside, i might continue it though and give it a happy ending later. also there’s dancing connor and murphy siblings soooo

(An Attempt To) Grab A Scoop

Connor Murphy x Evan Hansen (implied/set up), Evan Hansen & Zoe Murphy being platonic best friends

Rating: T (swearing, angst)

Word Count: 1725

In the moments before he was murdered by Connor Murphy, Evan Hansen took a minute to exam all the mistakes that had lead him to this point. 

He could blame Zoe Murphy, for inviting him out with her after the Jazz Band concert. He’d had to interview Zoe after the concert for the school newspaper, and she’d invited him out for celebratory ice cream. He could blame Jared Kleinman, for being the reason he was at the Jazz Band concert in the first place. Evan wasn’t technically a reporter for the school newspaper, he wrote think pieces and occasionally helped out on the advice column. Jared was supposed to report on the Jazz Band concert, but he’d gotten sick and forced Evan to go. He could blame Alana Beck, for convincing him to join the school newspaper in the first place. He’d made the mistake of saying how his mom wanted him to join an extracurricular around Alana. She’d all but dragged him to the English classroom that served as the newspaper headquarters. He could blame his therapist, for telling his mom that he needed to join an extracurricular. He could blame his mom, for making him go to therapy. 

Or, he could blame himself, for being such a colossal fuck up that he worried his poor mother to the point that she needed to pay for him to go to therapy, even though she already was tight on money because she had to raise him all on her own, because his dad had left because Evan was just too much of burden, so really, this whole thing was Evan’s fault, and he’d been leading up to being killed by Connor Murphy since the day he was born. 

After she’d convinced Evan to get ice cream with her, Zoe had confessed that she’d needed to pick up her brother first. Connor had apparently texted her, saying he’d been working late and needed a ride. Zoe assured Evan that it wouldn’t be a big deal, and that she would just drop him off at their house, he didn’t have to actually come out with them, and please Evan, don’t let my brother ruin this, and Evan thought for a second that maybe, perfect, shining, talented Zoe Murphy was almost as lonely as he was; but then when they’d pulled into the parking lot, she’d gotten a phone call from her mother and sighed, mumbling that this would take a while, and will you please just run in and grab Connor? 

Evan, who had the inability to say no, nodded slightly and with shaking legs, exited Zoe’s tiny yellow bug, facing the frigid November air. He glanced across the dark parking lot to lay eyes on the building where Connor worked. 

“Ms. Marya’s Dance Academy.” 

Of all the places Evan had expected Connor to work, a dance studio had not even entered the realm of possibility. He walked slowly towards the flickering neon light, the outline of a petite girl in a bun and tutu accompanying the pink lettering. He pulled open the door to the studio, ringing a faint bell. There was no one at the reception counter, or in the waiting room. At the end of the hall, he heard the faint sounds of music. Evan walked towards the sounds, careful not to make any noise. He shivered at the sight of all of the darkened dance studios. The whole atmosphere was creepy, like something out of a low budget Youtube horror film. The hallway ended with an open door, leading to a brightly lit studio. 

Connor Murphy stood in the studio, dressed in a skin tight black leotard with his hair pulled into a tight bun. Pink pointe shoes wrapped up his legs. Vivaldi blasted from the speakers. His eyes were closed as he gracefully leaped off the ground, landing in an artful crouch that drew far too much attention to his long, graceful legs. Evan’s heart beat at an unexpectedly fast rate. He had never seen Connor so content. He had never realized how nimble and elegant he was. He was beautiful. 

Then his eyes snapped open and filled with his ten times his usual rage. He lunged at Evan, slamming him up against the wall, hand pulled back about to punch him. 

“Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here! I’ll fucking kill you!” It was in this moment that Evan realized everything in his life had been leading up to being murdered by Connor, and that it was all his own fault. If only he could be a normal fucking person, he wouldn’t be on the verge of brutalization via a stunningly attractive sociopath. 

“CONNOR!” Zoe’s voice bounced off the walls, angry and commanding. “What the fuck!?” 

Connor’s grip relaxed slightly, but his voice remained steely. “Who is this kid? Is he with you? Is this your idea of a fucking date night, Zoe. To bring your little boyfriend out to laugh at your crazy faggot brother who works at a dance studio?”

“No!” Zoe said. She sounded offended, and maybe a little bit sad, that her brother would think of her like that. Evan remembered how lonely she looked when she realized he was the only one who’d come to see her after her Jazz Band performance. 

“Then what the fuck are you doing here!?” 

Zoe was on the verge of tears. “You… you asked me to come pick you up,” She said, her voice shattered and broken. 

“I didn’t say you could bring a fucking date!” 

“He’s not my boyfriend! He’s my friend! I’m allowed to have friends, Connor! Maybe you’d be more used to it if you didn’t scare them all off!” 

Connor released Evan. “Fuck you,” He said to Zoe, though his voice lacked its usual vitriol. Evan scurried away from Connor. He met Zoe in the doorway. Her shoulders were slumped and her eyes were glassy. 

“I can take you home if you want,” She said, defeated. 

“No!” Evan said, even though all he wanted to do was go home. “We’re getting ice cream! To celebrate your performance!” 

Connor met up with them, a bag slung over his shoulder and a towel around his neck. His hair was down and his arms were crossed. He stared sullenly at his shoes, which were now heavy combat boots. “What performance?” He asked.

Zoe shoved her hands in her pockets. “I had a Jazz Band concert tonight…” She said, trying to sound casual. Connor stopped. He looked up, something undefinable in his eyes. 

“Oh,” He said. “What… what did Larry and Cynthia think?”

Zoe looked down. “They weren’t there.”

“Oh… Zoe I -”

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Connor. You weren’t there either.”

Sadness flickered across Connor’s profile, but before it could take any sort of hold, he shut his eyes and let his face harden. 

The three of them walked back to Zoe’s car in silence. Evan wondered if everyone else could hear his heart beating. He wished Zoe hadn’t parked so far away from the studio. It felt like the trek to her bug would take hours. 

Once they reached the car, Zoe silently slid into the front seat, slamming the door shut. Evan reached for the passenger seat door handle, but Connor grabbed his elbow and yanked it away, twisting Evan so that the two of them were uncomfortably close. Through the cold air, Evan could feel Connor’s body radiate heat. 

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, spitting the words out like they were made of acid. 

“Wha… um… what?” 

“I’m sorry for earlier. I was… I just… I’m not going to fucking say it again, Hansen.”

“H-How… you um… y-you know m-my name?” 

Connor’s scowl deepened. “Jesus Christ. Look, let’s just be done with this conversation. It is way too fucking cold out here for all of your… just… for you.” 

He released Evan, causing him to stumble back a bit. He needed to take a second to get his bearings. Connor had apologized. Connor knew his name. Connor’s eyes were two different colors. 

“And… Hansen?” Connor said, with his hand on the car door. His voice was quiet and bitter. “Thank you. For showing up. For her.”  

Evan opened his mouth to say something, but Connor quickly climbed in the car. Evan followed suit. 

The silence during the car ride to the Murphy house was heavy. Zoe pulled up in front of their obnoxiously large estate, and Connor climbed out wordlessly, slamming the door shut behind him. 

“I… Ice c-cream?” Evan asked weakly once he had gone. Zoe stared at him, and then burst into tears, resting her head on the steering wheel. 

“No one… no one came. My mom didn’t even… she called asking why I was out so late… I told them! I told them all over and over again but they were too busy screaming at him or about him to hear.” She sat up, and slammed her hand against the dashboard. “And he’s such a fucking asshole!” Her face was a mess of partially frozen tears and snot. “He asked me… I was just trying to be a good sister! I never miss his fucking dance recitals. Even if no one else comes, even when one of them was on the same night as homecoming… I don’t understand.” A fresh stream of tears fell down her face. “Why does he hate me so much?” 

There was so much that Evan wanted to say. He wanted to tell her that Connor didn’t hate her. He wanted to tell her what he’d said out in front of the dance studio. He wanted to tell her that she was so kind and so loving and no one in her shitty family deserved her, but instead he just sat there and watched her cry. After far too long of doing nothing, he reached over and wrapped his arms around her. She relaxed into his body, sighing at the touch. 

“I’m sorry…” She said, her voice garbled from crying. “I’m just gonna… I’m just gonna take you home. We’ll get ice cream soon though, alright? I promise.”

“O-Okay, Zoe,” Evan said, rubbing her back. “Soon.” He stared at the dark and imposing house, wondering what could go on behind its walls that it could produce two utterly different yet completely broken children.