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driftwork · 2 years ago

Text

names, mostly surnames (1)

let me apologise for this partial list of names in the library, titles available on request...

, Adorno, horkheimer, anderson, aristotle, greta adorno, marcuse, agamben, acampora and acampora, althussar, lajac kovacic, eric alliez, marc auge, attali, francis bacon (16th c), aries, aries and bejin, alain badiou, beckett, hallward, barnes, bachelard, bahktin, volshinov, baudrillard, barthes, john beattie, medvedev, henri bergson, Jacques Bidet, berkman, zybmunt bauman, burgin, baugh, sam butler, ulrich beck, andrew benjamin and peter osbourne, walter benjamin, ernest bloch, blanchot, bruzins, bonnet, karin bojs, bourdieu, j.d. bernal, goldsmith, benveniste, braidotti, brecht, burch, victor serge, andre breton, judith butler, malcolm bull, stanley cohen, john berger, etienne balibar, david bohm, gans blumenberg, martin buber, christopher caudwell, micel callon, albert camus, agnes callard, castoridis, claudio celis bueno, carchedi and roberts, Marisol de la cadena, mario blaser, nancy cartwright, manual castells, mark currie, collingwood, canguilhem, mario corti, stuart hall, andrew lowe, paul willis, coyne, stefan collini, varbara cassin, helene cixous, coward and ellis, clastres, carr, cioren, irving copi, cassirer, carter and willians, margeret cohen, Francoise dastur, guy debord, agnes martin, michele bernstein, alice, lorraine dastun, debaise, Gilles Deleuze, deleuze and gattari, guattari, parnet, iain mackenzie, bignall, stivale, holland, smith, james williams, zourabichvili, paul patton, kerslake, schuster, bogue, bryant, anne sauvagnargues, hanjo berresen, frida beckman, johnson, gulliarme and hughes, valentine moulard-leonard, desai, dosse, duttman, d’amico, benoit peters, derrida, hinca zarifopol-johnston, sean gaston, discourse, mark poster, foucault, steve fuller, markus gabrial, rosenbergm milchamn, colin jones, van fraasen, fekete, vilem flusser, flahault, heri focillon, rudi visker, ernst fischer, fink, faye, fuller, fiho, marco bollo, hans magnus enxensberger, leen de bolle, canetti, ilya enrenberg, thuan, sebastion peake, mervyn peake, robert henderson, reimann, roth, bae suah, yabouza, marco bellatin, cartarescu, nick harkaway, chris norris, deLanda, regis debray, pattern and doniger, soame jynens, bernard williams, descartes, anne dufourmanteille, michelle le doeuff, de certaeu , deligny, Georges Dumezil, dumenil and levy, bernard edelman, victorverlich, berio, arendt, amy allen, de beauvior,hiroka azumi, bedau and humphreys, beuad, georges bataille, caspar henderson, chris innes, yevgeny zamyatin, louis aragon, italo calvino, pierre guirard, trustan garcia, rene girard, paul gilroy, michal gardner, andre gorz, jurgan gabermas, martin gagglund, beatrice hannssen, jean hyppolyte, axel honneth, zizek and crickett, stephen heath, calentin groebner, j.b.s. haldane, ian hacking, david hakken, hallward and oekken, haug, harman, latour, arnold hauser, hegel, pippin, pinksrd, michel henry, louis hjelmslev, gilbert hardin, alice jardine, karl jaspers, suzzane kirkbright, david hume, thomas hobbes, barry hindus, paul hirst, hindess and hirst, wrrner hamacher, bertrand gille, julien huxley, halavais, irigaray, ted honderich, julia kristeva, leibnitz, d lecourt, lazzaroto, kluge and negt, alexander kluge, sarah kofman, alexandre kojeve, kolozoya, keynes, richard kangston, ben lehman, kant, francous jullien, fred hameson, sntonio rabucchi, jaeggi, steve lanierjones, tim jackson, jakobson, joeseph needham, arne de boever, marx and engels, karl marx, frederick engels, heinrich, McLellen , maturana and varuna, lem, lordon, jean jacques-lecercle, malabou, marazzi, heiner muller, mary midgley, armand matterlart, ariel dorfman, matakovsky, nacneice, lucid, victor margolis, narco lippi, glen mazis, nair, william morris, nabis, jean luc nancy, geoffrey nash, antonio negri, negri and hardt, hardt, keith ansell pearson, pettman, william ruddiman, rheinberger, andre orlean, v.i. vernadsky, rodchenko, john willet, tarkovsky, william empson, michel serres, virillio, semiotexte, helmut heiseenbuttel, plessner, pechaux, raunig, retort, saito, serres, dolphin, maria assad, spinoza, bernard sharratt, isabelle stengers, viktor shklovsky, t. todorov, enzo traverso, mario tronti, todes, ivan pavlov, whitehead, frank trentmann, trubetzkoy, rodowink, widderman, karl wittfogel, peter handke, olivier rolin, pavese, robert walser, petr kral, von arnim, sir john mennis, ladies cabinet, samuel johnson, edmund spenser, efy poppy, yoko ogawa, machado, kaurence durrell, brigid brophy, a. betram chandler, maria gabriella llansol, fowler, ransmayr, novick, llewellyn, brennan, sean carroll, julien rios, pintor, wraxall, jaccottet, tabucchi, iain banks, glasstone, clarice lispector, murakami, ludmilla petrushevskaya, motoya, bachmann, lindqvist, uwe johnson, einear macbride, szentkuthy, vladislavic, nanguel, mathias enard, chris tomas, jonathan meades, armo schmidt, charles yu, micheal sorkin, vilas- matas, varesi, peter weiss, stephenson, paul legrande, virginie despentes, pessoa, brin, furst, gunter trass, umberto eco, reid, paul,klee, mario levero, hearn, judith schalansky, moorhead, margert walters, rodchenko and popova, david king, alisdair gray, burroughs, ben fine, paul hirst, hindess, kapuscinski, tchaikovsky, brooke-rose, david hoon kim, helms, mahfouz, ardret, felipe fernandez-armesto, young and tagomon, aronson, bonneuil and fressoz, h.s. bennett, amy allen, bruckner brown, honegger, bernhard, warren miller, albert thelen, margoy bennett, rose macauley, nenjamin peret, sax rohmer, angeliki, bostrom, phillip ball, the invisible commitee, bataille and leiris, gregory bateson, michelle barrett and mary mcintosh, bardini, bugin, mcdonald, kaplan, buck-moores, chesterman and lipman, berman, cicero, chanan, chatelet, helene cixous, iain cha,bers, smirgel, norman clark, caird, camus, clayre, chomsky, critchley, curry, swingewood, luigi luca cavelli-sforza, clark, esposito, doerner, de duve, alexander dovzhenko, donzelot, dennet, doyle, burkheim, de camp, darwin, dawkins, didi-huberman, dundar, george dyson, berard deleuze, evo, barbara ehrenrich, edwards, e isenstein, ebeking, economy and society, esposito, frederick gross, david edgeerton, douglas, paul,feyerband, jerry fodor, gorrdiener, tom forester, korsgaard, fink, floridi, elizabeth groscz, pierre francastel, jane jacobs, francois laplantinee, gould, galloway, goux, godel, grouys, genette, gil, kahloo, giddens, martin gardner, gilbert and dubar, hobbes, herve, golinski, grotowski, glieck, hayles, heidegger, huxley, eric hobsbawn, jean-louis hippolyte, phillip hoare, tim jordan, david harvey, hawking, hoggart, rosemary jackson, myerson, mary jacobus, fox keller, illich, sarah fofman, sylvia harvey, john holloway, han, jaspers, yuk hui, pierre hadot, carl gardner, william james, bell hooks, edmond jabes, kierkegaard, alexander keen, kropotkin, tracy kidder, mithen, kothari and mehta, lind, c. joad, bart kosko, kathy myers, kaplan, luce irigaraay, patrick ke iller, kittler, catherine belsey, kmar, klossowski, holmes, kant, stanton, ernesto laclau, jenkins, la mouffe, walter john williams, adam greenfield, susan greenfield, paul auster, viet nguyen, jeremy nicholson, andy weir, fred jameson, lacoue-labarthe, bede, jane gallop, lacan, wilden, willy ley, henri lefebvre, rob sheilds, sandra laugier, micheal lowy, barry levinson, sylvain lazurus, lousardo, leopardo, jean-francois lyotard, jones, lewontin, steve levy, alice in genderland, laing, lanier, lakatos, laurelle, luxemburg, lukacs, jarsh, james lovelock, ideologu and consciousness, economy and society, screen, deleuze studies, deleuze and guattari studies, bruno latour, david lapoujade, stephen law, primo levi, levi-strauss, emmanuel levinas, viktor schonberger, pierre levy, gustav landaur, robin le poidevin, les levidow, lautman, david cooper, serge leclaire, catherine malabou, karl kautsky, alice meynall, j.s. mill, montainge, elaine miller, rosa levine-meyer, jean luc marion, henri lefebrve, lipovetsky, terry lovell, niklas luhmann, richard may, machiavelli, richard mabey, john mullzrkey, meyerhold, edward braun, magri, murray, nathanial lichfield, noelle mcafee, hans meyer, ouspensky, lucretius, asa briggs, william morris, christian metz, laura mulvey, len masterman, karl mannheim, louis marin, alaister reynolds, antonio munoz molina, FRAZER, arno schmidt, dinae waldman, mark rothko, cornwall, micheal snow, sophie henaff, scarlett thomas, matuszewski, lillya brik, rosamond lehman , morris and o’conner, nina bawden, cora sandel, delafield, storm jameson, lovi , rachel ferguson, stevie smith, pat barker, miles franklin, fay weldon, crista wolff, grace paley, v. woolf, naomi mitchinson, sheila rowbotham, e, somerville and v ross, sander marai, jose saramago, strugatsky, jean echenoz, mark robso, vladimir Vernadsky, chris marker, Kim Stanley Robinson, mario leverdo, r.a. lafferty, martin bax, mcaulay, tatyana tolstaya, colinn kapp, jonathan meades, franco fortini, sam delany, philip e high, h.g. adler, feng menglong, adam thorpe, peeter nadas, sam butler, narnold silver, deren, joanna moorhead, leonara carrington, de waal, hartt, botticelli, charbonneau, casco pratolini, murakami, aldiss, guidomorselli, ludmilla petrushevskaya, ,schulz, de andrade, yasushi. inoue, renoir, amelie nothomb, ken liu, prynne, ANTIONE VOLODINE, luc brasso, angela greene, dorothea tanning, eric chevillard, margot bennett w.e. johns, conan doyle, samuel johnson, herge, coutine-denamy, sterling, roubaud, sloan, meiville, delarivier manley, andre norton, perec, edward upward, tom mcCarthy, magrinya, stross, eco, godden, malcolm lowry, derekmiller, ismail kadare, scott lynch, chris fowler, perter newman, suzzana clarke, paretky, juliscz balicki, stanislaw maykowski, rajaniemi, william morris, c.k. crow, ueys, oldenburg, mssrc chwmot, will pryce, munroe, brnabas and kindersley, tromans, lem, zelazny, mitchinson, harry Harrison, konstantin tsiolkovsky, flammerion, harrison, arthur c clarke, carpenter, john brunner, anhony powell, ted white, sheckley, kristof, kempowski, shingo, angelica groodischer, rolin, galeanom dobin, richard holloway, pohl and kornbulth, e.r. eddison, ken macleodm aldiss, dave hutchinson, alfred bester, budrys, pynchon, kurkov, wisniewski_snerg, , kenji miyazawa, dante, laidlaw, paek nam_nyong, maspero, colohouquon, hernandez, christina hesselholdt, claude simon, bulgaakov, simak, verissimo, sorokin, sarraute, prevert, celan, bachmann, mervin peake, olaf stapledon, sa rohmer, robert musil, le clezio, jeremy cooper, zambra, giorgio de chirico, mjax frisch, gawron, daumal, tomzza, canetti, framcois maspero, de quincy, defoe, green,, greene, marani, bellatin, khury, tapinar,, richmal crompton, durrenmat, fritz, quintane, volponi, nanni balestrini, herrera, robert walser, duras, peter stamm, m foster, lan wright, their theotokism agustn de rojas, paul eluard, sturgeon, hiromi kawakomi, sayaka murata, wolfgang hilbig, hmilton, z zivkovic, gersson, mallo, bird, chaudrey, Toussaint, Can Xue, Lewis Mumford, neitzsche, popper, zizek, scott westerfield, rousseau, lewis munford, tod may, penelope maddy, elaine marks, isabelle courtivron, leroi, massumi, david sterritt, godard, millican and clark, macabe, negri, mauss, maiimon, patrica maccormack, moretti, courtney humphries, monad, moyn, malina, picasso, goldman, dambisa moyo, merleau-ponty, Nicholson, knobe and nichols, poinciore, morris, ovid, ming, nail, thomas more, richard mabey, macfarlane, piscator, louis-stempal, negrastini, moore, jacquline rose, rose and rose, ryle, roszick, rosenburg, ravisson, paul ricoer, rossler, chantl mouffe, david reiff, plato, slater, rowlands, rosa, john roberts, rhan, dubios and rousseau, ronell, jacques ranciere, mallarme, quinodoz, peterpelbert, mary poovey, mackenzie, andrew price, opopper, roger penrose, lu cino parisi, gavin rae, parker and pollack, mirowoski, perniola, postman, panofsky, propp, paschke and rodel, andre pickering, massabuau, lars svenddsen, rosenberg and whyte, t.l.s. sprigger, nancy armstrong, sallis, dale spender, stanislavski, vanessa schwartz, shapin and shaeffer, sally sedgewick, signs, gabriel tarde, charles singer, adam smith, simondon, pascal chablt, combes, jon roffee, edward said, sen, nik farrell fox, sartre, fred emery, scholes, herbert spencer, ruth saw, spinoza, raphael sassower, henry sidgewick, peter singer, katarznya de lazari-radek, piaget, podach, van der post, on fire, one press, melossi and pavarini, pearl and mackenzie, theirry paquot, tanizaki, RHS, stone, richard sennett, graham priest, osborn and pagnell, substance, pedrag cicovacki, schilthuizen, susan sontag, gillian rose, nikolas rose, g rattery taylor, rose, rajan, stuart sim, max raphael, media culture and society, heller- roazen, rid, root, rossi, gramsci, showstack sasson, david roden, adrew ross, rosenvallion, pauliina remes, pkato, peter sloterdijk, tamsin shaw, george simmel, bullock and trombley, mark francis, alain supiot, suvin, mullen and suvin, stroma, maimonides, van vogt, the clouds on unknowing, enclotic, thesis 11, spivack, kate raworth, h.w. richardson, hillial schwartz, stern, rebecca solnit, rowland parker, pickering, lukacs, epicriud, epicetus, lucrtious, aurelies, w.j.oates, thor Hanson, thompson, mabey, sheldrake, eatherley, plato, jeffries, dorothy richardson, arno schmidt, earl derr biggersm mary borden, birrel, arno schmidt, o.a. henty, berhard steigler, victor serge, smith, joyce salisbury, pauer-studer, timpanaro, s helling, schlor, norman and welchman, searle, emanuele severarimo, tomasello, sklar, judith singer, walmisley, thomas malthus, quentin meilassoux, alberto meelucchi, mingione, rurnbull, said, spufford and uglow, zone, j.j.c. smartt, sandel, skater, songe-moller, strawson, strawson, strawson, raymond tallis, toscano, turkle, tiqquin, diggins, j.s. ogilivy, w.w. hutchings, rackgam, deiter roth, dowell, red notes, campbell and pryce,osip brik, lilya brik, mayakovsky, zone, alvin toffker, st exupery, freya stark, warson, walsh, wooley, tiles and oberdick, timofeeva, richardson, marcuse, marder, wright, ushenko, tolson, albebers and moholy- nagy, alyce mahon, gablik, burnett, barry, hill, fontaine, sanuel johnson,justin, block, taylor, peter handke, jacques rivette, william sansom, bunuel and dali, tom bullough, aldius huxley, philip robinson, spendor, tzara, wajcman, peter wohlleben, prigogini, paolo virno, jeremy tunstall, theweliet, taussig, tricker, vince, thomss, williams, vogl, new german critique, e.p. thompson, jean wahl, paul virilio, lotringer, christy wampole, verhaeghe, janet wolff, anna kavan, vergara, uexkull, couze venn, barry smart, vico, vatimo, vernant, raoul vaneigem, ibn warraq, vertov, williams, meiksins wood, norbert weiner, peter wollen, h.g. wells, michelle walker, , jeanne waelit walters, shaw and darlen, whorf, ward and dubois, john wright, weinart, wolff, willis, wark, cosima wagner, j. weeks, judith williamson, welzbacher, erik olin wright, wittgenstein, kenny, zeldin, wenders, henry miller, wenkler, arrighi, banks, innes, ushereood, kristeva, john cage, quignard, t.f. powys, siri hustveldt, lem, zelazny, mitchonson, tsilolkovsky, toussaint, heppenstall, garrigasait, de kerangal, haine fenn, jean bloch, geoff ryman, reve, corey, asemkulov, ernaux, gareth powell, cory, deleuze and guattari studies, cse, allain and souvestre, apolinaire, jane austen, john arden, aitmatov, elizabth von arnim, paul auster, abish, ackroyd, tom gunn, lorca, akhmatov, artuad, simon armatige, albahari, felipe alfau, audem auden and soendor, varicco, barrico, bainbridge, asturias, ronan bennett, beckett, paul bowles, jane bowles, celine, bukowski, wu ming, blissert, kay boyle, andrei bely, hugo barnacle, BOLL, isak dineson, karen blikson, brodsky, richmel crompton, berry, barthleme, mary butts, leonora carrington, cage, chevhillard, canetti, cendres, butor, cortazar, danielewski, bertha damon, dyer, havier cercas, micheal dibden, marguerite duras, john donne, duras, durrell, dorrie, Fredric durrenmatt, heppenstahl, eco, enzensberger, evanovich, fruentes, farrell, alison fell, alisdair gray, hollinhurst, andre gide, jean giono, gadda, henry green, grass, andre gorz, william gibson, joyce, gombrowitz, alex laishley, murakami, herve guibert, franz kafka, juenger, junker, kapuscinski, laurie king, kundera, mcewan, ken macleod, ian macdonald, moers, meades, vonda macintyre, nalmstom, maillert, havier marias, jeff noon, anaus nin, david nobbs, peter nadas, nabokov, iakley, oates, raymond queneau, cesare pavese, paterson, ponge, perte, perec, chinery, ovid, genette, kandinsky, robert pinget, richard piwers, rouvaud, sloan, surrralist poetry, ilya troyanov, paul,raabe, julien rios, arne dahl, pierre sollers, rodrigruez, chris ross, renate rasp, ruiz, rulfo, tove jannsson, cabre, vladislavic, tokarczuk, pessoa, jane bowles, calvino, lispector, lydia davis, can xue, sebald, peter tripp, hertzberg, virginia woolf, zozola, sorrentino, higgins, v.w. straka, cogman, freud, jung, klein, winnecot, lacan, fordham, samuels, jung, freud, appignesai, bjp, pullman, magnam, sybil marshall, mccarten, galbraith, jewell, lehmann, levy, levin, jung, spinoza, fairburn, jung, sandler, lacan, laplanche, pontalis, can, xue, klein, cavelli, hawkins, stevens, hanna segal, bollas, welldon, williams, sutherland, buon, symington, morrison, brittain, sidoli, sidoli, holmes, bowlby, winnecott, bollas, kalschiid, malan, patrick casement, anna frued, wittenburg, liz wright, fordham, fairburn, symington, sandler, jung, balint, coltart, west, steiner, van der post, stern, green, roustang, adrew samuels, d.l. sayers, salom, krassner, swain, rame and fo, storr, cogman, hessen, penelope fitzgerald, cummings, richard holloway, juhea kim, glenville, heyer, cartland, kim, cho, atkinson, james, king, audten, hartley, du maurier, bronte, thomas, plath, leon, camillairi, kaussar, fred fargas, boyd, sjowall and wahloo, pheby, morenno-garcia, perrsson, herron, nicola barker, arronovitch, karen lord, stephen frosh, ernest jones, flamm o’brien, shin, mishra, chin jin-young and so on to the warm horizon

#names #ideology and discourse #everyday practices

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justmandika · 1 year ago

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On a scale from 0 to 100, how sane are you?

THREE MURDERED IN LATEST WAVE OF RITUALISTIC KILLINGS

STERLING, CONN.

The bodies of three young people were discovered in the woods outside of Sterling last night, in what authorities are calling a ritualistic murder.

Sandra Attwood, Angel Nogales, and Troy Ingles are the names of the unfortunate victims who were apparently stabbed multiple times and beheaded before being killed in a paganistic ritual. Pandemonium regnat. Two of the victims' bodies were also partially burned, although authorities would not specify who.

The bodies were found several miles from Gallup Cemetery, where residents reported a tomb had been desecrated. They also found trails of blood leading off into the woods. Investigators would not comment on whether or not these two incidents could be related.

The arrangement of the bodies in a ritualistic pattern as well as the writing of certain symbols in blood matches the style of several murders that have occurred in the Sterling area since 1986. The killings may be connected to last week's brutal slaying of Amy Martin, a 17 year-old girl, by John Ward. Ward had impersonated a priest to gain Amy's trust before luring her into the woods and killing her.

Investigators are asking residents to report any suspicious activity to the police. Authorities are urging the people of Sterling to not mourn the loss of Attwood, Nogales, and Ingles because, after all, they were degenerate devil-worshipping thugs who were hooked on crack cocaine and hated their parents. Why even conduct an investigation at all? That's what you would like them to think, wouldn't you, John? They were just three pathetic outcasts who got what they deserved. You actually did the community a favor when you found them getting high in that tomb. You stalked them through the graves and killed them one by one. You ignored their cries for help, their pleas for mercy. You put holes in their ruined drug addict bodies and then you chopped off their heads because everybody knows that removing the head is the only way to kill a snake. Well guess what? YOU DIDN'T KILL THE SNAKE, JOHN. YOU CANNOT KILL WHAT CANNOT BE KILLED. THOU SHALT NOT RAISE UP WHAT THOU CANST NOT PUT DOWN AGAIN. THOU COULDST NOT KILL AMY; THOU SHALT NOT DESTROY MY WORKS FOR THEY ARE THE WORKS OF THE ETERNAL DRAGON. EVEN NOW SHE IS AT THY DOOR. HER HAND IS AT THY THROAT, YET YOU SEE HER NOT. I WILL HAVE THY SOUL FOR I AM THE G O D O F T H I S W O R L D

PANDEMONIUM REGNAT SATANI VITAE PANDEMONIUM REGNAT SATANI VITAE PANDEMONIUM REGNAT SATANI VITAE PANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAEPANDEMONIUMREGNATSATANIVITAE

666

6666666666666

666

I'M HERE, JOHN

----

#mod mandika #// mod post #mod post #copypasta #faith unholy trinity shit

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ask-idv-shepherd · 1 year ago

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(gives Pearce a little kiss) Because you're special

(gives mandika a little kiss) because I luv u

"Ah- N-No no no no! I-I'm really not! N-No need!" He makes a big X after such a little action.

for the Mun tho...

The bodies of three young people were discovered in the woods outside of Sterling last night, in what authorities are calling a ritualistic murder.

(copypasta portion from FAITH: CHAPTER 2 NOTES NOTE #18)

#ask idv shepherd #idv survivor oc #idv shepherd #idv oc ask blog #idv oc #// mod mandika #// ooc post #// mod post #// hehe faith references

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ravenya003 · 10 months ago

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Stuff I Read/Watched in January...

Disney Princess Comics Collection by Amy Mebberson

Azula in the Spirit Temple by Erin Faith Hicks

Patterns in Time: An Anthology by various artists and writers

The Nutcracker and the Mouse King’s Christmas Shenanigans by Alex T. Smith

The Secret of Helmersbruk Manor by Eva Frantz

Jessi’s Babysitter by Anne M. Martin

Dawn and the Older Boy by Anne M. Martin

Wildsmith: Into the Dark Forest by Liz Flanagan

Wildsmith: City of Secrets by Liz Flanagan

Hedgewitch by Skye McKenna

Woodwitch by Skye McKenna

White Fox by Chen Jiatong

White Fox in the Forest by Chen Jiatong

Song of the Far Isles by Nicholas Bowling

Wildoak by C.C. Harrington

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

Doctor Who: Christmas Special (2023)

More details on blog...

#rav's watching log #rav's reading log

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somediyprojects · 1 year ago

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Mirabilia Designs #62: The Lady of the Flag stitched by Amy Clay. Pattern designed by Nora Corbett.

“No color conversion or edits, done on Wichelt 32 count French Linen. Framing by Martin's Picture Framing and Gallery in Hanover, PA.”

#cross stitch #inspo #x #mirabilia designs #nora corbett

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byamymartin · 4 years ago

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New pattern: Little Flags

I made this using both analog and digital painting 😉

#print and pattern #pattern design #gouache #pattern observer #painting #pattern #illustration #illustrator #amy martin pattern #bright colors #bold shapes

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gammija · 2 years ago

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@a-mag-a-day I didn't have time yesterday, but I'm back on track today for Thrown Away

I think one of the strengths of tma, especially in the early seasons before the plot has kicked in, is how jonny is able to sketch the different personalities of the statement givers, mention little details about their lives or jobs that make each one feel like their own person. Like how here, being a bin man is not just his job as a necessity for the story, he has opinions and an outlook on it that make sense, or how Amy from MAG003 has a clear speech pattern with lots of 'so... yeah's. It makes the world feel lived in, even if all we've heard is Jon speaking

On my running subject of Jon's skepticism: This episode has really nothing of the sort! He reads the statement, comments with what they could find, and lets it stand on it's own merits. Even says "Time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe," which has always struck me as more of a 'believer in the supernatural' sentiment. But being so mean about Martin in the same sentence subtracts quite a few points from his 'reasonableness' score/j

On a final note, I've never known how to interpret 'all the exact same tooth". Does he mean they were all one kind of tooth, like, upper right canine? Or that they were all copies of one tooth, from presumably one person?

#tma #tma s1 #my money is on the latter #because of what happens in 72 #but the other bags don't rlly fit his MO so... i guess we'll never know for sure 👻#amagaday #a mag a day #joos yaps

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mcad-library · 2 years ago

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Holding Space

A Library Gallery exhibition by Alexis Schramel

New exhibition in the Library Gallery! Please make a detour to the MCAD Library to see Alexis Schramel's installation: Holding Space.

Exhibition: Tuesday, November 29–Friday, December 16, 2022 MCAD Library Gallery

Poetry Reading: Tuesday, December 6 MCAD Library Gallery 6:00 p.m.

Introduction to the installation by Alexis Schramel: Holding Space is a site-specific installation, that shifts and changes with each iteration. The catalyst for this installation was initiated in response to my need for human connection through being physically, mentally, and emotionally there for other humans and non-humans. Reflecting on the patterns of my life, I associate autumn with pain, loss, decay, displacement, and transition. This installation is a way of sitting and moving with these emotions. I imagine how this installation solidifies and complicates how I understand the relationships and spaces I inhabit now and in the future. I believe by holding space for each other we can find a tender and loving space which we all carry. Together.

Artist statement: Alexis Schramel is a queer artist practicing across disciplines for exploration within social practice, bio-wilderness, collaboration, and installation. She grew up rooted in rural farming communities of the Driftless Area along the Mississippi River. Growing up in this region, she explores the whimsy and brutality of nature during her childhood. She attempts to make sense of the unspoken and unseen materialization of the senses related to site-specific installations and human experience. Her work experiments with the thresholds of sensory perception- looking and seeing, hearing and listening, giving attention and awareness to what lies in between.

Recommended library books:

The Poetics of Space, by Gaston Bachelard and M. Jolas

Uta Barth: to Draw with Light, by Uta Barth

The Art of Light + Space, by Jan Butterfield

Hiding Places: Memory in the Arts, by Amy Chaloupka, Leslie Umberger, and Anne Davis Basting

Christo and Jeanne-Claude: Remembering the Running Fence, by Brian O’Doherty, Christo, Jeanne-Claude, G. Wayne Clough, Edwin C. Anderson, Elizabeth Broun, and George Gurney

Whole Cloth, by Mildred Constantine and Laurel Reuter

Art Therapy for Children: Activities for Individuals and Small Groups, by Jodi Dorson

Ann Hamilton: Habitus, by Ann Hamilton, Patricia C. Phillips, Susan Lubowsky Talbott, Natalie Shapero, and Susan Stewart

Agnes Martin: the Distillation of Color, by Agnes Martin, Durga Chew-Bose, Olivia Laing, and Bruce Hainley

Vitamin T: Threads & Textiles in Contemporary Art, by Jenelle Porter, Louisa Elderton, Rebecca Morrell, and Catalina Imizcoz

Do Ho Suh: Drawings, by Do-Ho Suh, Rochelle Steiner, Clara Kim, and Elizabeth A. T. Smith

Glass, by Judy Tuwaletstiwa, Laura Addison, Ivy Bridgewater, Tina Oldknow, Diana Gaston, and Jean Norelli

*Due to COVID-19 campus access has been modified. Please continue to check the school’s COVID-19 page for updates.

#installation #Poetry #Light in art #mcad library gallery #library gallery #mcad #Minneapolis college of art and design library gallery #librarygallery@mcad

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racingliners · 11 months ago

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Like what I did last year, I'll be updating this reblog as we get each car launch (though as I'm typing this in January it'll be a good few weeks before we get the remaining 2024 cars). First up:

McLaren

What I would have written for my livery prediction is that given how popular their stealth livery was last year, I wasn't going to be surprised if their 2024 livery was very similar to that.

And lo and behold, so it is!

While I still take issue with the weight saving exposed carbon trend, the stealth livery and the 2024 McLaren livery are at least more thought out in where the exposed carbon is so it isn't the first thing you notice (unlike their 2023 livery which really bugged me).

I also absolutely love that the driver numbers are in silver chrome (done intentionally as a nod to the famous Vodafone chrome livery of the mid 00s and early 2010s), it's just a really nice touch that stands out against the orange and black really well.

I do miss the sky blue accents though :( I don't think it would have been remis to have thin lines where the orange and black parts meet, especially since they're still present on the 2024 McLaren teamwear.

7.5/10

Haas

Oh look, it's (almost) the same livery. Consider me blessed with Apollo's dodgeball to the face of prophecy.

Honestly though, I preferred last year's car. I liked the glossy white being the predominant colour whereas the all exposed carbon is quite plain. Don't get me wrong I do still enjoy the colour scheme, it just... idk looks very corporate. I also wish there was a tad more red to make it look a bit brighter.

6/10

Williams

So this is definitely an evolution of the 22 and 23 livery, however I do miss the geometric pattern since it was something that made the Williams cars stand out compared to the rest of the gird. That being said I love the choice of combining the heritage navy blue and the brighter more cobalt blue, showcasing Williams' past and future in F1. And while this picture doesn't show it there's also a nod to the first Frank Williams racing logo on the back of the engine cover which is a very beautiful touch.

7.5/10 (I miss the arrowheads on the wheel caps 😔)

Sauber

Honestly? I really don't mind it that much. I really like the neon green, the grid desperately needs some drastic injection of colour with the ongoing exposed carbon trend and I especially love that it's a glossy neon green. (But just picture this with a glossy black paint, it would look sooooo good!)

Though I do wonder how they got this livery so right, and their overalls so wrong (if I rated overalls as well they would not be favoured well)

a very solid 6.5/10

Alpine

...

idk if I'm just extra crabby because I've caught another cold but WHAT HAVE THEY DONE???????

Mes amis, this is not a livery this is stickers on exposed carbon. And what bothers me even more if that the gradient tile concept would look STUNNING if it was all over the car (like their team wear for 2023 for example).

And don't get me started on the whole pink camo teases they put out on their social media only for the pink "livery" (which we will be seeing at 8 races this year) also has just as much exposed carbon on it.

3/10 and that honestly feels generous.

Racing Bulls (I flat out refuse to call them VCARB)

Okay I will let them have their silly name since they actually painted the car, and I have once again been gifted Apollo's prophetic powers because hello Toro Rosso drinks can livery 2.0

While this is not as good as the original I do absolutely adore the return to the all over metallic blue with silver and red accents. It just works. Though the massive white stripe containing the Hugo Boss logo on the front is quite jarring. I don't understand why it would have just been in red (by contrast the one on the engine cover is fine since it's smaller).

But honestly? I do like it. 7/10

Aston Martin

Alas there is more carbon fibre on the car than last year BUT thankfully it's not immediately obvious and the car continues to be my most beloved glossy semi-metallic green 💚

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. 9/10

Ferrari

Alas I am still awaiting the return of the burgundy Ferrari but ciao bella 😍

I love that they've kept the Ferrari logo on the rear wing, and I also like the red wheel caps and I think the white and yellow stripes are both gorgeous and what I'm assuming is an ode to Ferrari's Le Mans winning hypercar from last year. I will say that the shade of red does not look good in the rendering lighting, having seen pictures from the shakedown at Fiorano it looks much better in daylight.

My only gripe is that it's matte, and the yellow outline on the driver numbers, keeping them just white would have been absolutely fine.

8/10

Mercedes

I have never been happier for my prediction to be wrong, my jaw genuinely dropped upon opening instagram and seeing the W15 this morning.

I LOVE the return to a half-silver-half-black livery, especially with the thicker Petronas teal stripes and silver stars on the engine cover. It is just absolutely stunning.

No notes. 10/10.

Red Bull

And we end livery watch on a very meh note. I still hate the matte navy, it's too dark and there's even less neon red than last year. I'm especially disappointed that the newer style Red Bull logo is on the cars, with the fact that the older logo with the white outline is on most of the RBR associated drivers helmets this year made me hope they were going back to it. Alas, it's just the same livery we've had since 2016.

2/10

Livery Watch 2024

Well I am typing this out way earlier than I expected (thanks McLaren), but I legit had so much fun rating and yelling about all the different team liveries last year that I'm going to do it again this year.

This was going to be my wishlist/prediction post for each team but lo and behold McLaren revealed their 2024 livery today, so I'll be talking about the remaining 9 teams instead, and I'll go a little bit more in-depth in the reblog below about McLaren's 2024 livery.

Red Bull: As much as I desperately yearn for a return to the glossy dark metallic blue livery of the early-mid 2010s, I am 90% sure we're going to see the same livery on their car they've used since 2016, but with the usual annual sponsor logo adjustments

Mercedes: Given how positively their return to an all black livery was perceived, I think we'll see the same thing on the car this year with very subtle silver and Petronas teal accents. (However a piece of my heart would certainly be very happy with chrome silver as an alternative!)

Ferrari: Also asking Ferrari to ditch the matte paint but I know it won't happen. I honestly loved last year's livery, especially with the text logo on the rear wing, but if they go for a more burgundy leaning red like their 1000th race livery then I will have never said anything bad about Ferrari ever actually.

Aston Martin: Zero notes. Though if I see any exposed carbon I will be suing Lawrence Stroll for emotional damages.

Alpine: I am actually a blue and pink livery apologist (the all over pink is still extremely beloved though!!) so hopefully we'll have more of the same this year.

Williams: I've really loved the geometric blue tile livery they're ran for the past couple of years, my only tweak would be to use slightly lighter shades of blue since overall last year's grid did look quite dark last year with all the exposed carbon. I'm also echoing what I said last year in that a total switch up to the white to blue ombre livery the team ran during their RoKit sponsorship years would be really nice to see.

Sauber: No I'm not calling them Stake F1 Team Sauber, I have better things to do with my time. It's just Sauber. Anyway, I'm expecting the livery to be quite a drastic change as part of the rebrand from Alfa Romeo to Stake, and if we're taking hints from their big social media overhaul I think there's going to be a lot of black and neon green (I do think that they're going to be treading a fine line between looking really nice or the W15 ordered off Wish)

Alpha Tauri/Racing Bulls: I honestly loved the navy and white Alpha Tauri liveries, imho they were really stylish and made them look like less of a Red Bull junior team. I don't really know what their rebrand is going to look like, so in the mean time I am going to yearn for a return to the iconic Toro Rosso drinks can livery from 2017 and 2018.

Haas: Unless Moneygram join the exodus of departures from Haas, I think we're going to see some kind of black and white livery with red accents. Personally I'd like there to be more red and a glossy black (matte pain continues to be my behated) but like with Red Bull if it ends up being a nearly identical livery to last year then I won't be surprised.

#Formula 1 #Livery Watch #2024 #Livery Watch 2024

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brooklynmuseum · 4 years ago

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Closing out National Poetry Month, our Spring Interns paired some of their favorite poems with works from our collection. We hope you enjoy!

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas

Image: Suzuki Harunobu (Japanese, 1724-1770). Page From Haru no Nishiki, 1771. Color woodblock print on paper. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Peter P. Pessutti, 83.190.1

from Citizen: “Some years there exists a wanting to escape...” [Excerpt] By Claudia Rankine

I they he she we you turn only to discover the encounter

to be alien to this place.

Wait.

The patience is in the living. Time opens out to you.

The opening, between you and you, occupied, zoned for an encounter,

given the histories of you and you—

And always, who is this you?

The start of you, each day, a presence already—

Hey you—

— Halle Smith, Digital Collections Intern Catherine Green (American, born 1952). [Untitled] (West Indian Day Parade), 1991. Chromogenic photograph, sheet. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 1991.58.2. © artist or artist's estate

Ode to Enchanted Light by Pablo Neruda

Under the trees light has dropped from the top of the sky, light like a green latticework of branches, shining on every leaf, drifting down like clean white sand.

A cicada sends its sawing song high into the empty air.

The world is a glass overflowing with water.

Consuelo Kanaga’s black and white photograph captures a dazzling, yet fleeting moment from everyday life. Three textured glasses cast shadows whose patterns are almost kaleidoscopic in effect. We can imagine Kanaga passing by her kitchen table, as she is brought to a halt to take a closer look at, and ultimately to photograph, the simple beauty generated by the play of light and everyday objects. The close-up scale of this image emulates the singularizing framing techniques deployed by Surrealist photographers, who also took parts of everyday life and blew them up in the photographic frame, thereby encouraging their viewers to look at life around us from a different angle. It is a way of saying: Here, take a closer look. Viewing the world with wonder, along with the joy that this act brings, are encapsulated in Pablo Neruda’s poem Ode to Enchanted Light. The speaker observes the way light passes through trees and creates enchanting patterns. He not only observes, but feels the beauty in the simple details of life, from the way light falls from the sky, to the sheen of leaves, to the buzzing of cicadas. Approaching life through such a hopeful lens evokes a glass-half-full perspective. In fact, the speaker is so hopeful that he believes “The world is/a glass overflowing/with water.” I think Kanaga would have felt the same way.

— Kirk Testa, Curatorial Intern, Photography Consuelo Kanaga (American, 1894-1978). [Untitled] (Glasses and Reflections). Gelatin silver photograph. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Wallace B. Putnam from the Estate of Consuelo Kanaga, 82.65.25

Easter Wings By George Herbert

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,

Though foolishly he lost the same,

Decaying more and more,

Till he became

Most poore:

With thee

O let me rise

As larks, harmoniously,

And sing this day thy victories:

Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did beginne

And still with sicknesses and shame.

Thou didst so punish sinne,

That I became

Most thinne.

With thee

Let me combine,

And feel thy victorie:

For, if I imp my wing on thine,

Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

Easter Wings by George Herbet and Martin Bach’s flower vase from the Brooklyn Museum’s Decorative Arts collection reveal the interrelationship between form and function. In Easter Wings, Herbert strategically varies the line length to create an image that enhances the meaning of the poem; when you turn the poem on its side, it resembles the wings of a bird, of which are symbolic of the atonement of Jesus Christ. In doing so, the author is not only telling us his message, but he is showing it visually as well. Similarly, the vase takes the visual form of its function. Its floral design amplifies the meaning of the object, as the vase is meant to hold flowers. In both instances, we see how aesthetic properties of a work echo the meaning and function of the work itself.

— Amy Zavecz Martin Bach (American, 1862-1921). Vase, ca. 1905. Opalescent glass. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mrs. Alfred Zoebisch, 59.143.16. Creative Commons-BY

I am the Earth (Watashi wa chikyu) [Excerpt] by Kiyoko Nagase, Translated by Takako Lento

I am warm, moist soil I am a single supple stalk I draw my life all the way up into corollas of wild berries on the roadside

I am amazed at a breast of water welling to flow into the inlet of a muddy rice paddy I am amazed at myself being hot steam blowing fire and sulfur up from the bottom of the great ocean, deep indigo. I am amazed at the crimson blood flow covering the earth’s surface in human shape; I am amazed that it swells as the tides ebb and flow, and gushes out monthly under distant invisible gravity … I am the earth. I live there, and I am the very same earth.

In the four billionth year I have come to know the eternal cold moon, my other self, my hetero being, then, for the first time, I am amazed that I am warm mud.

The vivid imagery conjured up by Kiyoko Nagase’s poem is beautifully visualized by Emmi Whitehorse’s painting. The emphasis on deep Earth tones and abstract corporeality in both the poem and the painting really creates an intense metaphysical link between the environment and the self.

— Amanda Raquel Dorval, Archives Intern Emmi Whitehorse (Navajo, born 1957). Fire Weed, 1998. Chalk, graphite, pastel and oil on paper mounted on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Hinrich Peiper and Dorothee Peiper-Riegraf in honor of Emmi Whitehorse, 2006.49. © artist or artist's estate

Seventh Circle of Earth by Ocean Vuong

On April 27, 2011, a gay couple, Michael Humphrey and Clayton Capshaw, was murdered by immolation in their home in Dallas, Texas.

Dallas Voice

________________________________________________________

As if my finger, / tracing your collarbone / behind closed doors, / was enough / to erase myself. To forget / we built this house knowing / it won’t last. How / does anyone stop / regret / without cutting / off his hands? / Another torch

streams through / the kitchen window, / another errant dove. / It’s funny. I always knew / I’d be warmest beside / my man. / But don’t laugh. Understand me / when I say I burn best / when crowned / with your scent: that earth-sweat / & Old Spice I seek out each night / the days

refuse me. / Our faces blackening / in the photographs along the wall. / Don’t laugh. Just tell me the story / again, / of the sparrows who flew from falling Rome, / their blazed wings. / How ruin nested inside each thimbled throat / & made it sing

until the notes threaded to this / smoke rising / from your nostrils. Speak— / until your voice is nothing / but the crackle / of charred

bones. But don’t laugh / when these walls collapse / & only sparks / not sparrows / fly out. / When they come / to sift through these cinders—& pluck my tongue, / this fisted rose, / charcoaled & choked / from your gone

mouth. / Each black petal / blasted / with what’s left / of our laughter. / Laughter ashed / to air / to honey to baby / darling, / look. Look how happy we are / to be no one / & still

American.

Ocean Vuong’s “Seventh Circle of Earth” has persisted as one of the great, affective moments of poetry in my life since I first heard Pádraig Ó Toama’s gorgeous reading and discussion of it on his podcast, Poetry Unbound. I decided to pair Vuong’s poem with Mary Coble’s Untitled 2 (from Note To Self) because both works are urgently immersive into the violence and experience of LGBTQ people in the U.S., and for how each work uses text and physicality to address presence, pain, and erasure. Vuong’s poem is actually footnoted to a quote from a news article about a gay couple murdered in Texas. The page is thus blank, absent of text. The reader has to sink below the main stage, the accepted space of word and story, to find the voices of this couple and the depth of their story’s tenderness, eroticism, and utter devastation. Coble’s piece foils the structure and effect of Seventh Circle of Earth by taking what was subverted by Vuong—text and the narrative of violence—wholly to the surface. Her photograph captures her own legs tattooed without ink with the names of LGBTQ individuals victimized by hate crimes. I cannot help but think of Franz Kafka’s short story “In the Penal Colony,” in which prisoners’ “sentences'' are inscribed by the needle of a “punishment apparatus” directly onto their bodies. I was struck by how the curator’s note for this photograph describes Coble’s artistic endeavor here as “harrowing.” The needle in Kafka’s short story is indeed called “The Harrow”. The noun harrow is an agricultural tool that combs plowed soil to break up clumps of earth and uproot weeds and clear imperfections. The verb to harrow means to plague, and in the story’s original German the verb for “harrow”, eggen, is also translated as “to torment”. Kafka and Coble conflate these definitions of “the harrow” in their respective works: they use a needled device, like the true noun definition, as an instrument of torment because of someone else’s idea of punishment and justice. Here, violence is brought to the surface, intimate in as much as we are brought right up to the artist’s skin and into the presence of her and her community’s pain. Together, one can see how each creator physicalizes their respective artistic space to tell the stories of LGBTQ people, of what is tender and harrowing, below the surface and written into the skin.

— Talia Abrahams, Provenance Intern, IHCPP Mary Coble (American, born 1978). Untitled 2 (from Note to Self), 2005. Inkjet print. Brooklyn Museum, Gift of the artist, 2008.10. © artist or artist's estate

To my daughter Kakuya by Assata Shakur

I have shabby dreams for you of some vague freedom I have never known. Baby I don't want you hungry or thirsty or out in the cold. and I don't want the frost to kill your fruit before it ripens. I can see a sunny place Life exploding green. I can see your bright, bronze skin at ease with all the flowers and the centipedes. I can hear laughter, not grown from ridicule And words not prompted by ego or greed or jealousy. I see a world where hatred has been replaced by love. and ME replaced by WE And I can see a world replaced where you, building and exploring, strong and fulfilled, will understand. And go beyond my little shabby dreams.

This poem is featured in Assata Shakur’s memoir, Assata: An Autobiography. It details her hope for a better world that her daughter can grow up in. This poem is positioned in the book when Shakur is facing increasing prosecution as a result of her activism and affiliations with the Black Panther Party and Black Liberation army. Being written more than 30 years after this picture was taken, the poem summons me to think about the trauma that many Black women face and how much of that trauma gets passed down to their children. The black and white photo of a mother and daughter provides a nice visual to the poem. “The image of a Black mother and child sitting on their luggage reflects the little-discussed history of segregated transportation in the northern United States. Through the 1940s, Penn Station officials assigned Black travelers seats in Jim Crow cars on southbound trains” (Brooklyn Museum). The photograph of train passengers waiting outside of Manhattan’s Pennsylvania Station especially echoes the verse “I don’t want you hungry or thirsty or out in the cold.” The overall optimistic tone of Shakur’s poem alters our relationship to the image as we imagine the mother pictured above hoping for the exact same things

— Zaria W, Teen Programs intern Ruth Orkin (American, 1921-1985). Mother and Daughter at Penn Station, NYC, 1948. Gelatin silver photograph, sheet: 13 15/16 × 11 in. (35.4 × 27.9 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Gift of Mary Engel, 2011.22.3. © artist or artist's estate

Crunch. By Kailyn Gibson

I retch as a mass of sinew lies between my lips. The sensation is unbearable. Fortunately, the jar of flies has gone missing again.

Slowly, surely, and yet never sure at all, the quiet of buzzing rings through the in-between.

It is a symphony wrought from blood and bone.

Saliva drips from bleeding, hungry gums, And the crunch of glass echoes the grinding of molars.

If I proffered a sanguine smile, would masticated shards look like teeth? Would they gleam just as prettily?

The flies ring, and the rot calls.

— Kailyn Gibson Edgar Degas (French, 1834-1917). Portrait of a Man (Portrait d'homme), ca. 1866. Oil on canvas. Brooklyn Museum, Museum Collection Fund, 21.112

Excerpt from Autobiography of Red A novel in verse by Anne Carson

7. If Helen’s reasons arose out of some remark Stesichoros made either it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) or it was not.

8. If it was a strong remark about Helen’s sexual misconduct (not to say its unsavory aftermath the Fall of Troy) either this remark was a lie or it was not.

9. If it was not a lie either we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way we are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros or we are not.

10. If we are now in reverse and by continuing to reason in this way are likely to arrive back at the beginning of the question of the blinding of Stesichoros either we will go along without incident or we will meet Stesichoros on our way back.

11. If we meet Stesichoros on our way back either we will keep quiet or we will look him in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen.

12. If we look Stesichoros in the eye and ask him what he thinks of Helen either he will tell the truth or he will lie.

13. If Stesichoros lies either we will know at once that he is lying or we will be fooled because now that we are in reverse the whole landscape looks inside out.

This excerpt comes from Appendix C of Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red, a novel in verse. A translator and classicist herself, Carson mixes fact with fiction in her unconventional retelling of the myth of Geryon and Hercules, beginning with a roundabout introduction to the poet Stesichoros. Autobiography presents a captivating example of recent Queer projects that take up Classical material as their basis. A fascination with the Classical past has pervaded our modern conception of sexual identity politics, down to the very etymology of the word “lesbian.” In this fascination, I see the same desire to capture Classical imagery as cultural heritage which has also pervaded American museums, albeit with significantly different aims. The fresco pictured above comes to mind, which passed through many collectors and was even purchased by the museum before anyone pegged it as a modern piece—not an original Roman fresco. John D. Cooney, a 20th century curator of our Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art collection, wrote that “the unclad and somewhat winsome charms of the lady [probably] diverted objective glances.” Both in the case of the fresco and Carson’s novel, the “unclad and somewhat winsome charms” of the Classical past shape and reshape our understanding of history.

— Kira Houston, Curatorial Intern, Egyptian, Classical, and Ancient Near Eastern Art Modern, in the style of the Roman Period. Part of a Fresco, early 19th century C.E. Clay, paint. Brooklyn Museum, Ella C. Woodward Memorial Fund, 11.30.

Late Fragment by Raymond Carver From A New Path to the Waterfall, Atlantic Monthly Press, 1989.

And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth.

— Shori Diedrick Brackens (American, born 1989). when no softness came, 2019. Cotton and acrylic yarn. Brooklyn Museum, Purchased with funds given by The LIFEWTR Fund at Frieze New York 2019, 2019.12. © artist or artist's estate

Jaguar By Francisco X. Alarcón

some say dicen que ahora I'm now almost estoy casi extinto extinct in this park por este parque but the people pero la gente who say this que dice esto don't know no sabe that by smelling que al oler the orchids las orquídeas in the trees en los árboles they're sensing están percibiendo the fragrance la fragancia of my chops de mis fauces that by hearing que al oír the rumblingc el retumbo of the waterfalls de los saltos

they're listening están escuchando to my ancestors' el gran rugido great roar de mis ancestros

that by observing que al observar the constellations las constelanciones of the night sky del firmamento

they're gazing están mirando at the star spots las motas de estrellas on my fur marcadas en mi piel that I am and que yo soy always will be y siempre seré the wild el indomable

untamed espíritu silvestre living spirit vivo de esta of this jungle jungla

While the author of the poem speaks about animals, their words can also speak on behalf of the erasure of indigenous peoples in South America. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions and culture are very important to life in South America. Despite their marginalization, Indigenous peoples throughout the Andes used coca leaves to help with the altitude. The use and cultivation of coca are criminalized throughout most of South America despite it being essential to indigenous cultures. This vessel was used to contain lime which would activate the coca leaves. Much like the jaguar, indigenous traditions are also faced with endangerment despite being woven into the fabric that is Latin America. Through the opposite man and woman figures, the vessel shows the duality that is important to the Quimbaya people which is still relevant to Colombians today.

Aunque el autor del poema habla sobre los animales, sus palabras también comunican el sentimiento común de la supresión de los indígenas en Suramérica. Con la mención del jaguar, se puede entender en el poema que la cultura y las tradiciones de las personas que son indígenas son sumamente importantes para la vida en Sudamérica. A pesar de su marginación, los indígenas en Los Andes utilizan la hoja de coca para ayudar en la altura de las montañas. El uso y el cultivo de la hoja de coca fue criminalizado (penalizado) a través de Sudamérica, aunque su uso para los indígenas era vital y esencial para su cultura. Este recipiente que se utiliza contiene limón lo que activa la hoja de la coca. Similarmente al jaguar, las tradiciones de los indígenas siempre estaban en peligro aunque estuvieran entrelazadas en las telas de lo que sería Latinoamérica. A través del hombre opuesto y las figuras de mujeres, el recipiente muestra la dualidad de lo que es importante para las personas que son Quimbaya, algo que todavía hoy es relevante para los Colombianos.

— Jeffrey Alexander Lopez, Curatorial Intern, American Art & Arts of the Americas Quimbaya. Poporo (Lime Container), 1-600 C.E. Tumbaga. Brooklyn Museum, Alfred W. Jenkins Fund, 35.507. Creative Commons-BY

#national poetry month #poetry #art #poems #art history #brooklyn museum #bkminterns

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years ago

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Chapter 7: Threads

Hello! Long time no see! The delay was unplanned and I'm sorry about that. I had an idea in the meantime to add more fluff chapters before shit starts to go down but then I couldn't get to writing them while telling myself that I will write them eventually, and then I had other ideas, and I was writing for Summer in the Archives, and so we are where we are. I decided to just keep posting what I have and if I do feel like adding fluff that would be happening in the meantime then I will just make a separate work in the series. I'm aiming to go back to my weekly schedule (haha), so I hope I can get the next chapter out next Friday. As always, please leave me a comment or come yell at me here on tumblr, it always brightens my day and keeps my motivation up! Enjoy <3

Martin looks at Jon’s sleeping face and thoughts swirl inside his head like tendrils of the mist that has been following him, tendrils that meet in one specific place – his feelings for him. He’s not proud of the fact that this is where his thoughts end up turning every time he thinks about Jon, considering the severity of the situation Sasha explained to him, but he cannot help wondering – despite his better judgement – if Jon doesn’t share them. He replays the worry in his brown eyes, the tight hugs, always ensuring he’s there, safe, and whole… He might be adding meaning to otherwise ordinary actions, of course, but he can allow himself to hope, for when that hope sparks inside him, the fog withdraws.

Jon is wrapped in a blanket on the cot in the storage room, where Martin has laid him. They found him sleeping on the desk in his office, his eyes all red-rimmed and puffed up; they didn’t comment on it. Martin carried him to the storage room and placed his glasses nearby. Tim went to take Sasha home, so she can get some rest, too, and was supposed to come back with lunch; the events of the morning are laying heavy on all of them and have left them quite hungry.

Martin closes the door to the storage room and comes back to his desk. Working seems a bit pointless when you know that your boss is scheming an apocalypse somewhere behind your back and you can’t quit the job, but he finds himself needing a distraction, so he opens up his computer to do some follow up research on Jason North and the alleged ritual site he found in the middle of a Scottish forest. Martin’s never been good with research, not like Sasha, so he soon stumbles upon a dead end. He ends up researching pictures for Scottish forests and cottages, and he daydreams, with his poem notebook by his side. How nice would it be to just move to Scotland, to a cottage like that and forget everything. Grow your own vegetables and herbs, welcome the sun every morning with a cup of tea; go down to the town for some groceries, meet some good cows; and maybe Jon is there with him, and he finally gets through to his head that he shouldn’t make tea in the microwave, and they cuddle on the couch while reading—

“’scuse us,” comes a deep voice and Martin looks up, startled, to find two delivery men standing there, in the Archives, with a big package next to them.

“Looking for the Archivist,” the other man says, but Martin figures that just because the voice is coming from a slightly different direction. They sound exactly the same; he finds they look similar, too. Their clothes are identical; they’re different makes and all but somehow, he can’t tell these two men apart. There’s… something off to them.

“Sorry, are you two meant—” Martin blinks, but one of them interrupts him.

“Won’t take up your time.”

“Just got a delivery.”

Martin opens his mouth, trying to process the fact that they seem to be two parts of the same whole. He wouldn’t be able to explain this thought if asked, but this is what runs through his head.

“Look, you really can’t actually—”

“Package for Jonathan Sims.”

“Says right here.”

He looks and yes, there, on the package, says ‘Jonathan Sims’ in a very ordinary, unassuming writing. He glances over at the door to the storage room and back at the two men.

“Well, he’s not—”

“We’ll just leave it with you.”

“Be sure he gets it.”

Martin struggles for words.

“Okay, I will, but you really have to actually—”

“’course. Much obliged.”

“Stay safe.”

“I’ll… try?” He responds with the first thing that goes into his head.

“Your recorder’s on, by the way.”

“Might wanna change that.”

Martin looks at his desk and he notices a tape whirring steadily in the recorder.

“Oh… so it is. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“At all.”

They both turn as one and leave Martin, the recorder, and the package alone. He hums, looking from one to the other and back.

“Well, I know for a fact that I did not turn you on,” Martin speaks to the recorder. “Maybe Tim felt in a mood for a prank. It is April Fool’s after all,” he huffs out a laugh. “Would be his style to do something, even with… all this happening.”

He stops the recording and turns to the package; before he can do anything else, though, the recorder clicks itself back on. Martin gives it a sideways look and his heart picks up the pace. He frowns and clicks stop again. One second. Two. There; it clicks the red button on its own.

Martin stands up and takes a step back.

“What the hell,” he breathes out.

Suddenly he hears a familiar laugh from the top of the stairs and energetic steps running down. Tim emerges from the doorway and gives him a surprised look.

“You okay, Marto?” He asks and places a paper bag on his desk, then points his chin at the package. “What’s that?”

“Uh…” Martin collects himself in a second. “Two delivery men just came by. It’s for Jon, apparently.”

Tim places a second paper bag and his coffee cup on his desk and walks around the package.

“No sender. Interesting.” He strokes his chin and looks at Martin with a grin. “We should open it.”

“Tim!”

“Look, boss is asleep, the package came to the Archives and not to his house, how private can it be?” Tim throws his arms up but seems to be watching Martin’s reaction more carefully. He doesn’t look very bothered, Tim assesses; he seems to be equally interested in the contents. He sighs and tosses him a letter opener.

“Fine, but you’re taking the blame,” Martin rolls his eyes with mock exasperation, and Tim’s grin gets wider.

“That’s the spirit!” He cuts the tape at the corners and opens the packaging to reveal an old wooden table; there’s a hole in the centre, Tim reckons about six inches square, and its surface is covered in intricate patterns resembling optical illusions. He frowns at it. “Huh. A table. Why would Jon…” He trails off as his eyes follow the hypnotizing patterns. “Interesting…”

Martin watches as Tim drops the letter knife to the floor, enraptured by the table. He wants to say something, to call out his name, but the fog from the edges of his vision spills out at the sight of the table and it blocks out the world; Martin stops feeling the chair underneath him and finds himself stranded in a sea of grey, thick fog.

“Tim? Tim!” He calls out but there’s no answer. There would be no answer, ever; he’s all alone here.

—

Jon wakes up to a nagging feeling that something is wrong. He blinks, trying to get rid of the sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids and gathers his bearings. He realizes he’s on the cot in the storage room, a blanket thrown to the floor next to him. He still feels too hot, and he takes off his sweater vest. What’s this feeling, gently pricking at the back of his mind?

He gets up, wobbly as he feels, and makes his way to the door. As he opens it, a voice makes its way to his ears.

“…friend mentioned poetry?” Jon squints his eyes, as light reaches him, yet he immediately recognizes the voice.

“…Gerry?” He asks and blinks – yes, he can make out the thin and long figure dressed in black, sitting on top of Tim’s desk. Tim is there too, leaning against Martin’s desk in front of Gerry, and Martin sits in the chair, his cheeks coloured just a little with faint pink. They all turn to him with surprise when he emerges. He can feel tension in the room, and he acknowledges the presence of something that looks like a table covered with a blanket in the middle of the room; the nagging in his mind grows into anxiety. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin jumps up to him with genuine worry and Jon smiles slightly, as he shakes his head.

“No.” He blinks again, to chase away the sleep and looks at Gerry and his inscrutable expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry gets down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

Jon frowns with worry.

“Gerry, I’m serious.”

Something in Gerry’s demeanour changes as he sighs, and his expression clears.

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m in,” he says. “Whatever your crazy plan is, if you even have one, I want to hear it or help you make it; you weren’t picking up your phone, so I decided to come, pay you a visit.” He glances towards the table and his eyes cloud with a shadow. “And it turns out it’s good that I did.”

“What is this?” Jon walks over to the table and three pairs of hands shoot out to stop him. Gerry’s touch lingers comfortably, because apparently that’s what he does, and Jon isn’t so sure he minds it.

“An old table, with weird, hypnotizing patterns,” Tim says, and Jon detects a tinge of guilt in his voice.

“Did it have a hole in the middle?” He asks urgently and Tim nods.

“We need to get rid of it,” Jon looks in the direction of the stairs. “Put it in the Artifact Storage and make sure it’s covered.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Martin asks and Jon nods.

“Amy Patel case; the one where a person got replaced. Why would they—” Jon’s face falls and he turns to Martin and Tim. “Who delivered it?”

“It was two delivery men, really big, quite intimidating, but—uh, now that I think about it I can’t remember what they looked like…”

“Shit,” Jon sighs and rubs his face. “Okay, we really do need a plan.” He looks over their faces and his eyes stop at Martin’s disgruntled expression. “What is it?”

“What you need is rest,” he crosses his arms. “You pulled an all-nighter with Sasha, and you haven’t even slept for two hours now.”

“You do look like shit,” Gerry offers his insight and Jon fixes him with a glare.

“I can’t protect you when I’m asleep,” he says and looks pointedly at the table. “Clearly. Tell me wha—” He stops when Gerry squeezes his arm sharply. He takes note of the static in the air and clears his throat. “I want to know what happened.”

Tim sighs.

“Alright, it is kinda my fault,” he admits looking away. “I insisted on opening your package to see what’s inside. But in my defence, I thought it would be something funny; at least a bit humiliating for you, and we could laugh it off. The mood’s been horrible lately,” he grimaces. “The lines kind of… hypnotized me. I couldn’t look away and I started getting lost in them. It… It felt like being trapped in a web; the more I struggled to look away, the harder it was. I don’t know how much time had passed before your resident goth intervened. Then I came back to myself and Martin… he was grey again.”

Jon glances worriedly at Martin, who starts fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t think you guys could see that,” he confesses. “It’s… it’s that fog you mentioned,” he says to Jon who nods, his lips pressed together. “It was… stronger this time.”

“He was a step from disappearing,” Gerry says, looking at Jon curiously. “I thought you guys were new here.”

“We are,” Tim says, looking at Jon pointedly. “You said you know why that happens.”

“I did,” Jon sighs and leans against the desk, next to Gerry. “I’m—Martin, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Martin looks away and he mutters something along the lines of “don’t worry about it”.

“The fog is… another one of the fears; called The Lonely or The Forsaken,” Jon says, looking somewhere into space. “It’s the fear that you’re all alone, that you can’t connect with anyone. Martin…” He exhales. “I have reasons to believe that your connection to the Lonely might have appeared in this… reality, along with my memories.” He finally looks up at Martin; there are no emotions on his face. “When did the fog first appear?”

“S-Sometime when I got transferred into the Archives,” he nods. “I thought it was just anxiety, but… y-yeah, it makes sense, I suppose.”

“You still don’t remember what you did to end up here?” Gerry asks and Jon shakes his head; Gerry clicks his tongue.

“So, what do we do now?” Tim looks at Jon. “What is Elias’ plan?”

“I…” He rubs his forehead. “I don’t remember exactly. I…” He trails off looking at them. They are waiting for him to tell them what to do. Martin, with colour in his eyes and something else there, something Jon doesn’t let himself think about; Tim, whom he hasn’t hurt yet, who still has hope and who isn’t filled with bitter anger and sorrow; and Gerry who’s alive, here with him, offering his help. Jon thinks about Sasha, the real Sasha who’s still there. He can’t protect them all from other Entities and Elias. Even with all of his knowledge, Elias still has more power here than him, and Jon sees that his threats weren’t a bluff. Jon deflates with a sigh. “We need to know if there’s a way to fill the tunnels with CO2 before the Hive attacks; and I need the table sealed shut - it’s not getting anyone this time. Other than that, I think we need to work the statements, like before.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Elias is serving an Eye power and not letting us leave, and I’m supposed to still work for him?”

Jon swallows.

“Elias… He’s dangerous. Even with everything I know, he can still hurt us. I’m not risking an open war with him.”

“What is he gonna do, kill us?” Tim scoffs but he goes quiet when Jon gives him a hard stare. “Fuck off.”

“Murder isn’t usually his style of dealing with things, he generally prefers threats and blackmail, but he can definitely do that, too,” Jon says. “Let’s just say we don’t want to piss him off more than is necessary.”

“You literally punched him in the face today.”

“Yes, I know.” Jon grits his teeth and looks away. Tim narrows his eyes.

“He threatened you, didn’t he?” He asks and takes a step towards Jon. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jon says coldly. “We need to get back to work.”

“Oh, no, you’re going back home and getting some sleep,” Martin shakes his head. “Or we refuse to work.”

Jon groans but Gerry places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go, Jon, I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promises and after a second of searching his face, Jon gives in.

“Fine. Be careful.”

“You, too,” Martin says and hands him the paper bag from his desk. “Eat this.”

Jon gives him a grateful smile and, with a last look at them, walks to the stairs and climbs up.

—

Gerry Delano sits comfortably on a park bench with a cup of coffee in his hand and sips on it slowly; he thinks about the things the new Archivist – Jon – said to him this morning. He looked tired; the bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the absolutely horrendous smoking habit (at that Gerry just chuckles to himself) and the clean but messy clothes speak for themselves, and Gerry didn’t want to say it, obviously, but it was this entire image of an absolute mess of a confused man that made him believe him. The marks are curious, yes, but Gerry has seen many things which he doesn’t understand, and he’s okay with that. No, this man is clearly in need of support and if he’s really taken over for Gertrude (and, judging by the sheer amount of his energy just screamingBeholding, that was very probable), he is in for one hell of a ride.

If Gerry would have to describe his perfect life, with his mother and Gertrude gone, he’d probably say he wants to find a normal job and get some peace and quiet; that being said, he did try that as a teenager, running away from his mother and her life. He told himself then that he didn’t belong in the normal world and would always find his way back to his mother. He abandoned that dream for a while, until Gertrude offered to help him get rid of his mother’s ghost. He thought that maybe if he helped Gertrude for a while, burned some Leitners in the meantime, maybe he’d have enough and manage to build a life that didn’t always border on getting killed by something supernatural; and so his life went on and he never really grew to feel at home in the “normal” world. He’d about accepted the fact that he’ll probably die on the job with the old Archivist, and he wasn’t very surprised to find how quickly he accepted it. It seemed fitting; much more so than getting a job at a coffee shop or other, and just living among people who had no idea what’s really out there. Then he got shot in Pittsburgh – a Slaughter case he’d tried to prevent – and he was forced to stay behind in the hospital. In some fleeting moments of consciousness he saw Gertrude holding the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead and he prepared himself to wake up as a ghost any time; instead, he woke up to an empty hospital room and a note in her handwriting – “Build your life here. Stay safe.” He thought if this weren’t his chance to build the life he’d imagined for himself then it would never come; and he was right. He soon discovered that making friends is way too difficult when you’re able to tell which Fear Entity marked them in that supernatural encounter they’re too scared to talk about, and he returned to London, searching for Jurgen Leitner himself. He thought he found him, but he ended up beating up someone who turned out to just be some pathetic old man. And here he is, back in the world his mother dragged him into without his consent. Gerry sighs and takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe the universe simply needs a pyromaniacal, angry goth who did in fact end up in the business of helping strays.

He directs his thoughts back to Jonathan Sims and the Institute. They need to form a plan and Jon said he would fill his assistants in on at least the basics. He takes out his phone and checks the time – 1 PM. He rules that’s enough time to explain the basics of the metaphysical functioning of the Fear Powers in the world.

He finds his last messages and opens the one Jon sent at his request for contact saving purposes – “Here. – Jon Sims”. He’s a creative one, isn’t he? Gerry saves the number as Jon Archivist, then changes it to Jarchivist, and grins; then swipes to call.

No answer. He tries again and it still goes to voicemail.

Gerry shrugs and finishes his coffee. He burned his last Leitner in the alley just before he met Jon, so he doesn’t exactly have any new leads. He thinks he might as well pay the Archives a visit; it’s been a while since he was there last time, with Gertrude.

The street is quiet when he walks up to the building. The aura of Beholding is quite strong here already and he looks at the Latin words above the entrance. “I watch, I listen, I wait.” Tacky.

He comes inside and turns towards the stairs leading down. He’s not surprised when the lady at the reception calls out to him.

“I’m sorry, sir! Can I help you?”

Gerry turns to her. She’s a small Chinese woman with a bob cut and huge glasses; she smiles but Gerry can recognize a customer service smile when he sees one.

“Oh, actually, I’m a friend of Jonathan Sims, the, uh, Head Archivist. Saw him this morning, I promised I’d drop a few notes.”

“Notes?” She glances over at the papers at her desk. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Gerry Delano,” he tries to smile as she checks something.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have you anywhere as a potential source—”

“Oh, that’s weird. I worked with the previous Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson? Jon had a couple questions about her management style, you know how it is,” he waves his hand. “New job can be stressful.”

She looks over his clothes and tattoos with a frown for a second and then sighs.

“Alright, Jon’s office is right downstairs, through the Archives, Mr. Delano.”

“Thank you very much,” he nods his head and runs down the stairs.

Gerry doesn’t know what he expected to find down in the Archives, to be honest. Probably Jon being interrogated by his assistants, or maybe no one at all; he definitely did not expect to find one tall man staring into swirling patterns of a table that gave him very mixed signals of the Web, and another man in his desk chair, staring into space with a very unnaturally grey stare and his form dissipating into mist.

“Oh, I swear to God,” Gerry curses under his nose and looks around. “Can’t I meet people normally once in a blue moon?”

He picks up a blanket that lays stranded on the ground and covers the table. He then snaps his fingers in front of the tall man’s face and waves his hand.

“Hey, you still there?” He asks and the man draws in a breath, rapidly, and blinks, then looks around in confusion.

“Wh-Wha…” His eyes land on Gerry and he frowns. “Who are you?”

“Someone who just saved your ass from something nasty,” Gerry says, turns to the other man and touches his shoulder. Still there.

“Oh, God, his eyes are grey again.” The tall man grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Martin? Martin!”

“How did he manage to go so deep into the Lonely with you there?” Gerry asks and moves to look inside the Head Archivist’s office. Empty.

“Into the what? Martin!” He shakes him again and Martin blinks and exhales but does not acknowledge him at all. “Do you know what’s happening to him?”

“Where’s Jon?” Gerry looks at the man sternly.

“Jo—who the hell are you?” The man exclaims. “We need to snap him out of it!”

“It’s not that easy.” Gerry rolls his eyes and looks through Martin’s desk. “What does he love?”

“What?” The man looks at him confused and Gerry stifles a groan of frustration.

“Martin. He needs an anchor, something that he loves that will bring him back here.”

The man’s eyes search the desk frantically.

“Come on!” Gerry rushes him and the man groans.

“Can he hear me?”

“Allegedly.”

“What does that mean?!” He looks at him pressingly.

“It means I don’t know!” Gerry grabs one of Martin’s hands. “He might, if he’s not too far gone.”

“Martin,” the man grabs Martin’s other hand. “Martin, think about tea. Poetry. Um, about—” He’s cut off by Gerry’s groan of frustration. “What?!”

“That won’t work,” he shakes his head. “He’s in the fogs of The Lonely; he thinks he’s alone and that it’s never gonna change; that he can’t ever make meaningful connections with other people.”

The man’s eyes move frantically as he puts something together in his brain.

“Martin,” he squeezes his hand again. “I’m here with you, you hear me? You’re not alone and Jon is here too, and Sasha will be here soon, and we will all be with you here because we are your friends, okay? We’re—” His voice catches when Martin’s grey gaze lands on his face. Gerry unknowingly nods for him to continue. “Look, I know you’re convinced that you’re no help here because of that fake resume that everyone pretends not to know about, but you’ve been such an amazing friend through these couple of months and—” he searches for words before continuing. “And I know you have feelings for Jon, and you need to think about him because if you ask me, he’s head over heels for you too, and you’re just too oblivious to realize, both of you,” he laughs and a tear streams down his face. “So you need to think about him because he needs you to be here and stay here, and we need you too, okay, Marto, we—we really do…” He inhales, as Martin squeezes his hand back and blinks. The man sighs deeply with relief and leans his forehead on their joined hands.

“Tim…?” Martin speaks up with a very gentle, detached voice and then his gaze lands on Gerry who has now let go of his hand and stands back up. “Who’s that?”

Tim looks up and wipes away another stray tear, then stands up to face him.

“Yeah,” he frowns. “That’s a good question.”

Gerry smirks and climbs up to sit at one of the desks.

“Seeing how I just might have saved your lives; I’d rather think some thanks are in order.”

“I’m not kidding, who the fuck are you?” Tim crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. Gerry notices he stares at his tattoos like he’s trying to remember something.

“Eh, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Name’s Gerry Delano, but you may know me as Gerard Keay.”

Recognition flashes in Tim’s eyes.

“We had a statement about you!” He says and immediately frowns. “You killed a man.”

Gerry chuckles.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Martin asks and Gerry crosses his legs.

“Waiting for Jon, actually. I thought I may find him here, but it appears I must have found his assistants, am I correct?”

“And you know Jon how?” Martin follows up; his voice gains a bit of depth to it, and he tilts his head, much more present than a second before.

“We met in an alley outside the Institute this morning,” Gerry shrugs. “Or, late night. Morning might be pushing it. He didn’t mention it?”

Tim sighs and rubs his face and Martin shakes his head.

“Eh, that’s fine. You two look like you have enough information to process for the next two months.”

“Something like that,” Tim nods and leans against Martin’s desk. “Jon’s getting some sleep and we’d rather have no one disturb him. It’s been a… hard morning.”

“He did look like he hasn’t slept in a week, I’ll give you that.” Gerry shoots a glance at Martin; his skin is regaining color, but his eyes are still unnaturally grey, and the edges of his form are blurry; the fog still lingers. “Hey, um… Martin?” He asks and Martin looks at him with surprise.

“Yeah…?”

“Just getting your names since you haven’t introduced yourselves. But that’s okay, I’m good at picking up from context.” He smiles and continues before Tim can speak. “So, Martin, what is it that you do here?”

“Uh… excuse me?” He blinks.

“I’m just interested, tell me what your usual day consists of. What do you do for fun? Your friend mentioned poetry?”

He notes the blush on Martin’s face with some satisfaction; the dark green colour returns to his eyes, though, still, his edges remain blurry. Martin can’t answer however; as he takes a breath, he’s interrupted by the door to the storage room opening.

Jon looks, frankly, even worse than he did before; in addition to everything aforementioned, his eyes are now puffed up from sleeping and he has apparently ditched his sweater vest, leaving only a creased, light blue shirt.

“…Gerry?” He frowns at him and takes in the room. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin shoots upright and the edges of his form become solid for a second. Just a second.

“No,” he shakes his head and blinks at Gerry. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry jumps down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

“Gerry, I’m serious.” Jon gives him a look and Gerry sighs, but it’s a sigh of mock exasperation which hides only fondness. From the moment he learned Jon is the Head Archivist, he knew he would be a lot different than Gertrude; even if at first it was “this kid is a proper mess” contrasted with Gertrude’s calculated craft. He can see that what actually makes him different, better, is that he cares. Even though Beholding has him in its grasp far stronger than it ever had Gertrude, he has that spark of human empathy that she deemed an obstacle. He wouldn’t be the kind to sacrifice his own assistants to stop the Apocalypse, which maybe doesn’t give them big chances of success, but makes Gerry trust him. It makes him feel safer and it makes him stand stronger, and maybe that is exactly what is needed. And that one detail, that seriousness in his voice when he asks what happened to his assistants – to his friends – and the worry in his eyes when he checks if they’re okay, that’s what fully convinces Gerry that this man is worth his effort. If they can’t save the world with a strength like that then maybe no one really can.

—

Martin opens the door to Jon’s office to see the man reading something in a book. He looks up at Martin and his lips twitch towards a smile.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon says and immediately yawns. “God, sorry.”

“I was about to ask you if you’re still working.” Martin takes a look at his desk; there’s two empty mugs pushed to the side, a tape recorder (not recording), and some books and papers. Martin notices Jon’s glasses are still where he left them after he found them near the cot in the storage room. “You’re wearing contacts now?” He asks and Jon raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Well, I- I noticed you didn’t wear glasses today,” Martin shrugs and points his chin at them. “You forgot them yesterday.”

Jon’s eyes stop at the pair of glasses, and he frowns.

“Huh.” He rubs his chin. “Checks out, I guess.”

“What?” Now Martin frowns and Jon looks up at him, breathing in.

“The, uh—The Eye powers,” he grimaces. “This happened before too. I don’t—I don’t need them anymore.”

“Oh.” Martin shifts. “Well, I just wanted to tell you, you should get some rest. It’s—It’s late.”

Jon smiles fondly, staring into the air. Martin wonders what he's thinking about. Is he going back to memories he doesn't have?

“I really should, shouldn't I?” Jon asks no one in particular and sighs. “Thank you, Martin.”

“F-For what?” Martin laughs a little bit confused, and Jon looks at him for a moment before he shrugs.

“For caring. For being there.”

Martin looks away and shifts awkwardly again. Jon's stare, though gentle, is piercing; overbearing. Martin can't yet decide if it's good or bad, but it is certainly a lot.

“I should—”

“Could you—”

They start at the same time and look at each other. Jon shakes his head and gestures with his hand.

“Please, go first.”

Martin takes a deep breath.

“Could you tell me what—what it is that you want me to remember?”

Jon opens his mouth and closes it. His forehead ripples.

“I...” he begins and sighs, looking at his desk. “I don't think it was you. I mean—I think that... that it was a different version of you. In my past.” He looks up and his brown eyes are sad. “So it makes sense you can't remember because it never actually happened for you.”

Martin deflates with a little “oh” and looks down. The hole in his mind is settling nicely in the fog and he doesn't question it. Why would he? It was always there. He’s only lived this life, not anything else – if anybody would know it would be Jon. And obviously, it was a different Martin that Jon fell— That Jon cared for.

“Were we…” Martin stops, the word “together" left hanging in the air, and Jon looks at him for a second before something flashes in his eyes.

“We don't—I mean, I can't really— It's, it wasn't you so...”

‘I can’t really expect you to have the same feelings now’ is what Jon does not say, but Martin, of course, has no way of knowing that.

“Right,” Martin nods, and he can see Jon's cheeks blush, much the same as his own must right now. Martin swallows the awkwardness and nods again. “Alright, I'll, uh... I'll leave you to it. Then. Get—uh, get some rest.”

He closes the door and exhales deeply. Well, that was disastrous; he thinks, as he walks towards the document storage. There’s something heavy weighing down on his chest but he chooses not to dwell on it; it wouldn’t provide him with any insights he didn’t already know.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma oftm #jonmartin #niki.writes #new posting format because i have not heard of consistency in my life #we're back at it!!#also i promised myself that i would finish this #i Will Not abandon this #we are powering through #and we can Do this

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phoebenavarro · 3 years ago

Text

and on you stumble on (ch 2)

the magnus archives, established JonTim, pre-JonMarTim, 1,200 words

read on ao3 here

ch 1 on tumblr

Tim goes to buy the axe, and Jon calls Martin into his office. Martin looks wary, but he softens the moment he sees Jon, and he starts fussing over Jon, as is his way.

“Are you alright, Jon? You look awful.”

Jon clears his throat. “Yes, I… I think I’m coming down with something. You should go home, and take tomorrow off as well.”

Martin frowns at him. Jon just hopes he’ll buy the lie and stop asking questions. “Are you sure you—“

Jon cuts him off. “I don’t want to infect anyone else. Best you stay home.” He tries to give Martin a completely normal smile.

Martin gives him an unimpressed look, and Jon can practically hear his bullshit detector going off.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to stay home, then.”

“Yes,” Jon concedes. Damn it, Martin. “But I have things I still need to take care of here,” He sighs, “And… I know things have been a bit tense lately, and that’s mostly been my fault. I think we could all do with a bit of a break.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“And I’m sorry. About everything.”

Jon expects Martin to protest more, to ask more questions, but he’s quiet for a few moments, and then he nods. “Alright,” he says, “Thanks, Jon. I… I appreciate that. Do you need me to tell Tim and Sasha?” Jon is surprised, but he tries not to react.

“Oh, no, I already told Tim, and I’ll be seeing Sasha later.”

Martin nods again. “Right. See you on Monday, Jon.”

And with that, Martin leaves, closing the door behind him. For a moment, Jon is concerned. That was way too easy, Martin is usually much more stubborn, it wasn’t even a good lie… But maybe Martin could sense just how desperately Jon needed him to agree, Martin is perceptive of other people’s feelings like that, and either way, Jon has more pressing concerns. Tim is due back in a few minutes.

--------

Tim returns around 5, when most other people are leaving for the day, with a pizza in tow.

“We still need to eat,” Tim says, even though neither of them have an appetite. They both manage to force themselves to eat a slice, and they leave the rest in the break room fridge. (“Maybe we’ll be hungry afterwards, or if we die, Martin can have it,” Tim says in a failed attempt to lighten the mood.)

And then they wait. Tim reads through all the statements with the Not!Them in them again, going all the way back to Amy Patel. He wishes they’d understood what they were dealing with back then. Jon stares into space, thinking. They don’t talk. It’s solemn, almost as if it’s their way of paying their respects to Sasha.

At 7 o’clock, when they’re certain everyone in Artifact Storage has gone home, they sneak in. Jon has a key as a department head, so it’s less ‘sneaking’ and more ‘letting themselves in.’ It’s not particularly hard to find the table about halfway in.

“You should do the honors,” Jon says, staring at the hypnotizing pattern on the table and wrenching his gaze away from it to look at Tim. He hates the thing, hates how it caught Sasha in its web to be killed by a monster. Tim feels resigned; this is his life now, getting revenge on monsters that have hurt the people he loves. Tim picks up the axe, feeling the weight of it, getting an idea for what the heft of the swing is going to be like.

“You sure about this?” Tim asks.

Jon huffs out a small laugh. “No,” he admits, “But it’s the best option we have.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees. “You probably want to step back a bit. You don’t wanna get hit with any spooky shrapnel.” He offers Jon what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Jon backs up a bit and gives Tim a reassuring smile of his own. Tim wants to say something, just in case something horrible happens, but what can he say? I’m sorry, I love you, I really hope we don’t get killed by a horrible monster? Those are all things Jon already knows. “Ready?” Tim asks, and Jon nods.

Tim lifts the axe above his head and swings it down against the table with a satisfying crack. Music starts to play, seemingly emanating from the crack in the table. It reminds him of the music that was playing in the theatre, when Danny… It spurs him on to hit it again, and again, and again, as the music only gets louder, until finally the table is in splinters on the floor and the music stops. Jon moves to Tim’s side, placing a steadying hand on Tim’s arm, and Tim realizes that he’s breathing so hard he’s nearly hyperventilating. He tries to calm down as Jon inspects what’s left of the table.

“It was hollow,” Jon murmurs, “There’s just cobwebs and dust.”

“What…?” Tim begins, when he’s cut off by laughter. Jon freezes, his grip on Tim’s arm tightening.

A tall, lanky figure emerges from the shadows. “That was very stupid,” it giggles.

Tim recognizes Michael from Jon and Sasha’s descriptions, the hair, the hands… and he understands why Jon is holding onto him so tightly.

“What do you want?” Jon spits, reminding Tim, absurdly, of a cat puffing itself up when it’s scared. Michael leans against a nearby shelf.

“There’s no other way out of this room, you know,” it says casually, conversationally. Tim turns to look at the doorway, to make sure their exit is still clear.

“What?” Jon says.

“You don’t have time to escape before they get here,” Michael continues, and Tim’s blood runs cold.

“Oh no,” Tim murmurs.

“No, the- the table…”

“Was binding it quite effectively,” Michael says with a too-wide grin.

“Shit,” Tim swears. Next to him, Jon starts muttering something he can’t quite make out.

“Even with all the protections you have here, Archivist, I doubt you can survive them now,” Michael says, “And your assistant has no such protections.” It laughs. Jon tugs on Tim’s arm.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he says, “Tim, you need to go, you need to get out, I’ll— I’ll distract it.”

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Tim immediately counters, “No way!”

They both freeze as they hear a distorted voice calling Jon’s name. Michael just laughs in the background. Tim swears again, spinning to look at their exit. There’s a tall figure silhouetted in the doorway. Fucking of course there’s no fire exit, Tim thinks.

“Tim, run!” Jon shouts, pushing Tim away from him and then running deeper into Artifact Storage. The Not!Sasha chases after Jon, seemingly uninterested in Tim, and Tim sprints to the exit.

Jon drew it away so that Tim could escape, he realizes. Stupid, stupid self sacrificing idiot. If they both make it out of this alive, Tim is going to be so pissed at him.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jontim #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartim #reblogs encouraged #mine #my writing

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