#and a sense of dignity. And trusting and strong in faith he had gone about his business

[xx-darktwistedmindpalace-xx]

[myfriendpokey]

GARBAGE DAY!

a bunch of scrappy shorter pieces to clean out my drafts folder for the new year!

***

A videogame will tend towards exhausting every possible variation of a design space whether anyone wants it to or not.

Videogames and duration - if something is good it should continue being good however long you extend it. You don't really encounter the idea that something can be good for a little while and then be evil.

***

Works of art are "in conversation" with their audience, with materials, with history, with each other. The aim of an artwork is to start, or add to, "the conversation". "Conversation" sort of edges out the older tic whereby art "examines" or "explores" something, which always made me think of a big magnifying glass being propped up for the benefit of some eerily calm 1950s scientist. But now that sounds too chilly, and perhaps sort of sketchy in the power dynamics it implies. "Conversation" is much warmer, informal and more fluid - "conversation" is the assurance that any given power dynamic can be dissolved away in the warm glow of basic, mutual humanity. Let's talk it through! My door is always open! Whenever there's a complaint over labour conditions or harassment it's nearly de rigueur to also quote the wounded-sounding HR lackey, upset that people didn't talk to them about it before going public. Why would anybody deny the friendly, outstretched hand of the respected opponent and their entirely in-good-faith quibbling about word meanings, personality and tone? Why don't we have an honest conversation about the "honest conversation", that numbing discourse cloud sprayed out like formic acid to neutralize a threat, to melt any unsettling edges or contraries back into the familiar gloop of the private and the personal.

***

One of the pleasures of videogames is that of an infinitely repeatable, always identical procedure. Pressing the button makes something happen, and by pressing it again it will happen again in the same way. So there's a kind of abundance or excess built into the system - like partaking of a fruit which will never be depleted, and in the process taking on in your own actions something of that same infinity. You can temporarily identify with the self-identical, eternally reproducing action that you are performing. I think one of the difficulties of videogames is that as you get (slightly!) older, that immortal quality becomes more visibly alien, harder to align to your sense of self. That these mechanics act like black holes, able to absorb any amount of your life without ever being satiated, becomes a terrible curse rather than an unexpected gift. That endlessness now seems eerie and artificial, a horrible parody of life rather than the highest version of it. 

The dadification of vgames has gone much remarked. But as well as a demographic shift I think this reflects a certain anxiety about the centrality of these immortal entities, these endless loops, within the culture. As reward for your fealty to the Mario brand you get even more Mario games, which by now you may not have time or energy to actually play. The VG dad (or even the buff, single pseudo-dads of the superhero movies) is eternally exhausted with the genre that he’s trapped in. We hear him groan and complain as he painfully slogs through the motions. The gratuitous loop is redeemed by the finite human suffering of the dad, as he manfully does what it takes to keep these things going forwards to the next generation, so that the next set of children may be able to actually take pleasure in them again. But the attempt to symbolically re-integrate these things into human life by casting them as a family drama never quite works: their ultimate indifference to that life shines through. A blind, eerie deathlessness is both their charm and their authority.

***

That saying that when all you have is a hammer everything else looks like a nail - similarly, when all you have is willpower, everything looks like an obstacle to be pounded into submission by that same willpower. 

Laziness is a good thing in that it means stepping back from this idiot insatiability of the will. If you're lazy you have to pay more attention, because you're more aware of both your own limits and the limits of your material. 

I think there can be value in suspending a formal problem rather than building an exhaustive system to solve it forever. That way it's still something you have to think about, something that still throws off and reroutes the normal workings of your awful private fantasy machine. Dropping text strings into the game as elements to spatially encounter is not ideal technically but does force you to be more responsive and exploratory with how you use that text. Robust systems can be cool, but can also really homogenize everything - now "text" is just the miscellaneous stuff within the all-purpose "textbox" at the bottom of the screen, cementing its role as filler content.

The funny thing about really systemic, open-world type games is that their very robustness tends to suffocate exprience before it happens. We know nothing will happen which will significantly impact this camera POV, this dialogue system.. anything can happen except for anything which would require a fundamental change to the underlying inventory system. But maybe the whole pleasure of the open world game is just being able to hold those experiences in suspense.

***

Mostly the characters voicing my own opinions in my videogames are explicitly malign and sinister - which is a corny device for me to vent without worrying as much about browbeating people with my opinions. But it's also a way of having those opinions without allowing them to overdetermine the rest of the game, or be fully in control over the more ambivalent and drifting work of "putting together different pieces on a screen to make interesting spaces". So in that sense my own ideas really are the enemies, and any plot role they serve in the game is a dramatisation of the effort to create a space where they lack controlling power.

***

RPG Maker is a collage machine, you get a set of pictures and start placing them around until they start to form some kind of charged and interesting space.

I think the collage aspect is a lot of what I enjoy about making these things, which is why games with more polished or consistent art styles frequently leave me cold. For me the greater the discrepancy between different objects on screen means a greater effect when they're combined. 

How does gameplay etc tie in? For me gameplay can divert the interest but never truly capture it. For decades games have had the problem of effectively being able to train you to do something, but having no idea what that thing should be or why it would matter. They effectively move your attention around without being able to settle it because their inner logic is basically always the same ahistorical, mechanistic void. But this can be a good thing - the permanently restless and unsettled nature of videogame attention can't illuminate itself, but can do so to other things in passing. 

Distraction becomes a way to examine surfaces, rather than being sucked into depths or settled to one fixed meaning. And the drift of unsettled consciousness is ultimately what animates game collages, the spaces that shift and react as attention plays across them, revealing or withholding. And so from this perspective, the answer to why I make videogames is: because I don't trust myself to look after an aquarium.

***

Design is managerial aesthetics - a mode of expertise framed as meta-expertise specifically because it scales up so well to systems of mass organisation and production. It's a universal discipline insofar as the task of removing any obstacles to the frictionless flow of attention and of capital is now also a universal chore. In this context a designer is like the MBA who can be dropped into any business to improve it, without ever having to know just what product they make – because the ultimate goal is always the same, the same tools can always be used. 

The cutesy books about the design of everyday life and so forth exist in the same vein as the ones that tell us there's nothing wrong with marketing because ultimately isn't all human discourse and activity some form of marketing? Isn't everything "design"? The strange top-heaviness with which these things outgrow their host categories parallels the unstoppable expansion of executive salaries within the businesses themselves. The task of managing other people's labour becomes ever more grandoise, ineffable, cosmic and well-paid as that labour in turn is framed as a kind of undifferentiated slop which exists for the sake of being shaped by creatives.

***

tragedy / comedy:

Generalizing hugely I feel like tragedy is about an event or experience so powerful it changes everything - for the characters involved, for the people in that world, for the audience watching - while conversely comedy is the idea that no event or experience can change anything. Oedipus dies and there's a big announcement and everyone has to sit through the awkward two-minute silence before getting back to work, while trying not to fart or itch too noticeably, and the next day somebody's selling Oedipus commemorative pens which run out of ink five minutes after opening, and the pen cap gets lost and the cat starts playing with it. 

In comedy the tragic can still happen, it’s just never strong enough to escape the constraints of the inert material universe which we find ourselves in – all that which remains so stubbornly intractable towards the higher instincts. I can talk about the dignity of man but there's still a risk that my pants will fall down or that someone will hit me with a ladder, causing my head to get stuck inside a bucket of paint, etc. Or my voice might be ridiculous or I might have a stutter (old comedy standbys!), or someone might hear part of my words out of context and assign them a different and unintended meaning. Comedy is consciousness imprisoned within a cumbersome matter which it can't completely do anything with, but also can't exist without. 

Taken as a worldview, this sort of risks congealing into the kneejerk reactionary things-can-never-change, whatever-moment-of-human-history-i-was-reared-in-is-eternal-and-inviolate radio DJ / South Park mindset. And of course somebody's view of what constitutes a tragic, life-changing event depends greatly on whether it's happening to them or someone else. But as exaggeration, in its neurotic overemphasis of the inescapable material, i think this approach still has interest and use. Many of my favourite writers have a kind of comic understanding of consciousness: consciousness becomes a churning material process with its own independent momentum which has to be examined and accounted for as part of any real reckoning with the world. In this light comedy becomes a way to think about opacity and limitation, both in physical matter and in our own selves.

I think many people have made the point that vgames are generally comic, intentionally or unintentionally. The rhetoric around them still tends towards the tragic: make the choice which changes everything! Deal with the consequences, accept your fate! But in practice those moments feel less visible than the clumsy material layer of GUIs, inputs, mechanics and representations that contain and constrain them. The opacity of the black box is one inhibition: was that meant to happen? Was it scripted or a glitch? Maybe I should reload my save and try again. Another is the inertia of the various game systems and loops themselves - [x] character may have died but you still need to collect those chocobo racing feathers if you want the Gold Sword. The numbers in a videogame "want" to keep going up, whatever happens: there's an affordance there which exists independently to any merely human wants and needs, and so tends to act as a gravity well for distracted consciousness as it wanders around. When people talk about tragedy in videogames it's usually with the implicit rider that it's within a game, or set of game conventions, which have become naturalised enough to become invisible. Which also tends to mean the naturalisation of a form, of inputs, of technology, of distribution mechanisms and assumptions, which however arty we can get are still inherently tied to the tech industry. Every art game is to some extent an invitation to spend more time internalising the vocab of your windows computer.

I've mentioned that the materialism of comedy can tend towards unthinking reaction. But the insistence on certain limits inherent to the human body – requirements like clean water and clean air, food and shelter, actual bathroom breaks and not piss jugs and also not having to live six feet beneath a rising sea level - can be helpful at a point when all these things are regarded as negotiable impediments to the pursuit of future profit. Maybe it’s a good thing that some materials can still be so insistent about refusing to be absorbed into the will.

***

I think what I most enjoy about art is the sense of a game with moveable stakes: where you never quite know the value of what you're playing for, which now appears absolutely trivial, and now appears to stand in judgement of the whole world, etc. I think this is also the Adorno idea of the aesthetic as really the extra-aesthetic, that which can step outside or threaten to step outside the limits of the merely aesthetic. It's why "just make a good game / pop song / comic / etc" never quite works, in rhetoric or in practice: the really good pop song is never that which just gives the enjoyable three minutes of listening we might consciously assign to be its remit, it's what overflows or undercuts that category, that which however briefly seems at risk of stepping outside it and into the realm of everyday life.

I grew up on pop culture so I don't have to feel positively towards it. Who am I meant to be defending it from? The handful of surviving WASPs reared on Brahms who get the ostentatiously-fussy-culture-review posts at print newspapers looking to pick up a slightly higher quality of margarine advertisement? The best thing pop culture ever gave me was its own critique: that of containing artists and moments which couldn't be squared with what the rest of it was saying, which seemed  to call the whole enterprise into question and in doing so broadened the sense of what was possible. Pop culture was never quite identified with itself, the value it has is in containing elements which make that self-identification impossible. So it always throws me off to see people celebrating "pop culture", like it's a self-produced totality, when that totality was only ever good for kicking.

Pop culture survives through a negativity it can never properly acknowledge.

[images: Tower of Druaga, Detana!! TwinBee, True Golf Classics: Wicked 18, Microsurgeon, Dark Edge]

[deaegratia]

A walk on knight’s bread

During her stay there, Nenela learned to love Gridania. The sounds of the wind rustling through the trees, the many different people that lived there in (what seemed like) perfect harmony… The kind conjurers at Stillglade Fane, who helped her so much in her studies. The birds and the waterwheels and of course the kind Mother Miounne, who always had a kettle on to welcome back adventurers from the forest with a cup of tea and a treat. She loved it, and yet… It wasn’t her home. A time came when the conjurers guild had taught her all they could. Gridania would be fine without her. No, Ul’dah was where she was needed most. So she packed her bags, said her goodbyes, and followed the lumber line down south.

When she first made her way to the Shroud, it had been a relaxing carriage ride. On foot, however, the journey took quite a bit longer. Every day was another challenge. Don’t anger the antelopes. Try to avoid catching the attention of bandits. Most importantly, don’t get lost. Though Bahamut’s flames had razed down many of the trees, there were still plenty of places where the wood was like a labyrinth to her. Finally, after a week or so, the scenery began to change. No more trees, but vast stretches of dry land. Thanalan. How she’d missed this.

Highbridge had not existed for very long. Though it was build over a chasm that looked like it had been there for centuries, it was in fact only after the Calamity five years ago that the ground had split open and the bridge had been built. Its people were willing to give her a place to stay for the night, but not for free. If the adventurer wanted to stay, she’d have to do her part in defending the village from the Qirqin as well. Nenela didn’t waste a second and agreed to help them. After all, wasn’t this what adventurers did? To protect, to ease their pain. Surely she could help the Brass Blades stationed there to take on a few oversized rats.

A few, they’d told her. She’d believed them, right until she saw the hordes of beastmen arriving. No wonder the Blades were unable to prevent the villagers from getting kidnapped time and time again. There were so many, and they just kept coming. Nenela was struggling to even keep track of them. 

Wind, earth, water, none of it was enough to defeat them. Strike one down with a rock, another would pop up as yet another attempted to pick her up and carry her off to gods-knows-where. She’d hoped the Blades would offer more help, but as their number dwindled, they decided to cut their losses and abandon their post. And still the villagers would continue to cry out. She fought desperately, but a single Lalafell just wasn’t enough. Exhausted, she fell to the ground, barely even struggling as the bandits took her away. She’d been so close to home… It seemed fate had other plans.

Nenela didn’t know how long it had been since she passed out, but it had definitely been a while. The cave she was in was not like any other place she’d seen before. Judging by the temperature, she was still in Thanalan, but where? As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she noticed she was not alone. A group of a dozen people or so surrounded her, their hands bound and their faces solemn. Some were crying, others simply looked down in quiet acceptance of their fate.

“The lizards claim they will soon bring us before Ifrit for tempering. All of us are as good as dead…”

The girl looked up as that sudden proclamation echoed through the cave. In her groggy state, she had trouble understanding it, nor could she determine who had said it in the first place.

Ifrit… She’d heard that name before. ‘This place is hotter than Ifrit’s arse,’ or similar phrases about things being extremely warm. Nenela always thought it was simply something people said, not something that actually existed. And tempering? What was that supposed to mean? It sounded like something a goldsmith would do.

Lizards, however… Nenela knew very well what they meant by that. Amalj’aa. Though she had never actually seen any in the flesh, she knew who they were. Beastmen. They’d plunder and kidnap and – her eyes widened as her mind finally connected the dots – they worshipped Ifrit, the Lord of the Inferno.  Of course Qirqin wouldn’t simply kidnap anyone for no reason. They’d sold her and the other stolen villagers to the lizards. Tempering… was that simply a fancy word for kill?

She didn’t have long to think about that, as not long after that a few Amalj’aa entered, bringing in more prisoners. Big strong beasts, more muscle than bone, darker than the darkest coals and adorned with all manner of beads and jewelry. Lizards was too friendly of a word to describe them. They were monsters. The prisoners, on the other hand, were a much more welcome sight. Judging by their uniforms, they were Flame Soldiers. But then she looked at their faces. They were terrified as well. Perhaps it had been too much to hope they would be able to help her.

And then there were those three… A Miqo’te, and two Elezen. Adventurers? More experienced than her, if she had to make a guess. Instantly she felt a bit less embarrassed about getting captured. If people like them had gotten caught, no wonder she hadn’t stood a chance. Right now though, they were asleep. After the beastmen had left, she made her way over to the trio. Remembering her lessons at Stillglade Fane, Nenela deduced the lizards must have cast some kind of sleeping spell on them. A gentle (but firm) slap would likely be enough to wake them up.

The Elezen man bolted upright. “YesmomImgettingupIpromis- Oh.” It took him a second to realize he was not, in fact at home, but in the middle of an Amalj’aa stronghold. The Miqo’te girl slapped the back of his head in a playful manner. “David. Idiot,” she insulted him, though Nenela wasn’t sure if she meant it. The Elezen, on the other hand, woke up in such an elegant manner it was almost as if she had simply woken up from a nap instead of a magically induced slumber. “…Well. That could have gone better, but it seems we are still alive, so I’d call that a success.”

It was only then that they noticed the young Lalafell that had woken them. They introduced themselves as David, Amh, and Furiosa. They were kind enough, but they did not seem very willing to answer Nenela’s questions. How they had gotten here? “As you can see, most likely through that entrance over there. Though I would not be able to confirm it for you, on account of being asleep at the time,” said Furiosa. “Dumb luck, I guess?” said David. “Thancred late,” Amh said, frowning. Well, that was no use at all.

They sat there for a while, until an Amalj’aa broke the silence. “Rejoice, heathens, for your worthless lives shall soon have meaning!” It was time.

To think they were standing in front of a god. It wasn’t what Nenela had imagined at all. When she imagined the gods, they were kind and benevolent. Slightly different in their morals, perhaps, on account of having existed for eternity, but not too unlike the spoken races. But this… The Lord of the Inferno truly was the element of fire personified. Sharp claws, massive horns, and the smell. Like smoke and ash and burning flesh. Her eyes watered and she had trouble breathing. No, she told herself. If I am going to die, I will do so with dignity. There will be no crying today.

“O mighty Ifrit! We bring before You ignorant savages who know not Your godhead! If it please You, Lord, scorch their heathen souls with Your cleansing flame, and mark them as Your own!”

To serve a god that was not your own. To obey his will until the end of your days. Somehow, to Nenela, that sounded like a fate worse than death. In that moment, all she could do is pray. The gods had protected her once before. Surely they could intervene again? Had she not always been faithful? She ignored the tears stinging in her eyes. Please, I beg of you. Do not let him take me.

As she stood there trembling, she heard her fellow prisoners begin to chant. “Oh mighty Ifrit… My one true god… “ The girl waited for her turn, expecting searing heat that would burn her mind away forever, yet all that came was a gentle breeze, not unlike someone blowing on their soup, waiting for it to cool down. Except in this case, she was the soup, and instead of being set aflame she remained cool? She was too terrified to realize that metaphor was not making any sense.

The man, David, tapped her on her shoulder. “Hey… You said your name was Nenela, right?” The girl looked up and nodded. Neither he nor his companions seemed to show any signs of this weird tempering. “Lemme guess. You’ve been having visions, haven’t you?” Nenela wasn’t sure how he knew that, or how that was relevant, but she nodded again. Behind them, Ifrit was raging on and on about how their souls had been tainted and how they would burn for all eternity, but David remained focused and to the point. “Alright, listen Nelly. I’m gonna count to three. You’re gonna grab your cane, and you’re going to heal. I know it’s scary, but you’re gonna keep your eyes on me and you’re just going to do it. Can you promise me that?” She wanted to object, that they were facing a god, that he shouldn’t trust her to keep him alive because ohGodshesgonnaenduplikethatguyintheDeepcroft, and that her name was not Nelly, but in that instant, she realized she didn’t have much of a choice. A final nod, and he quickly ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry kiddo. This’ll be a walk on knight’s bread, I swear.” “What does that even mean?” “Oh, y’know… I’ll tell you when we get out of this alive!”

“Pray forgive my lateness!”

The blonde Hyur who had come running in along with members of the Bloodsworn was late indeed, for Ifrit had already been slain. He was about to congratulate the Scion adventurers on their first primal victory, when he did a double take. One, two… Four of them? He could have sworn there had only been three last time he checked.

“Too late,” grinned Amh, collecting her arrows to put them back In her quiver. Furiosa simply quirked an eyebrow as she wiped the ash from her daggers. David turned around, holding an unconscious Lalafell in his arms. “Say… You wouldn’t happen to have any Phoenix Downs with you, do you?” Thancred scrambled around in his pockets and handed a crumpled feather to the gladiator. “I see the festivities will have to wait, then. Come, let us retreat to more agreeable surrounds. Camp Drybone, shall we say?”

Part three of Tales from the Desert, this time for ‘Nenela fights her first primal”. Though you could also say ‘Nenela gets her butt kicked and never learns what the hell ‘a walk on knight’s bread’ means and then sort of accidentally becomes a Scion?”

David belongs to @thevantass

Amh belongs to @thewanderersminuet

Furiosa belongs to @alternis

[yonkapala]

Okay. So. I was tagged by @any-shadow​ on a thing where I’d need to choose pics already on my files to describe myself and, well, I still have little to no photos or pics or memes or anything that I could use (apart from some hair selfies, larp character try-outs and other stuff like that) so unless I’d use the exact same ones I did last time, there’d be no point to doing this. BUT I was also tagged by @losttinmymind​ and any-shadow on a couple other combined things, on 10 favourite female and male characters and 9 characters I identify with and since I have a difficult time organizing characters by gender in my head, I will do a random combination of 10 favourite characters that I also maybe somehow identify with

I’m excited to see where this takes me. The stuff’s under the cut, and also tagging everyone who wants to do this (I’m curious, though, so if you do, maybe tag me so I get to read it?)

Well. Okay. So. I’m going to take three of the first characters from that thingy I was tagged way before, because I wasn’t lying when I wrote that answer and these characters are some of my favourites and also some that I completely relate to. I’m also going to try and stay at one character per fandom to make this easier and not focused on my recent discoveries.

Samwise Gamgee (the Lord of the Rings trilogy) I’m nowhere near as amazingly kind and loyal and perfect as he is, but I’m slowly finding some of that resolution to walk through Mordor for things and people that are important enough – and the willingness to hold onto hope no matter how dark and impossible things seem to get. More than a few years ago I probably would’ve named Gandalf or one of the mightier elves for their wisdom and understanding, but Gandalf is way too dramatic, most of the elves so high up on the dignity-in-appearance mount that I could never reach it and I find myself more and more enjoying the quiet, small joys of life. I don’t actually want to go on a dangerous adventure, but I will do it if it’s something I care about or people that will need some common sense to go with them if they ever hope to survive. Mordin (Mass Effect trilogy) Because, well, Mordin. I’m not a scientist, nor will I ever be unless I find an area in which I really want to drown myself in, but the way he deals with life and problems and past mistakes is so relatable. His dry humour that is easily missed due to no change in tone of voice, the confidence with which he accepts his victories and mistakes, his own strong set of morals, the way he deals with emotions…. and, of course, ”Had to be me, somebody else might have gotten it wrong”. I relate to Mordin, a lot – which is why I broke my heart while forcing through a renegade playthrough in which the krogan genophage that could not be cured. Twelve (Doctor Who, new series) Uhh. I love how I’m getting further and further away from Samwise with these… I have rarely related to a fictional character as much as I related to Twelve. I can’t even begin to explain why, because I don’t actually know which things to point at and go ”there, that’s the reason the tweflth reincarnation of the Doctor is so relatable it would actually hurt emotionally if I allowed myself to look at it a bit closer”, but. Yeah. If it weren’t for the twelfth Doctor, I would’ve gone with Donna, but yeah. There’s just something in the way Capaldi’s Doctor acted, reacted and expressed emotions that resonated with me. I’ll come back to this topic in about 15 years after I’ve had some thought put into it. Spock (Star Trek, TOS and a bit of OAS) I could go on forever about the battle between rational thinking and those pesky emotions and how the tiniest moments have told me stories about the internal battles this half-human, half-vulcan character suffers through but instead I’m just going to link to the posts I’ve tagges as ‘Spock’ and claim I can relate to each and every one of them way too much. Way, way, _way_ too much at times. Wonder Woman (mostly the new DC films) Well, Diana Prince. She’s my hero, the example I would love to follow and someone who’s pain and determination over the complexities of human nature is very, very relatable. She’s about loving and caring even (or perhaps especially) when it seems there’s no point; about not letting anyone walk over her but also not lifting herself over others. Her anger and confusion at men in power thinking they can control the lives of others; Her anger and despair at feeling powerless next to actions and events leading to the suffering of many; Her unwillingness to lay down and let despair, anger or any other weakness take over. I am nowhere near as inspiring and amazing and capable as she is, but I keep her example in my mind when I feel the darkness wash over me. Edmund Pevensie (The Chronicles of Narnia) Edmund the Traitor, Edmund the little brother, the doubter, the reason Aslan had to die in the hands of the White Witch. Edmund the Just. I can relate to the kid having trouble believing in a magical land after going through so much loss. I can’t relate to the kid meeting the White Witch and getting greedy over things only he could have - but I can understand the need to have something just for himself, to be seen different from siblings who always seemed to fair better in the eyes of adults. I can relate on overlooking the simple truths and finding no comfort in talking animals in their simple lives and not accepting a point of view so different from what you were offered. I can relate to pride, and coldness, and slowly realizing the biggest mistake you’ve ever made; I can relate to not seeing a way out, to having been saved by someone who wasn’t involved in any way. I can relate to learning the lesson of pride before the fall and then, slowly, but permanently, of getting back up, of remembering the mistakes of the past in order to become and build something, someone better. Lucy Pevensie (The Chronicles of Narnia) How I found Lucy annoying in my earlier days, with her blind faith and childlike belief in good things and fluffy endings. Today I can relate to having faith in an environment that keeps telling me how there should be none, and if some, not that way. I can relate to following without a doubt, stumbling right before the answers and then somehow being lifted back up, perhaps with some reproaching but always, always, finding love and kindness and an answer to prayers. Ben Wyatt (Parks and Recreation) To be quite honest, I can’t exactly remember why him. It’s been a while since I watched the show, but I remember multiple occasions in which I went “relatable”. More on this once I’ve binge watched all of it again at some point. Elsa (Frozen) Yeah, yeah, I wish I had ice magic. I actually really do. But Elsa is relatable because she had to learn to deal with her emotions via acceptance instead of fear and total control. Pretty much everything about her is relatable, and I’ll just quote this: “You can’t marry a man you’ve just met!” because seriously. Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games) I’m not quite as serious about this as I am about the other ones, but I, too, am terrible at realizing people like-like me. I, too, am terrible with people, with letting others do stuff for me, with accepting help and/or trusting the good intentions of others. Or at least I was, I’m getting better because I don’t live in a hellish dystopia that wants to keep people separate so the rich and the powerful can enjoy their lives while others suffer and it’s all blamed on the ones who -- wait. So. Anyway. I have this hope that I have the resilience to keep going even when I really don’t want to, having no faith in the system or the powers that be and just wanting to be left alone.

[stillness-in-green]

Everything's Right Until It's Wrong (feat. Gallus Bauduin’s A+ Parenting)

I don't know about anyone else, but there's something about Gallus Bauduin that I find deeply hilarious.  When the BF and I were first watching through the second season, we had a few talks about him--the BF just couldn't get a handle on the guy.  He couldn't decide whether the show was trying to show Gallus as a total buffoon or a complete chessmaster, while it always seemed pretty plain to me that Gallus is neither of those at all.   

Rather, Gallus strikes me as a genial, outgoing man groomed his entire life to eventually take on a position of power.  He's no authoritarian tyrant; he doesn't need to be.  He has children that are largely obedient, or at least whose outbursts aren't outside the normal bounds of childish rebellions.  He's comfortable in his seat of power, wielding it as one who's accustomed to it, and does not expect any major upsets in the smooth sailing that is his life.  For the bulk of the series, we never see him without a smile on his face, as he carries out his modest manipulations and power plays with an ever-present air of calm, paternal satisfaction.  Like most of the Seven Stars, he doesn’t seem to care overmuch about the state of the world outside his own privileged sphere.  He knows how the game of his life is played, including the role children play in said game, and has zero doubts that his position as bolstered by said children is totally secure.

And that's what makes his comeuppance in season two so satisfying.  I mean, he must have been so proud, don’t you think?  

 Gallus has, on the one hand, a son who's a promising young officer rooting out corruption in Gjallarhorn, veritably drowning in marriage proposals, good friends with the heir of another family, a capable fighter, but still on top of the latest fashions (because there's no way that hairstyle is anything other than the latest noble fashion).  Gaelio is tall and broad-shouldered, handsome, sociable, and the worst anyone can say about him is that he's a little blithe, and sometimes shirks his social obligations.  And, well, he's young; those are acceptable flaws in a young man, the kind of thing Gaelio will eventually mature out of.  No problems there.   

Gallus has, on the other hand, a young blossom of a daughter determined to be everything a young lady should be.  She's pretty in a way that will mature into beauty, devoted to learning the feminine arts, demure now, but with a spark that can surely be nourished into confidence and poise as she grows.  She's honing her social graces, she loves the man Gallus has picked for her, and she gives Gaelio just enough hassle to keep him on his toes.  No problems there.  

If you look below the surface, you find even more to like.  They're both willing to admit shortcomings and gaps in their knowledge. They're both willing to take guidance from sources they trust.  They're honest, earnest people, people who have been raised to place a high value on personal honor and dedication to one's allies.  They're not cruel to their subordinates, but they're not afraid of flexing their status if they need to, either.  Beautiful, perfect children, raised to beautifully, perfectly, advance the Bauduin family name. 

And yet therein lie all of Gallus' problems.

Gaelio is so completely bound to the obligation to avenge betrayal that he never even told his father he was alive.  He could have reached out to Gallus at any time, and McGillis would have gone down in flames for the stunt with Grimgerde.  But that would only have avenged Gaelio himself, and that wasn't enough: he had to avenge Carta and Ein, as well, and legal channels would not have accomplished that goal.  Conversely, his dedication to personal honor also meant that he couldn't just attack McGillis in/as Vidar and be done with it.  He needed to know what McGillis's intentions were; there had to have still been a part of him that acknowledged the corruption within Gjallarhorn and still wanted to know how McGillis planned to fix it.  All the way up to Bael, you get the feeling Gaelio would have listened to McGillis's explanation.

But the complications with McGillis aren't the worst of what Gaelio's upbringing lead him to, not by a long shot.  No, because of the belief structure he'd been raised to, Gaelio believed more than anyone in the legitimate nobility of an unbalanced zealot like Ein Dalton.  He should have jettisoned that particular subordinate as soon as he wound up plugged into an illegal custom Graze, but Gaelio didn't just stand by him, oh, no.  That faith was so strong that Gaelio wound up getting taboo body modification that linked him physically and mentally to the Devil of Edmonton.

When Gaelio first saw Mika's three Alaya-Vijnana implants, he literally retched at the side of the road.  That's a noble's response to an orphan space rat getting a surgery everyone knows about to make a living--how much worse do you think the reaction would be from Gallus when he finds out his own son, one of the richest and most influential people in the system, was willingly involved with something as horrific as the Type-E Alaya system?  And even if Gallus could find a way to move past that prejudice, what do you think the odds are that anyone else in their social strata could?  So much for all those marriage prospects.  

And speaking of marriage prospects…

Almiria is so completely bound to her vision of what a lady and wife should be that, even after the most awful kind of personal betrayal, she still clung to her tattered dignity and her title as McGillis’s wife.  She took news of McGillis’s uprising like a samurai’s wife, totally prepared to sacrifice everything for her husband’s goals, because that’s what a good wife is supposed to do.  And sure, some of that is tied up, not in her idea of what it is to be a lady, but in her conflicted love for McGillis himself—I also don't doubt for a moment that, as someone who is already wrestling with how people deride behind her back her as a child, Almiria saw the one avenue that would give her any agency in what was going to happen to her next and grabbed it with both hands.  She didn't say any of that stuff, though; no, her defense of her decision when Gallus demands she reverse it is 100% wrapped in the language of nobility and wifely obligation. She has learned exactly how to talk the language a noble woman should talk, and how to flex her social status to achieve her own ends.  

I mean, really.  It must burn to know you’ve raised your kids to hew so perfectly, and so courageously, to your own ethics that no amount of threatened damage to the family name and call to circle the wagons will dent the armor of that doomed idealism.  Gallus Bauduin raised his children to be exactly the people they are, and look at where that got him in the end.  Of all the people who survived to see the epilogue, I can't imagine there's one who did it with such a powerful sense of gall as him.  

The schadenfreude, my friends.  It is so good.

[veoakes3]

From This Teacher’s Heart

“’I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper, not harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

I made it! After a true year of refining fire in all areas of life, I have come out of the other side and feeling fine! (Cue Heimlich’s voice from A Bug’s Life) "Finally, I am a beautiful butterfly!” 

Some of the hottest flames this year were in regards to my career. In the end, I learned a lot, but not without losing myself in the process. With much prayer, I stepped away from that role at the end of the year. Back to applications and interviews...third time’s a charm, right?! 

It was honestly the first time I have felt true peace with not knowing God’s next destination in my journey. Every time I felt Satan trying to push fear or anxiety on me, it was washed clean away by God’s voice reminding me that He hasn’t failed me yet, and He doesn’t plan to start now. 

You know what I truly think God enjoys doing most to His kids? Rocking our world and altering anything we think we want. Though I was open to anything He called me to, I had my area of schools I was focusing on. I started pursuing some back in March, doing everything I knew to do and letting Him handle the rest. I knew it would be tough, since no one really knew me in the area I was applying in. I kept praying, “Lord, whichever school I’m supposed to be at, let that principal’s mind keep coming back to me, even if they don’t fully understand why.” I had a few interviews, and, though they went well, they ultimately didn’t go in my favor. All I kept hearing was, “Be patient. Wait on Me. You trust Me, right?” Yes, Lord. I do...

Two weeks ago (with 6 cups of coffee in my system), I was running around our yard sale, chatting it up with people and goofing off. As one family was finishing a purchase and leaving, I hear Fawn say, “Oh, you’re a principal? She’s a teacher!” And of course, my caffeinated self jumps in a goofy stance complete with finger guns and a probably totally creepy grin and says, “AND I’M LOOKING!” He tells me to send my resume. However, this was a school that was no where near my radar. I had an interview the following Monday with a school near me. After finding out I didn’t get the job, I thought, “Well, it can’t hurt to send the resume. He probably doesn’t even remember me.” He replied that he got it. That was that. 

He ended up calling me for an interview the following week. We talked for two hours. I was raw and honest with my beliefs, opinions, and even with my experience this past year (which I vowed I would never do). The Lord was so heavy in the conversation and guided every angle and word that was spoken. Honestly in that moment, I felt healing from a lot of the emotions and hurt I had buried deep from this past year. The more we talked, the more I fell in love with the school. It sounded just like my first school I taught at in Jasper. He was just like my first principal that helped me fall in love with the profession even more. Hmmm... But again, this school wasn’t even near my original radar, and schools near me just posted open positions. Hmmm... 

(Cue Lightening Bolt) Casually he says, “Well Mrs. Oakes, we would love to have you here. This has gone great. I didn’t even think I would have positions open, but when I found out I did, my mind just kept coming back to you.” Did he just echo my prayer? TEARS. (I held them back this time. Rigsby would be proud. I flooded his office when we did this dance two years ago.) “I think I would love to be here, too! I need to go home and talk to Brock first, for sure. I also will need to read up on the curriculum since I haven’t taught this grade before, and...” He starts chuckling, and DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE SAID? “Stay true to your philosophy. Love them first. The academics will come.” Not many people can shut me up with three sentences, but he did. That was my other specific prayer- that whomever I worked for would truly believe in loving the kids first. I walked out knowing I had found my new school home, and the bliss hasn’t worn off yet!

Being me, I’ve been researching behavior management, centers, curriculum, etc. for the primary years. Then, it hit me. I was building walls without laying the foundation. I did that last year, and we see how it went. Back to my original, first year method of setting up a classroom- prayer. That year, I prayed what came to my heart. Oh, how we felt Him every single day! This year, however, Satan is getting no where near my room, my babies, or me, in the name of Jesus.

Though God LOVES my heart-prayers and will still get them daily about these kids, He has told us that praying scripture over our lives and our situations holds a whole new level of power. The Lord and I worked for two days looking up scripture and piecing it together to match what my heart was feeling. Afterward, I realized that with the amount of Jesus-lovin’ teachers we have, we could do some serious damage in this spiritual battle we all see day in and day out. I wanted to share. Are these all of the verses you could use? No. Is it the best thing ever? Probably not. It is, however, a starting point and guide. After all, we are masters of tweaking a resource to fit our need, am I right?!

There are three different prayers- one for the school, one for the teacher, one for the students. They are written from the perspective of a teacher, but can be used by non-teachers to pray over these areas by parents, friends, family, or basically anyone that longs to see revival in our schools. They are not grade/age specific. They are not short prayers, and they may not exactly meet your view. I know these are specific to my heart, but I couldn’t resist sharing in the chance it can help you, too. 

(Also, there are probably many grammar and spelling errors within them. Jesus forgives. Pray for discernment. I’m on Summer Break!)

More of Him, less of me

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A Prayer for Our School

Lord, You are faithful and good. You establish us and help us with all of our needs. You have promised me that whatever I ask for in prayer and believe that I have received, it will be mine (Mark 11:24). Today, I bring my school to the foot of Your cross. I pray that every soul who walks through the doors- be it as faculty, staff, visitor, volunteer, parent, or student- be clothed with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience (Colossians 3:12).  Give us all the same attitude of mind toward each other that Christ had, so that with one mind and one voice, we may ultimately glorify You (Romans 15:5-6).  Help every stakeholder realize what a mighty impact their words and actions have on our kids and their education. Keep our tongues from evil and our lips from telling lies (Psalm 34:13). I pray that You protect all from the lash of the tongue, so that we need not fear when destruction comes (Job 5:21). Help us to handle all situations with grace and love. Let us never take advantage of each other (Leviticus 25:17), but work together for the greater good of our students. Remind us to be quick to help each other succeed, because just as iron sharpens iron, so friends keep each other sharp (Proverbs 27:17). Keep us from becoming conceited, provoking and envying each other (Galatians 5:26). May we always remember that our purpose is to help teach these children to live disciplined and successful lives, by doing what is right, just, and fair (Proverbs 1:3). I pray protection over every inch of our school campus. I claim that no harm will overtake us. No disaster will come near our building, for You have promised that You will command Your angels concerning us to guard us in all our ways (Psalm 91: 10-11). Let us rest secure in You, for You shield us all day long (Deuteronomy 33:12). You are always with us, and no one will attack or harm us (Acts 18:10). Give us peace in our building and satisfy us with gifts of success that only You can provide (Psalm 147:14). Each day, let us rejoice! May no one take away our joy (John 16:22). Help us to establish a school home for our children that is built on true wisdom, so that we all can become strong through good sense. As you promised, our rooms will be filled with riches through knowledge (Proverbs 24:34). Ultimately, let our lights shine before all, that they may see our good works and glorify You in Heaven (Matthew 5:16). I pray these things in the power of Jesus’ holy name.

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A Prayer for The Teacher

Lord, You are wise, and You fulfill promises in Your perfect time. You have promised me that whatever I ask for in prayer and believe that I have received, it will be mine (Mark 11:24). Today, I bring myself as an educator to the foot of your cross. You have called me to this role of leading Your children this school year. Help me to always be a great example to my students by doing good works of every kind, reflecting the integrity and seriousness of my teaching (Titus 2:7-8). Give me your eyes to always see each unique gift every child has to offer, for each of these gifts come directly through You (Romans 12:6). Help me to feel confident in my own abilities and gifts. Keep me from feeling defeated when things don’t go as planned. Likewise, keep me from feeling the need to boast of successes, knowing my ultimate reward comes from You, who sees every moment of my life (Matthew 6:4). Clothe me with strength and dignity, so that I laugh without fear of the future. Make my words wise and my instructions kind. (Proverbs 31:25-26). Help me to be strong and immoveable, always working enthusiastically for You, knowing work done for You is never useless (1 Corinthians 5:58). Stay in the front of my mind, keeping me strong, so that I am not tempted to copy any behaviors of this world that are not pleasing to you. Transform my mind and change the way I view situations and think (Romans 12:2). No matter how busy my schedule may get this year, keep me from forsaking our time together. I pray that as I continue to draw near to You, You will draw near to me (James 4:8). Pour out Your spirit on me, and make Your words known to me (Proverbs 1:23). I know that those who live in the shadow of You find true shelter. You are my refuge and place of safety, and I will choose to always trust You (Psalm 91:1-2). On the difficult days, help me to remember that I am working for You, instead of man (Colossians 3:23). Keep me from tiring of doing good, knowing at just the right time, I will reap a harvest of blessing if I don’t give up (Galatians 6:9). When I feel weary, remind me that You will supply my needs (Philippians 4:19) and that I can handle all things through Christ who gives me strength (Philippians 4:13). In those moments, I pray You take my burdens and give my soul rest (Matthew 11:28). When I feel that I am at my rope’s end with students, give me patience and let me remember how much You adore them, so that I do not stop them from coming to You. Let me learn to be like them, because Heaven belongs to those who are (Matthew 19:14). Help me to lead them down the correct path, establishing a solid foundation, so that when they are older, they will not quit (Proverbs 22:6). As they walk down this correct path, encourage and uphold me as I advise and watch over them. Advise and watch over me. (Psalm 32:8).  Give me discernment about them that could be helpful during our journey together (Jeremiah 33:3). I pray that my teaching fall on them like rain, my speech settle like dew (Deuteronomy 32:2).  I commit all of my actions and days this year to You, knowing that in doing so, success in inevitable (Proverbs 16:3). Let us begin and end every day praising You, our Savior, for You carry us in Your arms (Psalm 68:19)! I pray these things in the powerful and holy name of Jesus.

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A Prayer for Students

Lord, You are wonderful and Your love is perfect. You hold each soul in the palm of your hand. You have promised me that whatever I ask for in prayer and believe that I have received, it will be mine (Mark 11:24). Today, I bring my students to the foot of your cross.   First, I bring before You the home-life of every student. I pray that each home be a refuge- a place of rest, peace, and love. Let Your face shine upon the families, and be gracious to them. I pray You give them peace (Number 6:24-26). Let each home serve You and follow Your ways (Joshua 24:15). May they have plenty to eat, be satisfied, and praise Your name (Joel 2:26). In homes that are not following You, I pray that You would be that child’s hiding place and protect them (Psalm 32:7). Though they may walk through the midst of trouble, You will revive them and save them (Psalm 138:7). Be their refuge, strength, and help in times of distress (Psalm 46:1). So many children feel guilt for a less-than-ideal home life, placing blame on themselves. I pray You remove that burden as far as the east is from the west (Psalm 103:12). When their heart condemns them, show them Your heart, because You are greater and know everything (1 John  3:20).  Let them feel that they are truly precious in Your sight, as well as mine. Let them feel how much we both love them, especially You (Isaiah 43:4). May they feel overwhelming joy, despite any circumstance that they may suffer (1 Thessalonians 1:6). I pray that You establish an unshakeable, united bond between every parent and myself, so that we can work as a team for their child. You have said that if a house is divided against itself, the house cannot stand (Mark 3:25). Let that never be the case in our school home. Let us all work each day to set an example by living out the fruits of the spirit, which are joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Let us not become boastful, challenging one another or envying one another (Galatians 5:22). Help us to show them who You truly are, so that they will believe and have eternal life (John 6:47). If the parents do not know You, help me to show them Your love and who You are. Let salvation and righteousness spring up within them  all (Isaiah 45:8). For the students, help their parents and me to give them Your peace, so that they are neither troubled, nor afraid (John 14:27).  Lord, use me as a vessel to reach these children. Teach them through me and give them your peace (Isaiah 54:13). I pray that each child would hear Your direction (Isaiah 30:21) and feel in their soul that You will always watch over and guide them (Psalm 32:8). Help me to lead by example, so that they desire to commit their work to You, knowing that You will determine each of their steps (Proverbs 16:3, 9). Let them understand the true value of hard work (2 Timothy 2:15), so that they will still bear fruit in old age (Psalm 92:14).  I pray they will never be afraid of being shamed, disgraced, or humiliated at school (Isaiah 54:4). If they have already experienced this, I pray that You release them from this stronghold and allow them to soar on wings like eagles (Isaiah 40:31).  Give them Your spirit, for Your spirit does not make us timid, but gives us power, love, and self-discipline (2 Timothy 1:7). Help me to show them that though they may stumble, they will not fall (Psalm 37:24). Teach them to be strong and courageous, not afraid or discouraged, because You are with them in all they do (Joshual 1:9). Fill them with hope, joy, and peace. Teach them to trust You (Romans 15:13). May they have high self-esteem, as they are Your masterpiece (Ephesians  2:10). Let them learn perseverance and run the race set before them (Hebrews 12:1).   You have said that even small children are known by their actions (Proverbs 20:11).  I pray they never let anyone think less of them, because of their age. Let them be examples for others in their speech, their life, their love, their faith, and their purity (1 Timothy 4:12). Make my students peace-loving, gentle, and willing to yield to others (James 3:17). Encourage them to do what is right, love mercy, and walk humbly with You (Micah 6:8). I pray they do good whenever they have the opportunity (Galatians 6:10) and that their love will overflow more and more. Keep them growing in knowledge and understanding (Philippians 1:6). Help me to show them to them act generously, so they can experience true life (1 Timothy 6:18-19). Help them to always show compassion through tenderhearted mercy, kindness, gentleness, humility, and patience. Though very gentle, may each student be on guard, so that they are not influenced by those who don’t have their best at heart. Grow them in discernment and grace (2 Peter 3:17-18). I pray they do not copy the behavior of the world, but let you transform their mind (Romans 12:2). Encourage them to show respect for themselves, their friends, and all in authority (1 Peter 2:17). I pray they have self-discipline by doing what is right, just, and fair (Proverbs 1:3). May they stay faithful to what they know to be right (Proverbs 3:3). Teach them to show self-control by being alert and clear-headed (1 Thessalonians 5:6). Let them be receptive to discipline, so that they may learn and grow (Proverbs 15:5). Keep them from turning their back on wisdom. Help them to understand its value and develop good judgment (Proverbs 4:6-7). I pray they each learn to love their neighbor as themselves (Matthew 22:37-39). Let them always accept one another, just as Christ accepted them (Romans 15:5-6).  I pray they are knit together with love and confidence (Colossians 2:2). Help them to be in agreement with each other, love each other, and work together with the same mind and purpose so they can glorify You together. Help them to not be selfish or try to impress others. May they be humble and put others first (Philippians 2:2-3). Bless our class, Lord. I pray that every single day, shouts of joy and victory resound in our classroom, because Your hand is doing mighty things (Psalm 118:15). I pray these things in the powerful name of Jesus.     

[staygoldengirl]

This is Us...is ALL of us.

I love this show so much that it finally got me to start a blog.  Yes, I decided not to clutter up Facebook with my ramblings, at least not directly, but to post them over here, wherever “here” is. Possible spoiler alert, but only if you really read deeply into my thoughts here. :-) This Is Us reminds me every week that we are all in "THIS" together. No matter who we are, or how different we all seem on the outside, as the poem by Maya Angelou says, we are more alike than we are unalike. The closer my father got to the end, the more often he dreamed, thought, and spoke of his mother, and of his childhood. Like the child he once was, he now had to depend on others to have his basic needs met. It was humbling to see the strong independent man I knew my whole life, now so dramatically dependent. It was frightening to him, as he had to trust that strangers would help him and not hurt him in his weakest moments. He handled it with such grace and dignity and battled through his fears to eventually rely on his faith in God and in the goodness of others. His faith and his heart became childlike and pure as a result. All the "stuff" from 70 years of living faded away as his essence returned to one of innocence, pure love, but also of yearning to be loved, and to feel connected to others. To feel “attached” and “secure” is a basic need that we never outgrow.  Thankfully my Dad never lost his intelligence, as he had his wits and fantastic sense of humor to the end, but in those last months, the boy he once was became real and alive again in the dying body of this strong and proud man. The joys he felt were in the small things and were pure and unabashed. He especially loved and longed to hear his favorite songs and really yearned for music of his past, as it took him back in time, and out of his diseased and dying body. Sadly, the wounds of childhood can’t be escaped through music nor the march towards death, and those wounds were right there as if they had never left his side once in his 70 years of life.  You could see and feel that the wounds he experienced as a small boy were right at the surface as he neared the end, and though he hid them well, maybe they had been all along. Seven decades and the masks that he had put up to hide those hurts and compensate for those unmet needs were now gone. His own Dad wasn't exactly warm and fuzzy or what we now call "emotionally available". There wasn't a hug when he needed it and more often than not, there was instead a belt crack or a put down, when he most needed encouragement and love. His Dad, my grandfather,  grew up without the presence of his father, so those hurts and wounds were packed up and passed on down the family line, from parent to child through the generations. A legacy of sorts but one my Dad fought his best to change for his own children.  His Dad loved to the extent that he could.  He loved to the degree that he was shown love, which wasn’t very much at all,  but to his credit, he tried to give a little more than he got.  In his mind, you were a man, so you toughed life out and forgot about the pains in life, but deep down, nobody ever really forgets the pain. We all rush to grow up, but the child lives on and that child within us is the part that FEELS, NEEDS and LOVES.  If we all can look at one another as someones child, maybe we won't be so quick to judge or hate but offer up love instead? The child that lives within each of us just wants to love and be loved, and wants so much to feel connected to something that is eternal.  Something that makes life, and eventually death itself, a little less scary.  Love and loss connects all of us to one another and to the generations before and the generations yet to come, but it is love that makes the unknown easier to face. We all are born and we all must die, but the time in between is created in those moments where we give and receive love.  God I miss my Dad. Our relationship, like many relationships, was complicated and anything but easy, but we loved one another and in the end, that was all that mattered.  Love is eternal.