#and i hate it its attacking one of my fucking core beliefs as a person

[skyeateyourdonuts]

shootin star rollercoaster ROUND ROUND ROUND

[gay-snom]

contextualizing lwj’s coming to terms with his feelings subplot!

i wanna talk about the role of confucianism in this subplot because i think it’s something some western fans might not pick up on. basically, the sociopolitical climate of confucianism in his character arc, and a little bit about his interaction with the public image theme.

disclaimer: i’m not chinese but i do have a double minor in chinese and asian studies and have written a few papers on confucianism.

we’re gonna be talking about the novel bc i feel its a little more in-depth and nuanced than lwj’s “what is black, what is white” monologue in cql. namely the tension and misunderstanding in wwx’s first life and how lwj got his scars. i feel like it’s pretty well accepted that wwx made lwj reconsider his world view, so i’m just gonna expand on it. also i want to point out it's pretty unspoken in most of the text, but lwj is also affected by/used to explore the public image themes, as his image the is ideal confucian scholar.

confucianism is centered around the ideas of how to behave “good” in sociopolitical contexts. basically it boils down to a belief system on how society should be run. if everyone follows confucian beliefs, you will have an ideal society. the main text is the Analects, which you can read here. it’s been around for a few thousand years (like around 200 BCE ish), had a huge revival in the tang dynasty (618-907 CE). it was put on imperial exams, the emperor’s cabinet had confucian scholars, etc. this is just to say confucian values are important to historic society, especially upper-class scholars, which seems to be a role cultivators commonly fill in xianxia. here are some basic tenants:

being a gentleman/scholar/superior man (君子 jūn zǐ) : partly being learned in the arts, literature, music, poetry, etc., mostly behaving righteously and dutifully.

filial piety: usually described as obedience. it's not simply obeying everything elders tell you, it includes doing it with reverence and thankfulness for their sacrifices for you.

leading by example: if leaders/the government is righteous, the people will follow. lwj has his flock of juniors that are all strong cultivators and the lan sect is just generally known for being moral and good.

rites/rituals: a focus on politeness and holding proper ceremonies, sacrifices, and funerals

speech: there’s some great meta about the register he speaks in here, i just want to touch on think carefully before you speak, only speak sincerely, etc.

tldr; lwj is THE perfect gentleman (even his title contains the character suffix 君 -jūn, like lxc. which, while this character is not uncommon for cultivator titles, it wasn’t chosen carelessly either. also not to be confused with 尊 -zūn). seriously, look at almost all of book 10 and you'll see don't do/consume in excess, don't talk during meals, sit only when your mat is straight, etc.

okay, so Why is understanding his feelings for wwx so troublesome?

1.2 "They are few who, being filial and fraternal, are fond of offending against their superiors. There have been none, who, not liking to offend against their superiors, have been fond of stirring up confusion... Filial piety and fraternal submission! - are they not the root of all benevolent actions?"

in other words, people who are filial will never create political tension. so like, morally, wwx should be considered horrible person! he’s not only snubbed the jiang sect. he was a head disciple who undoubtedly had younger students looking up to him. and then he goes and stirs up some huge political issues! he is now a bad role model for the people below him and disrespected the people above him. lwj has an entire image to uphold, he has poured his entire life into following these rules and beliefs, and then wwx comes along. would continuing to be in wwx's life taint lwj? there are some contradicting teachings in regards to interacting with wwx:

15.4: "Do not take counsel with those who follow a different Way"

15.28: "When the multitude hates a person, you must examine them and judge for yourself. The same holds true for someone whom the multitude love."

15.36 "When it comes to being Good, defer to no one, not even your teacher."

this is part of the reason lwj had so much trouble accepting his feelings. he didn’t know how to handle this situation, making him appear distant during/directly after sunshot. if he judges wwx's intentions to be pure, it's then not wrong to be friendly with him. but wwx still is morally wrong by society's standards. now, lwj has to not only figure out his feelings, but also reconcile this with how he still thinks wwx is Not a bad person, despite everything. what if he does get "tainted" by wwx? will it hurt the reputation of his sect? that would be un-filial, right? he spent his whole life memorizing rules that are probably extremely similar to sections in the Analects, and now these mixed messages (coupled with the relatable gay panic) are overwhelming.

onto the next! there’s something unspoken in the scene where wwx discovers why lwj has the whip scars. as other posts have mentioned, lwj taking wwx back to the burial mounds and nursing him is high treason. however, this action is also extremely un-filial. also his entire image is built around being a perfect gentleman, if this were to get out to the public he would lose absolutely everything. he would be just as irreparable as wwx.

“I was worried if those from another sect found you first, WangJi would be considered your accomplice. The best scenario was his name being forever tainted, and the worst was his life being taken away right then. Thus, along with Uncle, we chose thirty three seniors who had always thought highly of WangJi... ”

there’s no way lwj didn’t know what would happen if he did this. obviously as lxc says, if this got out, he would lose basically his entire face. and even though lxc didn’t mention this, it would definitely lose a lot of face for the lan sect as well since lwj is so prominent. the decision about what elders to bring is also notable.

“...As if he knew all along he would be discovered by us, he said that there was nothing to explain, that this was it. Growing up, he had never talked back to Uncle, not even once. But for you, not only did WangJi talk back to him, he even met with his sword the cultivators from the Gusu Lan sect...”

so yeah, he obviously knew they would come for him and what the consequences would be. and he still talked back! that’s already not a good look for the lan sect. but attacking them? totally unforgivable! lwj gives up how he was raised and the importance of filial piety, what he has held on to until this major plot event. since it's basically the biggest "fuck you" to his uncle and his clan, this was not a decision he made lightly. lwj shows them he cares more about wwx and His Own ideas of right and wrong than the sect’s or society’s.

Wei WuXian dug his hands into his hair, “...I-I didn’t know... I really...”

when was the last time wwx was at a loss for words? wwx spends a few paragraphs after this lamenting how he hurt lwj, but he's not unaware of the gravity of what lwj did. it's an underlying assumption from being raised in the culture. i would argue his first instinct is "oh god he gave up what for me?" since those lamenting paragraphs are after lxc finishes speaking.

"But he said... that he could not say with certainty whether what you did was right or wrong..."

this is something thrown around a lot in the Analects, that not even confucius can say for sure what is right or wrong. what better way to show lwj is still a perfect confucian than have him paraphrase confucius himself?

“...WangJi was a model for the disciples when he was young, and a prominent cultivator when he grew up. In his whole life he had been honest and righteous and immaculate--you were the only mistake he made!”

here’s the confirmation that the world and even his family thinks of him as a perfect gentleman, the top tier of society, and it was all thrown away for wwx. this is just so heavy. the mistake thing? thats not only because lwj is fraternizing with an enemy. lxc and the rest of the sect who knew are terrified this will forever corrupt lwj personally, not just publicly. lwj was so devoted to believing this was the right thing to do he offered up everything he had. the gravity of this decision is insane. it’s very obvious that he loves wwx, it’s just that he struggles a lot internally to accept everything that is happening.

as for helping wwx leave after the massacre, is this gentleman-ly of lwj? was it actually in-line with his image? is it more honorable to save someone who is dying, at the cost of your own health, than to look away? isn't looking away a form of resentment? i wasn't able to find a specific passage about bystander-ness, but personally i think it qualifies as "bad intentions." there is also this passage for what it's worth, originally it was about government suppression:

12.19: "...What do you say to killing the unprincipled for the good of the principled?" Confucius replied, "...why should you use killing at all?..."

lwj is always more actions than words, and he was not fucking around. his core beliefs really haven't changed, and remain very strong throughout his life. he is still righteous enough to accept his punishment, graceful enough to search for wwx's body since there was no one else to do the funeral rites (10.22/10.15), caring enough to take in a-yuan, upright enough to still spend his years going where the chaos is.

just with this one action, the audience knows he has come to terms with realizing that authority isn't always just, and neither is the public opinion/opinion of other gentlemen. he has reconciled. this is him standing for what he believes is right. this is his devotion. this is his own choice. just. poetic cinema...

anyway that's it for my first meta post! i would love to hear your thoughts, feelings, opinions, discussions, other meta ideas, whatever! thank u for reading! <3

[gaeilgeoirgay]

Naimhde

This is also part of Pósadh Eagraithe :The Series and I hope you like it! It’s from Han Solo’s POV when he first realises that 1. Boba’s alive and 2. Boba is married to Din meaning that 3. He can’t shoot Boba :(

Ao3 Link

Naimhde= Enemies

Look, Han Solo was having a good day. Emphasis on was. Ben had slept through the night again so Han got his full recommended hours of rest. Then Leia had had the morning off from the Senate so they had all gone to the park together. Luke was on planet for once with the green frog child so Ben was able to play with him. Leia had told him days ago that they were required to attend a ball that was being hosted to celebrate the Republic getting a treaty with Mandalore so he’d already gone through the seven stages of grief about that.

Now, he’s at said ball and across the room from him, Boba fucking Fett is smirking at him. Han snarls at the look the bastard has on his (apparently very scarred?) face but Leia puts a warning hand on his shoulder. “I know that’s Fett but he’s the leader of the Tatooine crime syndicate now, and rumour has it he’s taken over a couple more of the Hutt Space planets. He’s powerful, Han, and he probably hates us enough. No fighting.” She hisses into his ear.

Of course Boba Fett came out of a fucking sarlacc pit to become a godsdamned crime lord. He shouldn’t have been surprised. And he clearly has some sort of power in Mandalore because Mandalorians aren’t naturally deferential but they seem to treat Fett with an extra bit of respect.

A silver Mandalorian comes over to Fett and says something lowly to him. Fett nods and saunters over to Han and Leia with the other Mando striding ahead of him. “That’s the Mand’alor, their king. No one knows his name or species and he never takes his helmet off in front of non-Mandalorians. He signed the treaty as ‘Mand’alor the Reclaimer’ and his people adore him. He’s rumoured to be absolutely deadly, so once again, Han, I don’t care if he’s coming over with Boba Fett, behave.” Leia whispers and Han suppresses his urge to punt Fett into the nearest star.

Contrary to popular belief, Han is smart enough not to piss off the ruler of a warrior culture that are supposedly the greatest fighters in the galaxy. He got lucky with Fett the first time, he’s not making the man’s whole planet mad at him by fucking with their king.

Their pretty intimidating king, he’s not gonna lie. There’s a veritable armoury on the Mand’alor’s person and Han can see the familiar shape of a lightsaber hilt at his waist. Leia had mentioned something about a ‘Darksaber’ and Han does not want to find out the difference between a Darksaber and a lightsaber firsthand.

The Mand’alor inclines his head in a regal greeting as he halts in front of Leia. “Senator Organa, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Luke mentions you often.” He says in a low, smooth voice. Huh. Han is absolutely loyal to Leia but if the Mando king ever offers a threesome…..

Wait, how does Mando know Luke? Leia seems confused too but she hides it well. “The honour is all mine, Your Majesty. I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with my brother though?” She says politely, voicing the question in a much more eloquent manner than Han would’ve.

Mando chuckles and answers her with a smile in his voice. “Cuun ad, Grogu, is one of Luke’s students. He’s the small green one with an affinity for frogs.” He explains and Han raises an eyebrow. Luke had said that Grogu would never grow to be taller than maybe hip height but Mando is of fairly average height for a humanoid species. 5’10 or ’11 maybe.

Leia smiles brightly. “Yes, I do know Grogu. Luke mentioned his father was a Mandalorian. That would be you, then?” She says, relaxing slightly. Talking about children is a safe topic, even when Boba Fett is part of the conversation, and no, Han is not letting that go, he’s a Senator’s trophy husband, he’s mastered the art of polite glaring.

Fett speaks up then, still smirking. “Both of his fathers are Mandalorians. I adopted Grogu when the two of us said the riduurok.” He says, looking directly at Han as his brain freezes in its tracks.

Boba Fett is married? Boba Fett is married to the king of Mandalore? Boba Fett is a father?

None of that computes. Han Solo and Boba Fett are not supposed to have anything in common and Boba Fett is most certainly not supposed to be a regular human being with a spouse and kids and apparently a job, if being a crime lord counts as one. But clearly he is and Han is mad about it. It may be irrational but the bastard froze him in carbonite for three years and he’s gotten away with it. Whenever Han imagined Fett it was as a corpse being digested by a plant monster, not as a successful husband and father. Oh, Han is so mad.

Leia squeezes his hand a little tighter than necessary and Han grits his teeth. No fighting. He can do this. He really doesn’t want to do this. Chandrila’s sun is actually quite hot, he knows Beskar has a high melting point but he reckons it wouldn’t hold up against a star. He could just get in the Falcon, with Fett, and then space him beside the star. Boom, problem solved.

Leia is congratulating Fett and the Mand’alor on their marriage and subsequent child. To be completely honest with himself, Han may or not be considering telling Luke to get Grogu into therapy. Having Boba Fett as a father would definitely fuck a kid up.

He tunes back into the conversation as the Mand’alor answers Leia and immediately wishes he hadn’t. “Yes, children are the most important part of our culture. I adopted Grogu before we got together and I actually only met Boba a little while before Luke began teaching him. Boba always knew Grogu was part of the picture and honestly, the kid loves him. His second vow after the riddurok was a gai bal manda for Grogu.” Mando says, helmet tilted towards Fett. It’s probably the armoured equivalent of a sappy look and Han resists the urge to scowl.

He doesn’t know what a riderock or a gabblemanda is but it’s clearly important to Mandalorians and Fett is smiling broadly at his husband. Ugh.

“Oh, that’s incredibly sweet. How did you two meet?” Leia asks and Han screams internally. “When I first Found Grogu, my tribe took on the Hunter’s Guild so we could escape. I was trying to find more Mandalorians and I came across an areuttise on Tatooine who had Boba’s armour. I helped him take down a krayt dragon that was attacking his village and in exchange, he returned the armour to a mando’ad. Boba tracked me to Tython and said he would help me protect Grogu if I gave him back his armour. We were attacked by Dark Troopers and they took Grogu for Moff Gideon. Boba helped me get Grogu back and once he’d taken over Tatooine, he joined our efforts to reclaim Mandalore.” Mando explains and Leia smiles.

“That sounds romantic. The first time I met Han I threatened him.” Leia says anecdotally and Han shoots her a betrayed look. Fett is so going to use that against him somehow, Han just knows it. Instead, Fett just shakes his head and explains further. “Both of us are sol’karta, ‘aromantic’ in Basic. The Mand’alor’s council were concerned about finding a Rid’alor and I was suggested. I accepted, as the Mand’alor is one of my closest friends. I love him dearly but we’re not in love with each other. We’re best friends raising an adorably mischievous ad’ika.” He says and the Mand’alor nods.

Huh. Han can’t say he’s ever heard of an arranged marriage where both parties are friends from the start. He’s sure that some spouses end up as friends but politically arranged marriages in the Core tend to be loveless affairs. He almost finds himself congratulating them on finding a good balance but then he remembers he would be congratulating Fett. Nope, he’s not doing that.

“Oh really? Luke did mention that Grogu has a habit of disappearing on him.” Leia says and Fett laughs. “Yeah, his Force osik enables him a lot. I never realised how much of parenting was going to be coaxing a grumpy toddler off of a ceiling.” He jokes and ugh, Han can relate to that and he’s mad about it. Leia says something in response but Han is too busy glaring at Fett to hear her. The bastard is still smirking, plus he’s not even paying attention to Han, like Han is beneath his notice.

“I know you two have a son, right? If you’re ever on Manda’yaim for diplomacy, perhaps they can hang out together. I know when I was a child, I hated being in boring meetings and Grogu would definitely appreciate a friend.” Fett suggests and Han nearly explodes. Boba Fett’s hellspawn child is not going to corrupt Ben!

“Oh, Ben and Grogu met earlier today actually! Luke is on-planet at the moment and he brought Grogu with him when he heard that your people would be here.” Leia says and Mando’s helmet tilts. It probably means something in Mando Armour Language but Han has no clue what. “Is Luke still on Chandrila?” He asks, seeming curious. “Grogu is due to come home to Manda’yaim next week but if Luke is here, then I might ask if we can bring him home now to save Luke the trip.”

Leia smiles and tells Mando where to find Luke. Mando says his goodbyes and leaves, but Fett stays. They seem to have some form of communicating that Han can’t understand because Fett doesn’t seem confused at all by his husband’s departure without him.

Fett rocks back on his heels before levelling Han with a smug grin. “If you ever feel like going into Fett Space, drop by my palace on Tatooine. I love getting visits from old friends.” He says before bowing to Leia and leaving to follow Mando before Han can splutter a rebuttal. Fett Space! Is he serious?

Apparently he is, as the New Republic receives a missive a few days later, announcing Mandalore’s official recognition of the former Hutt territories as under Boba Fett, their Consort’s, unequivocal rule. It means that if the Republic ever aggravates Mandalore, they would essentially be going to war with the majority of the Outer Rim between Fett’s planets, Mandalore’s vassal planets and the seemingly endless planets that have allied themselves with Mandalore instead of the Republic.

Han isn’t too concerned about the political ramifications, seeing as that’s Leia’s remit and he’s mostly retired, but fuck, he’s mad that he can’t even think about dropkicking Fett into a star without inciting a galaxy-wide conflict. And the bastard knows it. Every time he comes to Republic events as either the Mand’alor’s spouse or as the leader of Fett Space, he acts like the perfect model of decorum so Han can’t even argue that he was provoked.

Han is forty-three, he shouldn’t be having aneurysms but every time he sees Fett his brain stops getting the message. The worst part is that Leia has become friends with the Mandalorian king and Ben is fond of the green child, so Han is forced to interact with Fett on a far too regular basis. Forget Fett, Han is considering launching himself into a star.

Sadly, Leia won’t let him. So Han has to put up with Fett for just a while longer. Speaking of, how old is Fett? Can Han get away with measuring coffins yet? Please say the bastard is at least ninety, he was around during the Clone Wars, there can’t be much left in him. Please, Han is going to lose his mind if he has to play nice with Boba Fett again. And again. And again.

(systems away, Boba’s ears go hot and he knows that Solo is plotting his death once more. Grogu coos and Boba looks down to see the womprat chewing on his pendant again. He chuckles and grabs something softer for Grogu to gnaw at. He has more important things to think about than Solo.)

[gwynpool]

it’s 2AM and i just finished Rule of Wolves (spoilers definitely up ahead)

first, to inform everyone, i read the spoilers when it got leaked in twitter cuz i can’t help myself. (it’s a sickness, i know) i think this is important since it definitely influenced my perspective upon reading the book. also, this is my first time being early in a party so yay me! going in ROW was easy for me because i started King of Scars the day before book 2’s actual release date so everything’s fresh.

secondly, this is really long so i’m sorry. i just have a lot of feelings and need to write it all down. on with the rant.

King of Scars was wonderful to me since it gave me my favorite Shadow and Bone character and the girl who i used to hate for being a mean girl but who I now admire with every ounce of my being. It also introduced a new ship that I am now obsessed with and is ruling besides my love for Jude&Cardan. Not to mention, it gave us Nina, whom though i’m not entirely a fan of due to all my love focusing on Kaz and Inej, allowed the connection between Shadow&Bone with SixofCrows.

Moving on, ROW was a ride and whirlwind of emotions. unfortunately, it wasn’t always the best kind.

I love the fantasy elements of it (tho it was a huge leap especially with the saints power thingy) and the politics because i am a sucker for scheming and stealing thrones.

the zoyalai teasing and angst was painful but in the best way since slowburn is what keeps me going.

nina finding comfort (and attraction, apparently) from hanne made my heart flutter because i haven’t gotten over matthias but this allowed a sort of closure and next chapter for our waffle-loving queen.

the promised wedding by leigh wasn’t what i expected but i’m not complaining since david&genya deserved nothing but happiness.

almost everything seems going well (aside from the fact that aleksander was ressurected apparently)and then everything crashes and burns and i just have to wonder why?

so the promised funeral alongside the wedding one, immediately comes after two? three? chapters as they were attacked during the afterparty of the wedding. and guess what? leigh killed the fcking groom.

the thing is i already knew he was going to die (with the spoilers and all) but i did not expect it to come immediately after the freaking wedding. not even halfway through the book!

being spoiled, i think, took most of the pain from the event but it doesn’t lessen the fact that it was completely unnecessary??? like though the characters grieved, nothing much was affected from his death? also, don’t talk to me about the character development for the survivors from this tragic event because there. was. absolutely. NONE.

and then we have the fricking darling ressurected. i love him in the first book of the grishaverse though i knew he was still a villain, don’t get me wrong. and my heart ached but was also relieved with his death in the third. he also inspired one of my all-time favorite fantasy villain(antihero?) in the form of Adelina Amouteru in the Young Elites series.

Ceased to be a Darklina fan and am now shipping Aleksander with Adelina because their power tho? like clings to like and they are both imbued with unfathomable darkness. somebody write fics please.

but bringing him back was what for exactly? leigh bardugo preached on how toxic the darkling character was and how we really shouldn’t like him in terms of agreeing with his ideals and yada yada. and yet she brings him back because apparently, he’s the only one paying her bills.

his conversation with alina tho had me expecting some darklina crumbs with fan service on the side since the stans were all raving about it on twitter *vomiting noises from toxicity* but i was surprised since it just further reminded us of how he truly is a villain in his very core and would do anything to get what he wants. so all in all it wasn’t entirely awful and it actually made me like Mal a bit. (never was a fan of him but that’s my issue, not the character’s)

setting aside the darkling issue a bit, the POV from Mayu was skippable. i mean obviously it still needs to be read for the Shu politics and the khergud existence but it just made me want to go to the next pov. Same goes for the “the monk’s” POV since you all know how i feel about him and the cult with it’s assembly and shit ended up also being unnecessary towards the end. honestly, i could do without the journey of the starless saint and his cult.

i truly enjoyed the fjerdan plot to my surprise and i like how nina kind of went through the last of us 2 circle of hate journey. it was definitely difficult knowing her pain and all that she went through and still choosing to be the better person. and yet, i can’t help but be more proud of her development. also, the supposed death of hanne got me going for a second and was actually ready to storm leigh’s home to fix her mistake. thank god it was plot twist. that’s all i have to say on the nina POV because i don’t wanna ruin my good feeling on this.

the crows cameo gave us a mini heist and it just made me miss reading their adventures. also the suli scene tugged at my heart.

imma skip zoya’s transformation but it utterly made me feel amazing and i have never been more glad that she’s kind of overpowered. she deserves it so fck all them haters. you can choke.

nikolai’s revelation and decision for the ravkan throne was not all that surprising, even without my knowledge of the spoilers. i honestly had a feeling that he was always his best self when he was strumhond and he only chose to fulfill the duties of the king because at that time, there was no other choice. so him giving up the throne to his beloved soldier, summoner and saint was a quite satisfying choice of route. there has been some others who would contest nikolai’s decision to step down as something unnecessary in the grand scheme of things but i would stand by my belief that nikolai made the best choice for ravka and for himself. not to say that i didn’t want to see both the queen and king side by side ruling but what are fanfictions for?

zoyalai is canon and endgame. finally. i can die now.

now the last two chapters was a toss up. for the first one was the darkling’s sacrifice. okay, so i was also spoiled by this from twitter but when i was reading the book, i keep expecting it to be brought up and it wasn’t. so i honestly thought that maybe that spoiler was a prank. lo and behold it was not and it wasn’t until the very last end. so the buildup was goddamn awful. the whole concept of the thorn wood and sort of atlas moment was just no. like you’re just springing this up now? when we’re supposed to be tying up loose ends but making sure it had history and buildup to well, back it up.

also leigh outright writing genya saying it was not a redemption for the darkling and him being unapologetic about his crimes (basically being a truly evil asshole) doesn’t remove the fact that it still comes off as a redemption arc especially with what is now the synopsis of SOC 3 but ill get to that. he still was the one who did a heroic deed and that fucks me up because it was just devastating to me after making peace with his end in ruin and rising. not because i was hurt that he died yet again boohoo but because it kind of invalidates everything that alina, genya, zoya and countless other victims went through.

on a side note, the darling stans on twitter who keeps defending his actions, i would really advise you to reflect on your decisions cuz it is honestly unhealthy. also, you lot talking smack about nikolai and zoya refusing to sacrifice their lives? stop twisting the story to suit your toxic admiration, nikolai was even first to offer up his life and would do so if it was actually possible. so just go hide in your darkling cocoon and stop hating on other characters to justify your favored aleksander.

the very last chapter aka coronation was good because it gave us inej ghafa cameo as captain of her ship and bonding with our resident privateer and also genya, alina and zoya bonding. but it was bad because apparently the darkling chronicles is still not over and now we’re supposed to grant him death like that’s going to make everything okay? i know forgiveness and breaking the circle of hate and revenge is a huge theme in this duology but honestly, this is just too extreme. with nina it was understandable and the people she hated were born of twisted mindset and circumstances but the darkling? hahahah no. he is a literal immortal who was delusional so now that he’s paying for his crimes, you want to allow him death because you have nightmares? zoya, goddamit no! same to you genya and alina. and so this will be the plot for the third six of crows? why can’t we just stop making this about him. now he gunna steal kaz’s thunder? over my dead body.

in the end, i gave this book 4 stars in goodreads because if i ignore the darkling plot, it was a really good use of politics and fantasy merging in a storyline. i can’t fault leigh for choosing to do this since it’s still her book so i definitely don’t have a right to dictate what i expected from this. also, i have a half a mind to believe that she fell in love with ben barnes and had him in mind writing this so i really cannot blame her because i have been under that man’s charms since prince caspian came out. the spoilers i read made me more open in reading this (backwards thinking but eh that’s how i roll) so i’m not at all crushed by what transpired. it was just weird and was lackluster in its attempt to give ravka some sort of peace. frankly, i just want to read the third six of crows book to maybe find some sort of calm in all this craziness and also delve in some zoyalai fanfiction because it was a long time coming.

shameless promotion but if you guys want to check out my nikolai duology spotify playlist, here’s the link:

[socksual-innuendos]

OTP Meme

art by @yesjejunus​

Do they fight often? If so, what is their dynamic like?

Sort of, they’ve actually calmed down since first knowing each other. It use to be that they hated each other because ‘fuck you, I want to leave this stupid ass valley why do I need to fetch quest when my survival is maxed’, and ‘goddamnit you made me care about this kid that youre dragging into war I cant live with myself if he dies due to your little game of exterminate the raider tribe’.

I...am indecisive about how Emilia ends Honest Hearts, but even in the worse case scenario they do become at most tolerant of each other. Still, their arguments is mostly Emi poking and prodding for a reaction, and Joshua feeding right into it. These usually end in him being moody, but he rebounds well enough. Their big arguments though are usually over how things should be handled, in which case both do their own shit and then one has to bail the other out. 

Who is the most skeptical of the two?

Joshua, hands down. Emilia is so eccentric compared to anything he’s use to, he almost always has something to say about anything she brings up. Even if its sound to him he still questions it if it comes from her mouth. It isn’t always voiced, but the eyebrow does raise. He’s stopped being amazed at her actually accomplishing what she says she will and has started getting annoyed with it...what a show off.

Who would be most likely to suggest a night of dancing?

Emilia, and she’d dance whether he comes along or not. My Joshua never learned how to dance, but I don’t think its his cup of tea either. He hums while he works, though, and Emilia has honed in on that.

What would they do if the other was injured in battle?

Assess the situation and then adjust. I think both would cover each other, though I think Emi is more likely to haul his ass to safety. That’s her target, damnit! Unless one was really fucking up patching themselves up, I dont think the other would help with wound dressing though.

How do their fighting styles complement each other?

Complement is a very interesting word here. Their entire schtick is that Emilia is adaptive, dynamic, changing to fit the situation and he is....just headstrong and very determined, haha. They work well together in that she forms to fit his methods and is his fall back if things ever go south. It works out well, some of the time. Other times its Emilia stealing his kills and him getting angry at how fast her draw is. 

Do they want children? Does it frighten them? How many do they want?

Together? No. He is particularly someone she would be cautious around. In their canon I don’t think they sleep together, just because Emilia has Thoughts about a man like that being on top of her, or at least having some kind of mindset about having slept with her. 

Still, I think my Graham is old enough to realize that kids wouldn’t have fit well into his life, Legion existing or not. Both grew up with religious and family pressures to marry and have kids, and neither really felt that it was for them. I think my Graham tried to find a greater purpose than starting a family in Legion, and that was his justification for never trying.

What happened when they took them home to their families? If their families aren’t in the picture anymore, how do they feel about it?

Joshua learns about Emilia’s family and past in a round about sort of way. Camila introduced herself to him, which was a heart attack to Emilia, and he’s seen the photos she keeps in her cigarette case. In honesty, he feels a bit envious at how closely she was able to keep her sister. Though I don’t know how I headcanon his blood family situation, I do think that he misses kinship. After Edward, he becomes very lonely, and even reconnecting with New Canaan he feels lost. How does a man his age find another friend that close? It’s part of why he so easily falls in being war chief again in my canon. It’s familiar, and its something he knows he’s good at, and that in itself is its own comfort. 

For Emilia, I think she envies his community. Though she was young when her life started falling apart she still knew what a stable home was, what a loving family was, and what it felt like to feel safe. She knows that even after all the tragedy he’s caused and how much misfortune fell on his tribe that he still has a home to go back to, and that they’d accept him with open arms. She misses being on the receiving end of that type of love, and most of all she hates being so closed off to people about herself. Even her sister she hides things from, and even then her sister doesn’t share her faith. I think if Joshua ever invited her meet his family she’d accept, even if she thought it would go poorly, just to feel things out and see if she could find some community in there.

How does each person show affection towards the other?

Again, its in the small things. When Emilia springs him from NCR custody, it was for entirely selfish, headhunting reasons, but she brought him bandages and his bible, and those were the small comforts that mattered. She’s hard on him in areas that no one else was, like teaching him genuine wilderness survival, or how to be independent. She also tries to get him to slow down and think about what he really cares about. Sure he gets his purpose from being war chief with the Dead Horses, but he truly does miss his tribe. These show themselves in small conversations, but if she didn’t care for him she wouldn’t even bring them up.

For him, its a bit of the same. He entertains her bullshit, but he also cleans and repairs her weapons. During their end game, Emilia has a robotic prosthetic leg, and he learns how to repair and upkeep it on the fly. He becomes receptive to her teaching (if only for a while), and to humble himself enough for that should speak volumes. 

Who cries the most? Who is better at comforting?

Neither really cry, though I think Emilia at least doesn’t feel pressured to keep face around him. Sharing a religious background and a lot of similar-but-different viewpoints, they actually comfort each other well in a passive sort of way. If their problems don’t relate to each other, they can usually talk through their issues. For Emilia, it’s a huge comfort to have someone else religious to talk to. She doesn’t often get this with most people, and even if Joshua isn’t 100% on the same thought train, the core belief is still there. 

For Joshua, it’s nice having someone who is also religious but doesn’t feel like he has to perform for them. Emilia isn’t here to judge him, they’ve both done and do horrible things in their life, and she’s just different enough that if she says something he doesn’t agree with he can dismiss it. Having someone he doesn’t have to keep face around is a breath of relief. Its nice to not have any expectations set on you, and although it annoys him a majority of the time, her laid back personality allows him to let his guard down. 

When it comes down to it though, a lot of what Emilia has already lived through are things that are popping up in Joshua’s life now, and he often finds reassurance in that she’s found ways of coping, and that she is willing to talk with him when he needs it.

Who is the bigger flirt?

Emilia, no contest. Making passes at him is a pass time to her. If he didn’t have his face covered, she’d probably see just how hard she could make him blush. 

[diarrheaworldstarhiphop]

I Don't Wanna Grow Up (And Neither Can You)

You can't show women being hurt. You can't show child abuse. You can't show rape. You can't show incest. Pedophilia, self-harm, intimate partner abuse, necrophilia, violence against children; if you're going to so much as talk about any of these things you need to do so at a 5th-grade level and behind the dual firewalls of safe, pastel-colored animation and explicitly education-based presentation. The art has to show you in painstaking detail the exact way in which to behave. Even then there's no guarantee it won't provoke a public outcry, doxxing, death threats, and even campaigns to strip artists of their jobs and livelihoods.

The idea that by depicting an act an artist is endorsing that act seems baked into the minds of certain left-leaning sets of younger people, particularly teenagers and early twentysomethings. That they have such deep concern for the safety and social equality of their traumatized peers and the traumatized in their own ranks can only be admirable, but more often than not the form it takes is mass harassment and scapegoating targeting not institutions or major studios but independent creators, many of them marginalized themselves. If the whole thing sounds, with its zeal for censorship and its self-righteous hate campaigns against the disenfranchised, a little like the American Family Association with a glittery coat of paint, well, that's kind of what it is.

The usual arguments about internet anonymity and the horrible deformities it breeds in human interaction all apply here, and there's much to be said of the young age and unformed personalities of the people perpetrating the worst of it, but even older, more experienced art aficionados aren't immune to the fervor for purity in art. There seems to be a much deeper affection in these circles for corporate art -- for the Marvel cinematic universe and its bland, calculated inoffensiveness, say -- than there is for art made by artists. Movies like Wonder Woman and Captain America: Civil War are evaluated with a generosity of spirit that borders on delusion, cults of enthusiastic acclaim forming around actress Gal Gadot's onscreen thigh jiggle and the "subtle homo-eroticism" of Thor: Ragnarok.

Corporate art exists to please. It exists to reaffirm the status quo and to build affection for and loyalty to corporations. From the callous Islamophobia of the Iron Man movies to the US Air Force and CIA-approved wokeness of Captain Marvel and Black Panther, the whole enterprise is bent on saying as little as possible while looking as socially conscious as it can. Fandom's fixation on finding gay themes and subtext in these blockbuster juggernauts was more understandable when independent gay art was harder to find, but today you don't even have to brave a convention-- you can dig it up with a quick search on Etsy or Gumroad. When independent artists release material featuring actual deviant sexuality, though -- from gay content to incest -- the reaction from these same people is overwhelmingly prudish. There is little to no desire among them to interact with adult work created by adult gay and trans artists. That art -- small art, created for personal reasons -- is too dangerous to touch, too full of moral imperfections and frightening images.

But what's left in art once you scour away the things that make you uncomfortable? What's left for the people who make their living and/or maintain their sanity by approaching our own suffering from a place of skill, assurance, and safety? What's left for readers and viewers trying to grow as people, to find empathy for those they've been taught to despise, to understand their own sexual shame and fear? What's left for people struggling with the isolation of abuse who have no support and no words to help them name it? Art is the lifeblood of human connection and introspection. It is the foremost way in which we can confront our own weaknesses and failings. Sanitized and focused solely on the comfort and entertainment of its audience, it's no more meaningful than a halfhearted handjob from an indifferent lover.

The idea that depiction equates to endorsement has been pedaled in our society virtually since its inception. Its modern proponents range from anti-violent video game morality groups to the Westboro Baptist Church's unhinged campaigns to remove television with gay content from the airwaves. Imagine a world where Debbie Dreschler never made her autobiographical comic Daddy's Girl, one of the most scorching, hideous things ever committed to paper. How many people would never have seen their own experiences with parental incest reflected in her work, and thus felt able to finally break themselves open and process their deep pain? When a subject becomes taboo we lose our ability to process the pain surrounding it, to talk about it openly, to understand why it happens.

Another core pillar of this movement is the expression of outrage toward sexual kinks based around transgression. Surviving rape, abuse, and other traumatic incidents is never an easy thing, and it's never clean. You'll carry the marks of it in your sex life, in your sense of safety, in your beliefs about the world until the day you die. In Nancy Friday's My Secret Garden, a 1975 collection of women's anonymously submitted sexual fantasies, multiple Jewish women who had survived the Holocaust wrote with deep shame of their need to sexualize that experience, to relive it with their partners in a safe and loving environment. It's a relatable sentiment for anyone whose sexuality has been shaped by trauma, which can force shame and need against one another until they grow together inextricably. A close friend of mine was attacked as a "vicious anti-semite" for quoting the book.

The same friend was attacked en masse for her erotic comics featuring gay and bisexual men, comics which depict those men with complexity, heart, and loving attention to detail. The argument was that as a straight woman it was fetishistic for her to portray sex between men, a position so mind-bogglingly dense that I'm hard pressed to find a way to fire back at it other than "really?" It's difficult to parse until you realize that the targets of these little brigades of loudmouths and scolds are always, always women. For all that they're marching under the banner of social justice, the people they feel most comfortable threatening with harm and emotionally brutalizing are women. Men both in the independent art scene and in the mainstream make violent, hateful art every day, but screaming at men doesn't satisfy the misogynistic impulses beaten into us by a culture that sees women as weak, stupid, and venally evil.

What you have in the end is a movement which in practice enforces a sort of neoliberal social conservatism, demanding the sanitization of art produced by women and labeling existing art degenerate with the same verve the Nazis displayed in putting the torch to centuries of Europe's artistic history. It's a small, impoverished way to understand the purpose of art and it's fueled by deep, repressed misogyny. If we pretend everything is good, if we act like Marvel will fix racism and sexism if we just give them another four production cycles, if we make our branded dollies kiss and claim it's because the movies portray them in a symbolically homo-erotic context, OBVIOUSLY, then we don't need to look at ourselves or see what we're doing to the people around us. We can close our eyes and slip into the lukewarm water of purposeful mediocrity.

There's nothing wrong with escapism. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to or not being able to engage with art about horrific things. The problem begins when you look at the people who can, who need to, and decide that they can't either, that they're going to have to bend to your worldview or you'll call them pedophiles and nazis and incest apologists and run them out of town. And what then? When you've crushed the hopes and dreams of every woman writing dark erotica or making beautiful, sensual comics about love and loss, what's left but staring at each other in a creative wasteland and waiting for one of your own to show the tiniest sign of weakness so you can recapture the thrill of moral outrage by ripping them apart. It's a cannibalistic cultural dead end where corporations are our friends and other human beings are the enemy.

I stand with sex workers, with pornographers, with artists of all kinds struggling to make something hot, something vulnerable, something raw and sickening and terrifying. If they fuck it up, well, at least they're a person, not some faceless sea of suits trying to get their arms down my throats to pull out my organs. Enjoy your popcorn movies, your Steven Universe and your X-Men comics, but ask yourself, what are you immersing yourself in by not reaching beyond those things? What is prolonged and overgrown childhood doing to your mind and to your moral sense of the world? Growing up is painful, yes, but if you want to learn to love, to open yourself up to others, to touch the deepest, rawest parts of your psyche and your sexuality, you're going to have to suffer.

From: https://www.patreon.com/posts/25994657

[animentality]

I'm getting angry replies in my Gillette ad posts and I just wanna say.

If you're a man who doesn't do anything that ad was denouncing...then WHY would you be offended by it?

WHY would you be angry and say "not all men are like that?"

Obviously not, if you know you aren't that man.

Or maybe you are. And it angers you to be called out.

Maybe spending all your time dismissing women's valid criticisms of your privileges or their fears about being out alone at night or hatred of being catcalled in public is what makes you an asshole, not being the "core" problem.

Complicity can be more evil than the crime itself.

And ignorance is no excuse.

As far as I'm concerned every man that whines about the Gillette ad can only be one, or all, of three things.

1) the type of shitheads portrayed in the ad. offended of course, because being a shithead is fun and part of "muh" identity. you all can go to hell and tell the devil he left his toothbrush at my house.

2) shitheads who claim women don't have any problems ever and it's in fact men who are the most oppressed by the tyrannical feminist women who abuse men and guilt them into feeling like rapists. Offended of course because they don't care to listen to women's experiences and never believe a woman over a man ever. will always be the type to pull out statistics about more men being homeless than women even though we all know statistics are affected by a multitude of things and can never unilaterally mean just one thing.

Also? No one fucking said men are all garbage or didn't deserve to be taken care of. Feminism at its core asks for equality, and feminism that is based on true moral principles and not self serving egotism asks for a better humanity in which social justice can be achieved.

The Gillette ad literally also asks that we teach boys to be kind to one another, to girls, and to themselves. It also asked for girls to be kind to themselves.

I don't understand how this is an "attack" on all men.

3) the hardline neutral who insists that he doesn't care about feminism or masculinity or whatever, he just thinks the ad is trying to bank off of social justice culture to get more attention.

Which is not wrong, per se, but why not?

I feel like those who are rubbed the wrong way by this ad just don't understand that if you're not a complete shithead, you can forgive it for being "cringy" or "weirdly executed" or whatever criticism you want to throw at it.

If you fundamentally believe in its message, you won't have a problem with it.

If you do fundamentally have a problem with the ad, then you're going to come up with any excuse, neutral or not, to hate it.

"the sjws are taking over" "I hate virtue signaling" "I am no misogynist but this ad is sleazy for trying to bank off social justice"

This ad is not the Pepsi commercial.

It's not banking off of revolution as a hip and cool thing.

It has a message and sure it has little to do with shaving, but the product it's selling has to do with symbols of masculinity doesn't it?

It's relevant enough.

The truth is that if you're enraged by this ad, you're not neutral.

You have this belief in what it means to be a man and apparently that means harassing women with impunity, and then mocking them and claiming it doesn't ever happen, or if it does, then it's not "by you" so obviously it never happens.

I mean seriously, how egotistical do men have to be to watch this ad and say well I've never harassed a woman personally.

So clearly they never get harassed and anyway they're all liars.

Honestly.

Get over yourselves and either realize you're not one of the "bad guys" in the Gillette ad.

Or realize that by supporting the "bad guys," you become an accomplice to that kind of behavior.

And that makes you just as bad, if not worse than them.

[cupofteaguk]

all too well | 09

summary: you and Yoongi shared a loving relationship with one another until you both agreed to end things and pursue your separate careers. but two years later, Yoongi is a member of the ever growing Bangtan Boys, and you are a new makeup artist for their upcoming tour. 

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

genre: idol au, makeup artist au, exes au | angst/smut

word count: 7k

.

Out of all the boys in Bangtan, everyone has always assumed that Yoongi would be the individual most likely to think problems through before attacking them with the full force of a bullet train. He elects to care about very little things in his life, but when he chose to express personal interest in a situation it’s guaranteed that he would put his entire being into ensuring its success. Given that he’s very careful about what to put his heart into, it’s constantly assumed that Yoongi would at least have the common sense to analyze the positive and negatives of his placement before diving in.

But, then again, he’s never really had much of a filter when it comes to you. You would always be that exception, the only tangible object in Yoongi’s life that he could never so neatly observe from an apathetic standpoint. It’s as if his head could never get screwed on straight enough to see reason because the thought of you is enough to make him see stars in the best way possible—and that concept is terrifying beyond belief.

You've always been different in every singular aspect and nothing at its very core could change that, and that very difference is what drives Yoongi out the door. All that calm and collected composure had been unraveling from the moment everyone landed back in Korea, or maybe even in the time frame before that, and the cold hard truth that things might not be the same when you returned eats at his nerves. He doesn't think twice to grab his keys, his bag, literally anything he could get his hands on as he swings open the door of the dormitory.

He ignores the calls of Namjoon and Jimin, vaguely making out the sound of Seokjin chiding Jungkook for encouraging this reckless behavior of the older boy, but Yoongi doesn't care. He doesn't care about any of that. The only thing he can wrap his mind around are the hateful words he spit at you, like fire that burned across your skin and left the most visible of scars underneath the glimmer of your eyes. The flickering, tiny hope that he could get you to understand the weight of his guilt and hopefully forgive him or at least look at him without that hurt look in your eyes keeps his legs moving.

But still, there are so many reasons for him to be doubtful.

His song to you, while it had come from a place of need and longing to finally share the words that have buried him alive since the breakup, only seemed to drive you further and further away.

And now you were going to America. You hadn’t even bothered to tell him. Yoongi doesn’t know why he’s so bothered by that, but he had been hoping that even if you were still wary about the thought of him, the pair of you could still continue on being friends and exchanging the most basic of good news with one another. Like normal friends should or, at least, what normal friends should be capable of doing with one another.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket as he continues pounding his way down the steps of the apartment, too caught up in his own little world of anxiety and desperation and regret that he doesn't hear the sound of footsteps following very shortly behind him. It's only after he has quickly arranged an Uber to take him to the airport and has shouldered open the door of the apartment complex does he feel a hand on his shoulder that startles him out of his trance. He whips around to find Seokjin staring at him, wide-eyed and confused. Yoongi doesn’t blame the older boy. The overwhelming presentation of information must have been too much for all the boys to absorb in just a matter of thirty seconds, especially with all the broken fragments of sounds and hasty accusations he and Jungkook were throwing at one another. Yoongi vaguely wonders if any of the boys are pinning after Jungkook with demands to know the background of the situation, since it's more than obvious that the maknae has just as much of a hand in the situation as Yoongi, if not just a little bit more since it's Jungkook who knew you were going to America in the first place and it was Jungkook who knew all of your flight information.

Yoongi tries to shove Seokjin off, but the eldest keeps his hand tightly wrapped around the shoulder blade. “Hyung, what are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Seokjin repeats, appalled. “What are you doing? Are you really chasing after Y/N now? You're insane!”

Yoongi shoves him away. “Look, Seokjin, I’m a fucking idiot okay? I know it’s a lot of information to take in such a short period of time, but I need you to understand this. Please. I need you to understand that I did something horrible to Y/N and she won’t even look at me, and if I let her go on that plane believing that I hated her and continue to hate her with every fiber of my being then I don’t think I could ever even begin to forgive myself. Please. Just let me do this.”

Seokjin’s eyes are the stormiest shade of brown that Yoongi has ever seen in his hyung. It looks like he has a whole round of protests and realistic statements that he wishes he could make. Yoongi doesn’t know what his own eyes look like, but they feel wide and he can feel the pleading in his own heartbeat. He has never longed for something more desperately than Seokjin’s approval, and that sensation is like a beating drum underneath his fingertips as he swallows and keeps his eyes on Seokjin just as Seokjin keeps his eyes on him.

Finally, Seokjin releases his hold on Yoongi. “Don’t do anything stupid,” He grunts, then sighs. “Stupider, I mean.”

Yoongi turns around and realizes that the Uber he has just called is sitting at the corner curb, a few footsteps from where Yoongi current stands. He turns back to Seokjin and musters the best smile he can manage. But the situation the boy has currently found himself makes the back of his throat tastes like bitter acid and it leaves him wanting to cry and throw up and scream all at the same time.

A wary look back from Seokjin tells him that perhaps the smile looks more like a grimace, but Seokjin doesn’t comment on it and neither does Yoongi, as he finally dashes across the courtyard towards where the Uber is and throws himself into the backseat. He lowers the cap of his hat, and tells the driver to take him to the airport.

He drums his fingers as soon as the car starts moving, shaking his legs, training his eyes nervously out the window as he watches the city lights of his town flash right before his eyes. He checks his phone, reads through your flight information to gather the time that your flight would be leaving the city, and feels like his heart might give out when he realizes that there is still two hours until your flight is set to leave. He momentarily thanks the unspoken rule that individuals flying international are recommended to arrive at least three hours before boarding.

The lurch of the car jerks Yoongi forward immediately as he shifts his gaze from the side window to the front glass between the driver and passenger seat, eyes widening when he sees the rows of red lights in front of him, stretching out for what seems like miles and smiles ahead of him. “What is this?” He snaps with a little more force than necessary.

The driver gives him a look over the shoulder. “Sorry, but the traffic's pretty bad around this time. According to the GPS, it’ll probably take an extra thirty to forty-five minutes to get to the airport. Seems like lots of other people are trying to get out of the city huh?” She’s clearly attempting some humor, if only to ease the stiffness that seems to be permanently stitched into Yoongi’s shoulders, but it only makes his anxiety of the situation worsen.

Maybe he really should have considered Seokjin’s warning before getting into the car.

Don’t do anything stupid. Stupider, at least. That’s what Seokjin had said. And now Yoongi finds himself caught in the middle of the late night weekend traffic. All because he hadn’t checked the time, or thought through the mapping of his situation, or tried to consider alternatives. If alternatives were even an option at this point.

Why did he always have a tendency to lose his mind at the very thought of you? Why did you always have a way of controlling his mind, even when he thought that the time and distance two years had carved would be enough to ease that natural ability you had obtained over the years? Why did he always do stupid things, really stupid things, just for you or because of you?

Yoongi grits his teeth, physically having to restrain himself from barking at the poor driver to go faster even if the physicality from the realms of reality will not allow for such a move. He settles instead with slumping against his seat, running a hand through his hair and letting the time slip past him as he alternates with checking the time on his phone to the time of your flight, only growing increasingly more anxious when real time ticks closer and closer to the 8:00PM flight of your departure. It feels like his mind is going through the shredder, running through honey, drowning out all sounds, as his heart pounds in a way that resonates through the entirety of his body. He can barely make out his driver’s few attempts to make conversation, managing the occasional hums every now and then—and she’s such a talker, Yoongi doubts that she even notices his distracted mindset.

The driver reaches the airport at 7:23PM, and Yoongi is a mad dash and a blur of shadow that finds him dashing out of the car before it comes to a complete stop. He throws more cash than necessary into the passenger seat, too hasty to think about the proper tip he should supply, before he’s out and dashing past the sliding doors into the check-in zone. Lines file out before him for different airlines, the chatter of people not enough to calm the bizarre storm in his mind, the stares and murmurs of immediate recognition leaving him feeling more exposed than ever before.

It is right then and there that Yoongi realizes that in his haste to leave the dorms and get to the airport as quickly as possible, he had forgotten to get in contact with Big Hit to tell him of his whereabouts. He had forgotten that while he may have just been Yoongi out in the private world he shared with the rest of Bangtan and the world he shared with you, things are different out here. In the real world, he's Min Yoongi of the highly popular and highly successful Bangtan Boys, a celebrity of an entirely different level. Stepping out in the way is the same as exposing himself so completely in the face of nosy strangers and fans, paparazzi, all of those little thing he always hated about the life he has inherited coming back to haunt him with the full force of a lightning bolt.

Since he hadn't contacted Big Hit to arrange security or bodyguards, the only people beyond the walls of the studio and the walls of your apartment that could make him feel safe to a certain extent, being alone in the middle of a busy airport makes him feel more lonely than ever before.

He hears the frantic scrambling of people before he can see them, and his legs act of their own accord as he takes down the walkway, dashing past people with suitcases and families awaiting the announcement of their own flight as the screaming behind him increases in volume. "It's Min Yoongi! It's Min Yoongi!" The statement rings like a bell in his ears as he runs, mind scrambling and his lungs feel like they might give out because he most certainly hadn't been expecting to have a run in with fans during his hasty attempts to reach you. If he had known he would be recognized at the drop of a hat, he might have put a little more thought into his decisions.

But again, another classic example of how he could never seen to get his head screwed on straight when it came to you.

Airport security eventually starts to pick up that a celebrity has arrived without warning, without prior arrangement, and they scramble to assign Yoongi in keeping some distance from the screaming girls and fans attempting to shove themselves and their cameras past the bodies. Yoongi feels the terror in his blood, more prominent than ever, because he's never had to shoulder the fright of the BTS fan base on his own. It feels constricting, air leaving his lungs in quick pants as he practically throws himself in the hall of bathrooms, the empty stalls leaving him the opportunity to hunch over the sink.

"Min Yoongi?" A voice calls, echoing along the bathroom as the footsteps follow the movement. A security guard enters the main vicinity, watching as Yoongi attempts to catch his breath.

Yoongi lets out a sigh as he brushes the sweat gathering over his forehead. His skin feels hot to the touch. "Y-Yeah," He manages. "That's me."

"What were you thinking?" The older man inquires, looking incredulous. "Those girls could have ripped your throat out if they got close enough. What are you doing here, arriving without any security of your own or the management of your label?"

"I came here of my own accord," Yoongi explains, straightening slightly as he leans against the counter. "I'm trying to get to someone before her flight takes off." He fishes out his phone and checks the time, nearly paling at the sight. "Which leaves in fifteen minutes." He looks up at the security guard. "Please. You have to help me get to that flight. There's someone about to leave, and I really need to talk to her."

The security guard shifts in his position. "A girlfriend or something?" He must see the defensive flicker in Yoongi's eyes, because he actually throws a smile. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that. It's just that I've never seen anything like this happen before, and I am curious how important this person must be if you need to reach her so badly."

Yoongi runs his hands over each other, feeling the rough skin underneath his touch. "Not a girlfriend," He grumbles. "It's, well, it's complicated. Please. I just need to see her one more time. Do you think you'll be able to make it work for me?"

"Of course we'll try to make it work," The security guard reassures. "I know you can hear them right now, but there is a herd of screaming girls outside the bathroom right now, so it's going to take some time to get more people over here so we can help you reach wherever it is you're going as quickly as possible. You're stuck here in the airport anyways, and you must have come here for a very important purpose.”

Yoongi takes in a few more deep breaths, trying to put a positive spin on the situation, and cursing when he realizes that he's never had too much of a sunshine filter. That kind of title was always reserved for Jimin or Taehyung. Or you.

The bitter tang comes back into his mouth, as does the reminder of the reason he had been forced into this position in the first place. He doesn't ever wish for many things in his life, with the exception of just a handful of extremely important things, but he so desperately wishes that he can reach you in time.

What Yoongi thinks: You probably don't understand how much I need to reach her, but I need to see her so badly it feels as if every bone in my body is breaking underneath the pressure and I've never felt more shitty about anything else in my entire life. If you fucked up your only relationship with the only person you've ever loved more than anything in your life, would you be as calm? Would you have been as thoughtless or careless or reckless to chase after someone so important?

What Yoongi says: "T-Thank you. The sooner I can reach her, the better."

The security guard manages a smile that doesn't give Yoongi the utmost confidence in the situation. The man leaves Yoongi with a final, “I’ll be back as soon as I can" before he disappears out of the bathroom vicinity. Even from where Yoongi stands, he can hear the high pitched screams increasing in volume, making his headache return in full force as he settles with pacing the area, taking in the empty stalls and feeling the time gradually start to slip out from underneath his feet.

He would check his phone every now and then to check the time, blatantly ignoring the other texts and missed calls he has gotten from the other members, knowing that he would get an earful from the boys about his suddenly reckless nature. It's like all of those previous times Yoongi would actually put effort into his thoughts was just adding up for the unfortunate disaster, like a line of consistent thoughts before the storm of reckless abandonment and disregard for everything within reason. Yoongi never thought it would fold out like this, however.

The ten minutes on the clock stares back at him, the time going by much too quickly and much too slowly all at the same time. He wants the security guards to work faster on their promise, or he was going to make a rush for the gate number regardless if the screaming fans were set on tearing him apart limb by limb. He wants the time until your departure to slow down until the blinking of his cell phone is something he no longer has to worry about. He wants everything and nothing and absolutely all those things in between, he wants things to go his way for once, he wants to make things better and right.

But most of all, he just wants you again.

He checks his phone again. Five minutes.

The security guard comes strolling back in as if it's not Yoongi's relationship with the only person who could make him feel grounded is completely at stake. "We're ready now. Which gate is your girlfriend at?"

Yoongi doesn't make a point to try and correct the older man as he says the number set that has practically been burned into his mind and his throat, saying it before he could even stop to think. "It's Gate 42."

The suddenly hesitate look in his eyes doesn't do good things to Yoongi's stomach. "I hear that flight is scheduled for an earlier departure. We better get going."

And so the pair of them depart from the bathroom, Yoongi emerging first and discovering a handful of other airport security either helping clear the area for him to walk through or standing near him for the additional protection. Even though the gesture is rather small, the gravity of it feels like miles of gratuity for Yoongi and he manages the best smile he can muster to the workers as they lead him to gate 42. The screams of fans as they try to poke their head around the guards is almost drowned out by Yoongi's own rushing feet as he paces as quickly as he can down the halls without actually having to run.

He reads the gates in the back of his mind, heart stopping for an earth shattering second when he sees gate 42. He half expects it to be littered with passengers, since there's still another three minutes before the flight is scheduled to leave and of course, last minute passengers should still be boarding. Right?

Instead, he finds the guest area completely devoid of people, not even lingering individuals on their phones or laptops. The sight doesn't do good things to his insides, as he completely freezes in his tracks, letting the panic wash over him like water.

He catches movement of the hostess closing the door leading onto the plane, and feels a burst of movement overcome him as he practically throws himself onto the desk and startles the woman out of her usual closing up routine. "I need to speak to someone on this flight," He says by way of greeting, social norms of proper introduction be damn. This is what happens when he doesn't get the opportunity to rehearse at least the basis of a statement in his mind before letting the words just leave his mouth with no filter whatsoever. "It's important, please."

The hostess gives him a look of complete and utter sympathy. "I'm sorry sir, but the crew inside just finished their final flight check, and are scheduled for an immediate departure. They've already lifted the connecting tube."

"What?" Yoongi inquires, his voice too breathless from the way his heart is suddenly pounding blood excessively through his body, his mind too hazy, his eyes wide, ears trying to strain in order to catch every single word that is leaving the woman's lips. "No, no, no, please, please, it's really important."

Her suddenly sad expression feels like the weight of the entire world has just been dropped clean onto Yoongi's shoulders. "I'm so sorry sir. I would love to help you, but there's nothing I can do right now."

Yoongi opens his mouth to protest again, but what could he say? All the pleading and begging in the world cannot possibly bring you back, cannot generate enough pity for a captain to turn an entire plane around. No one on the flight would appreciate such a gesture either. Everyone has places to go, people to see, countries to visit, jobs to take.

Just like you, and you would leave the soils and the base of Korea thinking that Yoongi did not love you enough or did not care enough or did not need you enough.

The weight of that realization makes it feel as if his heart has been replaced with a stone, as he can physically monitor the sensation of it sinking to the pit of his stomach. He bends his head lower, swallowing thickly, inhaling sharply as his heart beat quickens for reasons beyond running throughout the airport, his face heats up with something other than anger, throat closing up because he missed it. He missed you.

"W-Well," The hostess continues, the sight of seeing Min Yoongi so distraught over missing a flight clearly deepening the knife of guilt further into her chest. "You are more than welcome to watch the plane leave."

It's the last thing Yoongi wants to see, but he appreciates the hostess at least attempting to be kind. He can't muster anything other than a short and simple thank you as he drags himself to the window and presses his hands to the glass just in time to see the plane disembarking from its original standpoint. He gnaws harshly at his bottom lip as he watches the plane direct its way onto the straightaway, picking up speed, dashing down the highway, soaring up and up and up, away from the ground and Yoongi watches with the heaviest heart as it disappears into the sky.

He brings his hands back down to his side, shutting his eyes tightly together to block out the tears and the ringing of failure in his ears and the fact that the worst possible scenario he just thought of has actually happened. He thinks of how you must have looked boarding that plane, thinking with all your heart that you were only worth the string of letters and words he could rap in your ear and nothing more, that you were only worth the phrases of his past and not his present and definitely not his future.

You have left, and he honestly cannot say with much certainty as to how things are going to be when you get back. He tries to picture a world in which you’ve allowed the distance to create a wall, an emotional barrier, between the pair of you. He tries to picture a world where you’ll smile at him but not really smile at him, where you’ll hug him stiffly, and tell him of your endeavors with the same application you would bring to a complete stranger.

The thought absolutely crushes him, stresses him beyond belief. He knows how you get when you’re angry. You detach yourself from situations, you leave for a few hours, and you return with the intention of trying to pretend as if nothing had happened—staying away from the vocal art of talking things out that you’ve struggled with for years. But during those incidents, the situations were never so terrible, and you and Yoongi always found ways around those seemingly insignificant issues.

But now it’s of a completely different scale, and it’s not like he has the power to fallback to a nonexistent relationship to ensure that the pair of you could work through these differences.

He’s never felt more devastated about anything, training his eyes back onto the sky as if the plane would merge from behind the clouds. But of course, it doesn’t, leaving little doubt in his mind that he’s failed and he’s failed you and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do anymore.

.

It would be another hour before Min Yoongi is allowed to leave the airport. Big Hit is contacted during the frenzy, and they arrive shortly after the plane holding you and Yoongi’s heart has disappeared into the sky. It takes awhile to clear things up with press and publicity as everyone wants a different answer to the exact same question: Why was Min Yoongi at the airport? Who was he chasing? Why was he chasing this individual?

Management hides themselves well, telling everyone with a practiced grace that questions pertaining to Yoongi’s emotional state were strictly forbidden. Yoongi does not bother to help with these questions, electing instead to keep to the corner, hunched over in a chair, the hair over his face and the mental replay of the last few hours leaves him completely numb.

He keeps his mouth shut, refusing to indulge about his reasons for running off so recklessly, even when he is safe in the Big Hit company car and questioned by various members of management. It’s unusual for Yoongi to hold himself so quietly, especially after such an extreme incident, but no one presses the topic. Yoongi doesn’t know what he had been expecting, since he cannot stress just how little thought he had put into his evening, but an earful would have been the kind way out. The fact that no one is saying anything about the situation leaves him to believe that perhaps he looks much worse than he had initially thought—and that’s not a comforting thought to ride in silence with. A part of him longs to say something, to ease the tension in the air, but no one makes a shift of movement, and the car ride back to the dorm is probably one of the most awkward in Yoongi’s entire career with Big Hit.

Yoongi can barely spare a means of thanks or a glance over his shoulder before stepping out of the car. The heaviness in his heart at the loss of his utter defeat feels like weights drifting out throughout the rest of his body, equating to a sluggish movement of his feet as he attempts his way up the stairs.

He is so caught up in the hazy events of what exactly has happened to him, even though it's all beginning to feel like a very strange and deluded dream, that he nearly forgets that there are people waiting for him as soon as he unlocks the door to the dorms.

He starts as soon as the first greeting bombards past his thoughts, piercing into his mind, turning to deliver a wide-eyed glance at the boys are gathered around the table. The six pairs of eyes once pierced on Jungkook have swapped to the boy now standing at the door, all expressing the same emotion of curiosity and wonder and all clearly expecting some positive news after all that hassle. “So?” Taehyung inquires, wide-eyed. “Did you reach Y/N in time? What did she say?”

Yoongi collapses into his seat, the emotional drainage finally starting to catch up to him. “She didn’t say anything,” He discloses, keeping his eyes trained on one of the cracks in the wooden table. Didn’t Seokjin mention something about having to get that fixed up?

Jimin looks confused. “What do you mean she didn’t say anything? You mean she rejected you?”

He curses his reeling mind, his sinking heart, his closing throat for hurting him and betraying him when he needed to be confident in front of the others. “It means,” He speaks with a little more force than necessary, the action causing his voice to crack. “That I didn’t make it in time.”

The silence that follows his unexpected confession rings throughout the room as each of the boy’s process the information. Too afraid to see what kind of looks he’s going to get, Yoongi forces himself to turn his gaze as he gnaws on his lower lip and the walls of defense he’s spent the past hour building up comes burning down in one swift statement.

“You mean…” Jungkook inquires softly. “You missed the plane?”

“Y-Yeah,” Yoongi answers, turning his head as far away from the others and their stares as he can physically manage, blinking the tears before it could start falling down his cheeks. It’s a hard sight to not notice, but he’s thankful none of the boys bring it up or point it up or ask for further details: such as what happened when he got to the airport, why was he held up, or how he had gotten back home. “I missed it.”

Feeling as if he might suffocate on the air around him, Yoongi straightens and dismisses himself from the table with the excuse that he longed for nothing more than to take a shower and curl into bed. The whispers from the other boys seem to follow him out of the kitchen like the plague, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if they start taking sides or forming personal opinions about how Yoongi should carry out the next course of action. All he really cares about now is you. And you’re gone.

The amount of stress that has been eating at him ever since he let himself spill out those horrible, horrible words makes him think he might collapse or vomit or fling himself off a bridge or scream or just do anything. He can’t even count how many times he’s skipped meals or missed the opportunity to catch a few hours of sleep simply because he just laid in his bed staring up at the ceiling. All the self-hatred takes itself out on him, leaving him and sick and tired but providing little opportunities of ways around the problem.

He knows what tomorrow will bring, as he steps into the bathroom and settles with locking the door and just sinking to the floor. Tomorrow will bring questions from Big Hit, questions that he will have to answer, questions regarding truth and reason and most importantly, you. It means admitting his love for you, admitting that evening in Beijing and the words following that changed everything.

Yoongi looks down at his hands, lacing fingers together as he tries to picture the next morning. He pictures sitting in the conference room, everyone staring at him and attempting to draw the answers out as to what exactly drew Yoongi cause so much trouble. Would he do it? Would he come clean with his feelings for you and risk the standing of his career just to express that love?

He swallows thickly when the answer seems to jump out at him. Yes.

Yes, of course he would come clean with his feelings. He would scream about it from the top of his lungs, future scandal rumors from websites and nosy fans be damned. Anything to get you to return with the willingness to listen to him, anything to get you to return and commit to Big Hit again, anything, anything, anything.

He tightens his grip around his jeans, everything around him feel tighter and more constricting and he lowers his head, choking on another sob. He wonders if this is what the weight of missed opportunities feels like, the ‘what-ifs’ brewing in his mind like poison as he knocks the back of his head against the door of the bathroom. For a blinding moment, he hates the airport, he hates the screaming girls, he hates security, he hates you; but most of all, he just hates himself.

It takes him thirty minutes too long to take a shower—or should it be called a shower or more of ‘just standing and letting the hot water run down his back’ type of situation. Either way, it takes way too long and it’s nowhere as satisfying as he had pictured.

The boys are still in the kitchen when Yoongi steps through, a towel in his hair, and the halting conversation leaves little to the imagination of what they all had been previously discussing.

“How do you feel now, hyung?” Jimin asks gently.

Yoongi shrugs, not exactly sure how to categorize the desensitized sensation that almost makes he think he won’t be able to feel his stomach in the morning.

“W-Well,” Jimin continues, watching Yoongi settle back into the chair he had previously occupied. “Y/N should be back after a week, right—?”

Jungkook makes a noise in the back of his throat. “A-Actually, she doesn’t have a confirmed return date.” He hastily continues filling in the blanks on the rest of the statement after catching Yoongi’s look that makes him feel as if he’s just kicked the older boy’s dog. “S-She didn’t know if she would get the job or not. And she told me she might want to explore the city before turning back.”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything to that. He simply supplies Jungkook with a side glance, before turning back to scrolling mindlessly through his phone. The action doesn’t sit well with the rest of the boys, who exchange glances like exchanging secrets, before it’s Namjoon who is volunteered to speak next.

“Hyung, maybe you should call her and tell her how you feel over the phone,” Namjoon starts delicately. “It might not bring her back faster, but at least there’ll be an open line of communication—!”

“No,” Yoongi interrupts, straightening up pocketing his phone. He’s still not making complete eye contact with any of the boys, who are all desperately trying to meet his gaze. “I don’t want to burden her right now.”

���But…” Jimin brings up, but a look from Seokjin halts the rest of the conversation, and they all watch as Yoongi drags himself to his bedroom and clicks the door quietly behind him.

.

One week later is met with the blaring of Jungkook’s cellphone and a ringtone that positively echoes throughout the entirety of the dorm. It’s not an ordinary ringtone for an ordinary person, however, it’s one that had been assigned with a certain caller that makes Jungkook spring out of his seat and practically divebomb for the object on the coffee table. “Noona!” He answers at once, and the boys around him halt all their conversations and the video game Hoseok had put on is instantly forgotten.

“Jungkook, hi!” You exclaim on the other side of the line. “How’s it going over there?”

“It’s good,” He answers after a moment, sneaking a glance at Yoongi only to find that the older boy has devoted one hundred and ten percent of unnecessary concentration onto his phone. “How’s it going with you? How did the job interview go?”

“Ah, it went amazing!” You gush at once, all that previous sadness he had left you with relatively gone. “I got the job.”

“Oh wow, congratulations noona!” Jungkook exclaims, sending a nod to Namjoon when the boys ask a question with their eyes. “So they put you to work immediately, huh?”

“Pretty much,” You admit with a sigh. “I meant to call sooner, but I’ve been spending the whole week getting an apartment and getting a work visa, you know all that fun stuff. I don’t actually start working until next week so I’ve just been running around.”

“That does sound pretty exhausting noona,” Jungkook admits, casting another look at Yoongi and electing to stare this time until the older boy returned his gaze. “I’m really happy for you, though.”

“Thank you Jungkook.”

He smiles at the genuine earnesty behind your voice, how truly happy you are and how truly oblivious you are to what you’ve left behind. Jungkook bites his lip. “N-Noona,” He starts a little nervously. “I know now may not be the best time but… I feel like there’s something you need to know.”

He can physically feel the tension in the air start to rise, as if everyone can sense the direction the conversation is heading in. Even Yoongi jerks his head up, the first sharp movement he’s produced since you left Korea. “Jungkook,” Yoongi cuts in sharply. “Don’t.”

“What?” You inquire from the other end of the line. “Jungkook, you’re scaring me. What happened? Is everyone okay?”

“It’s about what happened the night you left,” He continues.

“Jungkook,” Yoongi repeats. “Stay out of it.”

For a moment, Jungkook can hear your voice lowering on the other end of the line. “Is that Yoongi?” You ask, voice quietening considerably.

“Y-Yeah, he’s here,” Jungkook says, leaning back when it looks like Yoongi’s about to blow off his top and manhandle Jungkook off a cliff. Given that the past week has been filled with nothing but vacant stares and curling underneath the covers of his bed until noon, the sight of seeing Yoongi suddenly filled with aggression and negative energy is both an interesting yet terrifying sight to witness. “Noona, you should know. The night you left, I went back to the dorms and—hey!”

Jungkook throws an incredulous look at Yoongi as the older boy practically springs out of his seat and confronts the maknae with all the force of a bullet train. With a strength no one could have seen coming, Yoongi pries the phone out of Jungkook’s hands and hangs up with a forceful jab to the end call button.

All the boys are giving Yoongi a wide-eyed look at the violent gesture of the older boy as Yoongi stands above Jungkook, cell phone clenched tightly in Yoongi’s hand. “H-Hyung…” Jungkook is the first to speak, not having expected the movement.

Yoongi’s glare at Jungkook could scare away small children. “I told you to drop it Jungkook,” He says, voice low. However, even with the angry disposition, it’s easy to see that underneath the layer of aggression is just a version of Yoongi who is too small and too afraid and too desperate to look beyond into a future without you. Underneath all that is just Yoongi trying to hide away from the emotional despair in favor trying to make sure the ‘what-ifs’ would stop haunting him like ghosts of the past. Yoongi emits a sigh when the worried looks of his friends would not let up. “Look, I’ll call her when I’m ready, but you don’t need to fight my battles for me, okay? I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”

He offers the phone back to Jungkook, and Jungkook takes it without another word.

.

Bangtan makes a mutual agreement not to bring up the phone call, mainly out of respect for Yoongi’s own time and willingness to indulge in the subject manner, but also out of fear that slipping out one word involving you would evoke another spark of volcanic eruption on Yoongi’s part.

However, it cannot be helped that the question slips out once or twice—mainly on Namjoon or Jungkook’s part, light-hearted attempts to monitor Yoongi’s emotional state to make sure he wouldn’t do anything too stupid or jump too far off the spectrum. Yoongi typically answers the same way he always does: a glare, a quiet “not yet” or “soon”, and a drop of the conversation entirely.

They all almost think that Yoongi would never give you a call, or never bring you up again, or hide his emotions so deeply underneath the surface until it would come flooding out of him like a dam, until one afternoon when the boy returning back from his afternoon session at the studio. The boy seems surprisingly more upbeat than per usual, a shift in the emotional gear that is immediately taken note of by Jungkook.

“Hey Hyung,” Jungkook greets as he gently pushes forward the bag of chips he had been eating as a casual offering to the older boy. “How was your day?”

“It was fine,” Yoongi answers with a shrug of one shoulder. “I called Y/N today.”

Jungkook straightens in his seat, as does the others within the vicinity. “Did you really?”

He smiles a little, a gesture that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s so much better than the harsh glares that the household has witnessed over the past few weeks that nobody pays any attention to that.

“C’mon hyung, what did she say?” Jimin inquires brightly, poking his head into the kitchen after making sure to put a pause on the video game he had been indulging with Taehyung.

“We didn’t really talk much,” Yoongi replies vaguely, running his fingers across the patterns of the table. “I just… uh, apologized again for what I said. And she forgave me.”

“That’s great hyung!” Jungkook exclaims.

“Y-Yeah.” Yoongi still isn’t looking at anyone. “She, uh, said that she had a lot of time to think about… us while in America and thought that hooking up had been a little reckless for us too. There was a bit more talking, but she said that we could talk about it when she comes back to Korea.”

“So you guys are going to talk about it?” Jimin inquires, brightening as the words seem to sink into his mind. “Hyung, that’s awesome! I’m glad you guys were able to clear the air up.”

Yoongi produces forth a tight smile that no one else seems to notice, given that they’re probably too caught up in their little excitement over the fact that Yoongi finally seemed to mend the bridge that initially appeared too burned down to care for properly. He does one more nod before excusing himself to his bedroom, where he shuts the door and slides down to the floor. Yoongi doesn’t do anything for the quick flicker of a second, merely settling with staring up at the ceiling, before he fishes out his phone from his back pocket.

He opens up his phone app, scrolling through the call history button, thumb lingering over and eyes trained hard on the fact that his most recent call had been to Seokjin. One week ago. You are nowhere on his call history and have not been on his call history for the past two years.

He thinks back to his story with the boys—how their eyes had been coated with excitement and relief, how they seemed to have rid themselves of the sympathetic look in their gaze that seemed to be permanently etched everytime one of them looked at Yoongi. To say he grew tired of their worries, as reasonable as it truly is, would be an understatement.

And besides, it may have been a lie—but it’s not like they would find out the truth, and it’s not like you were coming back soon, and even if you did he would reach you before the boys before his lie could unravel. Min Yoongi knows what he’s doing. He’s just trying to get through the next few months of his life.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | epilogue

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Romania to Eurovision with an edgy plea for a return of special someone

To be honest, I wasn’t that on board with Selecția Națională 2019, like, at all. I get that scandals happened and three songs withdrew from the comp. at various stages due to various reasons, but Romania is just Romania to me somehow. Well there were a few overall gems (some of them out of the finals too), but I just couldn’t be bothered to waste my Sunday evenings on a single broadcast of it. Plus, I was never that swayed by the two big fanwanks from here anyway, so I’m glad they flopped lol.

But maaaan did I have a bone to pick with the people reacting to it. Especially towards the Wiwi jurors. Look, there’s such a thing called as “song growing on you” and “performance elevating the song”, as well as the one that goes “getting over it”. Surely these aren’t make belief concepts of life, hmm? I’m not one of those people who prefer a song more or less thanks to its performance, but there are some good ones that occasionally change my opinion on a song, especially a ‘boring’ one! And thanks to those terrible people, some of Wiwibloggs videos were unfairly attacked with dislikes, and mind you, not only on the Romanian NF interviews that don’t have the current Romanian subject of choice, no - both first-reaction-after-qualifying-to-A-Dal-2019-final interviews (that were of these two) too. And it’s not even the first time a televote winner doesn’t win the NF so you should have SHUT. THE FUCK. UP. (- Penn Jilette) Clear? (:

(lol this is all directed to the people from like three months ago, obviously now that the writeup is late the drama has cooled down A LOT, especially in the light of Ukraine’s events and the actual dust of this Euroseason where everyone made amends with everything, but I can’t help but keep what I thought of this initially because I just wanted to write something for Romania as I didn’t have anything else to say until I remembered the drama so)

So here’s that one controversial subject that unexpectedly slayed the poor man’s “Fuego” and that one homophobic teen by hitting it hard by an extremely unbalanced jury vote (and 24 points to it coming from that core Wiwibloggs duo, no less) and her on-stage couch possessing - the half-local half-Canadian little to no known artiste, Ester Peony, who conquered all in her homeland “On a Sunday”, as her songtitle says (haha bad puns whoop.) Is it any more mesmerizing over the two fanwank fanflops, or is it, just like Wiwi said at first, ‘boring’? Hmm...

It starts of bluesy, with the Western-movie-sounding-pop guitar twangs accompanying the sound, and Ester begins reminiscing her love that left her on a Sunday of September, later followed by snap percussion. And deep inside she wants that person to come back “to [her], to [her], to [he-eeee-eeee-er], eh, eh, eh, eh”. She begs and pleads for the return for her loved one, as I believe the absence deeply upsets her (smoke from the ashtray, everything’s so cold an gray, loving is a hard price to pay) and eats her up from the inside to a degree. I never had someone to leave me like that on a whatever the day was, but I feel for Ester’s song’s protagoniste.

Here are some interesting things I find in this song: its progressive intensity; the decision of putting a 3rd verse up in the place of the bridge; right after some additional “eh eh eh eh” after the chorus (bridges are usually of completely different vocal line ways); cool voice of the singer’s; the strings; the beat... and the fact that it’s described as “electro-pop”. Pop I might get, in fact it sometimes reminds me of those older Billboard chart topper songs from mid-00s por so, or that it could have been one of those kind of songs. You needed just to give it to a popstar relevant of the time and voilà - a hit! Electro... not quite sure on this one. Maybe the bass that occurs in the 2nd and 3rd verses indicates something on it but that’s all.

And man do I hate to say this but the song's attitude is something that makes me wanna scream sometimes. It occasionally happens when I stop feeling so happy clappy for a song a few listens later because I just don't feel like caring about it anymore and that it starts making me feel some sort of a soulache because I trusted it in the first place. Kinda like "Funny Girl", Latvia 2018: I actually didn't mind it at first but its desperation got on my nerves a whole lot that I got completely irritated. "On a Sunday" has enough elements that I like to keep the irritation feeling at bay, but I doubt that even they will not make me want to smash a chair everytime I hear that chorus again... you think you can suppress your smugness overtime, song? Think again about it later

Oh and there's a supposed revamp, I doubt I would be able to feel any better about that song that way, as long as my mind just automatically recognizes Ester's singing as "whining" for some reason. It probably will make me feel less worse if I see a stage show similar to the absurd mess one from the NF where shit happens and Ester's just chilling on a chair. Game of Loans? Student loans? It was random but I definitely appreciated the scarlet madness all surrounding it. I hope to maybe see something similar in Tel Aviv - edgy imagery, why not. Bring on the candles and the ravens.

To summarize, I don’t think it’s a bad song at all. It’s daring, it’s badass, it's kickass, it comes right at you, grabs you in and you adapt to it however you can be able to. However...

Approval factor: I still have mixed feelings about passing it off as something approvable, but objectively I would like to do so. Good for you to try something different, Romania.

Follow-up factor: Anything at least half-decent is a fine follow-up after The Humans’s mediocrisms (I’m helping the dictionary to have more words, one construction at a time!). I liked the Humans more though and Ester... sort of? But in general context, Ester’s a fantastic successor.

Qualification factor: Somehow this did not sound like a definite Eurovision qualifier to me, so at one point I thought it would be just missing out... but it’s a complete effing borderline of a song. At one point it sounds good enough for a filler qualifier, at another it’s just not qualifying somehow. We’ll see how she rehearses it up in two days, though.

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

I think there’s nothing more I can say about Selecția Națională (refered to as SN from this point onwards) than I already said in the intro, so let’s get to the moments, shall we? ;)

• So what else do I have to say about the fanwank-esses that hasn’t been said? Well, on one hand you have an Amazon-jungle-tribal version of “Fuego”, “Army of Love”, performed by Bella Santiago (who had one of my favourite SN entries last year lmao), who went all out with body paint and wild choreo and a rap bridge in Tagalog (one of Bella’s native languages) to make it all sound slightly different than “Fuego”, but still, that pre-chorus just feels like a pitched-down “Fuego” from a B minor to a G flat minor, with the same acoustics and the beat, and the drop is some limp-ass Amazon flutery magic. On the other hand you have a 16 year old Laura Bretan with an poperatic ode to her “Dear Father” which was praised for her insanely good vocal skills (I forgot what’s that called... an alto? soprano? mezzo-soprano? sorry I know a lot about music but not a lot about those ranges) more than the song itself... there’s a big problem about Laura though as people found out that she does not believe and/or condone a marriage between same-sex people. For Eurofans that’s a major red flag as as of lately Eurovision is very LGBTQ+ friendly and having had Laura next to people like Bilal or Mahmood would have probably been concerning if she knew of them having had boyfriends... Like I said, neither of those are special. Imo people loved Bella’s song because of the “Fuego” vibe and people loved Laura’s song because of her voice combined with her age. I said what I said. (Oh and there was a missed opportunity for Il Volo and Laura to reunite this year in Eurovision had they only been chosen in their NFs.)

• Screw these gals, now here come on the real faves of mine - another rock band, obviously, and that’s Trooper. No but for real, could at least ANY country have sent a rock song this year? It could have even been San Marino for all I cared but this year is so MoR without a rock entry... Trooper’s “Destin” sounds like something coming out from an epic fable about legendary heroes fighting for their glory of the nation by slaying goblins with wearing medieval costumes (with a sleeveless top and metal armor for the chest), bearing their long hair and looking strong and hunky. Lai-lai-la-la-la-lai!

• Now what were the other competing entries I liked? There were quite a few like the folk bop titled “D A I N A” and sung by Letiția Moisescu and Sensibil Balkan, then Teodora Dinu’s captivating pop tune “Skyscraper” and a really catchy non-qualifier entry by a band Steam, named “The Way It Goes”... no really Romania, why’d you let that flop... and why did you also let 2 Gents flop... and moreso importantly WHY DID YOU LET THE FOUR FLOP??? That’s like the best football-anthem-esque song I’ve heard in a while... such a shame it didn’t appear on the national selection’s final. Oh well. Poor those 4 young souls.

• Now what were those 3 (actually 4) withdrawals? First one was concerning the first ever Romanian representative Dan Bittman and his own problems so he couldn’t return to a NF and be one of the potential returning artists to Eurovision. Then there was this Australian-Romanian chick named Xonia who withdrew for seemingly no reason, all last minute. There was one more withdrawal from a semi-regular SN participant Xandra too, as well citing unknown reasons. And then there’s Mihai (or as he likes calling himself nowadays, M I H A I) who once again wanted to return to Eurovision (no wonder his Eurovision 2006 song was called “Tornero” lol) with an entry, and this one is called “Baya”. And then he went on an epic quest of flopping - firstly by withdrawing his song last minute from SN claiming that it’s corrupted, then considering to return as a wildcard, then thinking on to latching on to Eurofest in Belarus, but gotten sick last minute and therefore perma-cancelled his NFs journey this year entirely by not appearing on the Eurofest auditions. <3 Not to mention he’s a bit of a creep by subjecting people to his nude pictures with just him in his underwear. dude you’re almost 40, stop doing that to the kids. you’re not even a “daddy”. just look how alien you look on your song’s thumbnail:

• Netta continues her guest appearances on various NFs, such as in UK and in Spain (in spirit, as it was just the Triunfitos singing “Toy” at the beginning of the ESC OT Gala). This one even had her singing her newest song “Bassa Sababa” alongside “Toy”. Oh and there also was one of the Festivali i Këngës 56 alums coming by, Inis Neziri, to perform something for Romania after having won a music competition in Romania, and here’s her performance. But did she even have anything interesting in her backdrop as this?

We know you did Netta sweetie but do you honestly need to reminds us? I did not see Eleni doing shit like this and I don’t want you to do the same. Well if anything I am glad Netta only gracefully performed “Toy” on EYD 2019 (which I missed in my “National Final bonus” section for the UK’s review (as well as them reminiscing Eurovision’s best moments) but frankly I don’t think you cared anymore about it when you learned I was gonna write so many long-ass paragraphs, so yeah)...

• So what was the exact thing again that made everyone such bitter Betties? Well, everyone foresaw Bella and Laura battling it out in this NF, having succesfully qualified together. They even did well in the televote. But then the jury vote happened, and it included the God-forbidden Wiwibloggs duo voting separately and usualy picking all the similar favourites based on performances. They were very pleased with Ester Peony’s on-stage chair prop and her dramatic mess so they gave her their 12s. INDIVIDUALLY. And that’s one of things that pushed Ester higher for the win, despite only having 3 points from the televote lol. But the worst part about it is their opinions: they have praised “Dear Father” so much for mostly the same reasons others praised it so much as well, and were stunned. A what they thought of Ester’s song? That it’s boring. And their mindset switched when voting on this NF, with 12ing Ester and only giving a few feeble points to Laura. That’s where the backlash ensued - not when Emmelie de Forest (yep she was in the jury too) did not give any points to Bella Santiago’s song - just for that notion alone. Maybe it was because of a REASON. Laura’s song in the end is just an uninteresting pop ballad with some additional vocal exercising (too flawless that you even tire from flawlessness), Ester at least brought something to liven up her song, and maybe Wiwis changed their opinion accordingly by not being enthused by Laura anymore! And what’s the problem with that, eh eh eh?.. oh right, y’all accusing Wiwibloggs having rated Laura down because she’s a homophobe. Real friggen’ obviously because of that, you guys. NOT. Grow a brain a bit, will ya. (and even a contestant named Linda Teodosiu was pissed about Wiwibloggs not giving her enough points lmao... her song was a typical ”rent a NF songwriter” spiel so she has no effin’ reason to be mad her ‘originality’ wasn’t awarded lol.)

Worth noting that one of the other reasons people were mad that the juryvote points overpowered the televote big time (like 7 juror votes against 1 set of televotes - inequal) and therefore did not even listen to what they had to say (again, Ester had 3 freaking televote points lol). It’s a thing y’all should get used to - juries overrating an act one way or the other, against the televote’s will. It’s a given nowadays, remember. I know y'all Romanians wanted to scream "ESTER IS NOT OUR WINNER WE HAVEN'T DECIDED HER WE WANT BELLA/LAURA!!!" but that's the truth with the juries.

And thankfully, that is, what I think, all you need to remember from the SN headache this year. Fortunately it’s much smaller than the last year’s headache that, aside from 60 songs in total for 5 semis (!!!), also had a very strictly eliminative system that had 3 qualifiers each from a semi decided by juries ONLY (geez not even A Dal does that!), only to soften things up by having everyone fall down on televote’s hands only during the final. And then the final had the drama on its own. But if I reminisced it all on here, we’d be taking more than just all day, so it’s best that I stop this here and now, for all of ya who are already tired of all this waffle.

Good luck to Ester! and may all of your fans see you performing on a Saturday :)

[a-wandering-fool]

From the article:  (it’s long, but interesting)

====================

Anyone who starts his “12 Rules for Life” with:

Stand up straight with your shoulders back

and ends it with

Pet a cat when you encounter one on the street

deserves a hearing.

I first read about Jordan Peterson from the left–from people hell bent on attacking this person as a racist, misogynistic, hateful little man who thinks governments should be involved in arranging marriages and who puts off everyone he meets.

Which is odd to me, because the world is full of racist, misogynistic, hateful little people–I live in the South, after all, and I’ve seen plenty–and why this particular “racist, misogynistic, hateful little man” deserves any particular attention simply because he wrote a book–again, the world is full of racist, misogynistic, hateful little people who actually write books.

And when the Left focuses on a specific individual like a laser beam, well, you know there is something going on behind the scenes.

Locally the issue came to a head when the local Indy Week rag wrote a piece calling “controversial” Jordan Peterson “regressive, backward, and hate-mongering”.

And the city of Durham, not to be outdone in its virtue signaling a few months ago when it banned cops from visiting Israel for training, decided to denounce Jordan Peterson.

Well, with credentials like this, it’s worth checking this guy out. So what sort of hateful anti-Left-wing bullshit is this guy spewing? Should I get the popcorn out? Do we have our Canadian version of Ann Coulter, who is rather famous not for saying anything really smart, but for exchanging barbs with the barbs the Left feels free to fling at conservatives?

So of course I went to YouTube.

And found… well, a 12 part series on The Psychological Significance of the Biblical Stories. A series on an earlier book of his, Maps of Meaning: The Architecture of Belief. An earlier series on Personality and Its Transformations.

Of course you also have the mismash of politically oriented stuff–some revolving around his refusal to abide by a Canadian law which requires him to use transgender friendly pronouns, on the grounds that the law impinges on his freedom of expression by curtailing his ability to speak, and further: requiringcertain modes of speech on pain of legal action.

But if you ignore the mismash of political stuff–what you have seems more like a modern Joseph Campbell and his The Hero with a Thousand Faces, not Rush Limbaugh and his The Way Things Ought To Be.

I have only watched the first video of Jordan Peterson’s series on the Bible–and in it he sort of rambles but seems to make a few core points: that the Bible is, at least in part, observations on how people live and how they should live. That one can think of “chaos” as “that which we do not know”, and the transition to “that which we are able to talk about” passes through a dream-like “that which we know but cannot put into words.”

And that when God created the heavens and the earth:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. (John 1:1)

This describes at a psychological level the process of going from chaos to order–from the unknown through the dream state to that which can be spoken about.

Okay, so we have a psychologist turned modern-day Joseph Campbell, whose “12 Rules” start with “Stand up straight with your shoulders back.”

This is someone worth reading.

So I bought the book, because now I’m curious what this “regressive, backward, and hate-mongering” “little man” has to say.

From his introduction:

I proposed in Maps of Meaning that the great myths and religious stories of the past, particularly those derived from an earlier, oral tradition, were moral in their intent, rather than descriptive. Thus, they did not concern themselves with what the world was, as a scientist might have it, but with how a human being should act. I suggested that our ancestors portrayed the world as a stage—a drama—instead of a place of objects. I described how I had come to believe that the constituent elements of the world as drama were order and chaos, and not material things.

Which agrees with my understanding of the intent of the great religions of the world, and with the intent of the Native American storytelling tradition, of which I’m a little more familiar. Basically the elders did not believe that there was a literal Coyote God who could eat shit and shit food, who was a trickster who periodically had adventures with an Eagle God who was responsible for shading us from the beating rays of the sun. Instead, they believed in the dream-like transition from the unknowable Chaos beyond the camp fire to the spoken word of reality, and that all sorts of things lived in this “dream-like” world which could tell us something about how to live our lives.

And he said something in his introduction which took me by surprise by it’s blinding obviousness:

… I integrated all of that, for better or worse, trying to address a perplexing problem: the reason or reasons for the nuclear standoff of the Cold War. I couldn’t understand how belief systems could be so important to people that they were willing to risk the destruction of the world to protect them. I came to realize that shared belief systems made people intelligible to one another—and that the systems weren’t just about belief.

People who live by the same code are rendered mutually predictable to one another. They act in keeping with each other’s expectations and desires. They can cooperate. They can even compete peacefully, because everyone knows what to expect from everyone else. A shared belief system, partly psychological, partly acted out, simplifies everyone—in their own eyes, and in the eyes of others. Shared beliefs simplify the world, as well, because people who know what to expect from one another can act together to tame the world. There is perhaps nothing more important than the maintenance of this organization—this simplification. If it’s threatened, the great ship of state rocks. It isn’t precisely that people will fight for what they believe. They will fight, instead, to maintain the match between what they believe, what they expect, and what they desire. They will fight to maintain the match between what they expect and how everyone is acting. It is precisely the maintenance of that match that enables everyone to live together peacefully, predictably and productively. It reduces uncertainty and the chaotic mix of intolerable emotions that uncertainty inevitably produces.

“I came to realize that shared belief systems made people intelligible to one another—and that the systems weren’t just about belief.”

And people would rather destroy the world than have their belief systems destroyed–because it is our belief systems which turn Chaos into Order, and the chaos of destroying the world may be preferable to the chaos of disbelief, because at least we went out fighting before Chaos consumed us all.

Which is fucking profound, when you think of it.

His books speak to several ideas: that life is suffering, that the Cross of Christ is a symbol representing the World (most churches are built as a model of a Cross) in its representation of suffering and redemption. And “suffering” is no idle term: “Because we are vulnerable and mortal, pain and anxiety are an integral part of human existence.”

We must have something to set against the suffering that is intrinsic to Being. We must have the meaning inherent in a profound system of value or the horror of existence rapidly becomes paramount. Then, nihilism beckons, with its hopeless and despair.

To Jordan Peterson, then, we are caught between the loss of belief that renders life hopeless and makes conflict inevitable on the one hand, and the rigidity of ancient belief which traditionally segregated us into tribes who inevitably conflicted on the fringes. And while we have been withdrawing from the later:

In the West, we have been withdrawing from our tradition-, religion- and even nation-centred cultures, partly to decrease the danger of group conflict.

…

While writing Maps of Meaning, I was (also) driven by the realization that we can no longer afford conflict—certainly not on the scale of the world conflagrations of the twentieth century. Our technologies of destruction have become too powerful. The potential consequences of war are literally apocalyptic.

We’ve opened ourselves to the former: to the nihilism and lack of meaning that makes life intolerable and hopeless.

So what is the middle path–between rigidity of thought which led to the conflicts of the last century and the hopeless and despair which opens us to Totalitarianism: to the strong man who takes advantage of our meaningless?

During this time, I came to a more complete, personal realization of what the great stories of the past continually insist upon: the centre is occupied by the individual. The centre is marked by the cross, as X marks the spot. Existence at that cross is suffering and transformation—and that fact, above all, needs to be voluntarily accepted. It is possible to transcend slavish adherence to the group and its doctrines and, simultaneously, to avoid the pitfalls of its opposite extreme, nihilism. It is possible, instead, to find sufficient meaning in individual consciousness and experience.

How could the world be freed from the terrible dilemma of conflict, on the one hand, and psychological and social dissolution, on the other? The answer was this: through the elevation and development of the individual, and through the willingness of everyone to shoulder the burden of Being and to take the heroic path.

And that is what I’ve found in his book, “12 Rules for Life:” not a disrespectful diatribe against Leftism. But a paean to individualism–one which starts with the rule “Stand up straight with your shoulders back” by observing that Lobsters, whose evolutionary existence goes back 350 million years or more, form hierarchies to determine access to constrained resources. There are mechanisms in the lobster’s brain which regulate the balance of serotonin and octopamine based on where the lobster is in the social hierarchy: the higher in the hierarchy, the greater the serotonin, the more confident the lobster in defending his territory. The lower the lobster is in the social hierarchy, the lower the serotonin, the more energy the lobster spends insecure in its position. Low enough on the social hierarchy, and the lobster’s brain chemistry starts a self-destructive spiral which will eventually kill the lobster, removing it as a potential mate–because evolution serves packs, not individuals.

Nature is cruel.

It also means the hierarchies we humans form dates back nearly a third of a billion years.

In one of the more staggering demonstrations of the evolutionary continuity of life on Earth, Prozac even cheers up lobsters.

So when you stand up straight with your shoulders back, you signal to others that you are important. And in the process, you convince yourself that you are important.

Because you are.

And he even points out two things you can do when your internal 1/3rd of a billion year old system of internal social ranking malfunctions, making you more anxious and making you feel less important than you are:

Wake up at the same time every day. It’s less important when you go to bed than when you get up–anxiety and depression is linked to an irregular waking schedule.

Eat a fat- and protein-heavy breakfast as soon as possible on awaking (and avoid simple carbohydrates and sugars). “This is because anxious and depressed people are already stressed, particularly if their lives have not been under control for a good while. Their bodies are therefore primed to hypersecrete insulin, if they engage in any complex or demanding activity. If they do so after fasting all night and before eating, the excess insulin in their bloodstream will mop up all their blood sugar. Then they become hypoglycemic and psych​ophys​iologi​cally unstable. All day.”

I have had many clients whose anxiety was reduced to subclinical levels merely because they started to sleep on a predictable schedule and eat breakfast.

I can see how, to some, he can be a very dangerous thinker in today’s world where nihilism and lack of meaning have become fashionable. After all, for the past 100 years we learned that “meaning” can lead to World War. And with today’s weapons, another World War could end the world entirely.

But as I noted at the start, anyone who starts his rules with “stand up straight with your shoulders back” and ends with “pet a cat when you encounter one on the street”, whose rules include “assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t” and “do not bother children when they are skate-boarding”–they deserve a hearing.

And as someone who strongly and unreservedly believes in Individualism and in individual Will, and in the paradox of sacrifice that underlies the heroism of performing one’s true Will–what I’ve seen so far seems like a breath of fresh air.

====================

[tobns]

SNOWED IN: A (Tragic) Christmas Story — part one.

In Which Jackie Jinxes It (Hell Freezing Over, That Is)

There’s a saying that exists – a tad obscure, but a rather accurate saying nonetheless: a true friend’s silence hurts more than an enemy’s rough words. I’m not quite sure who came up with that soundbite of wisdom, but they must have lived on the same wavelength as me for a short period of time. Silence coming from the people that at one point, meant the most to you, stings more than digging out bullets that came from the gun of someone who hates your guts. It’s a bitter pill that’s hard to swallow down, and the only cure that I’ve ever found is to dilute the hollow ache into overall numbness is to just fill yourself with endless other things and people as best you can, and leave absolutely no time to dwell on other thoughts. It’s relatively foolproof.

Relatively is the operative phrase, of course; somehow, I got tripped up in a few loose wires in my oh-so-easy, rock-solid method in avoiding the aftermath of radio signals going quiet. The push that triggered my fall was unlocking my phone to see a new text message waiting for me on the lockscreen.

Jennifer Lawrence is the type of person that swears they don’t need a cell phone, regardless of the situation they find themselves in. She could be out in the middle of the Nevada desert, stranded, on the verge of dehydration, and her chances of survival would be better without the aid of a phone to call for help. She’s attained the level of fame that having only one cell phone no longer cuts it; there’s a work cell phone, a celebrity-personal cell phone, a personal personal cell phone, the whole nine yards and then some. Jen never even liked being the owner of a laptop, so the fact that I’m supposed to believe she has actually picked up a phone for a reason other than being within an inch of her life, much less having used emojis (Jennifer Lawrence is not an emoji person) doesn’t fly. In fact, all it does is signal the arrival of the body snatchers to Planet Earth.

So, there I was, staring down at the glowing screen of my phone with a well-written, proper grammar and punctuation included, paragraph long text message from none other than my former costar whom I haven’t heard from since I turned seventeen looking back up at me, the three emojis tacked on at the end a downright mockery. I briefly contemplated on checking the Internet to see if any news had broken on Jennifer Lawrence’s phone falling into the possession of hackers, and when I tried sending a response to debunk the ridiculousness once and for all (asking if it was really her, if she was sure she had the right number, and the request of a picture of her holding up three fingers for solid proof) all I got was evidence that it really was her and she was as serious as a heart attack. I very quickly decided that the body snatching alien theory was the soundest – I’d give them credit too; these body snatchers were outrageously convincing.

Most of the feeling of having the rug ripped out from underneath my ass came from a place of solitude that I’ve somewhat cocooned myself into over the last few years. Isolating myself away from my former core group of friends just…happened, really. It wasn’t like it took that much work. We were all on different paths, and we still are – just because we all avowed to be friends for life doesn’t mean that life isn’t going to have a few surprises up its sleeve. I’m not fourteen anymore, and I tried not to take too much offense when the numbers started dropping. Most, if not all of us have grown up substantially. It’s completely normal to grow apart and go our separate ways without being the wiser, it’s simply a part of life that occurs. And it didn’t bother me any either, until I’d catch a glimpse of the picture on my night table of myself, Jackie, Dayo, Alexander, and Amandla that I for some reason cannot bring myself to change out and get the overwhelming urge to call all of them at once or cry. I’d usually go with the third option, which was stuffing myself up underneath the covers and sleeping it off.

But now, morning has arrived and Jennifer’s got both hands on the curtains as she yanks them open to wake me up and almost blind me in the process. I’m slightly disoriented, trying my best to remember how in the hell I got to this point. Once upon a time, I had the hard reputation of being the most optimistic in the group – which is a hard lie, seeing as how for as long as I have known him, nothing has been able to sway Dayo of his belief that Tupac is still alive on an island somewhere – and yet here I am, triple-checking the truth value of a text from Jen because I’m simply finding it all that hard to believe.

I took Jen’s long, emoji-filled invitation and ran with it regardless, all the way past my frowning mother to JFK where I’m now waiting on a red-eye flight to Aspen, Colorado. Spending the holidays with Jen was something that didn’t even make the list of things that would ever possibly cross my mind, but I didn’t have anything else to do. It seemed like it’d be fun, much more so than trying to help carry the last-minute Christmas tree up the stairs in the high-rise apartment complex my mother lives in.

Airports are less than pleasant, especially late at night and when alone. I don’t like them much to begin with, but usually I have Madeline or Elina to keep me company – my mom being the preferred choice, as Madeline is on one of two wavelengths at an airport: talk to no one, or bitch at everyone. It’s just me this go ‘round, my only companion the steady flow of noise as surrounding gates are called to board, televisions playing the news, and people around me engage in actual conversations with one another. This is the last place on Earth I want to be, and my face conveys that plain as day.

I’m halfway towards a cat nap, the only plausible option as of what to do with myself before they call my flight to board, when my ears pick up the sound of one particular voice over all the rest.

“Excuse the hell out of me, I didn’t realize that I would be boarding Air Force One this evening!”

On instinct, I sit up a little straighter in this ridiculous chair that is designed to give its occupants a future of poor posture. There’s only one voice that I’ve ever heard in that strangled of a tone, and there’s only one person that would string such words together in the most inappropriate location possible. Spoiler alert: they belong to each other.

Turning around in my seat, I wish I could say that I’m surprised to see Jack Quaid huffing and puffing his way towards the same empty gate I’ve stationed myself at, but I’m not. Surprise is no longer an emotion I feel whenever I come into the vicinity of Jack Quaid.

“Honestly, you’ve been to enough airports in your measly lifetime, why are you acting as though the world has ended over TSA confiscating your bear repellent?” Another voice is added into the mix over the commotion, and the options of who could possibly be with Jack and discussing bear repellent like it’s the daily weather report quickly dwindle down to one. I ask myself if there will ever come a day when I don’t accidentally run into these people. “And why the hell did you have bear repellent in your bag to begin with?”

“We’re going to fucking Colorado, Jacqueline, why would I not pack bear repellent?”

“We’ll be in Colorado, not the middle of fucking nowhere!” she barks in retaliation. I don’t see how they haven’t drawn anyone else’s attention – they’re not exactly good at keeping things at a volume that is to themselves. Jack lets out a long, agitated groan, before puffing out his chest and his voice lifts an octave, all matter-of-fact.

“You just remember this when a bear comes along and you need me to save you.”

Judging by the look on Jackie’s face, she’s considering taking her suitcase and using it to run Jack over. “We are not going to be attacked by bears, and like you would ever be able to hold your own against a bear that wasn’t Winnie the Pooh!”

“I genuinely do not know why I bother spending any time with you,” Jack declares dramatically. The two of them go strolling right past me without giving me so much as a second glance – really feeling the love – when I decide to make my own grand entrance into their conversation.

“It’s because you two are lowkey lovers; you just don’t bother admitting it to anyone even though we’ve all known that you’ve had this little fling going on since the Catching Fire premiere.” Jackie’s head is the first to whip around, fast enough to break her neck and her eyes feral as they land on me. Jack drops his suitcase handle, it clattering onto the floor. It looks as though he may have suffered a minor heart attack from my little intrusion.

They’re burning holes in me as they gape, not a single word to be had between the two of them – which, really, is a feat – and I shrug. “What?” I ask, my lips already beginning to curl up into a smirk. “Did I get it wrong or something?”

It seems as though I have shorted the circuit in Jackie’s brain as she blinks at me in a rapid secession. “Yes, hi Isabelle, it’s so lovely to see you too!” I mimic her, standing up with my arms outstretched for a hug.

Jack seems to shake free of his dumbstruck state before Jackie does, claiming the hug meant for her as his own. “Are you sure you’re actually Isabelle?” he questions. “I mean, the whole evil genius bit is still true to character, but last time I checked, Isabelle was much scrawnier. Had real chicken-y legs and bony elbows.”

To prove a point, I ram one of my elbows into his chest. He winces, nodding. “Yep,” he mutters. “Still bony.”

I turn to face Jackie, holding my arms open once again for her. The look of shock has somewhat dissolved from her features as her eyes meet mine. One of my eyebrows quirks. “Going off on a honeymoon?” I tease.

Jackie’s voice is back from wherever it vanished off to for a few moments. “Nope, try Jen’s.” She folds into my hug at an angle, tucking herself underneath my arm. Those last few inches of my growth spurt, as well as Jackie’s barely-there sandals finally set me taller than her, even though it’s not a hard thing to do to start. Jackie’s always been the shortest out of us Hunger Games kids.  

Jackie has also been the only one out of the bunch I’ve bothered to keep in touch with over the years. There was no trial or tribulation life could hurtle in the way of our friendship that could scratch the surface – she and I had become instant best friends meeting all those years ago and nothing really had an effect on that. She and I liked to think that we were platonic soulmates, and nothing as pesky as distance could dent that. Jack was sort of part of the package deal that came along with Jackie. Just like her mood swings, impromptu Harry Potter marathons, and week-long vegan stints, Jack was something that you got when you signed up for a friendship with Jackie. I saw him less than I saw Jackie, but much more than anyone else out of our little Hunger Games cult.

“Am I wrong to assume you’re here for that very reason as well?”

“Nope, because you’d be very correct.”

“Then I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you got the exact same text message as us,” Jackie continues, glancing up at me.

“What, the one with perfect grammar and more emojis than we thought Jen knew how to use?”

“That’d be the one.”

Jack sidles up beside me, draping one of his arms around my shoulders. “Isabelle,” he begins, channeling his inner car salesperson. “You’d agree with me that because we’re going to be out in the wilderness for the next few days, it’s only sane that we arm ourselves with necessities such as bear repellent—"

“Give it a fucking rest already!”

After only just barely serving as the wall between Jack’s throat and Jackie’s claws, the two of them join me in my little corner of our flight’s gate. Not only has Jen apparently decided to play the ever so gracious host over the holidays by extending her vacation home to us, but she’s posted the three of us up with first class plane tickets. Here I’d thought it was just Jen trying to make up for the missed birthdays by at least letting me fly in style halfway across the country.

It’s easy to fall back into a routine of sorts with Jackie and Jack, like no time has passed at all. Jack’s telling me all about the alcoholic beverages I ought to try in February (I hate to crush even more of his dreams and tell him that I’ve spent my fair share of time in Europe over the last few years and for my nineteenth birthday, Madeline got me a fake ID as a present) and Jackie’s giving me the full synopsis of her musical, practically trying to sell the lead role to me. For a moment, I almost feel like I’m fifteen once again and time hasn’t passed me by at all. There’s a part of me that’s tempted to check my phone’s background and see if it’s reverted back to me on Dayo’s back with a giant sparkler held over his head from my birthday party.

“Can I ask you a question, Izzy?” Jack asks for permission, the arm that isn’t draped around Jackie’s shoulders lifting in mock arrest. “And you have to promise me that you won’t get offended or throw the knife in your underwear at my head when I do.”

I roll my eyes. “I haven’t thrown a knife in years, Jack,” I tell him. “And besides, TSA would have swiped it just like they did your precious bear repellent.”

Jack slouches a little, the sulking expression returning to his face. “Do you know how much that bear repellent cost?” he groans. From beside him, Jackie’s shooting me daggers for even bringing the subject back up.

“Just ask the question already, Quaid,” she prompts him.

“Right, yeah – okay, so why in the world did you start running for Nike? I love you and support you and all that other bullshit, but you are not the athlete type. You could barely walk on the hotel carpet barefoot without having a near emergency-room-worthy disaster.” He then reaches up to cover his face, most likely a protective gesture.

“I’m not gonna kill you, Jack, Jesus,” I bark. He slowly lowers his arm, still housing a great deal of hesitation. “Besides, you’re not the first person to ask me that, Madeline tried to declare me incompetent when I told her about the gig. One of my hands begins to mess with the ends of my hair absentmindedly. “It was just something different. Nothing wrong with getting outside of your comfort zone.”

“You know what’s outside of my comfort zone?” Jackie pipes back up. “Seeing Ludwig on the History channel. I didn’t even know he knew what history was, aside from that of his browser’s.”

“Ha, ha. Become a comedian, why don’t you?” A new voice enters our conversation, and as if right on cue, I can feel all the blood in my body turn to ice water.

Scratch that – I now feel like I’m fourteen again.

I turn around, and sure enough, there stands Alexander Ludwig. Or at least, who I think is Alexander. I haven’t seen him in person in nearly four years, only going by the guide that Instagram has given me, and even that was a recent development. Somewhere up above, I can hear God laughing at me, because this has to be the doing of his need for quality entertainment.

Alexander is somehow able to avert from the death stare Jackie’s giving him, his eyes finding me. “Hey, Isabelle,” he says, face softening ever so slightly.

From the seat across from me, I hear Jack give a strangled cough, one that sounds oddly similar to, “Just fuck already.” It’s followed by the sound of Jackie slapping Jack in the shoulder.

“Uh…hi?” I now know how the happy couple felt when I materialized out of thin air – at a complete loss for words. Alexander offers me a hopeful smile and still relatively unsure of what I’m supposed to do with myself, I stand up and go in for the hug. It’s awkward, and I’m sure Jackie is snickering behind my back as we attempt to figure our hug out. We both move in the same direction as we extend our arms, stopping almost halfway before we wordlessly try to determine who’s coming in from the left and who isn’t. If there was an award for it, this would win for the most awkward reunion hug ever, hands down.

It takes a second, but we get there – Alexander folds me up underneath his arms, both of them encircling around my shoulders as my hands slip around his waist. It’s been four years since I’ve so much as seen him in the flesh, so I’m sure this sort of hug is too far of a leap forward back into anything resembling the relationship we once had. Throwing caution to the wind just so happened to always be Alexander’s trademark. We stay like that for much too long, but help myself I cannot. I’ve already fallen down the rabbit hole of the familiar, might as well set up shop there.

“Good to see ya,” he mumbles as we pull away. Right back to the formalities, I suppose.

“Yeah, you too.”

Jackie is burning holes in me when I turn back around, tugging down on the hem of my shirt as I head back to my seat. Alexander has never really been Jackie’s favorite person, and I don’t think time and distance has made her heart grow any fonder.

“I suppose that you being on a flight that isn’t to Aspen is too much for me to wish for?” Jackie sighs as she quickly redirects her attention to Alexander, one of her eyebrows kinking in question.

“It’s nice to see you too, Jackie,” Alexander says, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips. “If I didn’t already know any better, I’d cross my fingers and hope my seat was next to you.” He then shifts his gaze to Jack, winking.

Both of Jackie’s hands fly out of her lap in exasperation. “How do you people know about this?!”

My reply is simultaneous with Alexander’s.

“You two are about as subtle as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.”

“Because I have eyes.”

She frowns. “Whatever.”

Alexander sets his backpack down in an empty seat and sits down in the one next to it, which happens to conveniently be right next to mine. He’s glancing right in my lap, and I’m about to beat Jackie to the punch of telling him to fuck off before I realize what he’s looking at. “6A,” he notes, referring to the seat number on the boarding pass that I’ve had sitting underneath my leg – not the most responsible way to keep up with it, but I really hadn’t planned on moving from this chair unless it was to board the plane itself. “I think we’re sitting next to each other.”

For emphasis, he holds up his own boarding pass for me to see. Sure enough, his seat number is the one right next to mine. Even across the way, I can hear Jackie growl under her breath, and Jack moves his arm from around her shoulder to rest on her thigh. I can’t fight my grin – not because of the thought that I get to spend the next few hours next to Alexander, but at how fucking adorable Jack and Jackie are. The only thing more adorable than that, perhaps, is how oblivious they’ve been towards how oblivious they think we are.

Yep, my mind flashes. Welcome back to 2013.

                                                              …

I don’t know why we decide to bestow the job of chauffer from the airport to Jen’s onto Jack, seeing as how Jackie and I concluded that Jack only ever got his driver’s license by bribing the DMV with signed headshots of his father’s, but we do it. The three of us are much too lazy to be behind the wheel on foreign terrain, and Jack’s never one to turn down a challenge. All Alexander has to do is volunteer to drive since he’s used to driving in the wintry weather and Jack all but pushes him out of the way. Reverse psychology is real.

It’s late when we land, almost the same time now as it was when our plane took off from JFK. Jackie fortunately gives up her shotgun seat to Alexander, the two of us sprawling out in the backseat as we try to get in a few hours of sleep. Jen might have gotten us first class seats on the plane, but she certainly didn’t take note of where the hell the plane was going to be landing in regards to her location.

The plane landed at Denver International, roughly three hours from Jen’s place in Aspen and a small detail that apparently Jack didn’t take into account until our captain was announcing our arrival. Along with his fellow wolf pack buddy Dayo, Jack is an avid conspiracy theorist in the most aggravating way – he doesn’t believe in any of the plausible conspiracies, only the off-the-wall ones. One of those conspiracies that he does opt to buy in on just so happens to be the one about the Denver airport being the gateway to hell.

As we were trekking off the plane, half-dead, Jack was the only one who seemed apprehensive about disembarking. In fact, I had to ram him along using my suitcase, threatening to run over his ankles if he didn’t pick up the pace.

“What’s your deal?” Jackie grumbled sleepily, tugging him along through the terminals only for him to put up quite the deal of resistance as they moved along.

“Hell, Jackie, we’re in hell,” Jack hissed.

Jackie stopped in her tracks, turning around to give him a few love pats to the face. “Are you okay? Did you smuggle more fucking bear repellent onto the plane and accidentally detonate it on yourself?”

The way Jack looked at her, one would have assumed he thought she had three heads. “No!” he demanded, his voice lowering as he pulled me, Jackie, and Alexander closer to him as though we were about to begin trading government secrets. “Look, you cannot tell me that this is not the sketchiest place you’ve ever been in your life.”

“Untrue,” Jackie dismissed almost immediately. “I grew up in a neighborhood of second-rate politicians.”

Jack had glared at her, before turning to look at me and Alexander for some sort of backup. Alexander merely shrugged. “Don’t look at me dude, I’ve been to the red-light district four times.”

“Yeah, of course you have,” Jack muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. “Have none of you seen pictures of this airport? Been here before? This is literally the entrance to hell – for Christ’s sake, there’s a giant fucking Satanic horse guarding this place like it’s Lucifer’s lapdog!”

“Pretty sure Isabelle and I flew through here for the mall tour stop in Aurora, and we weren’t chased through the concourses by Beelzebub and his horde of demon friends,” Jackie pointed out dryly.

“Jackie, there are goddamn Nazis with rainbows behind them on the murals here, nothing about that strikes you as terrifying?”

“Racism is alive in America, you know.”

“If we’re going to have a riveting discussion on what modern airport art means, can we at least go to Starbucks first?” Alexander asked, raising his hand.

Both Jackie and Jack looked at him, shooting him a resounding, “No!” before going right back to their debate as to whether or not we were standing at the flaming gates. It was at that point that I had to intervene, wedging between them and pulling Jackie away from the conversation and towards the baggage claim. Jack, of course, wasn’t done with his running commentary about how he was convinced Satan was going to pop out from behind a kiosk at any second, mumbling under his breath the whole way through the airport.

“You’ll agree with me and my being right on this,” he avowed as we made our way to our rental car, after swearing that someone was breathing down his neck despite bringing up the rear.

“Yeah, when hell freezes over,” Jackie retorted.

“Well, the weather app says the temperature outside is below freezing, so we’re not too far off.”

I’m not too entirely worried about Jack falling asleep behind the wheel, since his close brush with hell and getting a good look at Blucifer shook him wide awake.

All four of us are running on fumes by the time we make it to Jen’s place. Jackie and I have our noses pressed to the glass of our opposite windows, watching as the snow falls down on the four cars out in the driveway. Snow is no longer uncommon now that I’ve been living in New York City for the last few years, but out here it isn’t interfered with by large construction sites and millions of people. It’s pure, untouched, lazily floating down from the sky and covering the ground in a pristine white blanket.

“God, has she invited us to her family’s Christmas?” Alexander asks quietly. “I didn’t know Jen knew this many people.”

“Oh yeah,” Jackie snorts. “Because being an Oscar winner means you lead a lonely, lonely life.”

Swiveling around in his seat, he turns around and feigns cheerfulness as he smiles at Jackie. “You haven’t changed a bit, Emerson.”

“Right back at ‘ya, Ludwig.”

“Alright,” Jack announces as the engine stops running. “I’m not running the risk of getting trapped in by any other Lawrences in case we need to run for the hills, so the curb it is.”

Jackie leans forward, snaking her upper body around the edge of the driver’s seat to look at Jack. “You know how to overnight park?” she asks cheekily, and I have to turn the rising laugh in my throat into a strangled sort of cough.

“Well, duh,” Jack replies, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “Don’t you have to know how to do that in order to pass your driver’s test?”

“You do.” Jackie falls back in her seat, winking at me as she does.

While I’m almost positive that unloading our luggage would have been a struggle regardless of the weather around us, the snow and steadily picking up wind makes things that much more complicated. Jackie’s doing her best to balance her bags on her back so she doesn’t have to stick them in the snow, which is already up to her ankles, but Jackie isn’t Supergirl – she doesn’t have super strength, and her kryptonite happens to be her inability to pack lightly. Jack and Alexander are currently debating over whose generic black suitcase belongs to whom, preventing me from reaching my last duffel bag and going inside where there’s heat.

I’m about to tell them to either move out of the way or help the short person out, when a new voice rings out over all of us.

“Hey guys!”

Peering around the edge of our car, I see Jen standing on the porch wrapped up in a blanket that looks incredibly toasty, smile stretching from ear to ear at the sight of us. She must be really deprived of quality company.

Taking the opportunity of Jack and Alexander being temporarily distracted from the luggage, I dart back around and all but dive into the trunk to get my last duffel bag. It accidentally hits Jack in the gut as I scramble back out, maneuvering around them to make a break for the stairs up to Jen’s porch.

“Damn, Isabelle!”

“It’s cold and I have thin blood, sue me!” I yell over my shoulder.

Jack is happy to yell right back, “You’re a fake New Yorker!”

Jackie is right on my heels as we climb up the stairs to greet an open-armed Jen. The house is massive, as to be expected, and perhaps it’s the sleep-deprived part of me controlling my brain, but I have never been more thankful for Jen and her vast net-worth, being able to afford a vacation home where even with many guests I will still have a large probability of getting my own bed. I barrel right into Jen, mostly because she’s warm and everything else outside is not.

“Aw, Belly,” she croons playfully. “Didja really miss me that much?”

“You have body heat,” I inform her, wrapping my arms tighter around her.

Jen laughs, prying me off of her and away from the thick blanket that I’d been tucked underneath for a few seconds. “So now I fall second to my temperature?” she asks as she gives Jackie a hug, and I simply shrug.

“Hey, next time invite us to the Caribbean.”

“I’ll put it on the list.” Her eyes avert away from me, most likely landing on the boys that are still trudging their way up the stairs. “You guys are late, I thought your flight landed earlier than this?”

“Yeah, you shipped us right through Satan’s abode, which happens to be three hours from here,” Jack informs her. Jackie, Alexander and I all roll our eyes. “And I’m pretty sure the snow has picked up ever since Blucifer and I locked eyes, which I’m sure is some sort of sign.”

“Late?” Alexander asks before Jack can continue his Denver spiel. Jen nods, gesturing towards the front door.

“C’mon in.”

Everything is all warm and glowing inside, the smell of sandalwood and vanilla embracing me in a comforting hug. We walk right in to what I’m guessing is the living room, a large sectional and a few lounge chairs littered around a crackling fireplace, the TV overhead playing A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute.

Jen wiggles her way up to the front of our lineup, pointing towards the spiral staircase behind the fireplace. “You guys are gonna be in the guest rooms upstairs if that’s okay,” she begins, tugging her blanket around her neck tighter like it’s a cape. “It better be okay, seeing as how I had to ward the hellions away from them.”

“Does this place have an elevator?” Jack asks. “Because my soul has already been compromised once today, I’m too tired to climb up some stairs.”

Jackie’s eyebrows furrow together, still hung up on Jen’s words. “Wait, what do you mean by hellions?”

A shadow falls over Jen’s face almost instantly, quickly diverting any and all eye contact with us. “Well,” she starts, her voice rising an octave. My mind is racing much faster than she can speak. Four other cars out in the driveway, the use of the word hellions, the convenient fact that I just so happened to bump into Jackie, Jack, and Alexander at the airport, all of whom had the same destination as me…

“Wait,” I say slowly as the realization starts to crash over me, and already Jen is beginning to cower into the back of her couch. “You don’t mean—"

“Oh hell to the nah.”

The one and only Dayo Okeniyi comes strolling in from god only knows where – probably the kitchen, seeing as how he has an entire pie in one hand and a fork in the other – stopping dead in his tracks the minute he sees us. Or, rather, Alexander.

“What the hell?” Alexander says, equally as stunned.

Jackie, like myself, seems to have put all the pieces together quickly. “Jen,” she utters out. “Have you done what I think you’ve done?”

“Maybe?” she squeaks.

Right on cue, a leggy blonde comes up behind Dayo. “Dayo, are you talking to yourself again, I thought—” Leven’s voice falls off the deep end the second she lays eyes on the five of us, her face falling. “Oh.”

“Oh is right,” Dayo grumbles.

“What is this, the Hunger Games reunion?” Jackie asks, her eyes still on a hoping-to-disappear Jen.

Ever the wise one, Alexander takes it upon himself to answer that question. “I mean, we’re missing a few people, Josh and ‘Mandla aren’t—”

Alexander, apparently, has spoken too soon, because as soon as the names slip off his lips, out emerge Josh, Amandla, and Willow from the kitchen. The three of them may as well be mythical creatures strolling past the way my eyes bug out of my head. It’s been so long since I’ve heard from any of them to the point I began referring to them in the past tense, like they’ve gone on to greener pastures or some shit.  

Josh seems to be the only person who doesn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by our arrival. He moves past a frozen Amandla and Willow, making his way to one of the recliners in the living room. Something tells me that a) the Charlie Brown Christmas was his idea, and b) he was absolutely in on whatever this is. “Hey Belle, Xander, happy couple!” he greets to each of us individually, a warm smile on his face.  

“Alright Liam, come on out!” Jack calls mockingly, in reference to the only person missing from this shebang aside from Gary Ross himself.

Jen’s face falls a little. “Oh no, Liam’s not here,” she confirms as she shakes her head. “He’s in Australia.”  

“Well he’s about the only one,” Jackie mumbles.

“Okay, seriously Jen,” Leven pipes up. “What is this?”

“What is what?”

“This,” Dayo repeats, motioning his fork in a circle.

“What?” Jen cries out, holding her arms up as she does her best to feign innocence we all know she doesn’t have in this situation. “I can’t want to have a little holiday get together with old friends, all of whom just so happen to be you guys?”

If looks could kill, Dayo would have Alexander’s blood on his hands and this get together would become a burial service. I never did get the full story as to how the great wolf pack fell apart the way it did, but just going out on a limb, my guess is that it wasn’t pretty and left a little bit of bad blood. Their demise, I think, was the other reason aside from life itself that lead all of us to going our own ways – no one wants to break up a fight between men large enough to have their own area code, and most of us wouldn’t have been able to do so just based on physical means alone. “Yeah, no; sorry, Jenny,” Dayo quickly apologizes, breaking his steely glare off of Alexander for only a split second.

“I mean, no offense to you guys, but isn’t this a bit…y’know, outdated?” Leven says, gesturing around the group as she leans up against the wall. “It’s been years since we all hung out together.”

“Yes, which means we’re overdue,” Jen tries to persuade us, her selling smile not very convincing. “No time like the present to remedy that, right?”

My arms fold over my chest. “Why wouldn’t you just tell us the truth, that this is what our ‘holiday extravaganza’ was gonna be?”

“Hey, I didn’t lie to you guys,” Jen protests, and Jackie is quick to counter that.

“You just left out the whole truth.”

We’re all turning on Jen at a rate she didn’t foresee and doesn’t appreciate, because her fuse is beginning to shorten on us. “Look,” she huffs. “I’m sorry I lied by omission, or whatever; I knew if I told you guys that I was inviting the whole gang, I wouldn’t have even gotten some of you to reply to my text. Hell, some of you didn’t anyways.” Her eyes cut over to Alexander, who takes a step behind me. I don’t know what he’s expecting, if I’m going to service as a shield or what. Our hug at the airport and the several-hour conversation we’d wound up in the air might have been nice, but I’m not standing in the line of fire for him.

“Jen, I get the sentiment of wanting to do this…kinda, I guess,” Jackie says, unable to sell even herself on what she’s saying. “But Leven’s right. We haven’t all hung out together in years, you ever think that maybe that was for a reason?”

Jen’s face quickly falls into a deadpan. “I don’t know why all of you are suddenly bitching, you didn’t complain any when I flew you out first class and let you eat my whole fucking chocolate pie.” From behind her, Dayo guiltily lowers the fork from his mouth. “And to be fair, Jackie, you had the chance to make a run for it the minute you realized Alexander was on the same flight as you, but you didn’t.”

“I mean, I certainly thought about it—”

“Really?!”

“Okay, can we just sort this mess out in the morning? I have had to quite literally go through hell this evening,” Jack whines, and Jackie and I both groan. I’m suddenly missing his griping about the bear repellent right about now, and I’d bet serious money Jackie feels the same. “We just all go to sleep for now, and if anyone wants to bow out, they can do it in the morning.”

Never in my life have we all been on the same page as Jack Quaid, and on the same page as a fairly decent idea that came from him at that. Leven nods, Dayo gives him a three-fingered salute before going right back into the pie, and if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, I think Jackie’s already looking for flights back home for three people – either she and Jack have packed a kid in that suitcase, or they’re sweeping me under their wing and providing me with my get out of jail free card.

Jen doesn’t seem too pleased with this, and I can tell she’s about to argue it. Before she even opens her mouth, a shrill alarm goes off without any warning. It scares all of us but really gets me (what can I say, the skittishness never went away) and causes me to jump nearly ten feet in the air. I stumble back against Alexander, who seems more than pleased to catch and steady me. Jackie is less than thrilled by this, her eyes making Alexander’s hands on my shoulders even hotter than before as she tries to set them ablaze.

“What the fuck was that?” Dayo spits, hand resting over his heart as he tries to regulate its beat back to normal.

“Is that your way of punishing us for not liking this little plan of yours?”

“No, it’s my phone,” Jen replies, rolling her eyes. “Although if it’s working, then yes.” She pulls her phone out from her pocket and her eyes quickly begin flitting over the screen. The expression on her face changes as she reads, and already I can tell something is wrong by the time she lifts her head. “Um, so, the whole leaving here tomorrow morning thing you guys have come up with might not be happening.”

“Why not?” Dayo asks. “Are you going to hold us hostage?”

Jen holds up her phone as an explanation. “That was my dear friend the National Weather Service. We’re currently under a winter storm warning for…heavy snow and blowing snow,” she reads off, before looking back up at the rest of us.

“So a blizzard?” Alexander repeats.

“Near blizzard,” Jen corrects. Alexander looks at her, befuddled.

“It’s the same thing as a blizzard, why not just…call it what it is?”

“Because it’s not!”

“Okay,” Leven sings disarmingly. “We can discuss the National Weather Service’s classification criteria later, let’s just go back to the real issue for a second. Are you saying that we’re stuck here?”

Jen nods. “Says that this is in effect until tomorrow night, maybe later—"

“Tomorrow night? Maybe later?!” Jackie splutters.

“Yes, your hearing is as on point as ever, Jackie. There’s no telling how much more snow it’s gonna bring our way.” I can tell that Jen is trying her best not to look too overly pleased at this development fate has seemed to deliver her, while everyone else is in their varying states of shocked, irritated, or flat out tired – I happen fall into the third category, along with Amandla, who is about two steps away from knocking out in Willow’s lap and not moving until morning.  

Josh leans back a little farther in the recliner, both of his hands folded behind his head. “Well, let’s just hope that we don’t get trapped in here or something. That sure would suck.” Everyone immediately turns from wherever they’re standing in the room to glower at him.

Some things just don’t ever change, I guess.

[evilelitest2]

100 Days of Trump, Day 38: Why Are You So Angry?

Welcome back to 100 Days of Trump, where I try to recommend 100 works to help us understand WTF happened in 2016, and it should be increasingly obvious that I don’t actually plan these things out in advance because today’s recommendation is actually a little bit behind all things considered.  I was hoping to move past the psychological state and into the “The system itself which makes all of this possible” state, but I remembered this video series and I want to talk about it, so Innuendo Studios.  Its a video game channel that mostly talks about Indie Games and while all of that stuff is very cool and I recommend you check it out, I want to focus on his six part series on Gamergate called “Why are you so angry?”  

    Now I’ve said it before and I will say it again, to understand Trump you need to understand Gamergate and if it wasn’t for Gamergate, I honestly don’t think Trump would have gotten elected, within this bubble of internet gaming insanity we see the core of both Trump’s popularity, and the way he was able to win.  And there is a lot to say about Gamergate, and a lot of it was covered in my earlier series talking about Assassins, or Taxi Driver, or The Wall, or Breaking Bad, or Pan’s Labyrinth, or, Protagonist, or Rope, and above all the Social Network, all talking about the misdirected rage and optimistic nihilism that characterizes the Gamergate and by extension Trumpkin crowd (and really they are the same people).    So what does Innuendo Studios have to say which the earlier works don’t already say?  Well, in his Why Are You So Angry series focuses on a specific sub set of the reactionary hate mob, not the guys who lead it, but the guys who serve as support for those who do, which he coins “Angry Jack”

   Now I think it is important to understand that this video series isn’t actually summing up the whole movement, and the Angry Jack is just one small part of a larger WTF puzzle, so don’t take this video series as rite and go “OH well, I understands Gamergate/Trump Perfectly” not all of his supporters are Angry Jacks and Angry Jack are just one part of a larger system.  But when it comes to this particular subject, he is unto something.  The Ian Danskin posits that a core point of these movements is less malice than a form of ethical laziness, that sloth is the core sin of a lot of these reactionaries.  People like things to be simple and things to be self serving, its human, and when outside information challenges stuff, it is easier to double down than think critically.  To use a non political example, people who don’t drink at parties, I don’t drink by choice and a friend of mine doesn’t drink because it makes her head hurt, and a third friend doesn’t drink hard Liquor.  When ever we are at a party, despite having very different reasons for not drinking (and one of us actually liking alcohol) a lot of strangers will react really hostilely to any of use refusing a drink equally, and the ones who drink the most react the strongest.  Because they are assuming judgement to what is actually just personal preference.  I don’t drink because I dislike drinking, I don’t subscribe a moral value to it, but people who meet me seem to preemptively make me into some sort of prohibition era strawman, and it is doubly absurd for my friends whose choice comes from a place of ‘I don’t want head aches” and “I like this alcohol but not that alcohol”.  Because the people who get so pissy are terrified of judging themselves, so they try to create environments where nobody might do so.

Now this video series isn’t perfect, I do think his understanding of Christianity is ironically quite muddled and his belief of where this all stems from is frankly....dumb and juvenile, but look past that stuff and focus on his larger point, and you see why this is useful, a lot of this reactionary stuff is coming out of a sort of defense of one’s internal state of ignorance, that these people think they have found the loophole to living a morally good life without doing any work for it.  Just don’t notice whenever bad things happens, look away and pretend the problem doesn’t exist.  And the progressive movement is challenging that, it is effectively acknowledging problems that everybody knows exist.  And in order to make everybody more comfortable with the situation, they lash out to create an environment where people don’t have to think about these complicated issues.  Again, most people are lazy, cowardly, and stupid, and prefer it that way, anything that would make them not want to behave like that is legitimately scary if your goal in life is to be selfish and never have to be judged for it.  Even for the less debased, there is the question of difficulty, and people want simple solutions to problems even if those don’t exist.  I wish I lived in a world where parents didn’t sexually assault children, or if it happened it was done by creepy immediately evil people who I could call the police to instantly handle without any difficulties.  But I don’t live in that world, I live in a world where it is extremely common and there aren’t obvious solutions.  A lot of people prefer a fantasy of the first than the reality of the second. And this is why so many (but not all) reactionaries are weirdly positive towards the Civil Rights movements and the early feminist movements, because in their mind that was “When the bad thing ended”.  

   Small note, I don’t like how Ian uses the term sociopath, and I think it is very silly, but move on, focus on the larger point.

    And this is why we need to understand the relationship between Angry Jack and the more open and direct reactionaries, because if you have encountered these people online, you notice that unlike the most dire hard Alt Rightists, they don’t openly say the white nationalist/MRA/homophobic rhetoric, they insist it isn’t there.  They tune Trump out when he says some things, and tune in for others, and when they interact with Neo Nazis, they pretend they can’t see the obvious racist elements because they don’t want to confront the reality that they are allied with them.  A lot of these vocal harassers online are internally terrified of confronting who they are or what they have become, and if they were ever in a circumstance where they could calm the fuck down, would be horrified by the people they call their allies.  But they don’t want to face that, so they ignore it.  This is what Fox News and other groups like that do for these people, they give them an out.  Remember after that refugee child drowned and everybody briefly pretended they gave a shit about refugees and the Right’s hypocrisy on the subject of human rights was coming to the forefront?  And then Fox turned it into a Refugee vs. Vet, when both groups are fucked over by their very policies?  It isn’t suppose to make any sense, its suppose to be a life raft for the people who don’t want to think hard about the fact they are abandoning children to die.  Or how about when Milo got caught advocating for the sexual abuse of children, and the Right’s response was to bring up Roman Polanski as a “left wing child rapist”, nvm the fact that the left has been attacking Polanski for decades now particularly feminist circles.  Its a way to not think about the type of people they are allied with, for the average supporter think about this as an “US vs. THEM” argument rather than “Holy fuck, the guy I listened to thinks children should be raped...maybe all of the other things people said of him might be equally true....maybe this whole being cruel for the sake of humor thing is bullshit maybe the other side has a legitimate....oh wait, if I condemn Milo then THEY WIN and fuck THOSE PEOPLE (jews)”   So they march behind actual nazis, and as Hannah Arendt noted, once this all blows over, they will be out there saying they had nothing to do with it and that the Nazis tricked/forced them into participating in these crimes.  

For the record, I would divide Gamergate into more than two groups, rather Nine see here for my thoughts.  

What separates the Angry Jack from the Nihilist MRA people we see in Assassins and Breaking Bad is that Angry Jack really needs to see itself as morally correct and most importantly, normal.  They might use rebel rhetoric but they don’t see themselves that way, they identify themselves as just a dude, and really want to believe that feminism is nothing more than a few thousand rich college students or that the only white people who think racism is a problem are a couple dozen people who have been white guilt-ed into being puppets for the Black Panthers, they want to be the default, and are upset by the notion of having to accept a larger world.  This is why the fact Clinton won the popular vote is so upsetting to these people, because they really want to believe that they are most of the country, that they are normal and are driving abnormal out of their larger political community, the alternative scares the shit out of them.  And so much of this comes from my old enemy, simplistic easy morality, something which the left sadly has trouble with as well.  Because the way we depict morality in so much of our fiction makes this mindset more powerful, it encourages the thought process that is so useful to the right.  Because if our villains in works are nothing more than evil for its own sake, then we don’t have to think complexly about them, we don’t have to assume that their evil comes from a place and there are simple solutions to complicated problems.  And the left should avoid this mentality as well. 

Also how much of this battle is a fight for vindication, that these reactionaries are furious that society at large doesn’t respect them and doesn’t take their opinions seriously, and so they are screaming loud and more intensely out of the hope they will finally be recognized and respected for who they are...except that they aren’t because they are crazy. This is why Trump supporters are so angry at the media, because they won, they managed to get the most powerful job in the world, and yet people are still calling Trump and by extension them horrible people....because they are.  And that is why they want to get ride of the Media, because they hope that they can create a reality where nobody criticizes their ideals, which ironically always makes it worse.  

   Finally since Tumblr only allows 5 videos per post, here is part 6, where Ian talks about how to deal with these problems   This comes off as a tad naive today but it still applies, and this is why it is so important to try to keep people around you from buying into simplistic narrative, particularly because seemingly innocuous  nonsense always gets co-opted by bigots and turn into a recruiting tool for the Alt Right.  That is why these guys are so horrified by the notion of progressive politics making people happy, they find the notion that bioware games have gay relationships terrifying because the moment they acknowledge that is good, they start to validate the progressive arguments and they don’t want to go down that road.  Hey, has anybody had something they need to do but they keep putting it off, and you can kinda live with that until a friend says “Hey weren’t you suppose to turn into those papers?” and you find yourself getting suddenly mad at them?  Its that, because they don’t want to face the shitty part of the world, and if left alone, they will concoct a little alternate reality where they don’t have too, but they can’t do it if people keep poking the bubble.    Remember, so much of this reactionary bullshit is coming from an emotional place of insecurity and is kinda pitiable if it wasn't for how many people they are hurting, and even as the left condemns and opposes them, we need to understand them, because otherwise we won’t be able to defeat them. And for all of their talk of how tough they are, they are remarkably thin skinned.  But this is the most important thing, keep up the fight and keep attacking their arguments and proving them wrong, because while it doesn’t seem like you get any results, every time you do that, particularly when you conduct yourself in a more civil, mature, and above all intellectually honest way than your opponent, you keep a pupil form of an Angry Jack from joining up.  They don’t say anything, they don’t comment and say “Thanks dude, your take down of that MRA made me reconsider my life choices’ instead they take that comment and it sticks with them later in life, and it makes it that much harder for them to make a pact with Neo-Nazis.  And this is important, Gamergate and Trump seem inevitable now, but this is what matters,it took a lot of work for these movements to get started, /POL/ had been trying to get a Gamergate Going for at least three years before this one took off, and the Alt Right have been trying to get a trump going since the 1930s, it takes tremendous amount of effort to craft the sort of narrative to make this double think possible, and it took decades of work for them to make it this far.  And if the left hadn’t gone with Hillary Clinton, it wouldn’t have worked, by choosing somebody as bad as Clinton, it provided them with the psychological tools they needed to rationalize supporting Trump, which wont’ be true if we go with somebody with less of a dark past.  “They go high, we go low” actually does work, its just that Clinton didn’t go high, she stayed in the middle.  And the more pressure we keep up on them, the more their movement frays.  They seem powerful now, but this current state of affairs is on a very weak wedge, and it can come crashing down on them in an instant.  The only way they can keep this up is if we either give up, or support morally debased responses to them.  

[vitalmindandbody]

‘It was quasi-religious’: the great self-esteem con

In the 1980 s, Californian legislator John Vasconcellos set up a task force that promoted high-pitched self-esteem as the answer to social ailments. But was his science based on a lie?

In 2014, a heartwarming character sent to year 6 students at Barrowford primary school in Lancashire exited viral. Handed out with their Key Stage 2 exam upshots, it reassured them: These research do not ever assess all of what it is that realize each of you special and unique They do not know that your best friend count on you to be there for them or that your laugh can brighten the dreariest era. They do not know that you write poetry or songs, participate boasts, wonder about the future, or that sometimes you take care of your fucking brother or sister.

At Barrowford, parties learned, teaches were deterred from questioning beatings, characterizing small children as naughty and promoting their voices. The institutions guiding logic, said headteacher Rachel Tomlinson, was that kids were to be treated with unconditional positive regard.

A little more than a year later, Barrowford obtained itself in the news again. Ofsted had given the school one of its lowest possible ratings, find the quality of education and exam outcomes insufficient. The institution, their report spoke, emphasised developing pupils emotional and social wellbeing more than the achievements of quality standards. Somehow, it seemed, the nurturing of self-esteem had not be converted into higher achievement.

The shortcoming hitherto virulent notion that, in order to thrive, people need to be treated with unconditional positivity first gained traction in the late 80 s. Since then, the self-esteem crusade has helped transform the behavior we parent our children prioritising their appears of self-worth, telling them they are special and amazing, and cocooning them from everyday consequences.

One manifestation of this has been grade inflation. In 2012, the chief executive of British exams regulator Ofqual admitted the value of GCSEs and -Alevels had been gnawn by years of prolonged point inflation. In the US, between the late 60 s and 2004, the proportion of first time university students claiming an A median in high school has increased from 18% to 48%, despite the fact that SAT scores had actually fallen. Nothing of this, alleges Keith Campbell, prof of psychology at the University of Georgia and expert on narcissism, provides our children well. Burning yourself on a stave is really useful in telling you where you stand, he speaks, but we live in a world-wide of accolades for everyone. Fourteenth region ribbon. I am not making this substance up. My daughter got one.

Campbell, with his colleague Jean Twenge at San Diego State University, has argued that this kind of parenting and teaching have led to a discernible rise in narcissism: witness the selfie-snapping millennials. Although their findings are disputed, Twenge points to other investigate done in the US and beyond twenty-two contemplates or tests[ that] demonstrate a generational increase in positive self-views, including narcissism, and merely two[ that] do not.

How did we get here? To answer that, you have to go back to 1986 and the work of an eccentric and powerful California politician, John Vasco Vasconcellos. That time, the Democrat Vasconcellos managed to persuade a deeply sceptical Republican state governor to money a three-year task force to explore the value of self-esteem. Vasco remained convinced that low self-esteem was different sources of a huge array of social issues, including unemployment, educational downfall, child abuse, domestic violence cases, homelessness and mob warfare. He became remain convinced that causing specific populations self-esteem would act as a social inoculation, saving the state billions.

But Vascos plan backfired spectacularly, with the fallout lasting to this day. I wasted a year trying to find out why and discovered that there was, at the very heart of his job, a lie.

***

John Vasconcellos grew up an submissive Catholic, an altar boy, the smartest boy in his class, whose mom blaspheme that he never misbehaved. But, being such a ardent Catholic, he knew that no matter how good he was, he could only ever be a sinner. At primary school, he flowed for class chairwoman. I lost by one vote. Mine, he eventually replied. He didnt vote for himself because Id been drilled never to use the word I, never to visualize or speak well of myself.

After a charm as a lawyer, Vasco participated politics. In 1966, aged 33, he was elected to the California state assembly. But “theres a problem”: his professional success was at odds with how he thought of himself; he felt he didnt deserves it. At 6ft 3in and over 200 lb, he would stalk the Capitol building in Sacramento, glowering and agitated in his smart black clothing, perfect white shirt and arrow-straight tie, his whisker cultivated with armed precision. I learnt my identity and my life starting utterly apart, he eventually enunciated. I had to go and seek help.

That help came from an uncommon Catholic priest: Father Leo Rock was a psychologist who had studied under the innovator of humanistic psychology, Carl Rogers, a soldier who believed that the Catholic had it absolutely wrong. At their core, he fantasized, humans werent bad; they were good. And in order to thrive, people needed to be treated with unconditional positive thought( Rogers coined the phrase ). Vasco began contemplating under Rogers himself, a soldier he afterwards described as virtually my second father. Through intense group therapy workshops at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, Vasco became a adherent of the human potential shift, based partly on the Rogerian idea that all you need to do to live well is discover your authentic inner self.

Portrait: Franck Allais for the Guardian

Around the state capitol, Vascos colleagues began to notice the buttoned-up Catholic was unbuttoning. He flourished his mane and wear half-open Hawaiian shirts on the floor of the senate, a gold series nuzzled in his chest “hairs-breadth”. One reporter described him as looks a lot like a cross between a boulder starring and anti-retroviral drugs smuggler. He became a human potential evangelist, urging the innate goodness in human beings and handing long notebook directories to peers. His self-hating Catholic self had washed away, and in its neighbourhood is a major, glowing note I.

Vasco knew he was in a unique slot. As a legislator, he could take everything hed learned about human potential and transform it into programme that would have a real effect on thousands, perhaps millions, of lives. He decided to campaign for a state-financed task force to promote self-esteem: this would give the movement official affirmation and allow legislators to fashion legislation around it. Best of all, they could recruit “the worlds” finest researchers to prove, scientifically, that it worked.

In the mid-8 0s, the notion that feeling good about yourself was the answer to all your problems seemed to many like a silly Californian cult. But it was also a age when Thatcher and Reagan were busily redesigning western culture around their projection of neoliberalism. By interrupting the unions, flogging shields for workers and trade deregulating bank and business, they wanted to turn as much of human life as possible into a competition of self versus soul. To get along and get ahead in this new competitive age, you had to be ambitious, ruthless, relentless. You had to believe in yourself. What Vasco was offering was a simple hack that would draw you a more winning contestant.

Vascos first try at having his task force mandated into principle has now come to a halt in 1984, when he suffered material heart attack. His belief in positive think was such that, by seeking to remedy himself, he wrote to his ingredients requesting them to envision themselves with minuscule cleans swimming through his arteries, rubbing at the cholesterol, while singing, to the sing of Row, Row, Row Your Barge: Now tells swim ourselves/ up and down my flows/ Touch and rub and heated and thaw/ the plaque that stymie my streams. It didnt piece. As the senate “vote yes ” its own proposal, Vasco was retrieving from seven-way coronary bypass surgery.

After a second attempt was vetoed by the state minister, Vasco decided to enhance the name of his job, modernizing it to the Task Force to Promote Self-Esteem and Personal and Social Responsibility. He reduced the proposed budget from $750,000 a year to $735,000 over three, to be spent on academic the investigations and the roundup of sign in the form of public testament. On 23 September 1986, Assembly Bill 3659 was signed into law.

The response from the California media was immediate and barbarian. One editorial, in the San Francisco Chronicle, called Vascos task force naive and outrageous. Nothing established Vasco more enraged than his ideas not being taken seriously, but he was about to become the prank of America.

***

Until Monday 9 February 1987, Vascos task force had was widely regime report. But on that morning, the cartoonist Garry Trudeau, who had been tickled by the legislators crusade, inaugurated an extraordinary two-week lope of his favourite Doonesbury strip to be given to it. By the end of that day, reporters were mobbing Vasco on the floor of the assembly enclosure. Rival politicians devoted dismissive briefings You could buy the Bible for $2.50 and work better while the Wall Street Journals story endured the headline Maybe Folks Would Feel Better If They Get To Split The $735,000.

Vasco was pallid. The media, he grumbled, were ghastly, cynical, sceptical and inexpensive. Their problem? Low self-esteem.

Meanwhile, something impressive seemed to be happening. The response from the people of California had been great. Between its notice and the task forces firstly public gather in March 1987, the role received more than 2,000 calls and letters, and almost 400 applications to volunteer. More than 300 parties came forward to speak in support of self-esteem at public hearings in the various regions of the nation. And even if the medias tone wasnt always respectful, Vasco himself was now their own nationals anatomy. He seemed everywhere from Newsweek to the CBS Morning Show to the BBC. This, he felt, could be a major opportunity.

But firstly he needed to find a way to wrench the national media gossip upwards. And situations, on that front, were going from unfortunate to foolish. It began with the announcement of the task forces 25 members. On the upside, it was a diverse group, including women, gentlemen, people of colour, lesbian beings, straight beings, Republican, Democrat, a former police officer and Vietnam veteran whod been awarded two Purple Middle. On the downside, it also included a white man in a turban who predicted the work of the working group would be so powerful, it would cause the sunlight to increase in the west. A delighted Los Angeles Herald told how, in front of the press, one member of the task force had asked others to close their eyes and thoughts a self-esteem maintenance gear of sorcery hats, twigs and amulets.

Vascos team embarked sounding information from people up and down California. They sounded from an LA deputy sheriff who toured academies, attempting to reduce drug use by telling students, You are special. You are a wonderful individual. They sounded from masked members of the Crips, who accused their murderous criminality on low-pitched self-esteem. One school principal recommended having elementary pupils increase their self-importance by doing evaluations on their teachers. A wife called Helice Bridges explained how shed dedicated her life to assigning hundreds of thousands of blue ribbon that read Who I Am Makes A Difference.

With the national media held so much to snigger over, it was beginning to look as if Vascos mission was a bust. But there had been some good word: the University of California had agreed to recruit seven profs to research the connection between low-grade self-esteem and societal maladies. They would report back in two years hour. For Vasco, their findings would be personal. If the professors decided he was wrong, it was all over.

***

Me, myself and I: a selfie-snapping millennial. Picture: Francois Lenoir/ Reuters

At 7.30 pm on 8 September 1988, Vasco fulfilled the scientists at El Rancho Inn in Millbrae, just outside San Francisco, to hear research results. Everything hinged on Dr Neil Smelser, an emeritus professor of sociology who had coordinated the design, resulting a crew who reviewed all the existing experiment on self-esteem. And the bulletin was good: four months later, in January, the task force questioned a newsletter: In the words of Smelser, The correlational discovers are very positive and compelling.

The headlines rapidly piled up: Self-Esteem Panel Finally Being Taken Seriously; Commission On Self-Esteem Finally Getting Some Respect. The nation minister mailed the professors experiment to his fellow ministers, suggesting, Im convinced that these studies build the foundations for a new period in American problem solving.

Vascos task force was almost done: all they had to supposed to do now was build upon this positive tint with the publication of their final report, Toward A State Of Esteem, in January 1990. That report turned out to be a win beyond the reasonable hopes of anyone who had witnessed its humiliating descents. The minister of Arkansas, Bill Clinton, whod privately taunted Vasco and his projection , now publicly endorsed it, as did illustrations including Barbara Bush and Colin Powell. Time magazine ran with the headline, The gibes are turning to cheers.

The man they were calling the Johnny Appleseed of Self-Esteem is available on the Today Show and Nightline, on the BBC and Australias ABC. The report went into reprinting in its debut week and went on to sell an extraordinary 60,000 copies. Vascos publicists approached Oprah Winfrey, who extended a prime-time special probing why she speculated self-esteem was going to be one of the catch-all words for the 1990 s. Interviewed were Maya Angelou, Drew Barrymore and John Vasconcellos.

Four months after the launch of Toward A State Of Esteem, the papers were reporting that self-esteem was broom through Californias public academies, with 86% of the states elementary school territories and 83% of high school regions enforcing self-esteem programmes. In Sacramento, students began matching twice a few weeks to decide how to discipline other students; in Simi Valley, children were taught, It doesnt matter what you do, but who you are. Political chairmen from Arkansas to Hawaii to Mississippi embarked considering their own task forces.

As the months became times, the self-love action spread. Accuseds in narcotic visitations were reinforced with special key chains for be contained in court, while those who completed medication were given applause and doughnuts. Children were gifted plays accolades just for swerving up; a Massachusetts school district prescribed children in gym classes to skip without actual ropes lest they abide the self-esteem calamity of tripping. Meanwhile, police in Michigan trying a serial rapist taught the public to look out for a thirtysomething male with medium build and low-grade self-esteem.

The credibility of Vascos task force turned predominantly on a single knowledge: that, in 1988, the esteemed professors of the University of California had analysed the data and approved his impression. The only question was, they hadnt. When I tracked down one renegade task force member, he described what happened as a fucking lie. And Vasco was behind it.

***

In an attempt to discover how America, and then “the worlds”, went conned so spectacularly, I travelled to Del Mar, California, to assemble the task force member whod prophesied their work would cause the sunlight to increase in the west. David Shannahoff-Khalsa greeted me into his bungalow, examining little changed from the old-time image Id learnt: appearance constrict, attentions sharp-witted, turban blue. A kundalini yoga practitioner who guessed meditation to be an ancient engineering of the head, Shannahoff-Khalsa had been so disillusioned by the final report, hed refused to sign it.

Portrait: Franck Allais for the Guardian

As we sat and nibbled cheese, he picked up a dense notebook with a glossy red-faced handle: The Social Importance Of Self-Esteem. This was the obtained work of the University of California professors. He flicked through its sheets, ending eventually on Smelsers summary of the findings. The information most consistently reported, he read out loud, is that the association between self-esteem and its expected importances are mixed, insignificant or absent.

This was a radically different conclusion from that fed to the public. Shannahoff-Khalsa told me he was present when Vasco first met preliminary enlists of the professors make. I remember him going through them and he ogles up and enunciates, You know, if members of the legislative council finds out whats in these reports, we are able to cut the funding to the task force. And then all of that nonsense started to get brushed for the purposes of the table.

How did they do that?

They tried to hide it. They wrote a[ positive] report before this one, he alleged, tapping the ruby-red notebook, which deliberately dismissed and considered up the science.

It was hard to believe that Vascos task force had been so rash as simply to develop the mention, the one that territory the findings and conclusions were positive and compelling. What had really happened at that see in September 1988? I knew the answer on an old-time audio cassette in the California state archives.

The sound was hissy and swooning. What I sounded, though, was clear enough. It was a recording of Smelsers presentation to Vascos task force at that meet in El Rancho Inn, and it was nowhere near as upbeat as the task force had claimed. I listened as he announced the professors work to be complete but worryingly mixed. He talked through a few domains, such as academic achievement, and remarked: These correlational findings are really pretty positive, reasonably compelling. This, then, was the mention the task force employed. Theyd sexed it up a bit for the public. But they had wholly omitted what he enunciated next: In other areas, the connects dont seem to be so great, and were not quite sure why. And were not sure, once we have connects, what the causes might be.

Smelser then leaved the task force a tell. The data was not going to give them something we are able to hand on a dish to the legislature and do, This is what youve got to do and youre going to expect the following kind of results. That is another sin, he said. Its the sin of overselling. And no one can wishes to do that.

I wondered whether Smelser was angry about the mention that got used. So I announced him. He told me the university got involved in the first place only because Vasco was in charge of its budget. The influence[ from Vasco] was indirect. He didnt speak, Im going to cut your budget if you dont do it. But, Wouldnt it be a good idea if the university could dedicate some of its resources to this question? It turned out that Smelser wasnt at all stunned about their dubious medicine of the data. The task force would welcome different forms of good word and either reject or disclaim bad news, he replied. I knew this was a quasi-religious crusade, and thats the kind of happen that happens in those dynamics.

Vasco passed away, aged 82, in 2014, but I find his right-hand guy, task force chairman and veteran legislator Andrew Mecca. When we finally communicated, he confirmed that it was the prestige of the University of California that had passed occasions around for Vasco. That gave us some credibility stripes, he replied. Like Smelser, he felt that the university became involved simply out of anxiety of Vasco. John chaired their lifeblood. Their plan! he chuckled.

How did he frequency the professors investigate? As you read the book, he mentioned, its a cluster of scholarly gobbledegook.

What was Meccas response when the data didnt say what he craved?

I didnt care, he did. I thought it was beyond discipline. It was a leap of faith. And I reckon simply a blind stupid wouldnt believe that self-esteem isnt center to ones persona and health and vitality.

Was Vasconcellos furious where reference is read the professors reports?

The thing is, John was an incredible politician. He was pragmatic enough that he felt he had what he necessary, and that was a scholarly report that pretty much supposed, Self-esteems important. At least, thats the spin we got in the media.

Mecca told me that, prior to the final reports publication, he and Vasco visited editors and television services and facilities producers up and down the two countries, in a deliberate attempt to construct the fib before it was possible to subverted. An extraordinary $30,000 was spent on their PR campaign: at its meridian, five publicists were working full time. We decided to make sure we got out there to tell our fib and not let them interpret it from the stuff that was being written by Smelser. We cultivated the letter. And that positiveness prevailed.

So nobody listened to what Smelser and Shannahoff-Khalsa were saying?

Im not sure anybody attended, Mecca added. Who recollects Neil Smelser or Shannahoff-Khalsa? Nothing! They were minuscule ripples in a big tsunami of positive change.

***

More than 20 years on, the effects of Vascos mission linger. Whether the tsunami of change he brought about was utterly positive continues dubious. I spoke to educational psychologist Dr Laura Warren, who taught in British academies in the 90 s, and remembers her schools edict that staff utilize mauve writes to differentiate wrongdoings, in place of the negative red. It was a policy of wage everything that they do, she told me. That turned out to be a atrociously bad idea.

The Ofsted inspectors detected as much when they saw Barrowford primary school in 2015. But after their critical report became public, the headteacher, Rachel Tomlinson, defended herself in her local newspaper. When we introduced the policy, it was after an horrid heap of research and deliberation, she read. And I think it has been a success.

Accommodated from Selfie: How We Became So Self-Obsessed And What Its Doing To Us by Will Storr, published by Picador on 15 June at 18.99. To tell a emulate for 16.14, go to bookshop.theguardian.com or call 0330 333 6846

The post ‘It was quasi-religious’: the great self-esteem con appeared first on vitalmindandbody.com.

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[chaoscrystals]

Every note in my phone 5

My final note before I kill myself I'm not actually going to kill myself. I'm letting the dying parts die. Say goodbye to them. Wow holy shit my whole back just got a wave of feeling. This is it. I know if I don't go for what I want I'm going to lose it. So I'm sharing everything that I have inside. Because I've been wanting to for a long time. For many reasons, some more noble than others. Daqui a pouco to escrevendo nas outras linguas. Hey duke Well, I have to completely go for what I want. You will know what that feels like. I had a dream last night that turned out to be symbolic of what happened today. Its not that hard because your subconscious mind always knows what's going on.I have a considerable amount of magic to my person but ill tell you now I lose things, I have anxiety attacks and a fixation on food and body type, and I'm telling you this because I can't let you think I'm a no faceted perfect lady. Hey lady. Molly plays with my feelings I wonder how many years that could last. As long as Natalie is my friend. Kad thinks I'm a Nazi. That makes me upset. Now I'm thinking about Mikala from midtown west. Dont know why. Cause I'm not a fucking Nazi damn. That's extremely offensive Why are all these thoughts coming into my head? Whups. Lost it again. Sex is sacred but our movies and tv shows over hype it and put ideas in our head. One time I told Jamie I was gay.I actually thought it was true at the time...that's such an awkward thing to explain. I know I don't have to fucking explain myself but I want to because I care that the other person is on the same page as me!! No I miss you too in a weird way I've been wanting to share all my real thoughts for a long time. And now is the only time because the last couple days I have been dangerously close to having a breakdown. I have been crying in the street for 2 days And I also have been wanting to tell everyone what I actually think all the time I think my problem is that I have a habit of thinking about things ruim like I just think about sad shit a lot. And my comfort levels are always unstable Shailesh balla I don't know whose name that is. Shoulda brought my journal but I didn't think I was going to want to write. I want to do something to soothe my worries. My top worries are money, food, having something stolen from me, being raped. Its weird that I'm so worried that someone is going to rape me when I haven't been raped in this lifetime. But I would always get strong images of being raped. Except I was black so it wasn't in this lifetime. I want to soothe my worries telling myself that expecting the worst isn't good for my health. My focus goes rotten sometimes. I have to go to where I want to go to. I'm grateful for what I have. And not in a lame way either. I think I'm most worried that something will be taken from me. Money or whatever. When has that caused my death? Only when I sunk into the sadness and grieving. Grieving for my jewelry. Don't have a choice but to keep going. My grandparents on my moms side were such a huge influence on me throughout my life What is life anyway? We are all here wondering what to do with ourselves. And I can only have these thoughts because I have money I wanna work like Malcolm x did Tryinng to soothe my chronic worrying. Maybe ill find a paradise somewhere. Kalien photograph Deangelo Silva Thais is a sexy name. I'm tired and a little gassy but I'm going to go out anyway to see what the fuss is about. Because I wouldn't be satisfied if I just went to sleep Reflecting on resentment. I can feel this is a strong hook. This is a strong feeling in my body. I resent the cruelty of survival in the midst of civilization built by half asleep beings. My thoughts lead me to duke and this is what I have to say about that. I resent being treated wrongly by him. He treated me wrongly because he was my soul mate and he was supposed to help me and love me through everything I can't have sex!!!!! I hate having sex with people that suck at itI Which is almost everyone I resent everyone because I am so shy it hurts to see people who I connect with sometimes. Something inside of me is very tender and sore and I have been neglecting her. She's not ready to see anyone. I can resent and I do. For. Not being there with his feelings and not being there with mine. But i have to admit its not fair of me to just expect someone to take on all my problems with me. And I know this has something to do with the fact that my mother would throw crying fits at me and I had no idea how to act. Because that's what you do right? You don't say anything to people so they think your nice and then you have an explosive breakdown on whoever gets caught in your shit. Right? Oops Still letting go of my feeling of resentment. I'm a self help queen. Not sorry. Maybe just a little bit. But listen, I'm actually getting somewhere in my emotions. The blocks I have to getting what I want are emotional so if I can move and change my emotional body, I'm set. Sex Everyone sucks at it except for Ursula and mau 90 percent of males I meet think about fucking me That's pathetic Don't you think you're craving a closeness?instead?no? I don't know you its not my business I acho que tó errada I can pretty easily see what I did wrong. But I'm a sad sack and its easy for me to get into self blame. Those thoughts make me really depressed. But I guess it doesn't matter I don't have to have a perfect personality I don't even have to have a personality NOT UP TO YOUR STANDARDS AM I DUKE? Oops I've said so many bitchy things to my friends who I love so much..somebody needs to slap me. I hope they can forgive me. Well we're still friends so... Who the fuck taught me to be afraid of everyone? Walking around feeling like I'm rotting from the inside and I can't trust anyone and yet I want to meet all their eyes and see what's inside. When you're thoughts are just swimming with someone else. Julia, Duke, Kaara Someone who I barely talk to. I'm the pathetic one. It feels good to think that right now...die ego die!!!! So I will begin to close of this meditation. I would like to let go of my resentment. It will be carried away by the strength of the planets. Just saying what I believe. A very powerful tool. I had to re-read what I had written and confront that maybe my focus is terrible because I live in an age full of distractions and sometimes I have to be distracted to avoid major depression and having a fit and getting arrested. Sometimes I want to just break the glasses in the cafes. Or the stores. That urge has been with me for months and I still haven't acted on it. Stay tuned. So if I'm letting go of resentment, I'm letting go of my feeling of entitlement to. I will always give myself the best of what I can. But I cannot live off of taking from other people.I don't want to. Their money or their prana. Sorry Kaara. Half asleep over here. You did it too. I liked your insecurity because I could feel better about myself. And my own insecurity. Someone shut me up nobody wants to hear about my emotions. Oh that thought again. I'm expressing myself not trying to.....be right...but I am I came down to the beach because I thought it would be the best place. I was living in the street for a week. I'm not now we are paying for a room. Its cheaper than anything else but this is such a popular location that its still a fair chunk of money. But its worth it to drink the healing waters (there's a natural fountain of groundwater. Clean and delicious if your gut can handle it. We wanted to leave but I think we were both resisting the healing....me and my friend rua. I'm paying for all of our food (and we're been to restaurants a few times) but its because I know my core beliefs are not in line with me keeping my money for myself. I think I jumped the gun a little here anyway. This is another topic. Dissolve my resentment. Sometimes I was treated wrongly. Sometimes I just felt entitled to get what I want and when whoever couldn't meet my needs, I get upset. Flashes of bring abused in past lives. Nothing I could write today. My collective head gets it but I needed to write for nova, the 3-d being I can't believe I'm missing that show I can't believe it I must be missing out fuck fuck fuck I have to be away I have to be here I am doing good here I am doing good here I just need something in my stomach to settle I need to sleep a little more. Ooohhh if I had some weed and I could sleep a little more id have it made. But I'm shyyyyyy There is a voice in the back of my head asking me to write and to learn new languages. God damn, I think I'm an Artist. After reading some writing by Patti Smith, I feel a little confused and jealous. My writing is so....unprretty specific and not artistic. I want to write something beautiful. If it is beauty I am after...well, I already know what that looks like. I already know who owns beauty. Earth beauty. Eternal beauty Nobody leave me alone. I wouldn't want to be alone anyway. On my own some angel meets me Oh maybe I can write pretty things Write an essay of something Masses of pissed off folk are gonna have something big to say in this life or next just you wait mr big shot. Big gun nuclear ammo. I bet you thought you could stop the art from saving us all. What rennessaince would you try to stop then who are you trying to stop and why don't you love me!? Mister big thing My boyfriend keeps me safe I don't love him but he's good company and when we have to have sex its pretty good I don't think he feels the same way. I think homeboy was looking for a real namorado. Never seen anyone who looked like me. I made a cheese sandwich for my friend and now I want one cause I ate them when I was a kid. I feel like a baby still! Cosmic smoke womb. I don't care, ill take it Bad coffee Oi viado Its not that hard to learn a new language if you think you can do it I have been waiting years to learn about the stars. I always new the universe was a synchronized conglomerate of matter, but coming across systems I can keep record of. Beleza There's a feeling that sometimes overcomes me in my dreams that I'm being choked and can't breathe. These mosquitoes are biting me Somehow I manage to superimpose my fears on reality. Na janela aberta entrou meu convidado da noite, meu inimigo pior e o amor infernal que guardo para me gozar And, choking, I cry out for help. Cry out to whoever can hear me and be here with me. I don't care who I have to hide from myself. Excuse me for a second. My heart saw a pain and took it. Walking around shopping malls My candy heart Left my heart in Mexico City She was bed-ridden like me. But that's beside the point. We were frantic when we met and frantic when you held my hand and I breathed my first sigh of relief there. He loves me. I'm squirming in my seat Left my heart in Mexico City I THINK about YOU STILL but I think its more about me than it ever was about you. Still in Mexico City With its booming economy And great tortillas. All the cars and things that make up a city nowadays I went backpacking and somebody loves me still Left it in Mexico City. Now the reason for me to write The greatest poem I've ever written We were saying goodbye. I said I wanted to stay and I meant it but I didn't think I was going to stay. I have to go to work Still in Mexico City He must have thought I was going to stay I should have stayed. But I was lost in my work and I couldn't find my rights. So I ended up in Brazil with a hurt sciatica nerve and he's still in Mexico City with my heart that I left there And I think about him still but its more about me...right? I am undeserving As the words form my heart (the one that came with me) remains confused I hope you pick up on this and reveal yourself to me. But you don't have to. I didn't mean to make you think I wasn't going to leave. I was always going to leave. Tipo assim. But I just wanted to stay... Left my heart in Mexico City My back is cracking way too much it hurts and this can't be good for me. I want to go home. Wheere is home? My back is stressed out. I'm worried. Worried not looking I don't think I've ever been so offended. I just lost a friend. Telling me about my insufferable privilege. Hiding. I don't want to pay because I can live without money...........and fuck me if its only my privilege that lets me do that and think like that and write like this. I'm going to do it. I understand that I am privileged I feel incredibly guilty like I am not like, worthy of love because I have money But I never tell people that because no one will ever understand! Sad because I have money. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous I should be rejoicing but I'm not I I just want to die and be buried in my 10000 reais and die. Every time I hear the word money I wanna die. Give it all away slowly to people who appreciate it. Rua never hears me. I don't have time for that. I just need to sort out my thoughts A new poem Sugar eaters God again god blessed to have you to have found you Walking down the street in my hometown new york city Walking down the aisles but I'm in my mind Again Blessed are these sugar crystals that feed my teeth eaters we're sugar eaters blessed are these sugar crystals And a calm comes over us A little upset a little unrest its all the sugar eaters eating your teeth. My words are twisted like mind. You have to run around loaning me your time. How lucky I am to have found you. You bring me sweet coffee and I do not resist. The hot sun beats and we refuge in the shade. Our hot Brazil sun but I am walking down the aisles in my mind in my hometown I have money for all the sugar crystals I could ever need. But she doesn't want to have it from me. Blessed are these sugar crystals brought to us by the sugar goddesses, just trying to be sweet. Just trying to be sweet I have all the money I need Try to be sweet I have all the money I need There's something under the surface you're not seeing units swimming under. Your feet and I feel a little bit afraid. That the whole. Thing is going to collapse and crumble under my feet. Or lava will come up of its will and displace all of us Walking around with latent fear There's something under your feet maybe a bug lurking in your belly You're writing because you're a smart girl. You get into a new feeling and slip away quietly. You left. Joker Is jesting Later I saw him crying I had a flash of the future And it didn't come true exactly butt I swear I saw something like it My privilege is a bunch of dead flowers My privilege is rotting fruit More privileged than you for not having the need of water Have to walk miles for water I had to walk about 10 minutes for water and I felt a little bit like a prophet, or something of the sort Live in a house Live in a city In a country where you are not under threat of being bombed Your house could be bombed My privileges are rotting Watch tv Hear about the wars Light up your green and laugh with your friends Until your gut hurts We are friends, I don't want to take it there again My privileges are rotting fruit My journal January 25th 2017 Sitting in my boyfriends bedroom inn araial dajuda. I hope he's watching me. He has been my boyfriend for a few days only. I asked him what he wanted today and he said "I want what you want" my heart just about melted. I knew I liked him because I felt my heart get warm and I knew his lsd was pure, which is rare. And briefly, I am going to write some of the best poetry I have ever written. But not yet. I'm not ready Sometimes it's just not worth it and you have to let it go. But you always speak to the moment and you always try your hardest. And even though I have lice eggs in my hair I know the universe is going to protect me and my problems are going to pass. Write like I have a problem that needs airing out. But I don't have that mood exactly. My systems are more or less okay. Some of the best poetry I have ever written. He is the reason for my poetry. Nothing but a man and he's skinny. Taller than me and I don't think he can defend me. He has a penis and breath like everyone else but he sees energy and he loves seeing energy and neither of us understand it...but we love it and we want to know as much as we can about it. I need to.......oh right He will be the cause of the best poem I ever write. I don't know if I believe that. Money worries have to be let go of. I can't hold on to everything all the time. Universe synchronized. Daily mundane things going about your things and you just notice how good the breeze feels and that you're right by the sea in a beautiful city. Here isn't a good place to eat. My memory with Julia the rock star. Time to write my autobiography. But take it seriously. Make it right. I love my feelings so much I don't feel like I'm done writing. Nobody was really trying to con me that hard. Just trying to amuse themselves at the expense of others feelings. Uh, is that too bleak for you? Get over it. Gentrified vegan crab cakes. Oops. What? She's gonna kill me. I'm afraid and I have poop in my gut I feel it. I'm tired but something is missing. In tired to go to bed with my boyfriend who I just met but I know I love. In my way.too tired to worry His smell is intoxicating. That boy smell. She told me to follow my heart but I think my heart bate papo its not the strongest...but I can feel it. Morre than a lot of people could say. Stuffed some cotton in my underwear because my menstrual blood is releasing. And all this money and packaging. I'm hungry. Nobody understands me. I'm hungry. Nobody understands me. Nothing is in the way of me doing something except for me because I'm scared. I'm scared. This place has me held happily as prisoner. I give up. Rob me. Kill me. Not if I get you first. Writing for you writing for you. Nothing is stopping me except my fear and my concept about money I left arraial dajuda and now I want to go back because I was loving it....it was time for me to just take a break....I want to just stay with people who I know are my friends. I want to stay where I feel safe. And I want to kiss guilherme again. Its not fair that I could spend almost 500 reais just to try to get away. Fuck. I am going back because I feel the most happy that way. I don't want to be alone any more.... I don't want to be alone not knowing where the he'll I'm going and these things. If I was here alone and feeling fine....I could bee that person...maybe ... But I would rather just not be alone right now honestly. I don't wanna wait and wait until I feel love again. I want the love I felt already. I'm scared that I'm going to show up and I can't have him anymore...but I know that's not going to happen. Lice and all. I needed to leave. I regretted it pretty quickly Part of me wants to keep traveling forever...and another part wants to go home and be with my family again...or both. I don't know if I want to volunteer with this yogic nun in her biodiversity organic yoga thing. Part of me wants to go home. But I also have an intense interest in this. I don't know. It doesn't make sense to go back and forth. But I don't really wanna stay in the city of brasilia Make up for it. Compensate. Sitting at the bar alone. Like a character in a movie. Waiting on my love to walk in the door. Thinking many of the same things at once. Tired but I know I'm not going anywhere. Its so easy to fight your feelings and write what you didn't want to write something about the universal flow and how it affects you how your stars have been so aligned recently and how they always were bus you just didn't notice. I sit in a state of wonderment and disgust as I am interrupted by a greedy old man with no money making his presence very known to me Just remind yoself help remind your self. I need another distraction to distract me from the pain of needing to eat and needing to steal and depending on millions of other people for my food. I need another distraction. The earth is quickly dying as I see it, but I know people who think otherwise. I should have stayed in Brazil. My friends just want to poison themselves with alcohol and I want to run away with my love but I left him in Brazil. I need to eat For many years I've obsessed over my corporeal form, my body. What it says about me. I can't get out of this.....its my way of dealing with my feelings. Its just in my being but I mean, I'm gonna end up tearing out to shreds I already know. I can't stay here with these demons eating at me. I see real I wish I had someone with me. Makes me feel like I need to eat something. Probably end up a pedophile like my dad Why doesn't anyone understand thoughts and feelings? This is pathetic. I wish I had someone with me I could be screaming but she wouldn't hear. Known her for years I just want to be with her again. No one can stop me if I just show up Its so hard to feel things. Its so hard to actually sense things. This world is set up for profit for invention and for narcissism!! Oh god what did I do I slept with my ex I slept with my ex he's a beacon of truth like me or a liar I don't really know Cause its not that straightforward at all I can't just read mounds so easily as I wish I could but I'm not bad when you compare me to most people. I think that my new haircut suits me . on nahrt okay my own energy reading is a little faulty. . A few days later and unrealized how badly I am conpartmentalizing things I wish I wasn't so emotionally cold but I believe I have to be this way to be an artist...that can't be true. ... Get up and talk to someone but it tires me what's so bad about being tired I can't ignore my bodily needs why does it make you tired because they only like to hear certain things and I have to think about it.   Sometimes I write cause i don't know what else to do.. Like now...my head will hurt if I go talk to other people I'm just trying to maintain a high vibration no I'm serious this is town in doing it and I'm not belittling my mission no way I'm not gonna hurt myself I want to maintain a high vibration and sometimes its hard for me to do that when I talk to other people. But I can't let this exclude people from my reality because everyone is worthy of attention and love!!! Everyone is worthy of it and I'm not letting it go for all the money or all the fame in the world everyone's feelings matter sometimes I am the absolute worst when it comes to that. I want to message michael maybe he can distract me from my problems. Everryone does. He is different. He is just the same I knew I felt something strong with him I love his ambition and I want to see it develop and that means staying with him for a bit I want to see his ambition develop his!!I'm starting to think I gotta let go of that whole shit with sam, cause I don't really like being jealous. You know why my head really hurts? Cause I'm letting myself be alone too long . I'm obsessive is what I'm actually trying to say. I'm not sure who you think I am but I don't mind much. I'm not a cool person all I want from you is conversation and cuddles There's this black of my connection like I'm talking to a wall and not to michael I think I'm fucking up I could be talking to myself in various ways. Maybe his souls just close to mines anyway enough that it feels like I'm with myself? I'm aware of the seperateness but I really would rather live in the thought of we are all one soul

[asylvermoment]

Below is yesterday's post from a local leader I deeply respect. I've been guilty of this too and her post resonated with me at a core level. It's easy to get swept up in divisive hatred, blame, and anger. Especially when you have experienced it directly or are in an environment saturated by it. But messages like these are so important. I felt torn yesterday at the march because there were factions represented and groups uniting against a common enemy... a variety of chants and attacks ranged from outright attack to messages of solidarity, unity and love. We need to establish common ground on the merits of what we hold dear and support, instead of belittling others for not seeing things the way we do (the tension of those mixed messages was felt in yesterday's march). We need to open up and listen-- truly listen-- to the experiences of others, without judgment, in order to coalesce and understand. So, thank you Azuka for reminding me to look beyond the suffering and anger-- my own included-- and work to unite through inclusion, embracing difficulties, and establishing community. "This may be an unpopular feeling I'm About to express...... But I want to share this just to leave a space to be able to observe and question how we are going about it all. This picture was taken at the mall. It was a group of people in silent meditation and prayer. I was walking by and it was like the air changed and I had to stop. In that space there was a big energy shift and you stood in it and it was as if you stepped into a crystal like power surge. People walking by would fall silent and I could see they were being affected by this beautiful practice. It was such a blessing to breathe there for a bit and pray on love and peace. That was the only group like that though in the whole march I was able to see. (Ok I'm Sure there were more- would love to hear about it from you guys!) I don't know if this is a personal trauma of mine Bc I particular dislike attacking individuals So much especially to the point of dehuminizing then Bc I have personally been attacked in those ways. Or maybe. I am feeling this Bc I just think we can do it better. And seeing this prayer circle. Observing and keeping up with standing rocks water protestors and how they have made the resistance so sacred and peaceful. I feel like maybe we are missing out on a much more powerful way of makin change by focusing on building the beautiful rather than focusing on just attacking "The enemy". I also know sometimes the world needs revolutions. I know some people have to be stopped. But as I walked through the march Ifelt like each sign dehumidify and hating back this dude was a loss in power Somehow. I feel like we could have jumped way beyond and higher than that. Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm too much of an idealist and don't have my feet on the ground (I'm kind akmown for that hahaha) . But I dream of empowering women through EMPOWERING WOMEN. I've never been a fan of rising up by stomping down others (I fucking hate that in business too! . I still in my heart want to believe that we can overthrow hate by actually LOVING more. Not hating back. I actually think LOVE could work. But I know a lot of the world is afraid and angry. I understand. I can't really get myself to say that T word. This is why I was silent during the campaigns. Bc all the back and forth hating is totally draining and feel unproductive and no one is focused on their power and source of love to make transformations in the world. I want to keep trying. The LOVE Way. I refuse to generalize republicans. I refuse to generalize those "religious" people. I refuse to generalize even the uninformed people that don't get a chance to be around all us cool Diverse people where they grow up. I want to build bridges to help people understand and learn from each other. NOT condemn and judge based on beliefs right from the get go so the defensiveness and wall is placed between us before we even got to find a solution! . Some people just come from different places. Different families. And need a chance to meet people that can give them the opportunities to open up to the ideas of love and acceptance we are standing for supposedly. I want to be love and acceptance. I don't want to reject Judge and condemn - that will just build more walls. I am fucking tired of walls. I want to love more and pray more and reach out to more people no matter what their belief is. I'm gonna keep trying , this is why I went underground with my business. Something felt wrong up on the ground there - I needed tot figure it out for myself without people influencing and I did! The gremlin community I have is a dream come true and I can stand here and say with full conviction that we have worked hard to create a culture of love and acceptance. I have two big rules and these two big rules felt conflicted yesterday. 1) golden rule - I don't want to DO what I don't want done to me. 2) when you wag your finger at someone else - wag it equally towards yourself to see what it is reflecting in you. Its always a mirror. Always. You see this pic of people praying. Imagine if the millions did this together. Yoooooo!!!!! And maybe I'm just a dreamer - let me dream on. I'm gonna keep making them come true! I'm gonna keep fuckig trying. I'm not hating a single person more. I am not partaking in being mean. I will join up if it's about awesomeness of humans!!!! I love you people. Even the ones I have a hard time loving. I'm gonna try to love you even harder! Ps. That sign reads "an era of compassion". I'm down to exercise that!!!!! Y'all were the ones holding the signs!!! 🙄"