#and thus. blancmange

[ereborne]

Today I am having a very normal usual standard-person reaction to being bored and irritated:

I’m making a doubled recipe of blancmange

[exhausted-archivist]

Tastes of Thedas Lore:

New Fauna, Food, Ingredients, and General Lore Introduced by the Cookbook

I'm putting this all in one list separate from the master list so it will be easy to find. I am also including all the information we've known from the sample pages for completeness. Source of all this information is from Dragon Age: The Official Cookbook: Taste of Thedas.

I have not included anything that was mentioned in previous media, for a complete list of all the lore mentioned in the cookbook as well as the other sources that mention it, please see this post. I'm putting all this below the cut in case you are trying to avoid spoilers, as well as the post itself is long.

NOTE: I did not include any of the ingredients from the recipes themselves, just the lore blurbs as it has been made clear the recipes not only do not match up, but are also rooted more in reality than Thedas.

Culture

Anderfels has a robust pig farming industry, the climate being well suited for them to grow to a generous size.

Kirkwall is known for their crab cakes.

Nevarran's culinary practices view food to be a feast for the eyes and mouth and thus place heavy importance on plating.

Orzammar holds a competition for the Best Sauce and participants will hatch plots to steal recipes of competitors. Leading recipes to be closely guarded secrets.

Some Orzammar dwarves insist that the proximity to lyrium and darkspawn only improve the flavor of edible deep mushrooms.

Tevinter seems to be the origins of cupcakes. They historically would use them to poison people.

There are custard connoisseurs across Thedas.

General Notes on lore

Isabela has a drinking game based on the number of enemies one has. The game has killed at least one man.

Krem suggested that Bull and the Chargers use the rice they were paid with to make rice pudding.

Krem seems to hold knowledge of all dishes the Chargers eat.

Varric and The Iron Bull love sweets.

Vivienne eats croissants every morning.

Vivienne is known for dressing blancmange with white chocolate curls and whole jasmine flowers, serving the dish on a black plate.

Wyverns, like phoenix, can be deadly if not prepared right.

Fauna

Ayesleigh Gulabi Goats - Rivain

Cuttlefish - Waters around Antiva

Poussin - I want to note this is usually a term used for a young chicken or spring chicken used in a recipe, but the lore blurb alludes to it being the name of an actual bird.

Prawns - Waters around Antiva

Shrimp - Waters around Antiva

Flora

Bitter Greens - Nevarra

Black Cherry - Orlais

Black Lichen - Orzammar/Deep Roads

Blood Orange - Nevarra

Chickpea - Rivain

Leek - Unclear origins, likely Antiva

Lemon Verbena - Rivain

Lentil - Universal staple, unclear of origin

Mango - Unknown origin, but it is a common enough ingredient for Orlesian nobility.

Nettle - Mentioned to be in Ferelden, unclear if that is the only origins

Red Grapes - Unknown origin, but it is a common enough ingredient for Orlesian nobility.

Rhubarb - Ferelden

Sweet Cherry - Orlais

Spinach - Unclear origin

Watercress - Frostbacks in origin potentially

Food Dishes

In the cookbook, it does note that there are multiple varieties across Thedas for certain dishes. I listed the regions given for the recipe provided in the cookbook as they are either "classics" or traditional for that region. The ones with multiple variations that are mentioned, I have marked with a **.

Apple Grenade - Antiva

Bark Bread - suggested alternative to black lichen

Black Lichen Bread - Orzammar, as it is also plainly referred to as "lichen bread"

Blancmange - Orlais

Blood Orange Salad - Nevarra

Couscous Salad - Rivain

Crab Cakes - Kirkwall

Crouton - Unclear, simply mentioned one needs to cook chickpeas to a "crouton-like crispiness."

Crow Feed - Antiva

Eggs à la Val Foret - Orlais

Ferelden Farmer's Pie - A term for a type of pie; such as the nug bacon and egg pie.

Fish Pockets - Seheron

Flat Bread - Nevarra

Forest Fruit Cobbler - Dalish

Found Cake - Ferelden

Fried Crab Legs - a substitute version of fried young giant spiders, Orzammar in origin, but substitution created by Devon

Fried Young Giant Spiders - Orzammar

Gnocchi - Antiva

Goat Custard - Rivain **

Grilled Poussin - Chasind

Gurgut Roast with Lowlander Spices and Mushroom Sauce - Avvar

Hearty Scones - Ferelden

Honey Carrots - Orlais **

Lamprey Cake - Not actually made with lamprey, just themed. Recipe created by Devon.

Lentil Soup - City Elf **

Merrill's Blood Soup - Dalish

Nettle Soup - origins unclear

Nug Bacon and Egg Pie - Ferelden

Paella - Antiva

Pastry Pockets - recipe originates with the Grey Wardens, cookbook notes of the Orlesian Grey Warden variation **

Poison Stings - Unclear, presumably Tevinter as they were Dorian's snack when traveling from Tevinter.

Potato and Leek Soup - Ferelden

Pumpkin Bread - Tevinter

Red Grape Compote - Unknown origin, but it is a common enough in use for Orlesian nobility.

Rice Pudding - Unclear as rice comes from Rivain and Antiva, but Krem supplies the recipe.

Roasted Prawns - a substitute for cave beetles, Orzammar in origin, but substitution created by Devon

Snail and Watercress Salad - Avvar in origins, but created by Devon with the Avvar to make snails more palatable to lowlanders.

Sour Cherries in Cream - Orlais

Spiced Jerky - Dalish **

Strawberry and Rhubarb Cobbler - Ferelden

Stuffed Cabbage - Ferelden

Stuffed Deep Mushrooms - Orzammar

Stuffed Vine Leaves - Tevinter

Sweet and Sour Cabbage Soup - Ferelden

Traviso Energy Balls - Antiva

Tzatziki - Tevinter

Turnip and Mutton Pie - Ferelden

Unidentified Meat - Tevinter

Yogurt Dip - Nevarra

Food Ingredients

Couscous - Rivain

Nug Bacon - Ferelden

Peanut Butter - Unknown origin, presumably Seheron as peanuts are mentioned in Sten's dream or Antivan given the recipe mentioning it.

Puff Pastry - Orlais

White Chocolate - Unclear the origins, but is used in Orlesian cuisine.

Whipped Cream - Unclear origins, potentially universal but noted to be used in Orlesian cooking.

Suggested Food

As in these might be eaten or not, it is unclear if the narrator was simply suggesting them out of pure speculation due to the dish's mystery.

Dracolisk

Dragon Urine - Suggested that the drink name may or may not be figurative.

Giant

Additional Notes

I included fried young giant spiders on this list because it is technically different from the roasted giant spider legs we see in the TTRPG adventure Buried Pasts.

Stuffed Vine Leaves may have appeared previously in the comic Deception. However I didn't feel I could make that determination unlike the desserts clearly shown in the comic Magekiller that are easily identified to me.

Quillback was mentioned in Unidentified Meat but isn't included as suggested or speculated food due to it being eaten by Inquisition soldiers in the Western Approach.

Saffron isn't a new spice to Thedas, as it was originally mention in the Last Court. It's origins seem to come from Antiva both due to the recipe and the fact they import most spices from Antiva in Serault.

Roasted turkey was first mentioned in the Dragon Age TTRPG. Thought it is common in the Free Marches, this dish is also popular among the Chasind.

Cupcakes seem to originate from Tevinter, as Cherry Cupcakes have been tied to them both in the cookbook but also the comic Magekiller.

Pumpkin Bread referenced to Tevinter, however we know that other nations such as Ferelden and Orlais, also grow pumpkins. The dish likely originates from Tevinter given the reference of it being used to tempt one to visit the Imperium. But thought it would be worth noting that pumpkins also exist in the south.

Licorice is previously mentioned by Dorian, referencing salted black licorice candy. But it may very well come from Riviain as the Rivaini tea blend has a variation that uses licorice root and they export the tea blend.

Additionally it seems peppermint and oregano also originate in Rivain.

Chocolate is not a new item to Thedas, however it is known to be imported to other nations from the Donnarks and Rivain.

Wanna support this blog? You can check out my ko-fi.

[worldwise-randomide]

Incogmigo

All information disclosed about her and her mons I have been allowed to share. This is still a very condensed post, as I’m sure the others will be too.

Inco is one of my closest friends. We met at my first Champion’s Tournament when I was 20. Anonymous is here as I type this and is making sure I add what she always adds: my first was the first. She just says it to make me feel old but it was her first as well… that’s beside the point. I met Inco on the first day everything officially started. They invite people to get there a bit before to enjoy the surrounding area and socialise before they kick off the battling. I didn’t really do that and thus was very nervous when it came time to battle on the main broadcast stage. It did not go well so I went to hide away in a bar garden with my mons. Inco came over when Gorge had pissed off Mudpie (her clodsire) and she had to stop her destroying the whole bar. She stayed over to chat and the rest is history!

If I had to describe her in the most accurate vague way possible, I would say she’s “Free Bird” by Lynyrd Skynyrd personified. Including the solo. Loves nature, she’s been to every region. Loves battling with her pokémon in every possible sense. She is an infamous Champion. If you want to make Champion-class a fancy way by beating someone who isn’t your area’s standard, you do not call her. You make sure she is out of the region. If you battle her it’s 55. It’s just not goino happen.

She has 6 pokémon, all battlers:

Mudpie the clodsire

Crunchie the granbull

Pickles the shiny mamoswine

Saveloy the archeops

Blancmange the gastrodon

Crouton the turtonator

She’s been teasing me that she’s got a new one on the way and won’t tell me anything about it. I could break the cycle if I do ever learn or I could not tell you. I know what I prefer.

Identifying her in posts, since I’ve already shown pictures of her here:

Buff not swole. She has muscle — she carries Saveloy on her shoulders all the time he’s out, lifts Mudpie away from starting fights, and tussles with Pickles for fun, she has to be.

“Riding the fine line between tan and sunburnt until the road gives out,” Anonymous [n.d.]

Curly brown hair. Curly. Goes about to her shoulders. Kindo puffs out beyond the left side of her face, can sometimes hide her eye and scars.

Oh, scars, of course. Anyone and everyone in the battling scene has some, let’s not kid ourselves. She has some on her face, neck, arms, and elsewhere that you won’t be seeing. Go snog a bruxish if you care so much.

Usually wears vests and trousers. She loves a denim jacket she has that had its sleeves severed by Saveloy.

Ehhhhhh sure close enough. I tried a few removing the ear but idk.

[deicidis]

Withered In The Heavens

Morpheus x Noble!Reader, Edwardian Era

status: Completed One-shot

wordcount: 3.6k

warnings: Blood and Injury, health disease

18+ only, your media consumption is your own responsibilities. Warnings have been given. Do not proceed if these matters upset you.  

  Thus all doth fall. This hand of mine must fall

And lo! the other one:—it is the law.

But there is One who holds this falling

Infinitely softly in His hands.

 —

 The shadow pooling underneath his boots is a thing that brushes on the threshold of something unnatural.  

It is not something entirely garish, your father sitting beside you doesn’t seem to notice it. He is still talking with Lord Morpheus who sits opposite him. But the occlusion underneath his feet is darker than where the foot of the chesterfield sofa meets the carpet, the one where he sits on the brown leather.  

You think you need a nap and your eyes are playing silly tricks. Though naps are getting rather dull on your frail body lately. It’s all you do most afternoons, what the doctor suggests. 

Only soft duvets, no taxing activities. No sports or the likes.

You’d much prefer to spend time with Oscar and your Hemlocks in the yard. Some books, maybe tea. 

On a rare occasion like this, your father insisted on going against what the doctor suggested. That you acquainted yourself with lord Morpheus. You think you know where your father’s inclination comes from, a potential match for a suitor. 

Before Lord Morpheus came your father explained that the lord is not an English noble like you, but a descendant of kings from distant ancient lands. You believed that because he bears a disposition of one, holds a beauty in that archetypal way of being. Addressed with a title of one. A different kind of noble unrecognisable by the state, his wealth speaks louder than the station of his birth. 

Your father tries to entice you with fairy tale like qualities in hopes you would take a fancy.

Still, the purpose of his stay in London remains unknown to you.

With all that entails, his wealth, his beauty, the smooth polish of his boots and the shine of his slicked back short hair, is not so much intriguing as the shadow he bears. You almost don’t want to realise it because nothing should be able to do that.

It erupts you with palm—sweating anxiety, a little dread. A singular demonstration that he is something of an other.

And when you pulled yourself away from it, you caught the flick of his gaze, his silent acknowledgement in those taut shapely lips of his. His eyes gnawing into you. You avert your eyes from him to the windows as you sip your tea, hiding behind the cup. You feel like a child, her hands caught in a cookie jar. 

  —

  The second thing is his hair. It absorbs light in a different way. 

When the sunlight from the window behind him lands upon his back, it does not show the illuminated strands of brown even people with black hair usually do. It is a shade darker than normal. A shade lighter than abnormal. 

And it unsettles you.

Your parents seem unperturbed by it, still talking animatedly with him. Still enjoying the lunch they put together for him. Oysters, Lobsters, Veal cutlets en Papilotte, roasted calf’s heart and beef tongue. Pigeon pie and lamb chops. Trifle, Cherry tart, Blancmange, Apple pie Marmalade with Madeira and Port. 

And he barely touches any of it. 

That very act of deliberate inaction irritates you. And you want to strike this other with the palm of your hand, even if the act would surely harm your frail skin instead of harming him.

"Isn’t that right, (y/n)?" Your mother suddenly ropes you in.

"Pardon?" 

"Oh this girl, lost in her head again. Please forgive her Lord Morpheus."

He merely gives you a polite smile. 

"I’m sorry. What were you saying, mother?" Blush blooms on your cheeks. 

"The Soirée Marquess Cavendish holds is the most extravagant in all of London, isn’t that right, (y/n)?"

The Soirée is extravagant, lavish. But it grows trite very quickly. Lord Cavendish prides himself on his 80 course meal for every event to stuff yourself fat, 30 musicians for the orchestra to dance the night away. Bouquets and bouquets of fresh flowers at every corner of his manor, the gaudiest chandelier high society has ever seen. But there are only so many trends and innovations he can keep up with that it dwindles as time goes by. The same pattern would resurface.

"Yes, mother. The best."

"Come with us, Lord Morpheus. I’ll introduce you to the peerage." your father, proud as always of his noble blood, of his title as Earl, almost preens under his own words. 

"It will be my pleasure." he said, his bright, beguiling eyes finding yours. Your heart races underneath your corset. You feel the blood rushing to your ears, to your neck. A coiling Python. 

A cough rips through your lungs, quickly your plate is layered in blood. Your blood. falling from your nose to your ivory dress and laces. Abrupt, carmine and garish. Rose petals drip richly. 

There’s a commotion you hear, your father apologising profusely to Lord Morpheus as he hurries to your side, the hysteria in your mother’s voice, the coming of her trembling hands. The servants' footsteps rushes to the dining room. 

You must’ve looked dreadful in front of the guest, leaking your blood like that, your hands hanging mid air unsure where to put, your mother grasping one gently. 

You find Lord Morpheus merely watches you, a pair of silver eyes like the necklace dangling on your throat, wringing like the jewellery. Turns you inside out. He’s not supposed to see this vulnerable side of you. 

You can’t stand the pressure of his gaze. His inhuman, beautiful eyes. Addled with something you can’t recognise. Pity? Disdain? fascination?

Your head is too muddled by pain to discern it. 

  —

  Your joints are throbbing annoyingly. Bruises blossom on your skin in a matter of hours. When you look into the mirror, you are met with a familiar sight. Your body in patches of red and blue. You don’t remember when it doesn’t. Your childhood memories are woven from the very same patchwork. 

Your mother would’ve scolded you if you so much as left the bed. But your bedroom with its canopy bed and silk drapes are starting to lose its colour, bleeding grey in your eyes. Dull and monotonous. You feel a little disoriented, restless. The silence of your bedroom and your vehement thoughts would only make you cry. With great effort you slowly course through the hallway of your mansion.

No paintings or plants are out of place, the candles on the golden sconces have been put out by the servants. The moonlight pierces through the windowpanes, lighting your path as usual. 

But the marble floor is unexpectedly colder, pinching your soles like little needles. A peculiar stillness hangs in the air. Deafens your ears with its silence. The painted eyes of your ancestors follow you disapprovingly, taunting you back to the comforts of your bed. The hairs on your neck stretches on end, as if your body is under the watchful gaze of the shadows residing in the ceiling, under the panelling of the walls, behind the tall vases. Waiting to strike you in your state of debility. 

To swallow you whole—your bruises and perpetually unclotted blood. 

Your hand moves to your throat on its own, a phantom of your silver necklace still dangling there. 

You swivel behind you, looking for a sign of life, only to be met with silence and dark vacancy.

  —

  It’s your rows of Hemlocks. Your head tilts to the side when you realise they are slightly—imperceptibly—leaning towards you. But not you precisely, someone behind you. Of course, when you turn, you find him silently standing nearby.

Other people would never be able to notice the change. But these are your Hemlocks. You tend to them almost every single day, children of your own.

And the way they behave is alarming. Plants shouldn’t be able to do that. Or at least that’s what you have always known.

What the fuck is happening?

"Evening my lady." he greets as he stands to your side. A pair of bright eyes searching for your face.

"My lord." you returned. Looking upon him, unmoving from where you sit on the ground. Your gloved hands are drenched in soil. Your dress stained by the dirt. Your tabby cat—Oscar—is by your side, stretching languidly under the cool afternoon sun. 

"I’m afraid my parents are away for the day." you continue. The servants must have let him in.

"I come for you, Lady (y/n)." he clarifies.

"Whatever for, Lord Morpheus?" you pluck the gardening gloves from your hands. 

"It was only yesterday that you were bleeding all over yourself. I think that warrants a visit for your wellbeing."

You swallow thickly. 

"You came for nothing, sir. It is a frequent occurrence of minor nosebleeds. I am perfectly fine."

"It's not Hemophilia then?" he stares pointedly at the bruise on your wrist. You turn it down in response. Opt to fondle Oscar on his stomach instead, as you realise you’re not the only one who notices things. 

If he's always been able to see the bruises peeking from your dresses, you don’t want to dwell upon it. 

Your silence is an answer in it on itself. 

He walks towards your Hemlocks, your plants standing tall towering over him. The shades of the flowers almost match his perfect, unmarred skin. Glows even under the setting sun. A shiver of jealousy washes over you. Yours looks more like the mottled stem. What you would give to—

"Do you tend to them?"  his eyes never leave the flowers shading him. Interrupting your thoughts.

"Every day when i could."

"Your cat could die from these." 

"Oscar is smarter than most cats." did he take you for a fool?

"My apologies. I did not mean to offend." his concession leaves something indescribable within you. 

"You did not." you say as you watch that pooling darkness beneath his soles, slowly entices you. Your heartbeat paces faster by the second as the dusk starts to swallow the light in the sky.

He fingered the white petals of your flower. Sampling its textures between his fingers. The plants are drooping lower, as if his mere presence is a windstorm. Pulling in everything in his path, and you and your flowers are merely the moorlands he would ravage. 

You don’t want to be his victim.

"It’s getting dark, Lord Morpheus." he understands your cue. He helps you to stand as he bids his farewell. 

"I hope we can see each other again soon, my lady." he kisses the back of your hand, his fingers linger briefly on your tender—bruised wrist. You almost wince from the pressure. 

  —

  You’re watching him conversing with your father and his peers from behind your Brise fan. Lord Morpheus looks immaculate in his formal attire. His short hair neatly slicked back, his coat tail hangs elegantly behind him. The white vest, white tie and white gloves complement his skin without flaw. He appears as if he belongs with the English peerage. He could be the king himself. 

The young women are restless. You can see it in their eyes, in the way they hold their fans as if they could fan the temptation away. The giggles they share. Lord Morpheus is someone new to the scene, rich, young, painfully beautiful and desirable. But the older women scorn his presence, along with the older men. You overheard their whispers, that Morpheus only uses your father’s kind nature to climb the upper class. As if he’s merely a parvenu.

The notion is entirely ridiculous.

You barely know the man, but you don’t think it is in his nature to be deceitful. It has always been your father’s way of being kind and welcoming. Naively trustful of others. 

What his nature is… that you don’t know of. 

Hours passed and the boredom is quick to settle in your stifled yawns. Week after week, no matter how grand a ball is, no matter if the lord cavendish is dishing 80 course meal or some other Marchioness or Earls or Viscountess are trying to outdo the other, everything is the same. The ingredients are always the same. The crystal chandelier, the fabrics of dresses the women wore. The same conversation of class and politics, you’ve seen everything. Tasted it all.  Heard all of it. 

And when you return to the comforts of your home after this, it will always be filled with bruises and the same books with the same blood leaking out of your nose. 

The women and men have taken to the dancing floor. You are content by watching the shiny fabrics of the women’s dresses twirl under the chandelier. On your periphery you realise Lord Morpheus is coming your way. 

"My lady, may i have a dance?" he offers his pristine gloved hand. 

"You may." 

You did not know what came over you. You’re not much of a dancer. But his hands beckoned, beguiling. The warmth of his palm that settles on your waist pierces through your corset, flares your skin alive.

The crowd watching is lost to you, the room spins in a blur until there are only his eyes, swallowing you whole. Marbling under the light, lifelike tendrils. You are lost in it for long, His irises seem to grow alive, and it convinces you that you have grown mad. For you can see the stars and moon and the night sky with billions of uncontainable stars within. 

Dazed, you stumbled back. But his grip is strong on your waist and it keeps you upright. 

"Are you alright?" his concern seems that of a farce. Though unfounded it is your irrational suspicion that he knows of your discovery. In which you remove yourself from his grasp and try to put some distance between you. Found solace in one of the dark hallways of Lord Cavendish’s mansion, lit only by moonlight from the rows of windows. 

A solace far from solitude. You feel his presence in the dark ceiling. The shadow settled in the corner. The hairs on your neck stretch upwards. Litters your arms with shivers.

"Come out." you whisper to him, he splits himself from the shadows soundlessly. 

"Are you a vampire?" you finally ask the inevitable. Amused smirk curled his lips.

"A ghost?" you continue, and he merely circles you. Drinking you in. 

"The devil?" you hold your chin high. You try not to show him the traces of fear boiling in your gut. 

He is silent still. His bright eyes pierce you whole. 

From his hand, a stem of Hemlock blossomed. He holds it between you.

"i am a part of you."

You feel impatient over his cryptic words, but you still ponder them.

"You are fear?"

"Not quite."

"Love?" 

"sometimes."

"desire?"

Something flickers in his eyes, but he is silent.

"Are you my dreams?"

His smile confirms your words. 

"The god of Dreams…" it stuns you. His name should have tipped it away. 

"Clever," he said with admiration and a hint of contempt at the same time.

You take the stem from his hand. Twirl the flower between your fingers. It looked so much like yours back home. Smells like one. Mottled with purple and blue. You wonder if you rub the sap on your eyes will it kill you too.

"You’re hounding me." You mutter. 

"You did it first." 

"Only because your human form is fractured at the seams." 

He tilts his head upwards. His smile reaching for the brink of something sinister. 

"Do you want to know what the seams would unfurl?"

Your heart races. You don’t know how to exactly answer that question. All this time what use are your inquisitive eyes if not for this very moment. To know his true nature? 

"I can show you everything." He offers you his gloved hand. Pristine, like the forbidden fruit, tempting you to the core. 

But you swallow your desire deep, deep down to your stomach. You hope it will never resurface again. You turn your heel and leave him in the dark hallway. Crush the flower in your palm until it disintegrates into golden sand.

 —

  A sudden vertigo strikes from the base of your neck, and you lose your footing because of it. You cut yourself with a shard of glass on the pavement after you fell from the carriage, digging through your arm. Cover your fingers with black and blue spots. 

The cut lasted for half an hour, your doctor came and treated your wound at the behest of your father. But the internal bleeding is another matter. Your knee is swollen and painful, hot to the touch. You cry yourself to sleep that night, with your mother’s cool hands gently caressing your feverish forehead. Her eyes are misty. She tries so hard to not let it fall. 

You sigh in relief when morning comes, the swelling has receded, and you smell sickly sweet from the sweat of the fever. The servants help you into the clawfoot tub, and you ask them to leave you alone after they scrubbed you clean and lathered you in citrus scents.

You rest your head on the edge of the tub. Your bruised fingers grip the porcelain as you contemplate the broken capillaries. What you would give for another skin, another body. Hale, beautiful. Perfect and unblemished. Perhaps one like him. 

What drives you to call his name is more an impulse of desire than need, ripping through your lungs after suppressing him all night, ripe fruit bursting. 

It is as if he waits for you to call him that he appears before you even finished mouthing all the syllables of his name. His short black hair neatly pushed back from his beautiful face. Dressed in a black coat with black shirt, the tip of his polished shoes shines bright from the sunlight filtering through the window. The silver pin on his black Ascot winking at you. The very picture of an Edwardian man. 

"Lady (y/n)." he takes a step and perches himself at the edge of the tub. Takes his fill of your skin. 

You ponder his face for a moment. And he seems content to be scrutinised under your watchful gaze. He counts the bruises littering your skin. You see it in the way his eyes ricochet from one to the other. For the first time in a long while you don’t feel self-conscious about your bruises.

"Tell me, is this your doing for rejecting your offer?" your tone is more accusatory than you would have liked.

Even as he looms over you, even if he wields every power in the universe, you’re still unsure whether it is in his nature to desire harm upon you. There is a flash of wounded pride. And his mouth pulls down a little steeper.

"Wounding an ailing woman, what do you take me for?" 

"I don’t know what i should take you for." you feel a little tired. A feeling of tightness in your chest labours your breathing just a little. 

"Take me as i am, as what you found me out."

You snort a laugh.

"Lord Morpheus, what i found out of you is more questions than answers." 

"Then come with me, and you’ll have all the time in the world for the answer." he dips his hand in the tub to find your hand resting on your stomach submerged in the tepid water. 

Your tears gather in your eyes, leaking down your cheeks. The porcelain on which your head rests becomes more uncomfortable, and you find yourself holding tight to his fingers with your bruised ones. 

"I don’t have much time. I am sick and i am very, very tired. I'd die from hemorrhaging the next time I fall from the carriage. What little time I have would be of no use to a god such as you." 

You almost choked over your own words. The words that were merely a fraction of how you truly feel; how utterly terrified you are meeting your end in a premature way, not laying soft from old age on your deathbed. How this illness defines you as a human being for as long as you could remember. How much contempt burrows at home within you every time you see your mother’s misty eyes and your father’s voice struck with paranoia at the slightest mishap falling upon you. 

But if he is truly a god, an embodiment of a dream, he would know of this nightmare.

He tightened his grasp just a little bit more. 

He knows 

"The sun could swallow the earth, the universe could exhale its last breath, but I can make sure Death would pose no problem to you."

He says it with a conviction that could only belong to a god, as if he knows Death so thoroughly he would know how to prevent one. It gives no room for doubt to plant its seed within you. His other hand brushes away your tears.

He helps you on your feet, helps you dry your body and hair with the towel on the shelf. Helps you loop your Chemise over your body. Smooth the fabric with his fingertips. His touch light and gentle. Feathers over your bruises. Soothes your throbbing unclotted blood. Achingly comforting you want to sleep on the palm of his hands. 

"Until you are ready, i will wait. Say it whenever you desire and i shall unfold myself to you." 

He takes your wrist and kisses the back of your hand. Disappear silently in the blink of your eye. Left a single baby Hemlock with its roots at the base of the marble tub. 

The evening after that day, you plant the baby into the soil of your garden with Oscar. Its darker shadow sets it apart from the other Hemlock. But you hope it will grow as tall.

[georgiansuggestion]

Dear Editor, I've recently befriended a kindly gentleman, and find myself absolutely smitten with his mannerisms and personality. Would you have any advice for a young lady who is inexperienced in the art of courtship?

Dear Miss--

How Marvelous for you, to savour the First Flush of a Passionate Yearning in your Young Life! I recall my Own Such Moment with Continual Fondness, and hope yours is Memorable and Pleasant Enough to warrant the Same, Years from Now.

While it is Uncommon in our Present Age for a Young Lady to court, rather than be courted, I see Little Harm in offering you Some Instruction of how you might draw this Gentleman’s Attentions, though it must be said that I have not in All my Long Years been a Marriageable Young Girl in a Situation like yours. Some may tell you that, in Order to gain the Favour of Any Young Man, there are Particular Universals to which One must attend, Such as “Gentlemen dislike a Loud Laugh,” or “Only a Demure and Obliging Girl shall Ever be Happily wed”, and I am Pleased to inform you Such Advice is concocted by Persons with the Unfortunate Malady of having hatcheted their Brains from their Skulls in order to replace that Organ with a Fulsome Dish of Blancmange, and thus may be Safely ignored. The Truth of the Matter is that, Surprising as it may seem, Men are Capable of as Much Variety in Character as Women, and that which inflames One may render Another Indifferent. Therefore, in these Salad Days, you are Better served, not in attempting to mold Yourself to be Pleasing, but to strengthen and shape your Character in Such a Way that you are Satisfied with Yourself, and produce an Air of Assurance in All you do, which shall serve you Far Beyond the Romantic Realm.

I do not mean to say that you must be your own High Priestess and Chief Worshiper, throwing Wildflowers in your own Path and composing Panegyrics in your own Honour; Even I do not Yet stoop to Arrogance in that Degree. I Only suggest that Task which is at Once Incredibly Simple and Utterly Insurmountable: to believe, a Reasonable Degree, in your Charms, Strengths, and Virtues, Such that they are Apparent to All who meet you. So Often it is Doubt which poisons One’s Youth, and, while One cannot be blamed for Uncertainty in pursuing Things which are New, Diffidence on this Account Simply will not serve. I presume you are Already acquainted with this Gentleman, and on Amicable Terms? You are Halfway to your Goal if this is the Case. If, in the Course of your Path to Self-knowledge and Esteem, you muster the Nerves to speak Even Incidentally to him of Love, then you shall be Well Underway.

May you have Every Success in your Endeavours, my Dear.

Yours &tc.,The Editor

[writersroleplaymemes]

The Science of Starters

Starters based on the ‘The Science of Power Ups’ series by mashed on Youtube. Have fun if you watch the vids!... To have the mun decide, send in ‘Square Root of Portal Gun’. Feel free to switch pronouns n’ all that. ^_^

“Like summoning tiny hand-devils!”

“But this isn’t satanic ritual, this is satanic science.”

“And what does it are?”

“You probably haven’t heard of him because, upon his discovery, he immediately exploded.”

“The flower converts sunlight into raw, angry energy.”

“Our field tests show that eight of ten people show some negative affects.”

“This has no scientific purposes... I just really hate blancmange.”

“But like a lion on stilts, it comes at a high risk.”

“Ah. Well. We have learned a valuable lesson.”

“Close to the native clarinet bush, and the common flute wood.”

“And what is that smell?”

“Who was immediately killed by an agitated bad boy squirrel.”

“Thus creating a one-man, one-way, wormhole through time!”

“You can even use it to meet your great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great dinosaur!”

“If you find yourself in the past, please resist all urges to murder your grandfather.”

“I’M GONNA KILL HIM-”

“The specific chords must be played precisely- there’s absolutely no room for milkshakes!”

“One wrong note and anything could happen.”

“Excessive time travel can cause queasiness, insomnia, the destruction of the universe, and your wrist watch not working and possibly exploding!”

“We’re all practically rooting you on.”

“That cosmic blast was me sending a bomb into the past to kill my grandfather.”

“If x equals four and y equals five, what is the square root of Ocarina?”

[doegred-main]

2, 13

Meme: Salt memefor @feanoriel

2: Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?*The main two OTPs which I only BroTP are Beleg/Turin and Melian/Galadriel.In the second case I do not see a Maia like Melian being too interested in the physical aspect of a relationship with anyone but her husband, mostly because of the fact she leaves her physical form as soon as he is dead, and this leads me to believe she only held on to it because of Thingol. That said, while I can easily see Galadriel trying to use any mean to know more from Melian (I love her, but I love her as a machiavellian git), I do not think she would be too keen on the possible mess a relationship with the queen might bring about (Thingol doesn’t seem too keen on sharing to me).As for Beleg/Turin if there is anything romantic I see it as something rather one-sided on Turin’s part. I believe the two loved each other like crazy, but I also believe Beleg saw Turin more like a brother, since he seems to have been his mentor from a rather young age, thus making every romantic nuance in his feelings much much harder to act upon or accept, while Turin might have felt his desires would “debase” his friend. I know it is a very grim and personal view of the matter, but I cannot help but have it.

13: Unpopular opinion about XXX character?Oddly enough I have them mostly about Maedhros. I see him as someone that clings to his pride to the last, he is no wilting flower wallowing in self loathing. He knows what he wants and chose to put himself and his family first when all else failed, he is very determined, not afraid to speak his mind even in rather undiplomatic ways when he wants to send a message, and, while he holds on to his own moral code, he can be cruel and ruthless. No crying, self-hating, puddle of blancmange, waiting for someone to validate him there. An elf with weknesses, but also maybe the strongest character in the whole of the Silmarillion. I hate when the fandom turns him into.. a scotsman! 

[tractionmagazine]

142. Nadim Abbas

Nadim Abbas, Chamber 664 "Kubrick”, 2014-2015. Mixed media. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist. 

Susie Pentelow interviews Hong-Kong based artist Nadim Abbas about his upcoming solo exhibition ‘Camoufleur’ at VITRINE, London. For ‘Camoufleur’, Abbas will produce a new, site-specific installation which will use camouflage to explore how urban living conditions can dictate our relationship with, and in some cases submission to, the spaces we inhabit. The installation will be accompanied by a series of scheduled performances in the space.

  You currently have a solo show at Antenna Space in Shanghai, ‘Chimera’. Could you talk a little about this work?

The starting point was the image of the human rhinovirus (serotype 14), AKA the common cold, which I constructed using various kinds of open source molecular and 3D modelling software. The title connotes both phantasmal and biological origins. The elaborate way that I have chosen to present, or project these viral images into the gallery space, using air blowers and beach balls is an attempt to maintain the ambiguous quality of an image which wavers between real and imaginary, fact and fabrication. 

Nadim Abbas, Human Rhinovirus 14, 2016. Mixed media installation. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist and Antenna Space.

The choice of the common cold virus was deliberate - as something familiar to all, to the point of banality, yet appearing at the same time completely alien. Everything else in the show is an extension of this viral metaphor. This is most blatantly played out in the two isolation chambers (with echoes of my piece at the 2015 New Museum Triennial), which contain a series of modular geometric forms that act as a playground for renegade toilet rolls.

The work ‘Blancmange, n ways’ acts as a separate counterpart with similar thematics. Here, white forms become specific manifestations of the first four iterations of the fractal Blancmange function, which derives its name from its resemblance to the famous dessert. In England of course, ‘blancmange’ also connotes a boring or uninteresting person. The photograph on the wall depicts an actual blancmange pudding, as does the pattern design on the wallpaper - setting up a visual pun of sorts.

Nadim Abbas, Blancmange, n ways, 2016. Mixed media installation. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist and Antenna Space.

Works like ‘Chamber 667’ and ‘Chamber 664 "Kubrick”’ could almost be sets from a science fiction film. Is sci-fi an influence?

Regarding the sci-fi influence - the short answer is yes! I am a big science fiction nut. I wrote a short text on this connection (between sci-fi and my work) many years ago. It was around that time that I discovered these molecular renderings of viruses, which were later to become the central motif of 'Chimera'. The text was never published, and I'm not even sure that it makes any sense. Basically, 'Chimera' was my way of materially resolving some of the concerns that were started in writing.

There are many visual parallels between my work and cinema, simply because much of what I do involves the notion of converting (lived) space into an image (memory), which is something that comes almost second nature to the cinematic process. Given the popularity of sci-fi blockbusters today, I should clarify here that I'm less interested in constructing seamless, illusory images like you might see in the latest Star Wars spin-off. Rather, I'm fascinated with finding ways of letting the inconsistencies show through, like in a low budget B-movie. In other words, there is always an element of theatre present in my approach.

Nadim Abbas, The Last Vehicle, 2016. Mixed media installation with durational performance. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist .

You are working with camouflage for this installation/body of work. How do you think this idea reflects broader themes in society?

A lot of my recent work tries to unravel how certain conditions of urban domesticity have produced specific types of sociability and subcultures. I am also fascinated by what at first glance seems like an unlikely correlation between domesticity and warfare; how technologies developed on the battlefield have found applications in quotidian contexts and vice versa. More chilling perhaps is the notion, suggested by theorists such as Paul Virilio and Beatrice Colomina, that the dream of domestic bliss is but a dormant extension of an ongoing militarised state of emergency, where the household finds its mirror in the bunker/fortress. 

It is no coincidence, for instance, that iRobot, a manufacturer of automatic vacuum cleaners, displays on its website products dedicated for the “home” side-by-side with similar technologies repurposed for “defence and security”.  Taglines such as “Welcome home. Your house is clean” are made in the same breath as “Placing a safer distance between people and danger”. Since the machinations of modern warfare destroy the very condition of human habitats, military constructions have become increasingly geared towards the possibility of inhabiting such artificial climates (e.g. the underground bunker as a refuge from nuclear fallout).  The modern household simply adapts this formula by providing increasingly artificial climates optimised for human habitation (e.g. the fully automated, air-conditioned high-rise service apartment).

Nadim Abbas, Zone I, 2014. Lightweight concrete casts, robotic vacuum cleaner, rug, skirting board, house paint. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist. 

The title “camoufleur” is borrowed from the name that was given to people who designed and implemented military camouflage during WWI/WWII.  Many of these camoufleurs were artists but there were also zoologists and naturalists such as Hugh Cott, whose book, Adaptive Coloration in Animals became a seminal text for the study and development of camouflage techniques in the military.  For the setup at VITRINE, I will design a wallpaper pattern that becomes the backdrop and point of reference for everything that is subsequently placed in the space. 

For this body of work, your focus is on the figure of the “otaku” or “hikikomori”, terms which originated in Japan. Can you explain these?

Otaku and hikikomori are (Japanese) terms that have come to represent stereotypes of socially ill-equipped, middle-aged males who wall themselves up at home in an escapist world of manga and anime consumption. Otaku generally refers to participants of a subset of cultural practices that revolve around manga and anime fandom. Hikikomori refers to the specific phenomenon of acute social withdrawal. In Chinese, otaku is often translated as “jaaknam” or “zhainan”, which literally means “resident male” (as in resident of a housing complex or tenement block), thus conflating the connotations of otaku and hikikomori. It would take a lot more explanation to unpack the respective nuances of these terms and their ongoing mutations, so I will just focus on the fact that otaku culture arose, or at least thrives, within a uniquely urban, post-industrial context. 

Nadim Abbas, The Last Vehicle, 2016. Mixed media installation with durational performance. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist.

My concern then is not why otaku do what they do, but rather, what kind of space allows this to happen?  It is as if the extremely dense accumulation of cramped interior spaces that characterise so many cities today encourages a turning inward, or a vacuum of mental space itself; a vacuum that disturbs the distinction between the animate and the inanimate, or subject and object. This logic is made visible in the practice of mimicry:  picture a masked body, driven to disappear into its surroundings, to be engulfed by objects whose animation increases in proportion to its own lack of animation.

How will you respond to the position of the space on the public sphere?

The unique positioning of the VITRINE space, which stays open and visible at all hours of the day, creates an interesting set of possibilities for the public display of domesticity.  The window display, which can more easily facilitate instances of repeated daily viewing, structures an encounter that varies according to the state of each visit.  It is this durational quality that pushed me to find different ways of inhabiting the space at different points of the day/week/month.  States of habitation that when considered together start to overlap, and become harder to distinguish from one other: a performer who behaves like a machine, or a machine that is performing? 

Nadim Abbas, #4, 2016. Cosplay helmet mounted on green screen / cyclorama. Dimensions variable. Image courtesy of the artist and Luke Casey. 

There will also be a performance aspect to the exhibition - can you talk about your ideas for this?

The performer will be presented with a set of instructions, or perhaps a distilled script of some sort.  We will work together in advance to develop a specific body language.  I’m looking for someone with the type of movement training that would facilitate the emptying of gestures, or gestures that do not call attention to themselves, the gesture of stones.  If the objective is to perform a disappearing act, it would seem that the magician has already disappeared before the act has begun. Likely candidates might include people who are trained in physical theatre, mime, Butoh; or even life models, who like stick insects are inclined to assume the same pose for extended periods of time.

Interview by Susie Pentelow.

‘Camoufleur’ will run between 1 March and 15 April 2017 at VITRINE, London SE1 3UN, with a preview on Tuesday 28 February 2017, 6.30 – 9 pm. For more information, visit http://www.vitrinegallery.com/exhibitions/camoufleur/.

‘Chimera’ continues until 22 January 2017 at Antenna Space, Shanghai. Visit http://www.antenna-space.com/en/exhibitions/chimera for more information.

Find out more about Nadim Abbas’ work at http://www.nadimabbas.com.

[just-call-me-kitten]

Bondage Penis Chastity Cage

Chastity Belts are experience to be a commanding addition in the bedroom A purity belt is a tress contrivance or an increase piece of dress that is necessity to prevent sexual intercourse or masturbation for the hypostasis clothes it. They were purportedly usefulness for the first era in the intermediate period primarily to uphold the chastity or protect the women from sexual temptation. When the one went off with for belong trips or wars, they wanted to constitute sure that the women could not be sexually active with other men. Seems a morsel hunker, doesn’t it? Fast prompt to the modern times and they are suddenly the talk of the city ascribable to its extreme usefulness behind the bedroom passage. They are now largely utility by followers who wallow in captivity or role execute sex. Couples have usefulness these innovative sexual expertness to transport the beau back in their relationship. Any inclined bondage situation has one man performance as the master and the other man/the mate performance as a bondman. The slave has to everything what the master question them to do and hence leave the purpose part on their confederate. Sounds cunning, doesn’t it? A chastity sash gives the master some shapeliness of counteract over its drudge and hence is a great tool to enhance the slavery or the role playing experience. It Acts of the Apostles as a mechanical device which prevents the wearer to give in to their sexual seduction. If you are a qualifier who is acting as a captain on your first thralldom irritation, this mechanical invention will concede you to play with the sexual temptations of your beau and take her arousal to the instant of pinnacle before you at last penetrate her. Guys who employment this safety belt on their girlfriends/wives found their coadjutor super aroused and excited once they were retarding out of the device. This arousal technique has toil wondrously well for a fortune of marry and has led to some surprising sexual experiences. The consideration of being in someone else’s “possession” might also influence some people towards trying these products. Some populate copy being mastered and this consequence is perfect for them as their sexual fate is in the manpower of their partner. A division of nation get even more irritate or alter on when they do not have a fortuity of getting indemnification. Many adventurous lovers mate their confederate wear these devices to work so when they come home they are already aroused to the greatest possible level. Owing to all the above ground, their vulgarity is multiplying Time after age and many more couples are try with these only products. Chastity Belts are now effectual for both the gender The expert to go posture in the sleeping pad has accomplished a lot of leod afflictive new, innovatory products in the bedroom and having the tempo of their alive. People are not shy anymore of telling their companion strictly what they want to and that has led to some surprising sexual experiments. Men are consenting to intercalate dildos in their anal openings on their partner’s continuance. They are even desirous to endeavor modern, innovative cock tingle and penis extenders to enhance the preference for them and their lovers. This readiness to aim new stuff led to the innovation of male chastity sash. These devices are resemblant in what they trust to achieve and that is to not let the man wearer beat the meat or humor in any sexual activities. The classic socket version is made up a metal belt and a tie that go through both the crural and has dedicated whole for micturate and defecating. The boy translation is entirely conspecific in its mean lines apart from the extra penis beck that elflock the boy organ out. At ErossPlayLa, we striving to discharge the cream sex trifle valid in the market to relieve you advance your sex darling. A lot of dissimilar options are available for both men and ladies. Let us review a few of these products: Women who are skillful to proof with pureness girdle have had incense love-manufacture sessions afterwards. The simplest effect available for beginners is the Ladies Chastity Belt Set. Made of high rank, genuine kid which feeling super soft against the skin, this consequence is as manageable to necessity as a thorough safety belt. It leviathan with a blancmanger anal plug which is employment to clear the back passage down to intensify the emotion of being under someone else’s control. The product is free in colour variants of kermes, swart and blue and is an surprising product to get you begin on your bondage sessions. If you deficiency to go for a complete bondage set which will tie you down while your garrison behave with your body, caressing it and touching it where he hanker to, you should go for the Ladies Chastity Belt Set 2. This result ships along with a pair of manacle made with the same dear attribute, genuine dogskin as the safety belt and two several-speed oscillate anal stopple that are application to arouse the femme. Available in either chestnut or black, this scheme is prepare to release some untried world into your gender vivacity and is a superior drive to own if you wish to alarm with some role playing sexual try. Men, on the other deed, have been more frank in the recent set to explore different areas of their sexuality than ever before. Chastity belts are a part of the extensive incline of toys specifically improved for man. The aspiration of these products is to increase male gladness before and during sexual dealings. Special penis mew are exhibit to coerce bad sexual tendencies and are also known as swagger aviary. A common option for the one is the new Steel Penis Chastity Device with Lock (1.75” Inner Diameter RIng). This amazing product check the man’s erection to gain its optimal opinion, while impetration aroused at the same season. This bird cage like sight concede the females to tease and please their man without involving their penis. This result will limit the man from touching his genitals for sexual pleasure thus leaf you in enjoin. He will have to please you in any way you inquire him to as you hold the key to his pleasure characteristic. Chastity belts are a great journey of convey the lost spark and excitement back into your relationship. They can also help build expectation for cracked or weak relationships and help people last constant to their partaker. If dominion and control deflect you on, you should arrangement one now and obstacle it revolutionize the away you have gender.

[daxlabiano]

100 days of random shots with ADHD thoughts. Day 92 "Maja Salvador" Rice cakes? This is the best :) Aside from biko, kutsinta, puto or kalamay. Though it's not a rice cake technically, we consider it still as part of the league. Well, yeah it's a coconut cake. Hahaha I don't care, all I know is this shit is from the gods! Uhhhhmmmnn... Refrigerated or frozen cold, a bit weird naahh.. but so so so mouth watering! Maja blanca is a Filipino dessert made primarily from coconut milk. Also known as coconut pudding, it is usually served during fiestas and during the holidays, especially Christmas. As the name suggests, the dessert is of Spanish origin, adapted from the traditional holiday dessert manjar blanco, and is thus related to other similar desserts such as blancmange. The name means "white delicacy". Maja blanca is also known as maja blanca con maíz, maja maíz, or maja blanca maíz when corn kernels are used in the preparation (maízis Spanish for corn).

[cabiba]

You know that David Cameron’s ‘Big Society’ is bullshit, I know that the Big Society is bullshit, (almost) everybody knows that the Big Society is bullshit. Even Tory MPs refer to their leader’s pet project ambiguously as ‘BS’, while Tory Mayor of London Boris Johnson suggests less ambiguously that it is ‘a pile of piffle’, and former New Labour spinmeister Alastair Campbell tweets, in response to the government’s latest Big Society relaunch, that ‘on ne peut pas polir un turd’.

So why then does the prime minister keep coming back to relaunch his bs Big Society more times than Take That, only without the screaming fans? And why has nobody else really been able to nail or bury it, so that such a piffling turd of UK politics can still push Egypt or the economic crisis out of the headlines and dominate media discussion for days?

The surprisingly long shelf-life of Cameron’s Big Society must be more down to the failings of the opposition than any dynamism of its own. There are two common lines of attack from the Labour Party and its media supporters: that the Big Society is too vague a concept, and that it is just a cover for the cuts in public spending. Neither seems very big or clever.

To call something like the Big Society vague is like suggesting that the Liberal Democrats are a bit on the spineless side. Of course the Big Society is vague, unclear and incoherent. It is as incomprehensible as New Labour’s self-defining brands – such as Tony Blair’s ‘Third Way’ and his ‘Stakeholder Society’ – and as woolly as new New Labour leader Ed Miliband’s own slogan about representing the ‘squeezed middle’, a nonsensical social category he seemed to redefine half a dozen times in as many minutes once put under the media spotlight.

This is the nebulous nature of all top-down political initiatives these days, designed so as not to tie a leader down to any firm positions or endorse principles he does not have. From Blair through to Cameron, these so-called big ideas are largely public-relations exercises in distancing a party from its own past, and from the old politics of left vs right. Hence Conservative leader Cameron’s Big Society is a deliberate rhetorical counterpoint to his predecessor Margaret Thatcher’s declaration that there is no such thing as the S-word. It is intended to show that the new non-Tory Conservatives are in the centre, borrowing language from the communitarian left to create what the Americans call an ‘apple pie’ issue – who could really be against the general idea of a friendlier, more cooperative society? -  that they hope might mean all things to all people. Which is another way of saying it will mean nothing much in the real world.

The pathetic thing is that when Cameron said this week that the shapeless blancmange of the Big Society is his ‘mission’ in politics, he was probably telling the truth. This sort of stunt really is what top-level politics has been reduced to. And getting the media and political class to talk about it has become a ‘mission’, an end in itself. Thus the old Tory buffer Francis Maude could seriously claim at the weekend that the Big Society had been a success, not because it had achieved anything to date, but because people had taken some notice of it for longer than they ever did with Blair’s Third Way. Hurrah! Yet he was right in a way; that is how they measure success these days.

As Cameron and Co relaunch and re-relaunch their Big Society to try to keep ahead of the Third Way in the ‘legacy’ stakes, it conjures images of the New Labour spinners on the BBC satire The Thick of It, desperately trying to whip up some interest in their ‘Fourth Sector’ initiative by inventing words and slogans even as the media are gathering for the launch. But let us not complain about the Big Society being vague. It could not be otherwise. Let’s see it instead as providing a crystal-clear picture of the incoherent state of our entire political life today. The Big Society turns out to be the embodiment of the very small politics of the age.

The other near-universal argument from the opposition is that Cameron’s Big Society is just a ‘cover for the cuts’ – telling people to do more for each other in order to excuse the withdrawal of state funding etc. This might seem to make sense, but in fact it confuses two issues. The cuts in public spending would be going ahead regardless of which mainstream party was in power, and whether or not Cameron had ever muttered the dread words Big and Society. There is no ‘cover’ for the all-party politics of austerity. The fact that these cuts are being imposed alongside the rhetorical inflation of the Big Society does not necessarily mean there is a causal relationship between the two. Indeed, Cameron and his think-tank wonk Philip Blond, the ridiculous ‘red Tory’ blowhard, can claim that they were banging on about the BS back in the halcyon days of the financial ‘boom’.

It is really the politics of the playground today to claim that unless you are talking about the cuts all of the time, you must be part of the cover-up. See the bizarre conspiracy theories, now accepted as good coin in many apparently sane circles, about how the royal wedding has been plotted solely in order to distract the nation from the closure of libraries and reduction of council services. It seems a wonder somebody didn’t accuse the Egyptian protestors of diverting attention from the cuts.

This argument confirms the narrowness of what passes for opposition politics today, that debating the precise scale or timing of spending cuts is all there is to talk about. It also reveals the opposition’s patronising assumptions about the public, whom they seem to think are dim enough to be duped by anything from the flash of a royal wedding dress to a sound byte of Cameron’s posh-boy-in-shirtsleeves speech.

Worse, it might be more accurate to say that the loud ‘it’s a cover for the cuts!’ argument re the Big Society is itself a ‘cover’ for the fact that the opposition has actually got nothing big to offer as an alternative to the government’s policies. New Labour is as deeply committed to the politics of austerity as the Lib-Con coalition, apart from some quibbles about the timetable. As Cameron’s acolytes delight in pointing out, there is only an estimated one per cent difference between the cuts implemented by the coalition and those proposed by Gordon Brown’s Labour government before the election.

Trying to make fun of the admittedly risible Big Society is easier for the opposition than coming to terms with their own role in creating the narrow-minded politics of austerity. And at the same time, in the absence of any other big ideas, Miliband and Co have made clear they are trying to dream up their own variant of the BS. Maybe they should call it the Fourth Sector.

No doubt there will be Tory councillors spouting about the Big Society when it comes time to make big spending cuts, and there are plenty of moral entrepreneurs of both religious and secular bent ready to offer us righteous lectures about how the Big Society means we all need to give up our spare time and do more for others. They should all be given short shrift. But we should also recognise that if the Big Society means anything beyond an unfunny catchphrase, it is more about politics than economics. It is another step towards outsourcing the state’s tasks to third parties, sometimes even at a financial cost. This is an abdication of responsibility that gathered pace through the Blair and Brown eras, as the state seeks to cope with a crisis of authority by wriggling out of its traditional responsibilities at the same time as poking its nose further into areas of our lives that are none of its business.

There is a need to repose some big questions to get to grips with what initiatives such as the Big Society say about politics today. One key issue to examine again will be the role of the state. Contrary to the impression often given, and despite the deep spending cuts, the Big Society marks not a withdrawal but a reorganisation of state intervention and control across society. For example, the Big Society’s proposal to deploy professional organisers to ‘assist’ community groups, and to reward those that meet Whitehall’s standards, ensures that the authorities retain the final say over allegedly ‘grass-roots’ initiatives. Just as the Coalition’s ‘nudge’ agenda marks the development of New Labour’s ‘politics of behaviour’, so Cameron is trying to develop further the Blair-Brown school of indirect social control in a state-ridden society where the authorities want to make ‘volunteering’ compulsory. The record suggests that these attempts to solve the problems of a fragmented society by state diktat only make matters worse.

Anybody who seriously wants to see real autonomy and solidarity, and people taking matters into their own hands, should take a step back from what passes for political debate today and ask some more fundamental questions about the state and society. We are told that the choice is between Cameron’s Big Society or the Big State. Right now the big problem is that we are getting both, when we surely would be better off with neither.

Mick Hume is editor at large of spiked.