#and what kind of deranged men are writing this script??

[loptrcoptr]

ALSO if this is the dumbass route they want to go with all this and they want love triangle shit again THEN BRING BACK MARK HARMON

Just finished s4 ep 12 of moonlighting and like. I know I say something along these lines after every single episode of this show but what in the cinnamon toasted fuck was that

Never in my life have I sympathized with any human beings more than I sympathize with the folks who watched this shit in real time in 1987 and had to endure this jack fuckery. I literally cannot imagine the screaming I would have done if my ass had waited around through weeks of reruns for stunts like this. Any of yall who did this the first time around are my heroes because I am losing my will over here holy god. Did you break your tv sets? Rip up the tv guide? I felt the ghost of Rage Quitting past as soon as the episode ended like it was imprinted onto the reels from y’all’s original agony lmfao

[little-miss-deviant-s-diaries]

Miller's girl

I decided to watch the movie tonight while I'm drawing and sort of live-comment or come back here and share my thoughts about it. This isn't Twitter, but I'll make it work and somehow make it seem like a thread tweet. I adore Jenna Ortega to the extent that I'm not sure if I want her or want to be her. This is a question that crosses the mind of every woman attracted to another woman. So far, this feels like something straight out of a Wattpad 'deep girl' fanfiction. Well, ladies and gentlemen, Cairo Sweets is definitely a Tumblr girly. "Lonely girl longs to be loved. Books make longing to seem romantic, but it's awful. It's greedy, and I wear longing like a fucking veil.'" I quite like this quote, but just in the moment. You know some quotes you read them at first. You find meaning in them, but the more you read it, you realize how stupid it.

Well, well, I never thought I would say this, but Martin Freeman looks quite handsome here, but I don't feel any charisma from him. Squid said that he looks like a realistic fanfic teacher. My dear girl, you are quite right.

A beard can make most men look hotter. This is the same guy from Lord of the Rings and Love Actually. Cairo, sweetie, I get it now. I would strive to become the teacher's pet too. Love Actually was a bizarre mess of a movie that I quite enjoyed. I miss those 2000s movies. I kind of see where the movie is going. It's going to be about a teacher and his student crossing the line, and that is because his wife isn't satisfying him, and she is quite mean because she is quite honest and a go-getter, and he is not. Biggest eye roll, and of course, that's how they showcase her in the movie. So yeah, another film trying to justify cheating and make us not sympathize with the wife. Funny how he called her vile at the end. My opinion, all of them are vile to some level. Ugh, hate this. Moving on... "He sees you even though you hide in plain sight." Same opinion about the previous quote. 'A madman's love'... God, I'd give anything to feel that. What muse could inspire this deranged yearning, to inspire, to be so inspired. Could we be that to each other?... It is like a sugar cube under the tongue. I want your attention." I love this quote, but again, can't we fucking have a good teacher-student relationship that doesn't involve cheating? I know a couple, but they are decent and not like this crap. If only this movie didn't involve cheating, it wouldn't have irked me so much. I don't mind the age gap of the actors; both are adults and of legal age. I don't like this one bit. I just have no respect for a girl who goes after a person just for fun, knowing they are married, no matter how much his marriage sucks. I mean, he is also pathetic in the situation, the blind guiding the blind. At this point, just go jump over a hill. Completely unrelated, but I can't stop thinking about Winnie's shoes in the scene where she is on top of Mr. Miller's desk. I need to find them. Her writing screams Wattpad fanfiction, and yes, that is not a compliment. It is just bad pretense, deep wannabe erotic writing. The dialogue is just excruciatingly painful. I do love pain, but this one is just extreme. Oh, this is just sad. I love the fantasy that she wrote, but really I can't overlook the bad writing and Martin's acting. Jenna is great though.

I liked the overlaying of their dialogue. That was nice. I don't know if I would like reading the whole script more than watching the movie. Just why the fuck do they pick up and drop the accent, this is so annoying. I love how confrontational Cairo is in that scene. "You can't blur the lines and suddenly set a boundary when I decide to cross it." Oh sweet Cairo, how wrong you are. This is also the stupidest argument I have heard today. "You thought you were going to be somebody? Right? Overreaching without ambition. Do you know what that means? It means you weren't brave enough to be better. It means you are deliberately impotent. It means that you, Jonathan Miller, are mediocre." Here, however, Cairo is right. He is just an excuse of a pathetic man, letting life walk all over him and doing nothing about it, and finding excuses, searching for a thrill but not executing it right. A blinded man. There is nothing more pathetic than someone always using the circumstances around them to justify their choices. For example, just because you had a shitty upbringing doesn't justify for an instance having a shitty character or shit behavior. A lot of people grew up in shit holes and that not for a second prevents someone from being a decent human being. At the end of the day, we are all human capable of making choices, and if someone ends up making a bad choice, they are aware of that and all they have to do is acknowledge it.

Jenna's acting is fantastic. This guy is stuck in a loveless marriage. I don't know why people let themselves stay in such agonizing marriage. I don't understand these relationships where communication is basically non-existent. People would rather stay sad and together than confront and maybe get better. Bunch of cowards. The only person I feel bad for in the movie is Winnie. She is rather volatile but didn't deserve to be played with like that. However, she is the person who sparked the idea, so not that innocent after all.

Whoever is playing Mrs. Miller is extremely hot despite being drunk 95% of the movie xD. The confrontation from his wife topnotch. Whoever has sympathy for this man is an utter idiot. Here, the last passage is good. That was decent. No, I take that back; I think I only said that because I was like "fucking finally this shit writing is about to end". "In the end, I ultimately understood our mutual naivete; my trust, his arrogance exposed us to the caprices of society and rendered us defeated, suddenly alone in separate camps. What will become of us? Will he measure himself an unwilling participant, falsely banished and beggared, with no job, no wife, no forgiveness, or will he be brave enough to accept his complicity in a way that is meaningful, a way that changes him like it has changed me? The answer evades me. I wanted to experience something I didn't understand; I reached for it and was made a fool by my own childish notion of love. But where was my error? Was it in the reaching or the wanting? Is this what it is to be an adult? The same exquisite longing of adolescence but with the burden of constant accountability, no excuses to be made for your choices, for they are yours alone. I cannot say whether or not I am grateful for the experience, for the knowledge. The levity of youth has been ripped from me like skin, and exposed as I am, so raw and open, I can feel it shaping me into something new: hero, villain, writer, grown from the human ruins for a madman's love."

Look, this is two people that mistake their story as forbidden love, because she is a student and he is a teacher, she young and he is old. It would have been the case if this fucker wasn't married. Those two are just two delusional idiots driven by lust. This is not a love story, this is stupidity.

So this is a review I found and wanted to share. "What starts as a manipulation game on Cairo's part turns into genuine affection, and what starts as sheer academic intrigue on Miller's part turns into longing desire. What complicates things is that both characters are sympathetic; you can see why they act the way they do, and you're left wondering, is this wrong or is this okay?" You can never justify something that is morally wrong; you can just live with it. I honestly believe I would have something positive to say about this movie if it didn't involve cheating. I like the complexity of a relationship with someone younger and old. I like the mentor and mentee trope; however, it should be done right, in the sense where it's morally right, but also you can write a story about two morally wrong people like in 'Les Liaisons Dangereuses,' but it needs to be good writing, and this one doesn't have one or the other. In conclusion, the movie is trying too hard that you just want to throw a shoe at it. I can see the idea behind it, but the execution is just plain bad; the writing is bad. I think I would have loved the movie if I put it on mute and just watched because at least it is pretty to look at. It is pretty. Plain pretty.

Something that I hate with new writers is when they want to make you believe an idea that is false, like Cairo being a talented writer and then not showing it. I mean, you can't make a character smarter than you actually are. If you are a mediocre writer, no matter how much you say your character is, your character will always seem as mediocre.

I would like to add more but tumblr is not letting me.

[stormyoceans]

have you done a top 5 unhinged puentalay list?? 👀

SFJKSGFJSGDKGS I DID NOT AND IM MORE THAN HAPPY TO FIX THIS TERRIBLE SHORTCOMING ON MY PART. i do think two of their most unhinged moments are the bucket hat scene in episode 1 and the entire shirt scene in episode 7, but since i already used them for talay's list, i tried to pick other moments where puen's and talay's insanity matched!!!

1. the date-not-date culminating in the nivea bathtub scene my beloved in episode 3. two men have to write a script for a romantic movie. they have no experience when it comes to love so they decide to follow a man and a woman to establish if they are a couple or not. in doing so, they end up doing all the typical activities people do on a date: going to a cafe, watching a movie, eating together and feeding each other.... the night ends with the two men going home together. one of them goes to take a bath. after a while the other follows and climb into the bathtub with him. the words "if this can be used to wipe away dust, i should use it with your heart" are uttered. the next day they go on like nothing happened, fully convinced they are just friends. im losing braincells just typing this out. they are insane and i want to throw myself in front of a moving train.

2. the lay's marriage proposal in episode 12. puen proposed with a bouquet of lotus in one hand and a bag of lay's in the other. talay still said yes. i don't even know what else to add they're just lucky they suffer from the same brand of derangement tbh (one might argue that it was just a product placement so it doesn't count. FOOL. their proposal was always going to involve food in some way, shape or form: we got a potato chip, could have easily been a shrimp)

3. the nom nom scene in episode 10. we focus so much on jimmysea improvising it that i think we don't talk enough about the intrinsic unhinged quality of this scene. after episodes upon episodes of puen saying that talay smells good and that he would eat cake right from talay's face, the mad man does exactly as he promised. the other mad man goes along with it and does it right back. couples who've been married for years are gagging in the background because WHO EVEN DOES THAT (unless you're into it, which it's perfectly fine, we're very accepting in this house. but this also brings me to the next point...) JUST GET A ROOM JESUS CHRIST.

4. the "morning after" in episode 2. talay and puen meet. talay gets drunk and kisses puen twice. talay then passes out, so puen brings him home, strips him and puts him in bed. he then decides that the best course of action is to take his shirt off (but not his shoes) and also get into the same bed. talay wakes up the next day to find puen asleep next to him and after a moment of (mild) surprise he checks that puen still has his pants on. they didn't sleep together, and yet they're able to make at least three different kind of sexual innuendos in the time it takes them to have breakfast. they've known each other for less than 24 hours.

5. the mirroring in episode 8. admittedly not as unhinged as the other moments and it's mostly just a cute and funny scene, however this is the proof (along with counting the minutes and seconds in which they're apart) that they do indeed share one single deranged braincell. and i do love that they can be silly together but they really started to do that out of nowhere and almost had their first kiss like that. thank god this is a PG-13 show or idk where else this could have gone.

[maxwell-grant]

What would a spider man: life story look like for the shadow?

Now that I've actually read Spider-Man: Life Story I can give this one a response. I'm gonna obsess about this question for a while because man what a ride Life Story was.

To those not in the know, the premise of Spider-Man: Life Story is: "In 1962, in AMAZING FANTASY #15, 15-year-old Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider and became the Amazing Spider-Man! Fifty-seven years have passed in the real world since that event — so what would have happened if the same amount of time passed for Peter as well?" and basically it tells the story of Spider-Man as one continuous narrative spanning 57 years, from his beginnings to a potential future, allowing Peter Parker and his cast and world to age in real time and factor in elements from the character's major stories over the decades.

And it's got a lot into it that the premise doesn't convey and there is no way I can even begin tackling a project like this for the 90 goddamn years of The Shadow's history without seriously just writing an entirely different fanfic continuity (and I already have 5, plus multiverses, possibly more) and tipping off way too much about my own plans for the character. Even I have my limits.

So instead, what I'm gonna do is go over the broad strokes of The Shadow's history as it would look like if you could try and condense it all under a consistent narrative, if you could focus on each decade's highs and lows, what kind of story would arise if a deranged Shadow maniac like me were to try and build a basic skeleton for a The Shadow: Life Story story.

Basic rules first: I'm sticking to the idea of Life Story and spanning every decade from the beginning of the character's life to the end of it. The aging and death parts are important so I’m sticking to those. The character's canonical birth date is 1892, so he's not making it intact to the 2000s. We're capping this off in the 90s, although it doesn't mean no further stories can be told. I will avoid mentioning specific historical events like Vietnam and 9/11 for this post to instead focus on The Shadow's trajectory. I will also not be including other characters, only somewhat referencing whatever aspects I deem relevant. I'm not sticking to any continuity, I'm pulling literally everything I can for this one

And putting this one below the cut

The 1930s: The golden years. In 1930, after a long line of life experiences in the Great War and traveling around the world under dozens of names, the man formerly known as Kent Allard has taken to fighting crime in the Great Depression. This chapter would be more of a standard narrative showcasing the trajectory of The Shadow's 30s career, how he's started off as a urban myth fighting gangsters and then progressed to urban avenger with dozens of allies fighting spies and supervillains. Despite being in his home element, he is restless. Another war is on the horizon. We gotta know where he starts, to get a clue of where he's going.

The 1940s: Despite it being the "family friendly American hero" Shadow era, shit gets very, very chaotic in the 40s, way more so than The Shadow could have anticipated. The pulps were relatively tame for this period, by this point instead you have the radio with it's constantly rotating writers and sensibilities, and comics that had far less reservations about either being really boring or really wacky. Far more encounters with the supernatural than before and with supervillains like Devil Kyoti and Monstradamus and Solaris, plus Khan is still around. The Shadow is forced to spend a lot more time traveling the world to deal with the war, spending a prolonged period establishing headquarters in Japan to aid Japanese underground organizations opposing the military. The agents perform rescue missions on concentration camps, and this is the period where you could have the "real" Lamont Cranston start filling in for The Shadow a bit while he's overseas.

There's a particular blurb that got released during this period that explains The Shadow acquired the power to cloud men's minds not by training, but by journeying to Tibet in an unrecorded adventure that forced him to beg the monks to grant him assistance in saving the world. I have some very mixed feelings on this whole backstory but I think there's something to this idea. Some shit went down in the 40s that was way beyond what The Shadow could have anticipated, and to protect the world from it he had to tap into forces that perhaps should have been left untouched.

The 1950s: The Shadow has dissappeared from America alltogether. He gathered up his agents and announced he wouldn't return for at least a decade, and left them with enough money to last a lifetime and retire should they feel like it. Burbank and Cliff Marsland dissappeared with him, and this chapter would probably be told from the Agents's perspective as they face the 50s while we get snippets from Marsland on what The Shadow's been up to. Some of it involves The Shadow helping protect Tibet after Mao's takeover of China. The real Lamont Cranston doesn't put on the costume anymore and instead operates as a fairly regular detective, although he's training on the skills and powers he's picked up overseas. Whatever fantasy madness haunted the 1940s is all but gone.

The 50s had basically nothing in Shadow content other than the last legs of the radio show, which are 200 episodes from 1950 to 1954 that currently don't exist anymore outside of a few scripts. During this time, The Shadow's sole appearence in US content was a parody in MAD Magazine. Overseas however, there were original Shadow novels published in Norway (a story for another day), as well as a Mexican radio and film series, which also featured Cliff Marsland. I have little information on either.

The 1960s: The OG Shadow is still embroiled in conflicts overseas, but the rise of the criminal organization CYPHER forces him to mobilize Burbank and agents old and new alike to deflect CYPHER away from where he's at, although most of them have retired by now. He still cannot return, but he has been secretly instructing Lamont Cranston on furthering along his own latent abilities if he intends to take over in his stead, and Cranston's powers have grown and developed to a point that, although he is pushing 60, he is able to do things even the original Shadow could not. He also invests a lot in merchandising and costume changes, which...doesn't pan out. Nothing in this era really pans out. It's just a really, really frustrating period of bad luck and supervillains that the aging superpowered detective Cranston is able to stop. Lamont Cranston seems to die in this decade.

The 1970s: Inspired by The Shadow's DC series, and most importantly Michael Kaluta's spiffy redesign.

The original Shadow returns to a crime-torn America, intent on starting anew, and sets to rebuilding his network. But something is off about him. He's leaner, meaner, less compassionate and trusting. Just as what happened the first time he returned to America following years abroad, what happened in his sojourns overseas has fostered something inhuman in him, another sacrifice of his own identity for the sake of a world where the weed of crime has only proven more insidiuous. His powers have grown and so have his resources, but despite that, he's bordering on 80 years old by now, and cumulative trauma deep within his bones hampers his effectiveness. He's doing a lot better than he should, by any rights, but he can't keep this up and he knows it. And so, as before, he starts planning for it.

The 1980s: This was the decade where Walter Gibson died with his final Shadow story incomplete, all the movie plans from the 70s were canned, and Howard Chaykin happened, plus the other DC runs. It's the SHIT decade, basically, where everything goes to hell. Whatever plans The Shadow had blew up, dipshit copycats start ruining everything, his network crumbles, and this is probably the ideal decade to kill off Kent Allard.

But this is also the decade where something weird started happening outside of the story: The Ghost of Gay Street hauntings, where visitors on the hotel Gibson wrote the stories in repeteadly claimed to see a ghostly visitor looking exactly like Lamont Cranston, and Gibson himself claimed that to be a tulpa he created by accident.

Kent Allard may have died. But death can never claim The Shadow.

The 1990s-onwards: Somehow, The Shadow is still active. Still elderly, in a much more limited fashion, but still as sharp as ever if not more so. His powers have grown more so than ever before, even blossoming into a limited form of telekinesis. Is he a ghost? Did he somehow survive the events of the previous decade? Somehow, both Lamont Cranston and The Shadow linger on, but is it Kent Allard or Lamont Cranston? Is it someone else?

Who knows?

This is the decade in particular where he's going to be interacting with more prominently with a new generation, whether it's descendants of the original agents, or new heroes that have found themselves in his orbit. Inspired mainly by the Dark Horse Shadow comics, Ghost and The Shadow, and Peter Straub's Mystery and modern takes on the character like Batman x Shadow and the 2017 mini that play up the miserable immortal and ghost teacher aspects, also inspired by my recent realization that The Shadow's ideal future in-universe may be getting to age and mentor the next generation in some capacity.

Anything beyond that, only The Shadow Knows.

[wokeastroke]

Oubliette

Tirian had never expected to own a dungeon. He never saw the need. When a man kills, when a man steals, he is either killed or beaten within an inch of his life. Why would he want to keep them? Why torment them further when a beheading was arguably cleaner, less expensive, easier?

But the beast had long since turned his mind into it’s stomping grounds. It’s violent and eternal brain set on very simple and easily accomplished goals. It recognized the enemies about it, the weak ones, the loyal ones. And it recognized itself. When Tirian’s black, dead end eyes met the shining, glittering ones of Riva Ban’dinoriel, there was kinship. The predator that had taken her was a cousin, a sister in murder that thrives on the more subtle methods of domination. In a way it felt weaker, it’s slithering, snake-like appearance easy to stomp underfoot. But never would the bull stomp upon the snake, for fear of the poison in its fangs.

“Oh Tirian, do not look at me with those dark eyes. I’m tired of feeling like you’re going to sling me upon my table and ravish me. Or kill me.”

Tirian scoffed at the doctor, sitting upon her much-to-big leather chair, writing in her leather bound notebook. He was, conversely, seated on a hard wooden stool. Of his own choosing, as before they ever descended into the bowels of Ghostlynn, he needed clarity. It appeared a hard wooden surface under his ass was helpful in that regard. “Never either, Riva. I adore you but I wouldn’t want to break you. And gods know we’re close as can be without blood in the mix.”

Riva made a noise of annoyance. She never enjoyed being told she could not handle something, even if it was a coupling she had no desire to enjoy. Sex was a tool, as much as any drug, and only one had ever enjoyed Riva’s attentions without ulterior motives driving the doctor’s movements. The very thought brought a sigh to her precious lips and a purring from within her, her own beast remembering and appeasing itself with that memory. The doctor scratched a few more things into her notebook, in a script that she’d developed for note taking of this caliber. The symbols were foreign, the entire book looking more like the scratching of a madwoman than the murderous, bloody examination of a gift she and the broad elf before her shared.

A gift, she called it. As it was. It was through the beast that she’d survived being locked underground with a beast of nightmares, it’s mouth vomiting viscous purple slime and it’s wails loud and haunting enough to drive most mad. She tittered to herself, drawing a flick of an ear from Tirian. Perhaps it HAD maddened her. What other than a madwoman would claw her way through half a mile of dirt, stone, and mud with nothing but her nails? She’d broken, that terrible day. And then she’d been remade. A darling, precious doctor turned into a... well.

Tirian cleared his throat, pulling her from her musings. As much as he enjoyed sitting still and watching her quill’s large and ridiculous feather bob and bounce, he did not come down here to watch it. He was here for another reason entirely, one that left his knee bouncing impatiently and his brows furrowing further with each minute he was made to wait.

Riva was the master of the Oubliette, a dark pit where the worst of the Blackrose Duchy found themselves. The worst that could not be turned towards something useful of course, or be caught and gifted to the more elegant dungeons of Vynlorin. Killers had their place, beneath Lord Felo’dorah. If they could not be tempered, would not submit to the king of murderers, they were no better than rabid dogs. They were worse, as even Primrose had been capable of controlling the hounds of the woods. No, this scum had no purpose other than one, one he and Riva had begun to take part in together. A strange sort of bonding, one part madness, another part hunger. Altogether, purely violent. Tirian had come to make good on this violence, to enjoy it to its fullest in a place where not even the guard could save their shared prey.

“You’re taking too long. Make your notes when we’re finished, but I’m hungry now and I know you are too. Get up, let’s go.”

Without waiting for her, Tirian rose to his feet. The room they were in was dark and cold, burrowed and constructed beneath the grounds of Ghostlynn by a thousand worker rats, all vehemently loyal to their god-queen. Tirian’s lip curled up, exposing his teeth in disgust as the vermin skittered about, on various tasks for her. They gave him a wide berth, respectful distance. They were loyal, yes, but not stupid. Even the lowliest rodents knew predators when they saw them, and he was more deranged than any they knew. Riva stood soon after, dusting her already pristine surgeon’s scrubs off. She gave another sigh of annoyance, but he could see it in her eyes as she gifted him a small key. Her shining, predatory eyes. She wanted this as badly as he did, perhaps more so. He could contain his hunger for a time, a week, two. But madness could not be contained. He knew for a fact that Riva fed her beast multiple times a week, sometimes twice daily she indulged her devilish delights. For a moment he wondered what it would be like, to be beneath her scalpel. He shuddered. There was sharp pain, the drag of nails or gnashing of teeth. And then there was the clinical precision of the Good Doctor’s blades. They were not alike.

He inserted the small key into a hole within the center of the wall. Twice to the left, once to the right, pull, once more to the right, push. A delicate system of gears and pulleys allowed even someone as small and thin as Riva to push the great slab of stone inwards. The wails began almost immediately. Men and women screamed and writhed in their cells, the light of even the small office unbearable after so long spent in the dark. Cells lined both sides of a long hall, rats still scampered about in the endless task of feeding, watering, and ventilating the shit-stink of the place. The last task, it seemed, was near impossible.

Their prisoners howled and cursed and gnashed their teeth. Knowing only the beast eyes of rats, their swarming caretaker, they had long forgotten the sensation of foreign bodies. However the malice was palpable. Neither the lord nor the doctor ever came here for good things. Tirian started down the hallway, head held high, as if to rise about the scents and sights of filth and mud. It wasn’t that he was disgusted, no, he was their lord. Even the prisoners of his lands would see him as he must be. Strong, tall, untouchable. They did not deserve his kindness, so none of it graced his face.

“Tirian, if you would, our subject for this morning is a man seen poisoning the crops of your furthest village. Crops that you know are already meager. Their output has been slowed by at least half, and will likely be so until Primrose is sent to usher new growth.” She spoke in a crisp and clipped tone, all pretenses lost as she had already given into the snake in her eyes. It cared for nothing but it’s venom and the venom’s effect.

“So close to war, all crops will already be taxed to feed our men, the alliance’s men. Do they not know that they will simply die second?”

“He speaks in gibberish, most days, yet appears to believe that a life served in undeath is payment enough for his services. Immortality, it seems, is too holy a grail to give up. Even if the means by which it is given are unholy.”

“He is mistaken if he believes his life will be anything other than cut short.”

They lapsed into silence as Tirian led them down the damp and dark hall. The wails of the damned had lessened now, returning to the pitiful mewling, the animals crouching low in their burrows in an attempt to escape the ire of the twin pair of beasts in their proximity. None had the mind left to hurl even insults. A result of the mixture of drugs and restorative that was mixed into their food by the very doctor that stalked them. Enough to ensure they died only when it was wished. At a short clearing of Riva’s throat, both stopped before the cell of a man dressed in ragged farmer’s wear.

It appeared he had not been given a change of clothing when he arrived. None the entered this hell were. His beard had grown unruly and matted, his hair hanging long and dirty and in his face. He did not react as the gate was unlocked and opened, a large and intricate lock falling to the ground with various metal noises. That alone seemed to startle the man. He rose from the ground, a mad dash for the entrance that only served to earn him a fist to his jaw. He fell backward, hitting the ground hard asTirian rubbed at him knuckles, growling slightly as the popped and cracked from the surprise usage.

From the ground, the farmer could only look up and blink in the darkness as the pair entered the cell and stood side by side, looking down on him. Riva spoke first.

“Hello, Mister Demps. I must admit you are looking worse for wear. It has only been a week since your internment, you know. What have you been doing to yourself?” She was sure to keep Tirian within fleeing distance. Proud as she might be, she knew her physical limitations well enough to know to avoid being within grabbing distance. Better to simply watch as Tirian worked, until he was prepared for her own brand of feeding.

And work Tirian did. He stepped forward as the good doctor spoke, taking the bruised and weakened farmer by the throat and twisting his arm behind his back. With this control over the mute fellow, the elf was able to shove him against a nearby wall, holding him steady with a steady application of pain.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” He observed as the man only gasped and murmured. A turn of the head and the night eyes given by the void clarified the reason behind this trait, however. “You took his tongue.”

Riva tittered as she worked behind him, her voice the only sound that told that he was not alone in the cell. “He shouted awful, hurtful things when he was placed within the cell. You must forgive me, but insults must be met with punishment. I believe he has long learned that screaming will not aid him. Tirian didn’t look convinced, even as the doctor arrived beside him, a silver syringe held between delicate, gloves fingers. The needle proceeded dreadfully slow to Demps’ bulging neck, likely for her own enjoyment. The bull didn’t at all kind, as the fear radiating from the farmer was enticing in its rawness. What did the doctor do to the fellow that could neuter him so? He found he did not want to ask.

Instead he breathed in, the antennae-like tendrils on his head weithin as they soaked up the raw terror from their meal. They always seemed more lively during feedings. Then, all at once, the needle found Demps’ carotid artery. Even to the lord, this seemed ill advised, but she was the expert here. The blue liquid pumped from the syringe and into their shared prey’s bloodstream, diffusing almost immediately, traveling to the brain, seeking the neurons that would activate-

Tirian groaned aloud as the concoction worked its magic. The sudden burst of vile and primal fear that coated the cell made his legs shake. The light gasp from behind him was evidence of Riva’s own reaction to the stench. The aroma he’d come to associate with energy, peace, sleep. Food. He stepped back, throwing the farmer to the ground and standing away. His shoulders heaved with his heavy breaths, his head growing light. Riva stepped beside him, grasping one of his strong arms as her own sort of feeding took it’s toll. It always did, for her. Her body was weak, as if her mind was the only muscle she sought to improve. Besides her ass, of course.

He found himself intoxicated as the human scrambled to the wall of the small cell, turning his face and closing his eyes as the wails and moans began to leave his throat unbidden. He looked down, noticing a tightening in his pants as his heartbeat quickened. He always got like this after feeding.

Riva fared no better. Her legs failed her, and only her grip on Tirian’s muscles arm was keeping her afloat in this sea of control. She didn’t care for fear, emotion, especially human emotion, was a waste unless utilized. But the sight of her control, her mastery of chemicals and minds, was orgasmic. Her tongue escaped her open mouth. Her tongues. She’d long ago split the muscle in two simply because she thought it would look good. Her smile was gone, replaced by a look that any would describe as hungry. Horny. But neither wanted sex. They wished to feed. And only when Riva finally patted his arm, signaling that she was fit to burst with the emotion of control, of subjugation, did Tirian raise a hand to the man against the wall.

Long ago, he had had to be close to his meal to devour them. His eyes and mouth had been the only point fear could flow into him, where sustenance could be gained. But he’d grown, since then. He was a bull, a lord, and he would not sully himself by coming closer during his feast of the senses. The power radiating from him coalesced in a simple point upon his palm. It flowed from his eyes, over his tongue and teeth. Cold and dark and sinful, it washed across the room at an unspoken command. Eventually, the energies that eddied and slithered across the ground met the prey, as it sat there and begged the gods for forgiveness with a tongue that could no longer speak. Tirian answered, instead.

“Do not beg the gods for release. In this moment, we are your gods. Tell whatever deity takes you who sent you to them.”

The draining process was swift, pulling the raw mass of terror from within his soul and sucking it across the cell. It was an ugly form of writhing screams and dripping piss and tears. The very essence of fear and anxiety rolled within the air until it was dragged back into the lord’s eyes. The sound was not unlike a predator breaking the bones of its catch to suck the sweet marrow away. It was was gone in an instant, and Tirian’s eyes and mouth were as ‘normal’ as a void elf’s could be an instant later. His hand dropped as he turned away, uncaring of the outcome of the broken, shell of a beast that sat within the cell.

Demps lay against the far wall, having curled into a ball to protect himself. When the attack was over, he merely sat up and stared at the pair. There was no life in his eyes, no pain, only the clear confusion that one feels when they know they must feel something else. He would never feel this anxiety again, damned as Tirian was to a life without fear. This proved a blessing, however, as Riva leveled a pistol to his chest.

The shot rang out, answered by the cries and screams of the forgotten, freshly reminds that beasts stalked their unwilling home. Their prison. The hole blown into the man’s chest cavity was ragged and wide, large enough for a rat to crawl within. It appeared this would not be far off, as Tirian could already hear the screeches of hunger and skittering paws.

“I’m leaving. See you again in two weeks, Riva.” He murmured before stalking off into the darkness. Riva called back a moment later, speaking in her regular, energetic, sing song voice.

“Oh do wait for me, Tirian! Who knows what sorts of monsters lay here, hiding in the dark?” Doctor Riva Ban’dinoriel tittered as she stepped lightly, neatly skipping from the Oubliette.

[paunchsalazar]

hey!! bro ur my number #1 source for lupin III content so can I ask like how in the hell I go about watching all the series / movies / etc for it in order??? I’m really pumped for the live action so I wanna at least dip into all the other stuff. thanking ya kindly //tips hat

hello!!! what an honor!! oh my… ok I’m so sorry in advance… I’ve gotten a few similar asks and I started writing out a list and it was getting over 1500 words long so I had to try to chill out…so…

LUPIN III CRASH COURSE

I’m sorry that this is so long.. and consider I cut it down! but here is my intro because I know this franchise is huge and confusing!! (I’ve had multiple instances of friends being like ‘I tried to find that Lupin thing you like but I could only find the third one?’) 

I kind of liken it to Scooby Doo? it stretches some 60 years and has been handled by many different writers, directors, and animators across very different eras? most important to know! the order doesn’t really matter and things aren’t really sequential (save for where the three most recent shows) so you can jump in and explore whatever seems compelling! it’s overwhelming because there is so much but also nice because there’s something for everybody! if you like fun and pure, edgy, etc. etc. 

feel free to disregard everything coming… I will say my personal priority order is

- Castle of Cagliostro

- some episode of part 2

- part IV, ideally all of it! there’s filler but it’s hard to know which ones

- part I (or some episodes of it? up to you!)

- Fuma Conspiracy

- part V 

- part III (it’s great too!! just not as sequential as IV and V)

- First Contact… truly indulgent but its so cute!

(below I broke down a little about each and my favorite episodes, where to find them, etc. and there’s so much more but just doing everything below is a whole lot)

TV (All the shows except for The Woman Called Fujiko Mine are on Crunchyroll!)

Part 1 (1971) - crunchyroll!

The beginnings kind of a weird feeling because the first half was directed with one vision vs. the second half being co-directed by Takahata and Miyazaki, there’s a shift in Lupin’s personality and most significantly they sought to shed his ‘sense of apathy’ and make him more of a hero? something that’s echoed later on! honestly, I don’t think the transition is as dramatic as some people find it? but it does shift across the episodes and end on a sweet note!

truly they all have something to enjoy but I made note of 

episodes 2, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 16, 18, 19, 23 

for some reason? really really suggest watching the last episode! but get a bit of the first and second half beforehand!

Part II/Red Jacket (1977-80) - 155 episodes - on crunchyroll dubbed and subbed

there are a lot so I tried to narrow it down to a few of my favorites/ particularly noteworthy ones? I bolded my absolute favorites! I’m sure I missed a few but save for a few two-episode arcs you can jump in anywhere and it’ll be fine.

episodes 1-79 are dubbed on Crunchyroll! In my personal opinion the script makes it worth it!! there are a bunch of non-dubbed episodes anyway if you want to get a feel for both

(these episode titles are often hilarious, misleading, and/or horribly embarrassing?)

1 - ‘The Return of Lupin the Third’ - just a good starting point!

5 - ‘Will the Leaning Tower of Pisa Be Standing?’

6 - ‘Tutankhamen’s 3,000-Year-Old Curse’

7 - ‘Venetian Super Express’ - I want to say this is a cute little road trip episode? it’s been so long

9 - ‘Steal the FIle M123’ - this dub… madness. very strange Christopher Walken impression for absolutely no reason?

10 - ‘Bet on the Monaco Grand Prix’

15 - ‘Crude Reproduction, Perfect Frame’ - Lupin keeps committing strange and uncharacteristic crimes, but he has no memory of doing so!

29 - ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ - Lupin has some mysterious Levitation Technique and everyone is after it 

32 - ‘Lupin the Interred’ A famed hitman is after Lupin!

34 - ‘But Your Brother Was Such A Nice Guy’ - this episode is one of the zaniest ones and that’s saying a lot… Vampires? Jesus? Really really funny moments though especially in the dub

42 - ‘Cruisin’ in Drag’ Lupin infiltrates the ship of a wealthy bachelor disguised as a woman 

45 - ‘Diamonds and Minx’ kind of a mess of people stealing from each other? 

46 - ‘The Island of Dr. Derange’

57 - ‘Alter-Ego Maniac’ - Inspector Zenigata goes criminal

62 - ‘Church of the Poison Mind’ - Jigen and Goemon stumble into a religious cult

69 - ‘Zenigata Getcha Into My Life’ - this title is awful but this episode is great. 

78 - ‘Ice, Robot’ - an inventor has made a machine that can cry diamonds!

79 - ‘Baton Death March’ 

81 - ‘Fujiko, Men are a Sorry Lot!” - Fujiko gets engaged to a Prince, the rest of the gang goes after the monarchy’s Golden Bell

96 - ‘Lupin’s Gourmet World’ tbh this is a vore episode but there are some great gang moments here and a really fun third act

99 - ‘Fighting Jigen’ - first anime episode (I think like in history? but I could’ve misread) in stereo! And I believe the first to air of the TMS staff’s work, you can tell because the style shifts to a more Miyazaki/Cagliostro look and this will keep happening for the rest of the show

101 - ‘Fervent Love at Versailles’ - a crossover episode with Rose of Versailles! 

103 - ‘The Wolf Looked at an Angel’ - Goemon is an angel I can say little else

104 - ‘The Most Dangerous Golden Bed’ - debut of perhaps the best opening! I love this episode?? so much?

112 - ‘Danger! Goemon’ 

122 - ‘An Unusual End to an Expedition for Napoleon’s Treasure’ 

143 - ‘The Miami Bank’ 

145 - ‘Wings of Death: Albatross’ - ah yes, one of the famed Miyazaki-directed episode, truly so worth it

151 - ‘To Arrest Lupin, the Mission at the Highway’ - another not exactly Miyazaki episode but a lot of the people he trained? They depart from the part 2 style(s) again but its a good bit of fun all around! Really lovely character animation

152 - ‘Jigen and the Hatless Pistol’ - Jigen loses his hat and thus his ability to shoot

155 - ‘Thieves Love the Peace/Farewell, Dear Lupin’ - the finale episode! Miyazaki-directed as well, and just beautiful 

Part III (1984) - 50 episodes - crunchyroll!

I’m still very early in this one so I can’t say much yet! But it gets a bad rep? Perhaps for being more inconsistent stylistically and a bit on the zanier end! But I really like it!! these drawings are such a blast! I think each bit has its merits and this one is no exception. Plus with all their freedom animation-wise they can do a lot of fun stuff!

The Woman Called Fujiko Mine (2012) - 13 episodes - on kissanime for certain and I think animetake?

this is the most dramatic departure from the rest of the shows/films/specials. Fujiko Mine is the star of this part! It definitely has less obviously plot-important episodes but it’s one narrative from start to finish. I must note that it’s by far Lupin’s edgiest, I think it’d be safe to deem this part as R-Rated. There’s sex, violence, sexual violence, abuse, bodily mutilation, obsession… a gay character who gets a pretty tragic fate (at first I was excited by the very existence of an LGBT+ character but he really goes through the wringer and never gets a resolution.. I don’t want to spoil). This is probably Lupin at his ickiest? I do like Jigen’s personality here! And his dynamic with Fujiko, but it’s a lot more disjointed than the other parts. She meets each of them separately and towards the end, Lupin and Jigen interact more but there’s barely a time when they’re all together. That’s not meant to be a deterrent but personally, I’m a sucker for their friendship and love them as a group so it’s a bit of a bummer. Sequential plot-wise though! This one is definitely captivating, a bit disturbing, and there is a plot-twist that really got me. The villain design is really cool too!

Part IV (2015) - 26 episodes - on crunchyroll, also dubbed on Funimation

This part is narrative-based and sequential! It still has some more standalone episodes but there’s definitely an overarching story throughout! I think they’re all worth watching and might leave little important bits that’ll be confusing later on. Essentially this part takes place in Italy for the most part and starts with Lupin getting married to a multi-millionaire heiress/model/celebrity who wants to get into the thief business. This one feels like a good combination of old and new, it’s not quite as silly as the earlier parts can be, but it’s full of nostalgia while still feeling original. I really had a good time!

This dub isn’t bad but!! It comes with a different opening and soundtrack, I guess Lupin’s pretty big in Italy and perhaps there were licensing issues? I’m not sure? But it’s a bit of a bummer to be without the Yuji Ohno soundtrack. The alternate opening feels more like a collection of stills and footage found throughout the show? It’s not horrible, just different! Regardless, the Part IV Japanese OP (vs. the Italian/US one) is worth a watch!

Part V (2018, airing on Adult Swim right now, summer 2019!) - 23 episodes 

I’m actually not done with this part but its good fun! more directly tied to part iv then the others are to each other. It’s more sequential as well with a few sub-arcs and since it fell on the franchise’s anniversary it has callback episodes with Lupin in various jackets in various tones. Interesting Lupin characterization here… he seems… sadder, wistful? and we get hints of Lupin lore! Lots of fanservice but… I love it! I still think they could’ve pushed it more? it feels somehow more reserved than part IV in some ways, which is already different from the 70s and 80s, but it’s got a lot of lovely moments!!

Films/TV Specials

From 1989 to 2011 they had a special every year!! So much!

Castle of Cagliostro (1979) - Available on Netflix! 

perhaps the best-known piece of media in the Lupin franchise? And rightly so. This film is Hayao Miyazaki’s directing debut and a blast from start to finish! This characterization of Lupin is definitely Miyazaki’s more than Monkey Punch’s but that seems to be the strange nature of the Lupin franchise! I could really go on forever… please watch it!

The Fuma Conspiracy (1987) - 

perhaps harder to find, but it’s on Kissanime! Goemon is getting married but before the ceremony is over the bride is taken by the Fuma ninja clan and the gang helps him to get her back as well as learn the story of a family heirloom? Really great stuff from everybody! Adorable Zenigata, the fluffiest and most handsome Goemon, cute Jigen, Fujiko, and Lupin interactions, a really really incredible car chase! Even with Cagliostro’s fame, this one has got some serious pizzazz

Episode 0: The First Contact (2002) - on Kissanime as well! 

A journalist asks Jigen how he met Lupin III, this is probably my favorite TV special? And features one of my favorite opening scenes in the whole franchise. The instrumental!! Perhaps each member of the gang at their purest, whatever that means, really great moments between everybody and peak Lupin and Jigen meeting and somehow signing up to be life partners

[thetirisfaltheatretroupe]

[Script Archive] The Altruist - A Tale of Kindness Gone Wrong

<< The following is a play that has been performed but not yet retired from the Tirisfal Troupe’s lineup, however, use of it for one’s own production purposes is allowed with proper credit to the Tirisfal Theatre when performing! Please contact us if you plan to use this particular script so that we know, thank you! Trivia will be located at the bottom! >>

SETTING: Lordaeron, circa 400 years ago.

CHARACTERS: Lord Vincent (main character), Lady Helena (Vincen’t wife), Ser Harmun (butler of the manor), Townsperson 1, Townsperson 2, Servant 1, Servant 2, The Stranger (antagonist). Narrator

SUMMARY: A lord known for his acts of kindness and bountiful wealth takes in a man whom he believes to be down on his luck. After taking this man in, he notices strange occurrences around his manor, but denies anything is wrong even when his family and friends confront him about the peculiarities of his new guest.

<ACT 1: Scene opens with narration. The narrator places an Autumn sapling  from stealth, placed behind them, as the spotlight is shone. They take a bow, and speak grimly> NARRATOR: When the first frost falls upon any land, the time for generosity and giving is upon us. Mortals, of all creeds and colors, rely on one another to survive, to thrive.

Yet some are more generous than others. Some strangers would give you the very clothes upon their backs to keep you warm.

Look to the one on your left. Are they a loved one? Someone you know? If they are not, would you give them the contents in your wallet, should they be in need?

Most of you would say ‘no’, I wager. To some, this is selfishness. To others, this is practicality. A defense, a desire for one’s own prosperity over another, and to avoid being taken advantage of.

Acts of kindness are heralded as life’s great boon. It is true, that to give selflessly is admirable, and yet, just as there are those who would give their home to shelter you from the rain…

< A shaman casts Healing Rain on the stage > ...there are those who would use that chance to take over your life.

Tonight, we invite you to behold a story about what happened to a lord who let the wrong. One. In.

< the narrator bows and leaves the stage. Lord Vincent takes to center stage and adjusts his coat. The narrator chimes in once they are out of view and vincent is ready. He is joined on stage by the townsfolk > NARRATOR: In an age long passed, there existed a small, but prosperous village. This village, nestled in the heartland of Lordaeron, was home to a most beloved Lord.

The lord’s name was Vincent, and he was described as selfless and giving. Sitting upon an empire of trade, he cared little for the money in his pocket each day, knowing it would be filled and then some by the time the sun set.

< Vincent is shown throwing bags of money into the crowd of townsfolk around him, who applaud and cheer him as he bows. While this happens, the Stranger walks onto the stage behind them and sits down > He was praised and heralded for his giving nature, and those closest to him in life knew that none loved his fellow villagers more than he. But one day, a cloud came over the village, and an endless rain began to fall.

< shaman actor casts Healing Rain to create a downpour. The townsfolk put on hoods and begin to walk away >

VINCENT: Oh dear, do get home quickly, everyone! You wouldn’t want to catch your death of cold from the rain!

<he begins to walk away, but then turns around and notices the homeless stranger >

You there - you may want to take shelter from the rain!

STRANGER: You who are fortunate knows only optimism. Tell me, how would one who has no home take shelter from the rain?

Do I use the lid of a crate? Do I sleep in the stalls with the pigs and cattle?

All valid solutions, and yet nothing compares to the simple warmth of a fire and a roof and walls to keep the elements away.

Nay, carry about your day, and allow me to drown...

VINCENT: You poor man. I had no idea! Life was not meant to be lived in squalor. Come, I’ve plenty of room at my estate on the hill.

STRANGER: <looks up at him and smiles > Truly you have a heart that bleeds for us all. I accept your offer, good lord. May I stay until a time I can get back on my feet?

VINCENT: Of course, come, come right this way!

< both walk off stage as the narration continues, during which they re-enter from the side they left once Lady Helena and Ser Harmun are on stage. Scene shifts to ‘interior - Vincent’s Manor’, servant 1 and 2 ‘cleaning’ at the wall in the background >

HELENA: My dearest, you’ve returned! And who is this fellow you’ve brought with you? HARMUN: My Lord, if I’d known you were bringing in guests, I’d have set another place at the table. Do give me some time to amend this grievous mistake. < Harmun bows and leaves the room >

VINCENT: Oh, this fellow has no place to stay. This rain looks to be a bit of a long one, so why not allow him to stay here, I thought?

< the stranger walks around the room suddenly, completely ignoring Helena and rummaging around >

HELENA: As always, such kindness from you, love. Erm, good sir, could you please not touch the books on the bookshelf, though? I just rearranged them, I’d like them to stay in the order they are-- VINCENT: Helena, please. Allow him to do as he wishes. Maybe he’d like to read a little before bed?

< the stranger takes some books in hand and turns to Vincent and nods > STRANGER: Oh yes, I… I like to read. Yes, I like to read...a lot. And...and write.

VINCENT: See? One who reads will surely treat our library with respect! Now, let’s all wash up for dinner.

< they all leave the stage as the narration continues. During the narration, Lord Vincent re-enters and walks to the other side of the stage, while Ser Harmun approaches him with two of the servants in tow >

NARRATOR: Days had passed, and their guest seemed normal, if not a little bit...quirky. He did in fact love to read, so much that he’d gone through all the books in the study, as a matter of fact.

HARMUN: My Lord, I pray I do not find you at a terrible time?

VINCENT: < closes the scrolls he is reading > No no, I was just finishing up reading over this financial summary. I something the matter?

HARMUN: Well, m’lord, you see… it is something regarding your recent guest. These servants were the ones who brought it to my attention, perhaps they should be the ones to tell you.

VINCENT: Oh? Nothing dreadful, I hope? < Harmun bows and takes a step back, back facing towards the back wall. Servant 1 steps forth and bows> SERVANT 1: Lord, it is not without hesitation that I come and report this to you, but when we went to clean in your guest’s chambers last evening, there was something quite...unsettling.

SERVANT 2: <blurts out, frantically> Blood! Blood and paper everywhere!

SERVANT 1: Y-yes, lord. You see, his room was riddled in ripped pages and there was blood spattered everywhere. It smelled pungent, like gore.

SERVANT 2: We went to go get the other servants quickly, but could find no one! None! And then by the time we returned, the room was empty!

VINCENT: Wait, I am confused. It is as though you are claiming that my humble guest stole the books from the study and used them to clean up the mess of a murder.

SERVANT 1: If I am to be blunt, lord, we would not be coming to you were this not the belief we held.

SERVANT 2: He is mad, I tell you! You are laying it on far too lightly, this man is deranged! He talks to himself in the hall, all in tongues I tell you! None can understand the language he speaks, but it is a guttural one!

VINCENT: Now, cease this at once! I refuse to believe such a wild claim without proof! Can you or can you not provide me with assurance that this man did the things you claim?

SERVANT 2: Well, uh… I am certain if the premises is checked, we can find the pages he used to soak the blood from whatever it was he killed! HARMUN: <steps forward and bows again > My lord, I am sorry to interrupt, but if need be, I can provide a search of the manor and rally the servants to comb it up and down, discreetly as not to disturb our guest.

VINCENT: < draws a heavy sigh > No, that should be entirely unnecessary. Even if the sight of gore was one that could be hidden, I am certain the room would smell of it as well. Please, just go back to your duties.

SERVANT 1: But, my lord…

VINCENT: Go! He is my esteemed guest, you will treat him as though he is one and not make up wild tales just because you don’t desire to aid him. < both servants take a look at one another and hesitantly bow, then leave > HARMUN: If I may, sir… VINCENT: Harmun, you’ve been my most trusted friend for many years now. If there is one person I trust, it is you. Do you believe there is merrit to their claims?

HARMUN: My lord… if I am to be frank and honest, both those servants are newer to the estate, and it is entirely possible they are being dishonest. But I cannot for the life of me think of a reason they are not.

The room does not smell of a kill, but their claims of the other servants being absent is very much true. I believe it is worth looking into, at the very least. VINCENT: <draws a heavy sigh> Harmun, what is this world to come to if we cannot trust our fellow men? If it will put the minds of our employees at ease, I will speak with him.

They serve us well, it is the least I can do.

HARMUN: Then I will see if I cannot find the missing servants.

VINCENT: See to it that you do. Now, let me go find our friend. <both walk off stage, the Stranger walks on stage. Servant 1 and 2 change costumes to match the stranger with a hood, their names become ‘Uninvited Guest’. They toil in the background like the servants did> VINCENT: <walks on stage and waves at the Stranger> Hail friend! I trust you are enjoying your stay here?

STRANGER: <smiles at Vincent> Oh of course, my Lord. Your generosity has been most helpful. I am feeling much better these days despite the storm. If I had stayed out there, I would have died of illness, no doubt.

VINCENT: Yes, I do agree. Better that a good man found you then, yes? Haha...ahh...I’ve been hearing that some strange occurrences are going on in the manor. <he casts a glance at the pillaging Uninvited Guests>

STRANGER: Strange? Whatever do you mean, my lord? Strange is such a...strange...word to define, why, it could mean most anything that others do not see eye to eye with.

Could it be...oh my, is it… no, if so, I must cease benefiting from your lordship’s kindness at once, then.

VINCENT: What? No no, no, what do you think? That the servants view you as something repulsive?

STRANGER: It is how the world sees me, so yes, I am most certain that is the case. The last thing I wish to do is to draw ire from your staff, o’ humble lord.

VINCENT: I assure you, if you have been given that impression at all, those who made you feel unwelcome will be most assuredly dealt with. STRANGER: It’s just that...there was a servant who came into my room and bothered myself and my colleagues. They insisted we were making the manor messy, untolerable.

They told us to carry our filthy hides out and bathe in the waters of the storm, or they’d throw us out themselves.

I’d hate to hear your good name tarnished should the townsfolk hear how we were treated... VINCENT: I will see that the servants are harshly punished then.

< he pauses a moment > ...wait, colleagues? STRANGER: Why, don’t you recall, my lord? You invited us all to live when we were in the rain. We’ve been ever so grateful. VINCENT: Did I say that? No, I didn’t, I’m almost positive there was… < he pauses and looks around at the Uninvited Guests, who turn to him and wave, then return to what they’re doing > VINCENT: Well… while I don’t remember it, I can’t imagine turning anyone in need away, so I must have. STRANGER: We are being careful not to disrupt your means of life. When at last the storm passes, we will be on our way. VINCENT: Well...if you feel you must stay after, then by all means. But I will see you again in a little while. I’m off to speak to my staff. Good day.

< As Vincent leaves, the Unwanted Guests stand side by side to the stranger > STRANGER: Oh, we won’t forget that kindness… < the Unwatned Guests and the Stranger both leave opposite the direction Vincent did. As the narration starts, Vincent and the servants from the previous scene are speaking, with Harmun standing nearby > NARRATOR: Vincent was convinced that the three men he had taken in were innocent. After all, why would they not be? They were copperless, and would have died in the rain.

Meanwhile, his servants lazed about the manor, day after day, very little asked of them. They lived a cushy lifestyle and were paid quite well.

< Using emotes, Vincent /roars at the servants and then /points off stage, simulating anger and booting them out. Servant 1 /cries, servant 2 /rudes, then both leave the stage. Vincent walks after them in the direction they left in, pauses for a moment, and takes a few steps back, before turning to face his servant >

VINCENT: I did what I had to.

HARMUN: My lord, if I may interject again… if what the stranger says is true, then pragmatism is not a horrid course to go, but what also of the townsfolk who hear you cast your own servants into the cold over the words of a man we barely know?

VINCENT: < he turns around and throws his hands up in the air as he walks away from the ‘door’ > Oh, not you, too! Harmun, you are beginning to sound like my wife. She said something similar to me earlier this morning before I went to speak to them. It matters not that we know little of our guests, what matters is that we do the right thing! We’ve rooms to spare, we’ve food to spoil, so what is the harm? HARMUN: < raises an eyebrow > Pardon my question, lord, but you speak as though there’s more than just a single guest... VINCENT: Three! HARMUN: My lord, are you feeling well? There’s only been the one skulking around the manor at all, and--

VINCENT: Enough! I will have no more questioning of my decisions!

< suddenly, Lady Helena appears on stage > HELENA: Oh, dear husband? Is this how you take my wariness of what you’ve wrought upon our house?

HARMUN: < takes a bow > I can see this is going to become a matter that is most personal, my lord. I will take my leave and prepare the evening meal. < he leaves the stage in the direction Helena came from > VINCENT: Helena, please listen! What sort of man would I be if I cast aside the sick and needy? HELENA: You would STILL be the heart I fell in love with years ago! There is no shame in kindness, love, but there is shame in naivety! Love, have you not noticed the strange occurrences as of the past few days? VINCENT: So some things have turned up missing. We can replace them! If the men I invited into my abode, that I spent my life acquiring, desire to take what they need in order to prosper, then I am glad I could sacrifice something!

HELENA: THEFT is the worst you could think of? Damn the missing books and silverware, damn the gems and jewelry! I am speaking of people!

Faces I’ve seen each day walk these halls, suddenly gone! Our servants have left us since the stranger arrived, not just the ones you cast away! VINCENT: Strangers, and yes, I’ve taken note! I will be posting for their positions to be filled once this storm is over.

HELENA: Is that what a good man would choose to say? Do you think they simply holed up in their quarters, love, there is nothing but darkness in that part of the house now!

The shadows swallow what little light one brings, and the rooms smell of mold and musk. No one is there, I am worried! VINCENT: Then I am right to post for their replacements, as they’ve all been so mortified at having to share their spaces with the poor that they cannot even fathom it and have left for their homes! HELENA: < she scoffs and turns away in anger > I’m going to go look for all of them. As clearly I speak to a man who cares little what becomes of those who worked to serve him. I once believed true selflessness existed when I met you. But in lieu of recent days, I cannot help but believe even your kindness was a means to an end.

VINCENT: Helena, wait! < she leaves >

Helena… < he pauses for a moment and sniffles, then /roars and yells > FINE! Ungrateful witch, I damn you! You know not how lucky you were, I am a living saint among men! Away with you! Chase the cruel hearts I cast from my home!

See if I care!

< Vincent walks off stage for a moment, then returns with Harmun in tow, as the narration begins. The Uninvited guests from before are now in the background, with Helena’s player donning a costume to resemble one as well (along with TRP change)  > NARRATOR: The once lively manor of Lord Vincent had grown stagnant and silent. The air filled with settling dust and the smell of mold, and before long, Vincent found himself quite ill.

The storm had not relented, and many days had passed already. In his employ, only Harmun remained.

VINCENT: < coughing heavily > Tell me, Harmun, what are we eating this eve?

HARMUN: I’ve not had a chance to go into town to procure new ingredients because of this ceaseless storm. I’m afraid it will have to be stew again.

VINCENT: Bleck. Damn the bastard who invented that dull dish. It feeds plenty, but oh it gets old quickly. Why not cook me and my guests up a feast with what we have remaining? The rain could not possibly last another day!

HARMUN: < Harmun takes a deep breath > My lord, we have very little remaining, and more of your...guests...have been showing up day by day. I must speak frankly, for I do not believe we have enough remaining to feed the lot of them AND you. VINCENT: Oh. Oh, well, in that case, just give them my portions, then. It should keep them tided over until tomorr-- HARMUN: LORD! < he speaks harshly for a change > As your sworn caretaker and confidant for many years, I have never seen you act so blatantly oblivious to the truth. You are wasting away for these people, you cannot even care for yourself right now. VINCENT: < gasps > Harmun, you...you’ve never spoken to me in this manner! HARMUN: Nor do I desire to! My lord, you are without a doubt the kindest man of your financial standing, and this cannot be denied. But you are clearly being exploited!

They see your desire to appeal to the masses through kindness unique to your wallet! Look, not a single bit of decor remains in the manor anymore, nor a single book! All of your hard work is decaying rapidly, and you’ve no more who live beneath this roof! Just these people! < he gestures at the Uninvited Guests >

They’ve never done a thing for you, and yet they reap what you have sown for them, leaving you with not a scrap! Lord, please listen to me, you must exile them from this residence!

If it is their numbers you fear, I am certain we can find a way into town safely, I just do not desire to see you get hur-- VINCENT: Harmun. HARMUN: Yes, my lord?! VINCENT: … you have cared for me since a time I was young, and I have never known you to say things like this. And yet… I believe it is I who knows the right thing. Was it not I, whose business saved the Darrowshire Eastern Trade association, and the jobs within? Was it not I who built houses for the urchins and beggars who’d wandered the streets for years? Was it not I who donated an entire year’s income to ensuring famine did not exist in these lands? WAS IT NOT I?! HARMUN: … my lord. I have bit my tongue for too long.

You do not truly care about being kind, or doing what’s right. You care only about being worshiped as a savior, of being a idol of the people.

I have seen it in you for years, but I spoke nothing of it. Because nothing more needed to come of it. It was good to give, no matter the cause, be it selfish or selfless.

You do not need a reason to help people. But you must always be able to help yourself first. And this is the first time in which I truly believe that you will be unable to do so.

They will take everything from you, my lord. And then, they will find a means to take more. While it is my duty to help you, my lord, I cannot convince you to allow me to do so. I am sorry… but I must resign. Good day to you. VINCENT: Not you as well! Harmun, please, I beg of you, don’t do this!

< Harmun walks away and vincent continues to beg > Harmun! Harmun, my friend! You have it all wrong, please! I care immensely about the well being of my fellow men! You must understand, I-- < Harmun is out of sight > I… I know I am doing the right thing. Am I not? Was… was he right? < the Stranger walks on stage behind him, appearing suddenly (use the invisibility potion trick for this) > STRANGER: My gracious lord, you needn’t suffer those who question your golden morality.

Who but you have given nearly all they could to those who had nothing?

VINCENT: But I have lost everything… STRANGER: Oh heavens no, my lord. You still have much to give. Yes, much… why don’t you rest? You look weary. VINCENT: I am… yes...no, you are right. It’s been a trying day. Thank you, friend. I am glad there are still those who appreciate what I give.

< he walks away and the Stranger waves, this time joined by the Unwanted Guests, including the new one in the scene > STRANGER: Sleep well. We will see you one more time when you awaken. < the stranger and guests walk away, and Vincent walks into the center of the room, and /lays down, emoting that he’s tossing and turning > NARRATOR: Upon that evening, the lord tossed and turned, the mat that served as his bed upon a stone cold floor providing him with little sleep.

He blamed anxiety about the people in his life betraying him. He blamed the cold, the dark, the rain. He blamed everyone but himself. And soon, he found himself alone in the pitch black storm. One night, not long after, a visitor came into his room. < the Stranger enters and bows to Vincent > STRANGER: My lord, you have been so giving to us, I believe it is only time we gave something back to you. VINCENT: < stirring from his slumber > Wh-wha? Helena? You’ve returned? Oh…

< he stands up > It’s you, the one who never left! My friend, are you in need of anything more? More food, more wine? Books? Clean sheets and beds? < he /begs the stranger > Please, do not leave me as well! I have nothing left to give, but I would do anything to not be alone! STRANGER: My dear friend, nothing could be further from what I plan to do with you.

You have been a great host these many weeks. The storm has nearly faded, and there is no longer a reason for me to remain here.

But you will go with us, I assure you.

VINCENT: I...I will? You won’t leave me here alone? STRANGER: Not at all. Your friends and your family, they have us pegged all wrong. We are simple folk, nomads of the whispering forests. We have lived off of what we needed, and indulged in what we did not. Was it not you who gave us the clothes upon your back? Was it not you who gave us free reign of your home and all who reside within it? From the day you let me in, I have prayed to those who have eyes in every age, that their guidance on how you are to be rewarded be given. < all actors are now dressed as ‘Uninvited Guests’ - have TRPs and hoods ready to change, back into the original characters of Helena, Harmon, and servants 1 and 2 > And so it was, my lord. Your kindness shall be rewarded this evening…

< the uninvited all remove their hoods and change TRPs to the characters >

We will be having a feast in your honor!

VINCENT: < sniffles > I… I am blessed. Here I stand, stranded in my own home, nothing left to give, and providence smiled upon me, seeing fit to grant me your admiration! Oh, I am overjoyed! < /clap >

Tell me, what is it that we will dine upon tonight? I was under the impression we had no more food! STRANGER: Oh, your impressions were most correct. Since it is a special occasion, we figured you would be more than happy to give yourself in place of a meal. VINCENT: Ah. Well… I… < He stops and turns away, pacing towards the audience >

I… yes, I do suppose there in lies what I would do. I am Lord Vincent, what is mine is yours, after all.

It is, after all, altruism alone that drives my motives. Yes… here I stand, before the thousand eyes of the abyss. I wonder…

< use the ‘stuck’ trick to begin channeling an instant kill > ...will the shadows know what I did? Regardless. Dinner is served. < Vincent’s body is sliced with the knife toy, and the cast stands between him and the audience and begins to /eat > < the scene holds for a few moments, and then the cast leaves when Vincent rezzes. > NARRATOR: Thus ended the life of a man who's good needs did not go unpunished. In the years that followed, the little known village faded to obscurity.  

The manor of Lord Vincent crumbled, the servants and lords who lived there becoming little more than a myth. The town became poor once more. The people began to starve, and had to take residence in more prosperous lands.

The questions upon their minds were not of concern for Vincent’s well being, but of concern for themselves, especially with rumor of a group of hooded individuals in the woods speaking in riddles and caked in blood.

Whispers and rumors traveled with the village’s scattered seeds of what transpired that stormy month, none without their truths and lies.

Yet none remained long after who remembered the kindness and good will of the man known as Lord Vincent.

<< End >>

Trivia: 

This performance was the second entirely original story crafted by the Tirisfal Troupe, the first being Days of our Elves. However, it IS the first original non-comedy we’ve created. (while all our scripts are crafted from original content with a few odd references here and there, the Warcraft setting is typically a heavy influence, or the story references an existing tale or script)

This version of the story was the 5th draft of this script. Originally, there was a lot more buildup to the ending, and tension as well. There were even additional characters. To count for time and our smaller cast, however, this version was used. 

The moral of the story was never explicitly decided upon. While the narration suggests it at the beginning, this is merely a ploy to get the audience to think along the lines they need to in order to get into the right mindset to absorb the story. When running the script by other troupe members, a different moral was gathered by most people, and none of them were technically wrong. We wanted to craft a story that people could make any number of conclusions about and still be right, without making it feel too loose. (Disclaimer: I don’t think we particularly succeeded, but trial and error and whatnot~!). What did you gather from the message of the story?

This play has technically been an idea tossed around for over two years. When the Bash was cancelled in 2017, however, we decided not to perform it. 2018 was our first performance of this show!

[duhragonball]

duvete replied to your post “I was going to say that my favorite thing about the Chuck Austen run...”

Can't wait until you get into late X-Men Chuck Austen works!

I’m at about the halfway mark, and I’m just... wow.   

I mean, usually when I dislike a writer, it’s because their stories are boring or confusing.    A lot of comics writers just sort of mark time instead of telling stories.   Others try to use shock value and plot twists and secrets as a substitute for drama.   Generally, though, I assume good faith with even the worst writers.  I like to think they’re doing the best they can, and they’re personally pleased with their work, even if I’m not. 

The weird thing about Austen is that he seems to have the ability to tell a decent story, and then he just goes bonkers and starts ruining it.   It’s like a Jekyll and Hyde thing. 

The stuff with Juggernaut making friends with Sammy and joining the X-Men is pretty good.  He didn’t just slap it together or anything; he set it up with a story about Black Tom turning on Juggernaut, and tied it into the subplot about Sammy joining the X-Men’s school.  It really works.    The issue where Northstar befriends an exploding kid is kind of a weaker version of the Juggie/Sammy friendship, but it works too.  

But then Austen starts doing all this insane stuff.   I’d heard about the conspiracy to install Nightcrawler as the Pope, and I was like “Yeah, that sounds really stupid.”  But the script is actually dumber than the plot itself?  I mean, Nightcrawler becoming a priest was kind of a sketchy idea to begin with, but making it all a supervillain plot just makes it even sillier, and then on top of that the X-Men go to fight the bad guys responsible for the whole thing and everyone starts shouting Bible verses at each other.  That was the part I was unprepared for.  I can deal with absurd plotting, but now all off Kurt’s dialogue is just copypasted from somewhere else, so we don’t even really get into the character’s head to see how all of this affected him. 

Also, it’s really frustrating how there’s a whole story arc to explain why Nightcrawler’s been acting so strangely lately, but so many other characters are acting strangely too, and it never gets addressed.   Like Iceman’s been a huge creep all the time.  His jokes aren’t funny, a lot of what he says is rude or hateful, and other characters even point this out to him, so we know it’s intentional.  So when Kurt acts weird it’s supposed to be a clue that he’s been brainwashed by bad guys, but when Iceman acts weird it serves no purpose at all. 

One of the last issues I read was the one where Havok and Polaris almost get married, and he gets cold feet and she absolutely flips her shit.  Same problem as Iceman: she was acting really, really odd for a really long time leading up to this, and no one seemed to notice or care until she became a threat.   Then they subdue her and... that’s it.   I guess you could chalk her behavior up to the trauma of surviving the Genosha massacre, but Austen doesn’t even try to connect the dots.   It’s like he thinks Lorna was always a deranged maniac and the audience will take that as a given.   

I get the sense that Austen just has no clue how to write women.   He seems to do okay in short bursts, but his long game always seems to involve pairing every woman off with another woman to be enemies with.   Stacy X vs. Husk, Polaris vs. Annie Ghazikhanian.  Later, when Chuck wrote Action Comics, he tried to re-start the Lois Lane vs. Lana Lang feud, but fortunately he got fired before that plan got off the ground.  The worst thing about these “rivalries” of his was that they were so pitifully one-sided, with Stacy X or Polaris just screaming obscenities at Husk and Annie, who sort of passively accept all this abuse.  Then he just wrote Stacy and Lorna out of the book like it’s no big deal.  Again, if Kurt was being brainwashed, shouldn’t someone check them for the same thing?   My fear going into the tail end of Austen’s run is that he’ll have no choice but to pit Annie and Husk against each other now that he’s run off half of his female cast.

The stuff with Archangel is really bothersome too.   Warren got a healing factor off some sort, and his blood can heal other people too.  He even revives a bunch of dead mutants.   I’m not sure where that’s supposed to be going, but Austen’s spent a ton of time on it.    I really have no idea what Warren’s character arc is supposed to be in all of this.  I thought he was the leader of this squad of X-Men, but Austen keeps insisting that Nightcrawler is, only he’s been sharing the responsibility with Warren all this time.  Between Warren’s messianic powers and Nightcrawler screaming Bible verses, I assume Austen’s trying to go for some religious theme, but he never seems to come to the point.  What’s he trying to say, exactly? 

I really, really don’t like anything Austen does with Husk.  Years ago, when I only heard about this run, I assumed that maybe Austen didn’t realize how young Paige Guthrie was supposed to be.   I think she was like fifteen in her first appearance in 1994, and no one at Marvel was really sure how much older she was supposed to be in 2003.  But now, Austen seems to be embracing the idea of Warren getting involved with an underaged girl.  Other characters joke about it, but nobody ever stops and says “What the hell is wrong with you, Warren?”   or “You’re almost thirty, Warren,” or “You have the right to remain silent, Warren.”

Anyway, this whole run feels like watching a train wreck in slow motion.  Every so often, I’ll read a page or even a couple of panels that suggests Austen could have done this right, which only makes the stuff he does wrong feel more horrifying.  So actually, it feels like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and the guy driving the train keeps making eye contact with me as if to say that he meant to do this. 

I think that’s what’s going to haunt me about this run.  Not just that it was bad, but that it started out kinda sorta okay, and got really bad, and I’ll never understand why.   On the bright side, reading his work makes the Grant Morrison run look even better by comparison, so that’s something.

[amykingpoet]

BOOK REVIEW: THE MISSING MUSEUM BY AMY KING Reviewed by Emma Bolden @ Los Angeles Review

BOOK REVIEW: THE MISSING MUSEUM BY AMY KING Reviewed by Emma Bolden

The Missing Museum Poems by Amy King Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2016 $14.00; 114 pp. ISBN-13: 978-1939460080

In February 2012, the Russian feminist punk/performance art/protest group Pussy Riot staged an act of protest against the re-election of Vladimir Putin. Between services at Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Savior, a Russian Orthodox church destroyed by Stalin and rebuilt in the 1990s, the women entered and walked up to the altar, jumping and jabbing their fists in the air. Filmed footage of the performance was included in the music video for their song, “Punk Prayer: Mother of God Drive Putin Away.” The song implores the Virgin Mary to “banish Putin” and “become a feminist, we pray thee.” Although Cathedral guards removed the group in less than a minute, three group members were arrested, charged with hooliganism, and sentenced to two years in prison.

After the American election of 2016, Pussy Riot warned Americans to prepare themselves: Trump’s presidency, they predicted, would resemble Putin’s in ways that many Americans might not even be able to imagine. In a December 2016 interview, Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova told New York Times reporter Jim Rutenberg that it was “important not to say to yourself, ‘Oh, it’s O.K.’ [ . . . ] in Russia, for the first year of when Vladimir Putin came to power, everybody was thinking that it will be O.K.” It isn’t safe, Tolokonnikova continued, to trust that America’s institutions will protect its citizens and their freedoms, as “a president has power to change institutions and a president moreover has power to change public perception of what is normal, which could lead to changing institutions.”

Pussy Riot’s work serves as a frame for Amy King’s riotous, rapturous, and radical fifth full-length collection, The Missing Museum. I mean “frame” quite literally: a passage from the poem that shares part of its title with the first section of the book, “PUSSY PUSSY SOCHI PUSSY PUTIN SOCHI QUEER QUEER PUSSY,” is printed on the back cover. “I HAVE A WITCH-CHURCH HAND,” the speaker declares in the poem, “& / PUSSIES RIOTING A PUTIN PRAYER / ON A NATION OF PEOPLE.” Just as Pussy Riot composed the clarion call of an iconoclastic culture countering Russian authoritarianism and repression, so too does Amy King’s work spur, capture, and curate the artifacts of a burgeoning resistance movement in the United States.

Also like Pussy Riot, King’s use of the term “pussy” serves as a shibboleth for revolutionary feminism, reclaiming a term used as a slur against women—and, as the 2016 release of Access Hollywood footage shows, one often linked linguistically to sexual assault and rape. Through reclamation, feminists empty the term of its misogynistic implications, empowering themselves by taking ownership of the language of the oppressor. Now, “pussy” has become a common part of the American vernacular, wielded by women fighting to preserve their fundamental rights to control their own bodies and speech. Likewise, Pussy Riot’s music carries great meaning for the American resistance and for the poems in this collection, which serve, in many ways, as a museum preserving the gathering motion of resistance.

Unlike many museums, King’s isn’t a collection of evidence of an unchanging monolithic culture. Instead, the book protests the very idea that any culture or subculture is, was, or ever will be stable, static, and homogeneous. King’s poetry sweeps through cultural references from surrealist painter Leonora Carrington to soul singer and activist Nina Simone to pop singer Lionel Richie. The sheer breadth of references in King’s work echoes the idea that no culture is singular or stationary. The disparate works—songs, paintings, poems, acts of civil disobedience—of all of these artists cross through the collection as separate but equally essential works and workers of culture. As King writes in “You Make the Culture,” “The words become librarians, custodians of people.” If any representation of a culture is to be accurate, she continues, it is to involve movement: “I will walk with the sharks of our pigments / [ . . . ] until we leave rooms that hold us apart.” Inclusivity, and the ability to envision all groups in terms of belonging, is essential, as lines near the end of the poem show: “Nothing comes from the center / that doesn’t break most everything apart.”

After all, culture is the product of changeable, mutable human beings who, King argues in the collection’s prologue, “Wake Before Dawn & Salt the Sea,” are more action than object: “Our limits may not be expandable, but before you say, / ‘Blood and sinew,’ remember you’re making a mistake. / We are not edges of limbs or the heart’s smarts only.” As such, a worthwhile life is a life beyond “noise,” beyond “dying full of money but no one will give a shit, rich asshole.” To be stationary, to live untroubled while following the American exhortation to gain money and power without examining the dangers this philosophy poses or the system purporting this philosophy, is anathema to progress. The poem ends with a couplet that brings to mind Herman Melville’s enjoinder at the end of “Art,” in which he calls for a fusion of opposites within the self and between the self and the heavens. “Be somebody,” King implores of us, “be one who wrestles and make love to the dark / that is your deepest part, the uselessness of love and art.” The idea that the most beautiful things we as human beings bring to the light—beauty, love, art—are utterly useless comes as a shock, especially as it also comes at the end of a gorgeously-wrought poem serving as the collection’s prologue. The location of these lines creates the same kind of shock as the location of Pussy Riot’s “Punk Prayer” in an Orthodox cathedral. Both performances don’t just shock: they shift. The juxtaposition of lyric and location creates a moment in which the mind bends, allowing disparate realities to coexist.

King calls upon the work of the Surrealists to illustrate this juxtaposition. In “And Then We Saw The Daughter of the Minotaur,” a poem named after a painting by Surrealist Leonora Carrington, King writes of the need to move beyond accepted meanings, “to grow branches / between worlds on the backs of nurtured equations.” She calls for us to “[s]ay another elsewhere. Open the broom, sick with sorceries.” In “Pussy Riot Rush Hour,” King speaks of a woman traveling the Lexington Avenue Line while “hitting / herself, buck up head heavy against / the number 5 train downtown.” She describes her “self-infliction” as “a cause / that brings us away from our senses.” Here, King references Arthur Rimbaud, who called for poets to transform themselves into “seers” through a “long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses.”

King’s collection carries out Rimbaud’s call through the velocity of its juxtapositions, racing through shifts in voice, structure, theme, and tone, sometimes within the same poem. In “Understanding the Poem,” “this world is anything but a poem” —and then, in the next line, “This world is this, this world is poem, and I am unusual today, at least.” The frenetic movement of King’s work—from popular culture to high culture, from Georgia pines to New York streets, from all-caps alert to expertly-groomed almost-sonnets—recalls the cry of Baudelaire’s soul to travel “Anywhere, anywhere, as long as it be out of this world!” The speed and span of juxtapositions in the collection reveals what is missing from museums: movement, derangement, change.

By this dynamic derangement of our assumptions about culture, King’s museum reveals what culture really is: an ever-changing multiplicity of perspectives that cannot be carved into different, disparate wings. The narrative of culture as a series of singular, separate factions and philosophies leads to the violence of othering and violence against others. In “Perspective,” this moves beyond theory to a matter of actual life and death:

When I see two cops laughing after one of them gets shot because this is TV and one says while putting pressure on the wound, Haha, you’re going to be fine, and the other says, I know, haha!, as the ambulance arrives— I know the men are white.

At the end of the poem, King asks us to wrestle with questions about this narrative, about the curation of our culture, essential for the survival of our nation and ourselves.

Who gets to see and who follows what script? I ask my students. Whose lines are these and by what hand are they written?

In that 2016 New York Times interview, Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova herself echoed this idea: “‘You are always in danger of being shut down,’ she said. ‘But it’s not the end of the story because we are prepared to fight.’” With her work and words, King shows her readers how to join the fight.

Emma Bolden is the author of medi(t)ations (Noctuary Press 2016) and Maleficae (GenPop Books 2013). Her work has appeared in The Best American Poetry, The Pinch, and Prairie Schooner, among others. Her honors include a 2017 Creative Writing Fellowship from the NEA and the Barthelme Prize for Short Prose. She serves as Senior Reviews Editor for Tupelo Quarterly.

http://losangelesreview.org/book-review-missing-museum-amy-king/

[amykingpoet]

amy king

BOOK REVIEW: THE MISSING MUSEUM BY AMY KING Reviewed by Emma Bolden

The Missing Museum Poems by Amy King Tarpaulin Sky Press, 2016 $14.00; 114 pp. ISBN-13: 978-1939460080

In February 2012, the Russian feminist punk/performance art/protest group Pussy Riot staged an act of protest against the re-election of Vladimir Putin. Between services at Moscow’s Cathedral of Christ the Savior, a Russian Orthodox church destroyed by Stalin and rebuilt in the 1990s, the women entered and walked up to the altar, jumping and jabbing their fists in the air. Filmed footage of the performance was included in the music video for their song, “Punk Prayer: Mother of God Drive Putin Away.” The song implores the Virgin Mary to “banish Putin” and “become a feminist, we pray thee.” Although Cathedral guards removed the group in less than a minute, three group members were arrested, charged with hooliganism, and sentenced to two years in prison.

After the American election of 2016, Pussy Riot warned Americans to prepare themselves: Trump’s presidency, they predicted, would resemble Putin’s in ways that many Americans might not even be able to imagine. In a December 2016 interview, Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova told New York Times reporter Jim Rutenberg that it was “important not to say to yourself, ‘Oh, it’s O.K.’ [ . . . ] in Russia, for the first year of when Vladimir Putin came to power, everybody was thinking that it will be O.K.” It isn’t safe, Tolokonnikova continued, to trust that America’s institutions will protect its citizens and their freedoms, as “a president has power to change institutions and a president moreover has power to change public perception of what is normal, which could lead to changing institutions.”

Pussy Riot’s work serves as a frame for Amy King’s riotous, rapturous, and radical fifth full-length collection, The Missing Museum. I mean “frame” quite literally: a passage from the poem that shares part of its title with the first section of the book, “PUSSY PUSSY SOCHI PUSSY PUTIN SOCHI QUEER QUEER PUSSY,” is printed on the back cover. “I HAVE A WITCH-CHURCH HAND,” the speaker declares in the poem, “& / PUSSIES RIOTING A PUTIN PRAYER / ON A NATION OF PEOPLE.” Just as Pussy Riot composed the clarion call of an iconoclastic culture countering Russian authoritarianism and repression, so too does Amy King’s work spur, capture, and curate the artifacts of a burgeoning resistance movement in the United States.

Also like Pussy Riot, King’s use of the term “pussy” serves as a shibboleth for revolutionary feminism, reclaiming a term used as a slur against women—and, as the 2016 release of Access Hollywood footage shows, one often linked linguistically to sexual assault and rape. Through reclamation, feminists empty the term of its misogynistic implications, empowering themselves by taking ownership of the language of the oppressor. Now, “pussy” has become a common part of the American vernacular, wielded by women fighting to preserve their fundamental rights to control their own bodies and speech. Likewise, Pussy Riot’s music carries great meaning for the American resistance and for the poems in this collection, which serve, in many ways, as a museum preserving the gathering motion of resistance.

Unlike many museums, King’s isn’t a collection of evidence of an unchanging monolithic culture. Instead, the book protests the very idea that any culture or subculture is, was, or ever will be stable, static, and homogeneous. King’s poetry sweeps through cultural references from surrealist painter Leonora Carrington to soul singer and activist Nina Simone to pop singer Lionel Richie. The sheer breadth of references in King’s work echoes the idea that no culture is singular or stationary. The disparate works—songs, paintings, poems, acts of civil disobedience—of all of these artists cross through the collection as separate but equally essential works and workers of culture. As King writes in “You Make the Culture,” “The words become librarians, custodians of people.” If any representation of a culture is to be accurate, she continues, it is to involve movement: “I will walk with the sharks of our pigments / [ . . . ] until we leave rooms that hold us apart.” Inclusivity, and the ability to envision all groups in terms of belonging, is essential, as lines near the end of the poem show: “Nothing comes from the center / that doesn’t break most everything apart.”

After all, culture is the product of changeable, mutable human beings who, King argues in the collection’s prologue, “Wake Before Dawn & Salt the Sea,” are more action than object: “Our limits may not be expandable, but before you say, / ‘Blood and sinew,’ remember you’re making a mistake. / We are not edges of limbs or the heart’s smarts only.” As such, a worthwhile life is a life beyond “noise,” beyond “dying full of money but no one will give a shit, rich asshole.” To be stationary, to live untroubled while following the American exhortation to gain money and power without examining the dangers this philosophy poses or the system purporting this philosophy, is anathema to progress. The poem ends with a couplet that brings to mind Herman Melville’s enjoinder at the end of “Art,” in which he calls for a fusion of opposites within the self and between the self and the heavens. “Be somebody,” King implores of us, “be one who wrestles and make love to the dark / that is your deepest part, the uselessness of love and art.” The idea that the most beautiful things we as human beings bring to the light—beauty, love, art—are utterly useless comes as a shock, especially as it also comes at the end of a gorgeously-wrought poem serving as the collection’s prologue. The location of these lines creates the same kind of shock as the location of Pussy Riot’s “Punk Prayer” in an Orthodox cathedral. Both performances don’t just shock: they shift. The juxtaposition of lyric and location creates a moment in which the mind bends, allowing disparate realities to coexist.

King calls upon the work of the Surrealists to illustrate this juxtaposition. In “And Then We Saw The Daughter of the Minotaur,” a poem named after a painting by Surrealist Leonora Carrington, King writes of the need to move beyond accepted meanings, “to grow branches / between worlds on the backs of nurtured equations.” She calls for us to “[s]ay another elsewhere. Open the broom, sick with sorceries.” In “Pussy Riot Rush Hour,” King speaks of a woman traveling the Lexington Avenue Line while “hitting / herself, buck up head heavy against / the number 5 train downtown.” She describes her “self-infliction” as “a cause / that brings us away from our senses.” Here, King references Arthur Rimbaud, who called for poets to transform themselves into “seers” through a “long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses.”

King’s collection carries out Rimbaud’s call through the velocity of its juxtapositions, racing through shifts in voice, structure, theme, and tone, sometimes within the same poem. In “Understanding the Poem,” “this world is anything but a poem” —and then, in the next line, “This world is this, this world is poem, and I am unusual today, at least.” The frenetic movement of King’s work—from popular culture to high culture, from Georgia pines to New York streets, from all-caps alert to expertly-groomed almost-sonnets—recalls the cry of Baudelaire’s soul to travel “Anywhere, anywhere, as long as it be out of this world!” The speed and span of juxtapositions in the collection reveals what is missing from museums: movement, derangement, change.

By this dynamic derangement of our assumptions about culture, King’s museum reveals what culture really is: an ever-changing multiplicity of perspectives that cannot be carved into different, disparate wings. The narrative of culture as a series of singular, separate factions and philosophies leads to the violence of othering and violence against others. In “Perspective,” this moves beyond theory to a matter of actual life and death:

When I see two cops laughing after one of them gets shot because this is TV and one says while putting pressure on the wound, Haha, you’re going to be fine, and the other says, I know, haha!, as the ambulance arrives— I know the men are white.

At the end of the poem, King asks us to wrestle with questions about this narrative, about the curation of our culture, essential for the survival of our nation and ourselves.

Who gets to see and who follows what script? I ask my students. Whose lines are these and by what hand are they written?

In that 2016 New York Times interview, Pussy Riot’s Nadya Tolokonnikova herself echoed this idea: “‘You are always in danger of being shut down,’ she said. ‘But it’s not the end of the story because we are prepared to fight.’” With her work and words, King shows her readers how to join the fight.

Emma Bolden is the author of medi(t)ations (Noctuary Press 2016) and Maleficae (GenPop Books 2013). Her work has appeared in The Best American Poetry, The Pinch, and Prairie Schooner, among others. Her honors include a 2017 Creative Writing Fellowship from the NEA and the Barthelme Prize for Short Prose. She serves as Senior Reviews Editor for Tupelo Quarterly.

http://losangelesreview.org/book-review-missing-museum-amy-king/