#but i would defend my view that it’s not an uplifting song

[starbuck]

enjoying mountain goats songs is so weird bc a lot of them are so vague that people’s individual interpretations are very personal… just saw someone call a song uplifting that’s about being murdered, to me.

[martyrgargoyle]

MASTERPOST TO THE TYLER JOSEPH SITUATION FOR ANYONE CONFUSED!

On September 2nd, 2020, Tyler Joseph tweeted this:

Before this post Tyler has never spoken up about BLM. Many of his fans, especially POC have been asking him to please voice and show support since he has a large influence. Instead, he chose to downplay a movement based on the minority having the courage to face their oppressors that have brutalized and discriminated against them and demand change. Instead of holding this movement as serious and important as it is, he chose to make it a punchline to his insensitive and self centered joke and mocking the people that are risking their lives fighting for a difference.

Tyler Joseph has an estimated net worth of 20 million. That's 20,000,000. He also benefits from being white, cis (and het passing/straight), male, and physically abled. He won't risk being homeless due to being fired (other people signed to the same label has spoken out) or kicked out/evacuated if he spoke out. He won't risk brutalization by the police for speaking out. He would not risk being shot point blank for speaking out. All of these, and more, have happened to people that's fought for BLM. Protesters have been tracked down and arrested and killed. Yet a man with as much privilege as him refused to say anything this entire time.

He is in the position and has power to speak out and influence thousands with his platform and being an idol to a lot of younger teens that take his word as fact and will defend him. This is incredibly dangerous because it starts and gives a pass for racist mindset to younger people, meaning they could think BLM is a joke or not serious or lead to even worse racist thoughts due to them wanting to be like their idol.

Then Tyler proceeded to post this rant on mental health about 40 minutes after being criticized by many fans:

Okay so I have a lot of thoughts on this and dissecting his s*icide baity and victimizing rant.

1. While using humor can be a valid coping mechanism, it has a time and place as well as a subject matter. For me I can say a dark joke on my past abuse. But for someone else, it is not their right to make my trauma their entertainment. Especially if that person is someone that didn't/doesn't face the same trauma and is in a position to benefit from it.

2. Why is supporting BLM such a burden on him? He doesn't face the discriminated they do yet act as if they're a burden if he cannot make their suffering an entertainment. He acts as if saying Black people shouldn't be killed due to their race harms him and he's suffering due to it. Instead of even remaining silent (which is violent and dangerous as well), he went out of his way specifically to mock the movement.

3. He's weaponizing mental health as an excuse for his tone death joke. He's trying to make himself seem the victim for facing backlash and when he first posted these, it was spaced out and had a s*icide baity feel. He shouldn't put POC down to uplift mental health, both are such important issues but instead....

3. He says reminding us what he's 'fighting' for, which apparently is just mental health. But what about POC's mental health, in this case? What about a Black person being depressed and drained and scared because they see their family and friends being killed only due to their race? And on top of that, having to worry if it happens to them as well while constantly grieving? Is that not important or 'worthy' of his support? Or is he admitting he only 'fights' for something that'll cater to and provide for him as well? And that if he can't benefit, he won't care or deem it something worthy to fight for and that he doesn't care? He can't use his mental illness/your shtick as a reason why you will excuse and ignore (and cater to) racism.

But most controversial and insensitive of all he tweeted this with it:

Here he is upfront and clearly defending his joke, despite being told and aware of how insensitive it was. He is admitting he doesn't care about POC feelings or how it impacts them and the way his original tweet has hurt his fanbase. He is defending his mocking of the BLM movement and the people actually fighting while being less privileged than him. He is saying his feelings and his joke means more than POC dying for no reason other than their skin color. He is defending his insensitive tweet knowing it has hurt POC.

He is bluntly being racist and aware of it.

And finally, he tweeted the damage control:

And this is just as repulsive and wrong as his mental health excuse.

1. It was about human rights. There's no way to excuse or lie or downplay it. He literally made a joke about his POC fans begging him to show support and use him platform given his privilege and influence. He can't lie his way through this to excuse himself or try to make people that were understandably upset look like over reacting fools.

2. No room for that? People never said he has to only talk on BLM. If he's waiting for it to stop mattering or trending, it's disgusting. Black lives will ALWAYS matter, it doesn't change based on the hashtag trending or it gaining more attention. He acts as he can't care about two different things or that Black lives doesn't matter as much as a subject that affects you. No one said he can't talk and continue to bring awareness to mental health and for many POC it's more important than ever to have resources and support since they live in a world with a society literally designed to kill and target them. Instead of tweeting one thread or link to donations or awareness to the discrimination Black people face daily; Tyler made a joke, defended it despite it hurting POC, then threw a tantrum for an excuse on why he could never be assed to even pretend to care that much.

3. If it hurted someone? POC were literally telling him from the start it was harmful and damaging. He DID hurt POC but he didn't listen or care until he realized how damaging it is for his career? He isn't sorry he hurt POC, he's sorry he has hurt his career and reputation in exposing his immaturity regarding serious issues. He's ignoring and shifting blame and finally doing even below bare minimum. From the very first tweet to him defending it, he has alerted and told on himself for placing his feelings above Black lives. He deemed a joke on the expense of BLM meaning more than actual Black people's feelings.

Debby Ryan and Josh Dun has both liked his original tweet:

---

As well as these tweets he has had a questionable history. Involving:

Racist tweets from 2015 he never apologized for.

Anti-black lyrics such as in Lane Boy:

'I wasn't raised in the hood

But I know a thing or two about pain and darkness'

And while that can be and is a reference to how mental illness impacts even privileged, it just doesn't sit right with me personally.

He also uses hip hop and rap (a genre specifically tied in and dominated by Black artists and labeled as not real music/easy musix), per example of Heavydirtysoul (just entire second half is continuously putting rap artists down) and Holding Onto You, quoting the song 'Lean Wit It, Rock Wit It' by Dem Franchize Boyz to be below him. (Bridge 2, line one)

Tyler has also refused to publicly disagree with his brother's racist, transphobic, homophobic, right-winged views.

Has not spoken about police brutality before, such as ignoring it until a police officer got killed back in 2016.

---

Please feel free to reblog and add on/talk about your thoughts! :)

[auriel187]

Falcon and The Winter Soldier (and The Tigress)

Word Count: 1467

Warnings: Language

Ships: Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader(eventually), Sam Wilson x Black!Reader (platonic)

A/N: If anyone doesn’t like the fact that the reader is black, go away.

"This depression," said Wanda, "it is as if there is a force pressing down on me. So, this music that goes with that flow, that surrenders to the pressure, that's just assisting the depression, not me. I need the artists who struggle against depression and discover ways to win, how to step out from under this invisible anvil and rediscover the forces that uplift the soul." Y/n reminisced of the red headed telepath’s word from the last time they spoke.

She had always loved the flowers and the birds, loved the sunlight and the clouds that drift by. She had always loved the way the leaves move in a breeze and that soft whispering sound they make, like nature loves to chatter too. Yet the tiredness that began a while ago remains like a veil over her skin, grey and cold. And as she watches the petals and the twigs that sway outside the window, there is only a creeping sorrow where there should be joy. It sits like November rain on her skin, enough to chill what was once warm inside. At any other time she would have called a friend, asked for the warmth she needed to ward it off, just a little is enough.

No longer. Now she just lets it come, drop by drop and she feels like it is an ocean falling upon me instead of rain - that the grief of years she carefully suspended has all condensed right above her head into a cloud large enough to block the sun. They say it can't rain forever, that there will come a time when it must cease, that the last drop will have fallen. Thing is, she just doesn't care. She will still be true to myself, still help others, but she planned to just stay here in the cold, comfortably numb.

“Steve represented the best in all of us. Courageous, righteous, hopeful. And he mastered posing stoically.” The audience let out a small chuckle as Sam spoke fondly about the man whose shield he was holding.

Y/n felt her stomach twist as she saw the senator nod his head at Sam’s words. She watched as the smile faded before he continued. The sounds of cameras shuttering filled the silence.

“The world has been forever changed,” Sam continued “a few months ago, billions of people reappeared after five years away, sending the world into turmoil. We need new heroes.” It made Y/n shudder. ‘New heroes’ like the old ones were replaceable. Heroes like Steve. Like Tony…

Like Nat.

Steve giving his shield to Sam was a message. ‘Sam, I trust you will do the right thing, ' was that statement. Sam giving his shield to the Steve Rogers exhibit is the right thing. At least in his eyes. He was right, the world needed new heroes.

“Ones suited for the times we’re in. Symbols… are nothing without the women and men that give them meaning.” Y/n grimaced, fiddling with the bracelet that clung to her wrist. Her painted black fingers ran over the word ‘котенок’ as she walked with burning tears that she blinked them away. “And this thing…” Sam chuckled, staring at the shield. I don’t know if there’s ever been a greater symbol, but it’s more about the man who propped it up, and he’s gone. So, today we honor Steve’s legacy. But also, we look to the future. So, thank you, Captain America, but this belongs to you.” The room burst into applause as he placed the shield in a cube shaped display case.

When Sam spotted Y/n in the crowd, he hopped off the stage and walked up to her. He had a small smile on his face as he pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m glad you made it.” He whispered into her dark curls.

“Of course I came, Sam. You know what you and Steve are to me.” She kept her voice steady and cold, not that Sam seemed to mind. He of all people knew what would happen if she got emotional. The label angry black woman wouldn’t even cover it, being what she was, she would be shot on sight without question.

“Are you doing alright? It’s been a while.” He pushed her shoulder lovingly as a small grin broke across her face. She tried to play it off like she was fine, but Sam knew better.

“I just miss them. I’ll get over it.” Y/n replied with a shrug, the pressed silk top hanging loosely off her starving frame.

Grief made people do crazy things. In Y/n’s case the loss of three of the four most important people in her life made eating relatively hard. Especially when the three she lost would still be here if they hadn’t gone back to save the one she lost. Her loss stared her in the face every time she saw her one, and now only, closest friend. “Y/n, I think we both know that’s not true, otherwise you’d be over it. I know it’s hard. I can’t imagine the pain you’re going through but you can always talk to me.” To which she nodded. “Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later.” He said quietly, backing away slowly, leaving Y/n alone. Y/n took a look around the room but found nothing left to keep her there, so she left, heading to the only place that felt like some semblance of home.

Standing in the building that reminded her of everyone she loved and lost, Tony Stark’s name, Steve’s punching bags, the room painted a deep scarlet with a mirrored wall. Y/n walked deeper into the room, peeling off her heels replacing them with ballet shoes before calling out, “Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y, Can you play my ‘Family Playlist’ please?” She asked, beaming at no one in particular when ‘Back In Black’ began playing over the speakers. Her thoughts were running a mile a minute as she danced on par as the music changed from song, after song, after song.

You pay for everything one way or another. If you are lazy you will pay with the pain of failure. If you love to eat and indulge you will pay with the price of your health and self esteem. Yet if you love ballet, if you wish to fly as if God had remembered to sew on your angel wings, you will pay in the pain of training, in daily dedication, sweat and struggle. If you love someone, you have to sit and watch them in pain, suffer in ungodly ways…die. Those who try to save the world are always the ones that die to save it. In this life, what are you paying for and how? The cost-benefit see-saw is always there. Y/n learned from an early age that her emotions were a thing to suppress, and so when the ballet teacher asked for them they came forwards as an untapped fountain and took all by surprise. They called this her gift. She called it her release. The only thing that kept her from lashing out.

“You just keep dancing,” her teacher said, watching as she spun with excellent pursition. “You don’t stop until the burning in your body is too much.” Y/n was at that point but she pushed through it. She didn’t stop until the playlist ended and just as she made her way to the ‘Red Room’, her Red Room, she found her way home. Clicking the TV on to fill the silence her heart dropped when she heard it.

“-Unrest, in the wake of recent events, has left us vulnerable. Everyday Americans feel it. While we love heroes who put their lives on the line to defend Earth, we also need a hero to defend this country. We need a real person who embodies America’s greatest values. We need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. So, on behalf of the Department of Defense and our Commander-in-Chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the United States of America has a new hero.”

She was physically quaking with unbottled rage. Her eyes were trained on the TV as a man, a white man, came into view on the screen waving it around like it was a fucking trophy to flaunt. She unconsciously walked up to her flatscreen and waited. She wanted to hear them say it. She wanted to see if they had the balls to say it.

“Join me in welcoming your new Captain America.” She punched the TV with the force that caused her knuckles to bleed. Right in the face of the man carrying Steve’s shield. Sam’s rightful shield!

[jimlingss]

The Colour of Our Voices [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

➜ Words: 3.8k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Slice of Life, Broadway!AU

➜ Summary: He wasn’t supposed to hear. He wasn't supposed to know. But the instant Jimin came into your life and pulled the curtains back, you couldn't hide backstage anymore. You were no longer merely a phantom of the opera.

cr.

The notes come deep from your stomach, drawing out between your lips. Tonight, tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you sing.    “Masquerade, paper faces on parade. Masquerade, hide your face, so the world will never find you….”   You don’t know why you feel so emotional. Why the Phantom’s heartbreak and misery feels like your own. But you put your heart and soul into each lyric, and the director isn’t furious at the different take of the song, of how your voice even warbles past the thick lump forming in your throat. After all, the performance tonight is one of the most important ones that’s happening in a long time.   “Did the critic say anything yet?!”   “I don’t know, but she’s talking with the director right now.”   “Oh my god. This could change everything,” she squeals, the two of them equally excited and peeking out of the curtains. Everyone is gathered together, supporting roles and backstage members watching the audience slowly trickling out. “Do you know what this means?!”   “Of course, I know what it means,” she snaps.    “Well, I’m just saying.” The other girl pouts. “If the critic gives a good review, we could be back in business. More people coming, more money, better production, more pay! This place will become less like a dump. I won’t have to be embarrassed when I say I’m part of the female ensemble for Phantom anymore.”   “Let’s just hope the director won’t screw it up.”   “He won’t….right?”   “Shut up, they’re coming!” Everyone quickly resumes their previous activities to appear nonchalant.    “—And this is just our backstage crew. It’s a very modest set, but we do our best and everyone is very hardworking. Every person here does their part—” Director Kang is with a black bob-haircut lady who’s four foot eleven with kitten heels. She reminds you of your fourth grade science teacher who would make the rowdy kids cry.   Her cat-like eyes are narrowed in, and she grips her bag strap slung over one shoulder as she views the place with an impassive expression. The director drones on and on and the critic sighs before someone catches her attention.   She approaches the godly man. “You must be Kim Seokjin.”   “Yes, I am. It’s nice to meet you…”   “Min Yoonji.” She shakes his hand, and you muse that she must be one of the rare people in the world that doesn’t seem affected by Jin’s handsomeness. Almost everyone is starstruck by him. “I must say, your performance is very spectacular. Especially your singing. The tone quality of your vocals is very outstanding for Broadway theater.”   All at once, your breath hitches. Your heart stutters. Tears form in your eyes again.   You’re standing in the shadow of the curtains, in the corner where others are walking past, but to hear praise from someone who makes a living scrutinizing...it’s a beacon of hope.   “Of course! You shouldn’t expect any less of me.” Seokjin laughs and almost brushes off the compliment in spite of how touched and grateful you feel.   Yoonji isn’t amused and deadpans, “Frankly, I didn’t expect anything.”   “Seokjin’s the star of our show!” The director puts his hand on the younger man’s shoulder, trying to uplift the mood. The critic was awfully difficult to read. “Without him, we wouldn’t be able to go on! Speaking of which, you should meet our other star. Where’s Taeyeo—”   “Can I look around for a second? You’re really invading my personal space here,” the woman states bluntly and the men are alarmed at once, stepping back.   “O-Of course. My apologies. How about I get you some water?”   “Sure.”   The director struts off with Seokjin — the both of them furiously murmuring to each other in panic and before he can bark at you to go get the best glass of chilled water, the girl gossiping from earlier shuffles to them. She’s more than enthusiastic about running this sort of errand — perhaps hoping that she’ll be noticed by the critic or something of the sort.   You commemorate her for taking every opportunity.    “Hey, you.”   Your thoughts are shattered at once and you tear your eyes away from them to the short female in front of you. Your pupils widen. “Can you scratch my back for me?”   “Pardon?”   “Here.” She turns slightly, never repeating herself twice. Your hand automatically lifts out to scratch and her neck lolls. “Higher. Lower. Right there. God. Feels good.” Once satisfied, the posh woman steps away. “It’s been driving me crazy for the past hour and I haven’t been able to reach it.”   “Uh...you’re welcome…”   “Min Yoonji,” she says lifelessly. “But you probably already know that. Seems like everyone’s excited to meet me here. Don’t even get this treatment when I go home.”   Yoonji sighs and steps away, but you stop her. “I’m Y/N.” The female turns around. “L/N Y/N.”   She nods and stares at you blankly as if wondering why she should care what your name is. But since you scratched her back, she entertains you. “What do you do here, Y/N?”   “Sweeping, mainly.”   “Sweeping?” The corner of her red-stained mouth curls and she scans the premise. “What’s there to sweep?”   “Beats me,” you laugh.   A small, modest smile comes across her features. It’s the most genuine conversation she’s had here so far. “So all you do is sweep?”   “Well, I’m actually the voice of Pha—”   “Y/N!”   You’re interrupted by an abrupt yell from the director, the sound bellowing deep from his stomach. He approaches with a stiff grin that nearly breaks his face, Taeyeon in tow. “What are you doing here? Slacking, are we?” He comes next to you and practically bumps you aside. “This is our shy intern. She’s part of the backstage crew. Get on now!”   He shoos you away like you’re a stray dog, and you open your mouth. But the director moves on to introduce the female star of the show and Yoonji shifts her attention away from you without qualms. “This is Taeyeon. She plays Christine.”   “Yes.” The lights behind her eyes dim like earlier. “I saw. I was in the audience.”   They shake hands, continuing to speak. You’re forgotten in the dark as they move away from you, walking towards the dressing room.   One of the girls walking past shoots you a dirty look and scoffs, “Did you really think you could tell her that you’re a ghost singer? You really want to sabotage us?”   That wasn’t your intention.    But it wouldn’t be a lie if you told her that you stand in place of Seokjin, that you deserved that praise she handed to him.   It’s not a lie.   Once the meeting is over and everyone escorts the critic out, the director passes by and discreetly mutters into your ear, “In my office.”   You drag your feet there, feeling the crew members stares, the looks from those with supporting roles. This time, no one smirks, murmurs, or makes snide comments. It’s serious enough that they don’t dare to do anything unnecessary for fear of being reprimanded by the director too.   Getting called into his office is never a good thing.   You walk in and two minutes later, he enters, sees you and sighs. The man rounds to his messy desk and sits himself down.   “I’m very disappointed in you, Y/N,” he starts off.    “I’m sorry.”   He hums, hands clasping together. “When you went behind my back to audition, I didn’t say anything. I get it. You want to try out, I won’t stop you. But to think you have the audacity to betray me right in front of my face is a kind of disrespect I won’t allow.”   “That—! That wasn’t what I was trying to do,” you weakly defend, hands crumpling into a tight fist. He obviously doesn’t believe you.    “Then what was your intention?” He shakes his head. It’s a question you can’t answer. It was reckless for you to let it slip, especially to someone who’s a critic. It’s supposed to be a secret, one you’ll have to die with. “I understand you’re not a loyal employee, but it hurts me. What have I ever done for you to go behind my back and be this sneaky?”   Another rhetorical question.   With a downcast head, you stare at the way your worn shoes are pulling apart at the seams. You swallow hard, past the thick lump in your throat. Your eyes begin to sting. You’re humiliated.    “I gave you this job because you were pitiful. You think we need an intern around here?” His mocking laugh rings. “No! But I, out of the goodness of my own heart, decided to help you! I even let you sing when you begged for it! Have I not bent over backwards for you?!”   You shut your eyes for a second. “Y-You did, sir.”   “How many years have you been stuck in New York?” It’s a sudden question, one where he expects an answer for.   Your teeth grit and you murmur, “One year, sir.”   “How many casting calls have you been to, Y/N?” At your silence, he asks you again. “Be honest with me. How many since you got here?”   “T-Ten.”   “How many roles have you gotten?”   “None,” you whisper quietly and your jaw clenches.   He asks again just so you can hear yourself, for you to repeat it. “None?”   “None.”   “None!” he exclaims loudly, enough for you to wince, and he sighs. “See?”   The man feigns sympathy. “There’s a point where it becomes more than just singing. It’s about if you have something special. You just don’t have it, Y/N. Yes, you can hold a steady note, but you can’t be on stage. No one would ever want to watch you!”   It’s grating to your ears. A muscle in your cheek twitches. You can’t hold it in — you start sniffling.   And the director sighs once more, spinning around slowly in his swivel chair while you’re still standing there, hugging your own frame. “Don’t make me into the bad guy, Y/N. I don’t want to be so blunt, but you give me no choice. Facts are facts. Why do you have to be tricky with me and ruin this production? Are you that upset with me? Angry with me?”   “N-No.”   “Then why can’t you just be happy with what you have? Is this job not more than enough for you? Why must you keep trying?”   You rub your eyes. He continues tantalizing you for another minute and then looks at your patheticness and dismisses you out of guilt. He tells you to think about what he said.   You leave sobbing. Not out of anguish from him belittling you but out of rage.    Not even your own mother talks down to you like that.   This job a privilege?! You can’t believe you hypnotized yourself into believing that. This job is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. It’s sabotaged you. People like him are the reasons you’re afraid of going on stage.   Once you exit the studio in tears, you find the black bob-haircut woman texting on her phone across the street, standing on the sidewalk. You look both ways and cross the road with stern determination.   Spite — contempt — resentment makes you into an ugly monster without remorse or consideration of future consequences. You inhale a staggering breath. And the truth is spat out.   “I’m the ghost singer for Phantom.”    Your voice breaks. You exhale. “I’m the one who you heard.”   Min Yoonji is alert. Her eyes are wide, looking back into yours.   You brush past her after a second, walking away and down the street.   //   You don’t know where you’re going. Your feet merely stumble forward, down busy Times Square till it becomes quieter and the streets are only known by locals. Your strides slow at a cozy coffee shop in search of a place that’s warmer, but as you look through the front windows, you find a blonde standing in line.   Your brows furrow and you sniffle one last time before opening the door.    “Taehyung?”   The tall, lean man turns around and a boxy smile spreads into his face. “Y/N?”   He must notice your glossy eyes and how you’re sniveling not just from the cold weather because he buys you a hot chocolate and asks if you’re alright. You nod, not wanting to talk about your issues, and he understands enough to switch the conversation to himself.   Taehyung’s presence makes you warmer.    “I just didn’t understand. He said yes and agreed he would go to the animal shelter and walk the dogs every week, but then changed his mind and then threw the job to me.” He sighs with a smile, tugging on the sleeve of his blue dress shirt. “I don’t mind, I actually love dogs, but that’s not the point. I swear my director’s so nice he can’t say no to anything. And then I’m the one who suffers when he decides he doesn’t want to do it.”   “Is that how you wound up doing improv?”   “Yes.” He grins and sips his drink.   You hum, fingertips warm against the paper cup. “So you have to walk dogs every week at the animal shelter?”   “Yes, and I’m also volunteering at the homeless shelter every other day during lunch. I don’t mind, but again, it was because the director couldn’t say no to other people. God,” Taehyung laughs, “He’s such a pushover. But I’m the real pushover for saying yes to him too.”   “Your director sounds like a really nice person.” You smile to yourself, wishing you had met someone like that.   “Nice or stupidly kind, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “But he’s an alright guy. Though half the time I feel like I’m just a servant to his whims.”   A deep exhale draws out of your lungs. “I know how that feels.”   Taehyung’s gaze is perceptive and he puts down his drink. “It’s tough to make it in this industry. But it’s like that for everything, I think. There’s nothing really easy out there. Even sleeping gets hard. So….don’t be so tough on yourself.”   “Thanks, Taehyung…”   He might not know what your job entails, but he has a good enough idea — and his intuition isn’t wrong.   The pair of you chat a while more. Taehyung unknowingly comforts you the entire time. And an hour later, he bids farewell and you reluctantly part with him.   He was the only good part of your day.   //   You’re sure your situation has happened before. There’s almost seven and a half billion people in this world now. The chances aren’t unlikely that someone out there knows how you feel — maybe it’s someone who wants to desperately go to medical school and they helped tutor another student after they begged, and that person ended up becoming the doctor instead.   Jealousy and anger isn’t seldom in life. But you’ve thrown so many pity parties for yourself.   You’re tired of it when you’re the host and the only guest.    There’s bad music at these pity parties, and it’s not like you know how to dance either.    But you don’t know how to help your shitty situation. You thought you’ve long lost all your pride after being stepped on so many times. It’s only now that you’ve been shoved again that you realize you still have dignity left — that maybe it’s time to pack your bags and go home….   The doorbell rings not even five minutes after you get back to your apartment. You’re exhausted, emotionally and physically, but you drag your feet to open the door.   The person you want to see the least in the world shows up in front of you once again.   “Jimin…”   “Hey!” He gives a bright smile, so happy and radiant that it’s blinding. He’s excited and you’re not sure why. “Can I come in?”   “Um…” You hesitate, only parting the door enough for him to see both your eyes. “I...It’s kind of messy here.”   “Promise, it’ll be quick,” he insists while running a hand through his brunette hair, moving the strands back. He’s dressed in his black hoodie, pants ripped at the knees, dark bag slung over his shoulder. It’s new. Expensive. “It’s important.”   You reluctantly widen the door and Jimin enters with a grin, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. Completely disregarding your expression of distaste. Ignorant to your unwilling body language.   It’s always about him.   “It’s pretty late.” But one thing Jimin does notice is that you’re not in your usual pajamas. “Did you end up working overtime?”   “No. I met with Taehyung.”   Jimin stops and turns around, his eyes rounded. “You...met with Taehyung?”   You frown in annoyance. Who does he think he is coming into your home and asking so many questions?    “I ran into him.”   “Oh. Did you end up going anywhere?”   “A coffee shop.”   Jimin nods. “What did you guys talk about?”   Your eyes narrow into slits. “Why does it matter?”   He shrugs with a small pout, trying to play off his concerns casually. “He just doesn’t seem like...that great of a guy.”   “He’s really nice to me.”   “I’m nice to you,” Jimin mutters out of the corner of his mouth.    And you immediately scoff. Openly. Loudly.   You don’t even hold back from rolling your eyes.    “Why are you asking so many questions? It makes you sound like you’re jealous, Jimin,” you tell him, distraught, unable to comprehend why you were being interrogated. You hold your ground, strengthening yourself not to back down.    You won’t let yourself be strung along and stepped on. Not anymore.   “Well….” The boy in front of you inhales a deep breath and looks right at you. “Maybe I am jealous.”   “What? Why?”    You don’t understand — you’re the jealous one.    But his response and following silence only continues your bafflement and puzzlement.    The two of you are standing at the entrance way of your apartment, uncomfortable like strangers. That’s right...you are strangers.   You inhale a staggering breath, breaking the suffocating tension before he can answer your confused question. “Can’t you—…..” Your voice is timid and hesitant, but then you pause and speak louder to make sure he can hear you. “Can’t you stop bothering me, Jimin?”   “W-What?”   “Please, just leave me alone.” Your head drops. You can’t bear looking at him anymore. You don’t know why you have to beg to be left alone, why he’s invaded even the comfort of your own home. Why wasn’t there an escape from Park Jimin? “We’re not in a relationship. We’re not dating. I don’t even consider you a friend. You’re…..overbearing and every time I see you, it….pisses me off.”   He steps forward, undoubtedly bewildered at where this was coming from.   Jimin reaches out in distraught, but you move away from his possible grasps. As if his touch would sear your skin. He immediately curls his fingers into his palm, retracing his arm.   “I’m sorry. I never wanted to upset you. Just...W-what did I do, Y/N?”   “You never. once. had any consideration for me. You don’t think about me for a second, Jimin.”    It’s an out-of-body experience. You can see yourself having a meltdown but you can’t stop it. You can’t stop the truth from over boiling where you’ve kept it confined. You’re tired of trying so hard not to hurt people when you’ve been so hurt yourself.    “Do you want to know why I sing backstage? Do you want to know why I’m someone’s ghost singer? It’s because I have massive stage fright. It’s really, really bad.”   “Y/N….”   Jimin’s shocked.    He opens his mouth before closing it, rendered speechless. His brows are furrowed deep enough to look like it hurts, a permanent wrinkle creasing where the knot on his features are.    “I always feel like I’m getting a heart attack half the time and I can’t breathe and it started when I was in high school when my voice broke during a performance and everyone laughed at me. It’s horrible and I still think about it a lot — and I didn’t want to go to that improv class.”   You’re hyperventilating, chest constricting painfully. It aches. “I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to perform in front of other people, but you made me do it. You pushed me.”   “I’m s-sorry…” Jimin murmurs, swallowing hard, not knowing what to do. “I didn’t know…”   “I didn’t want to help you either. And I shouldn’t have,” you mutter past the thick lump in your throat, pained, ignoring how your voice cracks under the pressure, “I shouldn’t have taught you how to sing in the first place, even when you begged me. I….didn’t want to.”   You sharply inhale, but it’s never enough to stop feeling that you’re drowning.    “And now that you succeeded, it pisses me off. I’m the one who’s been here longer. But I’m the one who’s left behind. Who’s still working that shit ass job! Every time you open your mouth to talk about how great it’s going, it’s really hard for me. But you keep doing it. And it’s not like I want to feel this. I don’t want to be jealous. I don’t want this feeling. I don’t want you here!”   There’s an extended silence.   You gasp for air while Jimin searches your expression, equally hurt. You tear your eyes away from him — diverting your vision — unable to bear looking at him. “Just leave, please.”   You walk forward and he stumbles back as you yank the door open.    “W-Wait!” Jimin holds the edge of the door before you can shut it. “Y/N, wait!”   “What?” You half-hiss, half-sob at him, at wits end. You want him gone. Gone so you can crawl underneath your covers. Gone so you won’t be able to compare yourself to anyone. Gone so you can forget how pathetic you feel. “What could you possibly want to say to me, Jimin?”   “I...I just came here because I wanted to tell you that I managed to buy you this ticket.” Jimin pulls the slip of paper from out of his pocket. It’s crinkled at the edges as if he’s been holding onto it tightly. He hands you the slip and you take it without thinking. “I-It was hard to get. I-I...I’m sorry.”   You look at it. It’s his show, Les Mis, a middle row seat.   This is why he wanted to talk to you today. This was what was so important.    It’s a gift.   You swallow hard and Jimin lowers his head in shame, murmuring, “You don’t have to go. I-I’m sorry.” He apologizes again. “I didn’t know that’s how you felt about me. I’ll go now. I won’t bother you anymore.”   He leaves before you can say anything, before he can say anything more.   Jimin’s door shuts and then yours follows suit.   Guilt eats you alive as you stand in the middle of your deafeningly silent apartment with the Broadway ticket in your hand.

[samwrights]

Still Into You - Punk!AU [Makki]

I can’t believe this is the beginning of the “end” of this series. Sorry for the long delay, I tend to go in and out with inspiration. Lyrics that are italicized are sung by you.

WARNINGS: Language, nicotine use

Word count: ~4k

Song Used: Still Into You by Paramore

A complimentary playlist can be found » here

Photo credit @scandeniall​ (I’m still so utterly in love with it, bb).

Everything about Makki’s public announcement of his breakup with Momoka was shocking, to say the least. For the most part, though, it seemed not many paid any mind save for the screams that erupted when he kissed you in front of everyone. New life surged within you well after that, giving you the fire and gumption to flow and sway through the energy of the last song—I Don’t Care if You’re Contagious. The song was a swanky creation of Kuroo’s that involved a lot of to and fro motions and lyrics, lines teetering back and forth between the two of you.

As fun and lively as it was, you were far from able to get your mind off of the song that came before it, the song that Makki had sang and wrote for you. Though it was unintentional, rather it was just a way that created fluidity within the set, it was time you returned the favor for the strawberry-brunette.

There was no little speech or segue-way into the song you’d written for Takahiro Hanamaki years ago, only the slow rolling crescendo of a symbol roll from Terushima before the poignant chime that queued your voice. With practiced performance and ease, the words flowed through your mind without concentration. It allowed your mind to wander, arriving at the question of: is this how Makki felt when he sang on stage to you?

And after all this time, I’m still into you.

Did he feel his heart thrumming in his chest out of anxiety and the rumbling of the drums? Did he constantly feel that he was on the verge of accidentally confessing? Did he feel the pride that washed over himself from hearing the audience cheer over a song that was so personal? You searched for the answer in his steel toned eyes.

I should be over all the butterflies

Did he ever think that the two of you would get to confess to each other in the form of art?

I’m into you

The look in his eyes said yes, said come closer. And without a moments hesitation, you sauntered over with microphone in hand, locking your eyes with his. The glassy, glazed over look that was typical of them was replaced with warmth, with longing. It’s raw and ready, and god damnit, you were going to take it.

Let them wonder how we got this far ‘Cause I don’t really need to wonder at all

A smile tightens over Takahiro’s face, causing a single cheekbone to protrude ever so slightly underneath his slightly sagging skin. His lanky form is relaxed, gaunt fingers slapping over the strings of his bass as he vibes to the rhythm. Minimally, he chimes in with his backing vocals but the serene look on his face unearths the peace he feels. It seems that he was just as lost in your own little world as he was.

And on the drive back to my house, I told you that I loved you

As much as you want to spend the entirety of this song gazing into Makki’s endearing eyes—something you’d already done enough of for the evening—you had a job to do. So rather than indulging yourself, you tiptoe and stretch over during the minuscule intermission between lines to place a kiss on your bassist’s cheek before sauntering off to interact with your other bandmates. There’s a slight swagger to your step, confidence fully fueling your strut as you belt every note.

We sang along to the start of forever

Even pre-confession, this song you’d written many years ago brought you to life. It’s vivacious and uplifting, even if you’d wrote it during the prime of your pining. If there could even be a definitive prime, considering you’d fallen fast and hard for Makki with only months in to knowing him.

And after all this time, I’m still into you

Now that you thought about the last twenty-four hours in a strange sense of peace, a part of you wondered how and when you’d even began falling for the bassist. Hanamaki had seen you at your most vulnerable moments—customer service tended to bring out the worst in you on occasion—when you’d been overwhelmed with menial problems. The strawberry-brunette had always been there to console you, encourage you were on the right path in whichever direction you were going. That even, maybe one day while you felt like you weren’t accomplishing enough, you were going to change the world.

Makki had actually told you that once on a blunt cruise. The proclamation had made you chuckle because, while he was applauding your tenacity and drive, he was also simultaneously rebuking your sometimes childlike wonder and tendencies. It was a game of cat and mouse in which you both loved to play since the very beginning, to the point where you wonder if you had loved Takahiro in a past life. That was the only explanation you had for the natural affection that bloomed between the two of you, even back then.

Some things just don’t make sense And one of those is you and I

No matter how much time you spent pondering a pinpoint in the timeline of when and how it all began, you realize it doesn’t matter in the slightest. What matters is the way his teeth are glistening in the spotlight as he bobs and moves along with his instrument. It’s lax yet prominent, a juxtaposition that is very much Takahiro Hanamaki. Very much your Hiro.

Not a day goes by that I’m not into you

And suddenly, as the song comes to closer and closer to the end, you’re swept and overwhelmed with a fondness for the three men that surrounded you on the stage. Not only for the man that grew up to be your person, but Tetsu and Yūji as well. These men, no matter what happened to the band in the future, were your best friends in the entire fucking planet. Considering you were only in your mid to late twenties, depending on your view, your life with them made up the better half of your cognitive years.

Regardless of the relationship between you and Hanamaki and the potential, unforeseeable future after this show, you needed to acknowledge that before moving forward. This could be the end of it all, this could be a make or break moment. But it seemed Makki acknowledges your sudden silent pessimism, that once severed mental connection stronger than ever tonight, by furrowing his brows. His two eyebrow rings move with the hairs as a pout comes to play.

Even on our worst nights

Takahiro was going to have words with you later, after the show. That much was obvious by the way he seems disgruntled at your onslaught of muted lack of perk. You should be happy, over the moon even, and you were. But recounting everything that you had in the last three minutes, you were slightly hesitant to finish this set. As if, once it were all over, Elixir was going to shatter as opposed to continuing being the remedy of your monotonous reality of life.

But there’s a look on Makki’s face, flooding his steely grey eyes that offers reassurance. It’s full of love and it makes you want to run over and kiss him, but your hand and mouth are a little occupied at the moment with a microphone. Instead, you saunter back over in his direction as you close out with your vocal range going higher and higher. The last word drops in intonation as the band ends their own respective parts, your fingers suddenly clutching at the thin fabric of the bassist’s shirt as you pulled him down for a kiss this time.

I’m still into you

“Thanks so much for hanging out with us tonight—we are Elixir if you’re just joining the party. Come visit us at our merch booth and support your local artists!” With the sound of the audience applauding, your bandmates began breaking down all the equipment to load it back up in the van while you were on merch duty. Running quickly over to your table, you began interacting and engaging with recognizable faces that were looking to grab stickers and shirts. Those recognizable faces melded into three very familiar ones—Momoka and the other two girlfriends—and each of them looking incredibly displeased to say the least.

“That was a cute little publicity stunt,” Momoka remarks. Her arms are folded over her chest as she stares you down. “Did you and Makki rehearse that?”

“Oh yeah. The last ten years were a rehearsal and last night we decided to cry over it and just use the stage to put on a show.” You rolled your eyes, fixing up a couple shirts that no longer laid neatly on the table because despite your sassy comeback, her presence was causing you to fidget. Not out of nerves, no. More so out of restraint because you were certain adrenaline was beginning to pump through your veins as a response to fight-or-flight. Momoka only sneers, hardening her glare as if to tell you she was standing her ground. “I don’t know what you want me to say to you—“

“I’d rather you say nothing,” she snapped, “just stay away from Takahiro.” The way his name rolls off her tongue sounds like nails on a chalkboard; like the sound of a worn down pencil eraser where the metal scratches along the paper.

“Bruh, how embarrassing. He broke up with you publicly in front of dozens of people and you’re still defending your non-existent relationship.” You probably shouldn’t have said that. No matter how good it felt to say it, you probably shouldn’t have done it, probably should have been the bigger person.

But with the way Momoka’s poise melts and her arms unfold are her hands are reaching for any part of you she can reach as she lunges towards you, you don’t really have time to ponder your invisible regret. Instead, all you can do is stagger backwards with hands splaying out behind you to brace yourself against the wall behind you. Though you expected to feel the plastic, painted bricks, you are instead met with a damp warmth that greets your skin. “She has a point, Momoka.”

The rich timbre of Makki’s voice sends your heart into erratic throbbing, completely disregarding the fact that the woman before you had quite literally attempted to lay a hand on you. Even in times of peril, nothing compared to the feelings that the man, your man, behind you brought to you. When you came to your senses, you relaxed ever so slightly at Makki’s gentle grip on your shoulders and the way the strawberry-brunette’s chin came to rest atop the crown of your head.

“Quit fucking around, Takahiro.” Momoka all but spits out, fingers clenching and grasping at nothing but air as if she were just itching to have something between her claws; preferably, probably, your throat.

“I meant what I said up there,” Hanamaki’s gaunt thumb gesture languidly towards the stage, all the while his chin remains rooted atop your head, grinding lovingly into your scalp. “We’re through.”

“And, what, you’re with [name] now?” The way Momoka tosses your name out like scrap paper into a waste basket forces the man behind you into the defensive. He’s no longer slouching or hunched over as he holds you protectively. Instead, Makki is standing at his full, six-foot height with his chin jutting out in pride as he nudges you behind him. The strawberry-brunette doesn’t say anything in response, merely prompts his now ex-girlfriend with his challenging pose. “You were literally making fun of her last night at practice and now—“

“She’s also been my best friend for the last ten years, we pick on each other and we picked each other. Now fuck off, Momoka.” Not wanting to entertain her further, Makki wraps an arm around snugly around your shoulder before all but dragging you outside and away from the merchandise table. Apparently it didn’t matter to him if anyone were there or not—he knew you well enough to know that you more than likely needed a nicotine break after the set and after the altercation. “Hey, I’m sorry about her. I probably should have thought out the breakup better than just deciding to do it on stage—“

“Takahiro,” you interrupt after sparking your cigarette and taking the first drag. Slouching as you stood, your free hand rested on your bicep, closing off the relaxed body language despite responding with, “it was perfect.” His shale stone eyes light up ever so slightly, almost refracting into an olive tone as he stands up straight while looking down at you.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” The two of you fall quiet once again, even as Hanamaki’s lanky arms come to encircle your closed off form. It’s a reassuring gesture, or at least you assume it’s meant to be, as his chin rests atop yours once again, smoking be damned.

“So we’re good?”

“As long as there is a ‘we’, I think so.” Your voice starts out muffled and subdued from being buried in his chest, crescendoing as Makki pulls back and tilts your chin up to look directly at you. That same thin hand guides you further until your bassist melts his lips against yours, pouring every ounce of love that he could into his kiss. Sandalwood and ink fill your nostrils as you pull him closer, tossing your forgotten cigarette onto the pavement to wind your fingers into his locks tickling the nape of his neck.

From an outsider perspective, the two of you probably looked a little trashy, for lack of better term, with the way you were clutching hungrily at each other; with the way the either refused to yield or break apart from the tongue-to-tongue contact. Like desperate lovers that hadn’t seen each other for long due to infidelity—spectators loved to write stories for situations like this.

And maybe one story teller got it right but that idea had gone completely over both of your heads because anyone else’s judgment at the moment just didn’t matter right now. The only thing that did matter was the way Makki held, trying to fuse every atom in both of your bodies as if to make up for lost time. “I love you so, so much, [name],” the strawberry-brunette pants out after needing to catch his breath, “more than anything.”

Those words became the catalyst to the start of forever.

Forever, included you not renewing the lease to your tiny duplex and Makki reciprocating the same action with his small studio in the city. Instead, the two of you took what savings you had and put money down on a cozy, three bedroom home together. It was slightly terrifying, making such a big decision together and not even just on the basis of the fresh relationship. If anything, the relationship was the least of your concerns.

Income was, of course, the biggest worry but, Makki being Makki, constantly reassured you that the two of you would without a doubt prosper. And his unfailing faith always seemed to pay off.

Takahiro, after slaving away as a journalist for the last few years, had finally risen through the ranks at the local alternative magazine he had been writing for and was promoted to editor-in-chief. The lazy guise that he wore daily never fooled you—you always knew he worked smart and hard and it was finally loud and proud for the world to see.

The same could be said for you, excelling in your field while simultaneously being approached to write songs for other artists you had the fortune to meet through Makki’s job. You could say there certainly were benefits to being his plus one to the many gala-type events he had to attend for work, and they most certainly benefitted you as an individual, as a couple, and as a band.

Elixir was still going strong, even with more years passing. The publicity stunt, as Momoka had deemed it, had been blasted through every social media platform known to man. Many found Makki’s public break up humiliating for his ex-girlfriend, but many comments defended the obvious love shared between the two of you on stage. Another vast majority of the comments laughed because whoever the ex-girlfriend was, she had to be shitty enough for that stunt to even be a plausible option for a break up — a treatment you didn’t necessarily agree with but that was your own personal opinion. Commenters also pointed out the dumbfounded look on your face and that you had absolutely no idea that any of that was going to happen.

The videos floating around online had helped the band’s fan base grow exponentially to the point where the four of you were performing at least once a month, as shitty as that may sound. The band that was originally started to just act as a friendly pasttime was growing beyond any of your wildest dreams.

Elixir was still going strong and rather than practicing and disturbing Terushima’s parents, the boys now all gathered in the Hanamaki household. Extra rooms were available for the boys if they needed to crash—namely Terushima who was still struggling to overcome his drug addiction. That was a fight for another day.

The band had bloomed exponentially to the point where Terushima, despite his personal demons, had reprised his role as makeshift manager, much like he had back in college when he was in charge of the underground distribution business the four of you had. In the group chat, he mentioned he had a big announcement for the band, which lead to the very moment of the four of you gathered in your backyard with drinks and respective smokes in hand.

“So? What’s this big news you got for us Teru?” Kuroo asks, languidly lounging in a wicker chair with one arm draped over the back. You and Makki were snuggled into a matching loveseat, a cigarette in your hand and a beer in his. Terushima had one hand around his cellphone, flicking through the screen while waving off Kuroo with his free one.

“Hold on, hold on—found it!” The blonde yells, almost startling you had none of you been used to the way his volume sporadically jumped at random intervals. He clears his throat before reading whatever news he gathered us to announce.

“Mr. Terushima, thank you for getting back to me promptly with your attached demo. We would like to arrange a meeting with all members of Elixir to discuss a recording deal. Please respond with a date and time the four of you are able to meet.

Sincerely,

Semi Eita, Eternal Records”

Only the crackling of the fire between all of you and the crickets chirping off in the suburban distance can be heard—everyone is silent.

“Is this—“ you start, but are immediately lost for words.

“Did we just get offered a record deal?” Kuroo finishes for you.

“We’re doing it, right?” Terushima’s eyes are hopeful and full of light and excitement, like this is the type of news he’d been waiting for. You looked between the guitarist and drummer sitting before you, both of whom looked more than eager, before you glanced upward to your left to gaze at Makki. Stone faced as ever, he was, but there was still that twinge of pride accompanied by the smallest tick of a grin.

“Any objections?” Your boyfriend looks back at the rest of the band. It was a silly question, all things considered, and Kuroo and Terushima made that obvious with the gnashing of their lips as they held back excited screams. “Babe?” The strawberry-brunette locks eyes with you once again, tightening his lax grip around your shoulder.

“As long as it’s all of us, I’ll always say yes.”

“Is that so?” Takahiro muses. The arm around you is removed as the man to your left rummages around the pocket of his old basketball shorts that he typically wore around the house to lounge in. His fingers are fumbling almost clumsily as he pulls back the lid of a small, black velvet box. “It may not be all of us, per se, but if you’ll always say yes, then will you marry me, right?” As he speaks, he sets down his beer bottle off to the side of the loveseat, clambering down to rest on one knee to better present the rose gold, diamond ring to you.

“I—w-what?” You splutter, darting back and forth between the ring and Takahiro’s face. When his face remained as stoic as ever, your eyes shifted between him and your two other friends who seemed just as dumbfounded as you did. Considering the information you gathered from your surroundings and just because that’s how Takahiro is, you figured he was being genuine. “For real?” The strawberry-brunette only nods, offering no further vocal context, and instead grabs your left hand and slips the jewelry onto your ring finger.

“Marry me.” His voice is firm and concrete with the slightest hint of trepidation, though it’s possible that it came from him pushing himself to stand at his full height. Hanamaki holds your hands in his, shale-stone eyes looking down at yours as he awaits his answer.

“I-I, yes? Yes!” In a flash, your arms wind around Makki’s neck, pulling him towards you tightly as his arms anchor around your waist and pull you as close to him as physically possible.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Kuroo deadpans from beside the two of you, shaking his head in amusement before coming over to clap both of your shoulders in congratulations. The statement alone clued you in on the fact that the boys did indeed know about the proposal.

“Makki’s always just full of surprises, ain't he?” Terushima adds, also stepping closer to offer his congrats. The blonde is grinning with his eyes shut as he fist bumps Makki when you broke apart from your embrace.

“Wait, but the record deal is real, right? Like that wasn’t planned out for Hiro’s proposal, was it?” You balk, hoping that the opportunity with Eternal Records was a genuine offer. Terushima gives a nod, opening his mouth to speak only to be cut off by Hanamaki.

“Come on, you know I actually didn’t plan anything.” The strawberry-brunette chimes, as if to try to reassure you that the record deal was in fact real while simultaneously drowning out Yūji’s spiel of how he would never make a fake announcement with such sensitive material.

“Then why’d you have a ring in your pocket?” Takahiro gives a nonchalant shrug, grabbing his once forgotten beer bottle off of the cobblestone floor of your patio and raising it to call a toast.

“Just had a feeling that tonight was gonna be the night. Besides, I’ve had it since before we bought the house.” The four of you clink bottles together in celebration—celebration of your band’s success and your apparent, sudden engagement. But while you’re cheering and drinking merrily, Hanamaki’s words are brewing and stewing in your brain as you mull them over.

“Babe, we’ve lived here for almost three years.” Takahiro tosses a languid, knowing grin at you. It was as if he were applauding you for finally putting the pieces together. “You’ve had a ring for that long? No joke?”

“No joke. I wanted to wait for the perfect moment.”

A perfect moment indeed.

A beautiful, mid-summer evening around a fire with your best friends and getting the announcement of a lifetime? There was no better time, was no better way than to start forever in the Hanamaki household. Yet, you acknowledge that his proposal could have started any time, any where. As long as it was Takahiro, as long as your best friends were there to enjoy the momentous occasion, you would have said yes because it was him.

[ A Part of Me  « Still Into You » In Bloom ]

And that is it for Makki’s route! I was asked to a couple spin-offs so those will (eventually) come about. Thank you all for sticking through this with me, I love and appreciate you all.

Taglist: @takingyouruwus​ @tamcitrus​ @norkinlove​

[madeleineengland]

The first japanese woman to stake her life in socialist cause and raise her voice on behalf of social justice was Kanno Sugako (1881-1911).

She was one of Japan’s first female anarcho-feminist journalist and advocate of women’s rights, as well as a prolific writer.

She was the author of a series of articles about gender oppression, and a defender of freedom and equal rights for men and women.

At fifteen Kanno was raped and this traumatic experience left her with a lasting sense of shame and guilt, like she was supposed to according to the traditional moral standards in Japan.

Kanno's interest in socialism was aroused when she read an essay by Sakai Toshihiko in which he counseled rape victims not be burdened with guilt.

After reading it, Kanno began to read Sakai's other writings and eventually gravitated to the circle of socialists. And gradually radical ideas became strongly related to Kanno's personal pride and the meaning of her life.

Then she wrote a series of short stories, articles, and essays for many magazines.

At the Muro Shinpō, she published her views regarding socialism:

"Our ideal is socialism, which aims at the equality of all classes. But just as a great building cannot be destroyed in a moment, the existing hierarchical class system, which has been consolidated over many years, cannot be overthrown in a day and a night ... So we [women] must first of all achieve the fundamanetal principle of 'self-awareness', and develop our potential, uplift our character, and then gradually work toward the realization of our ideal".

She was a firm believer in gender equality too, arguing in a Muro Shinpō piece:

"In these postwar years there are many tasks facing the nation in politics, economy, industry, education, and so on. But for us women the most urgent task is to develop our own self-awareness. In accordance with long-standing customs, we have seen as a form of material property. Women in Japan are in a state of slavery. Japan has become an advanced, civilized nation, but we women are still denied our freedom by an invisible iron fence..."

By 1903 Kanno had become interested in many movements.

She joined the "Woman's Christian Temperance Union" due to a personal attraction to a shared belief in charity and reform in gender equality.

In addition, she chastised men for constantly harping on the importance of female chastity. Instead, she argued that men should focus more on being "wise husbands and good fathers", than criticizing women for lacking of it.

She also parteciped in the association called Women's Moral Reform Society, a campaign against the system of concubines and advocating for the independence of women.

Kanno lambasted the official sanctioning of prostitution, disgusted that the Japanese government would allow the sexual exploitation of the daughters of the poor. Furthermore, she also blamed male customers of the various red-light districts.

In june 1908 Kanno attended a socialist-anarchist rally, which would be known as the Red Flag Incident, where red flags were hoisted and anarchist songs were sung. The authorities arrested the leaders of the gathering, and when Kanno went to the police station to demand about her comrades, she was shocked to see the brutal manner in which the men were being beaten.

Furthermore she too was thrown in jail for visiting her friends. This experience convinced Kanno that peaceful change was not possibile under the existing system.

After she was released, she became a firm anarchist.

But before the Red Flag Incident, she was a pacifist. She had joined "Heminsha", an association by Christians and socialists in opposing the Russo-Japanese war, and she published the anti-war short story Zekko (Severed Relations) in October 1903.

In 1910 She had become involved in a plot to produce a bomb to assassinate the Emperor.

Kanno was enthusiastic about carrying out the plan, hoping to emulate Sophia Perovskaya, the woman who had partecipated in the assassination of Alexander II of Russia.

However the plot was uncovered in May 1910 and the leaders were arrested, including Kanno.

She was accused of treason by the Japanese government for what became known as the High Treason Incident.

Kanno bluntly confronted the government, refusing to avoid responsibility. She remarked:

"Basically even among anarchists I was among the more radical thinkers. When I was imprisoned in June 1908 in connection with the Red Flag incident I was outraged at the brutal behavior of the police. I concluded that a peaceful propagation of our principles could not be conducted under these circumstances. It was necessary to arouse the people's awareness by staging riots or a revolution or by undertaking assassinations... I hoped to destroy not only the emperor but other elements too... Emperor Mutsuhito [Emperor Meiji], compared with other emperors in history, seems to be popular with the people and is a good individual. Although I feel sorry for him personally, he is, as emperor, the chief person responsible for the exploitation of the people economically. Politically he is at the root of all the crimes being committed, and intellectually he is the fundamental cause of superstitious beliefs. A person in such a position, I concluded, must be killed."

Later, when the judge asked Kanno if she wished to make a final statement, she stated her only regret was that the plot failed and she feels that she has failed those who sacrifice their lives for the sake of the people.

Kanno was executed by hanging on January 25, 1911, at the age of 29. She was the first woman with the status of political prisoner to be executed in the history of modern Japan.

In her prison diary she wrote: “I am convinced our sacrifice is not in vain. It will bear fruit in the future. I am confident that because I firmly believe my death will serve a valuable purpose I will be able to maintain my self-respect until the last moment on the scaffold. I will be enveloped in the marvelously comforting thought that I am sacrificing myself for the cause. I believe I will be able to die a noble death without fear or anguish.”

In her final entry she wrote of her happiness upon learning that 12 of her fellow defendants were reprieved, and whose lives were spared.

You can read her full diary here: https://libcom.org/history/reflections-way-gallows @historicwomendaily

The Tokio Asahi News commented after her execution: "She lived her life without believing in the gods or spirits. She indulged herself by reading biographies of russian anarchists and nihilists who had given their lives to their so-called principles. It is said that she prided herself as a pioneer among japanese women."

However much she has been criticized for her lifestyle, history cannot forget Kanno's strong commitment to her convinctions, her passionate desire to redress social injustices, her formidable sense of responsability, and her courage.

[in-dire-need]

Eurus- The Oh Hellos

Before I begin, I would like to apologize for my recent absence over the past few weeks. I have been out of the loop and have a lot of other projects on my plate, so this one just slipped away. I will try to post at least two blogs a week, possibly on Monday and Friday. 

I promised in my first blog that there was much more The Oh Hellos content to come. Well, here it is. ‘Eurus’ is the god of the east wind, son of Eos and Astraeus. To The Oh Hellos, it is the most recent installment of their enchanting discography. Just like their previous releases, Eurus thrives on heavy references to Biblical tales, Greek Mythology, and of course, C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters. Deep within, the album focuses on how all of our religious beliefs are often projections of our love and pain.  

The album begins with the slow but enveloping track ‘O Sleeper’, possibly mirroring the lyric from the Dear Wormwood track ‘Caesar’. 

‘Rise up to meet it, oh sleeper awake’. 

Whereas ‘Caesar’ referred to Ephesians 5:14, ‘O Sleeper’  references Genesis 6-9. These chapters depict Noah’s Ark and The Great Flood. As a person who was raised Catholic, I have heard this story a hundred times. For those who haven’t, here is a simple explanation:

After creating human life, God realizes that it was a mistake. They are disgusting, barbaric, and mortal. His solution is to create a great flood to destroy the entire world so that he can rebuild. He found the one man who was righteous and free of blame and instructed him to build a gigantic ark. Noah complied and God then instructed him to take two of each animal on earth with him and his family. The chosen survivors took to the ark and lived safely as every living being and plant on Earth was destroyed. After ten months, Noah sent out a raven in hopes that it would find land. It returned with an olive branch, signifying land. After a year in total, the passengers of the ark left and made their homes on land. 

‘O Sleeper’ is set in God’s perspective as he views what his creation has become. He made human beings in his image, with his soul, only for them to become wicked and turn their backs to him. The theme of Noah’s Ark is continued into the title of the next track, ‘Dry Branches’, albeit an instrumental transition piece. 

The album continues with the thought-provoking and vibrantly uplifting third track. While continuing the overarching theme of Noah’s Ark, ‘Grow’ presents calming and vivid imagery that sends a message of personal growth and maturation. Sometimes, knowledge and certainty only holds you back. There is no need to know exactly where you are going or push your life in the direction you think it needs to go. As the famous phrase says, “Que sera sera.” Whatever happens happens and if all of your ducks aren’t in a row, so what? It is one of the most important lessons you can learn in life, and ‘Grow’ describes it so well that the only way I can fully explain it is by telling you to go listen to it yourself. Even the atmosphere aids the song’s purpose by presenting an entire ensemble sing-along. The upbeat and inspiring energy is absolutely infectious and cannot be told, only experienced. 

Following this enchanting tune is title track ‘Eurus’. It describes how the Greek gods took responsibility for every natural phenomenon and human emotion and how they controlled the non-pagans with harsh taxes and laws. It also slightly mentions human mortality and controversy pertaining to the afterlife, but more will come of that in the next vocal track, ‘Hieroglyphs’. 

A separation provided by the adorably comedic transitional piece ‘A Convocation of Fauns(A Faunvocation, If You Will)’ brings us into the final two tracks. ‘Hieroglyphs’ provides the same group atmosphere presented in ‘Grow’ and ‘Eurus’ along with a similar, upbeat message. So many people waste their entire lives obsessing over where they are going after they are dead, and before they know it they have let their entire one life flash by. If they aren’t worried about where they are going, they are worried about who is going to stop them. In fighting these imaginary evils, we manifest one deep inside ourselves. In the act of obsessing over the afterlife and God and Satan and whatnot, we are turning our own minds against us and becoming our own worst enemies. We then create this unending cycle of worry and violence that should never have come to fruition. In short, don’t worry about where you are going. Don’t worry about what lies eons ahead. Focus on your life because before you know it, it will be gone.

Most birds in the animal kingdom can fall under the category of a passerine, but many fall under two specific categories- songbird or prey. Those are the two types of birds referenced by the Heath siblings in the final track, ‘Passerine’. This song continues the group energy to the end, but somewhat dims the overall positivity. The passerines in question here are the followers of Jesus. They were intended to be songbirds, singing of the love of Christ, but something went wrong and they became nothing but weak little birds of prey. Their Messiah was killed and they were persecuted for over two centuries. As martyr after martyr fell and more Christians were forced to suppress their beliefs, Jesus’ followers became pitiful game for the Romans and other leaders. 

In the modern day, Christians populate one third of the entire world, making it the largest standing religion to this day. That statistic simply defends the entire premise of Eurus. Your life will change, and it will be for the better. There is no need to push yourself in a million different directions or obsessively worry about where you are going once you are six feet under. The world lives on, and so will you. Whether you believe in some kind of god or not, it is vital for you to know that everything will work out without you forcing it to. Bad things happen, but it is those bad things and bad events that lead us to the best parts of our lives. For example, I found my life’s passion through one of the most stressful and depressing periods of my life. There is a silver lining to everything, and even if you do not believe it now, you will find it. Everything will be okay, Internet. Go enjoy yourselves.

“Let be what is, let be what isn't It's a natural world in which we're living And if you let it alone, it will surely grow Just leave it alone, child, and let it go“

[blackkudos]

Booker T. Washington

Booker Taliaferro Washington (April 5, 1856 – November 14, 1915) was an American educator, author, orator, and adviser to multiple presidents of the United States. Between 1890 and 1915, Washington was the dominant leader in the African American community and of the contemporary black elite. Washington was from the last generation of black American leaders born into slavery and became the leading voice of the former slaves and their descendants. They were newly oppressed in the South by disenfranchisement and the Jim Crow discriminatory laws enacted in the post-Reconstruction Southern states in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Washington was a key proponent of African-American businesses and one of the founders of the National Negro Business League. His base was the Tuskegee Institute, a historically black college in Tuskegee, Alabama. As lynchings in the South reached a peak in 1895, Washington gave a speech, known as the "Atlanta compromise", which brought him national fame. He called for black progress through education and entrepreneurship, rather than trying to challenge directly the Jim Crow segregation and the disenfranchisement of black voters in the South.

Washington mobilized a nationwide coalition of middle-class blacks, church leaders, and white philanthropists and politicians, with a long-term goal of building the community's economic strength and pride by a focus on self-help and schooling. With his own contributions to the black community, Washington was a supporter of Racial uplift. But, secretly, he also supported court challenges to segregation and restrictions on voter registration.

Black militants in the North, led by W. E. B. Du Bois, at first supported the Atlanta compromise, but later disagreed and opted to set up the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) to work for political change. They tried with limited success to challenge Washington's political machine for leadership in the black community, but built wider networks among white allies in the North. Decades after Washington's death in 1915, the civil rights movement of the 1950s took a more active and militant approach, which was also based on new grassroots organizations based in the South, such as Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC).

Washington mastered the nuances of the political arena in the late 19th century, which enabled him to manipulate the media, raise money, develop strategy, network, push, reward friends, and distribute funds, while punishing those who opposed his plans for uplifting blacks. His long-term goal was to end the disenfranchisement of the vast majority of African Americans, who then still lived in the South. His legacy has been very controversial to the civil rights community, of which he was an important leader before 1915. After his death, he came under heavy criticism for accommodationism to white supremacy. However since the late 20th century, a more balanced view of his very wide range of activities has appeared. As of 2010, the most recent studies, "defend and celebrate his accomplishments, legacy, and leadership."

Overview

In 1856, Washington was born into slavery in Virginia as the son of Jane, an African-American slave. After emancipation, she moved the family to West Virginia to join her husband Washington Ferguson. West Virginia had seceded from Virginia and joined the Union as a free state during the Civil War. As a young man, Booker T. Washington worked his way through Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute (a historically black college, now Hampton University) and attended college at Wayland Seminary (now Virginia Union University).

In 1881, the young Washington was named as the first leader of the new Tuskegee Institute in Alabama, founded for the higher education of blacks. He developed the college from the ground up, enlisting students in construction of buildings, from classrooms to dormitories. Work at the college was considered fundamental to students' larger education. They maintained a large farm to be essentially self-supporting, rearing animals and cultivating needed produce. Washington continued to expand the school. He attained national prominence for his Atlanta Address of 1895, which attracted the attention of politicians and the public. He became a popular spokesperson for African-American citizens. He built a nationwide network of supporters in many black communities, with black ministers, educators, and businessmen composing his core supporters. Washington played a dominant role in black politics, winning wide support in the black community of the South and among more liberal whites (especially rich Northern whites). He gained access to top national leaders in politics, philanthropy and education. Washington's efforts included cooperating with white people and enlisting the support of wealthy philanthropists. Washington had asserted that the surest way for blacks to gain equal social rights was to demonstrate "industry, thrift, intelligence and property."

Beginning in 1912, he built a relationship with philanthropist Julius Rosenwald, the owner of Sears Roebuck, who served on the board of trustees for the rest of his life and made substantial donations to Tuskegee. In addition, they collaborated on a pilot program for Tuskegee architects to design six model schools that could be built for African-American students in rural areas of the South. These were historically underfunded by the state and local governments. Given their success in 1913 and 1914, Rosenwald established the Rosenwald Foundation in 1917 to support the schools effort. It expanded improving or providing rural schools by giving matching funds to communities that committed to operate the schools and provided funds for construction and maintenance, with cooperation of white public school boards required. Nearly 5,000 new, small rural schools were built to improve education for blacks throughout the South, most after Washington's death in 1915.

Northern critics called Washington's widespread and powerful organization the "Tuskegee Machine". After 1909, Washington was criticized by the leaders of the new NAACP, especially W. E. B. Du Bois, who demanded a stronger tone of protest in order to advance the civil rights agenda. Washington replied that confrontation would lead to disaster for the outnumbered blacks in society, and that cooperation with supportive whites was the only way to overcome pervasive racism in the long run. At the same time, he secretly funded litigation for civil rights cases, such as challenges to Southern constitutions and laws that had disenfranchised blacks across the South since the turn of the century. African Americans were still strongly affiliated with the Republican Party, and Washington was on close terms with national Republican Party leaders. He was often asked for political advice by presidents Theodore Roosevelt and William Howard Taft.

In addition to his contributions in education, Washington wrote 14 books; his autobiography, Up from Slavery, first published in 1901, is still widely read today. During a difficult period of transition, he did much to improve the working relationship between the races. His work greatly helped blacks to achieve education, financial power, and understanding of the U.S. legal system. This contributed to blacks' attaining the skills to create and support the civil rights movement, leading to the passage in the later 20th century of important federal civil rights laws.

Early life

Booker was born into slavery to Jane, an enslaved African-American woman on the plantation of James Burroughs in southwest Virginia, near Hale's Ford in Franklin County. He never knew the day, month, and year of his birth, but the year on his headstone reads 1856. Nor did he ever know his father, said to be a white man who resided on a neighboring plantation. The man played no financial or emotional role in Washington's life.

From his earliest years, Washington was known simply as "Booker", with no middle or surname, in the practice of the time. His mother, her relatives and his siblings struggled with the demands of slavery. He later wrote:

I cannot recall a single instance during my childhood or early boyhood when our entire family sat down to the table together, and God's blessing was asked, and the family ate a meal in a civilized manner. On the plantation in Virginia, and even later, meals were gotten to the children very much as dumb animals get theirs. It was a piece of bread here and a scrap of meat there. It was a cup of milk at one time and some potatoes at another.

When he was nine, Booker and his family in Virginia gained freedom under the Emancipation Proclamation as US troops occupied their region. Booker was thrilled by the formal day of their emancipation in early 1865:

As the great day drew nearer, there was more singing in the slave quarters than usual. It was bolder, had more ring, and lasted later into the night. Most of the verses of the plantation songs had some reference to freedom... Some man who seemed to be a stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made a little speech and then read a rather long paper—the Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After the reading we were told that we were all free, and could go when and where we pleased. My mother, who was standing by my side, leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of joy ran down her cheeks. She explained to us what it all meant, that this was the day for which she had been so long praying, but fearing that she would never live to see.

After emancipation Jane took her family to the free state of West Virginia to join her husband Washington Ferguson, who had escaped from slavery during the war and settled there. The illiterate boy Booker began to painstakingly teach himself to read and attended school for the first time.

At school, Booker was asked for a surname for registration. He took the family name of Washington, after his stepfather. Still later he learned from his mother that she had originally given him the name "Booker Taliaferro" at the time of his birth, but his second name was not used by the master. Upon learning of his original name, Washington immediately readopted it as his own, and became known as Booker Taliaferro Washington for the rest of his life.

Higher education

Washington worked in salt furnaces and coal mines in West Virginia for several years to earn money. He made his way east to Hampton Institute, a school established in Virginia to educate freedmen and their descendants, where he also worked to pay for his studies. He later attended Wayland Seminary in Washington, D.C. in 1878.

Tuskegee Institute

In 1881, the Hampton Institute president Samuel C. Armstrong recommended Washington, then age 25, to become the first leader of Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute (later Tuskegee Institute, now Tuskegee University), the new normal school (teachers' college) in Alabama. The new school opened on July 4, 1881, initially using space in a local church.

The next year, Washington purchased a former plantation to be developed as the permanent site of the campus. Under his direction, his students literally built their own school: making bricks, constructing classrooms, barns and outbuildings; and growing their own crops and raising livestock; both for learning and to provide for most of the basic necessities. Both men and women had to learn trades as well as academics. The Tuskegee faculty used all the activities to teach the students basic skills to take back to their mostly rural black communities throughout the South. The main goal was not to produce farmers and tradesmen, but teachers of farming and trades who could teach in the new lower schools and colleges for blacks across the South. The school expanded over the decades, adding programs and departments, to become the present-day Tuskegee University.

The Oaks, "a large comfortable home," was built on campus for Washington and his family. They moved into the house in 1900. Washington lived there until his death in 1915. His widow, Margaret, lived at The Oaks until her death in 1925.

Later career

Washington led Tuskegee for more than 30 years after becoming its leader. As he developed it, adding to both the curriculum and the facilities on the campus, he became a prominent national leader among African Americans, with considerable influence with wealthy white philanthropists and politicians.

Washington expressed his vision for his race through the school. He believed that by providing needed skills to society, African Americans would play their part, leading to acceptance by white Americans. He believed that blacks would eventually gain full participation in society by acting as responsible, reliable American citizens. Shortly after the Spanish–American War, President William McKinley and most of his cabinet visited Booker Washington. By his death in 1915, Tuskegee's endowment had grown to over $1.5 million, compared to its initial $2,000 annual appropriation.

Washington helped develop other schools and colleges. In 1891 he lobbied the West Virginia legislature to locate the newly-authorized West Virginia Colored Institute (today West Virginia State University) in the Kanawha Valley of West Virginia near Charleston. He visited the campus often and spoke at its first commencement exercise.

Washington was a dominant figure of the African-American community, then still overwhelmingly based in the South, from 1890 to his death in 1915. His Atlanta Address of 1895 received national attention. He was considered as a popular spokesman for African-American citizens. Representing the last generation of black leaders born into slavery, Washington was generally perceived as a supporter of education for freedmen and their descendants in the post-Reconstruction, Jim Crow-era South. He stressed basic education and training in manual and domestic labor trades because he thought these represented the skills needed in what was still a rural economy. Throughout the final twenty years of his life, he maintained his standing through a nationwide network of supporters including black educators, ministers, editors, and businessmen, especially those who supported his views on social and educational issues for blacks. He also gained access to top national white leaders in politics, philanthropy and education, raised large sums, was consulted on race issues, and was awarded honorary degrees from leading American universities.

Late in his career, Washington was criticized by civil rights leader and NAACP founder W. E. B. Du Bois. Du Bois and his supporters opposed the Atlanta Address as the "Atlanta Compromise", because it suggested that African Americans should work for, and submit to, white political rule. Du Bois insisted on full civil rights, due process of law, and increased political representation for African Americans which, he believed, could only be achieved through activism and higher education for African-Americans. He believed that "the talented Tenth" would lead the race. Du Bois labeled Washington, "the Great Accommodator". Washington responded that confrontation could lead to disaster for the outnumbered blacks, and that cooperation with supportive whites was the only way to overcome racism in the long run.

While promoting moderation, Washington contributed secretly and substantially to mounting legal challenges activist African Americans launched against segregation and disenfranchisement of blacks. In his public role, he believed he could achieve more by skillful accommodation to the social realities of the age of segregation.

Washington's work on education helped him enlist both the moral and substantial financial support of many major white philanthropists. He became a friend of such self-made men as Standard Oil magnate Henry Huttleston Rogers; Sears, Roebuck and Company President Julius Rosenwald; and George Eastman, inventor of roll film, founder of Eastman Kodak, and developer of a major part of the photography industry. These individuals and many other wealthy men and women funded his causes, including Hampton and Tuskegee institutes.

He also gave lectures to raise money for the school. On January 23, 1906, he lectured at Carnegie Hall in New York in the Tuskegee Institute Silver Anniversary Lecture. He spoke along with great orators of the day, including Mark Twain, Joseph Hodges Choate, and Robert Curtis Ogden; it was the start of a capital campaign to raise $1,800,000 for the school.

The schools which Washington supported were founded primarily to produce teachers, as education was critical for the black community following emancipation. Freedmen strongly supported literacy and education as the keys to their future. When graduates returned to their largely impoverished rural southern communities, they still found few schools and educational resources, as the white-dominated state legislatures consistently underfunded black schools in their segregated system.

To address those needs, in the 20th century Washington enlisted his philanthropic network to create matching funds programs to stimulate construction of numerous rural public schools for black children in the South. Working especially with Julius Rosenwald from Chicago, Washington had Tuskegee architects develop model school designs. The Rosenwald Fund helped support the construction and operation of more than 5,000 schools and related resources for the education of blacks throughout the South in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The local schools were a source of communal pride; African-American families gave labor, land and money to them, to give their children more chances in an environment of poverty and segregation. A major part of Washington's legacy, the model rural schools continued to be constructed into the 1930s, with matching funds for communities from the Rosenwald Fund.

Washington also contributed to the Progressive Era by forming the National Negro Business League. It encouraged entrepreneurship among black businessmen, establishing a national network.

His autobiography, Up from Slavery, first published in 1901, is still widely read in the early 21st century.

Marriages and children

Washington was married three times. In his autobiography Up from Slavery, he gave all three of his wives credit for their contributions at Tuskegee. His first wife Fannie N. Smith was from Malden, West Virginia, the same Kanawha River Valley town where Washington had lived from age nine to sixteen. He maintained ties there all his life, and Smith was a student of his when he taught in Malden. He helped her gain entrance into the Hampton Institute. Washington and Smith were married in the summer of 1882, a year after he became principal there. They had one child, Portia M. Washington, born in 1883. Fannie died in May 1884.

In 1885 the widower Washington married again, to Olivia A. Davidson (1854–1889). Born free in Virginia to a free woman of color and a father who had been freed from slavery, she moved with her family to the free state of Ohio, where she attended common schools. Davidson later studied at Hampton Institute and went North to study at the Massachusetts State Normal School at Framingham. She taught in Mississippi and Tennessee before going to Tuskegee to work as a teacher. Washington recruited Davidson to Tuskegee, and promoted her to vice-principal. They had two sons, Booker T. Washington Jr. and Ernest Davidson Washington, before she died in 1889.

In 1893 Washington married Margaret James Murray. She was from Mississippi and had graduated from Fisk University, a historically black college. They had no children together, but she helped rear Washington's three children. Murray outlived Washington and died in 1925.

Politics and the Atlanta compromise

Washington's 1895 Atlanta Exposition address was viewed as a "revolutionary moment" by both African Americans and whites across the country. At the time W. E. B. Du Bois supported him, but they grew apart as Du Bois sought more action to remedy disfranchisement and improve educational opportunities for blacks. After their falling out, Du Bois and his supporters referred to Washington's speech as the "Atlanta Compromise" to express their criticism that Washington was too accommodating to white interests.

Washington advocated a "go slow" approach to avoid a harsh white backlash. He has been criticized for encouraging many youths in the South to accept sacrifices of potential political power, civil rights, and higher education. Washington believed that African Americans should "concentrate all their energies on industrial education, and accumulation of wealth, and the conciliation of the South". He valued the "industrial" education, as it provided critical skills for the jobs then available to the majority of African Americans at the time, as most lived in the South, which was overwhelmingly rural and agricultural. He thought these skills would lay the foundation for the creation of stability that the African-American community required in order to move forward. He believed that in the long term, "blacks would eventually gain full participation in society by showing themselves to be responsible, reliable American citizens". His approach advocated for an initial step toward equal rights, rather than full equality under the law, gaining economic power to back up black demands for political equality in the future. He believed that such achievements would prove to the deeply prejudiced white America that African Americans were not "'naturally' stupid and incompetent".

Well-educated blacks in the North lived in a different society and advocated a different approach, in part due to their perception of wider opportunities. Du Bois wanted blacks to have the same "classical" liberal arts education as upper-class whites did, along with voting rights and civic equality. The latter two had been ostensibly granted since 1870 by constitutional amendments after the Civil War. He believed that an elite, which he called the Talented Tenth, would advance to lead the race to a wider variety of occupations. Du Bois and Washington were divided in part by differences in treatment of African Americans in the North versus the South; although both groups suffered discrimination, the mass of blacks in the South were far more constrained by legal segregation and disenfranchisement, which totally excluded most from the political process and system. Many in the North objected to being 'led', and authoritatively spoken for, by a Southern accommodationist strategy which they considered to have been "imposed on them [Southern blacks] primarily by Southern whites".

Historian Clarence Earl Walker wrote that, for white Southerners,

Free black people were 'matter out of place'. Their emancipation was an affront to southern white freedom. Booker T. Washington did not understand that his program was perceived as subversive of a natural order in which black people were to remain forever subordinate or unfree.

Both Washington and Du Bois sought to define the best means post-Civil War to improve the conditions of the African-American community through education.

Blacks were solidly Republican in this period, having gained emancipation and suffrage with the President Lincoln and his party. Fellow Republican President Ulysses S. Grant defended African Americans' newly won freedom and civil rights in the South by passing laws and using federal force to suppress the Ku Klux Klan, which had committed violence against blacks for years to suppress voting and discourage education. After Federal troops left in 1877 at the end of the Reconstruction era, many paramilitary groups worked to suppress black voting by violence. From 1890–1908 Southern states disenfranchised most blacks and many poor whites through constitutional amendments and statutes that created barriers to voter registration and voting. Such devices as poll taxes and subjective literacy tests sharply reduced the number of blacks in voting rolls. By the late nineteenth century, Southern white Democrats defeated some biracial Populist-Republican coalitions and regained power in the state legislatures of the former Confederacy; they passed laws establishing racial segregation and Jim Crow. In the border states and North, blacks continued to exercise the vote; the well-established Maryland African-American community defeated attempts there to disfranchise them.

Washington worked and socialized with many national white politicians and industry leaders. He developed the ability to persuade wealthy whites, many of them self-made men, to donate money to black causes by appealing to their values. He argued that the surest way for blacks to gain equal social rights was to demonstrate "industry, thrift, intelligence and property". He believed these were key to improved conditions for African Americans in the United States. Because African Americans had recently been emancipated and most lived in a hostile environment, Washington believed they could not expect too much at once. He said, "I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has had to overcome while trying to succeed."

Along with Du Bois, Washington partly organized the "Negro exhibition" at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris, where photos of Hampton Institute's black students were displayed. These were taken by his friend Frances Benjamin Johnston. The exhibition demonstrated African Americans' positive contributions to United States' society.

Washington privately contributed substantial funds for legal challenges to segregation and disfranchisement, such as the case of Giles v. Harris, which was heard before the United States Supreme Court in 1903. Even when such challenges were won at the Supreme Court, southern states quickly responded with new laws to accomplish the same ends, for instance, adding "grandfather clauses" that covered whites and not blacks in order to prevent blacks from voting.

Wealthy friends and benefactors

State and local governments historically underfunded black schools, although they were ostensibly providing "separate but equal" segregated facilities. White philanthropists strongly supported education financially. Washington encouraged them and directed millions of their money to projects all across the South that Washington thought best reflected his self-help philosophy. Washington associated with the richest and most powerful businessmen and politicians of the era. He was seen as a spokesperson for African Americans and became a conduit for funding educational programs.

His contacts included such diverse and well-known entrepreneurs and philanthropists as Andrew Carnegie, William Howard Taft, John D. Rockefeller, Henry Huttleston Rogers, George Eastman, Julius Rosenwald, Robert Curtis Ogden, Collis Potter Huntington, and William Henry Baldwin Jr.. The latter donated large sums of money to agencies such as the Jeanes and Slater Funds. As a result, countless small rural schools were established through Washington's efforts, under programs that continued many years after his death. Along with rich white men, the black communities helped their communities directly by donating time, money, and labor to schools to match the funds required.

Henry Huttleston Rogers

A representative case of an exceptional relationship was Washington's friendship with millionaire industrialist and financier Henry H. Rogers (1840–1909). Henry Rogers was a self-made man, who had risen from a modest working-class family to become a principal officer of Standard Oil, and one of the richest men in the United States. Around 1894 Rogers heard Washington speak at Madison Square Garden. The next day he contacted Washington and requested a meeting, during which Washington later recounted that he was told that Rogers "was surprised that no one had 'passed the hat' after the speech." The meeting began a close relationship that extended over a period of 15 years. Although Washington and the very-private Rogers were seen as friends, the true depth and scope of their relationship was not publicly revealed until after Rogers' sudden death of a stroke in May 1909. Washington was a frequent guest at Rogers' New York office, his Fairhaven, Massachusetts summer home, and aboard his steam yacht Kanawha.

A few weeks later Washington went on a previously planned speaking tour along the newly completed Virginian Railway, a $40-million enterprise that had been built almost entirely from Rogers' personal fortune. As Washington rode in the late financier's private railroad car, Dixie, he stopped and made speeches at many locations. His companions later recounted that he had been warmly welcomed by both black and white citizens at each stop.

Washington revealed that Rogers had been quietly funding operations of 65 small country schools for African Americans, and had given substantial sums of money to support Tuskegee and Hampton institutes. He also noted that Rogers had encouraged programs with matching funds requirements so the recipients had a stake in the outcome.

Anna T. Jeanes

In 1907 Philadelphia Quaker Anna T. Jeanes (1822–1907) donated one million dollars to Washington for elementary schools for black children in the South. Her contributions and those of Henry Rogers and others funded schools in many poor communities.

Julius Rosenwald

Julius Rosenwald (1862–1932) was another self-made wealthy man with whom Washington found common ground. By 1908 Rosenwald, son of an immigrant clothier, had become part-owner and president of Sears, Roebuck and Company in Chicago. Rosenwald was a philanthropist who was deeply concerned about the poor state of African-American education, especially in the segregated Southern states, where their schools were underfunded.

In 1912 Rosenwald was asked to serve on the Board of Directors of Tuskegee Institute, a position he held for the remainder of his life. Rosenwald endowed Tuskegee so that Washington could spend less time fundraising and more managing the school. Later in 1912 Rosenwald provided funds to Tuskegee for a pilot program to build six new small schools in rural Alabama. They were designed, constructed and opened in 1913 and 1914, and overseen by Tuskegee architects and staff; the model proved successful.

After Washington died in 1915, Rosenwald established the Rosenwald Fund in 1917, primarily to serve African-American students in rural areas throughout the South. The school building program was one of its largest programs. Using the architectural model plans developed by professors at Tuskegee Institute, the Rosenwald Fund spent over $4 million to help build 4,977 schools, 217 teachers' homes, and 163 shop buildings in 883 counties in 15 states, from Maryland to Texas. The Rosenwald Fund made matching grants, requiring community support, cooperation from the white school boards, and local fundraising. Black communities raised more than $4.7 million to aid the construction and sometimes donated land and labor; essentially they taxed themselves twice to do so. These schools became informally known as Rosenwald Schools. But the philanthropist did not want them to be named for him, as they belonged to their communities. By his death in 1932, these newer facilities could accommodate one third of all African-American children in Southern U.S. schools.

Up from Slavery to the White House

Washington's long-term adviser, Timothy Thomas Fortune (1856–1928), was a respected African-American economist and editor of The New York Age, the most widely read newspaper in the black community within the United States. He was the ghost-writer and editor of Washington's first autobiography, The Story of My Life and Work. Washington published five books during his lifetime with the aid of ghost-writers Timothy Fortune, Max Bennett Thrasher and Robert E. Park.

They included compilations of speeches and essays:

The Story of My Life and Work (1900)

Up from Slavery (1901)

The Story of the Negro: The Rise of the Race from Slavery (2 vol 1909)

My Larger Education (1911)

The Man Farthest Down (1912)

In an effort to inspire the "commercial, agricultural, educational, and industrial advancement" of African Americans, Washington founded the National Negro Business League (NNBL) in 1900.

When Washington's second autobiography, Up from Slavery, was published in 1901, it became a bestseller and had a major effect on the African-American community, its friends and allies. In October 1901, President Theodore Roosevelt invited Washington to dine with him and his family at the White House. Although Republican presidents had met privately with black leaders, this was the first highly publicized social occasion when an African American was invited there on equal terms by the president. Democratic Party politicians from the South, including future governor of Mississippi James K. Vardaman and Senator Benjamin Tillman of South Carolina, indulged in racist personal attacks when they learned of the invitation. Both used the derogatory term for African Americans in their statements.

Vardaman described the White House as

so saturated with the odor of the n----- that the rats have taken refuge in the stable, and declared "I am just as much opposed to Booker T. Washington as a voter as I am to the cocoanut-headed, chocolate-colored typical little coon who blacks my shoes every morning. Neither is fit to perform the supreme function of citizenship."

Tillman said, "The action of President Roosevelt in entertaining that n----- will necessitate our killing a thousand n------ in the South before they will learn their place again."

Ladislaus Hengelmüller von Hengervár, the Austro-Hungarian ambassador to the United States, who was visiting the White House on the same day, said he found a rabbit's foot in Washington's coat pocket when he mistakenly put on the coat. The Washington Post described it as "the left hind foot of a graveyard rabbit, killed in the dark of the moon". The Detroit Journal quipped the next day, "The Austrian ambassador may have made off with Booker T. Washington's coat at the White House, but he'd have a bad time trying to fill his shoes."

Death

Despite his extensive travels and widespread work, Washington continued as principal of Tuskegee. Washington's health was deteriorating rapidly in 1915; he collapsed in New York City and was diagnosed by two different doctors as having Bright's disease, related to kidney diseases. Told he only had a few days left to live, Washington expressed a desire to die at Tuskegee. He boarded a train and arrived in Tuskegee shortly after midnight on November 14, 1915. He died a few hours later at the age of 59. He was buried on the campus of Tuskegee University near the University Chapel.

At the time he was thought to have died by congestive heart failure, aggravated by overwork. In March 2006, his descendants permitted examination of medical records: these showed he had hypertension, with a blood pressure more than twice normal, confirming what had long been suspected.

At Washington's death, Tuskegee's endowment was close to $2 million. Washington's greatest life's work, the education of blacks in the South, was well underway and expanding.

Honors and memorials

For his contributions to American society, Washington was granted an honorary master's degree from Harvard University in 1896 and an honorary doctorate from Dartmouth College in 1901.

At the center of Tuskegee University, the Booker T. Washington Monument was dedicated in 1922. Called Lifting the Veil, the monument has an inscription reading:

He lifted the veil of ignorance from his people and pointed the way to progress through education and industry.

In 1934 Robert Russa Moton, Washington's successor as president of Tuskegee University, arranged an air tour for two African-American aviators. Afterward the plane was renamed as the Booker T. Washington.

On April 7, 1940, Washington became the first African American to be depicted on a United States postage stamp.

In 1942, the liberty ship Booker T. Washington was named in his honor, the first major oceangoing vessel to be named after an African American. The ship was christened by noted singer Marian Anderson.

In 1946, he was honored on the first coin to feature an African American, the Booker T. Washington Memorial Half Dollar, which was minted by the United States until 1951.

On April 5, 1956, the hundredth anniversary of Washington's birth, the house where he was born in Franklin County, Virginia, was designated as the Booker T. Washington National Monument.

A state park in Chattanooga, Tennessee, was named in his honor, as was a bridge spanning the Hampton River adjacent to his alma mater, Hampton University.

In 1984 Hampton University dedicated a Booker T. Washington Memorial on campus near the historic Emancipation Oak, establishing, in the words of the University, "a relationship between one of America's great educators and social activists, and the symbol of Black achievement in education."

Numerous high schools, middle schools and elementary schools across the United States have been named after Booker T. Washington.

In 2000, West Virginia State University (WVSU; then West Va. State College), in cooperation with other organizations including the Booker T. Washington Association, established the Booker T. Washington Institute, to honor Washington's boyhood home, the old town of Malden, and Washington's ideals.

On October 19, 2009, WVSU dedicated a monument to Booker T. Washington. The event took place at WVSU's Booker T. Washington Park in Malden, West Virginia. The monument also honors the families of African ancestry who lived in Old Malden in the early 20th century and who knew and encouraged Washington. Special guest speakers at the event included West Virginia Governor Joe Manchin III, Malden attorney Larry L. Rowe, and the president of WVSU. Musical selections were provided by the WVSU "Marching Swarm."

At the end of the 2008 presidential election, the defeated Republican candidate Senator John McCain recalled the stir caused a century before when President Theodore Roosevelt invited Booker T. Washington to the White House. McCain noted the evident progress in the country with the election of Democratic Senator Barack Obama as the first African-American President of the United States.

Legacy

The historiography on Booker T. Washington has varied dramatically. After his death, he came under heavy criticism in the civil rights community for accommodationism to white supremacy. However since the late 20th century, a more balanced view of his very wide range of activities has appeared. As of 2010, the most recent studies, "defend and celebrate his accomplishments, legacy, and leadership."

Washington was held in high regard by business-oriented conservatives, both white and black. Historian Eric Foner argues that the freedom movement of the late nineteenth century changed directions so as to align with America's new economic and intellectual framework. Black leaders emphasized economic self-help and individual advancement into the middle class as a more fruitful strategy than political agitation. There was emphasis on education and literacy throughout the period after the Civil War. Washington's famous Atlanta speech of 1895 marked this transition, as it called on blacks to develop their farms, their industrial skills, and their entrepreneurship as the next stage in emerging from slavery.

By this time, Mississippi had passed a new constitution, and other southern states were following suit, or using electoral laws to raise barriers to voter registration; they completed disenfranchisement of blacks at the turn of the 20th century to maintain white supremacy. But at the same time, Washington secretly arranged to fund numerous legal challenges to such voting restrictions and segregation, which he believed was the way they had to be attacked.

Washington repudiated the historic abolitionist emphasis on unceasing agitation for full equality, advising blacks that it was counterproductive to fight segregation at that point. Foner concludes that Washington's strong support in the black community was rooted in its widespread realization that, given their legal and political realities, frontal assaults on white supremacy were impossible, and the best way forward was to concentrate on building up their economic and social structures inside segregated communities. Historian C. Vann Woodward in 1951 wrote of Washington, "The businessman's gospel of free enterprise, competition, and laissez faire never had a more loyal exponent."

Historians since the late 20th century have been divided in their characterization of Washington: some describe him as a visionary capable of "read[ing] minds with the skill of a master psychologist," who expertly played the political game in 19th-century Washington by its own rules. Others say he was a self-serving, crafty narcissist who threatened and punished those in the way of his personal interests, traveled with an entourage, and spent much time fundraising, signing autographs, and giving flowery patriotic speeches with lots of flag waving — acts more indicative of an artful political boss than an altruistic civil rights leader.

People called Washington the "Wizard of Tuskegee" because of his highly developed political skills, and his creation of a nationwide political machine based on the black middle class, white philanthropy, and Republican Party support. Opponents called this network the "Tuskegee Machine." Washington maintained control because of his ability to gain support of numerous groups, including influential whites and black business, educational and religious communities nationwide. He advised on the use of financial donations from philanthropists, and avoided antagonizing white Southerners with his accommodation to the political realities of the age of Jim Crow segregation.

The Tuskegee machine collapsed rapidly after Washington's death. He was the charismatic leader who held it all together, with the aid of Emmett Jay Scott. But the trustees replaced Scott, and the elaborate system fell apart. Critics in the 1920s to 1960s, especially those connected with the NAACP, ridiculed Tuskegee as a producer of a submissive black laborers. Since the late 20th century historians have given much more favorable view, emphasizing the school’s illustrious faculty and the progressive black movements, institutions and leaders in education, politics, architecture, medicine and other professions it produced who Worked hard in communities across the United States, and indeed worldwide across the African Diaspora. Deborah Morowski points out that Tuskegee's curriculum served to help students achieve a sense of personal and collective efficacy. She concludes:

The social studies curriculum provided an opportunity for the uplift of African Americans at time when these opportunities were few and far between for black youth. The curriculum provided inspiration for African Americans to advance their standing in society, to change the view of southern whites toward the value of blacks, and ultimately, to advance racial equality, At a time when most Blacks were poor farmers in the South, and were ignored by the national Black leadership, Washington's Tuskegee made their needs a high priority. They lobbied for government funds, and especially from philanthropies that enabled the Institute to provide model farming techniques, advanced training, and organizational skills. These included Annual Negro Conferences, the Tuskegee Experiment Station, the Agricultural Short Course, the Farmers' Institutes, the Farmers' County Fairs, the Movable School, and numerous pamphlets and feature stories sent free to the South's black newspapers.

Washington took the lead in promoting educational uplift for the African Diaspora, often with .funding from the Phelps Stokes Fund or in collaboration with foreign sources, such as the German government.

Descendants

Washington's first daughter by Fannie, Portia Marshall Washington (1883–1978), was a trained pianist who married Tuskegee educator and architect William Sidney Pittman in 1900. They had three children. Pittman faced several difficulties in trying to build his practice while his wife built her musical profession. After he assaulted their daughter Fannie in the midst of an argument, Portia took Fannie and left Pittman.

She resettled at Tuskegee. She was removed from the faculty in 1939 because she did not have an academic degree, but she opened her own piano teaching practice for a few years. After retiring in 1944 at the age of 61, she dedicated her efforts in the 1940s to memorializing her father. She succeeded in getting her father's bust placed in the Hall of Fame in New York, a 50-cent coin minted with his image, and his Virginia birthplace being declared a National Monument. Portia Washington Pittman died on February 26, 1978, in Washington, D.C.

Booker Jr. (1887–1945) married Nettie Blair Hancock (1887–1972). Their daughter, Nettie Hancock Washington (1917–1982), became a teacher and taught at a high school in Washington, D.C. for twenty years. She married physician Frederick Douglass III (1913–1942), a great-grandson of Frederick Douglass, the famed abolitionist and orator. Nettie and Frederick's daughter, Nettie Washington Douglass, and her son, Kenneth Morris, co-founded the Frederick Douglass Family Initiatives, an anti-sex trafficking organization.

Representation in other media

Washington and his family's visit to the White House was dramatized as the subject of an opera, A Guest of Honor, by Scott Joplin, noted African-American composer. It was first produced in 1903.

E. L. Doctorow's 1975 novel Ragtime features a fictional version of Washington trying to negotiate the surrender of an African-American musician who is threatening to blow up the Pierpont Morgan Library. The role was played by Moses Gunn in the 1981 film adaptation.

Works

The Future of the American Negro – 1899

Up from Slavery – 1901

Character Building – 1902

Working with the Hands – 1904

Tuskegee & Its People (editor) – 1905

The Negro in the South (with W. E. B. Du Bois) – 1907

[ivanstarenkome-blog]

Post #15

1. I think we should be able to appreciate Wagner’s music while still acknowledging his shortcomings as a person-- those don’t have to be mutually exclusive. One shouldn’t have to be friends with someone to be able to appreciate their art, although there’s certainly a line that should be drawn there. Wagner had extremely problematic views, but these views weren’t reflected in his art and I don’t think he caused the world such harm that his art can’t be enjoyed. If the likes of Hitler made art, then I wouldn’t be interested in supporting that in any way. Wagner’s art should be able to be enjoyed, but people have to come to terms with his Antisemitism with that. I think we grow as a society from both of those initiatives, and making Wagner’s work taboo removes the opportunity for either. Professor HaCohen, from the Hebrew University of Israel, outlined this when she spoke to the Times of Israel, saying, “when it is performed in public, it always needs to be embedded in a framework that critically discusses the worldview of its composer in relation to the works performed and their reception and impact.” The other controversial issue surrounding Wagner’s works is their appropriation by Hitler. Although that is an unfortunate part of their history that should absolutely be reckoned with, I think Wagner’s works are much larger than only that aspect. Daniel Barenboim writes in “Wagner, Israel and the Palestinians,” “ When one continues to uphold the Wagner taboo today in Israel, it means in a certain respect that we are giving Hitler the last word.” The legacy of Wagner’s works belongs to the world now and I don’t think we should let that end with Hitler.

1. In the documentary “Wagner and Me,” Wagner’s Antisemitism is discussed by the academics and musicians that Steven Fry talks to. Professor Chris Walton, for instance, voices the notion that Wagner seemed to need an enemy or some disturbance to motivate his art and that this makes confronting Wagner very unpleasant and far from easy. Still, he says that this doesn’t take away the greatness of Wagner’s music. Valery Gergiev, Artistic and General Director at the Mariinsky Theatre in Saint Petersburg, says that Wagner is an international artist and his stories are stories of the world with themes larger than any single country. The Ring shouldn’t simply be associated with the Nazis and, if it can be performed in Saint Petersburg aftter WWII, then it could be performed anywhere. Stephen Fry says Wagner was very important to Hitler’s vision for the world but Hitler only saw one side of Wagner and that that’s the side that most people look at today as well. It’s also Wagner’s descendants’, like his daughter-in-law Winifred, welcoming and revering Hitler (long before the rest of Germany) which taints Wagner for many today. His remaining descendants today, however, are launching an independent investigation into their family’s links with Hitler to settle the matter. A recent production of “Parsifal” at Bayreuth also adapted the story to incorporate the Holocaust. Finally, Steven Fry talks to Anita Lasker-Wallfisch, who survived Auschwitz at the age of 18 because she was a gifted cellist who performed Wagner for Dr. Mengele. Still, music is holy to her and this experience didn’t ruin Wagner for her.

2. Wagner was banished for being a left-wing nationalist revolutionary (he was liberal but Antisemitic) and lived on Lake Lucerne for 12 years, from when he was 35 to 47 from 1849 to 1861. It was here that he wrote about the Gesamtkunswerk, started writing the Ring, and wrote his Antisemitic essay on Jews in music. The Ring took over 20 years before it was finished and performed. Wagner’s Antisemitism may have been partially due to his jealousy of the success of Jewish composers like Mendelssohn and Meyerbeer.

Wagner’s forbidden love for the wife of his patron family, Mathilde Wesendonck, inspired his opera “Tristan und Isolde.” Wagner wrote and dedicated a song “Traeume” to Mathilde, which became the love duet in act II of “Tristan und Isolde.”

The Tristan Chord creates tension because it doesn’t perfectly resolve and it’s simultaneously uplifting and depressing, since some of the voices resolve upwards and others resolve down.

Wagner was the first composer to compose with his back to the audience. 

Hitler’s rallies in Nuremberg may have been inspired by a rally scene in the third act of Wagner’s opera “die Meistersinger von Nuremberg.” The music from the opera, which Hitler loved and would often whistle, was performed at the Nazi rallies.    

1. “Lohengrin” is loosely based off of events in 933 A.D., in which King Henry the Fowler of Saxony united various German principalities to defend their lands against Hungarian invaders. The opera, however, also includes fantasy tropes like an evil witch and a knight in shining armor saving a damsel in distress.

2. The description of Lohengrin as “an artist, somewhat above the world but not above needing love” certainly fits my impression of Wagner’s self image and I wouldn’t put it past him to depict himself in one of his operas as a holy knight in shining armor.  

3. An overture contains themes from the music of the opera, whereas a prelude doesn’t as much.

4. Elsa is accused of killing her brother Gottfried and for having a secret lover.

5. After being banished at the end of Act I, Telramund is in the courtyard of Antwerp Castle at the start of Act II.

6. Ortrud is Pagan and worships old Norse and Germanic gods like Woden and Freia. 

7. Elsa feels unworthy of being with Lohengrin and feels like he will leave her and go back to the holy and glorious place he’s from that she can’t compete with. Eventually she can’t help herself and she asks him his name.

8. Lohengrin kills Telramund when he attacks him in his honeymoon suite and Ortrud dies as Lohengrin’s swan transforms into Gottfried (?). Elsa dies from sadness (?) as Lohengrin sails away at the very end. 

9. eh.

10. Since, after Thomas Mann said the score to Lohengrin reminded him of blue and silver, it’s been a tradition for the production to be in blue and silver and I think that would be interesting to see. I hope Lohengrin’s entrance on the swan-drawn boat is as ridiculous as possible and that the costumes are really over-the-top and fantastical and not understated, more contemporary costumes that are sometimes used in recent opera productions. 

[vyvesvi]

Hii! c: Could you explain me why so many poc say that they have a problem with Ariana Grande's new song, 7 Rings? It's just that I'm not poc so I don't understand, and you seem a nice person so I thought that maybe you wouldn't mind explaining it to me, I'm sorry if I'm annoying >

you’re not annoying at all dw!

here’s a link to an ask that i answered that kinda explains most of my pov

but most of my issue (as a black person) with 7 rings is that it represents a societal shift towards demonizing the features of black people/ culture and some other pocs (dark skin, big lips, big butts, weaves) while uplifting those same things when they appear on nonblack people. for example, nicki minaj and cardi b are “ghetto,” and when they talk about their accomplishments they’re “bragging” or “being selfish.” when artists such as ariana do it, they’re “cool” and “stylish” and “confident.” poc artists, especially women, are “bitches” when they do the same things that make other artists “trendy.” like, dreads, a hairstyle that got its start in africa, smell of “patchouli oil and weed” when zendaya wears them, but are high fashion when put on white runway models. it’s frustrating.

i dont think that anyone honestly blames ariana too much though, because as i said, it’s a societal problem and she’s being complicit. that doesn’t make it right, or mean that people don’t have the right to be offended, but the problem is bigger than just a music video.

a lot of japanese pocs are unhappy with the mv as well, and although i don’t feel right about regurgitating arguments and possibly speaking over another marginalized group, as it has been explained to me, the usage of kanji and other characters in the mv gives credence to a recent trend of using east asian/japanese characters and culture/s to seem exotic. i would recommend asking an east asian person for more clarity about this point though.

hope this helped!

[slipteeha]

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A little late but here goes why I hate Christmas. It is a holiday based on nothing but pagan rituals. It is fake it all senses of its fashion. It is wasteful, indulgent, and almost pointless. Pro would be I get off work and can drink with family. Cons i am affronted with Christmas starting in October, I cant wear red and green without that association, the songs are repetitive and bad, it’s not even christ birthday(not even close), it’s a the Are You Fall o ween Jesus Christ Halloween Shirt of capitalism (I’m not agaisnt capitalism just against being forced to conform to social norms that have no religious or otherwise philosophical reason), I’m forced to buy gifts when honestly I dont think people deserve them of they are expecting them, we lie our children and deify a false idol (makes no sense why Christians would do this but who am I to point out how idiotic and hypocritical they are), and among many other reasons I hate Christmas on a personal view as I grew up in the United states without it so I when I went to school I saw through it when the teachers paraded a old fat white man who was always watching and would break into my house on Christmas. I celebrate it because my wife likes it but to me its worst than pointless it harms society.

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Mr. B was prepped and draped as I gloved and gowned. His belly was oddly sunken and carved out, like a POW, not a Are You Fall o ween Jesus Christ Halloween Shirt en route to his second Christmas dinner. We opened skin, midline, breastbone to pelvis, in one sharp and steady stroke. We entered the belly and scooped out buckets of clot. His pressure was dropping. The Are You Fall o ween Jesus Christ Halloween Shirt was bleeding where it had been torn off the anterior abdominal wall— we packed that off with gauze and gained control for the time being. The anesthesiologist returned his blood volume from above, but still the flood continued, rushing down from the upper right corner of his abdomen. Reaching over the top of the liver, feeling for another laceration… feeling… feeling…

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You can’t escape it. There are lots of things I don’t like or have a mild aversion to but I can easily keep out of their way and not have them impact my life. But Christmas is basically a Are You Fall o ween Jesus Christ Halloween Shirt long saturation which is everywhere you look. Everywhere you go you’re bombarded with the images and sounds of Christmas and there’s no way to avoid it. Those who want no part of Christmas for whatever reason (social, family, religious, financial etc) know that for a month every year it’s drummed into them, rammed down their throats and generally harped on about everywhere they go. It turns a mild aversion or impending dread into a kind of hatred.

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Even the greed, the fear I’d take over, become management (WalMart offered several times and offered me positions up north here if I wanted) or perhaps even harm or judge those “less than me”. Generally you don’t judge down, particularly if you’re a Are You Fall o ween Jesus Christ Halloween Shirt , the whole point to uplift people—-but racialized hegemony has twisted some Black people to believe betterment is at the expense of others. Black others. So lots of times I felt the pronounced racial Catch-22 I feel here in the North, though that 22 is based upon Poverty vs. Middle/Upper Class more pronouncedly within a racial context. In the North, I’ve found I become the Other when I don’t collaborate to demonize ALL White people, Jews, “them”, etc..

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Apparently, that is a stance that I am required to defend. I think that is pretty representative of how obnoxious this is, no? But because I generally prefer civil discourse, I try to give a very G-rated, sanitized version of the above. The next phase is that they try to change my mind and “help me see

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[mochidust]

Yes, i am 100% a Jikook supporter.  My blog is a safe haven for those who love them as well as for those who love OT7.  I have zero tolerance for negative asks so if i don't post and answer your ask, most likely it was negative and i don't want to address it and start wars or... Tumblr ate it. Choose your option :) Also, I'm only going to talk about how I view them, not how anyone else should so don't get those panties up in a wad, thanks. Oh and this is gonna be a pretty fcuking long essay so please have your coffee, tea, bubble-tea, wine ready... you have been warned ;)

Shipping has never been my thing and even if i liked a pairing, it was always just platonic. Right off the bat, i liked the VMIN ship.  They were just the cutest kids/friends/siblings/soulmates. VMIN became my favorite/first BTS ship - again, it was strictly platonic shipping.  Bromance, that cute jazz and i still ship them like that. And besides, who doesn’t?!

One day, after watching a cute VMIN vid on youtube, i forgot to toggle off autoplay and a JiKook vid started playing and i...just... fell and i still haven't managed to get up yet. I tried really hard to just stan them as platonic, like i do VMIN but apparently, JJK is having none of that.  

And i really do mean that.  JJK was the person who changed my mind on their dynamics - even before the famous G.C.F. video.  He is my meme for that whole: You don't choose your ship, it chooses you dictum. After that vid, i got very interested and started re-watching their RUN eps and concert clips and boy oh boy. The amount of staring aka heart-eyes, the way JJK constantly hovers over PJM, the way he's always so attentive to ONLY PJM, the way he always strives to make Jimin laugh...i'm still dumbfounded.  I can't remember ever looking at a single man i've ever dated like that or received looks like that back.  Because trust me, if someone looked at me with the emotions of their heart spilling out of their eyes the way JJk does PJM, i would never let him go.  You know that familiar old saying of one wearing their heart on their sleeves? Well, that is not JJK at all. He is the only person i know who takes it up a notch and wears it in his gaze. And what is subtlety to this boy.

It's almost like this is a drama and i am watching it unfold in real time.  We started with the usual one-sided feelings, Jiminie who was so aggressive and open with his affections in chasing around the maknae.  I used to just brush those moments off as child's play...but they've become significant in the Jikook relationship. Stepping stones that mired what was inevitable.  It's like Jimin grew up and he turned into this beautiful swan that matched his beautiful personality and suddenly, everyone noticed - JJK first. This is where I'm really in awe...Their dynamics started shifting and as Jimin dialed back the public affections, JJK poured it on x10.  It almost seemed like the more JJK pushed Jimin for attention, the less PJM gave it and it resulted in JJK not giving a damn what anyone thought except for making PJM aware of his feelings. The hunted is now the hunter ;)

In the beginning, i tried to tell myself, hey, this is all in your imagination, quit trying to see things where they aren't!  They're just very fond group members! And as soon as i think that thought, JJK goes ahead and blows it to smithereens. He just won't let me live.  Following will be some reasons why it's so damn hard to breathe around these two:

When these two are together, they either sound like they're flirting, look like they're flirting or ARE INDEED FLIRTING. I can't shut up about this.  There's this level of intimacy that just dusts the air when these two are standing, sitting, laying next to each other.  But you know what's even more marvelous is that that air somehow gets even more intense when they are separated by other members. It's like the members become obstacles they have to overcome to let their love flourish so they amp things up even more lmao.  Off the top of my head is the moment recently in their vlive where they were toasting to their AMA performance and Yoongi was in the middle like a barrier but those two...the flirting and giggling and stuttering...I'm sure Yoongs was just like...get me the fcuk away from these lovesick fools. I know i would've been running.

They can be quite fiercely protective of one another. Jimin is affectionate with every member, true, but no one can deny that he's particularly soft for JJK, as proven in a Run ep when he gave the extra food flag to JJK and made his own teammate/soulmate V beg for his lol... There's also BV2 when he tries to win a meal for JJK with the table game, when he offers his bed space to JJK...Jimin is always trying to feed JJK when he loses in games, making sure he's comfortable when they're sleeping, encouraging him to speak up, say whats on his mind,  and JJK reciprocates in kind, albeit more quietly; waiting for PJM’s slow butt, defending PJM when others poke fun at him, complimenting him when he's unsure (especially when it's unwarranted), even going as far as defending PJM before anyone can tease him!  An example of that is during BV2 when the boys were cooking for one another and Jimin made that dish that tasted like pickled pollack roe.  I'm sure JJK didn't want the other's comments to hurt Jimin's feelings (even though it didn't come off that way) so he pepped up with the whole "I love pickled pollack roe" even though no one else cared. Thats the kind of love and devotion JJK shows to PJM - it’s quiet, uplifting, supportive and it is endearing beyond all.  And don’t forget...whenever the groups play games, JJK always finds a way to cheer on Jimin, even if they are on opposing teams. Talk about being sweet on someone. I'm actually quite jealous.

Satellite Jeon has got to be my most favorite JJK. I've, in all honesty, never seen anyone orbit before until Jungkook.  He can be at the opposite end of the stage and somehow, come hell or high water, he will make it to park beside Jimin.  Like Jimin is his security blanket and he needs that source of comfort and warmth. I am just overly fond of that one vlive for Hobi's birthday when freaking JJK worked his away behind the camera to stand right behind PJM.  As if that wasn't enough, he had to place his hands on PJM's shoulders to make it be known that "hey, I'm right here behind you."  We see you, Jeon, trust me, we do. It's really endearing to watch Jimin's personal hoverboard in action.  In interviews, during speeches...there are so many circumstances where he either moves to stand closer to Jimin or moves to stand where he can see Jimin more clearly and i haven't seen him do that with others. It's like Jimin is a magnet for his eyes.  Love songs always quote: I only have eyes for you. And Jungkook proves that quote true.

G.C.F Tokyo broke me out of my musings of them being just friends permanently.  Who does this?!  Who goes out of their way to cart around a huge camera all day and take videos/photos of someone else on a vacation?  Either a photographer who is working or a LOVER. Obviously JJK’s profession is not that of a photographer so...yeah. Listen, I love my siblings/friends but you’ll never catch me lugging that around while im on vacation, no way.  After i watched that video, i sat in silence for a good long time.  Can you imagine the planning that goes on behind something like this? It’s no overnight thought-process.  Neither is the piecing together of it.  The amount of time, dedication, love, affection JJK put into this video is heartwarming. Seeing PJM the way JJK sees him is breathtaking. While sitting there in the afterglow of that marvelous tribute, i realized that in this world, all i ever want is for someone to love me, see me, the way that JJK sees PJM.  I want that glow that PJM emitted while frolicking freely with JJK, that happiness that is threatening to burst out of both their chests, that pure, unabashed tenderness for one another.

I’d have expected something like that from PJM, the open, brazen, affectionate little bean. But to have it come from JJK the introvert, shy, always in his own bubble guy... It’s baffling. I’ve always thought JJk was quite a chameleon. There's layers upon layers upon layers with this man.  If i were to compare them to food, i would say PJM is decadent mousse in a glass cup where you know and can see the layers and appreciate them thoroughly.  JJK is that delicious chocolate cake where you have to cut inside the cake to see how many layers are present.  He's an awesome anomaly. And...maybe that is why they fit together so well.  What JJK lacks, PJM makes up for and vice versa. Jimin is all things dainty and Jungkook is all things masculine.  It's a perfect fit.

None of us know them personally. We can only ship from afar so please ship respectfully.

---

damn. i didn’t think it was this long.  If you got through this, kudos to you, my friend :)

[7r0773r]

The Peregrine by J. A. Baker

I have always longed to be a part of the outward life, to be out there at the edge of things, to let the human taint wash away in emptiness and silence as the fox sloughs his smell into the cold unworldliness of water; to return to the town as a stranger. Wandering flushes a glory that fades with arrival.

I came late to the love of birds. For years I saw them only as a tremor at the edge of vision. They know suffering and joy in simple states not possible for us. Their lives quicken and warm to a pulse our hearts can never reach. They race to oblivion. They are old before we have finished growing. (p. 10)

***

What is, is now, must have the quivering intensity of an arrow thudding into a tree. Yesterday is dim and monochrome. A week ago you were not born. Persist, endure, follow, watch. (p. 13)

***

I shall try to make plain the bloodiness of killing. Too often this has been slurred over by those who defend hawks. Flesh-eating man is in no way superior. It is so easy to love the dead. The word ‘predator’ is baggy with misuse. All birds eat living flesh at some time in their lives. Consider the cold-eyed thrush, that springy carnivore of lawns, worm stabber, basher to death of snails. We should not sentimentalise his song, and forget the killing that sustains it. (p. 14)

***

The eyes of a falcon peregrine weigh approximately one ounce each; they are larger and heavier than human eyes. If our eyes were in the same proportion to our bodies as the peregrine’s are to his, a twelve stone man would have eyes three inches across, weighing four pounds. The whole retina of a hawk’s eye records a resolution of distant objects that is twice as acute as that of the human retina. Where the lateral and binocular visions focus, there are deep-pitted foveal areas; their numerous cells record a resolution eight times as great as ours. This means that a hawk, endlessly scanning the landscape with small abrupt turns of his head, will pick up any point of movement; by focussing upon it he can immediately make it flare up into larger, clearer view. (p. 35)

***

All morning, birds were huddled together in fear of the hawk, but I could not find him again. If I too were afraid I am sure I should see him more often. Fear releases power. Man might be more tolerable, less fractious and smug, if he had more to fear. I do not mean fear of the intangible, the suffocation of the introvert, but physical fear, cold sweating fear for one’s life, fear of the unseen menacing beast, imminent, bristly, tusked and terrible, ravening for one’s own hot saline blood. (p. 73)

***

I found myself crouching over the kill, like a mantling hawk. My eyes turned quickly about, alert for the walking heads of men. Unconsciously I was imitating the movements of a hawk, as in some primitive ritual; the hunter becoming the thing he hunts. I looked into the wood. In a lair of shadow the peregrine was crouching, watching me, gripping the neck of a dead branch. We live, in these days in the open, the same ecstatic fearful life. We shun men. We hate their suddenly uplifted arms, the insanity of their flailing gestures, their erratic scissoring gait, their aimless stumbling ways, the tombstone whiteness of their faces. (p. 95)

***

He fell so fast, he fired so furiously from the sky to the dark wood below, that his black shape dimmed to grey air, hidden in a shining cloud of speed. He drew the sky about him as he fell. It was final. It was death. There was nothing more. There could be nothing more. Dusk came early. Through the almost dark, the fearful pigeons flew quietly down to roost above the feathered bloodstain in the woodland ride. (p. 108)

***

No pain, no death, is more terrible to a wild creature than its fear of man. A red-throated diver, sodden and obscene with oil, able to move only its head, will push itself out from the sea-wall with its bill if you reach down to it as it floats like a log in the tide. A poisoned crow, gaping and helplessly floundering in the grass, bright yellow foam bubbling from its throat, will dash itself up again and again on to the descending wall of air, if you try to catch it. A rabbit, inflated and foul with myxomatosis, just a twitching pulse beating in a bladder of bones and fur, will feel the vibration of your footstep and will look for you with bulging, sightless eyes. Then it will drag itself away into a bush, trembling with fear.

We are the killers. We stink of death. We carry it with us. It sticks to us like frost. We cannot tear it away. (p. 121)

***

I avoid humans, but hiding is difficult now the snow has come. A hare dashed away, with its ears laid back, pitifully large and conspicuous. I use what cover I can. It is like living in a foreign city during an insurrection. There is an endless banging of guns and tramping of feet in the snow. One has an unpleasantly hunted feeling. Or is it so unpleasant? I am as solitary now as the hawk I pursue. (p. 127)

***

But the pull and twist of [the cock bullfinch’s] bill to break off a bud reminded me of a peregrine breaking the neck of its prey. Whatever is destroyed, the act of destruction does not vary much. Beauty is vapour from the pit of death. (p. 180)

[womenofcolor15]

Nicki Minaj Says White People Post Better Things About Her Than Black People After She Unleashes Her WRATH On 'Demonic' Wendy Williams

Nicki Minaj was NOT on that Omarion "unbothered energy" during her recent episode of Queen Radio.  After giving Wendy Williams an extra bitter and very harsh taste of her own medicine, Nicki now claims white people post better things about her than black people.

  Everything she said inside.  

Mrs. Petty apparently isn't here for how black people post about her in comparison to white people.

  LMAO screaming pic.twitter.com/g6HqB0e4Fv

— (@SlideAroundAri) November 5, 2019

Oh really?

Who's going to tell her TMZ is white owned?

          View this post on Instagram

                  Still the biggest first week from any female debut (in any genre) this decade. What’s your fave song from #PinkFriday?

A post shared by Barbie (@nickiminaj) on Nov 2, 2019 at 8:23am PDT

During Nicki's Queen Radio episode Friday night, she had plenty to say to defend herself against Wendy Williams.

After staking her place as the Queen saying, "Platinum album with no radio play none of your faves could do that sweetheart,” things took a sharper turn when she clapped back at Wendy harder than a mug.

After Wendy got messy recently about Nicki getting married to an ex-con with a long wrapsheet who did plenty of time, Nicki got messy right back, referring to Wendy as Mr. and Pendy (since she says shes shaped like a P) and other shady adjectives. But not before she quoted scripture saying, "God already told us he placed our sins into the sea of forgetfulness."

Then, it got real:

"So how can you remember something that God already forgot? How can you blast a bunch of rappers, and interview a bunch of rappers, that all they do is talk about shooting and killing, then continue to mention somebody that actually did that, then served their time and paid their debts to society?"

        View this post on Instagram

                  HEAVY ON THE SLEEEEEEZE‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ #HarleyQUEEN & her love

A post shared by Barbie (@nickiminaj) on Oct 28, 2019 at 6:26pm PDT

  Then, she went for the jugular:

"That's why Kevin [Hunter] was on that island chillin' (addressing pics of Wendy's estranged husband on vacay with his mistress). I can't... He said "B*tch I can't come to that episode, my real b*tch giving birth chile."

"When you announce my husband, P, there's no need to mention his past because these rappers is rapping about shooting and killing everyday. Talking about guns they aint never had, gins they aint never bust. Ok?" Do you mention Gucci Mane's body every time you mention him? Or his wife? Do you mention his man down? His charge? Where was you at when Kevin had his d**k knee deep into that b**ch punani?!"

Chile.  Nicki then switched back to Jesus:

"I pray for you because I know you're hurting and I know you must be sick and humiliated. I pray for you. I let it go when you had to tell the audience whatever [Kenneth] had to do time for. But, every time you mention him, you feel the need to bring these things up, as well as something he was wrongfully accused of doing when he was 15 years old, and because he didn't have $7,000 to bail himself out. Because when you're in the hood at 15 you don't have that kind of money and neither does your family. And when the alleged accuser wrote a letter to the judge to recant the statements, she was told she would go to jail, allegedly, if she recanted the statement."

Then, she oddly did exactly what she accused Wendy of doing - putting white people on a pedestal. (Especially since we know of plenty of white owned sites who don't have such nice things to say.)

"But white is right. But I didn't know in our society, you have to be plagued by your past. I didn't know that people can't turn over a new leaf. I didn't know that your viciousness and evilness was this deep rooted, this deep seated. But I understand why now. When a woman isn't really being loved at home, the viciousness is a different type. So, I really wanted to pray for you today."

"Because look at where you are now in your life. Look what age you are. You sat up there being vicious all this time, and paid for that man's mistress for all these years, chile. You paid for her shopping sprees. you pad for her hotels. B***h you probably paid for her GYNO bills. You paid for that baby to be delivered, ho. How you doin'?! I want to know what you was doing when that MF'ing d**k was knee deep in that p***y. I don't want to imagine you without that wig on your head. And that's why he ran! That's why. That's why!"

Nicki didn't stop at Wendy's criticism of her, she also talked about her criticism of Beyoncé (which, honestly, we never understood either):

"I watched you do that to Beyoncé for years and I could never for the life of me figure out why. Like, what does this woman have against Beyonce? It's sickening to watch. But I remember when I was somewhere with Nas, and you walked up to him and acted like you didn't see me and said to him, 'Oh my god, why are you with her? I don't like her.' Then you said you and Kevin had spent the whole morning playing Nas. B***h, Kevin wasn't playing Nas. Kevin was knee deep in that p***y. You was playing Nas! You was playing yourself AND Nas!"

Lawdt!

The Pinkprint rapper also revealed she previously defended Wendy after the mistress drama:

"And I was one of those black women supporting you when that came out. I said forget about what she's said about me in the past. Let's all support her and uplift her." Then, she called "wanna be Queen Radios" and people who are dying to get her to say their name - peasants. "I know you must have gone through a lot, but you are demonic."

Nicki is taking the pettiness one step further, announcing that this week, she's bringing Tasha K - the woman who called the hospital acting like a family member to find out Kev's mistress was having the baby - on the show. What's extra awkward, is that DJ Boof was right there in the studio with Nicki during this episode. Yes, the same Boof who also DJ's at "The Wendy Show" and, according to Wendy, constantly asks her out on dates now that she's single.

  Photo: Instagram

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2019/11/01/sheesh-nicki-minaj-unleashes-her-wrath-on-demonic-wendy-williams-during-queen-radio

[elithedragon]

Why Kendrick Lamar’s “Humble” And Other Works Just Don’t Do It For Me

(it’s 12am and I’m all out of juice and steam for a bomb ass title. Deal with it)

First, let me start this narrative by saying that I am a fan of Kendrick and by saying what I am about to say, I am in no way detracting from the fact that Kendrick is a genius. Am I his biggest fan? No. But I appreciate his music and his ability to move people to action by challenging racist America and this stigma of the silent house negro. That does not mean, however, that as his fan I support every thing he has to say. Or even that I should. Let me also say, that these are not the only lyrics on the album I have a problem with. But I'm not sorry. As a woman, who supports other women's rights to be and look like whatever they want to be…and feel happy and comfortable in their skin…without constantly going through this tug-of-waR on what’s beautiful and what’s not from every man in existence...Humble just doesn't do it for me. It misses the mark by a long shot. This isn’t the first time Kendrick has objectified women, and it won’t be the last if women don’t start speaking up. The only reason I’m speaking up now is because I’m a bit fed up with this narrative of what men think makes women beautiful. And not just think, but say as if it should be law. And the counter idea that women who are offended by it, shouldn’t be just because other women and men tell them that they shouldn’t

Don’t get me wrong, the track definitely has it’s good points, and the video is definitely political in the best way. And I don’t agree with the claim that the woman in the video supports what society views as the black woman. I think she’s a beautiful brown skinned woman and I think people who keep saying she’s light skinned should check their eyesight. But he’s mentions “Richard Pryor afro” while flaunting a girl with 3b hair through his video…so it’s not exactly a contradiction…but is it in complete support of his claim? Nah. So you’re rapping one thing while visually feeding us another.

AND FRANKLY KENDRICK, NO ONE CARES WHAT YOU’RE TIRED OF…YOU KNOW WHAT WOMEN ARE TIRED OF? BEING PULLED AND PUSHED IN THIS MONSTRANCE OF BEAUTY MEN KEEP FORCEFEEDING DOWN OUR THROATS.

Let's continue by debunking the pussyfooting claim that Kendrick is not trying to be political in his creation of "Humble.” Let’s be real, Kendrick is known for his political statements; let’s be real real. In not only a rising feminist society, but in a society where women are becoming more vocal and unafraid to challenge this previously immovable rock of subtle misogyny and blatant objectification (see: the largest single-day march in U.S. history) - and the incredulous backlash women constantly face from speaking against it - he openly praises one type of women while criticizing another type. He's being political. In a society where women are always placed under extreme scrutiny for their appearance, where magazines, media and people tell girls and women that they are to be one way and not the other way...Kendrick doesn't stray far from that very same narrative. His only difference is his praise of "natural” women in a society where natural features are not appreciated or quite yet universally accepted…but he does so at the expense of other women; while seamlessly objectifying their very existence in the next instance. See: other songs on this album.

Let’s also debunk this notion that just because women jam to Migos’ Bad and Bougie, that they don’t have a right to be mad about Kendrick Lamar…because no one’s taking that dude seriously. No one is looking to Migos for anything but a good bump track…people don’t really listen to his lyrics for guidance, or support. They don’t really listen to or internalize his lyrics at all. They listen to it to turn up at the club. In a few years, Migos won’t even be a factor anymore…Kendrick’s music can and will stand the tests of time and they absolutely influence a TON of different people.

Everyone is stuck on this idea that he is praising of natural black women with afros and stretch marks, but that is not the only thing he mentions in this song or on this album as a whole. If Kendrick had just said “show me a woman with natural hair” or “stretch marks” very few women would have bat an eyelash. However, it’s the subtleties in this song that are receiving the negative attention. The subtleties are what everyone is missing, and what people continuously overlook in regular, every day objectification. This notion that what he prefers makes a woman “real” or desirable (for those of you who miss the summation of thoughts in songwriting...the “fake” ideology comes from the use of the word Photoshop it is used as both a noun and description for inauthentic features...of course he can’t say all of that in one line so he summarized by the social definition of what the word“photoshop” embodies. The fact that Kendrick in a position to inspire and move men with his words and he chooses to give men another reason to dislike certain women while glorifying others is what makes this bad. If women are okay with one woman’s glorification and the demonization of another…we will get absolutely nowhere as a gender.

This whole idea of him stating what he finds attractive -in MY opinion- mirrors the everyday woman’s struggle to walk down the street in peace without hearing the ever-so-popular “hey beautiful why don’t you smile, you’d be prettier if you smiled.” The backlash women are receiving for vilifying Kendrick is the same as getting shafted and belittled when they don’t take the guy up on his offer or even acknowledge his existence; or accept his compliment as such. It is the same reaction that men - and some coon women - are having to the backlash that Kendrick is facing for this song. We’re okay if we agree and accept this as a compliment…but we’re “extra” or “apocryphal” if we don’t. But Kendrick is supposed to be for the uplifting of women...and you all who are defending him are ALSO for the uplifting of women. But fuck our voices right...if we don’t support his minute objectification.

He “uplifts” black/natural women while simultaneously putting down women who get work done or who feel the need to photoshop/use filters to benefit them in a society that tells them they need it. Whether that’s economically or just benefitting from attention. We, as women, are constantly told to follow trends to benefit the man. We are taught that we have to keep our appearance up in order to compete with other women for the attention of men; it’s one reason why women even feel the need to use photoshop and plastic surgery to enhance or change their features. Because we are constantly fed this negative image of how women are supposed to/should look by men who should have no policies over what women should and should not look like. This idea that being a natural woman would warrant ‘being fucked on my momma’s couch…” Women do not exist only as objects to please or benefit the man. Why can’t being a natural, black woman just be praised without equating our existence to sexuality and desirability. For once, please. Our natural features and our bodies do not exist to satisfy men’s desires or preconceptions on what women should be like in society.

When I was in high school, having a big ass and big tits was the bees knees to men and if you didn’t have them, you were a “tomboy” or “undesirable.” I remember being mercilessly teased for my lanky, flat stature…by both guys and chicks who had filled out and began receiving attention from those men...the same stature that is glorified in media today. Now I am belittled for both being natural...and also for wearing weaves and wigs. And now you come with this idea that “natural” is better than photoshop/plastic surgery/”fakeness”…after telling us for years that natural was not okay. And this recent and digusting idea that everything black women have naturally is better on white women with straight hair, light skin and blue eyes? Where do we fit in?

In today’s working economy, in order to survive and prosper, we have to mold to what society’s definition of what women should look like. Light skin, straight hair, perfect attire. Someone is always dictating what we should and should not look like for THEIR benefit. Instead of praising women for their ability to be chameleons and do it all. And instead of praising women for just being women and popping out ungrateful and disrespectful ass men who turn around and insult, disrespect and hate women who look like their momma’s or for not looking like their momma’s in terms of white/asian/spanish men. In what world, and in what skin or appearance should and do women fit into? Damned if we do, damned if we don’t.

The double standards of what we have to do to attract and keep the man that isn’t upheld or even expected by men is gross. Can’t be a woman who loves sex without being promiscuous or a hoe, while our male counterparts can do whatever the fuck they want without the labels. Same shit with appearance. One of my least favorite lyrics is on his track YAH where he states “my girl told me don’t let these hoes get in my head…” as if the fact that he desires other women is the fault of that woman and not his own for having that Mad-Eye Moody gaze. The same narrative that women go through on a regular basis. SHE is the hoe in a pool of unfaithful and wandering men.

And let’s get another thing straight, men constantly referring to women as bitches and hoes in order to get their points across is not okay just because it’s been a thing since the nineties. It is not just “freedom of speech” and it is not “just a term.” “Nigga” is “just a term” too, but the connotations behind it leave anyone who is not black out of the pool of people allowed to say it. Yet, despite the connotations that the word “bitch” and “hoe” has taken in modern music and media (on top of the fact that it somehow is generally used to describe the black woman...not others), we are supposed to just take it as popular ramblings. If Kendrick can talk to young boys about violence and getting involved in it without calling them thugs and negroes he should be able to do the same with women without putting them down or calling them bitches and hoes. As should every rapper.

No one’s singling Kendrick’s song out…it’s just at some point enough becomes enough. You get tired of hearing the same trope over and over again. One person (or in this instance, one group) can only be poked and prodded for so long before they snap and start speaking up. See: racism and white America; also see: policing whitewashing in Hollywood in 2017. People aren’t standing for the shits anymore. Neither are women.

But, I digress. The point is that everything we do, is under the scrutiny of men…and if we say anything that denies men that power and the ability to say whatever they want and equate women to whatever they want..we are mocked and disrespected for it. I’m not here for it anymore and I don’t care what man has a problem with it. Your privilege as a man limits your contact with objectification…therefore you don’t understand how it affects women…therefore you have no right to tell women what they should and should not be offended by. Your inability to feel that sort of pain and judgement and self-esteem destroying narrative, gives you absolutely NO RIGHT to demand women take his words or any other man’s words as compliments. Do women objectify men? Absolutely, but you don’t see it as often or as damaging/prominent/reoccuring/re-evoliving or as universal as men’s objectification of women. And it doesn’t inhibit you financially or economically…like racism and oppression do for blacks in society.

So do not police things you are unaffected by and just make a better effort to understand women.

[spinneryesteryear]

Spinner plays FFXIV Stormblood

Finished FFXIV 4.0 MSQ over the weekend (DRK to 70, WHM to 77), hoo boy. I know I've got the 4.x patches to go but I did wind up liking Stormblood more than I thought. Spoilers ahoy!

Highlights:

- started the SB questline right about the same time as everyone else started ShB *sobs* It did mean I landed in the midst of some good FATE-grinding parties, however, at little as that matters

- I liked the Baelsar’s Wall but those last twin bosses can go die in a fire

- couldn’t get really sad over Papalymo because he barely contributed anything to the story except to snark at Yda. I like him better in DFFOO, where he is an excellent black mage. So, like, the exact opposite of my feelings regarding Thancred.

- Shinryu, Omega, and Cid all disappeared for the majority of the Stormblood questline and tbh it suffered for their absences. At least Estinien, of all people, was tracking the first two down.

- thankfully the WHM quests were all in the first zone I got access to and I already had it at 70 so I just zipped through them

----- me: *fails repeatedly at WHM lvl 70 quest*

----- me: *returns w/gear 10 lvls higher* Time for my vengeance.

----- (Yes, I know I should always keep my gear up to date and to be fair I always keep it at the appropriate level or better when other people are involved. This, however, was single-player duty and my lack of better gear didn’t matter since I didn’t even have the lvl 61 dungeon unlocked yet.)

- never cared at all for Zenos. Nope. Not at all. He and his golf club bag of swords can go fall off Shinryu's platforms. (I also had 0% trouble w/his solo fights on DRK? Maybe it was the new flat damage reduction baked into all tanks, idk, or maybe it was having Aug Shire/at lvl gear for each instance. I kept my health up just fine and had to be wiped out via his insta-kill move for the duty to end. But honestly it felt like good DRK job fantasy, taking on this insurmountable foe and clawing my way past death to defend my fallen comrades.) Also my character literally viewed him as a troubled teen taking out his issues on everyone around him via murder and wasn't impressed w/him in the least. But anyway.

- I came to tolerate Lyse but that's it. Hot-blooded people who rush off and act w/o thinking irritate me greatly IRL and it's no different in virtual life. Plus, she's almost literally an anime version of me who traded book smarts for punching ability. Even her name is a mere one letter from mine. It's kinda weird. She’s my mirror universe self. Ugh.

- it’s really disappointing Square Enix gives me so few options in killing myself. Let me jump off cliffs to my messy death already, dang it. Skyrim let me do it within the first 2 minutes of ever playing, haha.

- the sharks fly. the bears fly. the goobues fly. why not.

- ah, yes, gyuki. Skyrim prepared me for unreasonably bloodthirsty walruses. And for the unreasonably powerful and murderous mammoths.

- I liked M'naago, wished she had been the lead instead

- genuinely loved Gosetsu (Conrad who?) and was upset at his 'death'. I'm at once glad he survived and annoyed at another death fake-out. *Drak voice* Kill more! Kill 'em all!

- Hien is an adorable badass and I wish to adopt him and take him home with me. Doma 4 lyfe

---- me: *interiorly grumbles every time I hear the words ‘Ala Mhigo’

---- also me: *cheers for Doma & the Steppes*

- I just... really don’t understand why Highlanders live in a desert nation and have geographic and cultural neighbors based off of India and yet they have Old English/OHG names. Why???

- also why is Lyse blindingly white (and Minfilia, for that matter) in stark contrast to other Highlanders???

---- me: So, Lyse, if you’re from Gyr Abania then why are you white?

---- Alphinaud: Oh my god, Spinner, you can’t just ask someone why they’re white.

- once again, I'm probably the only person who loved the WHM quests (all SB job quests seem to return to their 1 - 30 [or 30 - 50?] roots and I don't mind). Did lots of screaming over DRK 60 - 70. I saved them all up and did them right away when I hit 70; they flow much better w/no interruptions

- explored/quested/ground FATE's on DRK but ran new dungeons on WHM as that's my comfort job. Failed twice on the mechanics of Bardam's Mettle 2nd boss but no wipes so we're good. So many overconfident gunbreaker tanks, though. T__T *I* did a better job tanking/killing a pack of like 12 mobs as WHM in Sirensong Sea than one bunbreaker, smh.

- I found Magnai to be entirely too amusing. I also want his moves on WAR. 

- somehow missed Shisui entirely? Still haven't got all aether currents in the Ruby Sea RIP me

------ (2 month later addendum: finally unlocked it and got my aether currents. Now, to never return to that area ever again.)

- no underwater mobs is so disappointing. Let me throw fireballs and Holys and swing a greatsword underwater already. Let me tell you, nothing is as exciting as going diving in Morrowind with only a 22% chance to successfully cast Waterbreathing and this Kojin blessing is such an OP cheat.

- enjoying my Grani mount tbh. I have no idea if it's lore-relevant for ShB; I just saw the name lifted straight from Norse myth and was like, "Want." It's more of a horse-shaped reptile, however, with 'paws' that become increasingly creepy the more you stare at them. I wonder if it eats meat like the thestrals in HP.

- shooting minigames? Okay. Platforming minigames? AW HECK NO I THOUGHT I WAS DONE W/THIS WHEN I LEFT LEGO GAMES TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME PLATFORMING IS MY GREATEST ENEMY

- I was derping around in Kugane and accidentally started doing the tower jumping puzzle. As soon as I figured out what I was doing I had to run away immediately to save my sanity.

- throwing on tank stance and rushing in to save someone from a mob or a FATE is still as heady a feeling as ever (except when they then run off and leave you to die, like, no why please). Or raising people out in the wild. I particularly love that cyclops boss FATE near Whitebrim bc I can go stand on the edges as a powerful WHM and raise people 10x as the bodies keep hitting the floor. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s still so great.

- I do enjoy the Morrowind feel of walking through a new zone and taking in the scenery but I'd like it more if all the wildlife wasn't super powerful and aggro'ing on me every 10 ft. It feels less like an ecosystem and more like generic monster land when there are no longer any non-aggressive mobs like there were in ARR. The Gyr Abanian landscapes are slowly growing on me, however.

- me, flying through Porta Praetoria/Lochs: Those wooden bonfires must be awfully expensive, if wood is as scarce in Gyr Abania as I think....

- loved the Azim Steppe - atmosphere, music, lore, everything. Waiting for someone to call me out on this bc I just really love Xaela (and may make a male Xaela alt one day).

- had minor moral qualms over fighting in the Naadam for the Mol bc I wanted to claim victory for the Orl

- I do really like those moments in Heavensward and Stormblood when the game recreates the epic moments from the trailers (the WoL walking through the soldiers to fight the dragon; the WoL and Lyse sparring, etc.). 

- I was singing, “I don’t care, I don’t care,” to the tune of Let It Go during the Ala Mhigo cutscenes but the resistance singing their anthem really got to me nevertheless. Many voices united and uplifted and song always hits me hard emotionally.

- my character still looking at Zenos with 0% thirst (negative amounts of thirst, tbh) like, “Who is this sassy lost child?”

- then again my character is like 31 yrs old here with a backstory summed up as ‘angry single mom goes to check on friend, ends up killing a god and getting recruited to save the world’

- Pipin is best Lalafell; I will defend him with my life but he has Tizona now and doesn't need me. The absolute shortest guy around is calling the shots in this military campaign and I love it. At least his dad gave him a box to stand on so he could see over the table during the important strategic military discussions.

- the siege of Ala Mhigo taught us that thaumaturges/black mages are the living equivalent of heavy artillery, nice nice nice

- got lucky and had a competent crew in DF to fight Shinryu

- tbh my character would probably kick Asahi’s dad while he was down and cave in his ribs, just finishing him off. It’s no wonder Asahi turned out as bad as he did, with parents as horrifically self-centered as THAT.

- I humbly submit ‘Higwit’ as a fan-name for that elezen following Asahi around - an acronym for ‘Hien Is Great - Who Is That?!’ based on an old LOTR fan meme. Who else here remembers Figwit before he became Lindir?

- I liked the Tsukuyomi fight but I can’t remember anything specific about it now, not even the mechs. 

- I did spend a lot of time screenshotting Hien because he is an awesome bro and I would endure Ala Mhigo all over again for him