#but when an artist has their own convictions you can tell. and i can tell on this one

[kickedin17]

If I had a nickel for every time the lead singer of my 2 favorite bands addressed the usage of AI "art" this weekend, I'd have 2 nickels, and one of them is a very sad sad nickel that I want to give back (the starset one)

[herbgerblin]

ipre theater thots

loosely based off of this poll. sorry, this got away from me. i was a theater kid for years (i still am, i literally made a bunch of friends larp as wizards two weeks ago)

Davenport: Producer and Stage Manager. Personally more experienced in opera than musicals, but answers the call when the need for a manager arises. Keeps everyone focused and on schedule. Has final word on what choices the art department gets to make. Sometimes does solo performances on his own time.

Merle: Choreographer and Director. Leads the ensemble into meditation every rehearsal before warming up. Talks with each member of the cast one-on-one. Sometimes leaves the script open to interpretation. His artistic vision sounds bonkers in concept, but illuminating in execution. Why are there so many plants? Don't worry about it.

Magnus: Lead Actor and Set Builder. He brings the energy every single night. He doesn't need to be micc'ed up because his natural voice projects well enough. It takes a bit of time for him to memorize the script, but he devotes his heart and soul to it. He claps loudly for the ensemble when he's in the wings. He cries at the emotional numbers. Built all the sets by hand.

Lucretia: Co-stage Manager and Supporting Actor (not for lack of chops, only because she spreads herself very thin.) Knows the script like a second language. Mainly reserves her Director Voice for backstage when things get chaotic. Enjoys performing the musical numbers because no one knows she can belt, until she does. Standing ovation girlie, but bashful about it.

Lup: Co-lead Lead Actor and Costumer. Only willing to do the role if Davenport lets her include cold sparks and fog machines in the set budget (he finds a way.) No one knows when she took measurements for the costumes, but they're ready by dress rehearsal and they fit perfectly. Helps the other actors figure out their groove. Great at engaging the audience.

Angus (special edition): Child lead and stagehand. The sweetest little singing voice you ever did hear. Everyone is going to rue the day his voice starts cracking. A heartbreaker of a performer and a speedy backstage assistant.

Taako: A MYSTERY. He's wearing a fancy scarf and roaming all over the place. He's talking about the Art of the Theatre. He's listed on the billing of lead actors and NO ONE knows what his role is. He remembers all the little things that everyone forgets: clothes pins, a hot glue gun, and electrolytes. He's got a walkie-talkie. Only the managers and tech are supposed to have walkie-talkies. Hello, this is Taako speaking, over.

Barry: Usually Tech. He's got a beautifully choreographed queue of lighting designs and stage effects. He's got an immaculately labeled pad controller and a ready-to-go Excel spreadsheet. But on opening night, Lucretia informs him he's in the orchestra pit.

Barry: ...But I'm lighting tonight.

Lucretia (via walkie-talkie): And our percussionist twisted his ankle tripping over a stage light. You're in the orchestra now, compadre.

Barry: (with increasing emphasis, decreasing conviction) But. I'm. Light. Tech.

Taako: E N T E R T H E P I T B A R O L D

Davenport: Taako, get off this line.

During intermission, Magnus asks him to help lift the ensemble dancers onto the set scaffolding, and hold it steady. Barry agrees, thinking he's in the clear after that. But the second the music number ends, Merle tells him that one of the support roles had to leave, so now he's the understudy.

Barry (longsuffering): I am just. the light guy.

Merle (gesturing to Taako in the balcony, having a ballgame playing with the lightboard): well, in two minutes you're the showstopper guy, so you need to go out there and stop the show

Lup (emerging from nowhere, slapping a red, hooded robe on Barold's shoulders): Knock 'em dead!

Barry: D:

[desirepathzine]

Pentiment: Now Look What You Have Created

A note: THIS ESSAY WILL INCLUDE SPOILERS FOR PENTIMENT. I highly recommend you experience the story however suits you best before reading this.

Pentiment is a tricky little video game. On the surface, it is a beautifully crafted point-and-click mystery game set in medieval Bavaria over a period of twenty five years, revolving around a series of mysterious deaths that traveling artist Andreas witnesses, and in turn must judge the town based on his (and your) observations. But it presents concepts and moral quandaries that I find video games of its nature often refuse to acknowledge.

Games sometimes have trouble placing weight on the decisions that any given player makes. Permanence in choices can close off large swaths of a game that so many people worked so hard to bring to life. Save scumming and cloud saves can help get around this concept, but Pentiment asks you to make some extremely hard choices, oftentimes without the most solid of evidence that you might expect from a mystery game.

And not only do you have to see through the carrying out of your judgements, you must watch the wide branching consequences of these decisions over the entire period of the game. And in a story that lasts over two decades, those consequences feel weighty. Further more, you never discover if you "guessed correctly". The game never tells you who actually committed the murders. It simply asks you to make a judgement.

That is not to say that it does not give you a variety of motivations. You must be convicted in your own beliefs, your own judgements. And you will see the bloody results of those judgements. Much has been made of how Pentiment makes you watch the execution of whoever you accuse of the crimes in its first act. It's one of the most brutal moments in a largely beautiful and pastoral game. It's one thing to cross of somebody's name in a list of characters. It's another to watch them speak their last words in the town square before their beheading. You have to look. And it feels so strange, because in most video games, you get a CORRECT or INCORRECT prompt when you make a decision like those in Pentiment, or a character will lecture you, or there is some in-universe way to tell you "hey good job" or "you messed up". There is a right and wrong answer. Pentiment does not give you such a privilege. You only have your reasoning. There is no amount of story you can uncover that will reassure you more than your initial investigation.

Of course, you later find out that Father Thomas, the local priest, has been manipulating the town to advance the Church's agenda, using what he hears in confession to blackmail and agitate townspeople, as well as manipulating Sister Amalie, the anchoress of the church who is plagued with ecstatic visions. But as ever, you can discover motivations and reasoning, but not THE CORRECT ANSWER or even THE TRUTH. Just your intuition.

Pentiment also prompts you to consider what happens to this town after the game itself is over. Video games only exist as you play them, and usually do not task you with considering what you have wrought after your time in their world is done. You save the day, solve a puzzle, destroy some great evil, and then credits will roll. Not here. The core of the third act, with a surprise protagonist change, revolves around creating a mural that chronicles the history of Tassing, a town you have now spent quite a bit of time investigating, both its known and approved history from the church, and the wilder corners of its history that are starting to be erased. It's up to you what to focus on, what to leave for Tassing to remember forever in its town hall, amidst pressure from the church to present their approved vision. The final sequence of the game is a long and detailed pan over the mural that you crafted with your decisions (set to music featuring Desire Path fave Kristin Hayter).

This is hardly a surprise from the excellent folks at Obsidian, responsible for some of the greatest role-playing and choice based games of our modern era. There are so many incredible touches to the game that completely transport you (the script that the characters 'speak' in changes based on their level of education and background. They will occasionally misspell words that are then corrected and when they are angry, ink blots will dot their speech bubbles). This was clearly a labor of love that accomplishes so much and charts new territory.

I completed a playthrough in February of this year and think about the game at least once a week, whether it be someone else I could have accused of murder, a sweet conversation with a townsperson, or the delightful characters populating the illuminated menus (I am especially fond of a silly cat illustration). It is well worth the journey, but be prepared to sit with your choices, and to see what kind of Tassing you create, for better or worse.

[ineffablymischievousscamp]

Michael Sheen - Master Storyteller

In today's digital world, celebrity interviews are in abundance - especially when you consider newer mediums like podcasts that have skyrocketed in popularity over the past decade. You can find panels from conventions, access talk shows from other countries, read magazine articles from across the pond. There are so many one-dimensional, disconnected, or just plain boring celebrity guests in this oversaturated market. Michael Sheen is NEVER one of those guests.

Storytelling is an underappreciated skill. In this realm, it becomes obvious that Michael has harnessed this skill exceptionally well. As a master storyteller and world-builder, he captivates with the effortless ease of a raconteur, transforming an ordinary interview question into immersive journeys that leave you utterly enraptured.

You can't help but be drawn in by his passion. It's not just in the words he chooses or the exact experience he is relaying, but the ebb and flow of his narrative voice - a voice that exudes warmth and conviction, vulnerability and authenticity, humor and hope.

Like an artist crafting an epic, he makes it so that you feel like an active participant in the tale - present in the narrative being woven - instead of just a listener. Each story feels like a memory being created in the moment with you, rather than just a mere recounting of events.

I absolutely love when he takes a seemingly simplistic interview question that one would assume would result in a stale, depthless answer, and somehow delivers a story so engaging that you are now on an unexpected adventure alongside him. It doesn't matter the topic - he is just that magical and skilled. Michael must be a dream for interviewers. In a lot of ways, the man practically interviews himself. His tangents are so entertaining, refreshing, and enriching - delivering delicious opportunities to dive deeper into his narratives should the interviewer find themselves brave enough.

Outside of his masterful storytelling, Michael truly just seems like a wonderful human to have a conversation with. He is insanely charming, marvelously chaotic, unabashedly honest, perpetually curious, intensely thought-provoking, and deeply caring.

Do yourself a favor and listen to some Michael Sheen content this week. You might laugh until you hurt. You might sob uncontrollably. You might find yourself impassioned over a new topic. You might leave with a fresh perspective. You might find your faith in humanity restored. You will not regret it.

In closing, we all know that age-old ice breaker question - If you could have a dinner party with any 5 famous people (dead or alive), who would they be and why? Well if it isn't obvious yet, one of my answers would unequivocally be Michael Sheen. He'd be riveting in his own right, but can you imagine the stories he'd draw out of the other guests too?

Bonus Content:

For all of those that made it to the end of my TedTalk... enjoy this instant serotonin boost brought to you by Sheenie's Smile!

And yes, at my dinner party I'd 100% tell him "You've had such a profound effect on my life!"

[scaredgirlsilly]

Show us the Homestuck! 👀

ok so i just wrote everything under the cut and its. Alot Of Words HDKAJFKSVJFKD its literally an entire story outline of the entire fan session. i would feel bad but 1. you asked for it 2. you are on anon so no ones even gonna get a notification for this and 3. its my blog and i get to be autistic about my own stories ::P

merp (and anyone else currently reading homestuck really) stop reading here until youve finished homestuck. i dont even know if it spoils anything for you merp but just in case

first things first there are some foundational beliefs and opinions that make my fan session what it is and i feel like i need to say them

the game is an analogy (or allegory or metaphor i never know what is the correct one) for real life. everyone tells you that there is a correct way to go through life but then everything goes to shit and youre off that path before you even had a chance to start. this works with homestuck insanely well and one of the main reasons i connect with it

there is no ideal sburb session. not only have we not seen one and i dont even know if there are any sburb games besides the ones we see and the dancester trolls, but if there actually is an ideal sburb session, it kinda goes in the face of it being an alagory for life and how it never goes how you expect it to go

i will add a bunch of stuff outside of what we see in homestuck and some of it may contradict what is stated in homestuck, especially when it comes to the rules of sburb. i dont think the exact rules of sburb matter as much as what sburb as a concept really is, which is a nigh-omnipotent and omnipresent force that makes kids go through trauma to give them a "character" arc. it is a story generator so that the next universe can have heroes, while weeding out those too weak to even get to the part where they make a new universe. this is fucked up and bad and kinda evil and i really wish homestuck focused more on how fucking crazy evil sburb was but it got caught up in a bunch of other shit so thats why i made this

also this is gonna be so fuckin long even if i try to summarize it as much as possible cause its pretty much the entire story of the fan session, but you are on anon so i dont care that im infodumping right now cause no ones gonna read this far

anyways. ONTO THE ACTUAL FANSESSION

it starts put in 2015, after a mysterious delay of the sburb launch back in 2009. after so long, it is finally coming out!!

we follow 6 kids, all around the age of 19 (they would have been 13 if sburb came out when it was originally supposed to back in 2009)

Anna (she/her), a no nonsense, kinda autistic tabletop wargamer. Think the vibes of kanaya but the convictions of vriska. if she believes she knows whats best, only god can stop her from doing it. very egalitarian, very "ends justify the means" but she isnt like. also kinda intense but she knows that so she knows to tone it down when the moment calls for it

Noah (he/they), an excitable and cripplingly bisexual graffiti artist, his friends mean the world to him and he would do anything for them. a bit of anarchist leanings, but he hasnt really delved into theory much cause hes got other stuff to worry about. extremely outgoing and could probably talk to anyone. Anna and Noah have been kinda flirty/close for a while now and it kinda makes the others sick

Drew (he/him), an adorable farm hand who looks up to those western lone wolf hero types in movies and tries to emulate that, but is too much of a pure soul to ever be mean, so he just kinda acts weird sometimes. Wears a lil cowboy hat and vest and talks and types in a weird southern accent. no one knows if its fake or not

Kate (she/they), a bubbly gymnist who loves talking a bit too much. shes really only doing all this cause her friends are begging her to (and something about the end of the world?? she doesnt really know milo can say some wild stuff sometimes :P )

speaking of, Milo (they/them), an audiophile who has stopped talking as much, kinda ever since the original beta got delayed. everyone else worries about them but they insist they are fine whenever pressed. has been begging everyone to get the game since it was announced, which has been the most hes talked in the group in a long while

and finally, Skye (she/her), a quiet girl who likes nature. usually lurks, but will join the group calls just to be quiet during them. also not as enthused about the game as the others but hey, its better than anything shes got goin on.

gonna try to speed up with the rest of this but you need to know about them cause its like mainly character driven

first act is them getting all the stuff ready, connecting to each other, normal act 1 highjinks. the main thing is when it gets to milo (who actually is last in the order to get revealed idk why i didnt right it like that. the order is anna, noah, kate, drew, skye, milo) where it shows milo in his house, before it fades away and reveals they are in a dream bubble wearing an heir of doom godhood. they are also 13, where everyone else is 19.

the first act culminates in a flash (no clue if i could actually do it but in my head its a dope ass flash set to Planet Telex by Radiohead) where everyone enteres the game at the same time. Milo, being in a dreambubble, asks kate to set up a second computer for them so they can actually play. She does, and milo jumps on the meteor heading for Kates house before it hits the portal, and when it ends up above kates house, they fly down, watch kate enter the game, and really quickly set up their connections, finish the loop, and enter the game just in time. the flash ends with shots of their lands which i have not figured out jdkskfhahf

act 2 is just sburb hijinks. they hang out, grow closer, talk alot cause yk its homestuck jfkshdk. the main developments are noah and anna growing even closer with a cute lil sparring match before ending by planning a date, skye and kate growing closer and skye getting a bit of a crush, and drew and milo grow closer (but not romantically cause milos 13) because milo is a fuckin ghost and has been isolating themself from the group and drew has taken note and pretty much been like "whatever your goin through, ill be there for you"

there are other scenes i just havent written them/thought them out yet

this all takes place over like a few weeks btw

then its one of the kids' birthdays!! they are all together for the first time in a little bit, and one of them (probably anna) asks what the deal with milo is. after some hesitation he tells them this

milo is from an alternate timeline where they all entered the game in 2009 and everyone died. turns out it was a doomed session. before milo dies, being the last kid alive, they go to talk to their denizen. the denizen tells them that they were not supposed to play the game. the main heroes of earth (i forgot what they were called i know they were called something like the alpha kids were the nobles but i forgot what the beta kids were called anyways its the beta kids) were supposed to be the only ones to play, and because so many people are playing the game, its messing with skaia and causing a ton of glitches to happen in the beta kids' game. but, like everyone else, milo has a choice. let this timeline fade, allowing skaia to focus solely on just the beta kids, but they will not be able to live in the dream bubbles. Or, create an offshoot timeline, leave the beta kids to die in their horribly glitched session, and have another chance as the main heroes of that timelines earth, knowing that success is still not a certainty. Milo, being a 13 y/o who misses their friends and doesnt give a fuck about a bunch of "heroes" chooses the second option. this causes the offshoot timeline where sburb is delayed, and milo has to sit in the dream bubbles until the game eventually releases. oh uh that also killed milo like to get them in a dream bubble their denizen just fuckin killed them like falling fuckin rock just instant death.

the others are horrified to hear that they all died and milo is the only one who survived (but didnt actually survive, they just can do alot more as a ghost cause they are an heir of doom) and it starts to set in the actual stakes of the game

anna pulls milo aside after the party (which has supremely fucked vibes after milos revelation) to ask them more about the game. after hearing milos story, it only invigorated her more to figure out exactly how to get them through the game. noah tags along cause hes bored and anna and noah havent left each others side in weeks.

milo is answering annas questions about the game to the best of their ability, but the topic of the alpha timeline pops up. noah asks further and milo obliges (same stuff we know, but they word it slightly wrong cause they dont know the full picture). milo days that the alpha timeline is, to their limited knowledge, the correct timeline that leads to a successful end of the game, and every other timeline is a dead timeline that skaia prunes to keep focused on the correct timeline. noah asks what they mean by "prunes" the other timelines, and milo says that everyone is killed in them. noah then asks why everyone died in milos session and if they are from one of those dead timelines, and if so, what happened to the correct timeline. milo says that the way anna explained it before she died in milos session (who was a time player in milos session but aspect is based on personality so she might not be anymore), was that some sessions dont have a correct timeline, so every timeline eventually gets pruned, and there isnt any way to fix it. noah gets frustrated, before getting up to leave, anna asking if they are ok, and noah saying hes fine he just needs some air. anna is worried, but continues to ask milo about the game

noah then sulks off and talks to himself about how fucked up that is, and kinda has a panic attack about what if they are in a doomed timeline now without even knowing. he then sets off to find out if they can escape a doomed timeline, and if not, if they can escape the game entirely.

also uhhhh i forgot to say this before but the prospit dreamers are noah, drew, and kate. and the derse dreamers are anna, milo, and skye

we then get a batch of a few standalone relationship moments, just some moments of them hanging out like before the party but this time their is a notable air of urgency to what they are doing. i havent really written them yet but noah and anna have a bit of an argument, because anna, while still agreeing that sburb is super fucked up, sees the fucked up stuff sburb does as motivation to get through the game as fast as possible, while noah sees it as reason to try and escape before they get killed for no reason with no way to stop it. this rift starts to spread to the others before it culminates in one last conversation between noah and anna

noah says that he is gonna leave. hes figured out a way that might work. turns out the universe is just a huge bubble that you can leave. anna laughs at that, asking if he really thinks that is gonna work. noah gets exasperated, saying he doesnt really know but he has to try. its better than sitting around and waiting to die. anna snaps back saying that that isnt what they are doing. they dont have any evidence to believe they are in a doomed timeline, and in fact noah leaving might be the action that dooms everyone. noah says that he has to leave, he says sorry, walks closer for one last embrace from anna, but she denies it and and says "if you are really going to do this, then im going to stop you. i hope you see the error of your ways before it comes to that" and she walks off

as this is happening, milo and drew find drews quest bed. drew says that noah has already talked to him about leaving and is telling milo. drew says he may leave, because all this pressure to do what sburb wants is kinda getting to him. milo goes quiet, before saying "i get it, but. please dont. i dont want what i did to be in vain". drew says that milo can join them!! but milo shakes his head, saying they have sacrificed too much already, before saying "well... heres your quest bed" and turning around before drew could see the tears in their eyes.

"h- how am i s'posed ro use this dang thing?" says drew

milo turns to drew with tears in his eyes, but a small playful smile creeps onto his face, before saying "you kill yourself on it. duh" and flying off

from another spot on the planet, various bugs are flying around, and in the distance a huge yellow beam erupts into the sky, showing a winged symbol in the air

The Knight of Hope has ascended

(they didnt have yellow text thats the best i got)

Noah to kate and skye, who are having a little picnic, but arent talking much as they were distracted by the beam in the sky (drew god tiering)

Noah breaks it down for them and asks them to go, and kate says that she will, but skye says she wont. she says that that is a huge decision to make without much proof, and she cant with good conscience leave anna behind. shes the space player, and she is needed to make the genesis frog. if she leaves, it really will be a dead timeline no matter what. noah says he understands, gives her a big hug, and starts to leave. Kate is crying as skye turns to her and apologizes. kate grabs her and kisses her, tears welling in both of their eyes, before saying that she wishs she could stay, and shes sorry for leaving, and if they find each other again, she will never leave her side. noah calls after kate, but she asks for just one more moment, and noah says of course before leaving to talk with drew and get his answer and milos answer

the people who are ready to leave are noah, drew, and kate

the people staying behind are anna, milo, and skye

i am not entirely happy with kate and drews motovations i feel its a little weak but also i havent even started writing it so fuck you

noah, now dead set on leaving, goes to meet with anna one final time. he tells her whos going with him, and that she can come with him too, because if she decides to leave, the others will probably join her. she says that that is exactly why she has to stay. someone has to do the work, and after half of the group leaves, shes the only one that can get any results. noah remarks on how distant shes acting, and she says that he can fix that by not leaving. he says he cant do that, and anna says "i knew you would say that" before pulling out her rapier and attacking

(sorry i forgot to do their weapons uhhhh the ones i know so far are drew who has a revolver, anna who has a rapier, and noah who has a firemans axe)

act 2 concludes with another flash, this time set to Mood Swings by Human People. They have a hard fight, mirroring their sparring match from early act 2, but this time anna isnt holding back. she slices noah up and gets him to a pretty bad spot before it cuts to drew. drew sees himself and a beat to shit noah pop out of nowhere with the tume turn tables, drew from the future gives current drew a copy of the turntables (specifically not to make a loop with them) and tells him to go save noah. drew shows up just in time to see anna about to make the killing blow on noah, and drew, tears welling in his eyes, says sorry and pulls out his revolver and shoots anna in the head. he then grabs noah, uses the turn tables to go back, and the flash fades as we see anna bleeding out on the floor, as milo and skye get to her right at the end of the flash

act 3 starts with drew taking noah to his quest bed, and lying him on there. noah then ascends

The Prince of Blood has ascended.

simultaneously, skye and milo brought anna to her quest bed, where she ascends as well.

The Thief of Mind has ascended.

Noah and drew go to meet up with kate at her quest bed, as she goes to god tier. she is the last of the people who are going to leave, and they need every advantage they can get

(something) of Breath has ascended.

(idk what class shed be hfkshdjd sorry)

They then get to the edge of the session, giving it one last look, before leaving.

ok so uhhhh the rest i have no clue jfkshdjs except for literally the last flash. like everything between now and the end (pretty much the entirety of act 3) i have no clue. but on annas side, she gets alot more controlling and aggressive, eventually stooping to using her thief of mind powers to mind control them (taking their mind) into doing what she wants. shit gets mad fucked up in there

i literally hsve no clue what noah and the gang do. there is a bit of a romance between drew and noah just cause i really want them to fuck nasty, but nothing serious comes of it and they are both chill with it. its kinda like a summer fling but they are traveling through the very edges of paradox space. probably like hiding from the horror terrors?? idk i have a theory that the horror terrors are all like players that have gonethrough the ultimate self shit, so maybe they go to talk to the horrorterrors and its like a physical manifestation of like a forum board?? idk that could be neat

noahs team and annas team still keep in contact somewhat, but not much. noah keeps trying to contact anna, but after she doesnt respond for a bit and noah keeps trying, she blocks him.

eventually noah and the gang figure out a way to be safe outside of the control of skaia and sburb, and he says that if the others want, noah and them can pretty much head back to get them. milo and skye agree because...

eventually, anna finds out that the session was doomed from the start and she is obviously devastated by the knews, cause that means that all of the bad shit she did, all of the friends shes lost, were all for nothing. act 3 ends on that and act 4 is just one last flash

the flash is set to Souk Eye by Gorillaz, and it starts with skye and milo grabbing a destraught anna who is just lying on the ground crying. they drag her to where noah said to meet up with them, and anna locks eyes with noah. at first she averts her gaze, but all she sees is the session, now in ruin as the war on skaia is raging on with the prospitans losing badly, and several of the planets overrun with various monsters. the session is in ruin. she looks back to meet noahs gaze, assuming she will see nothing but malice, but he just smiles and floats towards her.

drew flies into milo, giving them a huge bear hug and saying that he really missed them. kate tackles skye with kisses, joking about how he had to hear drew and noah fuck way more than she would have wanted for one life, and noah puts hid hand on annas cheek, before she kisses him like super hard like one of those kisses where they grab the others face and kiss them like its the last thing they will ever do, and they just sit like that. finally reunited, the session in ruins behind them, but they have each other, so its ok. anna breaks free of the kiss, and they all leave the session, and set off for a life beyond sburb.

the end.

uhhhh yeah idk if thats what you expected like a whole fuckin story HDKAKFLHA but. yeah thats what i had written for my fan session. im not gonna get into the themes and stuff cause ive already written so fucking much 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 but yeah. thats ir ^u^

[foundtherightwords]

All Our Yesterdays - Chapter 8

Pairing: Ralph (Timewasters) x OFC

Summary:Thu, a museum archivist, only wants to escape her dull life in 21st-century Hanoi. The last thing she expects is to end up in 1929 Indochina via a time-traveling elevator and cross paths with Ralph, an Englishman on the run from the French Foreign Legion. Romance blossoms between them, but in a colonized country, unrest is always looming on the horizon, and Thu must decide if she wants to stay with Ralph in the past or return to the safety of the future.

Warnings: outdated/period-typical attitudes about women, mentions of war, mentions of pregnancy and abortion (involving a supporting character), some angst, some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 4.9k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8

As Ralph's birthday approached, Thu wracked her brain to think of something to do to celebrate. For her own birthday back home, she usually went out with her friends or her family (and Hoang, if he could spare some precious moments out of his day) would take her out for a special dinner, but she had no idea what would count as a special dinner in 1929. Besides, she and Ralph went out to eat all the time; she'd like something more celebratory than that.

In the end, she turned to Mai for help. "Hey, Mai," she asked one day as they were on their way to pick up some orders for the office. "What is there to do for fun in the evening around here?"

"Oh, there are lots of things! You can go to the theater, or the cinema, or a teahouse for some ca trù singing..."

"Do women actually go to teahouses?" Thu was surprised. From what she read in the history books, being entertained at teahouses was strictly a men's pastime.

"Oh yes, but only if you're feeling adventurous," Mai said, giggling.

A night at a dimly lit teahouse, amongst the seductive singers, was not Thu's idea of a birthday celebration. "Is there anything, I don't know, more fun?" she asked.

Mai's face brightened. "Oh, I know! There's Western dancing!"

"You guys have Western dancing already?" Thu said before she remembered herself, but Mai didn't seem to notice anything strange in her question.

"It's the latest thing," she said. "Louis has been telling me about it—"

"Who's Louis?"

Mai's round cheeks were pink. "He's a clerk at the French-Indochina Bank. I've been... well, I've been walking out with him for a few months now. He's so dashing! Maybe not as artistic as your Davinier, but—"

"Whoa, hold on, he's not my Davinier, OK? We're just—friends." Thu wished she could say that with more conviction.

"If you say so," Mai said, wriggling her eyebrows at Thu.

Thu rolled her eyes. "Tell me about this dancing then."

"A dance hall just opened on Kham Thien. Apparently, they play Western music there, and you dance to it, man and woman"—Mai dropped her voice dramatically—"while holding each other!"

Thu had to remember that in 1929 Vietnam, the Confucian rule of strictly forbidding physical contact between unrelated men and women was still very prevalent. No wonder Mai seemed so excited about this dancing. It was forbidden, titillating stuff.

"Louis said he'll take me there next Saturday," continued Mai. "I'm bringing some friends, you should come along! And bring your—I mean, bring Monsieur Davinier as well."

When Thu suggested the idea to Ralph, she'd expected him to refuse. After all, he'd grown up in Jazz Age London; he might find their clumsy colonial dancing rather quaint and provincial. Plus, there was always the risk of him getting recognized at a public place like that.

But Ralph jumped at it.

"I'd love to," he said. "It's been ages since I went dancing! I didn't even know there were dance halls here!"

"Me neither." Thu cleared her throat. "Just so you know, Kham Thien is the red-light district of Hanoi. It may not be the most respectable place."

Ralph had no such hang-ups. "Being respectable is no fun," he said with a grin.

So next Saturday, Thu went by the studio in her new velvet áo dài. They were going to meet Mai and her friends at the office, before heading to Kham Thien together.

Her new áo dài had cost her a pretty penny, but the tailor and Mai, who she'd accompanied to the shop, had insisted that it was just the thing for her, and looking into the mirror, Thu had to agree. The soft pastel colors of the silks sometimes washed her out, but the rich burgundy of the velvet warmed her olive skin and set off her dark hair and eyes, giving her a certain mysterious allure that she didn't quite feel but enjoyed nonetheless.

The look on Ralph's face when he saw her proved it too.

"You know, in my time, this color is mostly for the mother of the bride or the groom to wear at the wedding," she joked, to cover her shyness.

"It looks good on you" was all he said, but he kept looking at her, then turned away, then back again, as if he couldn't get enough. "Do you mind if I take a picture of you?"

"What, now? Do we even have time?"

"Yes, the light on the balcony is perfect. It won't take a minute."

While Ralph prepared his camera, Thu went to the balcony and looked out over the street. The sun was setting, its last rays flowing over the moss-covered roofs like molten gold. Some leaves had started to turn colors, though they wouldn't fall for another month or two, and the blackboard trees, that staple of Hanoi streets, were still putting forth their clusters of modest white blooms with their heavenly scent. She inhaled deeply, breathing in their fragrance.

The click of the camera made her whirl around.

"Did you take the photo already?" she asked. "But I didn't even get to pose!"

Ralph looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, I think it looks better that way. Do you want me to take another one?"

"Nah, that's OK. I have my own camera." She pulled out her phone and beckoned to Ralph. "Come on." He was looking quite smart in his dinner jacket and bowtie, and she couldn't pass up a chance to have a photo of the two of them all dressed up.

Ralph, having gotten used to her selfies by now, scooted closer and leaned down. Thu quickly snapped the photo and turned away, trying not to notice how warm his cheek was against hers.

They had a quick dinner before starting for the office. The darkening streets were full of Saturday night revelers, families with small children hanging to the mothers' hands or riding on the fathers' shoulders, single people strolling about, and couples, walking arm in arm, laughing at things only they knew. Thu noticed a few people glancing at her and Ralph, probably because they looked like a couple but weren't behaving like one. They were walking shoulder-to-shoulder but not touching. More than once, Thu had the feeling Ralph was going to offer her his arm, only to think better of it.

"It's not too cold for you, is it?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" she laughed. "We live for days like this, when it's still warm but cool enough to walk around without sweating buckets... Damn this hair!" she exclaimed, tucking behind her ear a stubborn lock, which had kept falling down her face.

Noticing this, Ralph beckoned to a flower seller, who was no doubt on her way home, dragging her feet with a basket that was half full, her downcast face a sad contrast to the carnations and chrysanthemums and roses still singing their bright colors. Ralph bought a bunch of red carnations, and then, on second thoughts, bought the rest of her basket. The woman's face lit up as she stammered her thanks, and she walked away with much lighter steps.

"I think that woman will be able to feed her children well tonight, thanks to you," Thu told him with a warm smile.

"Ah, well, they're so pretty, it seemed a shame to let them go to waste," he said, a little embarrassed. "Here, allow me."

He broke off a carnation and tucked it behind her ear to keep her hair in place. It was such an easy, intimate gesture, like he was used to fixing her hair all the time, that it took both of them a moment to realize what had just happened. Then Ralph turned bright red, almost as red as the carnations themselves. He took his hand off of Thu's hair and gave her the rest of the bunch without looking at her. She buried her face in the blooms. The soft petals cooled her cheeks a little, but they did nothing to still her stampeding heart.

They met up with Mai and her friends, two girls around Mai's age, and Ralph gave them the rest of the flowers, causing them to squeal in delight. Thu supposed she should have felt a little better at that, seeing how Ralph treated them all equally. See? He was just being nice. But instead, she felt a little annoyed, and then was annoyed at herself for being annoyed. At least he didn't fix their hair.

"Oh, he is so gallant!" Mai said in Vietnamese but pronouncing "gallant" the French way. "You lucky girl!" she added to Thu with a wink, and Thu's cheeks heated up again.

"It's your birthday, we should be giving you flowers, not the other way around," she said to Ralph.

"Oh, it's no trouble," he said. "Victoria and I always had these party favors for our guests. Consider those flowers my treat to you. All of you," he added.

See? You're just like any other guest at his birthday bash. There's absolutely no reason to get all hot and bothered just because he gave you some flowers and touched your hair. None at all.

They took the tram. Rickshaws would cost too much, and as Kham Thien Street was right beside the central train station of Hanoi, the tram was quite convenient.

"Have you been here before?" she asked Ralph, as they walked the short distance from the station to Kham Thien, following Mai and her friends, who were running ahead, giddy with anticipation.

"No. I don't see much point in paying for pleasure. Is it still the red-light district in your time?"

She shook her head. Kham Thien in 2023 was just another ordinary street, full of traffic and chaos. Its sole, sad claim to fame was its complete destruction during the American War.

If it hadn't been for the train track running across it, she would have hardly recognized the place now. Instead of the overcrowded houses standing close next to one another, the street was lined with large buildings in a mix of traditional and Western styles, doors thrown wide open, windows blazing. Everywhere was light and music and laughter. The spacious pavement in front of these buildings was full of partygoers, and their excited shrieks and shouts were mixed with the noises from the inside into a cacophony.

Only the cramped alleys at the back of these buildings showed a seedier side of the street. Those that ventured there all had the desperate or dazed look of an opium eater, and the groans and moans coming from them were hushed, menacing, a stark contrast to the wild exhilarating noises of the front.

"You haven't tried opium, have you?" Thu asked Ralph, her eyes fixed on those dark alleys.

"No. I haven't any money," he said, as if a lack of funds was the only thing keeping him from those dens of vices. "I've tried the occasional cocaine back home though," he added casually.

Thu quirked an eyebrow at him. "You were really living up to that Bright Young Things stereotype, weren't you?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, puzzled, but there was no time to explain, for they had arrived.

A two-story building in the traditional Vietnamese style rose up in front of them, with a sign saying Pagode. Pagoda. Interesting name for a dance hall.

Mai ran toward a man waiting by the front door. The dashing Louis, no doubt. As they approached, Thu saw that he was quite dashing indeed—a little older than the rest of them, in his thirties perhaps, with a handlebar mustache that was forever lifting up to show his dazzling teeth underneath, and bright, laughing blue eyes. Mai made a round of introductions, and Louis kissed all the girls' hands. Thu could understand why Mai was swooning. Heck, she could've been swooning herself, if she hadn't caught Louis throwing a quick, derisive glance at Ralph, which made her take an instant dislike to him.

Louis offered to pay all of their entrance fees, though Ralph insisted on paying for himself and Thu. Thu could've easily paid for herself, but she rather enjoyed that subtle fight for dominance, and when Ralph finally offered her his arm as they went through the door, she took it.

Mai looked over at the carnations in Thu's hand. "Wait," she said. "There're six stems there. That's bad luck."

Right. Thu always forgot this one rule, and more than once her mother had chided her for buying an even number of flowers. She broke off another flower and tucked it into Ralph's lapel. "It's bad luck to have an even number of flowers in a bouquet," she explained to him in English.

Mai clapped her hand, satisfied. "Now you look like a proper couple!" she said in Vietnamese.

And they did, with the carnation in her hair matching her áo dài and the carnation on his jacket. Thu's face was in danger of getting overheated again. She stared daggers at Mai. This was basically the equivalent of a little girl making her dolls kiss, and she would not submit to it.

"What did she say?" Ralph asked, smiling.

"Nothing," Thu said.

But then they entered the dance hall, and Thu's jaw dropped, her embarrassment completely forgotten. Now she understood why it was called The Pagoda. The interior was decorated like a traditional Vietnamese pagoda or temple, all crimson lacquer and gold leaf. Hundreds of lamps and candles cast their flickering flame the gilt carvings on the walls and the ceiling. At one end of the enormous room was a raised platform, surrounded by lacquered columns with gold dragons climbing up them. The band sat on the platform against a waterfall, an actual waterfall, the tinkling sound of water flowing over rocks into the pool below serving as a backing track to the music. Couples, French and Vietnamese, were swaying across the waxed dark wood floor, the ladies' dresses and áo dài twirling, the men's shoes tapping and clicking in time to the music.

"Isn't it amazing?" Mai shouted above the din. Thu could only nod.

They found a table at the edge of the dance floor. Waiters, dressed in traditional garb, were weaving their way between the tables and the bar, carrying trays laden with wines, champagnes, and liquors. Louis, who had clearly been there before, waved to some of his friends, and soon a steady stream of acquaintances was drifting by their table, shaking hands with the men and bowing to the girls, as Mai explained that Louis had promised to find partners for all of them.

Then the band struck up, the dancing began, and Thu suddenly realized how out of depth she was. This was the one area where people of the past were superior to her. She had no sense of rhythm and movement. She kept stepping on Ralph's toes and turning the wrong way and bumping into other couples. The few times she'd been to clubs with friends (never with Hoang, who thought such things were a waste of time), she had resorted to the universal moves of jumping up and down and vaguely wriggling her body to the music. That would not fly here. For a moment, she wondered hysterically what would happen if she started playing Lady Gaga or K-pop from her phone right now.

Ralph, on the other hand, was in his element. He knew every dance, and he danced them well, with little flourishes that Thu suspected wasn't strictly correct but looked like fun. A regular Fred Astaire. He tried to teach her something called the Charleston, but the moves were so complicated that she soon gave up and retreated to the table. She'd half-hoped Ralph would keep her company, but he didn't even seem to notice her departure. He stayed on the dance floor, dancing with the other three girls with great enthusiasm.

She wasn't jealous, not really. They were nothing to each other; she had no grounds to feel jealous. It would be selfish to want him to sit with her while he could be out there, having fun. She just felt a little left out, that was all.

Louis came over and asked her, in accented English, to dance. "Thank you, but no, I'm no good," she said. "It seems I have two left feet."

"That's only because you didn't have the right teacher," he said with a leer. She rolled her eyes, but at that point, she heard one of Mai's friends giggle over something Ralph was saying, and without knowing why, she put her hand into Louis's and let him lead her out on the dance floor.

It was a slow dance, and Louis was holding her too close for comfort, but she said nothing. She glanced in Ralph's direction. He was looking at her and Louis with a scowl. Good. Let him feel a little of what she'd been feeling.

"You speak English very well," she told him.

"Thank you," he said, and his mustache lifted in a grin. "Mai told me you studied in Hong Kong." That was the story Thu had given to the newspaper staff to explain why she could speak English and not French.

"That's right," Thu said, concentrating on not stepping on his toes.

"I've been there. Nice place."

Thu's stomach dropped. She replied with a wary, non-committal "Yes".

"Nice girls too," Louis continued. "Very independent. Very free with their affections. Unlike these demure girls of Tonkin. Though I have to say, that has its appeal too."

He was definitely holding her too close now, and his hand was creeping below her waist. She stared at him in disbelief, and in response, his teeth flashed again under his mustache. Did he see her with Ralph and think she was one of those girls? Did Mai know? She took Louis's hand from her waist. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said through gritted teeth, bending his wrist back as far as she could. He grimaced, probably more out of surprise than pain, but it gratified her nonetheless.

Just then, she heard Ralph say something in French behind her, and Louis dropped her like a hot coal and scurried back to the table, massaging his wrist as he went. Ralph stepped into his place.

"I could handle myself just fine, you know," she said. She didn't want Ralph to think she was some sort of damsel in distress.

"I know," Ralph said. "I just thought maybe you'd like a dance with the birthday boy."

"It's no fun dancing with a terrible partner," she muttered. "Go dance with Mai again. She's a much better dancer than me."

Why was he grinning at her in that annoyingly knowing way? "But this is the foxtrot!" he said.

"I don't know what that means."

"Anybody can dance the foxtrot, especially if it's slow."

As if on cue, the band struck up a sweet, romantic melody. The couples around them drew closer to each other, looking like they were just swaying together in place.

Thu tried to pull back. "I don't know—"

"Close your eyes."

"Close my eyes?!"

"Trust me."

Grudgingly, she complied. The dance hall with its dazzling light and bewildering noises gradually faded away, and all was left was the feel of his hand holding hers, his fingers, strong but gentle on her back, the warmth of his body against her, and his voice softly in her ears. "Just follow my lead. Step forward when I step back, and vice versa. It's that simple. Don't think about it. Don't fight it. Forward, back. Forward, back. Forward, back... See, you're doing it."

Startled, Thu opened her eyes and realized that yes, she was dancing, they were dancing, bodies moving in sync with each other, smoothly, effortlessly, without thought. But the moment she became aware of their movements, the awkwardness was back, and she missed a step. "I told you, I can't," she said apologetically, and before Ralph could stop her, she let go of his hand and walked out of the dance hall.

***

Thu stood in the cold evening air outside the dance hall, trying to catch her breath. She could still feel her whole body fizzing from the dance, from Ralph's touches, and she looked around, distracting herself with her usual pastime of finding the modern landmarks amongst the contemporary houses. With a jolt, she suddenly remembered that none of these remained in her time.

She had learned about the Christmas bombing of 1972 in school, of course, but since her family wasn't even living in Hanoi at the time, she had always regarded it as just another tragic point in Vietnam's history. Yet now, standing here on this gaily lit street, with the sound of music and singing and laughter coming from every doorway, she was struck by an intolerable melancholy.

Ralph stepped out onto the pavement behind her. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Why did you run off like that?"

"I just need some air."

He came to stand beside her and peered at her face with concern. "Was it something I did?"

"No, of course not! Why'd you ask?"

"You're looking rather upset."

"I was just thinking about how all this will be gone in about 40 years or so. Razed to the ground."

"What?"

In her mind, Thu could almost hear Doc Brown ranting about the space-time continuum. But she had told Ralph enough about the future already, and this didn't directly involve either of them, so she figured she was on safe grounds.

"In 1972. We were at war with the US. They bombed this entire area. Almost 300 people died. In my time, there's a memorial to the victims, right about there." She pointed across the street. None of the houses would be standing, but she could gauge the position by the train track.

She didn't realize she was crying until a tear splashed on her hand. She didn't even know why she was crying. It was silly, of course. By 1972, those people currently laughing and dancing and enjoying themselves would already be dead or have moved on; it was unlikely any of them would be killed in the bombing. So why did it make her so sad? Was it because she could feel such terrible poignancy in their oblivious merrymaking? Nobody knew what horrors the future would bring. Nobody understood. Nobody cared. Perhaps except for Ralph.

And he did care. Silently, he put an arm around her and drew her close.

"Sorry I was a grump earlier," she said. "I didn't mean to ruin your birthday."

"You didn't ruin it. The night's still young."

He still smelled of Palmolive soap, and the smell reminded Thu of the day she'd first arrived in 1929, confused and exhausted, how he had helped her then, and how he had stuck with her throughout it all. Filled with gratitude and affection, she turned and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a full embrace. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the hug. She leaned her cheek against his chest and breathed out, feeling the lump in her throat dissolving. It would probably shock the locals to see a man and a woman holding each other so closely, even on a street as wild and free as Kham Thien, but she didn't care.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"For what?"

"Just—for being here. For listening. For helping."

"I haven't helped much."

"No, you have. A lot. I couldn't have survived the last few months without you."

"Nor I you."

She lifted her head to look at him, only to realize he was bending down to her, their faces so close she could see the reflection of the lamplight in his eyes and the shadows of his eyelashes. Good Heavens, why is it always men that have such long eyelashes? It's really not fair.

Then he parted his lips slightly and slid his hands further down, to her hips, where his thumbs almost grazed the tiny triangle of bare skin between the top of her trousers and the slit of her áo dài. Her breath slowed, and she suddenly wondered what it would feel like to kiss those lips, to feel those hands on her body, to—

No. Such thoughts were stupid. And dangerous. They would only mess everything up. She'd had a nice time here, but she couldn't stay forever. Besides, Ralph probably wasn't interested. He probably still held a torch for Lauren. How could she, a museum archivist who spent her days amongst dusty old tomes and dusty old bones, compete with a jazz drummer? And he was almost a hundred years older than her. Ew, ew, ew. No. She wasn't going to fall in love with some centenarian, no matter how cute he was. Of course, she knew he wasn't really older than her; in fact, if counted by their actual ages, he was four months younger. But if that was what she must tell herself to get rid of this pounding in her heart and this burning in her veins...

So why was she still holding on to him? And why did she part her mouth as well and lean toward him, closing that tiny gap between them—

"Oh, there you are!" Mai shouted from the doorway of the dance hall. "Come in, you're missing the tango!"

They sprang away from each other like two teenagers caught by a parent and stood awkwardly apart, not knowing where to look or what to do. Then Ralph cleared his throat and extended a hand. "After you," he said.

As Thu went past Mai to enter the sweltering interior of the dance hall, she saw the other girl grin like a weasel amongst chickens. "Shut it," she grumbled at Mai, but Mai's grin only got wider. Nothing happened anyway, Thu thought defensively, even though she couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment at that.

***

They danced late into the night. Thu didn't improve much, but she learned to have fun with it and not mind when she made the wrong move. After the tango, it was the waltz, which she did better, and something Ralph called the quickstep, which was so fast and energetic that it left her quite breathless.

Laughing, they returned to the table to find that Mai and Louis were gone. When Thu asked if they'd seen the couple leave, Mai's two friends only shrugged and gave her meaningful looks. Thu's conscience pricked, remembering how Louis had tried to grope her. Should she have warned Mai? Would the girl even listen? Thu tried to put the whole thing out of her mind. After all, it wasn't her business, and she must remember not to apply her modern thinking to these people's lives.

Ralph walked her back to her boarding house. "Would you like to come in?" she asked as they reached the front door. Then, realizing that he might take it the wrong way, she quickly added, "It's just that I have a surprise for you." No, that sounds worse.

"Didn't it ruin the surprise though, you telling me about it?" Ralph said, grinning.

"Not if you don't know what it is yet."

They went quietly up to her room—her landlady would have a conniption fit if she found out Thu was bringing home not just a man, but a Westerner, no less. Ralph stood awkwardly looking around the little room with its simple furniture—just a table and two chairs, a cupboard, a dresser, and a bamboo screen to hide the bed.

"Close your eyes," she told him. Good Heavens, it really does sound like I'm trying to—

He obeyed, a smile still hovering on his lips. Thu went to her cupboard and took out the little gateau she'd bought from a Western-style bakery on Sugar Street, stuck a candle on top, and lit it. "Now open them."

Ralph did, and his face lit up even more brightly than the candle. "Oh," he said, his voice soft. "You shouldn't have."

"It's no trouble," she said. "Just don't make me sing 'Happy Birthday', because I absolutely cannot hold a tune." She held the cake up to him with a grin. "I don't want to torture you with my singing. It's your birthday after all."

He closed his eyes again and blew out the candle. "No, you don't have to sing," he said, looking at her with glittering eyes. "You've done more for me than anyone ever has. Thank you, Autumn." He was right. It did sound more romantic.

He pulled her into a hug.

"Careful of the cake!" Thu squealed.

"Oh—"

Laughing, Ralph leaned down to inspect the cake while Thu lifted her head to look at him, inadvertently bringing their faces so close to each other that their lips touched briefly.

It was so brief that Thu wasn't even sure if it had really happened.

"Sorry," Ralph mumbled, pulling back.

"No, it's fine—"

"I should go."

"Don't forget your cake."

"I won't. Good night."

He took the cake, and, without looking at her, ran out the door.

She leaned against the door, her whole body tense, half expecting him to come back, half afraid that he would. Only when his footsteps had faded away completely that she started to relax, though the tingling on her lips, where their mouths had touched, remained, and the yearning in her heart remained for even longer.

Chapter 9

[nicklloydnow]

“At 95, the Chilean-born cult director rejects being tied to a physical location or nationality, not even to this planet or to his own body. The concept of a city seems irrelevant to him. And when I ask him what he thinks of Los Angeles ahead of his upcoming visit, he replies with a cheeky query of his own.

(…)

Talking to Jodorowsky is a metaphysical experience. His brain-expanding remarks about humanity’s status in the cosmos often require some contemplation to digest. For example, take his lyrical musings on why film continues to entice us.

“Cinema is an opening to creation,” he says. “We are tired of being locked in a physical body. We want to open ourselves up because we see free bodies everywhere, in the seagulls flying or in a gram of dust that the wind carries.”

(…)

His heady statements match what he’s put onscreen and on the pages of his comics over the last 60 years. As esoteric in meaning as they are mesmeric in their imagery, the films of Jodorowsky are modern-day fables. To enter them is akin to walking in a dream where one must accept a bewildering logic.

(…)

Hallucinogenic cornerstones of the original midnight-movie scene, Jodorowsky’s work has long been an expression of countercultural transgression, the kind that could be called a trip. There’s always a visual dialogue between carnal desire and enlightened thinking.

Why does he think his movies have endured over the decades?

“Because they are true,” Jodorowsky says, with stark conviction. “They were not made by producers. They were made by people who love art. When they watch them, people always say, ‘These films are more modern than what’s currently out.’”

Still artistically active, Jodorowsky has a full schedule in Los Angeles. Apart from doing Q&As at his screenings, he will present an exhibit titled “Another World,” featuring paintings co-created with Montandon-Jodorowsky (under the joint moniker pascALEjandro) at Blum Gallery.

And to top it off, he will host a screening of his 2019 documentary “Psychomagic, a Healing Art,” accompanied by a masterclass on the therapeutic practice he devised using creativity as a vehicle to heal both emotional and bodily ailments. Jodorowsky’s book on the subject, “The Way of Imagination,” hits shelves later this year.

“It is a free healing that comes out of my love for humanity,“ Jodorowsky says of psychomagic. “A human being cannot achieve what he wants in this world or in others if he does not do acts of love.”

(…)

Never one to mince words, Jodorowsky declares that movies are in a period of decline, especially what’s coming out of Hollywood, a system he calls a “prison” and one he would never subject himself to.

“I’ve made 10 films, which for a film director is few,” he says. “Another may make 100 movies because he makes fairy tales. He can repeat himself. There is no huge mystery to discover in those films. Real art is not about totally entertaining the viewer but about changing their life.”

(…)

He cares little about materialistic notions of success. “Look at me, I am 95 years old and I’m here talking so much stupidity,” he says with an infectious smile. “I’m having fun. And if I can have fun, I succeeded. I’m not suffering. I’m happy to be creating in every possible way.”

At his age, Jodorowsky’s thoughts often turn to what’s next for him — not professionally but when he transitions from this plane of existence and ascends into something greater.

“I am condemned to spend less time on Earth,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “I have fewer years left than you. Because you have a black beard and I have a white beard. White indicates less time alive. I have to accept that, but I’m not in decline yet.”

Even when his mortal body no longer shares this space with us, he plans to refuse to disappear.

“I will not be an immobile skeleton,” he says. “I’m going to be something else because I believe that there is eternal life. You and I are going to be talking in a different way. We’re going to talk for thousands of years. That’s my hope.””

[stopaifromharming]

AI is so much more dangerous than we think

"AI is not going to take out jobs, anytime soon"

but it is taking our jobs, the scriptwriters, the authors, the actors who didn't give consent to have their face stolen, the artist and poets.

"AI is innovative"

yes it is. but why shouldn't it be regulated?

"I don't care about the artists, they will always be around"

what about when those same artist hve opportunities taken away because some lazy person in the internet couldn't be bothered to take their skill?

"its cool though"

its not cool when its about you. for art, maybe. its not so 'cool' when you find yourself in court, facing charges for a crime you never committed. its not 'cool' when leaked videos and pictures of something life changing that never actually happened cause a social unrest. its not cool when it hits the grid, the infrastructure, and makes us vulnerable to hackers.

im not saying AI isn't innovative, it is. it is amazing that the human mind could've created something so similar to a human brain, to the point where we can have conversations and it can make its 'own' art and poetry. but like any other dangerous human creation, it should be monitored. it should be regulated.

there are women and children right now who have incredibly inappropriate pictures of them floating around in the internet, because someone used AI to fake them. there are people getting scammed because hackers are taking their loved one's voices to manipulate their emotions and get money. there are artist, writers, actors and poets who are losing their craft to a machine, and in the meantime losing their jobs.

is this what society has done to us? water us down so much to the point where we choose comfortability instead of innovation and free thought?

it has. society has done this to us and im not surprised because like everything else, nothing contains love anymore, nothing contains craft and time. just whats more quick, easier, and cheaper to make.

AI doesn't only affect those in the arts. as much as some of y'all hate to admit it, it affects you too. AI affects ever single one of us, and if you don't think we're going to become incredibly dependant in the future of it, you're terribly mistaken. if a few teenagers can use AI to ruin their classmate's life by leaking nudes, what do you think proffesional hackers can do to our infrastructure? our voting system? our phones? there has to be an AI in everything, snapchat, instagram, google. rechase it. ignore it. speak out against it. if we don't use it, we won't encourage it.

AI is so, so dangerous. one faked image, and you could be convicted of a crime you never even did. one fake video, and the people can start protesting, social unrest can rise, chaos will release. AI has no accountability. it invades privacy, it erodes our creative thinking. its misinformation and manipulation. it tells us that we don't need to try, we don't need to even think for us to be able to make something that once require love.

i think AI could be something wonderful, it could help so many lives. but why does it have to make movies and poems, while humans still work in the mines? we have to push our government to put regulations on this new beast. we have digged and found something shiny, but we don't know what it is. we have to be careful. we have to put restrictions before we regret it later on.

i care about humans and i hope you do to. please consider if using your snapchat ai to do your homework is truly helping society, is truly helping yourself. think twice before generating an image.

AI is what we make it. let's not make it something we'll regret.

[taylortruther]

What do you mean by second person feeling self-indulgent?

i find that second-person either makes things sound extremely melodramatic, which is the self-indulgent part, common with fanfics or amateur writers.

but it also feels like an easy way to tell, rather than show, which imo is the trait of a pretty bad writer. (taylor jenkins reid is so bad at this, however, she doesn't write in second-person. but she doesn't really want her reader to think or draw conclusions or judgments on their own.)

"you did this, you feel that, you go to x place and you sit down" and so on. writing like that can be fast-paced or intense, but it can also sound extremely tedious and robotic.

it's hard to get too in-depth in second person, without very obviously telling the reader what to feel, what to think, conclusions to draw etc. about the character or plot they're embodying so it can sound awkward. i included some examples below. i feel like they lose something in second-person.

for example, here's a first person passage:

In the hospital men’s room, as I’m washing my hands, I glance in the mirror. The man I see is not so much me as my father. When did he show up? There is no soap; I rub hand sanitizer into my face–it burns. I nearly drown myself in the sink trying to rinse it off. My face is dripping, my shirt is wet, and the paper-towel dispenser is empty. Waiting to dry, I carve Jane’s name into the cinder-block wall with the car key. A hospital worker almost catches me, but I head him off with a confrontation: “Why no paper towels?”

and this is what it sounds like in second person:

You're in the hospital men’s room, and as you're washing my hands, you glance in the mirror. The man you see is not so much you as your father. When did he show up? There is no soap; you rub hand sanitizer into your face–it burns. You nearly drown myself in the sink trying to rinse it off. Your face is dripping, my shirt is wet, and the paper-towel dispenser is empty. Waiting to dry, you carve Jane’s name into the cinder-block wall with your car key.

third person:

He stood over the body in the fading light, adjusting the hair and putting the finishing touches to the simple toilet, doing all mechanically, with soulless care. And still through his consciousness ran an undersense of conviction that all was right—that he should have her again as before, and everything explained. He had had no experience in grief; his capacity had not been enlarged by use. His heart could not contain it all, nor his imagination rightly conceive it. He did not know he was so hard struck; that knowledge would come later, and never go. Grief is an artist of powers as various as the instruments upon which he plays his dirges for the dead, evoking from some the sharpest, shrillest notes, from others the low, grave chords that throb recurrent like the slow beating of a distant drum. Some natures it startles; some it stupefies. To one it comes like the stroke of an arrow, stinging all the sensibilities to a keener life; to another as the blow of a bludgeon, which in crushing benumbs.

second person:

You stand over the body in the fading light, adjusting the body's hair and putting the finishing touches to the simple toilet, doing it all mechanically, with soulless care. And still, through your consciousness runs an undersense of conviction that all is right—that you should have her again as before, and everything explained. You have had no experience in grief; your capacity has not been enlarged by use. Your heart cannot contain it all, nor your imagination rightly conceive it. You do not know you are so hard struck; that knowledge would come later, and never go. Grief is an artist of powers as various as the instruments upon which he plays his dirges for the dead, evoking from some the sharpest, shrillest notes, from others the low, grave chords that throb recurrent like the slow beating of a distant drum. It startles some natures; it stupefies others. To you, it comes like the stroke of an arrow, stinging all the sensibilities to a keener life; to you, it's as the blow of a bludgeon, which in crushing benumbs.

[shslskaterboy]

Anon who asked your faves here- Good choices!!! :D all amazing characters. Will you tell me more about why you like them? :3c (i want to hear your thoughts and give you the chance to talk blorbos!)

O_o you honour me anon, I’m really about write a whole essay Godspeed 🙏

I love Sakura and Mondo because I am, and always have been, a complete sucker for buff people who are actually so soft. Mondo really made himself cry when he talked to Makoto about his dog and I will never be able to get over that. Sakura is the ultimate martial artist and people are always terrified of her at first glance but then it turns out she’s sweet and soft and feminine and cares deeply for her friends and her moral principals. Also they’re so gay so like that automatically gives them a million points

MAKOTO my darling dearest boy is so delightful, so optimistic, and also such a little freak (affectionately). He is truly the glue that holds the group together, he is so relatable, he’s secretly a snarky little bitch, and he’s the littlest guy ever in the world 🥰 Also something else that not only pertains to him but also the other protags as well that I love is the journey from being so insecure so realizing their true capabilities, which I just love for them

Gundham my beloved, was instantly so high in my list because he is A Goth, he has Hamsters, and he is so unapologetic about who he is. He wears all black, he loves eyeliner, he loves animals, he Talks Like That, he knows who he is and he likes to have fun, and he really does come to love and care for his friends and classmates by the end. He makes connections. He’s so autistic but that doesn’t stop anyone from loving him. He is everything to me ❤️

Keebo was immediately my fave in v3 because he is also such an autistic representation and he is immediately so sassy in scene 1, he is straightforward and intelligent, and his whole existence raises so many interesting philosophical questions about AI which I will probably talk more about in its own post, and he’s just so pure, so lovely. I love him. Best boy.

Shuichi baby. How can I even do him justice. He’s shy, he’s insecure, he’s a little emo boy (I see all black and I pass out and hit reblog), and he just needs a hug so bad. Also his arc is so satisfying to me, he undergoes grief, anxiety, depression, and he still comes out the other side stronger than he ever was. Also sassy, he has that signature protag sass and I love it.

Miu was a fave because she’s literally sooo annoying like why is she like that? Is she insecure too? Probably! But her methods of coping are so opposite to anyone else in the series (apart from toko/syo who I also like for the same reasons) that it’s just so comical. She hilarious, she’s also unapologetic, and she’s really out here just saying whatever. We love to see it.

Hajime and Nagito are so prevalent in my mind that I don’t even know where to start. There’s so much to say, and so much of it has been said already, but that won’t stop me from trying. They are mirrors, they are complimenting colours, they are victims of circumstance, they are the only ones who understand each other. They are so snarky, they’re smartasses, they’re simultaneously the smartest and dumbest people in the room at any given moment, they’re so insecure it hurts, but they’re so strong in their convictions that nothing short of the end of the world can shake them. As characters they are complex, they are funny, they are tragic, they go and in hand like chilli and dark chocolate, and that I think is what makes them each compelling as their own individual people as well. I have so many thoughts I cannot even hope to articulate. They’re just so. Soo. AAHG. Ya know?

[prozac-cat]

i think this has made me realize my thoughts on AI art (writing, images… whatever) has much more to do with intention and much less to do with effort or soul or ownership or what have you.

like i FEEL a visceral repulsion from so much AI art i see centered in conversations like these, but i studied this issue in a philosophy class like a year and a half ago and still had trouble figuring out exactly where i stand. like i’ll say AI art bad but i don’t really know what i mean by that, and i’ve seen plenty of pro-AI art arguments — most of them taking the same route this comic is — that are very convincing. i learned everything from somewhere. like existence to a degree is derivative. so how can i say AI art automating that process is fucked up and evil if i do it myself all the time?

anyway i think what OP did that’s cemented things for me is specifically using the term “ownership.” not to be anti-capitalist BUUUT… ownership, copyright, all very capitalist ideas. we have to know who owns the thing and who is allowed to sell the thing so the Right people make money. it’s undeniable that modern society (at least that i’ve been exposed to idk idk) has commodified art. if we hadn’t, how would artists support themselves? we show artists their work is valuable by assigning a value to it.

i don’t mind AI art when it’s done for the good of art, i think is what i’m settling on. i don’t even think i honestly care if i can tell apart people-art from AI-art (wherever that distinction lies). what i find myself reacting to and what i definitely care about is i think primarily that the Market ™ will determine that AI has made art so easy, so fast, that artists’ work is no longer valuable, and therefore no longer gets assigned a value. especially if its at the cost of expression. the james somerton types, who look at the humanities and see a disparate gap between effort and profit.

because (i fear) they aren’t looking at AI as a boon to art — they’re looking at it as a new way to cut costs, taking from artists they otherwise would have paid for their “property” to make something slightly to the left. and in the worst case scenario (which may or may not be realistic), this cuts down people who do genuinely care and leaves only people creating soulless (not in the human input sense — in the “this is generic and vague and not really impactful when you look closely at it” sense, which both AI and humans create) stuff.

i hate AI art when its opportunistic. i love it when it adds to our repertoire. and if i didn’t feel a very urgent dread that even improving it as a tool would just add fuel to the exploitative uses, i probably wouldn’t care very much. the ownership wouldn’t matter if it didn’t matter, you know?

i don’t know if a world where this isn’t an issue is like actually within reach — i would like to believe that it is, i’m not really Learnéd on government structure and i’m not going to be — but i would love it to be reality. the arguments that sway me are the ones that really seem to care about art, like this really beautiful comic. i want art to be super collaborative. i think that kind of thing is beautiful. & i think its ugly (but currently necessary) to think of it in terms of property and material value.

this might all be nothing. i’m still kind of hammering it out in my head, but its the most convicted i’ve been on the topic in like two years so i wanted to get it down. i’m gonna be thinking about this piece for a while.

"Original" Sin is what i've titled this piece. by me. sorry if you don't have "collapse long posts" enabled. I have many thoughts.

Transcript - References

[crater-lake]

168

10/21/24

I am going to decide to trust what exhaustion is saying about everything and still want to exist by the end of this entry. I am going to change the reason why I live. I will try to disappear to save myself (I bet Sebastian from choir, and Murod have never needed to get as low as this, but even this assessment is a farce of my ego.)

Platon said he was not interested in me but I understood that this was going to happen from his lack of interest over DMs. I wanted to give that a neutral assessment to be righteous but I was wrong about that. I should have judged it, and did. I defended myself well and forgive myself for being boring, ugly, and not artistic enough, even though being artistic was once everything. He did not want to capture me with his photography eyes. Maybe he could tell I was a fraud that I can only ever half tell when a poem is good, and that my small, stupid books, my self deprecating talk about shame and lack of conviction (how he has survived his life and I have lived mine) and that I am just ugly. My hairline is receding and my face is fat and my clothes are average. I had this thought tonight: 2024 is the year I really see myself. My dreams are bullshit because I am a failing artist, like Miles and Jana. I don't know about the kernel of breath and the decay of language. Don't ask me questions that go any deeper than that. I will obviously become confused. I am a bad poet to the bone, and isn't that everything? And I am ashamed to be so fixated on my badness. Better people would just go and live but I am in a nothing room complaining about not living.

Platon needs men more interesting than me. I am frequently bored by myself and don't think I want a whole life at all. I don't dream of anything because I know I am not who I am. I am not. I am not even worth love by my best friend who I know will just think I am boring one day too. And Matt will also see through my fraudulence and decide on how I am just some stupid fucking guy. Platon said I was smarter than him and it's not true at all. I just don't know when I shut up. I just don't know how else to love myself besides to find myself interesting. And whenever I can move on to the next thought, imagine what will come of my precious life.

I see Josh walking into the cafe, I see Josh sitting on the bus in 2018. I see my journal listening. Today I read how the old Austrian people are looking for love and cried, thank god for that cry. I see my journal listening. To the third person stories. In my dream, Frankie is on a trampoline hitting someone in the nose. Molly is having an awkward kiss in a kitchen that smells a little wrong. I can hear those voices too when I really listen. I don't mind that I am bad at telling stories. I just say that action parts. I just cannot stand anticipation and don't care for it. I imagine how much more lovable I'd be if I could tell a story well.

What does my head mean lying on Platon's shoulder? I'm sitting at a table and we are drinking and playing truth or truth. They say they are afraid to die and I feel so bored. I said I am afraid that I am not the main actor in my own story. I do not say my actual deep fear of loneliness. I like how business does not include love usually. Emily says talk to me if you need as I wish I didn't exist. The problem is if I stopped existing it might be a slippery slope and that love subtraction would build up and up and up. I have nothing to say about how dragon flies breathe by letting wind pass through them. I don't care or understand how that connects to grief. I am a boy who wants a rock thrown at him. Platon was wrong about the right things and right about the wrong things. Leaves do not speak by trees by wind. I make very boring and stupid comments about instrument. I make boring and stupid comments about Left and Right and Passion as Patior in Latin. Imagine if I were still in my season.

It was nice today how Alexandra didn't let me get any deeper in the self deprecating and didn't ask probing questions about my bad week. I didn't want to say it and didn't know how to. She also didn't want to hear it which I liked. She might find me callous at times, but I have trouble understanding what she likes about me at the moment. Forgiveness is acceptance that hurts you to do it (I can feel Charlie qualify everything with a sly metaphor). Forgiveness is acceptance that you don't want to do in the first place. Does forgiveness get tied to your reaction (choice) or the self (no choice). My aunt is dead and I stop being interesting after that. Ananya experiences unimaginable horrors and I conjure a 4 year old nothing ego death. I was snow globe important. I was night rolled sweetly into mint gum into the Walgreens I don't know how to get back into. I am a night I stay up too late for. And I must be alright since I am writing so much and whatever the words are talking to moves something.

Jay said You're chewing loud and Jay said something about .... and I didn't understand. Nate is annoying nearby. I don't want to exist but manage that like every girl has done since she was 14. I am new to not wanting a body or a name for a few minutes. I am so many dominoes waiting and never not once pummeling down. I am the nothing difference between have and be. I am a concept that makes someone important. I am a poem that I don't get. I tried to hide my self hatred but he scented it. You salt the Earth with your wanting.

The summer bugs stop at one point. I mistook the inhaling through my nostrils for the bugs I haven't heard since I left. What strange magic.

[illogicalghost]

big long political rant incoming

anyone else just feel no hope for this country. not to be a doomer but how the fuck does half of population support trump, easily the biggest not only dumbass to ever be president, but also known and convicted con artist and liar and all around scum bag. hell, how are half the people republicans? the party of being scared of your own shadow and constantly wanting to drag the country back to the dark fucking ages and basically make america a christian dictatorship? how do 100s of millions of people just... not care about other human beings? its absolutely mind fucking insane to me and the more i think about the more depressed i get. how the fuck are decent people supposed to make any progress in this stupid country if half of it just stomps their feet and screams and whines whenever they don't get what they want? i just watched a short interview with trump supporters, and they said "he seems like an honest guy who keeps his promises" HOW??? WHERE??? how in the FUCK can you believe that?? do they just plug their ears anytime anyone points out the thousands of terrible things he did to this country? do they just truly not give a single shit about people other than themselves?? on what fucking planet are these people living on? have they looked around at all, or are their heads just so far up their own asses that they'll never see it? and don't even get me started on fucking "undecided" voters. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU UNDECIDED ON? "hmmm one party seems to be taking away the rights of everyone who isnt a rich cishet christian male and the other party isn't. i wonder which party i should vote for?" as if the very lives of minorities aren't under fucking threat every second those ghouls are in charge of everything? and im not here to suck the fucking democratic party's dick because i hate them too, but at least they're not the fucking republicans, jesus christ is it really that hard of a decision? the only way we're ever going to see any semblance of real change around here is if we DON'T have the "let's actively make everything worse" party in charge, and yet somehow people are still like hmmm i don't knowwww 🤔 what the fuck is their problem? what the fuck is 50% of this stupid country's problem?? it's hard to be hopeful for tomorrow when everyday you wake up and some asshole governor has banned trans people again or whatever, or knowing the supreme court of soulless villains could just up and take away another human right at the drop of a hat, and no one's doing anything meaningful about climate change, and like 10 people have 80% of the world's money while thousands of people die out on the streets everyday because they can't bear the thought of giving out even a single cent of their precious capital, and and and and. it fucking sucks out there!! is it the major depressive disorder, or is the state of the shit world we have to live in?? i can't tell! how are we supposed to make the world a better place when it seems like half the people in it don't even care. shit is bleak, man.

[stisdale]

Jury Duty

The courthouse is new, and the jury waiting room is spacious, with lockers, a small kitchen, a little coffee shop near the stairs, large television screens and lots of comfortable chairs. The tall windows face east across the river, toward the mountain. But there are still two hundred of us pressed together for the next few days: all ages, old men in Carhartts and boots, young women in suits with briefcases. Even as late arrivals check in, we watch two long videos. One extols the civic responsibility of jury duty, and one—featuring our county’s racially diverse judges—teaches us about unconscious bias. A short, brightly smiling woman gives us polite but firm directions, and begins to call panels. There are three, and I am number 6 on the third panel.

Eighteen of us are seated in the courtroom. We get a long, friendly welcome from the judge, who reviews at length the reminders of unconscious bias, and tells us we are there for a trial on charges of harassment and assault. A sorry-looking fellow watches us from behind his young attorney. Brief clouds of bad breath float by, lingering fogs, and now and then I wonder how much virus the mists carry.

Each of us answers standard voir dire questions: Where do you live? Where do you work? What are your hobbies? Have you ever been the victim of a crime? What is your education? Do you know anyone in law enforcement?

It is difficult for many people to answer these questions succinctly. Have you been a victim of a crime? Yes, let’s start with when I was five and my wagon was stolen. But eventually it is my turn. I live in Northeast. I have a college degree. I am a writer. I have been the victim of two burglaries. I don’t know anyone in law enforcement.

Almost no one has been the victim of any crime, and the majority have some college education. But then the defense attorney asks us where we get our news. “Social media.” “Reddit.” “My mother.” “I don’t follow the news. “Friends.” Social media.” “Social media.” “Social media.” “Instagram.” (Instagram?) A few people mention the New York Times and NPR.  I make a list: New York Times, Washington Post, the local newspaper and radio stations.

The defense attorney asks us if we trust the justice system. I say that I am aware of a shortage of public defenders. The prosecuting attorney asks us how we would feel if the evidence consisted of an eyewitness. I say I couldn’t be able to convict a person based only on an eyewitness.

I am dismissed. Six people are empaneled, including the pony-tailed guy on DUI diversion and the old man next to me who had to be prompted to answer questions and actually said, “I’m not paying attention.”

I wish I had mentioned reading DW, The Guardian and Al-Jazeera.

Back to the jury room. The staff remains cheerful; the crowd remains restive. The screens show silent HGTV renovation shows. When the woman is ready to call another panel, she says, “I know. You will hate me. I am sorry!”

I am called back as the fortieth person on a panel of forty. The judge gives us a long reminder about unconscious bias, and tells us this is going to be a longer trial of several days for multiple serious charges: car theft, evading police. A handsome man with olive skin and a long black braid turns to look at us. The judge wants to know if a trial of this length will be a problem—“an honest problem,” she adds.

I am sitting next to a twenty-something woman with acne and brightly dyed hair who can’t hold still. She whispers to me; she is an artist, she can’t miss work, how can she get out of here? But she doesn’t raise her hand. Her legs jutter and shake.

Eight people are dismissed for hardship: a man who doesn’t speak English well, a few others who run a business on their own, and a gloomy sad sack of a man from my first panel, who says he is unable to speak above a whisper. Once again, I am near a flamboyant woman with long nails and lashes. She makes a lot of jokes; the defense here seems to like her. But she wants out. She does nails for a living and is losing income. It’s a hardship, she says. She is not dismissed.  

It is late in the afternoon and we are sent home for the day. The next morning, we are briefly seated and then sent to wait in the hallway. The fidgety artist never appears. We wait for almost three hours. People pace and stare at their phones and stare out the window at the heavy atmospheric river falling. A few people work on laptops. A few of us read. The woman with the long nails and eyelashes chuckles at her Instagram feed and noisily eats a foil-wrapped sandwich and a big packet of chips and a can of selzer. She mumbles and complains out loud to the room. Can’t we get this over with? How much longer does this go on? Now and then she heaves a big sigh. Everyone pray that we go soon.

Finally the clerk comes out to tell us that the case has been resolved, which I take to mean the guy pled and will do some time. But we are not dismissed. We return to the jury room.

It is an airport gate after several delays. Long silences. Inexplicable announcements. Staff in the background doing mysterious tasks. A few people grumble about the perceived but not articulated unfairness of it all. People nap, eat the expensive snacks from the coffee shop, stare at the silenced screens. A woman with the permitted circular needle does crochet and talks to everyone sitting nearby, though no one responds. The woman across from me has kicked off her shoes and curled up in the chair; she is on her ear buds, talking to a contractor about remodeling details. We are in a Bardo realm, suspended.

In mid-afternoon, the last panel of the day is called, twenty people. Most answer in a dead voice, Here, and rise to get their badges. “I know!” the woman says. “I am so sorry!” A few people never answer; they have wandered away. I want to be called. I feel lucky to be here. I’ve read four magazines and eaten a gyro and I believe in the jury system and it is only two days in two years. But clearly I am in the minority.

When we are finally all dismissed except for those kept in the courtrooms, I ask the woman what happens to people who don’t show up when their name is called. She says with the same bright energy she has maintained for two days. “It’s up to the judge, but maybe he makes them do jury duty all over again.” We both smile at this idea.

I ride home on the bus, rush hour. A boy plays a tinny video game. A kid in the back shrieks with anger. I can smell sweat and stale fried chicken. A man stinking of cigarettes holds his head in his hands, two garbage bags full of clothes at his feet. When the bus sways, people catch each other, apologize, turn to look out the windows again. These are my peers.

[nickgerlich]

Make Me A Sammich

Sometimes too much of a good thing can be a bad thing. You can reach saturation as well as satiation. You can only consume so much of anything, no matter how good it is.

Just ask the folks at Subway, the sandwich shop chain that recently sold to Roark Capital. The seemingly ubiquitous chain once had more than 27,000 shops in the US alone. In recent years it has trimmed some fat, and was down to 20,576 at the end of 2022. In many regards, this fast-food outlet is the Dollar General of dining. By comparison, Dollar General has more than 19,000 stores across the US.

To put things in better perspective, Subway dwarfs industry giant McDonald’s, which has 13,514 units across the nation. It’s just that Subway shops have always been smaller, and could easily fit into strip centers, seldom appearing in freestanding structures.

The family-owned chain had been trying to sell itself since last winter, and Roark, a private equity firm, reached an agreement to scoop them up for north of $9 billion. And always mentioned in the same breath is that Roark also owns Dunkin.

What they don’t tell us, though, is that Roark is a growing giant in fast food. It owns Inspire Brands, which owns—drumroll, please—not just Dunkin, but also Arby’s, Baskin-Robbins, Sonic, Jimmy Johns, and Buffalo Wild Wings. If this is beginning to sound like an empire, you would be right in your assessment. About the only thing missing from their portfolio is pizza.Give them a little time, and I bet they will fix that.

I do find it odd that they bought a sandwich chain when they already own Jimmy Johns. How they handle having two in the same domain is yet to be determined. But, it is possible through product and market differentiation that they can make both viable.

As for Subway, they had grown as stale as week-old bread. Their menu seldom changed, quality lagged, and the old $5 foot-long made it tough for franchisees to actually make money. As much as their audience-of-one model was great, and their “sandwich artist” motif appealing, it just became a tired concept. Competitors like Jersey Mike’s, Firehouse, and Quiznos were eating their lunch, offering far tastier and innovative menu items. Oh, and never mind the PR black eye when spokesperson Jared Fogle was convicted. It didn’t help.

I suspect that Roark will continue right-sizing the chain as it seeks to reinvent the brand. How it shakes out those franchisees is anyone’s guess, but it needs to be done. There was a time when Subway had such low costs of entry that practically anyone could afford it, and Subway would happily sell you a franchise, even if you were right across the street from your grandmother’s Subway shop. Their more-is-better strategy worked for a while, even if it did nothing to ensure a degree of local exclusivity.

And the comparison to Dollar General is fair. While DG is corporately-opened, the company typically opens stores where others will not or cannot, including rural areas and impoverished inner-city neighborhoods. Subway also opens shops where it might be the only franchised chain for miles, if only because the costs of entry are low.

But as I said earlier, too much of a good thing can turn sour. How many more Dollar General stores can we possibly support? And how many more sub sandwiches can we eat?

Good for Roark on its latest acquisitions. PE firms typically buy distressed companies, turn them around, and then sell them. Thus far, Roark appears to be intent on adding to its portfolio. There may be too much money to be made by just keeping them all. In fact, its ghost kitchen in Atlanta demonstrates both sheer genius as well as huge profit potential by combining all of its brands under one roof. And the food made under that roof is available only by delivery.

I see good things ahead for Subway. Roark is no Johnny-come-lately, and has the chops to prove it. Make me a tasty veggie sandwich on Italian, and I’ll call it good. Foot-long, of course.

Dr “And That’s A Good Thing, Not A Bad Thing” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[platonicpinotnoir]

Educated Monkeys & Flying Horses

Welcome to me blog sire...! I'll respond to any name, including Rhubi. Currently in my dragon ball phase.

This blog is new and this post is subject to change.

This blog is for disturbing things. But not exclusively - I have no allegiance to explicit taboo, and there is no point that I am trying to make in being deliberately gross (unless stated otherwise; and not to overshadow the artistic value, merit, and necessity of being purposefully counter or grotesque & macabre in a sensitive sense).

Things well within the range of acceptable/conventional and empathetic, and are still difficult and raw and honest and vulnerable, are of steep interest as well.

Even just things that I find BOLD! Given stigma or otherwise.

Anything piquant in a certain, potent way, frankly!

Also, this blog will GET PERSONAL. It's a mode to enable self-expression and self-comprehension, in the end.

This goes without saying but: This post is prone to change/replacement, as no one can tell the future, and who knows what features + atmospheres + intentions will move in and out of this blog (and in other words, myself). I don't know if I'll even have time to do what I want with this blog, or if I will even still care now that I've set my intentions and vented my passion. This is a personal journey that I'm already a ways into, and my opinions and mindset have changed a lot in that time. I would expect to post forward, toward deeper understanding and harmony, as well as in retroactive art-moods in order to express the backlog of ideas that I've entertained. But if the latter doesn't happen, that's alright. I'll try to let things pass with grace, then. I won't hold my horses, but I won't beat them, either.

It's unnatural, and natural given the unnatural circumstances: see it before you and accept reality. View it with due criticism, contempt, or aversion, and without taboo.

When it comes to fucked up art, my favorite themes are those of an inappropriate intimacy, a damning devotion, and misappropriated/forsaken parental/power dynamics - and/or anything that I can call "honey horror" as an aesthetic term.

I am also very partial to the patterns of freezing -> thawing and of a soul returning (hopelessness as felt by a character is one thing, but a true hopelessness by conviction of the author has never been my thing!). So the topic of health and healing will come up frequently.

Also there will be MORBIDLY SWEET THINGS as well because that is some real potent shit ...

Although - and I cannot overstate this - there will also be quite a fair amount of bullshit on this blog. It's what I do.

Healing is always in your loving hands.

TAGS:

Reblog - all reblogs (others' posts)

Art - reblogged art (mostly visual)

pinotnoirposts - all original posts (even if reblogged from another blog of mine--tagged at my own discretion)

rhubi arts - personal art tag

Trauma - Posts that are predominately or explicitly about trauma in a visible way, moreso than the rest (all posts will have an undercurrent naturally!)

Healing - Posts that predominately or explicitly carry the theme or hope for healing

SWEET - Things that are so very sweet and wholesome, or morbidly sweet

BLOOD - blood! An aesthetic tag. Red blood (literal and visual), flesh, intimacy, devotion, damnation

Categorical tags, like "Quotes," "Video," and "Music"

Fandom tags, like "dragon ball"

CONCEPT TAGS:

Castor & Cain - Tarble and Vegeta tag (dragon ball)

Table - I like Tarble so he gets his own tag. Mutually exclusive with the previous tag

Stay GORE-geous!