#can a fella not have a treatise?

[webyboy]

how did school make essay writing a bad thing. Writing down opinions is so fucking awesome. I just wrote a page of Superman opinions and analysis in a discord server and it felt awsome.

[queen-scribbles]

Like Mother, Like Daughter

For @pillarspromptsweekly fill 92: Mother. I was oh so very tempted by a variety of combos, but in the end went with Adi and her mama. Magda’s cool, and Adi takes after her a lot.

Adela loved her mother.

She really, truly did. Mama was the one who sparked her love for learning, fed her near-limitless curiosity, the one who listened the longest when Adela started rambling about some new discovery(even if their interests differed). They had a bond, a connection through their scholarly pursuits.

None of that made the words ‘Clean your room’ any more fun to hear.

“This place is a fire waiting to happen,” Mama said, with pointed glances at the books and scrolls piled on the floor, desk, shelves, even Adela’s bed. “One tipped candle and the whole house is in danger, dear,” she added with a gentle laugh. “Please try to wrangle your hoard into place on the bookshelves. Maybe a few on the desk.”

“Yes, Mama,” Adela nodded, swallowing a protest about how it was more comfortable reading in bed or the floor was best for spreading out large projects for comparison. She didn’t even know where she was going to start; the mess of reading materials had admittedly gotten out of hand.

Mama smiled and reached down to smooth back Adela’s hair before tipping her chin up. “I know exactly how overwhelming this sort of project can seem. Would you like some help?”

She nodded again, sighing with relief. “Yes, please.”

Mama chuckled. “Let me go check on the boys. If they’re both still napping, I’ll give you a hand. Start thinking about what you want to tackle first while you wait, hm?”

Adela did just that; deciding that getting the shelves organized was most important if that’s where everything was supposed to go. Once that was settled in her mind, she found herself too impatient to wait for Mama and set to work on her own. She did her work with such gusto, she was halfway through the first set of shelves before Mama made it back to her room. Unfortunately her plan meant making the room messier before she could make it neater; it would be much easier to get all the books in their proper place if she essentially started from scratch.

She saw the look in Mama’s eyes, the heartbeat where she almost commented on the increased disarray, before smiling in understanding of her daughter’s plan. “Good thinking, Adi. This way will save you from shifting shelves back and forth as you put things away.”

“Exactly!” Adela said cheerfully, hopping down from her step stool. “The stuff that’s out is so disparate, both alphabetically and topically, I figure it’s better to get it sorted out on the floor. Then I can put it all away in one go.”

“That’s my girl,” Mama said proudly. She pushed her spectacles up to rest atop her head. “How would you like me to help?”

“Um...” Adela bit her lip in thought a moment. “You can work on the scrolls.” They were the easiest part of this mess, and it wouldn’t have felt right to give Mama the harder job. Both because she was Mama and she spent so many nights up late, rocking Zac through another fit of colic. “Collect the ones you can find, organize them by... topic, I guess, is better for scrolls, then put them in the slots.” She gestured toward the standing rack on her desk/ She didn’t have nearly as many scrolls as books, and most of those were borrowed, so it was best to keep them apart, somewhat.

Mama nodded and started gathering scrolls. Most were already on the desk--or the floor nearby--just haphazardly piled, but a few had wound up part of her reading last night so were on the bed.

“What are you working on right now?” Mama asked as she gave each scroll a cursory glance to figure out how to sort it.

“Oh, the paper for Master Izel about the initial Aedyran expansion or colonization. I’m still trying to decide which sounds more neutral,” she admitted. “I don’t want to sound biased.”

“If that’s what you’re working on, then this is out of place,” Mama said, handing over a--frustratingly thin--book on the explorers of the Deadfire. “I haven’t seen that one before; is it another Lottie book?”

Adela nodded and scanned one of her book stacks to find where the slim volume belonged. “Yeah. She knows I’m trying to get my hands on anything that mentions Ilhana Guiserre, an’ she’s in this book..” She made a face. “Not nearly as much as I would like, but at least it was new information. Some more details about her attempt to find Ukaizo.”

“Mm...” The next scroll Mama found earned Adela a borderline reproachful look that would have been far more intimidating over the rims of her spectacles, but still did the trick. “Adela, what’s this?”

Oops. She’d forgotten she still had that one. “Just a short treatise on some... creative uses for a couple of Arkemyr’s spells.”

“Didn’t we agree you would wait until you were sixteen to learn any of Arkemyr’s contributions to the wizarding arts?” Mama’s tone was still lightly scolding, with a note of wry humor underneath. So she wasn’t in big trouble just yet.

“Yes, but I wasn’t trying to learn them, Mama, just curious how the author manipulated the existing spell energy for a different purpose than originally intended. ‘Specially with Arkemyr’s spells,” Adela explained, playing with her braid. “‘M actually done with it, just forgot to take it back.”

Mama chuckled as she started rolling up the scroll. “You are going to make an amazing wizard when you finish your studies, dove. And a top-notch scholar to boot. Do you really think you’ll remember these tricks when you start learning Arkemyr’s spells?” she asked, setting the scroll on the desk.

Adela squinted and bit her lip, wanting ti give an honest, thought-out answer.  “Probably? I still remember things from when I was ten an’ twelve. So it probably won’t get pushed out in just two years.” She shrugged. “And if it does, I’ll learn it again. If I want to. I’m not sure how many of Arkemyr’s spells I’ll actually care about; I just was curious and didn’t wanna wait to read that.”

Mama smiled as she looked through the tousled covers on Adela’s bed for any straggler scrolls. “I understand that urge all too well.” She laid the blanket back, mostly neat, when her search was done. “One of the texts I needed for my most recent study was out from the library and I nearly burst from impatience waiting for it to come back so I could have it. I just want to be sure you’re pacing yourself, Adi. Not reading anything you can’t handle.”

“I am,” Adela promised. “Pacing myself, I mean.” It was mostly--usually--true. But there was so much to learn. “What was this last study about? You seemed more invested than the few before it.”

The change of subject worked, and they spent the remainder of their time chatting about various research they’d done; whether for pleasure or purpose, and ranking the enjoyment of the latter. It made things go much faster, and before Adela knew it, they were halfway through shelving the freshly sorted books--aside from the volume on Readceran culture, that went by her bed--when Sirra poked her head in to let Mama know Zac was awake.

“I can finish by myself,” Adela piped up. “He’s probably real hungry by now, an’ it is my room. I should be the one doing most of the work, anyway.”

Mama smiled again and kissed the top of her head. “You’re a good girl, my dove. Once you’re done in here and I’ve settled your brother, perhaps we’ll have time to return that scroll and get you some new recreational reading, hm?”

She brightened and nodded. “That would be great, Mama. Thank you!” School reading on such an interesting topic as a another country’s culture was all well and good, but something new that was purely for fun would be fabulous. She hoped Zac calmed down fast, and Isi was in a good mood when he woke up. “Oh! And thank you, Sirra,” she amended, flashing a smile at her sister, who would likely wind up watching the boys(and Tia) if she and Mama did go to the library.

“Happy to help,” Sirra said with a cheerful shrug. “And Teinan was planning to visit after dinner, maybe I can rope him into helping if you two lose all track of time.”

“If he likes you much as I think he does, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Adela teased, batting her eyelashes playfully from halfway up the bookshelf.

Sirra rolled her eyes, but her ears twitched back in exasperation. “Adi....”

“Adela, don’t tease your sister. Especially since she’s helping,” Mama admonished.

“Sorry, Sir,” Adela said contritely as she climbed down.

“Eh.” Sirra smirked. “I’ll getcha back when you’re older and it’s your turn to have fellas calling on you.”

“Sounds fair.” Also, far enough off, Sirra would probably forget her threat long before it happened. “Now, lemme finish so Mama and I can go to the library.”

Sirra ducked out, and Mama was smiling as she followed. Of course she knew what a motivation ‘more books’ would be for her daughter. Adela was, after all, a lot like her mother.

[thepunchpoetryiam]

SOME PEOPLE ARE THEIR OWN SPECIAL LEVEL OF HELL BY J Christopher Alexander. PUNCH Reading in the papers daily it seems about hostilities insurmountable about incomprehensible treatises written by satanic deities most of us busy bleeding we wrote out our  thank you notes and never believing we'd see a vote we were reaching up and hanging them in the trees These are years of indefensible violence and  newly finessed disease an impenetrable sense of renewed dis ease Such are the memories of the Butthurt asswipes passing for the archetypes we were endlessly trying to please red and white come the stripes with a crumbling field of blue flying from a pole the people were me before meeting you and the virtues we extolled and a certain type of  freedom beyond the confines of our wildest Pipe filled goals Rules we were imbued were precious few and none of these were true and the rest were eagerly rounded up and seized    We've seen the last of those who chose to protest sent brusquely to their knees They threaten to outlaw the protest Because the cause is uncontested and sees them bitter from reeling from defeat you would see it where we're kneeling There is a bleeding in our streets There is blood in our neighborhoods and the memories of what was in the opening of our eyes in the hopelessness and resignation of our legion skies. Our so called seizured realities and the neediest low calorie zombies we have our knees in the flood growing through the alleys and the mud, flowing through the mud half the cost where it's flowing, sure the pregnancy is showing A cost we've no way of knowing Most people can't even tell you if their coming or going, they're worried about whether the weather is cold or snowing   A scurry of people who ought to be furious Promised not to blame anyone for being stupid, certainly intellectually incurious Usually selling me religiously to skid  Telling me to forgive, you know, just as Jesus did Hello, and hell to the morherfuckingl no do you think I look like Jesus, kid? Swell Folks who will fall for anything Will have already shown you how they fell SOME PEOPLE ARE THEIR OWN SPECIAL LEVEL OF HELL   We’re witnessing the scenes of suffering indelibly etched on each and everyone's television screens There between opulence and the flood avenged populace and our offerings of solace are leaner than lean The profits of the starving are powering those prospering by the hour and greasing the cars of the powerful and that's all average, as their advantage is nothing we haven't already seen Superstar politicians planning positions can't you hear the cancerous answers ravage like canned laughter or a ransom demand from their luminaries being ferried about by limousine.  Pornographic moans tragically echo through the Capitol hill rafters and sent singing from a staffer through a Senator's unanswered, endlessly ringing telephones and everything seems little more surreal than really horribly obscene. listening to the needs of the neediest being mocked and more worrisome than talk, is the shock sanguine never being any further than where we are and have always been,   It's not just in being mean we seem to especially excel It's well beyond any of those Evils  heretofore known   WARNING YOU FELLA SOME PEOPLE ARE THEIR OWN SPECIAL LEVEL OF HELL

[klforslund-blog]

Walking Sticks Correctly

My wife has graduated to a cane during her recovery from foot surgery.  I researched how to use them.  I also thought this could be an interesting Steampunk article as canes and walking sticks were popular in the 1800s.  So much so one article I found advised that if you walked behind man with his stick under his armpit, pointed at your eye, it was both polite and in the interest of public safety to gently push the tip down.  Easy big fella, you could poke an eye out.

Origins of the stick

As I learned ages ago, canes as self protection evolved from carrying swords.  It was no longer legal or fashionable to carry a blade, so the cane came about.  Turns out many of the same fencing moves still work.  As I’m not writing a detailed treatise, check out the References.

My Leg Hurts

We googled for the proper way to limp around with a cane.  It turns out; you carry the cane on the side of the good leg.  That’s was counter intuitive.  You plant the tip of the cane with the stride of the injured leg.  This has you leaning away from the bad leg, reducing the weight on it.  If you use the cane on the side of the bad leg, you would be less stable and carrying more weight on that side to complete the step.

Costume Concerns

I am an old hand at dressing up for RenFair, and over the years, realized one simple truism.  Whatever props you bring in your hand, you will have to carry the entire day.  Case in point, the fine walking stick I purchased for my steampunk outfit fell from the counter and landed on its head, denting the finish on the day I bought it.  Ouch.

Back when my mother was alive, she had a metal pronged cane for walking on ice.  There was a small clamped on addition to it that extended from the shaft an inch or two and had a rubber sole.  This enabled resting that sole on a table edge, keeping the cane upright and available.  Any steampunk worth their salt should be able to come up with a similar contrivance for their walking stick.  I’ll note here that I haven’t come up with quite the right addition for mine.  I did however find the actual product my mother had and there’s a link in the References section.  I am amused that it is the spitting image of a device she purchased more than thirty years ago and one I hadn’t seen in twenty.

Another solution I’ve seen in historical texts is hanging the stick on a button.  I cannot find greater explanation.  I imagine a regular walking stick with a strap hung on a button on my person, and see it bouncing around.  If someone knows what this is about, add a comment and I can add it to the article as a solution.

Without a solution, take care when you set it down to make purchases or when dining.  I have seen remarks that tucking a cane under the arm is gauche, but I find that’s safer than leaning it on the shop counter.  If you do tuck it under, put the top behind you, with the point down.  That is as safe as can be mustered while being respectful of others.

Self Defence

There are old manuals on the subject, and videos online.  I considered writing defense moves down, but I feel that martial arts are best learned under an instructor.  There’s safety concerns and bad habits to avoid developing.  Bartitsu, Hapkido, and Systema feature cane work.  Styles like Ishinryu that I trained in also feature a jo, a short stick of cane length.  The techniques from that apply to canes.

I will give you this legal tip.  Do not say you are carrying a cane for defense.  That makes it a weapon.  It’s either a walking aid, or a fashion statement.  Check the laws in your land for whether carrying something not specifically a weapon is legal.  Believe it or not, in some states, if you have a hockey stick and aren’t coming or going to a hockey rink, it’s considered a weapon.  A gentleman pays attention to rules both social and legal.

Caning With Style

Woops, that heading might not mean what I think it means.  Let’s assume you’re a gentleman and want the right amount of swagger without breaking the fine china as you strut about.

Seek a cane that isn’t too light or too heavy.  One you can carry all day without tiring, yet has enough weight it doesn’t fly out of your hand by its feather weight.  The height should be tall enough that you aren’t stooping to use it, nor arching your back to strut like a “bantam cock” as one article put it.

The next step is knowing one wears a cane rather than carries one.  It is part of your attire, not an accessory.  It should fit your outfit, which should fit the setting you plan to find yourself in.  A stroll about the park is not the same as dinner and opera.  The latter requiring your most formal garb.

Now to the actual wearing of a cane.  Fred Astaire is described as best demonstrating the flare one should have.  I suspect that the tap dancing is optional.  I studied as much footage and photos of cane wearers as I could, including a Kardashian beau.

Modest Usage

For those looking to safely operate your cane, this section is for you.  I will teach you the safe way to look dashing without attracting too much attention.

The Gripping

You might strike a pose with the cane held in hand by the shaft.  If your cane has a handle, you would grip it like a pistol.  Palm on top, middle finger and smaller wrapped around.  Your index finger may align and point down along the shaft, or reach past the shaft to wrap around the frontis piece.  If you have a knob style handle, that is a rounded head, your palm goes on top with your fingers reaching down around on all sides.  Your index finger should align to the front side.

The Walking

Similar to using it with a bad leg, the cane follows the opposite leg’s movement.  As you step out, it reaches out, both foot and cane land in unison.  It stays in place as you advance until your back foot comes up off the ground and you begin anew.

The Pointing

Remember the joke about the dirty end of the stick?  While it is rude to point, a time may come when you need to gesture in a direction.  If using your cane, remember that the end must never be higher than the head.  So when pointing at things low, you grip it by the head and point with the tip.  When gesturing at something high, you grip the cane by the shaft and gesture with the head.  Bringing the point up is a dirty or offensive move.

Putting on the Ritz

I can’t keep up with Fred’s moves, but with some practice, and spatial awareness so you avoid whacking somebody, you can spice up your look by knowing how to handle your cane.  That might be a double entendre.  Either way, I am certain this is what the old articles were complaining about men with canes swinging them about.  I found a video that moves slower, to follow the moves and style.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbsbbrIJ4xs

Try those with a cheap cane, outdoors, away from anything you might break.

References

Besides having trained in martial arts with sticks, I also know how to use Google.  Here’s what I found.

https://www.fashionablecanes.com/ABOUT-CANES.html

http://www.literary-liaisons.com/article064.html

http://www.thestickman.co.uk/the_history_of_walking_can.htm

http://www.arthritis.org/living-with-arthritis/pain-management/joint-protection/cane-tips.php

http://etiquipedia.blogspot.com/2016/12/walking-stick-etiquette.html

http://etiquipedia.blogspot.com/2014/06/the-etiquette-and-historical.html

http://www.bartleby.com/95/5.html

https://books.google.com/books?id=AT0RAwAAQBAJ&pg=PA244&lpg=PA244&dq=walking+stick++manners&source=bl&ots=SBynHYsL_D&sig=FE6H-ctWP6BHynM8sSWn6KwmhQ8&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjurobFp83WAhVN7GMKHUnFC5sQ6AEIjgEwDw#v=onepage&q=walking%20stick%20%20manners&f=false

https://murdocklondon.wordpress.com/2008/05/29/how-and-when-to-wear-a-cane/

http://www.luxurysecretsrevealed.com/news/this-is-how-you-walk-the-walk

https://www.amazon.com/Walking-Stick-Cane-Crutch-Holder/dp/B004MAERCG

[wilfordkvr041-blog]

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[willgallegos-blog]

Who needs a title?

You can already see how seriously I’m taking this now, right? I mean, I am TRYING to take seriously as in, I’m trying to organize my brain and thoughts because I’m lost. Oh so so lost, as is everyone, but I feel the sort of loss that goes in hand with not knowing who you are or what you like. Not feeling like a person. My girlfriend says it’s called disassociation (yes, I have a girlfriend and she is GORGEOUS and AMAZING).  That may be a bit mellow dramatic but it’s so hard to describe one’s self to another person. You can describe your favorite sports team or a program you know for work better than you could describe yourself. So I guess I’m gonna try to describe myself.

I’m quite interested in philosophy. I wouldn’t say I’m incredibly knowledgable, but I could keep up in a conversation. I’ve just started reading “The Prince” by Niccolo Machiavelli. He’s an old philospher and political theorist who made this treatise talking about realist approaches to otherwise idealist rulers. I haven’t read far yet, but I’ve heard he makes the claim that the treatise is about what a Prince (or principality, as he calls it) can learn from a tryant, or a not so nice guy. It’s interesting so far. I’ve started reading it because upon deciding that I wished to read more, I started asking myself what books I enjoyed reading. I’m a fan of fantasy, but only of those that are recommended to me. It’s too much energy to go out and find a decent fantasy novel out of nowhere. I appreaciate fiction as well but again, I have the same problem.

This brought me back to my freshman year of college where I had my first philosophy class. It was an elective of mine and hadn’t thought anything of it. But as the year went on, I was surprised to find that I grew more and more interested with the subject matter than I expected. I always think back to Jean Paul Sarte and although I have not read any of his works, one particular thought of his always stuck with me. He claimed that we are free to do anything and everything. Even in not choosing to do an action, we are indeed, making a decision, and free to do so. The only action we don’t have a choice in is making a choice.

I spoke with my brother about this a while back at a bar in NM. He has started reading books on Zen Buddism and completely countered Sarte’s point here. While I was on Sarte’s side, my brother argued that free will is an illusion and that we are bound by our characters or personalities, as many Zen Buddist will probably agree. He gave me an example. He told me that according to Sarte, I could kill him, my own brother, out of my own free will because I chose to. However, he argued that I could not because of my character and personality. I love my brother and have no desire to end his life and this is the exact point he is trying to make. My character prevents me from acting on my free will. If it was true free will, I could kill him. But my morals and character prevents me from doing so, hecne the claim that free will does not apply. 

Now this was the first time, in my adulthood, that I had a real, nice discussion with my brother. We were having drinks, debating, and laughing (a lot, we’re clowns). It’s a very special moment to me and I tresure it. I get very emotional about family, even if it’s small so don’t judge.

Well, I’m all pooped out. That’s it for now with all these random thoughts. See you next time fellas!