#either no one takes any from his house or a singular asshole steals the whole bucket

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

All: TRICK OR TREAT!

vampire marty as a late halloween treat :]

[scrumptiousalpacadeer]

Paul Thomas Anderson’s THE MASTER and what it may teach us about  mind-control vs freedom Post-Covid

So last night I watched The Master. It was a most pleasing way to spend a Saturday evening; alone, with two cats draped on the sofa and windowsill respectively, and it rounded off a pretty pedestrian Saturday mostly spent mowing and raking the lawn and scattering grass seed whilst *Boo finished reading Jacqueline Wilson’s Rose Rivers whilst occasionally appearing at the back door to yell; ‘mama, you’re driving me nuts with your gardening!’ Somehow I’d been looking forward to scattering my grass seed all week - the promise of moist new green growth on our dusty brown patches. Thing is - and there is a lesson in here somewhere - the grass seed box said it covered 10m square - I guess I got a bit carried away and basically I ran out after one corner. So one corner of my lawn will look like Eden, and the rest will continue to look like some deserted Sicilian scrubland... That’s life, baby, I guess. 

So anyway, The Master....dear God. There are many ways I could go with this...Firstly undiluted, scope, wonder, singular sensitivity, impossible mastery, extreme importance and sheer exalting, agonising beauty of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films is the subject of another post. (I’m still on a high from the explosive visceral experience of watching Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood and that was, what, 5 years ago? 10 years ago?) Then The Master came out in 2012 and P.T.A. raised his game even more. 

I could, and will another time, talk about the astonishing gift Joaquin Phoenix afforded the world with his embodiment of his character, Freddie Quell. (I say ‘embodiment’; ‘performance’ always strikes me as an incorrect way of describing an actors full immersion in an imagined character’s inner life.) To my mind, Freddie is one of the most affecting, heart-breaking, occasionally funny and downright truthful portrayals of a ‘broken’ man; an exiled, psychologically damaged, wild and lonely spirit who roams the world, desperate for love and acceptance, clearly one of the great ‘un-belonging’ of the post-war world in America. In one the open scenes he simulates fucking an over-sized figure of woman carved in sand on a hot beach, for the amusement of his army pals. In the final scene of the film, after his long long incredible journey , we see him caressing this sand woman again, resting his next to a large sandy breast. Oh poor dear Freddy Quell; my tears ran with him last night; knowing myself in this second viewing of the film, to be so like him. Perhaps one day I will be able to shake Joaquin Phoenix’s hand and say ‘thankyou so much for Freddie.....’ I often feel like that with actors work that resonates through the bones. 

I could also talk about how Philip Seymour Hoffman was possibly the greatest screen actor of his time, and how crazy it was that the world didn’t seem to mourn his tragic early death. Was it perhaps because he died of an accidental heroine overdose? - and this, well, didn’t sit very well with Hollywood. His embodiment here of Lancaster Dodd, charismatic leader of philosophical cult movement The Cause, is breath-taking. But then all his performances were breath-taking. I had a dream about him once (whole other post entitled CELEBRITY DREAMS coming your way); we were kind of friends even though I knew he was dead and his face kept appearing on billboards all over London. If, when; I meet him in the spirit world, I’d like to shake his hand and thank him for Lancaster Dodd and Brandt in The Big Lebowski, and Truman Capote, and also for providing me with one of the most pivotal theatre experiences of my life. August 2001, Edinburgh Festival, I witnessed his production of Jesus Hopped The A Train at The Gilded Balloon; this was running gold theatre. Within half a second of the play ending the entire full house erupted to it’s feet like we’d all been tasered from the floor. Thank you Philip...you gave me faith then that theatre is important; that art comes from dark places and revives...

I could talk about the astonishing crashing score composed by Radiohead’s guitarist Jonny Greenwood.

I could also talk about Amy Adam’s terrifying portrayal of Lancaster’s icy wife Peggy and her utterly brilliant final put-down to Freddie: “you either do this for a billion years, or not at all...” (she’s referencing Freddie’s abandonment of the cult she’s set up with her husband, but this line, I feel, could apply to motherhood...….)

                                                  * * * * * * * * * *

 It usually takes me two viewings for a films deeper meaning to seep in, and last night I was struck by what I see as the heart of the film. The core of the film is relationship between Freddie Quell and Lancaster Dodd; it’s an uncompromising study of male vulnerability and the cosmic search for ‘a father figure’...  On a bigger scale, its about how those in positions of assumed power and influence ( Dodd) rely on the adoration and worship of those whom society deem ‘worthless’ (Quell). It’s about the fragility and corruption of a society whereby a man promises freedom and empowerment to his followers (Dodd devises a system of ‘processing’ whereby he takes initiates back to past traumas through a curious mixture of interrogation and hypnosis and ‘cures’ them; he posits that his vision can cure leukaemia and will bring about world peace) and how those ‘disadvantaged’, the great ‘unloved’ can be absorbed into such an attractive lifestyle. In one painful scene, Freddie is taken to a party at a mansion, filled with monied people and luxurious things. Freddie is dressed smartly for the occasion; but is sweating with nerves and orders a scotch at the earliest opportunity, before hiding away in a side room and stealing an ornament. It took me back to my own exile, when, at the age of 17 I landed at Brentwood Boys School in Essex, and cut off from my parents, shattered from my sister’s suicide and a lifetime of confusion, I nonetheless attended many a glorious party; a perfect size 10 and top of the class, I knew how to say all the right things. But, like Freddie, I knew I didn’t and wouldn’t ever fit it. Like him, I would often sneak off to the side rooms, get off my head drunk to hide my shame and hopeless, and cause some fight..

In the end, despite himself, Freddie starts to see through Lancaster’s bullshit and returns to his life on the road. Though The Cause had given him a home, suits and ties, friendship, respect and a certain ‘standing’ that he could only have dreamed of, as he confesses to Peggy at the end, before returning to his own brand of personal lonely freedom; ‘it’s just not how I look’.  

                                                        * * * * * * * 

“Don’t you know, They’re talking about a revolution it sounds like a whisper Don’t you know you’d better run run run run run run run run.....” Tracey Chapman 

Talkin’ About A Revolution

What I find heartening and deeply exciting about these early post-Covid times, as the first chinks of sunlight pour in through windows that have separated us from friends, lovers, fellow man for so long, is that people are choosing freedom. In small ways, perhaps, but I get the overall sense that for many people, fear has had its day. As my dear friend said over tea the other day; ‘people are thinking fuck this, fuck it, we wanna fuck’....well, exactly. 

It was this dear friend I met up with in her wood a few weeks ago; we hugged each other day, and it was such a joyous relief to see her I told her that if I got the virus and killed me, oh fuck it, it would be worth it, just to sit next to her by a river on a sunny day...

I’ve had two other conversations lately to support my little theory; a particularly cheerful friend of mine turned up with her daughter unannounced on my doorstep couple of weeks back  - they had a bag of clothes; would Boo like them? Initially we did the ‘2 m’ thing, paying homage to THE RULES as dictated by the blessed government of this land; I hovered on the threshold of my kitchen - she stood outside by the flower-pots. Then I broke the rules; ‘look, do you wanna come in?’ - That was it. The ice was broken - and she stood, blond, beaming and glorious with her big sunglasses on, in my little kitchen - along with her daughter and mine, and I could literally have feasted forever on the sheer joyous fleshiness of having three other living homo sapiens near me. That sunny day in early June, two women in a small village in Sussex chose freedom. ‘I’ve just had enough of all this virus stuff’ she said ‘I’m even dreaming about it! I’ve just had enough’. 

Then last week a friend came over with her three glorious girl children and told me how her youngest, a endlessly sweet six yr old, had ‘hidden behind a tree with her friend so that they could have a hug’. Lets think about that for a moment; six years olds hiding behind trees to have a hug. Its pretty damn sad. And weird. This friend had been on full on paranoid lockdown due to one of the children’s potential serious health issues - but she’d reached breaking point. ‘I’ve had enough’ she said. And that day her girls and my daughter raced up and down the stairs and around the garden in glorious flagrance of any state prescribed social distancing rules. 

                                                * * * * * * * * * * * 

In the end, Freddie breaks free from his master’s and The Cause’s control and continues - we assume -  his lonely drift around the world. In their final agonising meeting, Lancaster reveals the smashed ungenerous ego of a despot thwarted by his adoring lover: ‘if I meet you in a future life I will show you no mercy, you will be my sworn enemy’. Freddie, emaciated, tearful and ever desperate to belong, asks Lancaster to reveal to him how and where they’d met in a previous life... He knows it’s bullshit, in the way I knew my father was incapable of loving me, but when you’ve got a Krakatoa sized hole in your heart, you just can’t stop hoping somehow...pledging allegiance to a resplendent asshole is somehow better than our greatest fear; the abyss of loneliness and isolation. Lets face it; freedom is pretty terrifying after such a long stretch of captivity. 

That’s the thing in these Covid times; we always have a choice. We have a choice now, whether to be continue to be afraid or whether to choose freedom. Whether to cut loose and go racing into the desert on a motorbike back to his first love, like Freddie does, following his own destiny, not succumbing to control forces that on the surface entice him into a richer more glamorous life. 

And I’m not talking about being an complete idiot and denying there’s a serious virus still on the loose, or hugging scared people in the street to prove a point, and I’m not denying  that many people are extremely vulnerable - I’m talking about something entirely different; that deep inner decision that calls in all of us - whether to choose the uncharted waters of freedom, or rest in an all-too familiar fear zone. 

To conclude, my dear friend Matilda sent me this book ‘Big Magic - Creative Living By Fear’ by Elizabeth Gilbert, author of Eat Pray Love (I’ve just watched the film its rather good I think...) Anyway, there’s this great chapter called Fear Is Boring which rang through me, growing up as I did drenched in the anxiety of a Munchausen Syndrome-by-proxy mother (WHOLE other post...) - but here’s what she says about the time, age fifteen, she ‘wised up’ to fear and chose another way: 

“I noticed that my fear never changed, never delighted, never offered a surprise twist or an unexpected ending. My fear was a song with only one note - only one word, actually - and that word was “STOP!” 

Dear reader, I’m shitting myself with the best of them, but I’ve had enough of fear. I’m not stopping. I’m going. What do you say?..... xxxx 

Big love from Christine 

[emilyelizabethfowl]

Fic Wars [LLSB] Chapter 1

This is the first chapter of a fanfic @littleladysongbird​​ and I are writing for the Fic Wars! The official event’s blog is @fandomficwars!

Fandom: Camp Camp Tags: Dadvid Ratings: G [general]

Enjoy!

On the last day of spring the camp was empty.

On the first day of summer there was two people and the Quartermaster.

Obviously, the campers weren't meant to come for another week or two, but the counselors had to prepare the camp and check if anything needed any repairs.

Or, to be precise, the counselor, singular.

Gwen still had some personal matters to tend to, and wouldn’t get to the camp until a day or two before the first campers would show up.

So who was the other person at the camp?

It was the one, who always came first and always left last, despite claiming to hate that place.

The one who always scoffed at his parents for sending him away for the whole summer and some more, even though he probably considered that their only good quality.

The person in question is, of course, Max.

***

“Ahhhh, I missed the camp!” David sighed, jumping out of the car. “Nothing’s better than some good old forest!”

“You literally take care of a park for a living.” Grumbled Max, clambering out of the car.

“But it’s not the same! Here… Here I just feel more alive than ever!”

The man enthusiastically circled the car and opened the trunk, revealing an old, neat bag and a small, freshly-bought backpack.

“I still can’t believe your parents let you go with your things in a trash bag!”

Max only shrugged, not looking at him.

“The backpack fell apart half an hour before you were supposed to pick me up, they had to improvise. And the trash back was the biggest bag we had at our place. Besides, you bought me a fucking new one, so there’s no problem now.”

David took the baggage out, letting Max take his backpack out of his hands. He closed the trunk, lost in thoughts.

“It really isn’t a good sign. Caring parents should always-”

“They literally called you to take me to the camp weeks before it’s starting, David. Which part of this is screaming caring parents to you?”

That seemed to get through the thick cocoon of optimism David submerged himself into, and his smile diminished a little.

“If I was your legal guardian, you’d be here now too.” He pointed out.

“Yeah, but you’d be with me and you’d actually want me to be with you. Knowing my parents they’re either on the airport or already at the plane to whatever place they chose to go to this year.”

They slowly made their way over to the councilors cabin. Few steps before the doors the smile came back on his face.

“Well, all that matters now is that you are with me and I want you to be here!” He said cheerfully. “Let’s settle down our luggage and prepare for the best summer camp ever!”

Max’s groaned, but there was no emotion behind it.

***

“Alrighty, the tents are up! What’s next on our list?” David asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

Max glanced at his pad.

“Checking the camp activities’ sites for any damage,” he read, “You’re seriously doing that? I thought these stuff are just left until they rot completely, judging by their looks.”

“We never had any proper funding before.” The man gulped down what was left in his water bottle. “We never could do much to fit the safety requirements, but somehow it never was an issue during the inspections.”

He picked up the tool set and made his way over to where the camp activities’ stands were placed. Max obediently toddled after him.

“Campbell bribed them?” he guessed.

“Possibly, yes.”

“So he got no money to fix the stands, but he’s got plenty of cash to bribe the inspectors not to see any problems?”

David laughed.

“Yes, it seems so.” He said. “Apparently the Camp Critic Committee is very eager to look the other way if they get to avoid paying taxes in Thailand.”

Max was so surprised he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What the fuck are they even doing in Thailand?”

“Language, Max,” David scolded gently, going more by habit than any real hope for change. “I guess they do something with really high taxes to need the tax relief.”

“That really doesn’t help at all.”

***

“The last on the list is… Did you really put in ‘Remember to eat and get a goodnight’s sleep!’?”

David put the last stone, creating a pull circle around the place designated for campfire at the opening day of the camp.  

“Eating and sleeping schedule is very important, Max!” He said, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Besides, we need to check the mess hall anyway!”

Max just sighed and followed the way too happy adult to the most used building in the whole camp - second only when counting the bathrooms, especially after some more special meals made by Quartermaster.

But soon his mood got significantly better when they discovered that some of said meals got leftover from last year, and promptly took over the kitchen when no one was looking.

“No inspection will overlook this,” Max managed to gasp out while rolling on the floor, laughing his ass off.

David looked like someone just forced him to kick a puppy, looking around the molded shelves, trying to asses the damage.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, “And it looks way to bad for us to handle alone. I’m afraid we’ll have to call a specialist.”

He tried to poke a particularly big piece of fungi, but reasonably decided not to when it attempted to eat his finger.

“Maybe two specialists.”

Max laughed so hard he started crying.

***

They ended up getting pizza that night.

Max ate silently, trying not to think about the last time they ate one together, and failing miserably.

Noticing his bad mood, David tried to cheer him up a little, or at least make him forget whatever was troubling him.

“Pizza might not be the healthiest of all meals, but it’s definitely one of the easiest to make and tastiest to eat!” he exclaimed, waving around his slice, ignoring the cheese slowly trying to escape on the ground.

Max stared at the poster on the wall, slightly irked by how askew it was. He was definitely going to level it the first chance he got.

“My parents say it’s the lowest of all foods and never let me get any.” He said out of social obligation not to leave David hanging.

The man gasped loudly.

“But it’s one of the very few things you genuinely enjoy!”

“Do you really think my parents give a shit about it?” he sneered, waving away some wisties that got to the cabin through the open window and very persistently tried to steal olives from his pizza. “I thought we established that already.”

David was silent for a while, sitting still enough for the wistie to try and steal the olive from his slice.

He obviously let the little creature have it, even though it was his favorite part. The man was simply too kind for his own good, literally.

“I just… I still can’t believe how anyone can treat their child that way…”

Max looked him directly into the eyes.

“I was an accident,” he said, voice unwavering. He took another bite of the pizza, feeding off of both the food and David’s disturbance.

“What?” he asked, probably still hoping he just misheard him, the damn optimist.

“I wasn’t planned. My mom didn’t want to marry dad, but she was forced to by her influential family. They didn’t want a scandal, they could’ve made her life a living nightmare if they wanted to, and she was perfectly aware of it. Mom never wanted to have kids too, and wanted to get an abortion, but she was having sex with anything that moved and grandparents wanted to punish her for it.”

David sat speechless, his pizza long since forgotten. Max continued before he could bet coherent enough to speak.

“And this is what she got. A sarcastic little shit. She was so ashamed of having me, that she forced her parents to let her move here.” He shook his head. “Can you blame her?” he laughed dryly.

“Yes,” David answered without a second of hesitation. “I can and I do.”

Now it was Max’s turn to look at him without a word.

“Are you serious?”

David didn’t even need to answer - the look on his face, more serious than any other time Max could remember seeing his face without a smile on it, said it all.

“She’s your mother. She should love you. She shouldn’t be ashamed - she should be proud of you.”

If Max opened his eyes any wider, he just new his eyeballs would fall out of the sockets.

“Proud of me?” he asked. “Proud of fucking what? Loving me? For what? I’m not exactly the loveable kind of a son!”

Knowing David, his hands itched really hard to reach and hug Max. But being aware the boy didn’t like this kind of behavior, he didn’t act out on this desire.

“Every kind of a son is loveable!” He said, every bit of passion he would’ve used in the hug going into that exclamation. “And you’re really intelligent and talented! Your crocheting is extraordinary!”

Max raised his brow.

“Newsflash, I’m an asshole.” He said simply.

“It doesn’t matter!” David countered, “You’re just a child! You deserve to be loved!”

That single word took Max back to all the hours spent on listening to his parents arguments. They never missed the opportunity to tell him he should be glad he was alive.

That he didn’t deserve the things they’ve been getting him. That he didn’t deserve the food, or the house he was living in.

That he didn’t deserve to be born.

“Max…?”

He couldn’t answer, but he didn’t need to; the man couldn’t stand watching the boy being miserable anymore, and wrapped his arms around him in what was probably the tightest hug anyone has given him.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anyone but David even wanting to hug him before.

He let David hold him for a while, but all good things had to end sometime. He didn’t even know he was crying until he noticed the spot his tears left on David’s shirt. He winced, expecting to get punished for it, before he remembered it was David he was dealing with.  

“I don’t deserve to be loved.” He mumbled. “I can’t be loved.”

“Max,” David said quietly, “Max, look at me.”

The boy did so, however unwillingly.

He saw an emotion in the man’s eyes. Emotion he saw when other parents were looking at their children, but it was never directed at him.

“I love you, Max,” David said, his voice gentle, comforting.

“You love everyone!” Max tried to argue. He was used to disappointment, but this was too much. He didn’t want to be given love, just for the man to take it back at the end of the summer.

He wouldn’t be able to take it; He preferred to make it look like he hated David, like he couldn’t stand him.

Because when people don’t care about you, they forget. And when they forget, they can’t hurt you.

Max knew it far too well for a child his age. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up, and he wasn’t going to be let down.

Especially not by David.

“I do love lots of people,” the man agreed, “But that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”

That feeling, when you promise yourself that you won’t do something, and then you end up doing it. Max hated that feeling. But the hope he had, the hope for David to mean what he was saying, he hated it even more.

“And so what?” He said, as rudely as he only could, trying to discourage David from going any further. “So what? It won’t change a thing about my situation! Once the summer’s over, you and your precious love will be miles away!”

David looked like he wanted to say something about it, but he seemed to change his mind.

“But the summer isn’t over yet!” He said instead, “And it won’t be for another three months!”

Max couldn’t believe his own ears. He was doing everything he could to push the man away… But the man was holding on to him, and wasn’t letting him go that easily.

“You’re the bane of my existence,” he said dejected, for he knew it wasn’t going to end well for either of them.

But David just grinned, as if Max agreed with him.

“I love you too,” he said, confirming the boy’s suspicion. “But now, beds! We’ve still got lots to do tomorrow!”

The boy gladly accepted the end of their conversation, obediently going to sleep at Gwen’s yet unoccupied bed.

And soon the room is silent, save for the wisties stealing the remains of their food, the quiet sounds of two people breathing, and ominous sounds of Quartermaster moving outside.