#i also had written a little bit about the tribunal going wrong i think

[duckduckngoose]

Hhhhhhh brainrot hitting so hard. I low-key wanna revive all my Taz grad wipes again from the dead

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.2.7 “Profoundest Despair”

There’s just so much in this section, I’m just going to pick random bits that I’ve written down and go at them. I wrote a lot of notes in my February reread and even more this time.

In this section we start to really zoom in on Valjean. We go from his distant, unformed, sort of numb characterization in 1.2.6 to this deep, intense rage and injury. Hugo makes it clear that because Valjean was ignorant, but not stupid, he is able to think more about his situation and judge it (and others). It is interesting that he says this at the beginning of the chapter, and yet later on his also says that Valjean did not consciously think of any of this stuff or know what he was feeling. I’m not entirely sure how he can think things over and not think things over at the same time?

Valjean really goes for the extremes when he‘s thinking through his internal tribunal. First, he condemns his theft as extraordinary and reprehensible, then he decides that all humans should suffer greatly, then he decides that his punishment was excessive. He reaches the right answer, I think, but the machinations to get there swing wildly in terms of moral opinions.

“He asked himself whether human society could rightfully make its members submit equally, in the one case by its unreasonable carelessness and in the other by its pitiless care; and to hold a poor man forever between a lack and an excess, a lack of work, and an excess of punishment.”

This is such a good criticism of both capitalist society and the prison system. Not only is he frustrated and outraged by the extreme nature of the punishment for a rather minor crime, it’s also a condemnation of a society that, instead of helping it’s least fortunate, forces them into a bare life and a scarcity while expecting them to bootstrap themselves and survive “honestly” without giving them the ability or chance to even do so. They punish a person who desperate for being desperate due to poverty and lack of social/economic resources, but the punishment leaves them socially marked so that when they return to society, they’re stuck in the same cycle of deprivation, unable find work because no one wants to employ a former convict, so they’re left with stealing again.

There are some things that Hugo says that I just have to disagree with. “One may be wrongly irritated, but a man never feels outraged unless in some respect he is fundamentally right.” Like???? I think people just get angry when they think they’re right, but that doesn’t mean they’re fundamentally right. I’m sure Hugo got into at least one debate where the other person was fundamentally wrong and got angry? I can’t get behind this one, Hugo, sorry. People are angry all the time for stupid and wrong reasons, that doesn’t mean they’re fundamentally right.

It’s interesting, I think, that Valjean seems to have remained rather docile and neutral and empty of emotion or thought until he reaches the prison. Hugo says, “Through suffering upon suffering he gradually came to the conclusion that life was a war and that in that war he was the vanquished. He had no weapon but his hatred.” I think it’s interesting that it’s not just the suffering of poverty and hunger that makes him angry, and he doesn’t condemn society and everything until he reaches the prison. Suffering as a poor but “honest” peasant isn’t enough to reach the depths of hatred. It’s only when he reaches the prison and finds that he’s even deeper in the pit of despair and misfortune that he clings to hatred rather than numbness as a coping mechanism. It’s also not until he reaches this point that his “thoughtful” nature appears. As far as the narration is concerned for 1.2.6, he just kind of goes unthinkingly about his life, numbly doing what he has to in order to survive and for his family to survive. But when he suffers enough for his anger and hatred to flare, so too do his thoughts.

In prison Valjean has “an incomplete nature and a vanquished intelligence,” which I think is Hugo’s way of establishing him as moldable at this point. His mind “wakes up” when he reaches this point of intense suffering, but he’s still incomplete. He’s smart, but society and suffering have smothered his mind etc to the point where, in 1.2.6, he’s just going about life without much substance. Because of his intelligence, he’s able to feel that rage about his situation, and to use it as something to cling to. Hugo says it again when he’s talking about the “spark” in each soul. He really hammers home the fact that Valjean is someone who has goodness and intelligence inside him, but it’s been intensely suppressed and oppressed and needs kindness etc for it to blossom into something true.

Also, Valjean was in his late 20s when he went to prison; he doesn’t decide to go to school until he is 40. That means he’s most of his way through his sentence and extremely mired in hate before he gets an education and learns to read, etc. I think it’s interesting that he’s so mired in hate for so long, and yet when he encounters the bishop and is affected by him, it really doesn’t take very long for him to start to change. It shows the power of kindness, and really hammers home the fact that Valjean really never had felt any sort of kindness in his adult life and that “never since infancy, since his mother, since his sister, never had he been greeted with a friendly word or a kind look,” and that the bishop’s acts really had a huge impact on him.

“At times he did not even know exactly what he felt. Jean Valjean was in the dark, suffering in the dark, hating in the dark. He lived constantly in darkness, groping blindly, like a dreamer. Except, at times, there broke over him suddenly, from inside or out, a shockwave of anger, an overflow of suffering, a sudden white flash that lit up his whole soul and showed all around him in front and behind in the glare of a hideous light the fearful precipices and dark perspectives of his fate.”

Valjean’s anger seems very different from other characters in similar situations. It seems to have more light, more perspective. It seems much more self-righteous and self-preserving. Patron Minette and Valjean’s fellow inmates seem to simply accept their lot in life; they’re desperate but not angry. They don’t feel cheated by the system, they feel cheated by individuals. They do not feel they don’t belong there; they have long since accepted this is where they are, they seem frustrated or sullen, but not white-hot with rage like Valjean. Fantine is desperate and miserable but not angry; Patron Minette etc are violent and conniving but never seem to be outraged at their situation. They are “almost unconscious,” as Hugo says in 3.7.2, due to their “ignorance and misery.” Valjean, on the other hand, is still “incomplete,” I guess?

Valjean seems uniquely aware that his situation is caused by a corrupt system. Which I think is actually really interesting because of what Hugo says about about being outraged if you’re fundamentally right. In this case, the subconscious or unconscious awareness of his intrinsic goodness and “incorruptible element” makes Valjean more angry about his circumstances than someone who is not as introspective or perhaps who has totally given up and accepted their fate.

This chapter also establishes Valjean’s superhuman strength and basically describes him as a parkour master that can climb walls. I wish I could draw because reading the section describing that ability made me want a little animation of a bearded older Valjean leaping around on top of buildings.

“The peculiarity of punishment of this kind, in which the pitiless or brutalizing part predominates, is to transform gradually by a slow numbing process a man into an animal, sometimes into a wild beast.” There’s something about this sentence that is so intense and so descriptive. Again, another excellent criticism of the prison system. Only this time he straight up calls out the fact that pitiless, brutalizing punishment does nothing to help a person or rehabilitate them or do anything but totally break and dehumanize them. It feels vaguely connected to the line a page or so later, in which Valjean would look around him and say to himself “This is a dream.” The ongoing and almost inconceivable trauma of prison and galleys life making it impossible for Valjean and his fellow prisoners not to react to their circumstances in ways that either shut them down completely or make them reactionary due to ptsd.

“As motives, he had habitual indignation, bitterness, a deep sense of injury, a reaction even against the good, the innocent, and the upright, in the unlikely event he encountered them. The beginning and end of all his thoughts was hatred of human law; that hatred which, if not checked in it growth by some providential event, becomes in time a hatred of society, then hatred of the human race, then hatred of creation, revealing itself by a vague, incessant desire to injure some living being, no matter who.”

This paragraph almost seems to be Hugo foreshadowing Myriel’s kindness and the effect that has on Valjean. It makes me think of Petit Gervais, and the way Valjean’s own actions towards the innocent and unsuspecting Petit Gervais clash drastically with the effects of Myriel and start to break down all the walls and instincts Valjean built in prison.

Finally, I have a question that someone more historically inclined might be able to tell me. In the Argot section (4.7.2) Hugo describes the dungeons in the Chatelet de Paris, and says that “Men condemned to the galleys were put in this cellar until the day of their departure for Toulon.” Would Valjean have been subjected to this? Hugo doesn’t mention it in reference to Valjean, so I’m going to assume that isn’t the case, and perhaps it was an ancien regime thing that disappeared with the revolution? I just figured if Valjean had gone through that, it would have been mentioned in this section somewhere.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 10 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 10 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

///////////////////////

Before they could move, Master Juris spoke.  “Mistress Daeron, I speak to you as one Master to another.  Nobody stays in this shop unless I allow it.  I will tell you plainly that I am evaluating these children as possible apprentices.  I had not meant to say anything to them yet, but I must speak now, in order to keep them on.  Will you allow it?” he gestured to the hard-working children.

There was a confusion of “Of course,” and “Apprentice? Certainly!” and “Roper?  Yes, but what about the rope-walk?”

Roper looked up grinning and said, “I’ll still help you too, mother.”

Kurin looked away from the pulley that she was hanging and asked curiously, “Who told you that they were a being a problem?  We didn’t say anything to anybody.”

“Well, it was Silor.  He came to us and said that our children were bothering Master Juris.  That we should get them away from the boat-shop.”  They turned to Master Juris.  “The way that he said it, it sounded like he was relaying your request.  We apologize for interfering with your trial.”

“Think nothing more of it,” said Master Juris.  “Silor has been a cranky old Ord ever since I refused him an apprenticeship.  This is just more of the same.  Ignore what he says,” Master Juris paused, grinning nastily, before finishing, “in connection with this shop.”

With five boats working crabs and several more pulling nets for Glue Fish and Skelt, the Longin’s cargo space began to be filled.

When there was no more room for live crabs in the cargo vats, the cooks had to start processing the catch.  Crab cakes, dried crab flake, pressed into blocks and tallow dipped, and salted crab were laid in store.  Skelt dried, Skelt salted, Skelt pickled and Skelt in tallow blocks, joined the crabs in the cargo holds.  The Longin ran out of room for more.

Silor’s muscles strained as he helped to get the boat-shop hatch off.  They were launching the first boat that she had designed and built all by herself.  The crane lifted the boat into view.  Somehow, Silor felt just a bit disappointed.  It looks ordinary enough.  The way all of those white-haired-witch worshiping people talked for the last week, I had expected something more remarkable.

Everybody else was congratulating her and making a big thing of it.  The sides seem a bit thin to me.  He did as ordered and hitched it to the davits for lowering.  Crewmen were clamoring for the chance to be the first to use the new boat, as it floated along side.

Merkit and Forn, the lucky winners, clambered down and got into the boat and rowed it a short ways from the side of the Longin to put up the mast. They seemed to have a bit of difficulty at first but got it stepped and the sail up.  The boat gathered way. Maybe I was wrong. It is a fast one.

The mast began to bend and then broke off just short of half-way up. Merkit and Forn were clearing the wreckage of the sail when one of them yelled something that could not be made out due to the distance. He began to bail frantically.  A badly glued seam must have given!

“They’re taking water!  Get a boat to them, quickly!” Silor yelled.  Nobody moved.  They just watched.  In growing horror, Silor saw the tall, paired fins slashing through the water toward the men who were losing the battle to bail out the boat.

“Strong Skin!” Silor screamed.  Nobody moved.  They just watched.  The big, always hungry, fish hit the side of the boat with the large spine that made part of the front edge of its leading dorsal fin.  The poorly made side folded, breaking the boat and casting both men into the water.

Silor could only watch in dread as they struggled.  The fins of the Strong Skin disappeared.  There was a swirl of water and a brief scream. The powerful tail of the massive predator lifted from the water and slammed down flat, leaving only a stain of blood and a terrified Merkit who struggled against his certain doom.  The fish hit the man with its dorsal spine, ripping him open before it turned and took him in a bite.

Nothing was left but the sinking ruin of a boat, slowly sliding beneath the blood-stained waves.

I can’t believe it!  They don’t seem to care about Merkit and Forn. They’re all feeling sorry for … .

“Silor! Silor!  Wake up!” a hand shook him to sudden and shocked wakefulness.  Cron, his second lead deck-hand asked urgently, “How long have you been sleeping?”

Muzzily, Silor thought, Sleeping?  Was it only a dream?  It was so real! At least Merkit and Forn are OK.  Aloud, he said, “I don’t know, only a few minutes, I think.  Lucky you came down so soon. What got you down here at the start of the watch?  Is there a problem?”

Jolted, Cron answered, “Soon?  Soon!  Silor, it’s the start of MY watch!  You slept through the entire watch!  Can’t you smell it?  The vat water’s gone foul.  I can’t change it by myself now, I’ll have to get help.”

“You won’t be alone,” said Silor, following his nose to put the sluice over the worst of the vats.  “Go to the Captain and get men.  We need three for each of the four vats, and four or five of the biggest kettles the galley has.  They can dip water from the sea and lower it to us in the hold with the cargo crane.  The men and traveling cranes can take it from there.  Go!”

As Cron went, he could hear Silor opening the vat drains and starting to crank the bucket line.

Shortly, a grim faced Captain Mord and the equally somber First Officer Kotance came leading ten other men.  “Silor,” the Captain began, “you are relieved.”

“Sir, this happened on my watch.  I would prefer to stay and help until it is fixed.  I can offer no excuse, but I do know what to do and have started doing it.”  Silor had not paused in his efforts on the bucket line as he made his plea.

“Very well, Silor, you may stay,” said the Captain, “but only because we need every man.”  He paused in thought as he looked at what Silor had done and was doing.  “What do you recommend, Silor, to remedy this?”

“Sir, we need to leave the drains open for now, while we flush the vats. Once we get them to run clean, then we can close the drains and fill them back up.  I am flushing number three now.  As the pots of water come down on the crane, we need to use them to flush numbers four, one and two, in that order, because of the water conditions that I observed when I opened the drains.”

Captain Mord nodded silent agreement and began directing the men.  Big cooking kettles filled with seawater began to come down through the hatch.  As they came, they were hitched to the traveling crane and moved to the necessary vats.  Their life-giving seawater was dumped in and the pots returned to the crane repeat the cycle.

After a few hours of flushing, the first vat drain was closed and they began to fill it on up.  The watch was nearly over before the last vat was properly refilled.

At the Captain’s order, Silor followed him through the tidy passages of the ship, aft to the Captain’s cabin.  Captain Mord sat and gestured for Silor to sit as well.  He regarded the youth with serious eyes for a few moments.

“Silor, what am I to do?  You have put me in a truly difficult situation.” The Captain held up a hand and gestured at the books of Naral fleet Law and the Articles of the Longin, “These leave me little sea-room in dealing with you.  What you have done, is done.  We both wish to call it back and we both know that we cannot.

“There is much in your conduct to commend you.  You caused the problem but also solved it.  Your plan was sound and I followed it.  Only three of the Broad-legs died, due in part to your prompt and decisive action and your refusal to try to hide the problem.  It could have been much worse.

“It is past salvage that you fell asleep on duty and caused this.  Do you know your rights and avenues of action from here?”

Dully, Silor said, “I can put myself in your hands alone or I can ask a tribunal of three each of officers and Masters, with you to vote only to break a tie.”

The Captain said quietly, “There is another.  It was meant for officers but, as you do command men, you are qualified to it.  You can request a jury of those whom you command.  Of the options open to you, it might be best.  If I have the case, my action is proscribed by those books, and they are harsh.  The Masters and officers would be fair to you.  Your men are also your friends and may prove your best course. Whichever court you use, there is no appeal from a decision for this offense.”

“Sir, I will put myself in your hands.  I have known you all of my life and you have always been fair.  The others, well She has gotten to them, indeed most of the ship.  I will be safer with you.”

“Silor, please, do not do this.  I will have to break your well deserved rank.  The others do not.  That is why there are those courts available.”

“Sir, they could break me and worse, far worse.  She would see to it.”

“I do not understand,” said the Captain, puzzled.  What does he mean by ‘She’?  “You do know that you have chosen the hardest course to sail.  So be it.  Go, have the tocsin sound ‘general assembly’.”

Shortly, the sharp strong beat of ‘general assembly’ brought everybody not on watch to the quarterdeck.  Some, who stood night watches, were rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

Silor and the Captain stood before them.  Behind them was First Officer Kotance, quill in hand, with the current volume of the Ship’s Log open before him on a stand.

Clard, Master of Drums, called out loudly, “Justice at the Captain’s Hands has been requested by Silor Elon Longin.  He stands accused of sleeping on watch and thereby causing harm to our live cargo.”

To Silor, one face stood out in the crowd.  Kurin’s white hair drew his eye like a hungry fish to bait. She looks stricken.  She must have planned for any tribunal but this.  Whatever her plan was, it has been foiled.  It is a good thing that I chose the Captain’s Hands.  It’s the only justice she can’t reach.

Quietly, the Captain asked one more time, “Will you not take a tribunal? They can show mercy where I cannot.”

Firmly and loudly, Silor announced, “I will have Justice from the Captain’s Hands!”

Sighing at the foolishness that was costing him one of the best lead deck-hands that he’d ever had, Captain Mord said, “Silor Elon Longin, you stand in My Hands of your own will, having refused other tribunals.  You have admitted to falling asleep on watch, causing the death of three of the Broad-leg crabs in our cargo.  You are to be stripped of your duty as lead deck-hand for a period of three Gatherings.  During that time, you may not be made a lookout or given solo duty of any kind.  The Law of the Naral fleet and the Articles of the Longin demand this.

“Normally, the loss to cargo would demand a flogging to go with this punishment but you also formulated and directed the effort which saved us from much greater losses.  For this service, I can give reward.  The flogging is canceled unless any of the ship’s company demand it.” He paused and looked out over the assembled crew.  Nobody spoke. Silor had many friends and few who wished him any ill at all, had he been able to believe it.

The Captain turned back to Silor.  Regretfully, he asked, “I am in need of a new lead deck-hand.  Is there anyone that you would recommend?”

Silor actually considered the question carefully for a few moments before recommending, “Cron, Sir.  I think that he would be best.”

In the background, Kotance’s quill could be heard scratching across the paperfish parchment of the Log Book as he recorded the event.

“Thank-you, Silor.  You are dismissed.”  Then, with the same genuine concern that had caused Silor to trust him, the Captain added, “Go to the Galley and get something to eat.  You missed your last meal while saving our crabs.”

Afterwards, Silor lay in his hammock, dark thoughts running through his mind. Cron, the new lead deck-hand, and one of his oldest friends, came down the companion-ladder.

“Thought I’d find you here.  Tough break, that.  Hell, we’ve all taken a nap before.  Bummer about those three crabs, though.  That’s what did you in.”

“That and the little white-haired witch,” said Silor, grumpily.

“Yeah,” said Cron lightly, “if she hadn’t been showing off how she can find fish, we wouldn’t have the most valuable catch of crabs ever, and you wouldn’t have got in trouble.”

Silor sat bolt upright, causing his hammock to flip and dump him in a heap the deck.  “You’re right!” he exclaimed as he picked himself up.  “We voted against that stupid mapping thing, but they did it anyway.

“I wouldn’t be in any trouble if it wasn’t for her!”

Cron was dumbfounded.  That was supposed to be a joke!  I can’t believe it!  Silor’s serious.  He retreated up the companion-ladder shaking his head over the idea.  How can Silor prefer that the whole ship lose their shares in a rich cargo just so that he can get away with sleeping on duty?

That night’s dining assembly brought no relief for Silor.  The discussion was lively and optimistic.  As the Broad-legs had been believed to be the rarest of crabs, they were likely to bring high prices and therefore high shares.

The entire crew, even Silor, voted to make the existence of Kurin’s charts and the new, very profitable, method of crabbing Ship’s Business, with a penalty of expulsion and shunning for revealing it to anyone from another ship.

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

[duskbeforeyou]

Unfoldings

Beyond Orange Dusk Part VII

In many ways, sometimes I think that we quirky loners are the normal ones while the rest of the population are just pretty strange. Sometimes, they are not very good at lying. From the place I am observing, they don’t really enjoy participating this social circumstance game in which they seem so fond of. It’s just an evasion of their hearts that no longer holding the wound of solitude. And finding companies seems like best idea to show that their hearts suffer. That we suffer, for companions.

Maybe our hearts care too much about what others might opine. The anxiety that comes up after, will easily drive ourselves to exist somewhere talking, laughing, and crying in the middle of couple eyes on us. Socializing seems like a tribune for those hearts which full of anxieties. Or maybe it is a mere present for delicacies.

But is it worth to live our lives driven by the society demands? When something seems so right to us while people look at it disapproved. Particular stereotypes nowadays delight that ’strange’ ones who dwell safely in the circle. Meanwhile we the outsiders, troubled to find approbation of the ideas. I don’t want to live in the spectrum which almost everything is black or white. My capability of seeing things is somewhat blurred or unsure. It doesn’t mean that my way of thinking is lack in harmony, but I do believe that everything in this universe deserves to be seen in many two-dimensional perspectives.

07 November

The snow was falling. The sun stopped shimmering. The universe was taking back all the delighted melody and changing it to a soft lullaby. The atmosphere hid back all the orange and green ambiance of the summer and colored the continent with white and plain tones. So did the trees. They left their leaves and flower petals straggled on the ground. Here it was. Welcomed the winter.

It was 7.15 am and finding myself still lying on bed with both eyes closed covered by a flowery vintage blanket was not something surprising. Friday morning used to be felt like a festivity of the joy and tranquility. But at the moment, all days were pretty much the same. Those were gap days when I should be meditating before I decided which university I would choose after graduation. Well, to be honest, I did not mind it hard. Graduation was 6 months ago and I was still enjoying myself spending most of times in my room. Reading novels and writing lame things such poems and poetry. Well, I really loved poetry. There was countless poetry books trapped in the bookshelf inside my room which looked like oxygen to me. Breathing lovely words, melodious rhythm, and orderly stanzas were just magnificent to me. Maybe that was obviously explained the uncontrollable melancholy possessed inside me. Meanwhile, in that early day, the ticking clocks and hustle outside the door had not yet bothered me at all. I was peacefully unwinding on the beautiful land of Eden. It was just awhile before the disturbance coming the moment Adam and Eve reached the forbidden tree.

“Oh my God. Hey, wake up sleepy head!” Yeah. That was Keanu robbing my tranquility.

“Uh, what are you doing? Get out. I want to enjoy my best resting place on Earth.” Sighed me, in a very heavy voice.

“What?! The world outside is on the war and you talk about nonsense thing?!”

“Your fictional drama sounds more nonsense to me. Stop it, Alien.”

“Did you call me Alien? Get ready to pay your fault, sinner. Incoming!!!”

Keanu jumped on my bed, tickling my tummy, and shouting annoying things. Annoying, but it was delightful.

“Here! Here! And here! Feel your punishment, human!”

“Ouch! No. Hey! Stop it! Haha. No!” I could not decide whether I should be annoyed of laughing.

Just a moment after we finished the silly war that Keanu started, we both were found sitting down on a two-seated sofa in my living room. Leaning back and sitting by crossing my legs, I was reading Charlotte Brontë’s Sense & Sensibilitywhich reached on the ninth chapter, while Keanu was holding an open Issue 28 – Kinfolk magazine. He was leaning on the left side of the sofa with his face fully covered by size of the magazine, while his legs against my t-shirt sleeves. I was not so sure, whether he was reading or just daydreaming in a (not-so) classy way. We both remained in silence for almost an hour. People might think that we were bored and that was a boring thing done by two bored people in a boring situation. But trust me, we had been through this so many times yet never been complaining. Silence did not bore us. Sometimes, it comforted us.

(still almost an hour)

“Rae?” said Keanu.

“I am busy” still sticking my face on a page of the novel.

I thought he would curse me at the moment, or worst, throw me with the Kinfolk. But he did not. He closed the magazine and sat properly on the sofa so now his arms were against mine. It was quite long silence till I turned my face on Keanu. What’s wrong with that face? My heart questioned. Keanu was giving an empty sight at front, with dreary face. His eyebrows frowned while his mouth a half-inch open.

“Kea? What is it?” me, started asking.

He seemed startled, closing his mouth and turning his eyes to mine.

“It’s been days that I want to tell you this”. he answered.

“Tell me what?” I closed my novel eventually, thinking it might be something serious.

“I need to go back to downtown.”

“Wait. You mean your downtown?”

“Yes.”

“Well, okay. When will it be?”

“Soon.”

“With your parents?”

“By myself.”

“Yea, It’s a bit doubting that you can take care of yourself but it’s fine after all. So what’s the matter?”

Keanu was quiet for few seconds. He started looking down on his fingers with eyebrows still frowned. He had me worried.

“I might not come back in near time after that.”

“What? Wait, Keanu. I am not getting it.”

“I’ll be out of town for a long time, Rae.”

Okay, it is serious.

“How long? What are you planning to do alone in your downtown? Stop prevaricating! Tell me what the hell is happening entirely.” My heart was pounding so fast.

“Hey, calm down.”

“How am I supposed to calm down?! You’ve been making me uneasy since earlier.”

“Okay, Rae, okay. First of all, I am sorry to not let you know about this. A year ago, I applied a scholarship in a university in my downtown, for engineering major. The university did not respond to my application for three months that I was so desperate for college. That’s why I flew here expecting a better chance. A month ago, they emailed me and got me an online admission interview. Three weeks after, I got an email written that I was accepted.”

I had nothing to say at the moment. I jumped on Keanu and hugged him tightly.

“Oh my god, Keanu. That’s wonderful. Congratulations!” I started releasing myself from Keanu.

“Thanks” he answered with a plain face.

“Why you have to worry about me. I’ll be fine, really. We still can talk through Skype though. Unless, you got new pals that you think they’re much cooler than me. Uh-uh.”

“You miss my point, Rae”

“What else?”

“It’s a four year program, and I might not come back here for that long time. My parents have been in a little but continuous economic crisis for the past few months. My father’s business has been running slow, and so has the company where my mother works. I probably cannot afford the flight ticket until I graduated or got a job.” Keanu’s face still looked much more anxious than it did few minutes ago.  I did not know what my heart was saying but all I wanted to do was soothing him, so I grabbed his both hands with mine. Tightly.

“Hey, everything will be okay. Trust me. We can figure it out together. You can do part-time job and also get A in your classes at the same time. Don’t worry. I will be right here, Kea. I always do.”

Keanu’s face was turning tranquil. But I did not know, I still could see anxiety in his eyes. Maybe I was not pretty good in judging people’s expression, but that was Keanu. I knew, whether he was okay or not.

“Thanks, Rae. That means the world to me. But, there is one thing that I need to tell you.”

“What is it?” asked I.

“I might meet someone in the downtown. Someone that helped me trough thick and thin in my old days, someone that’s always been there for me for almost three years till now.”

“An old friend?”

…

“A girlfriend.”

…

[shardclan]

A Moment in the Summerlands

High noon rises and finds Analemma in silence. Noon Point stands empty, the merchants warned away, and the residents taking shelter in their homes. The eternal scent of steaming milk from the Happy Harpy Creamery, the one constant through even the darkest depths of winter, is absent.

Rebis stares down at the figure of Malu, sedated and physically restrained to the infirmary bed. Dust is at he side. She has left him only infrequently since bringing him there. Both share the same grim expression. Both are awaiting the inevitable.

"Enamor," Lavi had explained. "The single most basic skill in the entirety of light magic. A brief skill of captivation, something to make your enemy forget to speak their spell. It goes ignored a lot. But here we are, with an astral who has effectively taken it to the outer limits. To enthrallment."

Even Ashlesha had been too afraid to stay. His words blurted and near-panicked, were still fresh in Rebis' mind: 

"I brought us here as soon as I realized Titi-tet was here, because Lavi loves you, and I promised I'd be better and I'd care more and think about these things, but I have thought about it and in this case warning you and then leaving and locking the door behind us is best thing for everyone. I'm sorry I can't find it, it's--disseminating itself in the light, to me it feels like Titi-tet is everywhere, and it's too dangerous for me to stay here because she WILL come to you. It's her nature, she has be observed, she has to be worshiped, and if I end up enthralled I'm liable to erase everything you have built here for fun and you have maybe two people in the entire territory who could even begin to stop me, so please, please forgive me and let me take Lavi back to Horizon's Landing. Let us LEAVE."

Rebis didn't see Ashlesha very often, but his behavior was quite different. When they met, he had been unaffected and only interested in Invigilavi. To think he would beg her to allow him anything still weighs on her. Something is...amiss with him. But maybe that is only because he is human.

Malu opens his eyes. He looks around, and does not see the astral that has enthralled him. He shivers, and struggles, and soon begins to cry. His sobs are a rough and unfamiliar croak.

Dust presses a cool hand to his forehead and offers soothing but unheeded whispers. Titi-tet took his will, but they already know that can be returned. 

The same is not certain for his voice.

In the main office of the Tahalil Infirmary, Alala watches gravely as her mother flips back to the first page of a report from Noon Point's practice for third time. The symptoms. The names. The proposal written with complete impartiality at the bottom.

Haematica taps her pragmatically short nails with increasing disquiet atop her desk. The report is stirring memories old and rancid as bad wine. With lethal sharpness, she recalls the small practice she had with Tungsten on the edge of the Starwood Spa. She recalls the sharp rise in disassociative episodes before it all went wrong.

She hadn't been able to figure out what it meant, or why it was happening at the time. She had even disclosed that information to Dantalion. But none of them had been able to figure out the source. None of them had been able to stop Opal, or even identify him as the source of the problem, until their homes were in ruin.

She looks up into Alala's eyes. They both know Haematica had her first children to give the clan more plaguelings in a time when she was the only one who knew what it meant to survive. But she has never shared the stories of what the Exodus was like for her.

She cannot articulate the gravity of carrying Copernicus' mother out of the badlands on her back because the bogsneak didn't want to be cremated. Of thanking Carnelian for letting her give up on Ismene to focus on those with better chances. Of working through the night until her fingers were raw and gnarled and still having to watch Tawny set fire to the bodies of three imperials while they all held their breath and prayed that an emperor wouldn't be born.

The last thing Haematica wants is for the past to repeat itself for Alala. She places their family's seal on the letter and rolls it back up, and again she meets her daughter's eyes.

"Alala." Her voice comes out quietly, but with a maternal edge that makes the younger skydancer sit just a bit straighter. "You're also anxious."

"So are you, mother." Alala gives a weak smile. "But I think you are worried about your children, and I am worried about mine."

Haematica frowns. Alala and Rubedo's nests have an unfortunate tendency to precede ill happenings, and this time they have one lone egg to protect. She stands and fiercely embraces her daughter, mother to mother, before pressing the scroll into her hands.

"I would like it if you and Rubedo would take the egg and go stay with Asura for awhile. Maybe take Eshe, she hasn't spent much time in Feldspar."

"I think that's a good idea...for Rubedo, Eshe, and our egg." Alala peers down at the scroll in her hands. Though it is only parchment, it weighs the world. "As the Tribune of Health, I can't leave. Not now."

Haematica nods. "I know. Whenever you need me, blood of my heart, I'm here. Go. You have a lot to do if you're going to quarantine House Perihelion."

Camellia stands alone under the arcade that connects the Foursong Nursery to House Perihelion. Shrouded in layers of black silk and chiffon, with a single golden egg cradled in her arms, she stands out among the marble like the shadow of death in paradise.

When Haematica asked her to retrieve the egg holding their next grandchild, she did not ask why. They were old, dear friends, and Camellia trusted there must have been a reason.

She can feel this reason in the air around her. House Perihelion does not outwardly look different. Glamours wandering through idyllic scenery without any sense of rush or bustle is normal. House Perihelion has no businesses; it is all residences and gardens and skylights into public halls where river waters had been diverted into bubbling streams and mirror-still meditation pools.

But she feels eyes on her. Innumerable irregular clicks of bitten nails and the vibrations of jittery legs resonate in her horns.

Generous spots her and walks to her with friendly, animated haste. "Camellia~!" he sings. "My necro-chic darling, it's been too long!"

While they are familiar, even friendly in the right atmospheres, he has never been one to be touchy with her. Yet he throws his arms around her as though they are the best of friends.  

"Big smile dear," he whispers urgently. "Something isn't right and I don't think we're safe."

Camellia immediately responds with her most winning smile and throws one arm around him. "You know how it is Generous, I am always at the spans and you are always at the spa. Do you have a moment to walk with me? I'm on a granny errand."

"Granny?" He looks to the egg, and for a moment his eyes light with genuine joy, before he remembers the situation they are in. "O-oh. Oh dear. Uhm, yes--yes, of course! Let's catch up!"

Generous keeps a protective hold of her shoulders the whole way out. It isn't until they are well beyond the borders that he and Camellia relax and begin to exchange information.

Titi-tet sits in the lap of luxury.

The game of hide and seek is over, and the residents of House Perihelion have all had their time to see her--living wonder that she is.  She doesn't really know all their names yet, and it doesn't really matter. She doesn't need to know any of them when Pistis knows all of them. Pistis knows the good ones, and the bad ones, which ones will help most with getting Malu back, and which ones Titi should avoid being seen by.

Titi would have loved to have the guardian named Prophecy. She was old, she knew cool magic, and could have definitely been of use. But Pistis warned that Prophecy was perhaps too accomplished at light magic. She would know if Titi was bending light, and would probably not be easy to make a friend of. On the other hand, Titi would never ever have bothered with Dalma beyond her personal fancy. He was just some boring tundra man, not a special or interesting thing about him by appearances. But apparently he was the Queen's Historian.

"A queen..." Titi murmurs with growing indignance. She kicks over a bowl of fruit. "Hmph, I can be a better queen than some dumb fae... What's an Arcanite even doing running a light clan?"

"She's lightborn," Miscedence clarifies simply. "She is called 'Rebis the Rose-Eyed' because she was poisoned with Arcane magic in a magical mishap. Rebis is many things, but she cannot be called a particularly healthy or hardy queen."

"How's she manage to stay alive? Arcane energy is so gross!"

"A crown of white celestine," Stellaria answers. "It keeps her from getting too sick by siphoning the Arcane energy from her body. It's fine for her, but white celestine is lethal to Arcanites."

"I want that!" Titi-tet said, practically bouncing on her paws. "Can I have it?"

Verbena smiles, and pats Titi's head. "I'm sure we can get Ranti to make you one."

"No! She'll make one that's not as nice because I'm not a princess; I want the queen's crown!"

Verbena, Stellaria and Miscidence look at each other, but they chave nothing to offer. They look to Dalma, who looks to Laleh and Primsy, and they both turn their gaze to Moyo.

"I am not my sister," he reminds with a smile. "But the little diamond deserves a diamond in turn. It is simple, who can retrieve the queen's crown? Surely, the Tribunes must have this access?"

Miscidence quickly shakes his head. "If we touched the crown while it rested on Rebis' head, Bestealcian would take our hands before we could take a step."

"But I want it!" Titi insists. "Phi can't you just magic it off or something?"

"My magic doesn't do that..."

"Well it's quite simple then," Pistis chimes. "If Titi wants the crown, all we have to do is take Titi to see the Tahalil knight. When we explain to her that Titi would like Rebis' crown, I'm sure she'll be able to make it work."

Titi shines brighter than ever. She throws herself into Pistis’ arms, showering her with affection, completely unaware of the envious gazes of her other friends. 

If asked, Titi would probably not even remember Malu’s name.

[ansu-gurleht]

36 lessons of vivec, annotated: part 5

(part 4)

ok, let’s start out where we left off, sermon seven. this one’s a bit weird, since there’s a scamp for some reason? 

As the caravan of Nerevar now made for the capital of Veloth, anon Almalexia, there came great rumblings from the oblivion. A duke among scamps wandered into the House of Troubles, pausing before each scripture door to pay his respects, until finally he was met by the major domo of Mehrunes Dagon.

The Duke of Scamps said, 'I was summoned by Lord Dagon, master of the foul waters and fire, and I have brought the pennants of my seven legions.'

The major domo, whose head was a bubble of foul water and fire, bowed low, so that the head of the Duke of Scamps became enclosed in his own.

this part, i think, requires little explanation. but there’s some interesting things to glean from the pennants the duke of scamps brings.

He saw the first pennant, which commanded a legion of grim warriors who could die at least twice.

this is a reference to a character we haven’t actually met yet named hoaga. he’s one of the six “nord demons” introduced in sermon 9, who’s said to be a necromancer. we’ll talk about him more then.

He saw the second pennant, which commanded a legion of winged bulls and the emperor of color that rode upon each.

this is a reference to the empire! the “winged bulls” are a reference to morihaus, a demigod who fought for alessia, empress of the first empire, and was also her consort. as you may have guessed, he had wings and a bull’s head. i’ll admit, though, the “emperor of color” bit confuses me. what color?

He saw the third pennant, which commanded a legion of inverted gorgons, great snakes whose scales were the faces of men.

this is a reference to the tsaesci, a race from akavir which has invaded tamriel on multiple occasions. a gorgon, as you may know, is what medusa was. she was a lady with snakes for hair. so an inverted gorgon would be....a snake with people for hair? okay, maybe not quite so literal. 

tsaesci don’t have an unambigious appearance, and they’re described differently by different sources. (this might be because the tsaesci are actually a group of affiliated or similar races.) but the one this quote is likely referring to is the one we see in the 2920 series (which is a really fun read that doesn’t require ridiculous annotation, i highly recommend it), where they’re lizard-y people with big snake tails. kinda like argonians, except no legs, and more....snake-y in appearance. anyways.

He saw the fourth pennant, which commanded a legion of double-crossed lovers.

ah, this one is not so obvious. i’m sure you could twist it in some sort of nerevoryn way, and that’s valid, but i’m sure it’s not the intention. i wonder if this refers to the “twin” races of chimer and dwemer, who definitely double-crossed each other on multiple occasions? or perhaps this has a more philosophical meaning, that might be elucidated after understanding sermon 35, the scripture of love?

that’s really all i have to say about this pennant.

He saw the fifth pennant, which commanded a legion of jumping wounds looking to hop onto a victim.

He saw the sixth pennant, which commanded a legion of abridged planets.

i’m doing these two together because i think they’re related. let’s start with the sixth, actually. in the elder scrolls universe, the planets are actually the aedra, and the planes they inhabit. how are they abridged? every et’ada (original spirit of creation) was weakened and reduced by virtue of creating the world. the aedra were among those who retained the most power, but they are still eternally short of their formal glory.

with this context, i believe the fifth pennant refers to the daedric princes. “a legion of jumping wounds” seems apt for these beings, since they all exhibit (to a heightened, deific degree) mortal flaws and sins as their chief principles. they “[look] to hop onto a victim” because let’s face it, aside from a rare few tame examples, those princes love to fuck with mortals.

He saw the seventh pennant, which commanded a legion of armored winning moves.

i think this pennant refers to some perceived ultimate victory for vivec, hir end goal in becoming a god. ze wants a foolproof victory, one that cannot go wrong, that cannot backfire, a victory to win all wars and settle all disputes. ze’s had a pretty shitty life full of trauma - a key theme of hir works - and to hir, the ideal world is one where ze is safe from any more trauma.

now, take that with a grain of salt, as the next line kinda ruins it, if you’re taking this like, reasonably literally.

To which the major domo said, 'Duke Kh-Utta, your legions while mighty are not enough to destroy Nerevar or the Triune way. Look upon the Hortator and see the wisdom he takes to wife.'

so it seems these legions are tests against nerevar and the tribunal, making my explanation for the seventh make less sense. but you know what, i think i brought up an important theme there, so i’m leaving that in. based on this “tests” interpretation, the “armored winning moves” are probably a reference to the dwemer and their machines.

anyways, the major domo says, “nuh uh, that ain’t gonna cut it, mister scamp. check out the smarts on this nerevar kid, and how devoted he’s ‘married’ to them.”

And they looked into the middle world and saw:

Evaporating in a throng of thunder Of red war and chitin men, Where destines Take him further from our ways

note: the “middle world” is the world where most folks live. we learn later that the star’s are ayem’s domain, the sea is seht’s, and the “middle air” is vehk’s.

this little poem is from the perspective of the daedra. i wish i could glean some meaning from the first couple of lines, but i can’t. the “red war” is likely the war over red mountain, the “chitin men” are the chimer/dunmer, who are known for wearing chitin armor.

“where destinies / take him further from our ways” refers to the new order coming. nerevar becomes hortator, and then his advisors become the tribunal, replacing the anticipations (boethiah, azura, and mephala) that the chimer had worshiped before.

The heat that we have wanted And pray they still remember, Where destines (sic) Clothe the distance,

“the heat that we have wanted” may be power, or faith, but i’m not entirely sure. i’d lean towards faith, since the daedra pray it isn’t forgotten. “where destines (sic) / clothe the distance” is again a reference to how nerevar, the changer of destiny, setter of a new course in history, has separated the chimer from their traditional worship of the daedra.

Glad in the golden east that we saw it now, Instead of the war and repair Of the oblivious fracture A curse on the Hortator And two more on his hands

And the Duke of Scamps saw the palms of the Hortator, upon which the egg had written these words of power: GHARTOK PADHOME GHARTOK PADHOME.

“the golden east” is morrowind, or resdayn as it was called then. since no “war” can “repair” the “fracture” that nerevar and his stubborn destiny is cleaving into the daedra’s plans, they curse him, and his hands specifically.

hands are an important symbol in the lessons. they represent that which does, that which changes. the hand is the first tool, the first weapon, that can hold other tools and other weapons. they are the instruments of change, the first mover. the daedra seek to curse him and his hands to limit the damage he causes to their regime.

but vivec (still “an egg”), has already got the hortator covered. ze’s written the words “GHARTOK PADHOME” on his hands. they’re probably not literally written on his hands - if they are, it’s just a simple symbol or rune. and vivec may not have been the one to put it there, either: it’s a fair theory to say nerevar was branded, although for what reason, i can’t say.

anyways, you’re wondering, “what’s GHARTOK PADHOME mean?” well, it’s ehlnofex (the proto-language of the tes world): GHARTOG means hand, or specifically, the hand that holds a weapon. PADHOME is another name for padomay, or sithis, or the ultimate source of entropy and change in existence. 

so to put it together, it’s “the hand that wields change like a weapon.”  

and as always, 

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.

[healthyworthyofficial]

Businesswoman suing leading FTSE 100 company for sexism after being sacked from her high-flying £200,000-a-year job

A high-flying businesswoman suing a major FTSE 100 company for sexism was 'aggressive' and 'dictatorial' at work, her bosses have claimed. Adrienne Liebenberg was sacked from her £200,000-per-year job at packaging giant DS Smith in December 2018, after being told that her 'leadership style' was 'not working'. However Ms Liebenberg - who had previously worked at oil and gas giant BP Castrol - took the firm to an employment tribunal, arguing that she had been sacked because of her gender. Stefano Rossi, Packaging CEO at the firm and Ms Liebenberg's line manager, argued that she was actually fired because of the way she behaved towards other staff. In a written statement submitted to the tribunal in central London, Mr Rossi accused Ms Liebenberg of talking down to lower-ranked employees and making no effort to work in a team.

Adrienne Liebenberg is pictured with her former DS Smith colleagues, with former line manager Stefano Rossi (centre)  

Liebenberg (pictured outside Victory House in Holborn, London on Sunday) has taken her former employers DS Smith to tribunal over claims of sexual discrimination     He said: 'I met many of the regional managers on a monthly basis and I started to hear they were surprised at the dictatorial approach Adrienne had been taking with their sales directors. 'Whenever something went wrong or someone did not agree with her approach, Adrienne showed no general willingness to collaborate or resolve the situation. 'I was also surprised by the number of occasions Adrienne came into my office asking me to fire her colleagues.

Liebenberg, pictured in an undated photo, claims she was sacked from her £200,000 a year job at packaging giant DS Smith 'because she did not want to talk about football and go out drinking with "the lads"     'I had never worked with someone who had such a knee-jerk reaction to terminating colleagues' employment as Adrienne.' 'She was also showing a lack of respect for less senior colleagues and threatened to fire individuals if they did not comply with what she wanted. 'I understood people who worked for her were feeling low and demotivated, including her personal assistants.' Mr Rossi claimed his relationship with Ms Liebenberg reached its lowest point after a meeting of DS Smith's 'Packaging Leadership Team' in Lucca, a small city close to the Tuscan coast. Giving a presentation about the accounts in the various regions where the firm operates, she allegedly 'manipulated the numbers' in an attempt to show up the company's regional directors.

DS Smith (London headquarters pictured in an undated photo)  is a FTSE 100 company and an international packing conglomerate     Mr Rossi said: 'It was a terrible meeting. Adrienne was giving a presentation to show that the cross regional accounts - which the regions had accountability for - were largely unprofitable. 'The numbers she was presenting were completely wrong. 'It felt as though she may have manipulated the numbers to prove that the regional Managing Directors were at fault and not performing well enough.' When confronted, Ms Liebenberg reportedly became aggressive, and blamed her employees for not performing well enough. Mr Rossi added: 'I believe Adrienne always believed she was right and would not accept different opinions in the team. 'I did not understand how she could not see that the way she had approached the meeting was completely wrong and was incredibly damaging to team morale and cohesion.'

Ms Liebenberg (seen outside court on Sunday) joined international packing conglomerate DS Smith as director of global sales, marketing and innovation in March 2017 and was paid a £100,000 bonus on top of her £200,000-a-year salary     However another female employee at DS Smith echoed Ms Liebenberg's claims that the company has 'problems with equality'. Chiara Covone, in a written submission to the tribunal, said that she had often felt 'pushed down' at DS Smith - and that her 'male peers' would often lecture her that she was ignorant about the business. Ms Covone, an Italian who still works at the company as Director of Market Development, Group Strategy and Innovation, said: 'It is hard for me to be sure if these attitudes are because I am a woman or because I came from a different industry, or a bit of both. 'However, I believe that it is at least in part because I am a woman, because of the general old-fashioned attitude within DSS towards diversity, in particular gender diversity. 'For example, among the company's most senior 30 employees Adrienne was the only woman. 'Therefore there are a lack of role models for female employees at DSS and senior men are not used to working with women as their equals. 'There has been very little positive action on diversity and no sense of encouraging women to be at the same level as the men. 'I feel a lack of confidence at DS Smith that I have not experienced in previous organisations, which I think is due to sticking out a bit as one of the only senior women, combined with the lack of encouragement and support for women and subtle ways in which we are talked down to by the men.' This case is ongoing. Read the full article

[gaiatheorist]

The drugs don’t work. (For me.)

This is a weird one. Awake at midnight last night, I did what I do, and browsed the news. My disrupted sleep is partly due to the brain injuries, and partly ‘just’ the situation I find myself in. There’s the potential for some well-meaning but insensitive soul to suggest warm milk, no screen-time, ‘meaningful’ breathing, and the plethora of other things you ‘should’ do when you can’t sleep. Nobody has suggested sleeping tablets to me, yet, but there’s a whole internet out there, is it my melatonin, my seratonin, my magnesium? (I don’t know if magnesium has anything to do with anything, apparently it can impact on the binding of the vitamin D I’m probably deficient in, though.) 

Can’t sleep? Take a ‘Kalm’, or a ‘Nytol’, or Valerian root, or Mankuna honey in warm milk, or something from Gwyneth Paltrow’s weird range. Lavender worked really well for someone’s auntie Gladys, and so-and-so swears by chamomile tea. I’m making fun of myself, there, because if there’s a herbal/holistic remedy, I’ll try that before the ‘chemical’, synthesised alternatives. (’Chemical’ in quote-marks, as a nod to Tim Minchin, who rightly points out that ‘Everything is chemical, EVERYTHING.’) That tendency to stick to herbs, essential oils, and food-based medicine, rather than prescribed medicine infuriates my son, it would do, he’s studying Chemistry, he understands the ‘hard’ science stuff that baffles me. He’s 20 in a few weeks, and he’s been to the doctor four times in his entire life. Fucithalmic acid drops for conjunctivitis when he was a baby. I finished the course, and then treated with eyebright and breastmilk, he’s never had a re-occurrence. Septic tonsillitis in 2010, treated with Amoxcycillin, of course he couldn’t tell the doctor whether he was allergic to Penicillin, that was his first course of antibiotics, ever. Back down, I didn’t home-school him, and he was allowed to watch TV, he’s had all of his routine immunisations, and the optional extra Meningitis one. (That the doctor didn’t know whether he’d had, but I did, because I knew which year it started being offered as a routine school-age immunisation.) 

The kid implicitly trusts ‘modern’ medicine. Most people, who don’t run around in tinfoil hats, calling consumer conspiracy on everything, trust modern medicine. That’s what I’m wrestling with this morning. (Not literally, I’ve pushed the patient information leaflet to the side of my pack of antihistamines, so I don’t get frustrated about opening the box at the ‘wrong’ end. Apparently they’re set that way for right-handed people, and you can avoid opening the ‘wrong’ end of the pack by feeling for the braille, I don’t know.) What I’m over-processing is the “Antidepressants work!” news stories. There’s no reason at all for me to over-process it, the first line in one of them was something along the theme of “Antidepressants work for patients with a diagnosis of depression.” Case closed, I don’t have ‘depression’, my current ‘unfit for work’ certificate states “Stress related problem, previous SAH.” (I’ve abbreviated ‘Subarachnoid Haemorrhage’, because my GP spelled it wrong, I don’t suppose he’s written it as many times as I have in the last 3 years.) 

What I’m pre-planning butting heads against is that DWP, PIP, and ATOS are highly likely to point out that I’m not ‘on’ anti-depressants. That’s fine, they can do that, there is no diagnosis of depression anywhere in my last 3 years of medical notes, I can point to the page where the Workplace Well-being doctor has reported “Gives a clear account of herself, and, to her credit, is not depressed.” (If they’re referencing the ‘Depression?’ on my admission notes following the haemorrhage, I’ll politely point out that what the ex actually said to the medics was “I think she’s got depression, but I don’t know if she’s on anything.” I tore into him about that, when I was in my angry/confrontational stage, and he was in his confused/traumatised stage. Unkind.) 

It’s great that antidepressants work for some people, I wish those people all the goodwill in the world, dragging oneself through the mire of poor mental health is draining, if there’s a chemical lift that helps, use it. What I’m mindful of is that the medics have never found a dosage of this-or-that that worked for me. I have episodes of low mood, sometimes very low mood, but they pass. I make them pass, because I cannot exist in that state, in that state, I’m barely functional, forcing myself to ‘go through the motions’, it’s soul-sucking. There are lots of days when I just-don’t-want-to, I know my own pattern, and, although I’ll allow myself the odd ‘off’ day, three-in-a-row is my trigger-point. I had three-in-a-row a couple of weekends back, so presented to the GP, because ‘failure to seek or follow medical advice’ is also a flag-of-concern in me. If he’d prescribed, I would have taken the pills, I had the proof of low-income entitlement to free prescriptions in my bag, just in case. 

He knows me, he’s been my GP since I was about 14, as much as I’m just one more in a sea of faces to him, he actually remembered that they’ve tried me on pretty much every SSRI and antidepressant, with very limited effect. A bit like the dodgy Johann Hari, I ‘revert to baseline’ within months on any antidepressant, and they either have to increase the dosage, or, once they hit the median lethal dosage bar, switch me to another variant. Antidepressants don’t work on ‘me’, because, for the majority of the time, it’s not depression. (Yes, there’s the resistance-in-me to being in that foggy-vague don’t-care state, but, if he’d prescribed, I would have taken them, and tried to monitor myself closely, through the “I can’t feel my leg, but it will probably be fine in an hour or so.” episodes, that are scary enough when you ARE fully lucid. The third, inoperable aneurysm is sitting in an area of brain governing the majority of my motor function, as well as the blood supply to my retinas being impacted upon my the surgery to the second aneurysm, sucks to be me.)

‘On paper’, I probably ‘should’ be depressed. That being the assumed-case, a year on antidepressants ‘should’, theoretically, stabilise me, maybe they’ll throw in a bit of CBT, to make me magically forget that, on top of everything else, I nearly died, and now have brain injuries? Yeah, I’m pulling my socks up, and person-ing up, but I do still have lumps of metal where there used to be functional brain cells, that’s not going to go away, or ‘get better.’

At some point, I don’t know when, I’ll be called in for a DWP ‘work capability assessment.’ I’m not looking forward to that one bit, and I expect that the same person who ticks the box to say I can lift an empty box will also query why I’m not on antidepressants. I need to not be a smart-arse at that point, and question how they’re a qualified doctor AND a manual handling of loads assessor. I also need to remember to state verbally, and ensure it is recorded, every time an action or activity causes me distress or discomfort. I’m going to end up losing my voice. Have that, CBT practitioners, one of my ‘behaviours’ is not-disclosing discomfort or distress, so I don’t upset other people.

I’m rambling. I’m awaiting my PIP tribunal date, where I will likely be asked why I’m not on antidepressants. I’m awaiting my DWP ‘work capability assessment’, again, I’m likely to be told, by a box-ticker that I’d be ‘all better’ with a dose of Prozac. (Prozac brand-name now expired, it’s generic fluoxetine, and my last experience of it had me on 60mg/day, with little impact, they can’t put me on a higher dose than that, due to my BMI.) I’m also waiting on an appointment with Neuro-psychology, I have tried very hard to self-manage the brain injuries, but the cognitive fatigue and disturbed sleep still persist, there’s an ironic chuckle, there, because a lot of the side-effects of my brain injuries are also consistent with depressive traits. I know the difference in me, and ‘trying’ me on antidepressants would be similar to bashing a ganglion with the family bible, just a distraction technique, and a fairly dangerous one, at that.

What I’m wary of is the powers-that-be taking the headlines and research about the efficacy of antidepressants as a one-size-fits-all silver bullet against all-that-ails-everyone. Antidepressants have limited effectiveness on me, I have no diagnosis of depression, they’d be as well giving me sugar-tablets, or something to prevent testicular inflammation. If I had a diagnosis of depression, I would have given up on the systems-and-processes already, as a demonstrable number of people have, some permanently. Not-all-antidepressants are suitable for ‘all’ people, I had to advise my own GP that one variant he was ‘trying’ me on, nearly 10 years ago, was linked to suicidal and self-harming ideation. That’s specific to me, I’m a historical self-harmer, standard ‘not all’ disclaimer here. There are myriad noted side-effects with antidepressants, I’ll throw in ‘weight gain’ as an example, even if there’s no underlying eating disorder, whacking on 3st in 2 years, like I did is hardly a confidence-boost for a person who is already experiencing low mood. The side-effects are probably under-reported, between the depressive state of there being no point, and the cloudy sheep-sleep of ‘it does not matter’, some people just won’t report. Throw in the dismissive “It could be worse!” lines some doctors are still fond of when people who do report are sent away as neurotic, and the reporting is further compromised.

Antidepressants DO work, very effectively for some people, and I’m genuinely pleased that a bit of a chemical crutch helps them to live, rather than just existing. My concern is that these articles will be taken out of context, and that the flavour-of-the-month SSRI will be seen as a magic wand. (No, head, ‘they’ are not going to fortify the tap-water with fluoxetine, to make us all immune to depression, that’s silly.) Mental health services are stretched way beyond capacity, and ‘modern life is rubbish’, the fabled increase to MH services is a nonsense, it’s superficial, the new intake of ‘Improving Access to Psychological Therapies’ practitioners will probably start going off sick themselves very soon. (I have a friend who’s VERY disturbed, recently allocated for talking therapy with a girl just out of college, that would have been potentially harmful for both of them, so he discontinued. The intervention has probably been recorded as completed and successful.)  Antidepressants are very effective for some people, but, in others, they’re a sticking plaster over an arterial wound, I’m worried that some people, who really do need more than a pat on the head, and some ‘magic medicine’ are going to be very badly treated. If there’s a perception that  Prozac is panacea, some people will be very badly harmed by it.

If the drugs work for you, that’s great, I’m not here to demonise them. There is nothing wrong with taking the right medication for the right condition, nothing at all. My worry is that it becomes a blanket-catch-all, a first-resort, and that some people will slip through the net, disappear off radar, and not have different, underlying conditions, that depressive symptoms coincide with addressed. 

[iamonein4]

New Post has been published on https://iam1in4.com/2017/08/trigger-suicide-attempt-making-sense/

TRIGGER: Suicide attempt at weekend and making sense of it.

By bipolaretaeus

To say I’m very disappointed is an absolute understatement.  Devastated.  I haven’t tried to take my own life for a few years now and thought all was in control, however this weekend it all exploded and I ended up in A&E for emergency physical treatment.

**** I have decided to take out the explicit content originally on this blog entry, after hearing the sad news of Linkin Parks lead singer, Chester Bennington, losing his life to suicide this week.  I read about it through an email The Mighty sent to me.  It contained a link to how people should write about suicide reporting and I realised I needed to change my content.  For anyone interested, the website link is http://reportingonsuicide.org/

What happened

In a nutshell, I have been experiencing a severe bipolar depressive episode since late last year but had significantly improved enough to return to work.  I was still experiencing mild low and anxious mood but assessed as fit for work and felt so.  However, I started to get really stressed and tired, and I was taking a downward turn again.  I told my CPN and saw my consultant psychiatrist a few weeks ago who decided to review me in a month (which will be next week).  At that point I felt in control.  The week leading to my attempt had been very difficult due to stuff I’ll talk about below.  Feelings of hopelessness quickly ensued as I sank into deep thoughts of fear of a future full of illness and the dreadful impact on my family.

Hopelessness is dangerous

In a stupid attempt to unwind and feel better I drank some wine.  And then the passive suicidal thoughts quickly crossed over to active.  Whether I would have done so without alcohol involved, I do not know.  In the past I have without it.

In my mind I was making a perfectly rational decision, based on the idea that I will never get better and that I would be an ever increasing burden to absolutely everyone and therefore they would truly be better off without me.  I was in unbearable pain.  Feeling trapped and very upset.

Actually I had lost capacity to make this so-called ‘rational’ decision because I don’t ordinarily think this when I’m well.  That’s the scary thing.

After being physically stabilised, I was discharged the following evening after a psych liaison assessment.  The outcome was referral to the mental health intensive home treatment team and I have received a couple of visits so far.

I’ve just resumed my usual psych meds and taken the week off work.  I’m still not right and keep fluctuating but I’m safe.  I’m not sure what the next step will be.  My partner, and I at times, think I may need to go inpatient.  I just don’t know and that makes me scared.

I’ve spent time trying to analyse what went wrong, and these are my thoughts written during more lucid moments.

Reflection

1) Chiefly, it’s a stark reminder to me of how quickly one can move up the suicide scale (from passive thoughts to active which can be seemingly (arguably) impulsive. 2) I absolutely did not have capacity when I did that even though I thought I did. 3) Referring back to number 1) above, I need to somehow work harder on my warning signs. 4) Warning signs may not be obvious.  I generally saw those as worsening ‘symptoms’ of bipolar and the BIGGIE factor in the dangerous actions I may take.  In fact, for me, I frequently think about suicide as a passive thing but it’s really quite sparse, though it seems to be a default thought my brain explores and not necessarily a ‘warning’ sign, and I shrug it off…. 5) So for me I see that triggers and warnings signs are not necessarily synonymous.  Not immediately anyway.  But triggers, chiefly stress for me, become a warning sign.  I don’t know if that makes sense?  So it’s hard to tease apart?  But…. 6) I need to realise that I withstand an awful lot of stress, much of which I can’t influence because some things are out of my control.  Often I manage it for ages, but I need to be able to assess that much, much sooner, BEFORE it comes even close to the point of going tits up.  I need to ask for HELP much, much sooner, before I say, “I’m feeling really quite low because I’m stressed but I’m safe at the moment”.  Yes, I may be at that point for a long time, but that can obviously turn dangerous quickly – refer to number 1) etc.

Identifying Stressors

Upon reviewing stressors properly with the intensive team I have identified them clearly.  I’ll identify what I think I can do more to help in brackets next to the stressors below, some of which the team have helped enormously with.

Firstly though, I’ll say I thought I had my stressors under control through having a CPN, a support plan from occupational health at work in place, open discussions with my ex partner about our troubled daughter, and talking with a few trusted friends, mainly on the phone though.  I was also trying and failing to address my housing and money situation.

What I can do

• Daughter suicidal and self harming – Very upsetting and scary (Keep fighting for CAMHS support and making sure they are effectively liaising with school, which I’ve realised they haven’t) • Same daughter constantly in trouble at school – very upsetting and frustrating (Chasing the meeting I requested a couple of months ago to better identify her needs/ways to manage more effectively – as what they’re doing is not working) • Same daughter temporarily moving to her dad’s in last few weeks – upsetting (tried to address this, need to all talk about this properly now as starting to go on) • My resentment towards partner as shouty at children hence partly why daughter went to dad’s (tried to address this – but be more assertive and now understand it’s not all down to this)

Be more assertive

• Feeling helpless with above (be more proactive, consistently keep on agenda, talk more and therefore be more assertive) • Me returning to work after 7 months off. (Missed CPN appt as slept through – make sure not to do this and if I do to respond to rearrangement more quickly) • Chucked in at the deep end with work (although raised, not properly followed through – got on with it. Make time and be more assertive) • Being in significant debt due to sickness and rent too high.  (See through discretionary housing payment application, see through application to social housing register – ask for help with this, consider application for consolidation loan) • Less social interaction due to job and sleeping in between to recuperate, leaving little time for fun.  (Make sure I have face to face interactions with friends and family – make plans for this, balance it and respond to calls and texts, balance with sleep, don’t just sleep for fear of exhaustion) • No exercise (walk!) • No holiday (utilise weekends away to wider family as that’s free) • Dog dying (can’t change that one) • 7 month DWP fight for PIP reinstatement resulting in having to face a tribunal (won) (can’t change that one – did well!) • No outer family support to come day to day (can’t change easily but may be able to work on this if I can bring dad and partner together to solve differences) • No time for me and partner alone (can try to ask friend or dad to look after children occasionally – maybe hard, but try) • Waiting for treatment for ADHD and medical review for bipolar. (keep making sure it’s done ASAP – have done as much as I can right now but keep on it)

Other things I can do

• Finish personal wellness and recovery action plan (WRAP) both for work and at home (there are 2 plan templates) • Talk to line manager very frankly • Establish better sleeping habits • Don’t spend too much time on social media • Don’t make everything about mental health

Any other ideas, thoughts and opinions, positive and/or negative would be welcome?

I’m still feeling fragile and the featured image describes it a bit.  However, I think I’m glad I’m here to write this and see things more clearly now.

I didn’t mean to hurt anyone

I’m feeling ashamed, guilty and embarrassed.  I didn’t mean to hurt anyone and although there’s still a part of me that wants to give up I’m doing my best to rationalise it and keep trying hard to pick it all up again.  I’ve done it before and I’m trying to remind myself of this.

After all my past experiences I have become well again and achieved a lot – most importantly taken care of my family who I love dearly.  I have valuable relationships with wider family, friends and colleagues and I know deep down that life has its fun times.  I just need to accept (again) that bipolar interferes with this at times but not ALWAYS, as it feels now.

On a final note, I am including some suicide prevention advice below taken from http://www.reportingonsuicide.org

Warning Signs of Suicide

• Talking about wanting to die • Looking for a way to kill oneself • Talking about feeling hopeless or having no purpose • Talking about feeling trapped or in unbearable pain • Increasing the use of alcohol or drugs • Acting anxious, agitated or recklessly • Sleeping too little or too much • Withdrawing or feeling isolated • Talking about being a burden to others • Showing rage or talking about seeking revenge • Displaying extreme mood swings

The more of these signs a person shows, the greater the risk.  Warning signs are associated with suicide but may not be what causes a suicide.

What to do

If someone you know exhibits warning signs of suicide:

• Do not leave the person alone • Remove all firearms, alcohol, drugs or sharp objects that could be used in a suicide attempt • Call a suicide prevention hotline: See the following link for hotlines across the globe: http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html • Take the person to an emergency room or seek help from a medical or mental health professional.

Reach out to someone

If you are a person feeling at risk, please reach out to someone.  You may feel past this point and not want to, but please please try.  You’re not alone.  You can ring the hotlines, a loved one, message on a forum (or follow their guidelines for help), go to the emergency room or seek help from a medical or mental health professional.

Easy for me to say and I haven’t (clearly) always practised this advice.  However there have been times I have, and if I haven’t reached out but managed to keep safe it’s because I use the following coping method.  Try to promise yourself to keep safe for x amount of time, be it 24 hours, 1 hour or even each minute, then when that’s up try the above or make yourself another promise.

You are important.  Someone does care.  Help is there even though you may need to find a little strength to push for it.  Someone can wrap you up safely to help you through this.

Much love, B xx

Reproduced with permission, originally posted here: Suicide Attempt

[nickreposted]

nicreations shared this story . (Brinson Banks for The Washington Post) Published on February 16, 2017LOS ANGELES — One day last summer, Lin-Manuel Miranda, on break from “Hamilton,” stopped by neighbor Jimmy Fallon’s house in the Hamptons. They both love music and Fallon has a listening room in the basement, so it wasn’t long before they were downstairs sharing another passion: “Weird Al” Yankovic.“I said, ‘Do you know “Polka Party!”?’ ” Fallon says. “He’s like, ‘Oh my gosh, I know it word for word.’ ”Fallon threw Yankovic’s 1986 record on the turntable, and the Broadway phenomenon and the late-night TV star sang along to an accordion-driven medley that covers 12 songs in three minutes, from Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” to Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach.”“Picture Jimmy Fallon and I sitting in a basement laughing our asses off singing, ‘I’m gonna keep my baby, keep my baby, keep my baby,’ ” Miranda says.“We were crying, laughing and singing,” Fallon says.They’re not alone.Yankovic has sold millions of albums, played 1,616 shows and outlasted so many of the stars he once spoofed. His most recent album, 2014’s “Mandatory Fun,” featured parodies of Iggy Azalea, Lorde and Pharrell Williams, a polka medley and his usual smattering of original songs. The album hit No. 1. At 57, he’s now readying a complete set of his 14 studio recordings, plus an album of bonus tracks. “Squeeze Box,” on sale through a PledgeMusic drive until the end of February, will naturally come in an accordion-shaped box. “Comedy recording and funny songs go back to the earliest days of the record industry,” says Barry Hansen, better known as Dr. Demento, the radio host who introduced Yankovic to the public 40 years ago. “But Al is unique. There’s nothing like him in the history of funny music.”For Chris Hardwick — the comedian who created the Nerdist empire and hosts two game shows, “@midnight” and “The Wall” — Yankovic is more than a musical success story. He’s a triumph for all the oddballs and outsiders.He remembers being a kid in Memphis the first time he heard Yankovic on Dr. Demento. And then the rush of spotting his nerd hero on MTV.“When you’re young,” he says, “you kind of wonder: ‘What’s wrong with me? Why don’t I like the same things other kids like? I must be broken or flawed.’ And then you see this guy who is like, ‘Yeah, me neither, and it’s okay but we can f— with these people, but in a friendly way, not in a toxic way.’ ”'Weird Al' breaks down his 'Tacky' video with Kristen Schaal and Jack Black Play Video An accordionist is bornAlfred Matthew Yankovic is unflinchingly polite, doesn’t curse and pays off his monthly credit-card bill on time. He lives in a beautiful but not ostentatious house in the Hollywood hills. Sometimes, on a beautiful night, he and his wife, Suzanne, and daughter, Nina, 14, will bring their sleeping bags out on the deck and camp under the stars.And he is, at heart, still a nerd.During an interview in his living room, Yankovic has a confession. He’s in the process of re-ripping his entire CD collection because he’s read that FLAC files sound better than MP3s.Yankovic on the set of his music video for "Fat" in 1988, and with his wife, Suzanne, on the red carpet of a movie premiere in 2013. (Byron J. Cohen; Todd Williamson/Invision/AP)“My wife sometimes will question the sanity of it,” he says, laughing. “Like, ‘Are you sure this is worth your time?’ Hmm. Maybe.”On a video set or in the studio, he’s just as deliberate. He plots each shot, studies the charts, thinks through each step. When Huey Lewis filmed a Funny or Die riff off of “American Psycho” with Yankovic in 2013, they barely spoke. “It was serious business, and Al was on his game,” says Lewis, whose “I Want a New Drug” had been spoofed by Yankovic in the ’80s. “The best comedians always are.”He can be so quiet, you wonder whether he’s hiding something. How could a guy who throws on a fat suit to perform funny songs in front of thousands of fans be shy? Easy.“He’s an introvert,” says Scott Aukerman, the comedian and “Comedy Bang! Bang!” host. “It’s tough to kind of break through that in interviews with him.”Suzanne Yankovic acknowledges that even she was caught by surprise. When a mutual friend suggested in 1999 that they go on a date, she declined at first.He can be so quiet, you wonder whether he’s hiding something. How could a guy who throws on a fat suit to perform funny songs in front of thousands of fans be shy? Easy. “My immediate thought was that maybe he was going to be a little bit on and a little bit wacky, and I wasn’t sure if that would be a good fit,” she says now. “Then I thought about it and said, ‘How shallow of me.’ ”Yankovic, for his part, doesn’t feel walled off in any way.“But I am, at heart, sort of a shy person,” he says.He traces his personality to his late parents, Nick and Mary Yankovic. Neither went to college, with Nick working at a steel-manufacturing plant and as a security guard at different times. Mary took care of their small house in Lynwood, just south of Los Angeles.“My father was very outgoing and gregarious, and my mother was kind of withdrawn and soft-spoken,” he says. “Both sides of my personality are there.”His parents got him started in music, buying him an accordion just before his seventh birthday. While other Woodstock-era kids were strumming their Fenders to emulate Jimi Hendrix or Jimmy Page, Yankovic was learning “Dipsy Doodle” with Mrs. Fesenmeyer.That’s not to say he didn’t love the British Invasion. He did. But instead of rebelling, he adapted.Yankovic, 10, holds the accordion he learned to play as a youth, and poses with his parents, Mary and Nick, as a toddler. (Family photos)In lessons, he learned classical and polka, and to read music. In his free time, Yankovic figured out how to play the songs he loved by ear, whether it was Mason Williams’s “Classical Gas” or Elton John’s entire “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” album.Yankovic was more than a good boy. He skipped second grade, got straight A’s and was Lynwood High’s valedictorian. As an only child, he was loved and sheltered. Church was every Sunday and sleepovers were forbidden, as was anything even remotely risque. Yankovic remembers an issue of TV Guide arriving at the house that contained a photograph of an actress in a bikini. Mary took out a felt pen to fill out the suit. Did he ever do drugs? No. Because his parents told him not to.Did he ever consider ditching an instrument that only Lawrence Welk’s mother could love? Never.“It’s not like, ‘If I only got rid of the accordion, things would be perfect,’ ” Yankovic says. “I was two years younger than everybody in my school. I didn’t go through puberty at the same time. I didn’t learn to drive at the same time. I was a straight-A student, a high school valedictorian. I was always the nerdy kid.”If he found an escape, it was through the satirical humor of Mad Magazine and novelty songs on the Dr. Demento radio show. Hansen, with a master’s in musicology from UCLA and an expansive record collection, exposed listeners not just to Spike Jones and Allan “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh” Sherman but to more-obscure one-goof wonders such as Nervous Norvus. Hansen also gave Yankovic his first break. On March 14, 1976, he introduced “Alfred Yankovic” to his audience by playing a tape made by the 16-year-old high school senior. “Belvedere Cruising” centered on the family’s Plymouth. Yankovic accompanied himself on accordion. “When he sang the line, ‘There’s something about a Comet that makes me want to vomit,’ that kind of perked up my ears,” Hansen remembers. “He would do far better songs after that and he’s a little embarrassed about ‘Belvedere Cruising’ today, but I thought, as soon as I heard it, ‘That guy has some talent.’ ”Yankovic works as a student DJ for KCPR, California Polytechnic State University’s radio station, in 1980. (Tony Hertz/San Luis Obispo Telegram-Tribune)Becoming ‘Weird Al’He arrived at California Polytechnic State University in the fall of 1976 and immediately made an impression. The mismatched clothes. The flip-flops. The accordion. One kid in the dorm derisively named him “Weird Al.” Another stumbled into his room.“It looked like a homeless encampment,” his friend Joel Miller remembers. “There were just little paths. One was to his desk, one was to his bed, and one was to this accordion in the corner of the room. And I had never seen an accordion before, I mean in real life. So I asked him, ‘Can you play that thing?’ And he goes, ‘Yeah. What do you want to hear?’ ”Elton John. Which song? And within minutes, Yankovic launched into “Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding.”“We were just blown away,” Miller says. “People started coming out of their dorm rooms to see what was going on. My friends knew I played percussion. So I ran and got my bongos and we started playing, and we had so much fun.”They began appearing on Thursdays, amateur night, at the student union. Others would bring their acoustic guitars and do Dan Fogelberg songs.“And we’d be playing, like, Tom Lehrer covers, and we’d do a medley of every song written in the world, or we’d segue from ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’ into the theme from ‘The Odd Couple,’ ” Yankovic says. “Just random and stupid, and people were looking at us like we were from outer space. And that was the first time I felt that kind of wave of acceptance and appreciation from an audience. And it was kind of addicting, I have to say.”Barry Hansen, better known as Dr. Demento, with Yankovic in 1996. Yankovic has been a working musician for nearly 40 years: His first single debuted in 1979, and his first album was released in 1983. (Courtesy of Jon Schwartz; Brinson Banks for The Washington Post) He kept scoring with Dr. Demento. “My Bologna” was inspired by the Knack’s “My Sharona.” The Queen parody “Another One Rides the Bus” was recorded live in the studio. Both songs ended up on Yankovic’s self-titled 1983 debut. By then, Yankovic had also recruited the band that remains intact today — bassist Steve Jay, guitarist Jim “Kimo” West and drummer Jon “Bermuda” Schwartz. He also made an important discovery. Funny songs could get you on Dr. Demento. Funny videos could make you a star. In “Ricky,” Yankovic ditched his glasses and mustache to portray Desi Arnaz from “I Love Lucy.” The song cracked the top 100, and Yankovic felt confident enough to quit his day job working in the mailroom at Westwood One.'Weird Al's' music videos through the years Play Video “He made people stop and look at the TV and say, ‘What the hell was that?’ ” remembers Les Garland, MTV’s head of programming during the 1980s. “Every type of research that we did — familiarity. Do you like it? Are you getting enough of it? Do you want more? — the numbers were huge. And from that, he absolutely was an MTV star.”He was so polite and respectful it almost hid his subversive genius. Yankovic’s parodies poked holes in the bubble of pop pretension. Take his treatment of the Michael Jackson hit “Beat It.”Jackson’s original, released as a single in 1983, revolutionized music by ushering in MTV’s golden age, an era when a video could aspire to become art and take on something as serious as gang violence.Yankovic’s “Eat It” video opened with the flatulent beat of “Musical Mike” Kieffer’s hand percussion before giving way to a sonically authentic backing track. “Weird Al,” slap-sticking through some ofJackson’s iconic dance steps, sang corny lines about food: “Have some more yogurt. Have some more Spam. It doesn’t matter if it’s fresh or canned.” As he pranced, viewers were treated to a steady stream of “Airplane!”-worthy sight gags.Yankovic’s 1992 spoof of Nirvana would be another creative triumph.To get permission, Yankovic called Kurt Cobain on the set of “Saturday Night Live,” where Nirvana was set to perform.“One of the first things he said is, ‘Oh, is it going to be a song about food?’ Because at that point, I was sort of known as the guy that did food parodies,” Yankovic remembers. “I said, ‘Actually, it’s going to be a song about nobody can understand your lyrics.’ There was a brief pause on the line. Then he said, ‘Oh, that’s funny.’ ”In his video for “Smells Like Nirvana,” Yankovic donned a stringy wig and sang unintelligible lyrics as marbles spilled out of his mouth.“‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ was a powerful jam that changed the face of music,” says actor Jack Black, who considers Yankovic an inspiration for his work in his comedy rock duo Tenacious D. “It created this new genre and sort of destroyed hair metal. It was a big cultural moment, and he comes in and marble-mouths it. There’s something really important about laughing at things that take themselves too seriously.” Coolio was not a fan of Yankovic's ''Amish Paradise,'' a parody of the rap artist's biggest hit. They appeared together at the American Music Awards in 1996. (Courtesy of Jon Schwartz; Kevork Djansezian/AP) Desperate for approval“That makes me sad,” Yankovic says.He’s in a car being driven to an event at San Francisco’s Sketchfest, a comedy festival he’s speaking at, when he’s told that Coolio is still annoyed. The issue dates to 1996, when Yankovic donned a giant hat and fake beard and released “Amish Paradise,” his parody of “Gangsta’s Paradise.” Years ago, the rapper complained that the song was recorded without his approval. (Yankovic has always maintained that it was a misunderstanding.) These days, Coolio says he’s more upset with the quality of the sendup.“Okay, damn, if you’re going to make a parody of my song, can’t you do a better job?” he says. “He killed ‘Beat It’ when he did ‘Eat It.’ ”Sometimes, Coolio will go to a bar and they’ll have Yankovic’s parody on the jukebox.“And what do they do? They play ‘Amish Paradise,’ ” he says. “And everybody’s looking at me with this big, stupid-ass smile on their face.” As the car rambles through the city, Yankovic says, “I wish that everybody that I parodied enjoyed what I did.”The reality is, almost everyone has.“It was a vote of confidence,” says Greg Kihn, whose top-10 1983 hit, “Jeopardy,” was turned into “I Lost on Jeopardy” by Yankovic. “If you’re not well-enough known to be parodied, well, you’re just not well-enough known.”Yankovic really does care. As his friend Miranda has reminded him, he doesn’t have to get permission from artists. Parody is protected by the First Amendment. But Yankovic has built his reputation on respecting artists’ wishes.Parody is protected by the First Amendment. But Yankovic has built his reputation on respecting artists’ wishes. “I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings,” Yankovic says. “I don’t want to be embroiled in any nastiness. That’s not how I live my life. I like everybody to be in on the joke and be happy for my success. I take pains not to burn bridges.”Prince never agreed to let him parody one of his songs, so he didn’t. Paul McCartney dissuaded Yankovic from turning “Live and Let Die” into “Chicken Pot Pie.” The former Beatle, a vegetarian and animal rights activist, suggested “Tofu Pot Pie.” Somehow, that didn’t have the same ring to it.Then there’s Iggy Azalea.In 2014, Yankovic decided that “Mandatory Fun” needed one more killer parody, and he focused on the Australian rapper’s hit “Fancy.” But he couldn’t get a response from Azalea’s manager.So Yankovic flew from Los Angeles to Colorado and worked his way backstage for an Azalea concert. The singer’s road manager told him it wasn’t going to work. Azalea was too busy to chat. Perhaps he could try to see her in London when she played there in a few months. A few months? Yankovic could see his release deadline drifting away.“Then I thought: ‘I’ve got to be proactive about this. Do something,’ ” he says. “This is my one chance. And this is not like me, but basically as she was walking offstage I kind of jumped in front of her and said: ‘Iggy, hi. I’m “Weird Al” Yankovic and I’d love to do a parody of your song.’ She looked at me like a deer in headlights, as was befitting the occasion, and she said, ‘Oh, well, I would need to see the lyrics.’ And I said, ‘I happen to have them right here.’ I pulled them out of my pocket. She glanced at them for several seconds and then said, ‘Looks fine with me.’ ”Yankovic on the set of his video for “Eat It” in 1984 and with his Grammy for best comedy album, "Poodle Hat," in 2004. (Courtesy of Jon Schwartz; NARAS)The ‘Weird Al’ rebootAt Sketchfest, Yankovic sits on a panel about the late, great IFC show “Comedy Bang! Bang!” He served one season as Aukerman’s musical sidekick, against his management’s advice. They thought he was too big for a low-rated cable show. Yankovic loved every minute.Next, Yankovic heads to a podcast hosted by comedian Pat Francis.There is a lively crowd and cheers throughout the interview when Francis plays many of Yankovic’s ’80s classics. Afterward, Yankovic is asked whether it bothers him that his original songs and more-daring experiments are overshadowed by “Eat It” and other hits.“That’s fine,” he says. “I have to be self-aware enough to know that those are the songs that most people care about.”Musically, he has come a long way. Yankovic was green when he recorded his debut in 1982. Back then, he relied heavily on producer Rick Derringer, known for his hit “Rock and Roll, Hoochie Koo.” But by the following year, Yankovic was bringing horn charts and vocal arrangements to the sessions. Tony Papa, his longtime engineer, says Yankovic began to produce out of necessity. Derringer, in those days, wasn’t always at his best.“He would do a line of coke, then mellow it out with a joint and then drink,” Papa says. “A lot of times Rick would fall asleep. I think that’s when Al realized he didn’t really need Rick.”(Derringer, responding via email, said that he regrets using drugs — he’s clean now — but that “we made great records TOGETHER.”)By 1992, Yankovic got sole production credit on his albums. His songs also became more varied and complex, whether he was doing hip-hop, grunge, candy pop or, on 2003’s “Genius in France,” a nearly nine-minute tribute to Frank Zappa.“People ask me, ‘Hamilton’ has a fairly diverse base in terms of the kind of music I’m writing for it,” Miranda says. “And I say, when you grow up with ‘Weird Al,’ you learn that genre is fluid.”And so is a business plan.Yankovic decided even before finishing “Mandatory Fun” that he was done with traditional albums. In a viral society, it takes too long to go from idea to approval to creation for a 12-song release. He also doesn’t need a label. Consider how he promoted “Mandatory Fun.” Record companies no longer provide video budgets. So Yankovic partnered with other outlets, including Funny or Die, College Humor and Nerdist. He launched his album by releasing eight videos in eight days.He plans to return to the road next year. But it will be a different show, with the “Fat” suit and pinpoint production plans left behind. Yankovic and his band will play smaller venues, do a different set every night, and focus on deep album cuts and originals. The idea is to connect more with his fans.That is something that comes natural to him. Backstage in San Francisco at Sketchfest, a family has been ushered in to say hello and pose for pictures. Jill Gould, a longtime fan, makes her request.“Can I touch your hair?” she asks.Yankovic doesn’t groan or pause, even if he is asked this all the time. Instead, his eyes widen and he tilts his head toward Gould and returns the question with a mischievous, cartoon smile.“Can I touch your hair?”And like that, they stand there smiling, fingers running through locks. The most successful song parodist ever and a die-hard who heard him first 30 years ago on Dr. Demento. The moment is meant to be shared. Just a man, a pool and his accordion. (Brinson Banks for The Washington Post) Editor’s picks &amp;amp;lt;img src="http://b.scorecardresearch.com/p?c1=2&amp;amp;amp;c2=3005617&amp;amp;amp;cv=2.0&amp;amp;amp;cj=1" /&amp;amp;gt; &amp;amp;lt;img src="//me.effectivemeasure.net/em_image" alt="" style="position:absolute; left:-5px;" /&amp;amp;gt; Signed in as nicreationsShare this story on NewsBlurShared stories are on their way...

http://www.washingtonpost.com/sf/style/2017/02/16/how-weird-al-eclipsed-almost-every-star-he-ever-parodied/