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tullyfm · 2 years ago

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TALLULAH CALLIOPE KIPLING.

guess i’ve never escaped me for too long — guess i’ve only ever been who i was.

[ fingernails stained with hair dye, long leather jackets, the way chaotic moms would get ready for work with a piece of toast hanging from their mouths while hopping into their clothes because they were late getting up, wearing jewelry made by a child, grief like a black hole in the back of your mind, open windows to let in the salt air, a home that always has music in it, a drawer full of kid’s colorfully pattered bandaids, a long bike ride in the middle of the night, a past so dense it’s impossible to unpack, florescent lights, a closet that could be an anthropological study, a costco membership card, a whistle in the dark ]

pinterest / playlist / birth chart (coming soon)

basics.

full name — tallulah calliope kipling

nickname(s) — tully—everyone calls her this except her ex, flynn, and her parents (and your muse, if you think it would be in character for them, but the default is tully).

age — thirty-two

date of birth — 1991

place of birth — bolinas, california

current location — monterey bay, california

religion — agnostic

gender & sexuality — mostly cis woman / bisexual

pronouns — she/her

education level — GED & RN with a MSN (master of science in nursing, 6 year degree)

occupation — newly hired school nurse at otter bay elementary (previously an ER nurse at the local hospital)

connection to otter bay — her job + the fact that her 7-year-old daughter, circe, attends school there as a second grader.

family.

mother — theresa “tempest” hopkins

father — oscar “orion” kipling

romantic — apollo monroe (ex, father of tully’s son) flynn caulfield (ex, father of tully’s daughter)

children — atlas alder kipling (born 2008, deceased 2008), circe artemis kipling-caulfield (born 2016)

physical.

height — 5′1

eyes — hazelly brown-green

hair — naturally dark brown, but she changes it often—she usually switches between blonde and black or a reddish dark brown

distinguishing marks — various tattoos

personality traits.

positive: compassionate, loyal, supportive, good with kids, affable, altruistic, loving, virtuous, creative, kind

negative: intense, unorganized, guilt-ridden, overly protective, dogmatic (when it comes to her daughter), perfervid, reticent

more.

mbti — ESFP

alignment — chaotic good

enneagram — 5w4 (the iconoclast)

temperament — sanguine-phlegmatic

hobbies — bike riding, music, songwriting, playing guitar, playing sodoku, getting angry at the crossword, making plastic jewelry with her daughter, collecting seashells with her daughter, writing poetry, painting murals on the walls of her home

past.

tw: drug use mentions, child death mentions, illness/anti-vax mentions

technically, what tully grew up in wasn’t a cult. it was an intentional community, a hippy commune, a place where kids were raised as a group effort, barefoot and unbathed, wild and free-range. tully didn’t attend school, or watch tv, or get vaccinated, or consume artificial food coloring. she wandered through nature, made art, attended anti-war protests, watched her parents speak to the trees while they were tripping.

for the duration of her childhood, tully had no problem with any of this, partly because she didn’t know anything else. she liked to be creative, she hated the idea of being restrained and forced to ‘live in the rat race’, and she was happy where she was. she dyed her hair, she made art, she started smoking weed at 11, she taught herself to read with the allen ginsberg poem book her parents kept lying around.

for all tully enjoyed her life as it was, there had always been a part of her that did want to know more about the world—she was a voracious reader, curious, full of wonder, and she wanted to know more about the world beyond the commune. she wanted to know more about how the world worked, why things were the way they were, what the science behind nature was, etc., and while her parents were happy to explain the ‘beauty of the earth’ with their spiritual ideas about goddesses and so forth, there was always a part of tully that wanted to know more, or to learn, or to be taught.

still, tully didn’t pursue any of that at first. when she was 17, however, she got pregnant with a boy she’d had a somewhat transient relationship with who lived on the commune with her. they weren’t serious, or anything, but she was delighted to be pregnant—she’d always wanted kids. since some kids on the commune were kind of raised by the community at large at least some of the time, her boyfriend didn’t take a very active role in her pregnancy or motherhood in the way you’d expect a father to, but that wasn’t super unusual, so tully didn’t really mind or give that fact much thought.

her parents were perfectly pleased to be having a grandkid—on the commune, teen pregnancy was not treated with any of the stigma that it is in the rest of american society. generally, nobody thought anything of the mother’s age if she was at least 15, and at 17, everyone was very cool with tully bringing a child into the world.

tully’s son, atlas, was born in 2008. he was her whole world. she adored. she was so happy to be a mother. she wanted nothing but the best for him. but when atlas was a few months old, tully contracted measles—her parents had never vaccinated her, so she was susceptible to it. before she even felt sick, she’d already passed it along to her son, and he started showing symptoms not long after she did. (to tully’s parents chagrin) atlas had to be hospitalized—he was just a baby, and it was a big strain on his body, not to mention the fact that he didn’t get the regular check-ups & medical provisions your average baby might get beforehand.

atlas ended up passing away. tully watched it happen as she stood in his hospital room on her own, sick herself and shaking. needless to say, this was a huge wakeup call for tully. it made her completely reexamine her parents lifestyle, it made her resent them for never getting her vaccinated and generally for raising her the way they had, and it made her feel immense guilt herself, too. tully was just a kid when all this happens, but she’ll never forget that she’s the one who gave atlas the measles—and there’s part of her that still feels like she’s the reason he’s dead. there’s part of her that still feels like she could have done more, should have done more to protect her baby.

her parents didn’t believe that tully being vaccinated would have helped things. they were sad about atlas, of course, but they figured that it was meant to be, and that to have vaccinated tully would have been more damaging. disease is natural, they told her, it happens, some things just happen, they can’t be prevented!

“this could have,” is what tully thought, and she went low-contact with her parents. she got her GED, she got into nursing school, she got vaccinated. she didn’t want to be like her parents. she wanted to learn how science worked, how medicine worked. she wanted to do everything she could to try and prevent what happened to atlas from happening to others, so she became a nurse. she got her masters, graduated with honors, and moved to monterey bay to work at the local hospital.

she never fully recovered from that awful, heart-rending guilt she still feels about atlas. she doesn’t talk about him, and she feels guilty about that, too. it’s something she’s so ashamed of, she can’t tell anyone about him—but that makes her feel ashamed, too, because her baby shouldn’t just be forgotten, not because she won’t spread his memory just because cares too damn much about how people will perceive her once they learned that she’s the reason her son’s dead.

it’s hard for her. god, it’s so fucking hard for her.

that’s not to say there’s no joy in her life, because there is. she loves her friends, her community, and most importantly, she loves her seven-year-old daughter, circe.

when tully was 25, she was working in the ER, and flynn caulfield, an actor (or, a former childhood actor who by this point was sort of a failed adult actor) who was passing through, had been in a bar fight, and he needed a few sutures. tully hadn’t been exposed to much tv growing up, so she didn’t immediately see flynn as flynn caulfield, former child actor; she just saw him as flynn. flynn liked this, and he liked tully, and tully liked flynn, and the two began a whirlwind romance that was full of passion. it was the first true romantic connection tully had made since leaving her family behind, and it was honestly one of the first true connections she’d made at all. the two felt like they were the only ones who really got each other.

flynn wound up flitting back and forth from LA (where he was working as a bad actor) and monterey bay, where tully always had a place in her bed for him. it was the kind of romance only two 25 year olds can have, and tully really loved him.

the details for the next stretch are a little hazy and i’m too lazy to go bug dani about it, but at some point (not all that long after the two had known each other—think a matter of months), tully got pregnant. despite all of her terror about all the ways she could fail her child, and all of her complicated feelings about becoming a mother again after atlas, she was thrilled to be having a child with flynn.

during her pregnancy, though, as her anxiety about their baby grew, she started becoming more and more aware of some of flynn’s flaws—he struggled with addiction which could make him unreliable, he tended to prioritize his work over being around for tully, he cared too much about what his mother thought, he didn’t understand why tully felt the way she did about her own family. tully truly did want to support flynn and help him get sober and get his shit together, but at that point, flynn wasn’t really ready to change, and the strain on their relationship grew. still, they had their daughter, circe, (named after a goddess of magic who turned men into pigs), and tully was instantly in love with her little girl.

their relationship ended when flynn smoked weed while he was watching circe on his own. because of her past, tully is prone to perceiving many behaviors that remind her of her parents as being very intense threats to her daughter’s safety, and thinking about something happening to circe is definitely tully’s biggest trigger that can cause her to get a bit hysterical. she’s protective, a fierce mama bear, and the idea of circe being raised how she was raised made her freak out, so she kicked flynn out.

tully doesn’t want circe to not have a relationship with him, though—she’s continued to encourage flynn to get sober and get it together and be in their daughter’s life, something he’s attempted in the past but been unable to maintain for more extended periods of time. for this reason, and because flynn in the past had spent a lot of time being wrapped up in his career, tully has mostly been doing the full-time parenting stuff on her own, though circe still did have contact with her dad, just not majority custody.

(just recently, flynn has come back into their lives after being incommunicado for a long stretch of time while he got sober, got himself a child bride named tatiana, and opened Center. so, you know—that’s going to be a whole other thing.)

pretty recently, tully decided to leave her job as an ER nurse to start working as a school nurse at otter bay elementary. she wants to be closer to her daughter, and she wants to have a more steady, predictable schedule that aligns with circe’s, instead of working long, odd hours. all in all, baby girl is doing her best. she loves kids, she’s kind, she wants to help people, she has a tendency to babble when she’s nervous. she has some lorelai gilmore energy, for sure. she’s a single mom doing it for herself.

#intro.#mb intro

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princesssarisa · 4 years ago

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Some more “Little Women” remarks: the problem of Beth

I honestly think most commentary I’ve read about Beth’s character is bad, both academic and from casual readers.

I understand why. She’s a difficult character. Modern readers who love Little Women and want to celebrate it as a proto-feminist work need to contend with the presence of this thoroughly domestic, shy, sweetly self-effacing character, seemingly the opposite of everything a feminist heroine should be. Meanwhile, other readers who despise Little Women and consider it anti-feminist cite Beth as the embodiment of its supposedly outdated morals. Then there’s the fact that she’s based on Louisa May Alcott’s actual sister, Lizzie Alcott, and does show hints of the real young woman’s complexity, and yet she’s much more idealized than the other sisters, which often makes readers view her as more of a symbol (of what they disagree, but definitely a symbol) than a real person.

But even though the various bad takes on her character are understandable, they’re still obnoxious, and in my humble opinion, not founded in the text.

Here are my views on some of the critics’ opinions I least agree with.

“She’s nothing but a bland, boring model of feminine virtue.”

Of course it’s fair to find her bland and boring. Everyone is entitled to feel how they feel about any character. But she’s not just a cardboard cutout of 19th century feminine virtue. So many people seem to dismiss her shyness as just the maidenly modesty that conduct books used to encourage. But it seems blatantly obvious to me that it’s more than just that. Beth’s crippling shyness is actively portrayed as her “burden,” just like Jo’s temper or Meg and Amy’s vanity and materialism. She struggles with it. Her parents have homeschooled her because her anxiety made the classroom unbearable for her – no conduct book has ever encouraged that! In Part 1, she has a character arc of overcoming enough of her shyness to make new friends like Mr. Laurence and Frank Vaughn. Then, in Part 2, she has the arc of struggling to accept her impending death: she doesn’t face it with pure serenity, but goes through a long journey of both physical and emotional pain before she finds peace in the end. Her character arcs might be quieter and subtler than her sisters’, but she’s not the static figure she’s often misremembered as being.

‘She needs to die because her life has no meaning outside of her family and the domestic sphere.”

In all fairness, Beth believes this herself: she says she was “never meant” to live long because she’s just “stupid little Beth,” with no plans for the future and of no use to anyone outside the home. But for readers to agree with that assessment has massive unfortunate implications! The world is full of both women and men who – whether because of physical or mental illness, disability, autism, Down Syndrome, or some other reason – can’t attend regular school, don’t make friends easily, are always “young for their age,” don’t get married or have romantic relationships, aren’t able to hold a regular job, never live apart from their families, and lead quiet, introverted, home-based lives. Should we look at those real people and think they all need to die? I don’t think so! Besides, it seems to me that the book actively refutes Beth’s self-deprecation. During both of her illnesses, it’s made clear how many people love her and how many people’s lives her quiet kindness has touched – not just her family and few close friends, but the neighbors, the Hummels (of course), the local tradespeople she interacts with, and the children she sews gifts for who write her letters of gratitude. Then there’s the last passage written from her viewpoint before her death, where she finds Jo’s poem that describes what a positive influence her memory will always be, and realizes that her short, quiet life hasn’t been the waste she thought it was. How anyone can read that passage and still come away viewing her life as meaningless is beyond me.

“She needs to die because she symbolizes a weak, outdated model of femininity.”

SparkNotes takes this interpretation of Beth and it annoys me to think of how many young readers that study guide has probably taught to view her this way. No matter how feisty and unconventional Louisa May Alcott was, and no mater how much she personally rebelled against passive, domestic femininity, would she really have portrayed her beloved sister Lizzie as “needing to die” because she was “too weak to survive in the modern world”? Would she really have turned Lizzie’s tragic death into a symbol of a toxic old archetype’s welcome death? But even if Beth were a purely fictional character and not based on the author’s sister, within the text she’s much too beloved and too positive an influence on everyone around her for this interpretation to feel right. This seems less like a valid reading of her character and more like wishful thinking on the part of some feminist scholars.

“She's a symbol of pure goodness who needs to die because she’s Too Good For This Sinful Earth™.”

Enough with the reasons why Beth “needs to die”! At least this one isn’t insulting. But I don’t think it’s really supported by the text either. If she were a symbol of goodness too pure for this world, then she wouldn’t forget to feed her pet bird for a week and lose him to starvation. She wouldn’t get snappish when she’s bored, even if she does only vent her frustration on her doll. She wouldn’t struggle with social anxiety, or dislike washing dishes, or be explicitly described as “not an angel” by the narrator because she can’t help but long for a better piano than the one she has. Now of course those flaws (except for accidentally letting her bird die) are minute compared to her sisters’. It’s fair to say that only “lip service” is paid to Beth’s humanity in an otherwise angelic portrayal. But it seems clear that Alcott did try to make her more human than other saintly, doomed young girls from the literature of her day: she’s certainly much more real than little Eva from Uncle Tom’s Cabin, for example.

“She’s destroyed by the oppressive model of femininity she adheres to.”

This argument holds that because Beth’s selfless care for others causes her illness, her story’s purpose is to condemn the expectation that women toil endlessly to serve others. But if Alcott meant to convey that message, I’d think she would have had Beth get sick by doing some unnecessary selfless deed. Helping a desperately poor, single immigrant mother take care of her sick children isn’t unnecessary. That’s not the kind of selflessness to file under “things feminists should rebel against.”

“She’s a symbol of ideal 19th century femininity, whom all three of her sisters – and implicitly all young female readers – are portrayed as needing to learn to be like.”

Whether people take this view positively (e.g. 19th and early 20th century parents who held up Beth as the model of sweet docility they wanted from their daughters) or negatively (e.g. feminists who can’t forgive Alcott for “remaking Jo in Beth’s image” by the end), I honestly think they’re misreading the book. I’ve already outlined the ways in which Beth struggles and grows just like her sisters do. If any character is portrayed as the ideal woman whom our young heroines all need to learn to be like, it’s not Beth, it’s Marmee. She combines aspects of all her daughters’ best selves (Meg and Beth’s nurturing, Jo’s strong will and Amy’s dignity) and she’s their chief source of wise advice and moral support. Yet none of her daughters become exactly like her either. They all maintain their distinct personalties, even as they grow. Admittedly, Beth’s sisters do sometimes put her on a pedestal as the person they should emulate – i.e. Amy during Beth’s first illness and Jo in the months directly after her death. But in both of those cases, their grief-inspired efforts are short-lived and they eventually go back to their natural boldness and ambitions. They just combine them with more of Beth’s kindness and unselfishness than before.

“She wills her own death.”

Of all these interpretations, this one is possibly the most blatantly contradicted by the text. Just because Beth’s fatal illness is vague and undefined beyond “she never recovered her strength after her scarlet fever” doesn’t mean it's caused by a lack of “will to live”; just because she interprets her lack of future plans or desire to leave home to mean that she’s “not meant to live long” doesn’t mean she’s so afraid to grow up that she wants to die. It’s made very clear that Beth wants to get well. Even though she tries to hide her deep depression from her family and face death willingly, she’s still distraught to have her happy life cut short.

I’ll admit that I’m probably biased, because as as a person on the autism spectrum who’s also struggled with social anxiety and led an introverted, home-based life, I personally relate to Beth. If I didn’t find her relatable, these interpretations would probably annoy me less. But I still think they’re based on a shallow overview of Beth’s character, combined with disdain for girls who don’t fit either the tomboyish “Jo” model or the sparkling “Amy” model of lively, outgoing young womanhood, rather than a close reading of the book.

#little women #beth march #meta #literary criticism

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kirstinmaldonado · 5 years ago

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Chapter One 2.0

Hi there!

2020 really hit the fan, eh? We went from romanticizing about having “Roaring 20’s”-themed shenanigans to…feeling like we’re in the 2.0 of our era!

“I just wanted to wear the fun dresses, nothing more!!”

Oy vey…I attribute that incredibly basic thought to my love for themed parties, not an insensitive privilege or lack of awareness. At least I hope! It’s so important to be aware right now, it HAS been in everything that’s going on in the world, but especially with this virus.

I hope you guys are staying as sane as possible. As SAFE as possible for you and those around you!

I have re-started this blog so many times within the last year and EVERY time I would get this anxious feeling in my stomach about how well it would do or how it would be received. I looked back on my old chapters and thought wow, can I even be that inspiring anymore?

Now given our current situation, I feel the need to at least try. To put myself out there without insecurities! In all honestly, this can and SHOULD be much bigger than just me.

I want to create a safe space where we can inspire and motivate. Achieve and dream. Cry and fight. Be the best versions of ourselves and hey, sometimes the worst when we all have our off days.

With the current climate, I think it’s important.

It feels nice to talk to someone.

It feels nice to connect.

I think we can all help each other through this by sharing safety tips, stories, dreams for 2020 we can STILL make happen, and just overall being a part of that special community of honesty and love that you guys helped build back in the day! I am so, so thankful for you all. While we may have to physically distance ourselves, that doesn’t mean we are alone.

We won’t let this virus knock us down! If anything, I think it has been incredibly eye-opening. I think it’s allowing us time spent where we would have been too busy otherwise. To paint. To cook. To clean out the closet under the stairs aka the dust bunnies of 2016. To blog <3

You guys. It’s CRAZY that my last blog post was the beginning of 2017, given that I feel it was such a huge part of my life!

2017 was such a huge year for me in truly every aspect. It was incredibly chaotic, very high and very low. The worst of times, the best of times, a la Dickens fashion. You know I love to feel poetic.

Now it’s taken me some time to get back on my feet, even time since the original idea to re-start the blog, but even though I am all evened out and rejuvenated with life I tempted my past.

I visited my shadow. Cue somber music.

The shadow, although initially four years my junior, left me surprised with how incredibly articulate her thoughts were, as if she had stabbed into herself and let her heart, her soul, bleed in to words on paper, crying out, teaching, fighting for life and happiness and regrettably at times ridden with denial and hypocrisy. Maybe she wrote to remind herself what to do. Maybe she already knew and chose not to follow it or was uncertain.

Hey. Maybe she was just terrified of what she was actually thinking.

Maybe she was settling with her feelings because so much of her life had been heavy with poor examples and disappointment that she craved something to hold onto. She’d turn her rose colored glasses to any ounce of sunshine and try to cast it to memory. She didn’t know how to resolve the conflicts in her life so she’d brush it off and bury it away. She’d be silent. Why not be happy with the happinesses she was given, even if they came with faults? Why would she deserve anything more than what she had?

I was truly impressed by my full blog compilation, my poetic diss to myself, in a way. And truly…I hope in four MORE years I’ll still be impressed by Kirstie 2.0, and 3.0 and so on.

It made me tear up. To know where I was in life through those rollercoaster years but how well I was expressing myself on my blog. My safe place. My place where I felt I could truly be me.

Thank you for being there for me.

I’ve missed it. Life threw me for a loop for a while! I’ve loved every second of my adventure since then. From kirstinTM to Broadway and living in NYC to tour to Christmas to new pup additions (shoutout to the Floofster) and getting to explore the world with old friends and new. I’ve gotten healthier, stronger, hopefully wiser!!

I got to spend time getting to know me. And how my friends and family play such special parts in my life.

So pardon the absence, but now I’m back! I’ve missed connecting with you all!

I promise we will find ways to keep our heads high toward the future. We thought 2020 would be our year…and even though it in a million ways hasn’t been what we anticipated (when is any year, though?!) it does not mean that we have to roll over, quarantine-belly up, and submit to failure!

My hope is that we can inspire each other to be safe, great, healthy, and most of all happy. I’ll be sharing what is on my mind, what activities I’ve been up to (inside my house of course), maybe some recipes here and there if I’m feeling crafty!? Let’s find ways to positively occupy our time while simultaneously doing something that fuels our minds and passions!

I’ve seen a quote floating around that I wanted to leave you with. The words spoke to my heart and the situation in a very Princess Mononoke way. Love you all so much and stay safe out there!!! Till next week!

“And the people stayed home.

And read books and listened, and rested and exercised,

and made art and played games,

and learned new ways of being and were still.

And listened more deeply.

Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.

Some met their shadows.

And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,

they grieved their losses, and made new choices,

and dreamed new images,

and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,

as they had been healed.”

Written by Kitty O’Meara, inspired perhaps by an Italian poem by Irene Vella (whose immuno-depressed husband has been ill during this period of Coronavirus)

#blog 2.0

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dweemeister · 4 years ago

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Yi Yi (2000, Taiwan)

At the beginning of Edward Yang’s Yi Yi (translated as “A one and a two…”), the film samples a piece adapted from the final movement of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9. That movement, containing the “Ode to Joy” (its lyrics from a poem of the same name), was the composer’s refutation of a belief he held when he was younger – the necessity for heroic revolutionary leaders to deliver freedom to the masses. Napoleon’s declaration of himself as Emperor and the decisions made by the Congress of Vienna in 1804 and 1814-1815, respectively, obliterated political freedoms across Europe in favor of repressive police states. Beethoven was disillusioned by these developments. By the time of the Ninth Symphony’s debut, he was completely deaf and had endured decades of intense suffering. Within the lyrics in the “Ode to Joy” was Beethoven’s statement celebrating Enlightenment ideals – universal brotherhood in diversity, liberty, and an individual’s right to the pursuit of happiness. The pursuit of happiness, of course, guarantees neither happiness nor self-fulfillment, as Beethoven himself must have known. In that spirit, Edward Yang’s final film follows a middle-class Taiwanese family as each family member grasps for meaning and purpose. Films as keenly observant of the daily joys and disappointments of life such as Yi Yi are rare. It is a masterpiece of filmmaking and human drama.

Just before the turn of the twentieth to the twentieth-first century in Taipei lives the Jian family. Father NJ (Wu Nien-jen), mother Min-Min (Elaine Jin), teenage daughter Ting-Ting (Kelly Lee), and eight-year-old son Yang-Yang (Jonathan Chang) are attending the wedding reception of Min-Min’s brother A-Di (Chen His-Sheng). Shortly after the reception, Min-Min’s mother (Tang Ru-yun) falls ill and has a stroke. After emergency intervention and treatment in the hospital, she remains comatose following her discharge. But even before this development, Edward Yang has been laying the groundwork for his film’s intricate, but comprehensible, structure.

The film divides its time between the Jians, maintaining a delicate balance throughout (even if Min-Min is largely absent in the film’s second half). Downstairs from the wedding reception, NJ has a chance encounter with his ex-girlfriend Sherry (Ko Su-yun). Sherry wants to reconnect, answer lingering questions. Years removed from their relationship, NJ is busy with an unfulfilling job and an incoming visitor in Japanese businessman Mr. Ota (Issey Ogata). Min-Min – who falls into a depression upon seeing her mother’s comatose state – leaves for a Buddhist monastery well after Yi Yi settles into its rhythm. She only resurfaces just before the conclusion. At fourteen years old, Ting-Ting is witnessing others pursue romance as she develops romantic feelings of her own. As many former teenagers know, those are awkward years, guided by nothing resembling one’s present wisdom. The target of his classmates’ bullying and frequent condescending remarks from his teacher, Yang-Yang goes about his life mostly alone. Yet in his loneliness and quiet, he observes others astutely. “Daddy,” he asks, “I can’t see what you see and you can’t see what I see. How can I know what you see?… can we only know half of the truth?”

Yi Yi’s characters grapple with the unknowable, the misunderstood, and the unspoken truths that are just in front of them. Their stories interweave with each other’s, forming a current rippling gently through each of their lives. Characters are occasionally seen through windows with the camera positioned outside – at times obscured by a glare, at times seen clearly. In the former, the glare suggests the barriers of communication and temperament people develop for their own survival and sanity, or perhaps to delay something unpleasant and inevitable. When no glares are present, there is less conversational or behavioral pretense. But in those moments, the characters’ feelings of isolation – from family, friends, or society – envelop the frame. In each instance, Yang (who also wrote the film’s screenplay) and cinematographer Yang Wei-han (1985’s Taipei Story, 2008’s 1895) capture each character’s disorientation in navigating the course of their lives amid a bustling metropolis. These shots through the window also encapsulate how difficult it is for us to understand the perspectives of others. Yang-Yang could be onto something; maybe the best we can hope for is to know half of any human truth.

Those who have seen their share of Japanese cinema may already know what a pillow shot is (or at least the concept of one without knowing the term), and Yang uses something like this technique Yasujirô Ozu perfected in order to have the audience reflect on the scene that has just occurred. Instead of a silent moment intercut with shots of sides of buildings, power lines, neon signs, or tea kettles, Yang elects to have additional dialogue or music. Perhaps it comes in the form of Mr. Ota singing “Sukiyaki” (a song wracked with bitter disappointment in its lyrics) and following up by playing Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata while tipsy (Beethoven yet again!), Ting-Ting being annoyed by vocal patrons in a bagel joint, or Yang-Yang escaping his furious teacher by walking into a darkened auditorium where a different class is watching a science documentary. These moments, like Ozu’s pillow shots, have little to do with the film’s overarching storylines. They might serve as moments of characterization but they are, generally, instances of cinematic punctuation. Oftentimes, that punctuation is an ellipses, as many – not all – of the film’s most pivotal moments occur off-screen.

What does Yang unearth in these moments of reflection? The clash of Taiwanese and Western life elements is an aspect of Yi Yi – one could conceivably interpret the film of how the latter has disrupted the former to the detriment of the characters – but Yang does not seem interested in crafting a polemic. Some viewers who might not be as well-versed in modern Asian culture might be surprised by how simultaneously cosmopolitan and traditional Yi Yi may feel. A comedic trip to McDonalds, the Western cultural products, and the use of English in all conversations between NJ and Mr. Ota aside, the issues and conflicted feelings that arise are universal. Yi Yi does not challenge Confucian mores of family and traditional relationships, even if it occasionally pokes fun at tradition. Even though both of the Jian kids are largely left to their own devices (a combination of their father’s long work hours and their mother’s leave of absence to the monastery), they do not defy authority figures for the sake of defiance.

There are a handful of supporting figures in the film that are having sordid affairs. But these affairs, according to the film, are pathetic and self-debasing – no additional commentary required. Through the prisms of love or friendship, each character is lonely in some fashion. Each family member, with Yang-Yang the exception, acts upon their longing for connection, romantic or platonic, in search of their evolving (and, arguably, never fully-formed) idealizations of how their lives should be. Family life is not the sole defining foundation of modern human existence, as Yang is acutely aware of. And yet, even amid emotional strife and the flurry of activity across the film’s 173 minutes, it is the most stable, predictable, and life-affirming part of each character’s life.

At first glance, it might seem that Yang-Yang is a passive young boy, who only allows things to happen to him. It is difficult to describe this in a reasonable amount of time, but Yang-Yang goes about his life silently, undemandingly, without pursuing childhood notions of friendship or first crushes. It seems Yang-Yang is always observing with his eyes and the lens of his camera. The photos he takes capture things and facets of others that never appear in photographs – the other side of the half of the truth humans can understand. Upon the first presentation of these photos and the ideas behind them to his classmates and teacher, derision follows. But Yang-Yang’s wisdom appears in the film’s final minutes in solemn voice and an acceptance beyond his years. Maybe Yang-Yang’s motivations disappear with age and the pressing concerns of modernity, but his burden is now the viewer’s to bear.

Yi Yi cannot be as effective as it is without its ensemble cast. Though most of the cast are understated, each of their characters occupy their individual stillness and silences in their respective ways. As NJ, Wu Nien-jen portrays a middle-aged man better at internalizing a conflict of personalities than intervening in one. His presence always seems deep in thought, even if he cannot find the words to say immediately how he feels. For Kelly Lee as Ting-Ting, the character is soon to enter her early adult years to a world already so different from when she was younger. Lee’s elegant screen persona reminds me of the many silent film waifs – reticent, shy, earnest – that the likes of Mary Pickford might have played once. Jonathan Chang, the film’s anchor in Yang-Yang, portrays his character without any noticeable exaggerations in voice or physical movement. In silence, Chang makes his presence felt in translating a character exactly as written. And though just a supporting character with little screentime, Issey Ogata as Mr. Ota assumes a bilingual charm – and perhaps the closest the film ever comes to blurring the distinction between screenwriter and character.

This, Edward Yang’s final film before his untimely death in 2007, is the motion picture that cemented his reputation outside Taiwan. Premiering at the 2000 Cannes Film Festival, Yi Yi garnered widespread acclaim, a nomination for the Palme d’Or, and a Best Director win for Yang. His reputation across the world has only increased in recent years, thanks to home media releases of this film, Taipei Story (1985), and the dramatic epic A Brighter Summer Day (1991).

Viewers could mourn Yang’s passing as an auteur who never lived to become an international living legend of a director, or the sheer democratization and globalization of cinema that has taken place in the early twenty-first century that would have made such a distinction possible. Instead, in just considering Yi Yi by itself, we have a complete movie – one where every frame has purpose, and the viewer can accept the person that they have become and may still be. Yi Yi affirms a message that Yang and composer Peng Kai-li quote, musically, in the film’s opening minutes. The individual freedom to find one’s own happiness and fulfillment will result in suffering. Such is to exist. Such is to be human. In that suffering, one experiences the possibilities of empathy and the fullness of their humanity.

My rating: 10/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Yi Yi is the one hundred and sixty-third feature-length or short film I have rated a ten on imdb. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Yi Yi #Edward Yang #Wu Nien jen #Elaine Jin #Issey Ogata #Kelly Lee #Jonathan Chang #Chen Hsi sheng #Ko Su yun #Yang Wei han #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years ago

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Survey #340

“wash the poison from off my skin / show me how to be whole again”

What is one thing that you took to show and tell as a kid? I have this oddly specific memory of bringing my little Snorlax plushie for one in pre-k. I remember thinking everyone thought I was weird for liking Pokemon as a girl. Do you remember losing your first tooth? I don't. Have you ever been addicted to a game? What game? I think I was addicted to World of Warcraft at a point, but it's honestly hard to tell. My depression was just so abysmal that it was the one thing I got even a smidge of not even joy, but active distraction out of because the options of what you can do in the game are essentially limitless. Are you afraid to pop a balloon? Not really, but it does make me jump because I don't like loud noises. Name one person you’d like to see this month. Bitch we fighting Covid, stay away from me. When was the last time you laughed when you shouldn’t have? I don’t know. Which was better: the first The Lion King or the second? They're nearly tied, honestly, but I prefer the original. Do any of your grandparents have a tattoo? I KNOW my maternal grandmother didn't, and I don't believe any other grandparent did, either. When was the last time you had a bubble bath? Not since I was a kid. What do you usually buy when you go to the corner store? You mean like, a gas station or dollar store? Something small like that? In that case, I'll usually look for a Mountain Dew Voltage sometimes along with something Reese's-related. Do you believe that your pets feel love towards you? My cat, absofuckinglutely. He so obviously loves me. I know my snake doesn't though, considering reptilian brains just physically aren't capable of creating that emotion. She does, however, obviously trust me and definitely seems to enjoy coming out of her terrarium and thus hanging out by me. Bubbles or sidewalk chalk? I loved drawing with chalk, but I like bubbles more. I just love how they catch light and have such beautiful colors to share. What do you use to tell time when your gone out somewhere? My phone. Are you proud of your body? FUCK no. I wish I still was, goddammit. I used to be so fit, and it's funny, because even back then at like, 118 lbs at 5'4'', I thought I was kinda chubby. Like bitch shut the fuck up. Watermelon or cherries? I honestly don't like either, but I'll definitely pick watermelon over cherries. They're disgusting. What is your all-time favourite song? "False Flags" by Massive Attack. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character? Biiiiiitch guess lmao. I think everyone has, though. What is the band you’ve listened to most lately? Definitely 3TEETH. Love 'em. Favourite brand of cookies? Hm, good question. They've gotta be good at making SOFT chocolate chip cookies, though. I don't enjoy crunchy cookies nearly as much. If you could meet anyone who lived before your time, who would it be? I don't really know. Oh, y'know, chatting with Edgar Allan Poe would probably be cool. Do you pay for your own things? I literally can't. It's embarrassing. Have you ever been rushed to the hospital in an ambulance? No. What is one thing you’d never want your parents to find out? Certain sexual things I've done, probably. When you were little, did you like Dr. Suess books? Of course. Have you ever felt trapped in a relationship? I felt that way in my friendship with Colleen, but no romantic relationships. What would you consider unforgivable? Rape. Like no, go to hell. Do you like eating out at restaurants? Pre-Covid, yeah. What do you dislike the most about being the gender that you are? Probably how heavily judged women are for having ANYTHING "wrong" with their appearance. You could be five pounds over what is "normal" for your height and you're seen as fat. One strand of body hair, and you're disgusting. Bushy eyebrows, you're now manly. I could go on and on. Do you think that weed/marijuana should be legalized? Yes. Rate your typing speed on a scale from 1 - 10? 10. Do you enjoy tanning? Ugh, no. Just sitting there doing nothing but sweating. Have you ever written anybody an anonymous note? I have not. What is your favorite condiment to go with french fries? Ketchup. Have you ever laid in a hammock? Yeah; we used to have one. It was the best when we lived in the woods. Do you blow dry your hair or do you let it air out? I just let it air dry. Candles or incense? I prefer incense. Can you juggle? No. Your favorite vegetable? Broccoli. Do you catch lizards? No; I don't like terrifying wildlife. I'd much rather just take pictures of the little guys and let them go about their business. If we returned to a world without internet, what aspect of online life would you miss the most? YouTube, haha. It's more unique and personal entertainment than television, imo. Are you craving anything aside from food, and if so, what? I want a new piercinggggg. What was the last change you made to your lifestyle? I'm *trying* to get back into regularly making art, along with reading. I'm also really trying to implement drinking more water into my day. What was the last thing you gave up doing? *shrug* What was the last thing to boost your self-esteem? What sort of things typically make you feel good about yourself? It really, really helped to hear my PHP group enjoy my poem about gay rights so much. I was so terrified and did NOT want my therapist to share it, but it turned out being very beneficial. To answer the second question, it's pretty much stuff like I just mentioned: positive reactions to things I create. When it comes to food, do you prefer crunchy or softer textures? Definitely softer. Do you prefer savory or sweet things for breakfast? Hm. Depends on the day, ig. What is something small that you take extremely personally? I'm blanking. What was going on the last time you couldn’t sleep? I just... couldn't sleep. That's not rare for me. Have you drawn anything recently? I recently drew a picture of a still from Rammstein's "Mutter" music video, and I'm now working on Sara's 'kat Alucard. If you're going somewhere close by, do you walk? No. One simply does not walk in this town and not fear being shot. Do you prefer colorful notebooks over plain ones? I like colorful ones, particularly those with a nice pattern or something on it. What's your most ambitious goal? I'd consider wanting to be a successful freelance photographer to be rather ambitious. Do you know anyone named Alex? Well, knew, by this point. One of my closest online friends that just got a boyfriend and fell off the face of the planet when we used to talk every day. I'm still hurt about it, honestly. What's your favorite kind of pie? I don't like pie because of the crust being so, well... crusty and crumbly. Have you ever chatted someone up and scored a date? No. How far would you go with someone you just met? Not very far at all. All you're getting is a hug, if even that. What's your favorite meal to have for dinner? I mean, it depends on what I feel like having. I don't have a set favorite meal. What do you daydream about? The future, mostly. People I miss. Have you ever known someone online and then met them in person? If so, which website did you meet on? Yes, Sara. <3 We met via YouTube back when it had much more social connection. Have you ever been to the beach? Yeah, a good number of times. When was the last time you were sick and what illness did you have? I don't believe I've been ill in any sort of way since I had that ungodly ear infection a few years ago. Have you ever been kicked out of somewhere? Yeah, Colleen's house. Mom once tried kicking me out of the car one night otw home, but I didn't listen. Have you ever intentionally trolled? No. How many siblings do your parents have? Mom has two brothers and I think one sister, and Dad has one sister. Who last held your hand? My niece or nephew, dragging me somewhere, haha. Have you seen all the Lord of the Rings movies? No, not interested. What was the last thing you watched on YouTube? I'm watching John Wolfe's playthrough of Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs. It's so funny how like... every let's player I watch doesn't enjoy the game, like they miss the incredible symbolism and shy away from the advanced language, and sometimes it's just frustrating to watch them; I only do because I enjoy the game and want to see more people experience it and relive it vicariously. It's very high on my list of favorite games. What sport do you find yourself best at? I wouldn't know; I haven't played any sports in years. I was pretty good at softball as a kid, though. Do you think makeup on guys is freaky or sexy? My opinion shouldn't matter; a man can wear makeup whenever he damn well pleases without worrying what others think. But anyway, I tend to find it attractive, especially if it's goth makeup. Have you ever been accused of a crime you did not commit? No. Do you like pickles? I love dill pickles. What was the craziest moment of your life? Probably just lying in that hospital bed following my OD, my mom and two best friends just sitting there with me. It was such a weird, weird feeling. Like I was just so done, frustrated beyond what I can say. I remember thinking it was almost funny, just how it all built up and went wrong. Where do you spend most of your time? In my room on my bed. What is your favorite muffin? Chocolate chip. Would you ever get a boob job? I already know when/if I lose the weight I want to, it will be kind of a big deal to me and my atrocious body image to get a breast lift. Being overweight ~does things~ you know, and god knows I want every trace of it that can be erased gone. Would you ever go on a reality TV dating show? That's a massive "no" from me, buddy. Would you rather be inside or outside? It depends on where I am and the temperature outside, but generally, inside. Do you like the current president? Well, I voted for him, so I can't shit-talk much. I don't know the true depths of him as a person and all he stands for, though; when I decided I needed to vote, I just did some research on his core values. I don't have any complaints yet, from what I've seen at least, which isn't a lot. Do you whiten your teeth? I've used whitening strips before, but I don't now because they're not that effective. If it's financially plausible at some point in my life, teeth whitening is another thing I want to have medically done because of my previous horrible self-care. My teeth have a clear yellow tint and I hate it. Do you get cold easily? No; it's actually the opposite: I get hot easily. What was the worst sickness you ever had? Probably this one stomach bug I had where I just threw up relentlessly. Like eventually barely even bile would come up; it was just dry heaving. My stomach muscles were in agony. Was your childhood wasted by something? No, thankfully. Would you rather die during an adventure or die like a normal person? A normal person. The idea of having such a sudden death stresses me out for multiple reasons; I mostly don't want my family to just be suddenly devastated, and I honestly want to come to peace with the fact I was dying. Like, find my life's own closure instead of just having it ripped away. Have your parents ever tried to commit suicide? Jesus, I sure hope not. Do you have a gag reflex? A very strong one. Do you ever fantasize about trying drugs? I've wondered before what the effects of weed would be like for me, but "fantasize" is definitely the wrong word. Would you rather have sex before you’re married or wait till marriage? It'd be up to my partner, honestly, because I'm fine with either. What is the nastiest dare you have ever committed? I never did dares because I thought they were stupid. Like I'm not gonna do dumb shit just to show you I can. Do you know anyone who has been raped? I think I might? Have you ever asked someone for a tampon? Yeah. Do you have any exes you can’t stand anymore? No. Are you more of a phone or a computer person? Computer. Do you prefer headphones or earbuds? Earbuds. Headphones are just big and clunky and in the way when you use a laptop in bed, plus they irritate my skin. I like how earbuds actually go in your ears for more direct hearing. Would you ever consider adopting a child with a severe mental illness? If I wanted children, no, because I don't think I'm capable to give a child like that adequate care, being so mentally ill myself. I wouldn't want to risk worsening their condition. Favorite thing to do with a significant other? Play games together, particularly cute multiplayer ones that are more about the experience of playing together versus getting past difficult obstacles and such. Like for example, one of my favorite memories with Jason is simply playing Little Big Planet together. Favorite ice cream topping? I don't like many toppings on my ice cream, but I do love melted hot fudge. First boyfriend/girlfriend’s name? Aaron. Do you support PETA? Considering they are incredibly self-righteous extremists, no. Do you believe in the Big Bang Theory? Well, I believe in some sort of "god" figure that created the universe, so I don't think so. A condensed ball of nothing exploding to create something so extravagant? It sounds pretty far-fetched to me. But then again, maybe that semblance of a "god" I believe in created the universe through that, idk. It doesn't really matter now, though, does it. What happened happened, I'm not very concerned with it. What insect can you not stand the site of? It's more so larvae that I can't stand the sight of, like maggots and stuff. They make me squirm. Do you like Doctor Who? I've only seen one or two episodes, so I can't say. Do you approve of gay marriage? Of course I do. I'm bisexual and would like to get married, so I might marry a woman. Are you into politics? I'm really not. Do you think the world is ending soon? Nah, even though it sure does feel like it sometimes. Ever been to a mosh pit? No, they don't seem very fun at all. Do you like to debate? NO. NO NO NO. Do you like the band System of a Down? Yeah, I do. Are you German? It's a big part of my heritage. Do your parents like your best friend? Yes. Who’s someone you can act your complete self around? Sara, 100%. She's the only person I feel entirely comfortable around when it comes to being myself. Do you believe in Friday the 13th? I don't believe in there being any supernatural power to it, no. Who is your favorite rapper? Eminem. What age is your youngest aunt? Uhhhh I have no idea. Do you like bowling? Sure, it's fun. Do you like roasting marshmallows on a bonfire? I do. What shows or characters scared you as a child? Ghostface from the Scream series was my worst fucking nightmare. I couldn't even see pictures of him without crying. The King Ramses guy from Courage the Cowardly Dog also gave me a number of nightmares. Something about the way he was animated was very unnatural and unnerving to me.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''castle of glass'' by linkin park

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translationandbetrayals · 5 years ago

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''Midori, The Girl of Camellias'' (Shōjo Tsubaki)

**WARNING, this post includes sensitive content**

The Ero-Guro is a movement originated in Japan after the world war, which was born as a protest to the "taboo" themes of that country at that time. If we analyze this word, "ero" refers to eroticism and "guro" to the grotesque. In these artistic manifestations, the use of blood is found, different types of paraphilias or fetishes and often treats elements such as disfigurement, mutilation, urine, enemas or feces and its most violent aspect includes amputations, rapes, dismemberments or simply dead.

One of the most recognized manga writers with these topics is Suehiro Maruo and one of his most famous works is the manga "Shôjo tsubaki: Chika Gentô gekiga" or better known as "Midori, The Girl of Camellias", of which we are going to refer in this review.

Midori, The Girl of Camellias, was written by Suehiro Maruo in 1984, this manga is made up of a single volume (but used in compilations of self-conclusive stories). This story was developed in its animated form, directed and produced by Hiroshi Harada in 1992.

In the animation, the story begins by contextualizing the viewer, with a prologue that tells a little story about the situation in which Midori lived (which is the main character), since at that moment she is selling flowers (Camellias), in a hostile and dark terrain, in which a person arrives who is sympathetic to her situation, specifically the story of her father's absence and her mother's illness. This character offers help in a way that makes you feel insecure and suspicious about his real intentions. It can be inferred, due to the context of Midori, that there is a need of the father figure upon naturally surrender to this unknown person.

The moment Midori arrives at her house, she meets her mother's corpse, being devoured by rats. Midori's heartbreaking screams convey the anguish and despair of being orphan.

This prologue is accompanied with music that setting you up for the main character's feelings of loneliness and anguish, along with poems that are difficult to infer and dislodge the viewer.

After the prologue, the development of the main story begins, in which Midori finds herself accepting the help offered by the unknown person, since having been orphaned she no longer had a place to go. Upon reaching the place where this person is, she meets a traveling eccentric circus, encompassed by a group of people with distinctive features, such as mutilations, deformations, among others. These people psychologically, physically and sexually harass and abuse her during her stay in the circus until a magician arrives, who becomes obsessed with Midori and she begins to fall in love with him. It is worth noting the great difference in ages between Midori and the magician, since it can be seen that he is older and in this way again in can be inferred that she visualizes a father and protective figure in him.

During the magician's stay, changes began to be observed in the circus environment. It can be seen that before the magician's arrival, the circus was not in a good economic situation, and thanks to his arrival, an increase in the public begins to be observed due to a show never seen before, but not only the economic situation changes, if not also the behavior of people in the circus, who begin to feel jealous of this character. The circus people begin to take action against Midori and the magician has an overprotective attitude in her.

The development of the animation becomes a bit confusing, as there is no certainty as to whether it's an illusion or if it really happened. It can be seen in the animation, specifically in a scene where Midori's proportions are exaggeratedly increased to the point of crushing the circus team and thus freeing themselves from the abuse to which they subjected her.

Also during the development of the animation, it can be seen that the magician begins to reveal cellopathic attitudes with Midori, to the point of murdering a character and sabotaging a possible actress career that they offer her.

The death of the character turns out to be confusing, because in the images it's apparently an illusion (dying trapped in quicksand) but in later images it's evident that he's killed by the magician, since they find the corpse and also Midori witnessed of the murder, showing an attitude of rejection and fright at the situation.

Scenes later, the magician continues to demonstrate possessive and cellopathic attitudes to the point of struggling Midori and thus causing disappointment in the ideal of man that she had over him.

Little by little, the magician was losing control of his emotions, punishing Midori. In one presentation, he gets out of control and generates a revolt, in which he destroys the place and murders the entire public. Among these scenes you can see historical images of Japanese culture such as the rising sun of the Kamikaze flag, also large waves are shown where it can be inferred that it refers to the illustration of "The Great Wave of Kanagawa" by the artist Katsushika Hokusai, where the phenomenon of a giant wave is shown, which is formed when different waves come together to generate a higher and more devastating one. In addition, references of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bomb can be visualized, such as deformities in people, which at the same time are exploding and simultaneously there is a specific reference of an arc that turns out to be taken from an iconic photograph of those events.

Then having caused all that disaster,the magician is pretending to be weak and unconscious on a stretcher, surrounded by some circus characters including Midori, the owner, among others. It can be inferred from the above that the magician is victimizing himself after having caused the events described above.

In the following scene Midori finds herself contemplating the full moon, the magician appears and apologizes for what he had caused, again demonstrating his obsession with her, then requesting her to stay with him, so, normalizing the situation, Midori returns with him and exclaimed that she wants to go home.

In the box below, the magician can be seen subjecting Midori to hypnosis. Subsequently, a sequence begins in which the magician immediately transports her to a kind of portal, where Midori can be seen running with images of ancient aesthetics in the background, alluding to the past in which she lived, in which her wish is fulfilled to come home.

Upon arriving home, her parents were sitting, it should be noted that, in illusion, the father is characterized with a military cut. In one of the images, it can see a frame of a military man on the wall, so it's possible to infer that Midori's father was a military man and was no longer present, because he lived the war, that took place in that context . In a later scene, in which Midori finds herself on the magician's breast awakening from illusion, an illustration of a ship setting sail can be seen, with flags of the rising sun and white handkerchiefs in the background, which alludes to when the military went to war , with this again infer that her father died in that event.

As the story is ending, it's shown that the boss leaves the circus, all the members begin to take their bearings and Midori leaves with the magician. In the following scene, there is an illustration in which both are under the fall of the cherry petals, this symbolizes the transience or the ephemeral nature of life. Later the magician goes to buy food and when he goes back, he witnesses a homicide, the assassin realizes that he was looking and stabs him causing his death.

Personal appreciation and Conclusions

In my personal position, it seemed to me a quite interesting work to analyze, since it covers several taboo subjects, which we aren't used to speaking, observing or studying, which allows us to visualize different "rare" aspects, which are part of the reality, since these topics covered by the Ero-Guro, can be very puzzling and shocking for the common people.

Regarding the characters, I find the evolution in their personality and attitude very interesting, as for example, with the arrival of Midori, the circus behaved very disrespectfully with her in many ways, however, when she goes to leave, they said goodbye in affectionate.This made me feel a bit confused, since I wasn't sure that they were under the effect of any illusion, since they were acting very strangely or perhaps they simply wanted to symbolize the liberation (for having finished the circus) of those characters in each of their particularities.

Regarding the historical context that is reflected in the work, I think it's fantastic that Maruo has put a lot of references during the development of it, since that allows us to relate the absence of the father with the military and the war. Also, the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bomb context is related to the emergence of the explosions and deformations in people, which seems really impressive to me, as the writer transmitted the crude thing that happened during these historical events in Japan, being that for that time, it was very shocking to visualize these things.

In summary, it can be concluded that throughout the work, Midori always looked for a father figure, since his father wasn't present and this is because he died in the Second World War.

It can also be concluded that the magician is a great reference of what a macho man was of those times, with attitudes such as psychological manipulation, jealousy, authoritarianism, possessionism, among others.

As a general conclusion, it can be seen that this work is the live representation of the themes on which the current of the Ero-Guro is based, since practically all these elements can be appreciated visually.

Bastián Miranda Hess

#Anime #Manga #Japan #submission

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long-cosmos-overhead · 5 years ago

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Hobbit Characters With A Genderqueer/Androgynous S/o

(Sorry is this is inaccurate or offensive this is new to me and i researched and tried my best x)

Bilbo Baggins

It’s definitely something new to Bilbo but he couldn’t deny how striking you were to him, he doesn’t judge people and took pleasure in knowing you even more so in loving you

He was very inquisitive at first wanting to know everything about how you felt and what made you comfortable he just wanted you to feel as safe and loved around him as you were anytime

He finds the most gender neutral looking clothes he can see often taking shopping trips to pick out clothes or decorations for your room as dates which is very endearing

As for you looks naturally Bilbo didn’t care for looks in a relationship but he was stunned at you uncaring that you had traits of both male and female you were more than enough for him

If anyone dare comment on your looks or how you felt towards genders he wouldn’t hesitate to put them in their place asking if you were okay and placing a soft kiss to your lips

Thorin Oakenshield

If he didn’t look at you like you were his absolute and utter everything Dwarves only love once and he’d found his one he didn’t find any problem with you being genderqueer or androgynous

Thorin would let you take your pick of anything he owned if it were to make you feel loved and comfortable your happiness is what matters most to him in this world

As for your looks he would always wake up beside you planting a kiss on your forehead and telling you that you are the most divine being to ever grace his eyes and how you would rule beside him in gold

He would make sure to properly understand how you felt and would help you past any obstacles you encountered Thorin would also educate his company so you weren’t bombarded with questions

No one would dare harass you they’d either be thrown for the spiders to have or be in for the most brutal side of Thorin anyone had ever had the displeasure to see no one would hurt his greatest love

Kili

You were Kili’s world and if it meant you were genderqueer or androgynous then that’s what it meant he couldn’t care less as long as you were happy with him and your familiars

Kili would love to lend you his thick clothes to keep you warm, exchange kisses, go on walks, train together, prank the company honestly he just saw you as Y/n and whatever that meant for you he was right there supporting it

After everything was explained he gave you the biggest hug and was so happy and proud you chose to be who you really wanted to be and that you told him everything you wanted him to know

You were stunning to Kili so much so you’d often find him staring at you unable to take his eyes off you he thought you looked no less than perfect

Kili could and will turn very bitter and angry if someone were to throw transphobic comments at you some threats would definitely be thrown around he would not stand for it at all

Fili

You are Fili’s gem and nothing will come in the way of that the words and meanings of genderqueer and androgynous are foreign to him but he’ll do anything if it helps you

Fili fully supports you and he wants you to know he’ll shower you in affection and sweet words loving to tend to you, tell stories of old, share his food, take turns braiding each other’s hair, share weapons

Fili could not care how his people perceive him for loving you he’d dedicate time teaching others and making sure no one was giving you a hard time

For a while he confided in Kili about how to make you happy because he was so scared he would accidentally say something that would upset you eventually he did end up asking you and took pleasure talking about what it meant to you

Fili hated seeing you upset more than anything if anyone dare upset you he’d make sure you never saw them again all whilst being a gentleman and always treating you like the treasure you are

Thranduil

He absolutely adores you from the moment he first saw you he knew you were different and he loved it you lit up his kingdom just by being there and everyone liked you for it

You would have everything you desired not just any old clothes but clothes crafted from gold if you weren’t comfortable then whatever would make you happy Thranduil already made connections

He loved your looks it was different to him and he longed for someone as beautiful as you yes elves were pretty but you were a real treasure in Thranduils eyes everything about your features made the elven king swoon

Thranduil would come to know you inside out what made you happy, sad what you loved or hated what you desired who you loved he’d know instantly if anyone or anything hurt you mentally and physically

If anyone dare insult or belittle you they were banished from his very halls immediately and he would make certain no one in middle earth spoke ill of you until the day he died

Legolas

It took a while but Legolas fully intended for you to rule by his side he didn’t care what anyone else said or thought he felt like the luckiest elf alive to have met you he wouldn’t give that up

He was confused at the start but felt so drawn to you he asked and everything made more sense to him and he fully supported you loving you more for your difference and heart

He couldn’t help but braid your hair even if it were short and unlike eleven customs he loved running his hands through it finding the best and most complimentary braids for you although he assures that anything looks wonderful on you

Legolas has the biggest heart ever he always asks if you’re okay and comfortable with everything especially meeting his father he stayed hand in hand with you proving how much you loved each other

If anyone hurt you in any way by not respecting your choices he would and could banish them from Mirkwood or if it were an orc or enemy they were never spoken of again

Elrond

Elrond knows pretty much knows everything he doesn’t need to be told or educated on why you looked and felt different than others about genders he is probably the best elf to go to

He is always open with you expressing his feelings which are always positive towards you and listening whenever you have a problem or insecurity or just need to talk

Elrond would have no problem with your looks in fact he rather cherished them looking at you was a breath of fresh air and looks played no part in love for him that was all a bonus

No matter what Elrond would at least give you a long note in the mornings expressing his love for you along with a rose from the gardens to put a smile on your face that’s all that matters to Elrond

If anyone was transphobic towards you Elrond would lecture them about the concept enough to make them feel stupid and guilty he rarely resorted to violence but if it became necessary he would for you

Lindir

This elf was the most caring, kind and sweetest person you’d ever met of course he loved you so incredibly much he doesn’t even see that you look different to elves all he sees is love when he looks at you

He was extremely shy to ask anything in case he upset you since it was a foreign concept so he went straight to Elrond you reassured him you weren’t ever going to be upset over what he asked

Your comfort and happiness is all that matters to him if you need anything, love, attention or materials he would always give it to you if it was within his immediate reach

You found an entire book full of sketches and poems about you the whole thing brought you to tears and that night you both received a lot of hugs and kisses Lindir loves you with every bit of his heart

If anyone was being particularly impolite towards you he wouldn’t stand for it throwing a few words their way before taking you back to his chambers to make sure you’re okay

#bilbo x reader #bilbo x reader fluff #thorin x reader #thorin x reader fluff #kili x reader #kili x reader fluff #fili x reader #fili x reader fluff #thranduil x reader #thranduil x reader fluff #legolas x reader #legolas x reader fluff #elrond x reader #elrond x reader fluff #lindir x reader #lindir x reader fluff

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thesecondmate · 4 years ago

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reading: wk1

the new year is here!! whilst i don’t make resolutions, bc failing at my own goals is v bad for my motivation, i do want to do more of what i love: reading, running, and learning languages. i want to keep up with the stack of books on my bedside table (to remind me to read them) and to actually use duolingo (blessed free resource), and i signed up for a beginner’s mandarin course online so we’ll see how that goes.

in terms of my actual degree, i’ve just started my orthopaedics/trauma/emergency rotation and oh boy am i in love with critical care. the adrenaline of waiting for a crash call to arrive. the physiology and pharmacology. the way it requires you to be on top form, as good as you can be. love it. anyways.

books

✩ calling a wolf a wolf // akbar (finished) i’ve had this book for a very long time but have only just finished it! some of akbar’s imagery is gorgeous, like a warm golden hug, the smell of tea and persimmons, but i don’t understand some of the poems or feel very much with them. i want to get more into poetry in 2021 - or at least, stop berating myself for not ‘understanding’ it! - so am trying to be gentle with myself.

✩ emporium // johnson (in progress) reread of this collection of short stories. ‘teen sniper’ is the first story - cannot believe this collection was published in 2002, it’s so very late-stage capitalist america.

poetry & essay

✩ Real Estate // Siken

✩ Pig Bttm Looking Up & Babe the Pig Does the Sheep-Noise When Mourning the Sheep // Sax

✩ Time Decides // Taylor oh so sad. oh so quotable. a raw wound, as if seen through rippled glass - just out of reach but i know its shape from having seen it, albeit never touched it.

articles: covid-19

✩ A side-by-side comparison of the Pfizer/BioNTech and Moderna vaccines - Helen Branswell, Stat

✩ Two more life-saving Covid drugs discovered - Michelle Roberts, BBC finally! not one but two covid articles (this + the above) that don’t make me want to claw my eyes out!!

articles: medicine & psychology

✩ Black Death - History growing up in the uk, i do actually know quite a lot about the black death - it’s taught v commonly in uk history classes - but needed a reference for the origins of quarantine, which comes from the venetian for ‘forty days’, because that’s how long sailors were made to stay aboard their vessels in venice to curb the spread of the plague.

✩ Healing hands: the Italian surgeon treating Libya torture camp survivors - Giorgio Ghiglione, Guardian

✩ Chinese scientist who edited babies' genes jailed for three years - Ian Sample, Guardian

✩ Chinese scientists use CRISPR tool on HIV patient for the first time - Julie Zaugg & Serenitie Wang, CNN HOW did i miss this?!

✩ CRISPR-Edited Stems Cells in a Patient with HIV and Acute Lymphocytic Leukaemia - Xu et al. (2019), NEJM paper that the above article is based on. so so interesting - amazing that they got proof of principle, even if not a total success!!

✩ Does Your Daughter Know It’s OK To Be Angry? - Soraya Chemaly i cannot overstate how much this article shaped me - i think i saw a quote from it a few years ago, or something similar, and i’m not sure it ever left me. i’ve saved a lot of the references to read later, when i can handle 44-page pdfs (today is not that day). favourite quotes are: - Anger impairs people’s immune systems, contributes to high blood pressure, heart damage, migraines, skin ailments, and chronic fatigue. Unresolved anger contributes to stress, tension, anxiety, depression, and excessive nervousness. - Clinicians believe that a large component of depression is anger and a specific type of anger caused by a perceived or actual loss or rejection. There are many reasons why girls might feel rejected, powerless, and angry. First, they begin to see the effects of gender–based double standards that fly in the face of everything they’ve learned so far about their abilities, equality, and potential...Second, they become aware of physical vulnerability...Third, they begin to encounter the cultural erasure of women, people who look like them and whom they are meant to emulate, as authoritative. The older girls get, the fewer women they see in positions of power and leadership. Boys and girls move from childhood realms where women are their primary caretakers, teachers, babysitters, neighborhood, and family adults to institutions where they are marginally represented as leaders.

articles: refugee/migration issues i work for a charity that does fundraising + education around refugee issues, predominantly in europe, hence the detailed research on particular topics that sometimes arises (in this case, the italian govt’s abhorrent quarantine policy).

✩ Pressure grows on Italy to abolish migrant quarantine ships - Stefania D’Ignoti, Politico

✩ Italy’s use of ferries to quarantine migrants comes under fire - Sara Creta, The New Humanitarian the fact that a medical doctor, no matter how junior, did not recognise such signs of illness that a 15-year-old boy died is beyond comprehension. i am furious and heartbroken.

✩ Nice church attacker identified as 21-year-old Tunisian man - Lorenzo Tondo & Jason Burke, Guardian

articles: culture

✩ Uncertain Attraction in “Work in Progress” and “Dare Me” - Emily Nussbaum, New Yorker i only read the dare me half of this article whilst trying to find hard proof that beth and/or addy is gay. the author gets the vibe but no comment on gayness. pity.

#weekly #reading 2021

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chaoticgeminate · 5 years ago

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Freedom

This is the third part of the Outfoxed Series, my Lila Salt series that I started on a whim and got a ton of notes and likes. This is the last bit following the main plot of the series, which is the exposure of Lila and the fallout of that exposure, but I may consider exploring other POV’s like I did with Mrs. Rossi in the side story ‘Shattered’ posted to AO3.

The link below is to the AO3 page of this story, if you don’t want to deal with the Read more button.

[AO3]

Lila's arrest sent shock waves through Collège François Dupont, from the sexual harassment charges to the truancy and even the unlawful photography, anyone associated with her on a friendly level was scrutinized and that meant the class of the former teacher Caline Bustier.

Thanks to the school board there had been numerous counselors and therapists on site, to combat potential akuma victims from the accusations and anger that were sure to be part of the fallout, with a new security system installed with no blank spots in any hallways or rooms. Excluding bathrooms, of course, but there were cameras above bathroom doors pointing straight down to track who entered and when.

Nino wasn't at all surprised when Adrien was transferred out of their class, his Father definitely blamed them for playing a part in the mess and the teen DJ couldn't fault him for once, it was easy to see from the glimpses in the halls that his best bud was happier than ever now. He had managed to apologize to both Adrien and Marinette, telling them he wasn't asking forgiveness but that he wanted them to know he now realized he screwed up and had to work on some things, the pair had thanked him and that had been it.

As much as he wanted to go back to how things were, when they were all together and Alya was scheming her plans to hook them up, Nino was more than aware that if he wanted them to trust him again it had to be on their terms and he was okay with that. He'd believed in Lila because Alya did, no matter how strange the stories sounded, his girlfriend always researched everything so if she wasn't questioning then he didn't have a reason to.

Or so he thought, but Alya wasn't perfect and he'd made a mistake by not questioning it himself, Nino had promised he would do and be better for himself and his girl as well as his friends.

Alya walked into the room late, sliding a note onto their teacher's desk, after her blow-up in the cafeteria at Adrien the school put her on mandatory counseling sessions. For as tenacious and driven as she was, something he admired, Alya was stubborn and quick-tempered; in this case, though, she refused to allow any blame on herself. Lila was the liar in this and Alya had been loyal, Marinette hadn't told her the whole truth, Adrien hadn't told her the whole truth; but it was still Alya that hadn't done her research or trusted her friend.

He slid a note onto her desk, a simple love poem he'd found, he wasn't ready to give up on her as a girlfriend and he knew that once she accepted she'd made a mistake that she'd do the right thing and at least apologize.

He was a sweetheart, someone truly amazing that was far too mature for his age, Nino's poem made her heart race even if she'd seen it on Juleka's facebook page two weeks earlier. For the first time in a long time she felt lighter, her pocket no longer weighed down with her cellphone, the device submitted for evidence for her own lawsuit against Lila.

Aya wasn't an idiot, she hadn't believed a damn thing Lila Rossi was putting out, but she was too quick tempered and had moved far too quickly against the Italian. Giving the new girl a chance to fess up had led to a rabbit hole of trouble, Lila hadn't even tried playing clean and as soon as she had her ammo it was over, Alya hadn't thought the girl would follow her around for months in secret while she'd supposedly been traveling.

Lila had gotten video proof of Alya sneaking around with Nino, steamy make-outs in fairly public (though not in the open) places while they were supposed to be babysitting, and worst of all she'd gotten a series of photos with Alya and Nino in a VERY compromising position in the school.

'All I want is your support, you don't have to believe me but you do have to make the others believe me, I won't tell anyone or show these otherwise.'

It sucked but Alya had danced to Lila's song and done what she asked without question, it would ruin her and Nino's records and their parents would have a meltdown, she expected Lila to eventually make a mistake after all and even if Alya supported her that didn't mean one of the others was trapped by her web. Alya had tried hard to support Marinette, Lila's chosen target she soon learned, but after the first attempt at getting the designer expelled had failed Lila wasn't giving any leeway.

The second attempt worked far too well, after Lila took the picture of the funeral right from Alya's phone, and the reporter found herself doing the unspeakable at Lila's behest. Every article had her in tears and the public backlash made her sick to her stomach, if she wasn't terrified of the result from Lila it might've been easier to delete the Ladyblog entirely, and finally it all drew to a close with Lila's arrest.

Finding out Adrien had known all along, that he'd just said nothing, had ignited a fire in Alya that she couldn't extinguish and she tore into him for his inaction; the entire time he could have done something, he could have saved her from her own ruin. But now, finally, Alya had come clean on every last detail to her parents and the school; her parents, as disappointed and hurt as they were, contacted the AGRESTE lawyers with their own evidence of blackmail to add to Lila's charges once they spoke with Officer Raincomprix.

Nino was still in the dark, though not for long since his parents were contacted too in regards to the nature of the pictures and video, and several people had said her intentions to protect her boyfriend were noble even if she had done wrong. But Alya had a long way to go in order to forgive herself before she'd ask forgiveness of anyone else, she started with hand-written letters to be mailed out to a lot of people, her phone and computer taken and she was under house arrest for quite a while per her parents.

Focusing on the board, as their teacher talked about their assignment for geography, Alya scribbled her notes as the rest tapped and typed away on their tablets.

"BREAKING REPORT

BLACKMAIL CHARGES CONFIRMED AGAINST LILA ROSSI

As of Wednesday, we have word that more charges are being added to the already extensive list for Lila Rossi. The Italian student, living in France on a VISA due to her mother's work, has already been accused of a long list of charges by both the Agreste family and the Dupain-Cheng family as well as the school board. Sexual harassment, truancy charges, unlawful photography, bullying a French citizen, and now there is evidence surfacing of blackmailing a French citizen.

The Césaire family have come forward with very serious evidence that indicates Alya Césaire, the founder of the Ladyblog, was being blackmailed by Lila Rossi the entire span of her time at Francios Dupont and during the period she was skipping classes. E-mails, text messages, and threatening messages through Facebook and Snapchat depict Rossi as having compromising photographs and videos of Césaire and her boyfriend that could result in their own criminal charges.

When we asked Otis Césaire his thoughts on the matter he had this to say:

"My daughter was wrong in her actions, I will not try and say she was only a victim because she could have come to us before this started and we would have helped her, but I am appalled that the school officials were so easily fooled and allowed a girl to come in and manipulate them so thoroughly. They were supposed to protect their students, regardless of how much money the families of those kids have, but I see that their concern was elsewhere."

Alya Césaire herself is being reviewed for her own criminal charges based on the content of the photographs that were found on Lila Rossi's devices and has asked that any charges that might be applied to her boyfriend be dropped as she was the primary instigator for each incident. The AGRESTE legal team is asking that any other students, parents, or parties victim to any schemes of Lila please step forward so that they can compile a full list of charges and get this case closed."

The voice of Nadja Chamak played softly in the background of the office as Mayor Armand D'Argencourt adjusted his tie and looked around the bleak space, it was only a matter of time before the school board pursued the Mayor for his own corruption and Andre had paid out a hefty sum to avoid prison before being removed from office, the new election had come and Armand had taken post over Madam Lauren Richards.

As one of the few teachers not involved with Rossi, aside from Physical Education, he hadn't been questioned much and even then he never once allowed her any special treatment; if she cited an injury he made her go to the nurse, any conditions she claimed he would ask Miss Kensington for proof and there never was any. But his claims and reports to Phineas had gone unanswered and blown aside, as any with Miss Bourgeios often had, his reports to the school board had been added to the Dupain-Cheng case as had Priscille's own reports.

A knock on the door made him clear his throat. "Come in." He left the office door open, unlike the Mayor had, the knocking was just a courtesy. His secretary, Monsieur Hemsley, held a stack of papers and folders.

"I'm afraid to say there is a lot more of this, sir, but this is the start of what Mayor Bourgeios cited as unnecessary for Paris." The man looked apologetic and Armand shook his head, accepting the stack of things with no ill-feelings.

It was a new challenge. "I want to start with everything from the past year, Thomas, I've no doubt there were plenty of things he ignored or blew out to keep his hotel running and himself in office." Finding the corruption was the first step, all the business owners with an in that were paying into the Bourgeios to keep themselves on top, Armand wasn't going to fail his family's post or his city.

He glanced at his calendar. "Remember to keep tomorrow afternoon clear, I've got fencing to teach at the Agreste manor after school hours tomorrow." Thomas nodded and went to bring the next batch of papers to him.

"It's been quiet."

Sitting on top of Notre Dame, legs swinging freely as the lights illuminated the dark city below, Chat couldn't help but hum in agreement to the soft statement his partner whispered. With Lila's arrest and the continual charges being brought forward against her, as well as the fallout from the students, he'd expected much more in the way of akuma. "It's worrying, as much as I don't want it to be." He wanted it to be a good sign that there hadn't been problems with Hawkmoth, he wanted it to be an indicator that they were due for some peace and quiet, but they couldn't relax.

Ladybug's eyes were focused on the light at the Town Hall where his fencing instructor, now Mayor, was working diligently through years of corruption from Chloe's father in office. "I've been talking with Tikki and the other Kwami, they all agree that something feels... off. We have a lot of theories but nothing concrete, if I wasn't so afraid to bring the Miracle Box out in public I'd have brought it tonight with me." He almost choked with how deep a breath he drew in, that was not at all what he'd expected.

"You want- but you're the Guardian. Why would my-"

"Your thoughts and opinions are always important to me, Chat, we're partners. You just have horrible timing to be a flirty tomcat as well as an issue with the word no."

He opened his mouth to argue but didn't, she was right, he had no valid excuse for his behavior in the past. "I, uh, you don't have to worry about that LB. I have a girlfriend, outside the mask I mean, I won't tell you her name but she's incredible and I'm really happy with her." Chat could feel her looking at him and her expression was soft, fond and friendly, love without the romantic aspect of it.

Such a familiar look and he didn't even know why. "I'm really happy for you, Chat, you deserve someone who brings you happiness." He felt his cheeks warm, Marinette made him more than happy, he felt loved and like he was home when he was by her side.

But his expression schooled into something playful as his partner looked away, her own face pink. "Oh, is that a blush? Thinking of your own special boy?" Her scowl was lacking any real anger or annoyance and it twisted into a bright grin.

"The boy I like, the one I told you about, he asked me out and we're together now." At one point that would have hurt him, made his chest ache, but it just indicated how incredible Marinette was that he didn't feel anything but happiness.

His mouth spit out the phrase before he could even stop it. "Oh? So, the Bug has her Boo? I guess when you're on a date you're Bugandboo?" Her squawk of outrage had him laughing as he got up to run, delighting in just being able to play, a few people who were still awake cheered him on while others admonished him playfully for irritating the heroine.

By the time patrol ended he was sporting a sore arm, a hoarse voice from laughing, and the annoyance of being filmed falling off a roof into a dumpster when one of Monsieur Ramirer's pigeons flew in his face. But it was a good night and he promised to keep his eyes open for trouble in the form of butterflies.

Marinette knocked and waited for an answer, meeting surprised expressions, her own lips a flat line. "Can I...?" The nod was gentle as Marlena hugged her, whispering an apology of her own, but Marinette didn't blame her at all. Nora's hug was more like a wrestling move, cracking a few joints too, the twins were subdued for once. Walking to the open door, since Alya wasn't allowed to have her room closed off at all, Marinette knocked on the frame.

"Just cleaning my- oh." Alya emerged from her mess of clothes, the closet's contents emptied on the floor and sorted into piles, her expression guarded but somehow open.

Before she could lose her nerve, the designer cleared her throat. "I'm angry at you, for not telling me the truth about what was going on and then attacking my parents when you could have come clean before it got that far, but I'm sorry that you were a victim to her schemes too. I can't forgive you, at least not right now, but I respect you for trying to protect Nino even if I was the sacrifice because I don't know if I would have done anything different in your situation." Alya's eyes were watering and Marinette knew she was close to crying too, she'd decided that she wasn't going to hold onto grudges or anger any longer and had spent the day visiting her former classmates.

Part of moving on was deciding what emotions to hold onto, Wayzz and Longg had helped her come to terms with her lingering doubts and hurt emotions, she refused to be chained by the betrayal and hurt more than she needed to be. "Thank you, I always could trust you to be honest with me, for what it's worth I am sorry that I hid the truth from you." Marinette nodded at Alya and her grip on the doorframe tightened a little.

There wasn't a lot to say between them. "I want to trust you again, Alya, you inspired me to be better and to stand up for what was right and in a weird way you tried to protect me and Nino. Please do better so I can have my best friend back." Marinette's eyes watered and Alya's tears slid down her cheeks as she nodded, the designer opened her arms and the hug was everything she expected when Alya nearly tackled her, but it was what they both needed.

After their impromptu cry session, monitored by Nora to watch for butterflies, the two students said their farewells. Sliding under her Papa's arm as she exited the building, he'd insisted on coming with her to visit her former classmates, Marinette wiped her eyes with the offered handkerchief. "Feel a little better, dumpling?" He had been skeptical of this whole thing but supported her choice to do it.

"Yea, Papa, I do. I really do."

"Good, I'm glad. Now, I know you like to make all your clothes and for good reason, I've got a secret assignment of my own. You see, your Maman and I agreed I would know just what sort of dress you need to take Adrien's breath away for your date tonight. So, dumpling, we're going shopping." Marinette wanted to be upset but it had been a long time since her parents ever got to buy her clothes, a really long time actually, so she didn't argue as he caught a bus to the shopping district for them.

But she had to admit she didn't expect some of the choices he handed her to try on. Marinette might have accused him of asking Gabriel for help if not for the fact that all of the choices were all colors her father knew she liked and not things that were considered complimentary to her skin tone. After trying on what felt like hundreds of dresses, even if it was only twenty according to Tikki, Marinette and her Papa found one they both liked.

Pale rose in color with a fit and flare shape, the bodice was solid color with very short sleeves made of the same georgette lace that covered the knee-length skirt, she felt really cute in it and it wasn't too short or revealing. Marinette had white, round-toe, heels that she could wear with it and wanted to wear her hair down with loose curls. Her Maman, on their return home, admitted that out of the two of her parents it was her Papa that had an artist's eye and had often picked all of the dresses that Sabine herself wore on their dates.

Marinette hadn't known, though she decided it wasn't that surprising given her Papa's decorative skill, but she was glad that her Papa was happy for her relationship. "You have two hours to get ready before Adrien gets here, dumpling." That made her rush up the stairs and hurry to get ready since this was their first unsupervised date.

'That boy needs his Dad. Not his Father, Gabriel, or his boss. Adrien needs you in his life and if you don't shape up then I will report every last shred of truth on how you break labor laws and pull him from school illegally for photoshoots.'

Leonard's threat had hung heavy between the two men since the initial stirrings against Lila, the black eye Gabriel had sported for two weeks had been hidden with make-up but the bodyguard hadn't feared repercussions or assault charges, as a parent Gabriel respected Leonard and as a friend he respected him even more for doing what he'd done. Watching his son smooth down the jacket of his suit, planning to take his girlfriend to a restaurant known for their private settings so they could avoid the spotlight for some time, Gabriel was proud of Adrien and knew now that he had missed quite a bit.

Leonard met his gaze as the teenager rambled about his nerves, Nathalie busy reassuring him that Marinette would be thrilled to bits, the very slightest of nods from the man expelled most of the tension. Gabriel handed Adrien something he'd kept for his son, for quite some time, a delicate silver chain with loops for charms waiting. "You are under no pressure to accept this, or do what I had done, but I know you're nervous and hope that maybe this will help you with your own ideas for Marinette." Adrien's eyes were just as curious and warm as Emilie's were, it was both heartbreaking and so very amazing.

"Emilie had a book that she bought, I gave her a single flower on every date, she would press the flowers to preserve them; this is the start of a charm bracelet, I think perhaps Marinette would like something she can wear as a reminder of your affections." It was a guess but the girl proved to be very affectionate, though not incredibly handsy in public and it was a trait he appreciated, with her own anxious tendencies it would be best to have something tangible she could carry. Adrien grinned and nodded, looking at the time on his watch.

A smile on his face and a tight hug, Gabriel was nearly bowled over with the strength in his son's sudden motion, Adrien thanked him with a teary smile. "I already have plenty of ideas, thank you so much Dad!" Gabriel managed to hold off until Adrien left but the moment he was gone the tears started, it had been so long since he heard that title, Nathalie's hum was soft and Gabriel appreciated her quiet comfort. After a moment or two, managing to calm himself down, the man looked at Nooroo as the Kwami peeked out from behind the hall.

"Nooroo, if I were to give you back your Miraculous would you be able to find the Guardian?" The Butterfly hesitated but nodded, looking miserable to even admit that much. Gabriel removed the brooch and Nathalie only nodded as she took Duusu's brooch too, the two Kwami accepted them back with curious looks. "Nooroo and Duusu, I release you to be free and return to the Guardian. I am truly sorry that I allowed my grief to blind me to what I was losing and led me to abusing you as I had." The Butterfly Kwami offered a wavering smile, gratitude visible on his face as Duusu fluttered about energetically.

The Kwami nuzzled him. "I knew you were a good man, Gabriel, you just lost your way for a little bit. Thank you for setting me free." The two Kwami disappeared through the door and Nathalie followed him to what once was his lair, the butterflies and cocoons had disappeared, leaving just an empty garden and the glass chamber. Emilie had been embalmed in private, following her death, which was the reason she was in the state she was in now. Nathalie left him then to give him time to say goodbye, for the last time, Gabriel had no more tears to give and only apologized for losing his way.

"I will always cherish what we had, Emilie, I will never forget you; but I won't disappoint you any longer, I cannot allow myself to cling to us and continue to put Adrien in danger or push him away." As he placed his hand on the top of the glass, chest heaving with a deep breath, he contacted the burial company that had done the embalming. They hadn't thought much of his basement being a mausoleum of sorts, it was not new to plenty of the upper-class, once he activated the tinting on the coffin it looked just like any other.

Within the hour his wife was buried in her family plot, with the rest of the Graham de Vanily, and Gabriel gave himself the night to grieve. Free of the burden of the brooch, the burden of being chained to the past, and free to pursue a future beside his son once more.

Sabine laughed as Tom and Gabriel battled, with Adrien and Marinette on their date the two had contacted him and agreed to have him over, Leonard and Nathalie were on either side of her nursing hot drinks and their own chuckles. Having the man request to learn how to play Ultimate Mecha Strike had been a shock but he admitted that he wanted to be able to play with Adrien, he didn't know what his son was really fond of doing and needed a gateway of sorts, Sabine hadn't been able to help hugging the poor man and promising to help.

Watching him now, as he grunted with his hair free of styling products for once, she could tell there was something a little different about him this time; he ran another hand through his hair as he got locked into an animation sequence as Tom's mech unleashed a combo. "Take that you old pincushion." In the past she might have been worried but Gabriel never ceased to surprise her.

"Keep talking, you stale cream puff, once I figure this game out I'm going to make you eat those words." Gabriel was competitive, not that she was surprised by that, fashion was a cutthroat industry; but he wasn't to the point that he was a sore loser. In fact he appeared to be having fun and it warmed her to see a man trying to do better, especially after subjecting his son to harassment by that horrid little liar, Sabine glanced at her phone as it chimed.

Marinette and Adrien had both sent a picture, an adorable selfie of the two of them at the theater, they had done dinner and Adrien had gotten tickets for them to see Wicked together since it was currently playing. "The kids just reached the theater." Earning two non-committal sounds from the men, once again not surprised, the woman responded with a 'have fun' before leading Nathalie to the kitchen as Leonard continued to read his comic books.

"I've never seen him this relaxed, your family is quite amazing."

Sabine met the woman's gaze and smiled. "I like to think so too, shall we prepare some light snacks?" Nathalie nodded and Sabine was pretty happy to relay the ongoing news that Nadja learned from the interviews and messages flooding TVi.

“You mean-“

“I think he’s found it more important to prioritize what he has over what he’s lost.”

Chat Noir was quiet as Nooroo sat in his hands, Duusu perched on Ladybug’s shoulder quietly, the two Kwami had appeared in Ladybug’s room and she’d called him the following evening in order to give them time to rest. “I don’t understand why he’d do what he chose to, though I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same since I don’t know how I’d react, but I guess I’m glad he’s decided enough is enough.” Ladybug heard the sigh as she leaned on her partner’s arm, her own face wet with tears, she had taken one look at the tome that the two had brought with her and knew exactly where they came from.

Something she’d have to tell Chat Noir, she trusted him and didn’t want to keep him in the dark, but she knew how hard he’d taken it when she theorized her idol and boyfriend’s father as Hawkmoth the first time around. “I know who he was, these two coming to me only confirmed it, I am going to respect his request for a second chance. For me to have this make sense, Chat, you’ll have to know that I was one of Caline Bustier’s students at Collège François Dupont.” His eyes widened and he held out a hand for a moment, silencing her, then he cupped her chin and made her look at him.

Ladybug didn’t know what he was looking for. “Princess?” The hope in his voice sent a touch of warmth through her, making her throat tighten as she licked her lips.

“Mhm.”

Words escaped her then as she waited for his reaction, his pupils blowing wide and round, her heart thundering as her hands started to shake. She felt vulnerable and exposed, weightless as his silence kept her teetering on the edge of delight or misery, a part of her theorized who he was ever since Chat Blanc and she needed to be right. His mouth curved into a wide smile and his eyes glistened as green formed around him, leaving Adrien in his place, she’d never been happier to be right. “It’s you! It’s always been you! No wonder you’ve been wearing gray and pink a lot, you sneaky little bug mouse.” His weight crashed into her as she dismissed her own transformation and Tikki giggled above her as Plagg rolled his eyes, her mouth meeting Adrien’s in a frantic kiss.

Once they both laughed over how badly they had danced around each other, with promises to tell each other everything, Marinette knew it was time to finish what she’d been saying. “They brought me a book too, Adrien, the book Lila stole from you that got you pulled from school.” Adrien’s arms tightened on her waist and she squeezed his body a little, to remind him she was here with him, but there wasn’t any sort of anger on his face.

A weak acceptance, exhaustion, maybe some hope. “You want to give him a second chance?” Marinette nodded and cupped his cheek.

“I think we can do that, now that we know the truth, Chaton; he deserves that much, he’s been trying hard to be there for you.” He was learning how to play video games, the two were taking cooking lessons, Marinette had seen him at every photoshoot and he promised dinners with her family every other week as well as an appearance at the Parent’s Dinner the school was having for this year’s graduation award presentation.

Adrien’s eyes watered. “Thank you, Bugaboo.” He kissed her again and she giggled.

“I told you to stop calling me Bugaboo, Chaton, I like Princess more.” His eyes twinkled and he nodded as he cradled her close. “I’m glad though because I thought I liked two boys, I’m really happy it’s just one.” His chuckle into her collar made her giggle.

But he had a warm mischief in his gaze when he let her go. “Isn’t Chaton a little telling, I’m sure Aurore will connect the spots quickly.” Marinette poked his nose with a wink.

“I’ll just have to call you mon Chevalier.” He flushed and she transformed with a grin. “But, for now, I have to go to bed; I have school and I recall being promised fancy coffee and a wake-up kiss.” He tried to shout after her but she swung away with a whoop. The real surprise came nearly half-an-hour later, after a shower and changing, when her Maman said she had company.

Adrien had an overnight bag and a grin as he joined her in her room, the door left open per her parent’s request, they snuggled under her comforter and she cuddled Plagg as the cat Kwami snuggled against her neck. “A cat could get used to this, I’m moving in too Sugarcube.” Tikki’s giggle made Adrien hum as he agreed softly, cradling her close to him as Marinette felt her eyelids droop.

“So what now? No Hawkmoth or Mayura, you have all the Miraculous, just patrol and stop petty crime?”

Marinette grinned. “We learn how to be Guardians, not all threats are corrupt holders, I think there might be something bigger on the horizon now that the circle is closed again.” Adrien hummed as he nodded against her head, promising to study hard, sleep drawing them in and peace making it easy to feel at ease.

#chaoticwrites #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #sabine cheng #tom dupain #supportive gabriel agreste #gabriel agreste

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years ago

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641.

Would you convert to a different religion if your fiancé/fiancée was of a different faith? >> Fortunately, this was never an issue. Even if she did have a religion, there’s no obligation for me to share it. I tend to be the one interested in religions (although the jury’s still out on whether I’d ever actually feel comfortable adopting one).

The world is ending, and you can save one group of five people: who would be the five people that you save? >> First of all, if the “world is ending”, then I do not want to be stuck as one of the six humans left to deal with the aftermath and trying to survive in an inhospitable landscape. Also, this is just way too implausible a situation for me to take seriously.

Is happiness a delusion? Is happiness only real when shared? Why or why not? >>The idealisation of happiness is a bit delusional, I guess, but it’s a shared, social delusion -- just look at all the “wellness” “self-help” “self-care [the “buy this thing” kind, not the real, practical kind]” nonsense being peddled to us on a daily basis. Any feeling that is not happy-cheery forced positivity is aberrant and pathological and has to be “fixed”. That’s not a healthy way to think, and I hate that we’re all made to feel that way about perfectly normal ass emotions. I don’t know if happiness is only real when shared. I’ve always had someone(s) Inworld to share my happinesses (and everything else) with, so I can’t speak as to what it’d be like if I didn’t.

What would the cover of your biography (presumably written by somebody else who never knew you, postmortem) look like? >> I... really have no idea.

Write about a really good or creative Tumblr URL that you see frequently on your dashboard. >> inflagrante-delicatessen is a funny one.

If swear words were not things like “shit” and “fuck” what would they be otherwise? >> That’s, like, impossible for me to predict.

Write a very vivid description of what is/would have been your most perfect way to lose your virginity. What is your exact definition of ‘losing your virginity’? Also: will you/would you have liked to save your virginity for marriage? Why or why not? >> I don’t really care about this, you know? It’s not like if my first experience was earth-shattering, it would have somehow made up for all the horrible experiences I had later. I don’t have a definition for “losing one’s virginity” because that’s not a phrase I like to use. I don’t like making a point of dividing people’s experiences into “before sex” and “after sex” to begin with, but also, just focusing on a certain kind of sexual act as a “goal” to reach or whatever is... kind of weird to me. The whole shit is just weird the more I think about it.

Write a six-word fortune cookie. >> I’d rather not.

Why do you think eyebrows exist? >> I don’t have a hypothesis about this, but I’m sure there’s some educated theories out there if I was ever curious (right now, I am not).

If you could only have one contact on your phone, who would it be? >> Sparrow is the only person whose phone number I actually use on a regular basis, so, her.

Your bucket list is limited to three items. >> I don’t have a bucket list, period.

Do you wake up first or do you open your eyes first? >> I assume that I wake up first, and then open my eyes? But maybe it’s the other way around, what do I know.

Write a love/thank you/appreciation letter to someone you take for granted. >> No.

What makes you feel infinitely sexy? >> Can Calah makes me feel sexy. King Crimson makes me feel sexy. Sexiness isn’t something I feel outworld.

Make a video and talk about something for two minutes. Anything. And don’t edit out any parts of it. >> Uh, no.

Write a poem you’d stick on a refrigerator. >> Also no.

Are you afraid of aging? Why? >> I’m not afraid of ageing. I actually look forward to seeing what the rest of my life will bring, especially internally. What I am afraid of is infirmity, degenerative illness, that sort of thing. I’m afraid of losing my personal quality of life. (I know there’s a lot to unpack in regarding one’s quality of life as diminished if one develops a physical disability or something, because people live full lives with those things all the time. But I cannot predict how a change of that magnitude would affect me, personally, and I worry that I will not be able to adapt.)

Describe one time you basically thought you were the shit, when your self-confidence was soaring through the roof. This is meant to be a positive thing. >> Hm. I can’t remember a time like that right now.

If there was one person you could get drunk with and kiss and then later blame it on alcohol, who would it be? >> I would not do that.

Does perfection exist? If the word perfection did not exist, what word would be in its place? What would perfection mean instead? >> I guess the concept exists, at least. I don’t know if it’s something I can measure and perceive.

The next book you see that has over 300 pages, open up to page 136. Find a sentence you like, copy it down, and then write about it. >> I don’t feel like getting up to grab a book.

Who makes you laugh the most? >> ---

What is one thing that you are proud of, that you think lacks praise/lacks appreciation from the people around you? It could be a simple thing; it could be a secret thing. >> I don’t really seek appreciation from the people around me, so I don’t know.

If you could accuse somebody of being fake/a bitch and not suffer any repercussions, who would you accuse, and how would you do it? >> I’d really rather not. What even would be the point?

What is the funniest one-liner Tumblr text post you’ve ever read? >> Dude, there are so many funny ass posts on this website. I collect them at @officialaynrand.

Rewrite a verse of lyrics from your favorite song. They have to sound good when you sing it out loud along to tune of the song. >> Nope. But I will say that my brain insists on hearing the “heavy metal broke my [heart]” line in Fall Out Boy’s Centuries as “heavy metal Pokémon” and even though I know the lyrics I still sing it like that because it just kills me every time.

If the SATs/grades did not exist, in what way should colleges/teachers evaluate applicants? >> I have no suggestions.

Do you feel at home in your home? Is home a place for you? A book? A thing? A person? What would you want your home to be? >> I feel at home in Xibalba. I feel at home in my room here in the apartment, too. But I guess I’d feel equally at home in any place as long as I have a room of my own, a controlled environment that belongs solely to me.

Write your own eulogy. >> “Mordred Shadow Lastname wishes to inform us, the gathered, that it is just as surprised by this turn of events as we are. Except it actually isn’t surprised, or anything else, because It’s too busy being dead. Surprisingly. The unbelievably-deceased would like to request that if someone asks how it died, it will haunt whoever dares to say something stupid like ‘natural causes’. Make up a good story or pass the mic to someone who will.” Dunno what else I’d put in a eulogy about myself. That’s not really for me to write, anyway. Funerals are for the living, they can write the damn thing.

What is something you felt like you deserved or should have belonged to you, but you never got? >> There is nothing I feel that way about.

Do you feel ‘connected to nature’? Do you frequent outside? Do you believe that a connection with the earth we live on is necessary in the first place? >> I mean... I love to be outdoors, but I also love to be in a server room. I feel the same sense of awe and connection in both settings. For me, there is no real difference between the organic states and the transmuted states of matter. It’s all matter, innit? I don’t believe that feeling connected to Earth is necessary. I believe it’s healthy, sure, and common, but I don’t believe it’s unhealthy to not have that connection, or to feel connected to something else instead. It’s possible that some future generation of Homo sapiens will be born on another planet. What happens to that supposedly-innate “connection to the Earth” then? (Will they feel connected to their home planet instead? Or, something else? Or, nothing?)

Your opinion on oral sex? >> I don’t have an opinion on it, exactly. Just a preference: I prefer not to give or receive it. That’s all.

If one TV show could be real, which one would you want it to be? Which one would screw our world over? >> That is a complex question with a lot of variables and I don’t think I feel like devoting mental energy on it right now.

How many kinds of love are there? >> I… don’t know? As many kinds as people can conceive, I imagine. Or maybe it’s all just one kind, with different expressions. *shrug*???

Which word needs to exist (or be used again)? >> I mean, if I thought a word should be used again, I’d just use it. That’s literally how it works. If it’s been phased out completely enough that no one remembers it and it’s not recorded anywhere, then I can’t want it back, because I’d have to know a thing used to exist in the first place in order to want it to exist again.

What is the absolute hardest thing about staying alive? >> This pesky nag called “death” that keeps asking, “are we there yet?!” from the backseat.

What is a book that has been recognized as ‘great literature’ that you dislike? Why? >> Oh, I don’t know. The only time I ever read “Literature(tm)” was in high school, so I don’t know how I’d feel about any of it now. I'm just not really interested in it.

What is one change that you would make/have made to your life that will make/has made it better? >> *shrug*

Is everything you do for yourself? Can you truly be selfless? >> No, not everything I do is solely for myself. I do things for others as well. But I don’t like doing things for others if doing so threatens my quality of life, survival, or mental health. I don’t think it’s possible for a human being to act without a single note of self-interest. I mean... isn’t the survival instinct an instinct of self-interest?

Are you the same person you were two and a half years ago? >> I’m not the same person I was a second ago. (I also am not the same person I was about... 5 or so years ago, but that’s a... different thing.)

Can you possibly conquer the labyrinth? >> What labyrinth? Jareth the Goblin King’s? I’d try my best to conquer it if only to get to dance in the ballroom scene with him.

As a hyper intelligent pan-dimensional being, what is the answer to the ultimate question, the life, the universe and everything? What is the ultimate question? >> The ultimate question is obviously “how the fuck does CatDog poop?”

#surveys #survey #random survey

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yourclonazepamgeneric-blog · 5 years ago

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You Are Going to Do Bad Things to Children

I watch her. I watch her. Advise my sibling and sister to watch out of the other vehicle window. I think they are playing some game. I believe that they think this is a game. They're too youthful to even consider understanding. My mom is on a crucial. She is searching for my dad. She thinks he is having an unsanctioned romance. She faces him in the parking area. He says nothing. It isn't as though he doesn't have a clue where to look yet I realize that it isn't valid. Not father. Not my dad. She is shouting at Clonazepam Generic him now. I don't realize whether individuals are looking presently, taking a gander at both of them, at this scene being happened before their eyes or turning away. I pulverize my youth journal when we get at home. I am a youngster. I am injured now forever. I don't have a clue what to do. So this is my main event. I remove page by page. I fix passages. You don't see the amount I cherished this book, this diary however I don't see yet how to communicate my sentiments, my creative mind. My dad gave me this book. Consistently he has given me a journal in January. 'This is yours. This is your diary.' And I grin up at him, and with this book in my grasp I can compose anything I need. Who do I accept? I am my dad's girl. I appear as though him. I don't look anything like her, my mom. I realize she despises me. Maybe they will isolate. Maybe they will get a separation. They commute home in isolated vehicles. I am numb, struck stupid. I don't utter a word. My mom is driving excessively quick. It is not normal for her. Her dress is over her knees. Is this what love is? Human instinct is human instinct. 'Daddy,' I state later. 'I don't believe she's your perfect partner. I don't believe you're intended for one another.' But he says nothing, he just winks.

Sex, that exchange, lovemaking for me was constantly messy. I needed to stay a virgin everlastingly, unadulterated. I needed to be a sister. I realized I must be rebuffed since the beginning, make penances, consistently sport dark, and bow when I needed to supplicate however I was not Catholic. Be that as it may, my mom set that thought on the right track out of my head. She revealed to me that there were no nuns any longer and afterward I needed to be a cleric however everyone knows how degenerate church pioneers are. I realized that I felt harmed, deprived, and forlorn even as a youngster so I discovered solace in books. In any event, when I became more established and watched films where young ladies would evacuate their pieces of clothing viewed by a stirred more seasoned man I would feel nothing. Literally nothing. Possibly it originated from adolescence. The climax in both the male and the female disturbed me possibly it originated from the way that I despised my mom who I thought had been so off-base, so inconsistent with my dad (whatever had they spoken about when he charmed her I surely don't have a clue. He was refined and taught, he had a degree and she could type thirty-five words per moment and she had a confirmation) yet I cherished my dad and venerated him. What's more, for my entire life I have needed an ideal love and not a physical love. For my entire life I have needed to be shielded from the entirety of life's tempests, other ladies, more youthful ladies, young ladies, I needed to be given a haven to compose and as a grown-up I would watch the glinting pictures of erotic entertainment quietly shouting with chuckling inside. So this is the thing that people would do to consider kids, their brilliant holy messengers, and beneficiaries to positions of authority of fixation, substance misuse and abusive behavior at home. There would be practically zero exchange. I would get either madly envious of their idiotic voices despite the fact that I knew each seemingly insignificant detail from the props to the bed was phony. For what reason would I be able? What was so amiss with me? After all they were just on-screen characters acting, doing what they were advised to do, presented, coordinated, and anticipating. I was exhausted with everything and pondered where my head was at. Of affection and sex I knew literally nothing by any stretch of the imagination. It exhausted me however not the romantic tale, not the misfortune, the reject or dismissal, the darling male or female leaving. Little skank, little prostitute, those weren't words that exhausted me, that annoyed me. What's more, as I grew up the young lady in me kicked the bucket when my mom mentioned to me what occurs right now, is said right now in the house. I grew up rapidly. Misuse will do that to you. Maltreatment on account of your mom, aunties (her sisters, her sister-in-law) the Johannesburg individuals, menaces on the play area, pompous male educators, and your first sweetheart when you are away from home, ten years more seasoned than you. Did he drive me to do things I would not like to do? It hurt. They state it generally does the first run through round. I kept in touch with him letters however I was not in affection with him. The picture I had of my folks watching two exposed young ladies swimming, kissing with tongue, feeling each astonishingly out of the water, contacting one another, finishing each other here and there, stroking their arms, their bodies. They sunbathed naked. It was the first occasion when I had seen bosoms, the curve of a lady's figure and full frontal nakedness. What's more, something within me, a little voice said that my future life as a girl who adored both her mom and father and a future life as spouse, darling and mother had not exclusively been disrupted at the end of the day decimated until the end of time. I was only a kid who ought to have been sleeping in bed dreaming. Endeavored suicide is finished with the two eyes shut. This isn't my time. No passage of white light. Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton. The confession booth writers. Sylvia, Abigail the invigorated crazies. Take a gander at me. The South African repulsiveness story. A scene made of bars at the window, specialists, and therapists.

The mental meltdown, bipolar, dysfunctional behavior, insane, crazy, lunacy isn't composed on the body except if you tattoo it on your arm with an extremely sharp edge or cutting. You can be the ideal kid yet can your mom splendidly love you in an imperfect world, in her defective world. She didn't need me with my easy merits, my stage plays and practices, my accounts, God help us, she particularly would not like to peruse my accounts. 'Leave it alongside my bed.' She said. 'I'll peruse it before I nod off.' And I did yet she had progressively significant work to do. Shower, dress, make morning meals, and go to work. 'Gracious, I'll read it later.' She said at whatever point I stood up to her about it. She was doing even considerably more significant work at that point. Watching her drama with her stockinged feet up on the couch seat, her impact points by it with her eyes half-shut, marvelous, Hitler however without the mustache and the mass of oppression. 'Kiss me.' She requested from my asthmatic sibling wearing his cowhand cap pulling his wagon around the family room. Also, I made unlimited cups of tea. Also, as I made each cup my heart would load up with trust that she would state, 'My shrewd young lady. You're growing up so quick.' But obviously she never did. We were foragers. We ate what we could discover in the kitchen and if daddy wasn't meditative he would go out and get us something to eat for dinner. My dad would cry a great deal and I would put my arm around his shoulder, scarcely arrive at it however and ask him, 'Would you like to discuss it?' yet that simply made him cry more diligently and it was much increasingly hard to make him stop. I was constantly close to the highest point of my group however there were issues, harms. They were continually battling.

'Great night mummy. Rest tight. Sweet dreams. I love you.' No answer consequently and it skips off dividers. I am turning thirty-five verging on thirty-six. It will be my birthday in two months. Valium close by (in every case close), Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke beside my bed, Poems by Sylvia Plath Chosen via Carol Ann Duffy, Poet Laureate. Untainted in a grown-up world. The main world where I have a place is media, that and the nearby Olympic-sized pool. Stopped up in a confined youth proceeded, sentences butchered by chuckling, hacking, a closeted assortment of books (course books, verse and short story compilations, a string of J.M. Coetzee's books line a rack, The Childhood of Jesus the most recent), obscurity, traffic fills within me that was consistently the trade. I can just nod off with a bunch of resting pills. I take long snoozes toward the evening and wake up in close murkiness. Pills. Pills. Pills. Pax. Epilizine. Eltroxin. Melatonin. Clonazepam Generic. Ativan. I have no tendency to go to Paris. Rilke abhorred it there however then again Hemingway appeared to have taken to it like water away from a duck. In any case I experience the ill effects of vertigo. For the most part individuals go to Paris since it is sentimental. Isn't the Eiffel tower sentimental? You won't get me up there. I am a masochist and become restless as damnation when I am acquainted with novel individuals and spots. It alarms me. What a snicker? Did she applaud? Is it true that she was applauding? Is it accurate to say that she is glad for the way that I am a storyteller and an artist, not a government official, not a legislator's significant other or anyone's better half so far as that is concerned and not the writer or narrative movie producer I needed to be in secondary school? At the point when she sat down in the auditorium was she pleased, was she radiating from ear to ear like the Cheshire feline. Gloom is exhausting. Be that as it may, I'm utilized to it now. Like clockwork I'm transported off for a week or so to a clinic to recuperate from psychosis, mind flights. What an outing for my conscience? I can't rest. I can't eat. My sister never drops by. She doesn't live here right now, this hellhole any longer. She lives in Johannesburg. My magnificence days are finished. I'm apprehensive they've gone dead simply like all the men throughout my life. The main thing that is waited is my continuous flow composing, my journaling and my easy chair voyaging and the individuals that I love the most on the planet kicking the bucket on me when I wouldn't dare hoping anymore disregarding me to now hit the dance floor with the bold, swim with the fishes, eat dangerous sardines on toast that have an aftertaste like salt and light. The rooms are vaporous in the house. I need to make sure to take in when I return home from the emergency clinic. There's not a lot of they can accomplish for me there but rather hang tight for the fantasies, the psychosis to pass however the a sleeping disorder remains with me, winter's unresolved issue me home. I'm a claustrophobe in the word related room. They leave m

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suchagiantnerd · 5 years ago

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48 Books, 1 Year

I was just two books shy of my annual goal of 50! You can blame the combination of my adorable newborn, who refused to nap anywhere except on me, and Hallmark Christmas movie season, during which I abandon books for chaste kisses between 30-somethings who behave like tweens at places called the Mistletoe Inn (which are really in Almonte, Ontario).

Without further ado, as Zuma from Paw Patrol says, “Let’s dive in!”

1. Human Errors: A Panorama of Our Glitches, from Pointless Bones to Broken Genes / Nathan H. Lents

We have too many bones! We have to rely too much on our diet for survival! We suffer from too many cognitive biases! Reading about our design flaws was kind of interesting, but the best part of this book were the few pages toward the end about the possibility of alien life. Specifically this quote: "...some current estimates predict that the universe harbours around seventy-five million civilizations." WHAT?! This possibility more than anything else I've ever heard or read gives me a better idea of how infinite the universe really is.

2. The Fiery Cross / Diana Gabaldon

Compared to the first four books in the Outlander series, this fifth book is a real snooze. The characters are becoming more and more unlikeable. They're so self-centered and unaware of their privilege in the time and place they're living. Gabaldon's depictions of the Mohawk tribe and other First Nations characters (which I'm reading through her character's opinions of things) are pretty racist. The enslaved people at one character's plantation are also described as being well taken care of and I just.... can't. I think this is the end of my affair with Outlander.

3. Educated / Tara Westover

This memoir was a wild ride. Tara Westover grew up in a survivalist, ultra-religious family in rural Idaho. She didn’t go to school and was often mislead about the outside world by her father. She and her siblings were also routinely put in physical danger working in their father’s junkyard as their lives were “in god’s hands”, and when they were inevitably injured, they weren’t taken to the hospital or a doctor, but left to be treated by their healer mother. Thanks to her sheer intelligence and determination (and some support from her older brother), Tara goes to university and shares with us the culture shock of straddling two very different worlds. My non-fiction book club LOVED this read, we talked about it for a long, long time.

4. Imbolc: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for St. Brigid’s Day / Carl F. Neal

Continuing with my witchy education, I learned all about the first sabbat of the new year, Imbolc.

5. Super Sad True Love Story / Gary Shteyngart

This in-the-very-near-future dystopian novel got my heart racing during a few exciting moments, but overall, I couldn’t immerse myself fully because of the MISOGYNY. I think the author might not like women and the things women like (or the things he thinks they like?) In this near future, all the dudes are into finance or are media celeb wannabes, while all the women work in high-end retail. And onion-skin jeans are the new trend for women - they are essentially see-through. Gary….we don’t…want that? We don’t even want low-rise jeans to come back.

6. The Wanderers / Meg Howrey

Helen, Yoshi and Sergei are the three astronauts selected by a for-profit space exploration company to man the world’s first mission to Mars. But before they get the green light, they have to endure a 17-month simulation. In addition to getting insight into the simulation from all three astronauts via rotating narrators, we also hear from the astronauts’ family members and other employees monitoring the sim. At times tense, at times thoughtful, this book is an incisive read about what makes explorers willing to leave behind everything they love the most in the world.

7. Zone One / Colson Whitehead

The zombie apocalypse has already happened, and Mark is one of the survivors working to secure and clean up Zone One, an area of Manhattan. During his hours and hours of boring shifts populated by a few harrowing minutes here and there, the reader is privy to Mark’s memories of the apocalypse itself and how he eventually wound up on this work crew. Mark is a pretty likeable, yet average guy rather than the standard zombie genre heroes, and as a result, his experiences also feel like a more plausible reality than those of the genre.

8. Homegoing / Yaa Gyasi

One of my favourite reads of the year, this novel is the definition of “sweeping epic”. The story starts off with two half-sisters (who don’t even know about each other’s existence) living in 18th-century Ghana. One sister marries a white man and stays in Ghana, living a life of privilege, while the other is sold into slavery and taken to America on a slave ship. This gigantic split in the family tree kicks off two parallel and vastly different narratives spanning EIGHT generations, ending with two 20-somethings in the present day. I remain in awe of Gyasi’s talent, and was enthralled throughout the entire book.

9. Sweetbitter / Stephanie Danler

Tess moves to New York City right out of school (and seemingly has no ties to her previous life - this bothered me, I wanted to know more about her past) and immediately lands a job at a beloved (though a little tired) fancy restaurant. Seemingly loosely based on Danler’s own experiences as a server, I got a real feel for the insular, incestuous, chaotic life in “the industry”. Tess navigates tensions between the kitchen and the front of house, falls for the resident bad-boy bartender, and positions herself as the mentee of the older and more glamorous head server, who may not be everything she seems. This is a juicy coming-of-age novel.

10. The Autobiography of Gucci Mane / Gucci Mane and Neil Martinez-Belkin

Gucci Mane is one of Atlanta’s hottest musicians, having helped bring trap music to the mainstream. I’d never heard of him until I read this book because I’m white and old! But not knowing him didn’t make this read any less interesting. In between wild facts (if you don’t get your music into the Atlanta strip clubs, your music isn’t making it out of Atlanta) and wilder escapades (Gucci holing himself up in his studio, armed to the teeth, in a fit of paranoia one night) Gucci Mane paints on honest picture of a determined, talented artist fighting to break free of a cycle of systemic racism and poverty.

11. I’ll Be Gone in the Dark: One Woman’s Obsessive Search for the Golden State Killer / Michelle McNamara

McNamara was a journalist and true crime enthusiast who took it upon herself to try and solve the mystery of the Golden State Killer’s identity. Amazingly, her interest in this case also sparked other people’s interest in looking back at it, eventually leading to the arrest of the killer (though tragically, McNamara died a few months before the arrest and would never know how her obsession helped to capture him). This is a modern true crime classic and a riveting read.

12. A Great Reckoning / Louise Penny

The 12th novel in Penny’s Inspector Gamache mystery series sees our hero starting a new job teaching cadets at Quebec’s police academy. Of course, someone is murdered, and Gamache and his team work to dig the rot out of the institution, uncovering a killer in the process.

13. Any Man / Amber Tamblyn

Yes, this novel is by THAT Amber Tamblyn, star of “The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants”! Anyway, this book is a tad bit darker, and follows five men who’ve been victimized by the female serial rapist, who calls herself Maude. Going into this read I though that it might be some sort of revenge fantasy, but dudes, not to worry - we really feel awful for the male victims and see them in all their complexity. Perhaps, if more men read this book, they might better understand the trauma female and non-binary victims go through? That would require men to read books by women though. Guys? GUYS???

14. Ostara: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for the Spring Equinox / Kerri Connor

Yet another witchy read providing more information about this Spring sabbat.

15. Scarborough / Catherine Hernandez

This novel takes place in OUR Scarborough! Following the lives of a number of residents (adults and children alike), the plot centres around the families attending an Ontario Early Years program as well as the program facilitator. Hernandez looks at the ways poverty, mental illness, addiction, race, and homophobia intersect within this very multicultural neighbourhood. It’s very sad, but there are also many sweet and caring moments between the children and within each of the families.

16. The Glitch / Elisabeth Cohen

Shelley Stone (kind of a fictional Sheryl Sandberg type) is the CEO of Conch, a successful Silicon Valley company. Like many of these over-the-top real-life tech execs, Shelley has a wild schedule full of business meetings, exercise, networking and parenting, leaving her almost no time to rest. While on an overseas business trip, she meets a younger woman also named Shelley Stone, who may or may not be her younger self. Is Shelley losing it? This is a dark comedy poking fun at tech start-up culture and the lie that we can have it all.

17. The Thirteenth Tale / Diane Setterfield

This is my kind of book! A young and inexperienced bookworm is handpicked to write the biography of an aging famous author, Vida Wynter. Summoned to her sprawling country home around Christmastime, the biographer is absolutely enthralled by Vida’s tales of a crumbling gothic estate and an eccentric family left too long to their own whims. Looking for a dark, twisty fairytale? This read’s for you.

18. Love & Misadventure / Lang Leav

Leav’s book of poems looked appealing, but for me, her collection fell short. I felt like I was reading a teenager’s poetry notebook (which I’m not criticizing, I love that teen girls write poetry, and surprise, surprise - so did I - but I’m too old for this kind of writing now).

19. Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows / Balli Kaur Jaswal

Hooo boy, my book club loved this one! Hoping to get a job more aligned with her literary interests, Nikki, the 20-something daughter of Indian immigrants to Britain, takes a job teaching writing at the community centre in London’s biggest Punjabi neighbourhood. The students are all older Punjabi women who don’t have much to do and because of their “widow” status have been somewhat sidelined within their community. Without anyone around to censor or judge them, the widows start sharing their own erotic fantasies with each other, each tale wilder than the last. As Nikki gets to know them better, she gains some direction in life and starts a romance of her own. (It should be noted that in addition to this lovely plot, there is a sub plot revolving around a possible honour killing in the community. For me, the juxtaposition of these two plots was odd, but not odd enough that it ruined the book.)

20. Beltane: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for May Day / Melanie Marquis

Beltane marks the start of the summer season in the witches’ year, and I learned all about how to ring it in, WITCH STYLE.

21. Summer of Salt / Katrina Leno

This book is essentially Practical Magic for teens, with a queer protagonist. All that to say, it’s enjoyable and sweet and a win for #RepresentationMatters, but it wasn’t a surprising or fresh story.

22. Too Like the Lightning / Ada Palmer

This is the first in the Terra Ignota quartet of novels, which is (I think) speculative fiction with maybe a touch of fantasy and a touch of sci-fi and a touch of theology and certainly a lot of philosophical ruminating too. I both really enjoyed it and felt so stupid while reading it. As a lifelong bookworm who doesn’t shy away from difficult reads, I almost never feel stupid while reading, but this book got me. The world building is next level and as soon as you think you’ve found your footing, Palmer pulls the rug out from under you and you’re left both stunned and excited about her latest plot twist. Interested in finding out what a future society grouped into ‘nations’ by interests and passions (instead of geographical borders and ethnicity) might be like? Palmer takes a hearty stab at it here.

23. The Trauma Cleaner: One Woman’s Extraordinary Life in the Business of Death, Decay and Disaster / Sarah Krasnostein

When Sarah Krasnostein met Sandra Pankhurst, she knew she had to write her biography (or something like it - this book is part biography, part love letter, part reckoning). And rightly so, as Sandra has led quite a life. She grew up ostracized within her own home by her immediate family, married and had children very young, came out as a trans woman and begin living as her authentic self (but abandoning her own young family in the process), took to sex work and lived through a vicious assault, married again, and started up her own successful company cleaning uncleanable spaces - the apartments of hoarders, the houses of recluses, the condos in which people ended their own lives. Sandra is the definition of resilience, but all her traumas (both the things people have done to her and the things she’s done to others) have left their mark, as Krasnostein discovers as she delicately probes the recesses of Sandra’s brain.

24. Becoming / Michelle Obama

My favourite things about any memoir from an ultra-famous person are the random facts that surprise you along the way. In this book, it was learning that all American presidents travel with a supply of their blood type in the event of an assassination attempt. I mean OF COURSE they would, but that had never occurred to me. I also appreciated Michelle opening up about her fertility struggles, the difficult decision to put her career on hold to support Barack’s dreams, and the challenge of living in the spotlight with two young children that you hope to keep down to earth. Overall, I think Michelle was as candid as someone in her position can be at this point in her life.

25 and 26. Seven Surrenders, The Will to Battle / Ada Palmer

I decided to challenge myself and stick with Palmer’s challenging Terra Ignota series, also reading the second and third instalments (I think the fourth is due to be released this year). I don’t know what to say, other than the world-building continues to be incredible and this futuristic society is on the bring of something entirely new.

27. Even Vampires Get the Blues / Kate MacAlister

This novel wins for “cheesiest read of the year”. When a gorgeous half-elf detective (you read that right) meets a centuries-old sexy Scottish vampire, sparks fly! Oh yeah, and they’re looking for some ancient thing in between having sex.

28. A Case of Exploding Mangoes / Mohammed Hanif

A piece of historical fiction based on the real-life suspicious plane crash in 1988 that killed many of Pakistan’s top military brass, this novel lays out many possible culprits (including a crow that ate too many mangoes). It’s a dark comedy taking aim at the paranoia of dictators and the boredom and bureaucracy of the military (and Bin Laden makes a cameo at a party).

29. Salvage the Bones / Jesmyn Ward

This novel takes place in the steaming hot days before Hurricane Katrina hits the Mississippi coast. The air is still and stifling and Esch’s life in the small town of Bois Sauvage feels even more stifled. Esch is 14 and pregnant and hasn’t told anyone yet. Her father is a heavy drinker and her three brothers are busy with their own problems. But as the storm approaches, the family circles around each other in preparation for the storm. This is a jarring and moving read made more visceral by the fact that the author herself survived Katrina. It’s also an occasionally violent book, and there are particularly long passages about dog-fighting (a hobby of one of the brothers). The dog lovers in my book club found it hard to get through, consider this your warning!

30. Everything’s Trash, But It’s Okay / Phoebe Robinson

A collection of essays in the new style aka writing multiple pages on a topic as though you were texting your best friend about it (#ImFineWithThisNewStyleByTheWay #Accessible), Robinson discusses love, friendship, being a Black woman in Hollywood, being plus-ish-size in Hollywood, and Julia Roberts teaching her how to swim (and guys, Julia IS as nice in real life as we’d all hoped she was!) Who is Robinson? Comedy fans will likely know her already, but I only knew her as one of the stars of the Netflix film Ibiza (which I enjoyed). This is a fun, easy read!

31. Midsummer: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for Litha / Deborah Blake

After reading this book, I charged my crystals under the midsummer sun!

32. Fingersmith / Sarah Waters

So many twists! So many turns! So many hidden motives and long-held secrets! Think Oliver Twist meets Parasite meets Lost! (Full disclosure, I haven’t seen Parasite yet, I’m just going off all the chatter about it). Sue is a con artist orphan in old-timey London. When the mysterious “Gentleman” arrives at her makeshift family’s flat with a proposal for the con of all cons, Sue is quickly thrust into a role as the servant for another young woman, Maud, living alone with her eccentric uncle in a country estate. As Sue settles into her act, the lines between what she’s pretending at and what she’s really feeling start to blur, and nothing is quite what it seems. This book is JUICY!

33. Rest Play Grow: Making Sense of Preschoolers (Or Anyone Who Acts Like One) / Deborah MacNamara, PhD

I read approximately one parenting book a year, and this was this year’s winner. As my eldest approached her third birthday, we started seeing bigger and bigger emotions and I wasn’t sure how to handle them respectfully and gently. This book gave me a general roadmap for acknowledging her feelings, sitting through them with her, and the concept of “collecting” your child to prevent tantrums from happening or to help calm them down afterward. I’ll be using this approach for the next few years!

34. Lughnasadh: Rituals, Recipes and Lore for Lammas / Melanie Marquis

And with this read, I’ve now read about the entire witch’s year. SO MOTE IT BE.

35. In Cold Blood / Truman Capote

How had I not read this until now? This true-crime account that kicked off the modern genre was rich in detail, compassionate to the victims, and dug deep into the psyche of the killers. The descriptions of the midwest countryside and the changing seasons also reminded me of Keith Morrison’s voiceovers on Dateline. Is Capote his inspiration?

36. I’m Afraid of Men / Vivek Shraya

A quick, short set of musings from trans musician and writer Shraya still packs an emotional punch. She writes about love and loss, toxic masculinity, breaking free of gender norms, and what it’s like to exist as a trans woman.

37. The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You / Elaine N. Aron, PhD

Having long thought I might be a highly sensitive person (lots of us are!), I decided to learn more about how to better cope with stressful situations when I don’t have enough alone time or when things are too loud or when I get rattled by having too much to do any of the other myriad things that shift me into panic mode. Though some of the advice is a bit too new-agey for me (talking to your inner child, etc), some of it was practical and useful.

38. Swamplandia! / Karen Russell

The family-run alligator wrestling theme park, Swamplandia, is swimming in debt and about to close. The widowed father leaves the everglades for the mainland in a last-ditch attempt to drum up some money, leaving the three children to fend for themselves. A dark coming-of-age tale that blends magic realism, a ghost story, the absurd and a dangerous boat trip to the centre of the swamplands, this novel examines a fractured family mourning its matriarch in different ways.

39. A Mind Spread Out on the Ground / Alicia Elliott

This is a beautiful collection of personal essays brimming with vulnerability, passion, and fury. Elliott, the daughter of a Haudenosaunee father and a white mother, shares her experiences growing up poor in a family struggling with mental illness, addiction and racism. Topics touch on food scarcity, a never-ending battle with lice, parenthood and the importance of hearing from traditionally marginalized voices in literature.

40. Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay / Elena Ferrante

The third novel in Ferrante’s Neapolitan quartet sees Elena and Lila move from their early twenties into their thirties and deal with a riot of issues - growing careers, changing political beliefs, the challenges of motherhood and romantic relationships, and existing as strong-willed, intelligent women in 1960s and 70s Italy. I’ll definitely finish the series soon.

41. Half-Blood Blues / Esi Edugyan

A small group of American and German jazz musicians working on a record find themselves holed up in Paris as the Germans begin their occupation in WW2. Hiero, the youngest and most talented member of the group, goes out one morning for milk and is arrested by the Germans, never to be heard from again. Fifty years later, the surviving members of the band go to Berlin for the opening night of a documentary about the jazz scene from that era, and soon find themselves on a road trip through the European countryside to find out what really became of Hiero all those years ago. Edugyan’s novel is a piercing examination of jealousy, ambition, friendship, race and guilt. And features a cameo by Louis Armstrong!

42. A Serial Killer’s Daughter: My Story of Faith, Love and Overcoming / Kerri Rawson

So Brad and I had just finished watching season 2 of Mindhunter, and as I browse through a neighbourhood little library, I spot this book and the serial killer in question is the BTK Killer! Naturally, I had to read it. What I didn’t realize is that this is actually a Christian book, so Rawson does write a lot about struggling with her belief in God and finding her way back to Him, etc. But there are also chapters more fitting with the true crime and memoir genres that I equally enjoyed and was creeped out by.

43. The Night Ocean / Paul La Farge

This is another book that made me feel somewhat stupid as a reader. I just know there are details or tidbits that completely went over my head that would likely enrich a better reader’s experience. In broad strokes, the novel is about a failed marriage between a psychiatrist and a writer who became dangerously obsessed with H.P. Lovecraft and the rumours that swirled around him and his social circle. The writer’s obsession takes him away from his marriage and everything else, and eventually it looks like he ends his own life. The psychiatrist is doubtful (no body was found) and she starts to follow him down the same rabbit hole. At times tense, at times funny, at times sad, I enjoyed the supposed world of Lovecraft and his fans and peers, but again, I’m sure there are deeper musings here that I couldn’t reach.

44. Glass Houses / Louise Penny

The 13th novel in Penny’s Inspector Gamache mystery series sees our hero taking big risks to fight the opioid crisis in Quebec. He and his team focus on catching the big crime boss smuggling drugs across the border from Vermont, endangering his beloved town of Three Pines in the process.

45. The Bone Houses / Emily Lloyd-Jones

My Halloween read for the year, this dark fairytale of a YA novel was perfect for the season. Since her parents died, Ryn has taken over the family business - grave digging - to support herself and her siblings. As the gravedigger, she knows better than most that due to an old curse, the dead in the forest surrounding her village don’t always stay dead. But as more of the forest dead start appearing (and acting more violently than usual), Ryn and an unexpected companion (yes, a charming young man cause there’s got to be a romance!) travel to the heart of the forest to put a stop to the curse once and for all.

46. The Witches Are Coming / Lindy West

Another blazing hot set of essays from my favourite funny feminist take on Trump, abortion rights, #MeToo, and more importantly Adam Sandler and Dateline. As always, Lindy, please be my best friend?

47. Know My Name / Chanel Miller

This memoir is HEAVY but so, so needed. Recently, Chanel Miller decided to come forward publicly and share that she was the victim of Brock Turner’s sexual assault. She got the courage to do so after she posted her blistering and beautiful victim impact statement on social media and it went viral. Miller’s memoir is a must-read, highlighting the incredible and awful lengths victims have to go to to see any modicum of justice brought against their attackers. Miller dealt with professional ineptitude from police and legal professionals, victim-blaming, victim-shaming, depression and anxiety, the inability to hold down a job, and still managed to come out the other side of this trial intact. And in the midst of all the horror, she writes beautifully about her support system - her family, boyfriend and friends - and about the millions of strangers around the world who saw themselves in her experience.

48. Christmas Ghost Stories: A Collection of Winter Tales / Mark Onspaugh

Ghosts AND Christmas? Yes please! This quirky collection features a wide array of festively spooky tales. You want the ghost of Anne Boleyn trapped in a Christmas ornament? You got it! What about the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future drinking together in a bar? Yup, that’s here too!

So, what were my top picks of the year, the books that stuck with me the most? In no particular order:

Educated

Homegoing

The Wanderers

Know My Name

Scarborough

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booksfornamjoon · 5 years ago

Text

And by a sleep to say we end

Hello everyone,

I just wanted to tell you that, as you can see, I have not been active in this account. In response to some private messages that I have received throughout these months of hiatus, I would first like to thank people who, even being far away and, for the most part, speak a language and live a very different life from me, have worried or just written to me for any other reason. Secondly, and since this is a space of literary creation that I founded under the inspiration of BTS and its ideals of love for oneself and others, I feel it'd be positive to return to it little by little. The reasons for my poor presence here have been mostly because of my health, both physical and mental. I'm quite reserved in everything concerning myself (that's why I write..., because that way I can distance myself and change my skin in other identities formed by the small crystals of my own reflection in the mirror), so I won't go into details. One of the most courageous acts in the world is falling in love and another showing you vulnerable to others, it's like getting naked before someone for the first time.

For the reasons I mentioned, I was not strong enough to offer the content I wanted to share here, leaving it abandoned until I felt better. Gradually, I have been reducing the discomfort and will continue to reduce it. I needed to stop with some issues and reflect on my state of mind, my priorities and the type of life and person I want to become one day.

Sometimes, even if it hurts and disappoints us, we must stop along the way.

Just today, while painting this drawing, I have decided to write Hamlet's soliloquy on it. When I finished, I thought about this blog, the words of some of you and other people, memories.

When I was in high school, I read these verses with deep enthusiasm. Finally, I was going to enjoy the most famous fragment in the history of literature along with the first paragraphs of Don Quijote de la Mancha. I read them days before we studied them in class and I was overwhelmed by their beauty, their rhythm, their content. In the maturity of each human being, one of many moments of revelation should be to read this soliloquy. At fifteen, his words resonated with the expectations and experiences of my age, however, I thought I was aware of what they could mean. This morning I read it again and I realized how much I have changed, how these verses remain the same but are always different. They adapt as the waters of a stream slip through the rocks and caress them without them reacting. Over the years, the gentle hammering of their waves changes their shape and hardness. There are so many verses within oneself, so contradictory, so selfish, so destructive, so naive, so hopeful, so vivid, that it is impossible to give up. This was proclaimed by Hamlet.

The road never ends, neither the anguish nor the joy. Perhaps destiny is confusion, but we must do what we can until that destiny is revealed to us. And the revelation is in the attempt, in the long nights of self-pity, in the decisions that deafened the pain of our heart, in the kisses enunciated in summer nights, in the imperfect poem. To flourish in the sky like a star that will never cease to be watched by men and women sharing the dream and the chimaera of making sense of their own existence.

What can't go, doesn't go, just changes.

To be, or not to be--that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-- No more--and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-- To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprise of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I've missed you.

#365booksfornamjoon #thank you #i'm back #hamlet #to be or not to be #love yourself #letter to myself #open letter #gracias

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cyberneticlagomorph · 6 years ago

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Found

How long have you been falling?

It's hard to tell, really. Your clock stopped working suddenly awhile ago and there's no sunlight in this endless tunnel to go off of. Nothing feels right here, not the air rushing past, not the sensation of plummeting to what should surely be your doom, not the way the walls whip past you, or the way you can't see the bottom of this death-tube. Nothing works here either, not anymore. Whatever scant Wifi signal you had is long gone now, just like every ounce of magic in your body. You can't even glow, or shift, or teleport out. All of those pressing matters aside, only one thing about this bothers you, your descent hasn't gotten any faster. You've been falling for hours and nothing has changed, it deifies the laws of physics. And as soon as you come to that conclusion, you aren't falling anymore, you're rising. Even though neither your body, nor the tunnel itself seem to change position. But still can feel it, you're rising, ever slowly like an elevator just reaching its floor.

As euphemistic as it sounds, you finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. A flickering green light like the glow of your cauldron, a watery light that is coming all too quickly. You can't stop, you can't even try to stop, and soon you hit the water hard enough to knock the air clean out of you. Your momentum from the ...fall(?) carries you up towards the surface, but your own tremendous weight starts to drag you back down almost immediately. You can't swim, you've never learned how, and given how heavy you are there just isn't any point trying. At least that's what you tell yourself, on land, where you aren't in any danger of drowning.

The familiar crackle of magic returns to you as you slowly sink. Your mind works faster than you give it credit for, as you watch the surface start to shrink away. Your magic spirals out, and you feel your humanoid shape melt into something more useful. A long, powerful tail and gills guide you through the dark water and unceremoniously deposit you onto the nearest shore where you collapse and shiver. Your new appendages wither away, turning back into your old limbs. You struggle to get to your feet to no avail, slipping on the wet sand repeatedly until you give up and just lie there, wet and cold in the near-dark. Something stalks you from the shadows, eyes glowing cartoonishly as it watches you. Your skin seethes, struggling to become any number of unpleasant, toothsome, monstrous things that may scare the onlooker off. But you're too tired to do more than shift and growl as the world goes fuzzy around the edges and you pass out.

You wake up warm and dry, curled upon a massive black cushion, surrounded by sheer silk curtains. You've been rubbed liberally with rose oil, you can still feel the slickness of it on your skin beneath the dress you are now in. Thinking about how you've come to be in this place, dressed like this, makes your skin crawl. So you don't think about it, and instead venture out of your odd little nest. Outside of your little darkened room, wherever you are is glittering and loud, locked in the middle of some boisterous bacchanal. The party-goers seem dazed and gleeful as they writhe in naked piles on cushions or tables or chairs, completely oblivious to you.

You shy away from the worst of the noise and end up following your nose towards something delicious. You find yourself in a throne room, wreathed in strange a strange haze, and swarmed with dancing, drinking, dreaming party-ers in lavish costumes or simply their own bare skin. And there, on a throne, watching these hedonistic proceedings is the Red Queen. Dressed to the nines in very little as she sucks on an elaborate hookah, blowing shimmering clouds of beautiful sugary smoke. She spots you in the crowd and silences everything with a wave of her hand.

"Hello, hello, hello," she purrs as she slithers down to greet you, the crowd parting like the red sea before her. It is her that you were seeking with your ill-fated seek-and-find, perhaps not so ill-fated after all. "Took you long enough, darling, my guards thought you dead but I knew better than that."

She wraps an arm about your shoulders and starts to guide you towards her throne. You glance around and catch your reflection in the mirrors on the ceiling, you look... regal and wild, like a faerie princess at her first revel. Ready to break her parent's hearts and almost ruin her reputation. The party-goers watch you with awe, and some of the more sober among them manage to bow or kiss your hands. Others offer you drinks from cups or the best morsels from their plates. You don't accept any of it, and Queenie jokingly scolds you about being a buzzkill. Both of you squeeze into her throne, legs thrown over the arm rests, her head is half resting on your thigh. You should be worried, frightened, furious. But you aren't. You watch her take a hit from her hookah and blow the scampering Glyph for "Play" into the empty air above your heads. The party resumes, and there is little you can do but watch. Queenie watches too, idly nibbling on the mouthpiece to her hookah.

"You have questions, I can tell." She starts, fixing those black eyes on you, "You wouldn't have wasted the time casting a seek-and-find if you didn't."

You open your mouth and are helpless to stop the torrent of inquiries from leaving your lips,"Where am I? What is all this? Who are those people? What are you smoking? How did I get here? Am I dead?" she just blinks at you for a moment before cackling. You've never heard her laugh before, not like that, it sounds normal, human almost. She wipes a red tear from her eyes.

"Well, you're not dead, I can tell you that much," she snickers, "You're in Underland, think of it as Wonderland two since I have no hopes of ever getting the original back from you." she sounds annoyed, but playfully so, as if you were a younger sibling taking toys she no longer played with but still loved. "These people are my subjects, and this is a party in your honor, take it as an early birthday present if you like." you look at her and she looks at you, you can't feel her probing your mind or twisting your emotions and she doesn't seem to be lying... But...

She takes a few delicate puffs from her hookah and exhales through her nose, watching your eyes light up as the smoke changes colors, "And this, my dear phylactery, is elysia the best drug a faerie can get their grimy hands on. I used to grow it in Wonderland, a labor of love really, pity it can only grow in corpses." she sighs, blowing more smoke in your direction. "You had other things to ask me, about your heart, the crystal and why I'm so friendly all of a sudden." you nod enthusiastically, she shrugs and continues, "If you die, I die, so there's no point in being a bitch about it and trying to hurt you, no i can't turn your heart back the way it was. If I could I still wouldn't, you know that, deep down."

She's right, you do know. She sighs, rubbing her temples, "Enough questions, this is ruining my high, why don't-- why don't go mingle?" she shoos you away, nudging you until you fall out of the throne. You huff and wade into the crowd towards the snack tables. One of the few places not covered in writhing bodies. The air here is heady, not with drugs, but with steam rolling off of mountains of food. Strips of strange meat, raw and drizzled with honey, fountains of jewel-toned wines, frothing pitchers of milk and fresh blood. Piles of fruits you cannot begin to describe, split marrow bones, roasted songbirds, things still living served in cages, and the still-beating hearts of various woodland creatures served on gleaming platters in a sauce of their own thickened and spiced blood. It's only now that you realize you're starving, here in this morbid bacchanal surrounded by both the delightful and gruesome. You stuff your face without hesitation, piling plates high with the strange and the familiar before scuttling back to sit beside Queenie. She picks off your plate, but you really don't mind.

Strangers come up to you, to offer congratulations, salutations, dances and spots in their orgies. You respectfully decline the last bit, content to sit there and eat and otherwise mind your business. Queenie frowns, flicking you with her tail,

"Must you be such a prude? You're ruining the party. Your own party might I add?" you pause, a piece of fruit halfway to your mouth, soon scowling.

"Well excuse the FUCK out of me for not wanting to get dicked down by a bunch of drunk strangers," you snap, angrily shoving the bite of food in your mouth. She doesn't flinch, she only scowls back and blows smoke in your face.

"I never said you needed to have sex with anyone, just relax for Gods' sake, when was the last time you did anything for you? And don't try to bring up the new years party, that was spite, not relaxation." she reaches over and gives your shoulders a squeeze, pressing close with a wicked grin. You can feel her worm her way into your mind, unwinding the ball of stress around your inhibitions until you're putty in her hands. You frown at her, aware of what she's doing, but too at ease to make her stop. She offers you the hookah.

You hesitate, for only a moment, before wrapping your lips around the mouthpiece and inhaling like you're a scuba diver miles beneath the pitiless ocean and its your last gulp of air. It fills your lungs with fucking stars and your mouth with poetry. You exhale auroras on the tails of nonsensical lyrics that somehow capture the moment, in true Wonderlandian fashion. You feel dreamy and strange, like floating on your back in a warm bath while half asleep. You feel free and at peace in the most subtle of ways and you never want that feeling to end. You take another drag from the hookah and entertain the crowds of horny onlookers with poems about islands made of dreams floating on a sea of nightmares. You eat, you drink, you smoke. Perched high on your pedestal with the Queen, you are gorgeous and untouchable, a pearl among pebbles. You forget your troubles, forget your stress, and forget yourself among the rainbow hued clouds of elysia smoke.

You aren't sure when you passed out, time doesn't really work down there and you're way too high to remember much of anything past the honeyed taste of elysia on your tongue. You wake up cold and alone, curled in the bottom of your cauldron, feeling empty. Your skin is on fire wherever it touches the metal, almost instantly breaking out into a blistering rash that has you screaming, scrambling to get out. The cauldron tips over and unceremoniously drops you onto the floor of your lab where you press your ruined skin to the cold concrete and shiver as the frigid emptiness yawns ever wider inside you. You feel hungry, so hungry, so lonely and pointless. Every thought you think is without grandeur or profound meaning. The world, it seems so gray now after the vividness of the party. Was it always like this? Always so boring? What's wrong with you? You can't stay here, you need to go back. Back to Underland, its parties and its elysia.

#action post #ic #ask to tag #drug use #theres... a lot #proceed with caution #underland #diamour #queenie

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