#i no longer read all the doom news given to me on social media

[marley-manson]

4, 17, 20, 24

Thank you 💖

4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

lol honestly probably mostly from reading other stuff (or reading/watching the canon) and thinking about what I'd like to see instead, how I can take a general concept and make it more tailored to me. I've noticed that when I read less fic I also have less motivation to write.

17. What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

I stop writing lol 😔 Occasionally I'll try to brute force something, usually if I'm stalled out on a fic, but it's usually doomed to failure. To try to reinspire myself I'll often re-read a wip and edit what I have, and hope more ideas come to me. Sometimes that works.

20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Lots of stuff that I generally find appealing: characters who know they're not straight, confident bottoms, very flawed relationships, fucking first and talking later/never, miserable people. I have to work to avoid conversations that feel like two people floating in a void together lol.

24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

lol I honestly don't recall ever being given writing advice, except on like very specific things by betas, and those are all good suggestions. I'm sure I got some in school, but idr specifics. In terms of like general writing advice I've seen going around social media, I've seen the terrible advice to minimize the use of 'said' with a list of possible dialogue tags to choose from, when a much better and less silly way to avoid sounding repetitive is to vary your sentence construction.

OH and also there was a post that went around a while ago about how paragraphs in fic shouldn't be longer than a sentence or two or else it feels too slow or dense or smthn???? Not even exaggerating. Bizarro world take, but it had a lot of notes. Personally I dislike when a fic has a paragraph break every sentence or two lol, it reads like someone pausing for dramatic emphasis constantly.

ask meme

[freifraufischer]

An interesting sports/politics observation:  

I’ve been following the dumpster fire at USAG for quite some time now and became deeply interested in following the sport of gymnastics in more than a 4 year fan way around the time that the Larry Nassar scandal broke.  

The post mortem on the US women’s gymnastics team results in Tokyo was honestly starting around Olympic trials in June.  The US women have never traveled much internationally for decades so they compete less than other international gymnasts.  The argument has been that the travel takes away from valuable training time.  What was little became none because of COVID and the bankruptcy filing of USAG to deal with the lawsuits arising from the abuse scandal.  

It was known that the US women were also being domestically over scored by judges at home.  Domestic overscoring is not unique to the US but most countries that have it also complete internationally so their athletes have a real sense of how international judges will evaluate their routines.  There have been alarm bells for at least three years that the US women were not going to get credit for elements and face deductions in international competition that they weren’t facing at home.  Just this year one of them was literally used in a pictorial example of a international judging document for something that should be deducted--the fact that current athletes are used this way is a whole other horrible kettle of fish.  I should add that the discovery that routines that were being scored highly in the US would fail at the olympics isn’t even new.  Famously the reigning world champion missed out on the all around final at the 2012 games because she wasn’t given credit for connections and series that were overlooked at home.

Now the job of bringing domestic meet scoring into line is on the national team staff and the job of advising and strategizing is that of the “High Performance Director” for the women’s program.  This is the job that was held (under the title National Team Coordinator) by Martha Karolyi with an iron fist before 2016.  She was replaced (after fits and starts) by a man named Tom Forrester.  Forrester’s defining qualities for the job have been that he is nice.  Literally the bar was that low.  He has demonstrated a rather alarming lack of knowledge about what international judges deduct for (after Junior World Championships he expressed surprise that they deducted for dance elements--something that happened again in Tokyo to US gymnasts), did not understand the Olympic selection criteria for individuals, and appeared to have a very very faulty understanding of the rights of athletes with an ongoing abuse complaint (more on that later).

He was relatively removed from the culture of high level elite coaching for the last few decades and the athletes considered him nice.  The last time he had been deeply involved in senior US gymnastics politics was the mid 1990s when several of his gymnasts were passed over for the 1996 Olympic Team because injured athletes were petitioned on to the team over those that competed at trials.  Mind you this was a time when the Olympic team had 7 members and the people petitioned on were the 1992 Olympic Silver Medalist Shannon Miller and 1995 National Champion Dominique Moceanu.  It would have been literally insane not to have them on the Olympic team.  But it has become apparent that Tom Forrester felt a great injustice was done to his athletes and the the worst part of US gymnastics team management was that Martha Karolyi picked favorites.  

This year he denied the petition of a former world champion to Olympic trials (she likely wouldn’t have made the team but her exclusion is... questionable) and after the fact justified it by saying she had failed to meet a criteria for the petition that he never told her existed.  At trials the team was chosen (by a committee that he had essentially full control over) took the top all around finishers in order of how they did at trials (as he would have liked them to have done in 1996).  This was in willful defiance that the format of the olympics now demands not all arounders but strategic use of team building for the best score possible.  The US did not bring the highest potential scoring team to the olympics because of one man’s wounded pride from 25 years ago.

And before you might be tempted to tell yourself he did this because he wanted to support the athletes let me tell you about the fact that he allowed a coach that was under investigation for abuse to come to a camp where one of the athletes that had filed the complaint against her was also in attendance.  His wife, who has a history of unhinged social media rants, claimed he didn’t have the authority to send home an athletes chosen coach.  In reality Louie Hernandez had the legal right not to have to be there with her.  That coach would later be banned for longer than anyone else has ever been banned in USAG history.

So in June anyone following the details of this knew that Tom’s strategy was entirely “we have Simone and so we will win.”  Because that kind of pressure and stress couldn’t possibly have any terrible consequences on an athlete.  Spoiler:  It did.  

People within the sport were warning about this before Simone Biles lost herself in the air during that vault in Tokyo.  The fact that we were all lucky not to watch one of the greatest athletes of a generation break her neck can not be overstated.  It was so scary that one of the most famously bitter angry and terrible human beings of Gymnastics that has been saying awful things about Biles for years kept telling Russian media that she made the right decision to pull out.  That was pigs flying territory.

Forrester left the athletes to face the press alone after the final.

So with that backdrop I want to give this observation:  Dominque Moceanu, an olympic gold medalist who has an abuse story so horrific with villains so cartonishly evil that if it was written as fiction the author would be told it was over the top, wrote a book about the culture of abuse in in the sport and USAG in 2008.  She was called insane, living on another planet, and apparently sent hundreds of emails by those within the sport that she was ungrateful for what her abusers had done for her (emails that she has apparently kept and I’m telling you I’d love to read more then the few I’ve seen).  Moceanu was a figure out of greek legend, Cassandra doomed to tell the truth and be called mad (and attention seeking).  In light of the fall of the Karolyis and the Nassar scandal Moceanu has become a more respected figure as someone that has been speaking out about abuse for a long time.  She has also been someone that other victims went to over the decades to talk to before they could come forward.  A weight that no one should have to bear.  

I had been joking that the only way people would start to trust USAG was honestly trying to reform was if they put someone like Moceanu in charge (Aly Raisman’s name is floated but even she points out that she’s not qualified).  Moceanu is.  But the old guard of the sport have spent two decades telling people that Moceanu is crazy.  I didn’t think she’d take the job and I didn’t think USAG would ever hire her.

But here is the interesting thing .... her social media presence radically changed character in the last three months.  Starting around the time of US Nationals and continuing though trials and the olympics between posts supporting team USA athletes and raising a voice to support Simone Biles and the need for a cultural change in the sport were digs at Tom Forrester and about the need for transparency in that job.  

And this:  “Would someone be kind enough to notify me if the U.S. women’s high performance coordinator position opens up? Asking for a friend.”  (x)  At the same time (literally the same day as one of those tweets) she launched a youtube channel that is essentially a political fluff piece about her as a change agent in gymnastics coaching.

She’s auditioning for that job.

There are a bunch of other interesting elements of her online behavior and some other telling notes about things she’s said ... but it’s interesting to notice something like that unfold.

[twhstuckylover]

AS DARKNESS FALLS

CHAPTER 2

SUMMARY: Henry is trying to live with the curse he was given. He believes he is doomed to live eternity in the shadows. But when someone comes into his life, he starts seeing the light.

Previous Chapter: 1

WARNINGS: There are dark themes in the first couple chapters. Death and other serious topics will happen, so if you are uncomfortable with these things, no not read! If you are under the age of 18, please do not read. It is not appropriate for teens and children!

A/N: This is the first time I’ve really written any sort of smut, so it most likely isn’t that well written. This is unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! I hope you all enjoy this! Let me know what you think of it! Thanks for reading

WORD COUNT: 2241

PAIRING: Vampire!Henry x Secondary female character

RATING: 18+ (smutty goodness and death)

TAG LIST: @viking-raider @angryschnauzer @dancingwendigo @henrythickcavill @raspberrydreamclouds @mary-ann84 @demivampirew @littlefreya @feelmyroarrrr @angreav @la-rousse-folle @inlovewithhisblueeyes

If you would like to be added to or taken off the tag list, let me know!

I do not give permission to post my story to any other social media site. I don’t give permission to use my story in any way other than to read it and enjoy it.

WARNING #2 Again, there are dark themes in here. If you are not comfortable with death or smut, please don’t read this! If you are under 18, please do not read!

Henry goes to the edge of the forest that surrounds the town and waits. It’s a sick game he likes to play with himself. He sits and waits for someone to find the body.

Maybe deep down he wants someone to catch him and put him out of his misery, so he no longer has to live this sort of life.

But he knows in reality that if someone were to catch him, he would fight for his life. No one can find out about his secret. Even if he does loathe being a creature of the night. He needs to keep this part of him away from everyone. It’s safer for them not to know.

As much as he hates being a vampire, he hates how little disregard humans have for their lives even more. How much they take for granted on a day to day basis. He would kill to be a human again and not take his life for granted. There are so many things he would change if he could go back.

Maybe that’s why he plays this little game. To show the humans just how fragile their lives are and how quickly and violently they can be taken from them.

For several hours, he sits in the tree and waits for the dawn to break. He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't notice the woman coming towards him.

His body stiffens when he hears, ”What are you doing up in the tree, sir?”

Henry glances down and spots a “rough around the edges“ woman staring up at him. ”Nothing that concerns you, miss.”

A smirk plays on her lips, ”I can help you pass the time while you do whatever you're doing, sir.”

He rolls his eyes, ”It would not be wise for you to be around me, miss. I would move along if I were you.”

She chuckles, ”Well, no one has ever called me wise.”

She slides her hand up his thigh and he sighs. ”Not to be rude, miss, but I want to be alone. Please leave me be!”

She moves her hand up higher, ”No one wants to be alone.”

”I do! Now, please leave!”

She shakes her head and her hand reaches her goal. She firmly grabs his manhood through his trousers and Henry lets out a deep sigh.

He runs his fingers through his curly mop of hair, ”I am begging you to leave me alone, miss.”

”I’ll leave once I take care of your need, sir.”

Henry flies down from the tree and startles the woman with his speed. A wicked smirk begins to play on his lips as he checks out his next victim.

He declares, ”You can’t take care of my need and never will be able to. No one can. Now please go before you regret coming near me.”

She pays no mind to his words and begins to undo the buttons of his pants, ”I like a challenge, sir.”

The soiled dove leans up and licks at his plump bottom lip. He leads her backward until her back is against the tree and his eyes turn almost black.

He gets a sinister gleam in his eyes then a wide smile spreads across his face. ”So be it! I will play your little game, but we're going to play by my rules. Do I make myself clear, little fawn?”

She chews on her bottom lip and slowly nods. ”Let me tell you about my fares before we proceed.”

He shakes his head, ”There’s no need for that. I'll pay you whatever your price once we are through.”

She raises her eyebrow at him, ”Well then, sir, shall we start?”

”This is the last chance for you to back out of this and leave me be. Because you will hate yourself for even glancing at me tonight.”

As she nips at his jawline, she says, ”I’ll take my chances, sir, because you're in for a real treat.”

His eyes grow a bit darker, ”I will be the judge of that, little fawn.”

Henry pushes her down on her knees and slides his trousers down his thighs. He grabs the base of his hardening member and moves it around in front of her face. He smirks when he sees her eyes go round when she takes in his size.

”Now be a good girl and wrap those pretty lips around my cock.”

She shakes her head and pleads, ”It’s too big!”

He tsks, ”Now, now! I don't want to hear that negativity. We will take it slow at first, but you will get my dick inside you in more than one of your holes.”

The harlot shakes her head again, ”I can't do it, sir!”

”I am paying for your services, so do as I say. Now take my penis in your mouth. I will not tell you again!”

She grabs the base of his growing erection and brings the tip to her lips. She licks the bead of precum from the slit and gets the first taste of him.

He groans, ”Oh, fuck! Just like that, my little fawn.”

She hums at his praise and laps at the slit again. More precum comes forth and she devours it. He tangles his fingers into her hair and holds her head in place.

Henry thrusts his hips forward and she finally takes him into his mouth. He pushes her head forward and makes her choke on his entire length.

She tries to move away from him, but she is no match for his strength. He keeps her in place and begins to fuck her throat. He gives her no opportunity to catch her breath with his brutal pace, but he doesn't care.

He feels the way her body is moving towards unconsciousness from the lack of air getting to her lungs. He finally pulls away from her when he sees that she's going to pass out.

She lets out a loud gasp when the oxygen comes rushing in, but she gets no rest. Henry picks her weak body up off her knees and swiftly turns her around to face the tree.

The air leaves her lungs again when he roughly thrusts his dick into her soaking core.

”Look at that, little fawn, your cunt is dripping for me! Your body craves to have me in you.”

She cries out, ”Please stop! You're hurting me!”

Henry stops his movements and lets out an annoyed sigh. ”Fine. I'll give you about a minute to get comfortable with my size but after that, you'll have to just take it. Do you understand?”

She nods in agreement and he takes out his pocket watch to see the sixty seconds go on by.

The vampire thrusts shallowly into her as the seconds go by. He smiles to himself when he hears the way her breathing changes from the pleasure she feels.

She jumps when Henry whispers into her ear, ”Ten...nine...eight...seven”

Her body tenses up again in anticipation of what he's going to do and he tsks again. “Relax or it's going to hurt still. You only have four...three...two...and one!”

Henry gives her a hard thrust and the head of his cock slams into her cervix. She lets out a loud moan and moves back into him.

He grips her hips with a bruising pressure and lets his need for release take over. He stops holding back his strength and works his dick in and out of her wet hole.

It's music to his ears as her pleasurable screams fill the night air, ”Yes! Yes! Fuck! Right there, sir!”

She throws her head back onto his shoulder and he growls when he gets a whiff of her scent. His mouth begins to water at the thought of having her blood on his tongue.

He grabs the base of her skull and shoves her face into the bark of the tree. He keeps his hand there while his other hand moves to find her clit.

The soiled dove melts into him as his nimble fingers play with her sensitive nub. ”Does that feel good, little fawn? Do you like the way my fingers rub over your clit? Are you going to cum all over my big dick?”

She yells out, ”Fuck! Yes! Oh, yes! Please don't stop, sir!”

”Oh, I wouldn't dare stop now, darling!”

The smirk comes back onto his face as he feels the way she throbs around him as her orgasm draws near. He thrusts into her hard until his entire manhood is nicely inside her then freezes.

She lets out a long whine and tries to circle her hips to get him to move, but it's to no avail. She's about to protest when he begins the assault on her clit.

She grabs at his wrist to stop him, but he moves his hand faster. It's getting to be too much for her.

He growls deeply into her ear, ”Cum for me, little fawn.”

She doesn't think twice and let's go. Her orgasm travels up and down her nerves and leaves her shaking in their wake. Her knees start to give out on her and Henry holds up her dead weight.

The high of the intense orgasm is beginning to wear off and he picks up a much more punishable pace of his hips.

The pace feels good for a brief moment until reality sets in. She moves her hand back between them and pushes against his hipbone to get him to slow down. He tosses her hand to the side and proceeds to ravish her swollen lips.

”Please slow down, sir! It's beginning to hurt again. I can't take it!”

He lets out a dark laugh, ”Too bad! I let you cum, little fawn. Now it's my turn to have some fun. Shut your mouth and take it!”

The lady of the night begins to cry and Henry slams into her harder. He grips her hair tightly and pulls her head back. The new angle of her head exposes her neck more to him and he licks his lips.

He slides his tongue up the vein in her neck and feels her strong pulse. He whispers into her ear, ”I hope you're ready for this. This is going to be the last thing you'll ever do in your pathetic life.”

The frightened girl looks back at Henry and notices how black his eyes are. Her own eyes grow large when she spots his fangs.

”Wh...wh...what are you?”

He chuckles, ”Your worst nightmare, little fawn.”

Her scream cuts through the hush of the night when she feels him plunge his fangs into her throat.

Henry begins to drink her blood and gets the immediate rush he craves when the liquid touches his tongue.

He feels his climax approaching and his hips begin to falter. He growls against her neck as his orgasm spills into her womb.

He gives her one final rough thrust then moves away from the prostitute. She crumbles to the ground and holds onto her neck. She makes herself into a ball and stares at Henry in horror.

As he tucks himself back into his pants, he sneers, ”I gave you the chance to leave, but you wouldn't listen to me. Now I have to kill you!”

The tears begin to fall down her cheeks again as she begs, ”Please, sir! I won't tell anyone about you! Please don't kill me!”

He stalks towards her with eyes full of evil and blood staining his lips. ”It's time to say goodbye.”

In a quick motion, he snaps her neck and her body goes still. He turns his head up towards the sky and lets out a large outcry of frustration.

He falls to his knees and buries his face in his hands. He hates this part of his curse. He hates taking another life to make sure he stays alive.

It takes him a few minutes to compose himself, but he knows what he has to do. Henry picks up the corpse and discreetly makes his way back to the alley to dispose of it with his other victim.

He makes sure that the coast is clear before he bounds off into the forest again. This time he doesn't stick around for someone to find them.

He's so angry with himself. How could he be so stupid and let that happen? He had a feeling that he shouldn't stay and wait, but he couldn't help himself. He just hopes no one saw him slip up in the forest.

But little does Henry know, someone was watching...

[tomtenadia]

Island Dreams - Chapter 12

Hello lovlies,

here we are with chapter 12. This should be, according to my plans, the last of the very angsty chapters. Now things should start to head towards fluff. I kinda plotted the ideas for all chapters and in a moment of inspiration I wrote a moment with plenty of fluff. They are getting there. Also, please don't hate Elias. He loves her. He really does. They are both just very impulsive.

At the very beginning Rowan says "mo chridhe" well, I am not going to give you a translation this time. Aelin will discover its meaning in the next chapter. You just have to sit tight a bit longer.

-------------------------

Days rolled over quickly and Aelin’s d-day had eventually arrived. It was the day she was meant to meet with Elias. She had been nervous and in a bad mood since she had received the message and didn’t get any closer to figuring out a way to let the man down gently.

So that morning she had woken up as usual, scoffed the remnants of the chocolate cake she had bought from Maeve’s and tried to instil in herself the idea that everything will be okay. Rowan had given her again the morning off and she was quite happy since she had to go and get herself a laptop. She was quite serious in her goal of finding a job as a doctor on the islands and she definitely needed her own computer.

Elias had kindly recommended her a place in town and she decided she could go on foot. The day was going to be nice again and she craved the fresh air. With the address in her hands she was surprised that she found it without the need of the GPS on her phone and happiness took her at the realisation that she was getting very familiar with the town. A few more years, she told her herself, and I will be a local. Elias had been amazing as his usual and had given her some info on what to look for in a laptop and she was grateful for his help and felt horrible at the idea of how much pain she was going to cause him. Half an hour later she had a box under her arm and she was on her way to the bookshop. She missed Rowan. “Madainn mhath!” She greeted him with a huge smile, her mood suddenly improving at the sight of him. That day he was wearing a green hoodie that almost matched his eyes and her heart skipped a beat. “Madainn mhath, mo chridhe.” Aelin walked to him and dumped her box on the floor “What was the last part?” Rowan’s face turned red at the realisation that he had spoken too much “It means my menace.” He lied and she knew it. She was still learning Gaelic, but she had a feeling he had used a term of endearment. It was the loving tone and the hint of a smile that betrayed him. She just had to try and figure out the meaning on her own. Problem was she had no idea how to write down the word. In her basic lessons of Gaelic from Rowan she had soon realised that often Gaelic would pronounce far less letters than the ones written down and some sounds were not written the way she thought. “Sure, keep your secrets.” Gently she poked him on the shoulder. A totally pointless gesture. Given his muscles he probably didn’t even feel her. “What do you have there?” He pointed at the box. “I bought a laptop. You know… for work stuff…” grabbing her belongings she went for his office where she got ready for another day. Nervousness knotted her stomach. After the day had spent gallivanting around a part of Scotland she felt as if the energy between them had shifted again and she had no idea how to address it. “I phoned back the school and I told them that I will give it a try.” He said calmly while typing away on the keyboard. Aelin stared at him amazed “Ro, it’s wonderful.” And she meant it. He nodded timidly. “You don’t seem convinced.” She moved a step closer and her hand landed on his arm and the tightness in her chest loosened a bit when he did not shy away from that contact. He shook his head “I am okay. I really like the idea. It’s just the whole going back to a swimming pool without competing it feels alien.” “I am freaking out about the idea of going back to work in an hospital.” she confessed knowing exactly where he was coming from. The idea of being a doctor again was wonderful but a part of her was terrified at the idea that what happened in London might have broken her completely. He looked at her in understanding. “When it happens, you will be incredible.” He finally looked at her and she noticed the sincerity of his words in his eyes. “Sure, Buzzard, but for now I want to redo the whole fantasy section. It’s bugging me and we need a new display.” And she crossed her arms at her chest “You finish that paperwork. I am on a mission.” She added cracking her hands and marching to her favourite corner of the bookshop. Rowan laughed and kissed her head “Go, have fun.” In response she gave him a grin. Ten minutes later all the books were on the floor, the shelves in the Fantasy section were empty and Aelin was sitting down on the floor reading a book. “You are supposed to organise them and put them back, not read them.” Rowan admonished her from the counter. “Shhh… I am in the zone.” “No you are in the way.” And with his head he pointed at a couple of customers. “I am sorry,” she apologised jumping back on her feet “I am redoing this section. If you need any help, let me know, please.” “We were looking for the fiction section.” Aelin walked them to the correct area “If you need any recommendations, Rowan is your man.” The couple thanked them and she went back to her job. She picked up the book she was reading and gave it to Rowan, “set it aside. I am buying it later.” “You are just as bad as me.” “That’s why you love me.” Shit. “I meany you love working with me.” She corrected herself but the damage was done. So far, their plan of taking it slow did not include using the l-word. Yet. “Who told you I love working with you? Look at the mess you make of my poor books.” He pretended to be stern but she noticed the light in his eyes and the very slight uptick on the right side of his lips. He was trying not to laugh. “I should really start calling you menace instead of Fireheart.” Aelin stuck her tongue out and went back to work. It took her a few hours but the shelves were now more to her liking and she took a step back to admire her work. Rowan joined her to have a look at her project. “Right here in the centre at eye level I placed the book of the month. The two red bars at its side bring it out to attention and the plastic holder underneath has a message that says something about the book and entices the potential reader.” She explained to him “we should have more around the shop. More book recommendations.” Then she took a photo with her mobile “And this will be our official social media post. “I love it.” “And I am amazing.” He laughed “you are amazing.” His arms went around her waist. The two customer had paid and left and they were alone so he could let himself go with a bit of PDA. She stared up at him and his heart began racing and in that exact moment she decided to lean against his chest and hoped she could not hear his heart pumping hard “I love your hoodie.” “Well, you can’t have this one. Buy your own one.” She caressed his pecs and felt his muscles underneath “But if I buy my own one than it won’t smell like you.” Rowan’s hand went onto hers “You buy one, then I will wear it so it smells like me. How does it sound?” “Pinky promise?”she lifted her hand with her pinky extended. “What are you? Five?” She looked at him with puppy eyes and he rolled his in acceptance. “Fine.” He yielded. “Pinky promise.” He was doomed. He was so madly in love with her that he would even swear a pinky promise just to see her give him the smile that would melt his heart. “Ro?” He looked down to her while never breaking their embrace. “You know I have dinner with Elias tonight.” Rowan’s body went rigid. She had mentioned that. She had explained to him why she had to do it and although he had supported her, he had openly admitted to her that he was jealous. He wanted her to dump the guy and screw his feeling, but that was not what Aelin wanted. And doing that would make her miserable and that’s the last thing he wanted. “I remember.” That’s all he could muster. “And you are mad at me.” “I am not. I told you.” She pulled away from him and he missed the contact with her body. “I need to do this, okay? You know I have to do this if we want to… well… whatever is the next step in our relationship.” She sounded almost hurt and it broke his heart. “Aelin, I know. And I am not mad.” He pulled her to him again “I am just being selfish and a lot jealous.” “I don’t love him, Ro.” I love you, you idiot. “But I owe him. He has always been nice to me and he deserves the truth.” “I know.” He kissed her temple “I know.” They pulled apart as soon as they heard a customer enter the shop. The rest of the afternoon continued with them adding suggestions around the shop and Rowan beginning to post confidently on the shop’s Facebook page about all the books of the months they had chosen. Aelin had told him they already had five followers, but he had no idea what she was talking about, he just trusted her. “Go home.” He had told her later on that evening “You need to get ready.” “I can stay.” But he shook his head. “We are closing in an hour anyway. I will be okay.” She kissed his cheek “I will see you tomorrow.” He bushed her hand in response “I trust you.” She nodded, collected all of her stuff and left.

Aelin got home from the shop a bit early so she could have the time to take a shower and get properly dressed. She pulled off Rowan’s hoodie and stopped thinking about his expression when she reminded him that she was going out with Elias. He was aware that she wanted to let the man down gently and Rowan in the end understood. I trust you he had told her before letting her go. Aelin had been grateful for that week that Elias had been away because she had the chance to analyse her feeling, her growing feelings for Rowan. They had the best time together and she longed for the moment she would stop feeling like she was cheating on Elias every time she touched Rowan. She needed closure, but she also had to do it in a way not to break the man’s heart. At 7pm Elias rang the bell to her house and when she opened the door he was standing in front of her. He had a pair of jeans on, a shirt and a blue jumper on top of it, looking neat and very charming. But the pang of attraction she had felt at the beginning was not there anymore. She, had opted for a smart casual attire as well, not wanting to dress up too much and give the wrong idea. “Hi you.” His expression lit up with one of his bright and dazzling smile while his arm went around her waist pulling her close for a quick kiss that she allowed. “I hope you like seafood.” Aelin nodded scared about what emotions her voice would betray. “Then let’s go.” Once outside she noticed his car was not around. “We are walking,” he said when he noticed her looking for the vehicle. His hand was extended in front of him and she took it very reluctantly. “How…” she stumbled on her words “How was Glasgow.” “I love the city, but work was so boring but I had to do it. I spent the week in never-ending meetings. And missed you of course.” He squeezed the hand. “How was yours?” Shit. “Fine, I have been working at the bookshop and on Saturday and Sunday I was out exploring.” “Have you been somewhere nice?” Lie. Lie, her brain kept telling her. “On Sunday I went across the water to Ullapool and drove around a bit. I was reading my guide on Saturday evening and when it seemed doable I just went for it.” And she hoped he believed her. “I wish I could have come with you, I know the area very well.” So does Rowan. Ten minutes later they reached the restaurant: the Harbour kitchen, apparently a great place for seafood freshly caught. Or at least that was what the locals said. Elias had reserved a table and when it was time to sit down he was a proper gentleman and pulled the chair out for her “M’lady…” He sat down as well and the waiter brought the menu while Elias ordered a bottle of wine. “You drink, don’t you?” Aelin nodded. She looked at the menu and the food sounded amazing. ‘This is one of my favourite places, the food here is great.” She could see the joy in him. She kept her gaze on the menu, using the excuse she could not make up her mind. They were silent for a moment and she welcome the respite. How was she supposed to break up with him? Did she just tell him whatever there was between it was over? That she loved Rowan? She almost growled. She hadn’t been able to speak to Lysandra and now she had no idea on how to do it properly. “Aelin?” She looked up and noticed that the waiter was there at her side. Apologising, she placed her order and Elias extended his arm and placed his hand on hers on the table and she almost flinched. “How is the bookshop?” He asked and she noticed that it costed him to show interest in something he had clearly admitted to be against. “Busy. I have set up Rowan with a Facebook page and Instagram fro the shop and we are working on online ordering. Plus, tourist season has started, so nice and busy.” Her tone was flat and he noticed it. “You seem pretty invested in that shop.”and there it was, his hate for the choice she had made of working there instead of going back to her old job. A waste he had called it. “Just helping a friend.” And she looked outside the window ignoring his gaze. Ignoring the pain his words were causing. “Sounds like is not a good business manager if he needs a doctor to help him.” Aelin grabbed her glass and took a sip of the wine to try and hide her gritted teeth. What happened to the nice guy she met on the beach? Jealousy, her brain told her. “He just doesn’t use Facebook. Some people don’t feel the need to be on social media and there is nothing wrong with it.” She might have uttered those words with a bit more venom than intended. At her sharp tone his hand clench a little in annoyance and he was about to add another snarky remark when their food arrived and she thanked that now she had an excuse to stay in silence at least for a while. This was not going well, but he was clearly insulting Rowan and his job and she could not allow that. “Are you enjoying the food?” He added after five minutes of neither of them uttering a word. His tone had lost the loving edge it had when they first arrived. “Yeah, it’s nice.” Her response was almost devoid of all emotions. ‘What?” He asked when he noticed her reaction “Are you mad at me because I insulted you book buddy?” Aelin grabbed the glass and almost threw it in his face and stormed out of the restaurant but she could not cause a scene. So she breathed in and counted till 10 “Just tired.” “I have been looking forward to see you for days. I was not expecting this.” He whispered through gritted teeth. “I am sorry I forgot my red carpet and the roses, your highness, I am ready for my ten lashes.” And the fire-bitch queen, as Chaol used to call her, was back in full swing. Good job, Aelin. She hated the words as soon as they left her mouth. But the damage was done and once again she was going to pay for her inability to filter her thoughts before talking. She had not meant to fight with him, but apparently fate had other plans in mind for her. She was so tired of fighting. “You are not yourself tonight. Is it because of him?” Elias was jealous, that was blatantly clear. She might have been impulsive, but he had been downright arrogant. “I told you I am tired.” And she slammed her fork on the plate a bit too hard. “Well, take a day off. I am sure book boy can work on his own for a day.” Aelin stood and grabbed her bag.”You know what?” She whispered trying not to cause a scene. “If you can’t talk about Rowan without insulting him, we are done here.” She was about to leave when he grabbed her wrist but she pulled free and left the restaurant.

Elias went to pay quickly and ran after her “Aelin.” He shouted a few times but she ignored him. Eventually he caught up and gently grabbed her writs “Aelin…” his tone suddenly much more gentle than what had been in the restaurant. He had behaved horribly. All he wanted was a nice night with her. However, he could not forget that he had spent a whole week agonising over the fact that she was alone in the shop with Rowan and it drove him mad because, yes, he was so damn jealous. “I am so sorry.” When she turned Elias noticed she was in tears and his heart sank “Elias this is not working.” She blurted out while sobbing “Whatever this is… I can’t” “I love working at the bookshop and until I feel ready to be a doctor again that is what I will do. And I am tired of listening to you insulting the shop and Rowan.” He was not ready for the look full of hurt in her eyes. He wanted to see her smile and nothing more. “This is not working, Elias. We are not working and I am sick and tired of being in pain.” He stared at her and for a while he was immobile as if stunned by her words. “You love him, don’t you?” Elias’ voice was almost a whisper but she heard him nonetheless. In frustration his hands ran through his hair and he groaned “I have been such a stupid fool not to notice.” In the meantime, Aelin had taken a seat on one of the benches at the marina while Elias was not towering in front of her and she kept avoiding his gaze like the coward she felt. “That’s why you almost ignored me while I was away. And why your texts were cold all of a sudden.” Aelin didn’t answer and kept staring at the small fishing boats moored at the pier, while tears kept flowing down her cheeks “I had to sort out my feelings.” “Clearly not your feelings for me.” She clenched her fingers “Life happens,” her tone almost a growl. “No, annoying bookseller happened. You were fine until you started working there.” His anger back in his words. She finally found the strength to stand and face him “This is between me and you. Damn it, Elias we were not together, we were still trying to figure out things. It’s my feelings okay? I am the one who fell in love with him, so leave Rowan out of this.” She shouted, now clenching both hands in fists “I am the one who is so messed up and could not make up her bloody mind. Blame me for this.” Suddenly her back was at him again “This is not how it was meant to go down.” She leaned against the wall of the pier. She turned and he was in front of her. In a swift movement he kissed her “tell me you don’t feel anything. Have the guts to tell me that the time we spent together meant nothing. Be truthful, damn it. I deserve it.” Her hand went in front of her mouth to stifle the sob rippling through her “I loved the time I spent with you.” She finally looked at him and the pain she saw in his eyes almost broke her “But my feelings for Rowan developed before the ones I had for you had time to form.” It was a pathetic excuse but it was all she could give him just now. She started shaking and he offered her his jacket. “You are cold,” his voice soft again. “Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it.” She refused the jacket. “Aelin… I am sorry for what I said.” He moved a step closer, he could not see her in that much pain. She did not answer for a moment “I didn’t want to hurt you.” She sobbed tears flowing again “I am so bad at this, but I didn’t want to hurt you.” “I know.” He pushed behind her ear a rebellious lock of hair “Let me walk you home, you are freezing.” Aelin nodded and they walked back to her place in silence. Once in front of her house they stopped. Aelin took out of her purse “Let me pay for half of the dinner.” His hand stopped her “Don’t even think about it.” “But… I have been horrible to you.” “I don’t care, I am not letting you pay.” And caressed her cheek “Can we talk tomorrow? In a more civilised way? I accept your feelings. I really do, but if we have to part I want to do it in a better fashion. Tonight’s fight was nasty and I’d hate to remember our time together having such a brutal ending.” Aelin managed a faint smile “Yeah. Yeah, it sounds good.” And Aelin’s heart felt all of a sudden lighter. “Good.” He kissed her cheek “I’ll text you tomorrow with an ETA of when I am meant to finish work. Is it okay with you?” “Yes, Elias.” He winked at her and left. Aelin stood outside the house and stared at the sea for a while, but when the wind picked up again she ran back in the house. She changed in her jammies and plopped on the sofa with a cup of chamomile tea. She felt horrible after the horrible dinner they had. But she was looking forward discussing things with him in a more civilised way. She hated the fight and all she had said. She did care about him, just not in the way he hoped. She sighed and grabbed the book on the coffee table. Her mobile lay beside it and when she retrieved it she found a text from Rowan How was the evening? Are you okay? Disaster was all she texted back. A couple of minutes later his reply came Would you like to talk about it? And laughed. Rowan was still coming to grasp the whole texting thing and she loved the fact that he always used proper grammar, punctuation and never contracted any words. Not yet she replied. Please, take the morning off tomorrow. I will handle the hordes of tourists on my own. I will see you in the afternoon. She laughed. K. <3 XOXO was her reply and she waited to see his. Is that a sort of secret code? Good night, grandpa. A smile appeared on her face. She adored their banter and mocking him for his limited knowledge of certain aspect of technology was fun, although she found it quite attractive and fascinating.

In the end she decided to go to bed instead. And before switching off the light she flipped through the pictures she had taken of their adventure and chose one of the two of them together as a home screen. “Night, Buzzard.”

[arcticdementor]

A reader writes:

I’m writing to you today because I have some information to share with you (and your readers) who may still be skeptical that this LGBTQIA+ gender-identity craze is coming for their kids.  Some recent interactions online have made me more aware than ever that the movement is spreading in wild and unpredictable ways, and also made me reflect on how, in my own life, even someone like me could have fallen victim to it.

I want to start off by saying that recently, (and ironically, in an attempt to try not to be sucked into the internet as purely a source for doom and gloom: you will see how this backfires on me) I decided to rejoin a fan community surrounding one of my favorite franchises on Twitter. I won’t go into too much detail about which community and the exact specifics, but just know that it’s a popular franchise that’s appropriate for older kids, teens and adults (nothing 18+, nothing for really little ones).  As a teen myself I was fairly active in a similar branch of this community on another social media platform (Facebook), and enjoyed it immensely before the platform eventually went more or less defunct as a hot-spot for fan content. Most of the content was fan-created work (like fan-art or fan-fiction) with a little interaction and lots of “DID YOU SEE THE LATEST” kinds of posts.

…

Anyway, to keep it to a minimum, that was then. If you’ve been on the internet any time in the last five years you know that spaces where people just talk about an interest and don’t mix it with politics and activism are becoming few and far between. Even though I knew this, and knew that I wasn’t going to have the same experience in a different place, something sparked an interest in me to go try to reconnect with my internet roots in a different setting.  So, I followed some hashtags, quickly found some new followers and settled back to enjoy at least marginally some discussions online that didn’t have to do with Covid and All The Ways We Are All Going To Die.

Then came the teenagers.

Much like when I was a kid, this franchise attracts a lot of younger people.  So it was hardly surprising to me to find that many of my new followers were in the 14-18 age range and that people like myself (mid-older 20s) were a sort of senior majority. That was fine- Twitter’s rules after all are 13+, so it’s not unreasonable to assume if you’re part of a popular group that you’ll interact on occasion with minors. That wasn’t the part I found strange. The part I found strange was that all of them, and I repeat, all of them were fans of two things- the franchise, and gender identities.

You can actually almost pinpoint the age range of the 18 and under crowd by how many of them have the following: 1. Pronouns in bio and in username.  2. Gender identity or lack thereof displayed in bio or username. 3. LGBTQ+ sexual orientation displayed in bio or username. etc. etc. etc. I’m not going to dive into it too much, because some might be saying “isn’t that just normal nowadays? Even politicians do that?” Well, you’re not wrong if that’s what you’re thinking. And that’s not the part that disturbs me.

What disturbed me was that, a few weeks after I joined the group, I started noticing an unsettling pattern among many of these teenage users (and many over-teen users, but I’m trying to make a point about the young ones specifically). For a few days, after an interesting bit of news or a trailer or some other thing that unites franchises, the posts in my feed would be primarily things like what I remembered from past experiences: posts about the franchises, theories, speculations, fanart, etc.  But, every time things would settle back down into a quiet, normal week, the feeds in my post became almost entirely about one thing: Gender and LGBTQ talking points.  I’m going to diverge for one second and say that many people in this group aren’t using a personal, front-facing account for their interactions in this fan-group. They’re mostly using alt-accounts with no real names and faces attached (myself included).  And yet, every time the discussion in the feeds died down to where there was just no new stuff about the franchise to talk about, all the conversation slowly but surely shifted back to sexual orientation and gender.  From fan-ships of perfect LGB couples to ‘hey I drew this person but as a trans-female!’ to even forgoing pretending to talk about their interests and just discussing their own gender and sex presentation with their other online friends, it became quickly very clear to me that A. I no longer really belonged here and B. Every single one of these kids was obsessed. Every. Single. One.

…

I’m going to digress and talk about myself for a minute to explain just why these examples, particularly that last one, burn a hole in my soul.  From the minute I was old enough to remember, I’ve never been one of those typically presenting females. When my sisters and I played dress-up as kids, they played princesses and I played a prince or a witch or whatever was more interesting. In addition to the dolls and barbies I had being one of three girls, I also had an assortment of boy-oriented toys, including action figures, a remote control car and this really cool nerf bow-and-arrow set that I still secretly wish had survived my playing with it because man, my kids are gonna miss out someday. My hair was short because I hated wearing it up and the solution was a bob, and when we spent time with relatives I could be found as far away from my female cousins as possible, hanging out with my male cousins and talking about Legos and Lord of The Rings. I spent 90% of my time reading books and ignoring reality, and didn’t put much effort into my appearance until probably age 13 or later.

And I wished I was a boy.

It wasn’t an all-consuming thought, but I thought it. I wished, many times, when my parents would fuss at me to please stop attempting to climb trees in your Sunday clothes and when my sisters never talked about anything but dolls and tea-parties around their friends that I could be one of the boys. I had always liked the boys and their world better, and I fit into better, and yet there was that little problem (that I was still a girl) that kept me from being accepted into the boy group.  The reality was, I was already probably very intelligent for my age (too-well read children can relate) and I took that big-headedness a little too far at times. I was also a very emotional person (still am) and just passionately felt that being a girl and being expected to do girl things was hideous and unfair.

The saving grace? My mom was the same. She’s never been a typical female either, and though as adults we have some clear differences (ironically, I have more stereotypical female interests/talents than her- like a hidden passion for interior decorating and a love of baking and so on) she was there for me, to be able to tell me that no- I didn’t really want to be a boy, I was just a girl who liked sword fights and grass-stains more than ballgowns and tea parties, and that was okay!!! She was proof that there were other girls like me, and that I would find more of them eventually (I did) and, even though we never said so in so many words, that stereotypes and how we fit into them has nothing to do with our innate female and male selves. And so, reassured that I could be female and still be however I wanted, I eventually grew out of those thoughts, and as I matured, found that there were ‘female things’ I connected with that my past self was too young to appreciate.

But, think about all this in a modern context. I’m a happy adult female now, and I was never truly gender-questioning. I just thought, for a while, that boys had more fun than I did, so I wanted to be one.  But that, in it of itself, is a thought that’s deep enough for modern gender activists to insist I be transitioned immediately and put on life-altering hormones, never given a chance to grow up or grow out of questioning, and affirmed in my presentation instantly! If I, like that young girl online, had been handed a ‘gender-affirming’ flag and an identity that ‘made sense’ out of why I was different from my peers, I might have jumped on it, especially without the presence of a wise older person to tell me I wasn’t anything different than what she’d been as a child. This is the problem, this is why this kind of thing is so dangerous and toxic and wrong.

[spockandawe]

Okay, I want to pull together more detailed thoughts at some point, I think, because the sheer amount of material means I have about ten billion thoughts to sort out. But I’ve read all three of the mxtx novels now, and loved all of them, in different ways. Though I already tried to figure out if I can pick a Favorite, and tbh, I can’t. I love them all in ways that are too distinct to let me rank them easily. And... man, it’s lucky for my friends that social distancing is in place, or I’d be hassling them shamelessly to give these novels a try.

RIGHT. So.

The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System: Shen Yuan goes to bed full of rage directed at a trashy webnovel with a grimdark blackened hero who conquered the world and collected hundreds of women into his harem.... and wakes up in novel, while that hero is still an innocent youth. As the hero’s abusive teacher. Who is doomed for a horrifying death unless he can somehow turn things around.

I think I had the most fun with this one. I really enjoy self-referential stories, and stories poking fun at certain genres, and I’ve run into the concept of transmigration before (the idea being a person enters a fictional world, a la lost in austen), though I’m blanking on any media like that I’ve actually consumed. This was chronologically the first book mxtx wrote, and it has less of a sprawling cast with complicated relationships than the other two books, but it definitely has the thing where she lays early groundwork for later revelations that shatter my poor heart. 

And there may be fewer relationships to play with, but my GOD, do I love the relationships we got. I’ve been rolling around in svsss fanfic since I finished the book, even more so than mdzs or tgcf. There’s a lot of good crunchy relationship content with the 79 ship (they destroy me, all day every day), Liu Qingge owns my whole-ass heart, and Luo Binghe makes for a fascinating love interest. I love that even at his best, he remains a needy, needy, manipulative boy, who’s so smart and strong and nEEDY. I don’t love how the book handled moshang, but mmmm the fan content is Good. And Shen Qingqiu does the unreliable narrator thing that is usually not my jam, but works so WELL in these books, in that his unreliable narration is hugely skewed towards not giving himself nearly as much credit as he deserves. Xie Lian takes this to UNBELIEVABLE heights in tgcf, but in Shen Qingqiu’s case, it’s done on such a casual, immediate, personal level that I’m fascinated by everything he does. 

And, since Shen Yuan/Shen Qingqiu is a millennial fan of trashy romance webnovels who gets yanked into the universe of a novel he hates, into an old-timey xianxia setting, the prose is SO COOL. You swing between modern slang and old school high society courtesies at the drop of a hat, and I’m honestly awed that the translators were able to catch so much of that. Like, in-setting, I love all the nuance you can get in ‘qi-ge should give his a-jiu the scroll’ vs ‘yue-shixiong should give this teacher the scroll’ vs ‘you should give me the scroll’. But then it adds a whole new layer when the person ALSO has modern-day casual speech bouncing around in their head. It makes for a fascinating, fascinating reading experience.

The Grandmaster Of Demonic Cultivation: Thirteen years ago, Wei Wuxian died. And then he wakes up! In someone else’s body. I’m not going to try to summarize the premise of this one, go look up The Untamed if you want someone to do a better job of this than me XD

Ahhh, this was the book I read first. I still haven’t watched the show (only clips) and I’m not sure I ever will, because adhd is a hell of a drug. But it’s hard to purely evaluate the prose when there’s also this gorgeous, beautifully-acted visual adaptation all over my tumblr to bias me in its favor. I think this book benefits a lot from the MYSTERY of it all. From the very start, there’s the question of ‘what the fuck is up with this goddamn arm’ that the characters pursue, even as that takes them through flashbacks and other arcs within the story. It gives a thrust to the novel that I think isn’t exactly there in tgcf, though I’m torn on which one is “better.” This gave the story momentum, yes, but it also meant I was much more impatient in yi city and the 3zun flashbacks, because this isn’t what I was focused onnnnnn this is cool but how much longer will we BE HERE--

That being said, I think I’ll be more patient with those flashbacks on my next time through the book, now that I have a better picture of where everything is headed. I think the balance and structure of the book worked really well, I was setting myself up for self-sabotage because of the pace I was plowing through the thing. My reading habits didn’t lend themselves well to the nonlinear storytelling, and it speaks to the story’s strength that it held up that well despite me. And the CAST. My GOD. I went in not caring about anyone but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji and maybe the jackass nephew, but... that Did Not Last. I didn’t intend to care about 3zun? Nope, too bad, you care so much now. Who cares about Xue Yang? Me. I care. Way too much. HECK!!!

And something that happens in this book and tgcf that was much less of a thing in svsss is that there are some meaningful holes in the story that I’d like to be filled, and I really care about filling-- and the story doesn’t go there. But it doesn’t leave me unhappy, it leaves me cheerfully scrabbling around in the throwaway details trying to piece together a picture of what happened when I wasn’t looking. What happened to Wei Wuxian in the burial mounds? How did Hua Cheng take control of the ghost city? Idk, but let us Rummage and theorize and roll around in ideas and have a fantastic, speculative time. Svsss might hook me more than the other stories from an au+shipping perspective, but mdzs and tgcf do a great job of making me want to roll around and create within the bounds of canon.

Heaven Official’s Blessing: 800 years ago, Xie Lian ascended to heaven. And fell. And rose again! And fell again. Now he’s ascended for the third time, and things are Awkward.

God, I just finished this, and I’m still reeling. This is the LONGEST mxtx book, that’s for sure. I also think it’s the most tightly edited translation. All the translators did an unbelievable job, I could never even approach what they accomplished, but I am genuinely stunned that a book this long was edited so well. I blew through this in about 3.5 days (if not for work, i could have made it in three dghsafdsgf) and my brain was cooking in my skull by the time I was halfway through, but I couldn’t STOP. I was ENCHANTED the entire time! I was reading so much my head was destroying me and I still sulked so HARD every time I had to put my phone down and sleep.

This book sprawls the hardest, I think, because it involves a cast made of mostly immortal/immortal-adjacent people, so time and space get... flexible. And I feel really bad saying this, because Lan Wangji is DEVOTED, but this is seriously the book with the most attentive and adoring and respectful love interest. Hua Cheng is..... god. I truly don’t think I’ve EVER read a character quite like him before, and I am so, so sad, because I don’t know how I’ll find one who lives up to these heights ever again XD I recommend reading this book just for the Hua Cheng experience, if nothing else. I was making audible noises at literally flailing at multiple points in the story, but most often, it was because of him. 

Shipping is what usually drags me into a fandom hardest, and all of these books do pretty well for themselves, all of them have a nice selection of fluffy and crunchy ships to choose from. And this one... goddammit. I just realized, that the best, most crunchy ships are too spoilery for me to be willing to talk about them here. Hell. Goddammit. But I think tgcf has the crunchiest ship of all, even better than xuexiao. I was so invested, and then there were Reveals, and then I was like OH NO THIS IS TERRIBLE BUT MY INVESTMENT HAS EXPONENTIALLY INCREASED. 

And something that I really, really appreciate, is that across the mxtx books, even though a lot of characters fit into strong archetypes, there’s nobody that is blurring together for me, either within or across the books. Liu Qingge isn’t Jiang Cheng isn’t Feng Xin. They’re all blunt, fighty boys, but all super distinct in my head, and what I want for each of them is distinct and character-driven. I want Liu Qingge to be properly cherished and I want Jiang Cheng to relax with his brother and nephew and I want Feng Xin to [goddammit i don’t want to spoil this book AGH]. It’s something I appreciated in the other books too, but I can really FEEL it in this book, with how long and luxurious it is. 

And last thing I have to say, I think, is that tgcf is so long. It’s so, so long. But I would FITE if anyone tried to pare it down at all. I can’t think of anything I’d be willing to sacrifice. I enjoyed every last piece of it so much, and it was all ultimately SO well-constructed and interlocking, that any piece I can think of snipping out would take away significant emotional impact from what was left. It’s a nonlinear story, like mdzs is nonlinear, and I loved mdzs a lot! But the construction here is so, so, so elegant. I’m just in AWE of how well it was assembled. I was in Agony as reveals happened, because oh no no no no, now that they’ve told me this, that casts this whole other scene in a brand new light! The one I read hundreds of thousands of words ago! Literally, I need to go start the book over so I can savor the shitty teens in new ways, given [redacted] as revealed in like, the last twenty percent of the book. The book was a fun experience, but there’s so Much here that I know I haven’t even absorbed yet. I loved the other mxtx books a lot, and in many ways, they were easier to get a grasp on than tgcf was, but even before I finished tgcf I was already despairingly trying to figure out how easily I could fit a full reread into my life, and I think that says a lot

[learrianie]

What We Do in the Past, Echoes in the Future

Given the state of our country right now due to the unjust killings of George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and so many others, it reminded me of a short essay I wrote about discrimination last year. It covers from the time of the Harlem Renaissance to 2020. How black people in America continue to face the same prejudice time and time again. This particular essay examines Claude McKay’s poem If We Must Die, Danez Smith’s piece dear white america, and Malcolm X’s speech The Ballot or the Bullet.

Not everyone can be at the protests and it can make you feel like you aren’t doing enough to help. If you’re like me, I constantly question “what can I do? how can I help? We can donate to the organizations, but if you can’t afford it, one of the most important things EVERY ONE can and should do is listen. Stay informed. Learn our history. Change the future.

I’ve included both poems and the speech. The Ballot or the Bullet is long, but I urge you all to read it or listen to it on youtube. It’s a difficult conversation to keep having, but we must keep speaking up for the victims of the systematic racism in this country and continue to fight for justice, by any means necessary.

What We Do in the Past, Echoes in the Future

By Arriana M. Williams

Literature and art have always been powerful tools for expressing and analyzing the human condition. We write as a way to leave something lasting and tangible for the next generation to, hopefully, improve upon society as a whole. When it comes to the marginalized communities of the world, specifically in our country, the role and value of literature becomes essential in understanding the plights and difficulties these people have faced in history and today. By reading the works created by these men and women, we gain a more intimate and personal insight into their struggles, aspirations, and their outlook of the world and their hopes of a brighter future. As cliché as that may sound, it was the ultimate goal of men like Martin Luther King Jr, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and so many more. While these men followed in the footsteps of men like Claude McKay, who defined his perspective of racism in his poem “If We Must Die”, they also inspired those who came after them. Men like Danez Smith, who in his poem, “Dear White America”, addresses the typical perspectives white people have towards those of color in America. Although reading and writing is not a cure-all for discrimination or injustices in America, it is hard to deny that the old adage is true. That those who do not learn history, are doomed to repeat it.

Take for example Malcolm X’s speech, "The Ballot or the Bullet". Given as a response to congress deliberating about the Civil Rights Act, which would prohibit discrimination based on race, sex, religion, and origin. This speech is considered to be one of his best as it clearly and sophisticatedly describes how people of color in America must demand equality regardless of economic class or political affiliation. His message was not aimed towards any specific group of black Americans, nor religious associations. Malcolm X was a very relatable figure in that, the way he spoke was how common people spoke. He was intelligent, but he was not a politician.

The tone of his speeches touched people because of how passionate he was, but also how he was just like us. A man who wanted a better life for himself and his people, a man who was genuine in his convictions. Some people consider him to have been a radical, because he believed that the disenfranchised should demand equality “by any means necessary”. His goal was to urge black people to use their votes as a way to progress their civil rights. To do this, he used some humor to connect to the masses. His use of Muhammad Ali as a metaphor in this speech may have been funny, stating that we should not be “singing” for freedom or treading lightly in this fight. But he goes on to say, “But you can swing up on some freedom. Cassius Clay can sing. But singing didn’t help him to become the heavyweight champion of the world. Swinging helped him” (Malcolm X 338). His tone grows from humorous to serious because he tries to exclaim that we must come to terms with when enough is enough. Malcolm X gave this speech in 1964, forty- five years after Claude McKay’s “If We Must Die”, but the message remains the same.

Malcolm X was trying to usher his people into a new world, a new way of thinking and living in America. Claude McKay was originally from Jamaica, but when he moved to the United States for higher education, he experienced racism first-hand which inspired him to begin writing poetry. His poem, “If We Must Die”, is written from the perspective of a black man speaking about fighting back when it comes to racism. The final line is the most powerful stating, “Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack/Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!” (McKay 139). The speaker says that their blood will not be shed in vain and this poem goes on to display themes of the frustrations and concerns with discrimination and with the state of the country. Written in 1919, this poem is yet another example of people of color no longer willing to take the horrendous treatment of them in America anymore. This is a pattern in the pieces of literature throughout the Harlem Renaissance, when the dynamics in the country were beginning to change, after slavery was abolished but before the civil rights movement began. Basically, black people were beginning to fight back against oppression, just like Malcolm X explained in his speech, even decades after McKay’s poem, that people of color must continue to fight back by any means necessary.

Perhaps to a layman on the subjects of racial experiences, maltreatment, or persecution, it would seem like things have improved when it comes to inequality in America. So why are we still reading about prejudice and racism? All of the men I mentioned, Martin Luther King Jr, Medgar Evers, and Malcolm X were assassinated in this country. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that there is still room for improvement. Even during the era of our first black president, men and women of color were still living in fear of many threats. In “Dear White America”, Smith uses metaphors for religion and the justice system in our country as examples of how people of color are often the ones left out of “God’s miracles”. He mentions the issue of mass incarceration of black men and says, “I’m sick of calling your recklessness the law” (315) which is a statement of the epidemic of police involved shootings of unarmed black people. Smith goes on to address the typical “white” perspectives towards people of color in America. Like the, “I just don’t see race” and “Why does it always have to be about race” (315).

The poem is written in a way that the speaker is acknowledging the problems with common, white opinions. That they do not understand the harm they cause, but the speaker is attempting to enlighten them from a person of color’s point of view. The piece progresses from just words that are detrimental and hurtful stereotypes, to the ongoing violence black/brown people must endure in this country. The tone of this poem, as in all of the other works, is angry, the speaker does not want to remain silent and in the ends tells the “white audience” that they will create a new world, one that cannot be stolen, sold, beaten, hanged, or shot and that, “this, if only this one, is ours” (315). It is discouraging that from 1919 to 2019 we are still analyzing these types of experiences in literature, because they continue to be relevant. Many people believe that living in a post- Obama America means racism is eradicated, but all it takes is to open a book, watch the news, or check social media to see that notion could not be further from the truth.

What all of these pieces have in common, are the ways in which literature and assembly of like- minded individuals can open up a space for those whose voices might not be heard otherwise. The written word is a medium unlike any other in the way that it can stand the test of time, to be passed down from generation to generation. While some subjects are incredibly depressing to endure, they remain extremely poignant time after time. With something as complicated as racial issues, we need literature to understand the speakers that came before us. To gain more awareness of how far we’ve come, and how much more we have to work on in this country. From Malcolm X, to the poets of today, the similarities far outweigh the differences in their experiences, which is both concerning and comforting in a way. It is unfortunate that people of color are still facing such ordeals today, but that fact that so many before them faced trials and tribulations, it goes to the strength and power they possessed in order to keep fighting. To keep fighting for equality and the advancement of the people.

If We Must Die

BY CLAUDE MCKAY

If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursèd lot. If we must die, O let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

dear white america

BY DANEZ SMITH

i’ve left Earth in search of darker planets, a solar system revolving too near a black hole. i’ve left in search of a new God. i do not trust the God you have given us. my grandmother’s hallelujah is only outdone by the fear she nurses every time the blood-fat summer swallows another child who used to sing in the choir. take your God back. though his songs are beautiful, his miracles are inconsistent. i want the fate of Lazarus for Renisha, want Chucky, Bo, Meech, Trayvon, Sean & Jonylah risen three days after their entombing, their ghost re-gifted flesh & blood, their flesh & blood re-gifted their children. i’ve left Earth, i am equal parts sick of your go back to Africa & i just don’t see race. neither did the poplar tree. we did not build your boats (though we did leave a trail of kin to guide us home). we did not build your prisons (though we did & we fill them too). we did not ask to be part of your America (though are we not America? her joints brittle & dragging a ripped gown through Oakland?). i can’t stand your ground. i’m sick of calling your recklessness the law. each night, i count my brothers. & in the morning, when some do not survive to be counted, i count the holes they leave. i reach for black folks & touch only air. your master magic trick, America. now he’s breathing, now he don’t. abra-cadaver. white bread voodoo. sorcery you claim not to practice, hand my cousin a pistol to do your work. i tried, white people. i tried to love you, but you spent my brother’s funeral making plans for brunch, talking too loud next to his bones. you took one look at the river, plump with the body of boy after girl after sweet boi & ask why does it always have to be about race? because you made it that way! because you put an asterisk on my sister’s gorgeous face! call her pretty (for a black girl)! because black girls go missing without so much as a whisper of where?! because there are no amber alerts for amber-skinned girls! because Jordan boomed. because Emmett whistled. because Huey P. spoke. because Martin preached. because black boys can always be too loud to live. because it’s taken my papa’s & my grandma’s time, my father’s time, my mother’s time, my aunt’s time, my uncle’s time, my brother’s & my sister’s time . . . how much time do you want for your progress? i’ve left Earth to find a place where my kin can be safe, where black people ain’t but people the same color as the good, wet earth, until that means something, until then i bid you well, i bid you war, i bid you our lives to gamble with no more. i’ve left Earth & i am touching everything you beg your telescopes to show you. i’m giving the stars their right names. & this life, this new story & history you cannot steal or sell or cast overboard or hang or beat or drown or own or redline or shackle or silence or cheat or choke or cover up or jail or shoot or jail or shoot or jail or shoot or ruin

this, if only this one, is ours.

The Ballot or the Bullet

by Malcolm X April 3, 1964 Cleveland, Ohio

Mr. Moderator, Brother Lomax, brothers and sisters, friends and enemies: I just can't believe everyone in here is a friend, and I don't want to leave anybody out. The question tonight, as I understand it, is "The Negro Revolt, and Where Do We Go From Here?" or What Next?" In my little humble way of understanding it, it points toward either the ballot or the bullet.

Before we try and explain what is meant by the ballot or the bullet, I would like to clarify something concerning myself. I'm still a Muslim; my religion is still Islam. That's my personal belief. Just as Adam Clayton Powell is a Christian minister who heads the Abyssinian Baptist Church in New York, but at the same time takes part in the political struggles to try and bring about rights to the black people in this country; and Dr. Martin Luther King is a Christian minister down in Atlanta, Georgia, who heads another organization fighting for the civil rights of black people in this country; and Reverend Galamison, I guess you've heard of him, is another Christian minister in New York who has been deeply involved in the school boycotts to eliminate segregated education; well, I myself am a minister, not a Christian minister, but a Muslim minister; and I believe in action on all fronts by whatever means necessary.

Although I'm still a Muslim, I'm not here tonight to discuss my religion. I'm not here to try and change your religion. I'm not here to argue or discuss anything that we differ about, because it's time for us to submerge our differences and realize that it is best for us to first see that we have the same problem, a common problem, a problem that will make you catch hell whether you're a Baptist, or a Methodist, or a Muslim, or a nationalist. Whether you're educated or illiterate, whether you live on the boulevard or in the alley, you're going to catch hell just like I am. We're all in the same boat and we all are going to catch the same hell from the same man. He just happens to be a white man. All of us have suffered here, in this country, political oppression at the hands of the white man, economic exploitation at the hands of the white man, and social degradation at the hands of the white man.

Now in speaking like this, it doesn't mean that we're anti-white, but it does mean we're anti-exploitation, we're anti-degradation, we're anti-oppression. And if the white man doesn't want us to be anti-him, let him stop oppressing and exploiting and degrading us. Whether we are Christians or Muslims or nationalists or agnostics or atheists, we must first learn to forget our differences. If we have differences, let us differ in the closet; when we come out in front, let us not have anything to argue about until we get finished arguing with the man. If the late President Kennedy could get together with Khrushchev and exchange some wheat, we certainly have more in common with each other than Kennedy and Khrushchev had with each other.

If we don't do something real soon, I think you'll have to agree that we're going to be forced either to use the ballot or the bullet. It's one or the other in 1964. It isn't that time is running out -- time has run out!

1964 threatens to be the most explosive year America has ever witnessed. The most explosive year. Why? It's also a political year. It's the year when all of the white politicians will be back in the so-called Negro community jiving you and me for some votes. The year when all of the white political crooks will be right back in your and my community with their false promises, building up our hopes for a letdown, with their trickery and their treachery, with their false promises which they don't intend to keep. As they nourish these dissatisfactions, it can only lead to one thing, an explosion; and now we have the type of black man on the scene in America today -- I'm sorry, Brother Lomax -- who just doesn't intend to turn the other cheek any longer.

Don't let anybody tell you anything about the odds are against you. If they draft you, they send you to Korea and make you face 800 million Chinese. If you can be brave over there, you can be brave right here. These odds aren't as great as those odds. And if you fight here, you will at least know what you're fighting for.

I'm not a politician, not even a student of politics; in fact, I'm not a student of much of anything. I'm not a Democrat. I'm not a Republican, and I don't even consider myself an American. If you and I were Americans, there'd be no problem. Those Honkies that just got off the boat, they're already Americans; Polacks are already Americans; the Italian refugees are already Americans. Everything that came out of Europe, every blue-eyed thing, is already an American. And as long as you and I have been over here, we aren't Americans yet.

Well, I am one who doesn't believe in deluding myself. I'm not going to sit at your table and watch you eat, with nothing on my plate, and call myself a diner. Sitting at the table doesn't make you a diner, unless you eat some of what's on that plate. Being here in America doesn't make you an American. Being born here in America doesn't make you an American. Why, if birth made you American, you wouldn't need any legislation; you wouldn't need any amendments to the Constitution; you wouldn't be faced with civil-rights filibustering in Washington, D.C., right now. They don't have to pass civil-rights legislation to make a Polack an American.

No, I'm not an American. I'm one of the 22 million black people who are the victims of Americanism. One of the 22 million black people who are the victims of democracy, nothing but disguised hypocrisy. So, I'm not standing here speaking to you as an American, or a patriot, or a flag-saluter, or a flag-waver -- no, not I. I'm speaking as a victim of this American system. And I see America through the eyes of the victim. I don't see any American dream; I see an American nightmare.

These 22 million victims are waking up. Their eyes are coming open. They're beginning to see what they used to only look at. They're becoming politically mature. They are realizing that there are new political trends from coast to coast. As they see these new political trends, it's possible for them to see that every time there's an election the races are so close that they have to have a recount. They had to recount in Massachusetts to see who was going to be governor, it was so close. It was the same way in Rhode Island, in Minnesota, and in many other parts of the country. And the same with Kennedy and Nixon when they ran for president. It was so close they had to count all over again. Well, what does this mean? It means that when white people are evenly divided, and black people have a bloc of votes of their own, it is left up to them to determine who's going to sit in the White House and who's going to be in the dog house.

lt. was the black man's vote that put the present administration in Washington, D.C. Your vote, your dumb vote, your ignorant vote, your wasted vote put in an administration in Washington, D.C., that has seen fit to pass every kind of legislation imaginable, saving you until last, then filibustering on top of that. And your and my leaders have the audacity to run around clapping their hands and talk about how much progress we're making. And what a good president we have. If he wasn't good in Texas, he sure can't be good in Washington, D.C. Because Texas is a lynch state. It is in the same breath as Mississippi, no different; only they lynch you in Texas with a Texas accent and lynch you in Mississippi with a Mississippi accent. And these Negro leaders have the audacity to go and have some coffee in the White House with a Texan, a Southern cracker -- that's all he is -- and then come out and tell you and me that he's going to be better for us because, since he's from the South, he knows how to deal with the Southerners. What kind of logic is that? Let Eastland be president, he's from the South too. He should be better able to deal with them than Johnson.

In this present administration they have in the House of Representatives 257 Democrats to only 177 Republicans. They control two-thirds of the House vote. Why can't they pass something that will help you and me? In the Senate, there are 67 senators who are of the Democratic Party. Only 33 of them are Republicans. Why, the Democrats have got the government sewed up, and you're the one who sewed it up for them. And what have they given you for it? Four years in office, and just now getting around to some civil-rights legislation. Just now, after everything else is gone, out of the way, they're going to sit down now and play with you all summer long -- the same old giant con game that they call filibuster. All those are in cahoots together. Don't you ever think they're not in cahoots together, for the man that is heading the civil- rights filibuster is a man from Georgia named Richard Russell. When Johnson became president, the first man he asked for when he got back to Washington, D.C., was "Dicky" -- that's how tight they are. That's his boy, that's his pal, that's his buddy. But they're playing that old con game. One of them makes believe he's for you, and he's got it fixed where the other one is so tight against you, he never has to keep his promise.

So it's time in 1964 to wake up. And when you see them coming up with that kind of conspiracy, let them know your eyes are open. And let them know you -- something else that's wide open too. It's got to be the ballot or the bullet. The ballot or the bullet. If you're afraid to use an expression like that, you should get on out of the country; you should get back in the cotton patch; you should get back in the alley. They get all the Negro vote, and after they get it, the Negro gets nothing in return. All they did when they got to Washington was give a few big Negroes big jobs. Those big Negroes didn't need big jobs, they already had jobs. That's camouflage, that's trickery, that's treachery, window-dressing. I'm not trying to knock out the Democrats for the Republicans. We'll get to them in a minute. But it is true; you put the Democrats first and the Democrats put you last.

Look at it the way it is. What alibis do they use, since they control Congress and the Senate? What alibi do they use when you and I ask, "Well, when are you going to keep your promise?" They blame the Dixiecrats. What is a Dixiecrat? A Democrat. A Dixiecrat is nothing but a Democrat in disguise. The titular head of the Democrats is also the head of the Dixiecrats, because the Dixiecrats are a part of the Democratic Party. The Democrats have never kicked the Dixiecrats out of the party. The Dixiecrats bolted themselves once, but the Democrats didn't put them out. Imagine, these lowdown Southern segregationists put the Northern Democrats down. But the Northern Democrats have never put the Dixiecrats down. No, look at that thing the way it is. They have got a con game going on, a political con game, and you and I are in the middle. It's time for you and me to wake up and start looking at it like it is, and trying to understand it like it is; and then we can deal with it like it is.

The Dixiecrats in Washington, D.C., control the key committees that run the government. The only reason the Dixiecrats control these committees is because they have seniority. The only reason they have seniority is because they come from states where Negroes can't vote. This is not even a government that's based on democracy. lt. is not a government that is made up of representatives of the people. Half of the people in the South can't even vote. Eastland is not even supposed to be in Washington. Half of the senators and congressmen who occupy these key positions in Washington, D.C., are there illegally, are there unconstitutionally.

I was in Washington, D.C., a week ago Thursday, when they were debating whether or not they should let the bill come onto the floor. And in the back of the room where the Senate meets, there's a huge map of the United States, and on that map it shows the location of Negroes throughout the country. And it shows that the Southern section of the country, the states that are most heavily concentrated with Negroes, are the ones that have senators and congressmen standing up filibustering and doing all other kinds of trickery to keep the Negro from being able to vote. This is pitiful. But it's not pitiful for us any longer; it's actually pitiful for the white man, because soon now, as the Negro awakens a little more and sees the vise that he's in, sees the bag that he's in, sees the real game that he's in, then the Negro's going to develop a new tactic.

These senators and congressmen actually violate the constitutional amendments that guarantee the people of that particular state or county the right to vote. And the Constitution itself has within it the machinery to expel any representative from a state where the voting rights of the people are violated. You don't even need new legislation. Any person in Congress right now, who is there from a state or a district where the voting rights of the people are violated, that particular person should be expelled from Congress. And when you expel him, you've removed one of the obstacles in the path of any real meaningful legislation in this country. In fact, when you expel them, you don't need new legislation, because they will be replaced by black representatives from counties and districts where the black man is in the majority, not in the minority.

If the black man in these Southern states had his full voting rights, the key Dixiecrats in Washington, D. C., which means the key Democrats in Washington, D.C., would lose their seats. The Democratic Party itself would lose its power. It would cease to be powerful as a party. When you see the amount of power that would be lost by the Democratic Party if it were to lose the Dixiecrat wing, or branch, or element, you can see where it's against the interests of the Democrats to give voting rights to Negroes in states where the Democrats have been in complete power and authority ever since the Civil War. You just can't belong to that Party without analyzing it.

I say again, I'm not anti-Democrat, I'm not anti-Republican, I'm not anti-anything. I'm just questioning their sincerity, and some of the strategy that they've been using on our people by promising them promises that they don't intend to keep. When you keep the Democrats in power, you're keeping the Dixiecrats in power. I doubt that my good Brother Lomax will deny that. A vote for a Democrat is a vote for a Dixiecrat. That's why, in 1964, it's time now for you and me to become more politically mature and realize what the ballot is for; what we're supposed to get when we cast a ballot; and that if we don't cast a ballot, it's going to end up in a situation where we're going to have to cast a bullet. It's either a ballot or a bullet.

In the North, they do it a different way. They have a system that's known as gerrymandering, whatever that means. It means when Negroes become too heavily concentrated in a certain area, and begin to gain too much political power, the white man comes along and changes the district lines. You may say, "Why do you keep saying white man?" Because it's the white man who does it. I haven't ever seen any Negro changing any lines. They don't let him get near the line. It's the white man who does this. And usually, it's the white man who grins at you the most, and pats you on the back, and is supposed to be your friend. He may be friendly, but he's not your friend.

So, what I'm trying to impress upon you, in essence, is this: You and I in America are faced not with a segregationist conspiracy, we're faced with a government conspiracy. Everyone who's filibustering is a senator -- that's the government. Everyone who's finagling in Washington, D.C., is a congressman -- that's the government. You don't have anybody putting blocks in your path but people who are a part of the government. The same government that you go abroad to fight for and die for is the government that is in a conspiracy to deprive you of your voting rights, deprive you of your economic opportunities, deprive you of decent housing, deprive you of decent education. You don't need to go to the employer alone, it is the government itself, the government of America, that is responsible for the oppression and exploitation and degradation of black people in this country. And you should drop it in their lap. This government has failed the Negro. This so-called democracy has failed the Negro. And all these white liberals have definitely failed the Negro.

So, where do we go from here? First, we need some friends. We need some new allies. The entire civil-rights struggle needs a new interpretation, a broader interpretation. We need to look at this civil-rights thing from another angle -- from the inside as well as from the outside. To those of us whose philosophy is black nationalism, the only way you can get involved in the civil-rights struggle is give it a new interpretation. That old interpretation excluded us. It kept us out. So, we're giving a new interpretation to the civil-rights struggle, an interpretation that will enable us to come into it, take part in it. And these handkerchief-heads who have been dillydallying and pussy footing and compromising -- we don't intend to let them pussyfoot and dillydally and compromise any longer.

How can you thank a man for giving you what's already yours? How then can you thank him for giving you only part of what's already yours? You haven't even made progress, if what's being given to you, you should have had already. That's not progress. And I love my Brother Lomax, the way he pointed out we're right back where we were in 1954. We're not even as far up as we were in 1954. We're behind where we were in 1954. There's more segregation now than there was in 1954. There's more racial animosity, more racial hatred, more racial violence today in 1964, than there was in 1954. Where is the progress?

And now you're facing a situation where the young Negro's coming up. They don't want to hear that "turn the-other-cheek" stuff, no. In Jacksonville, those were teenagers, they were throwing Molotov cocktails. Negroes have never done that before. But it shows you there's a new deal coming in. There's new thinking coming in. There's new strategy coming in. It'll be Molotov cocktails this month, hand grenades next month, and something else next month. It'll be ballots, or it'll be bullets. It'll be liberty, or it will be death. The only difference about this kind of death -- it'll be reciprocal. You know what is meant by "reciprocal"? That's one of Brother Lomax's words. I stole it from him. I don't usually deal with those big words because I don't usually deal with big people. I deal with small people. I find you can get a whole lot of small people and whip hell out of a whole lot of big people. They haven't got anything to lose, and they've got every thing to gain. And they'll let you know in a minute: "It takes two to tango; when I go, you go."

The black nationalists, those whose philosophy is black nationalism, in bringing about this new interpretation of the entire meaning of civil rights, look upon it as meaning, as Brother Lomax has pointed out, equality of opportunity. Well, we're justified in seeking civil rights, if it means equality of opportunity, because all we're doing there is trying to collect for our investment. Our mothers and fathers invested sweat and blood. Three hundred and ten years we worked in this country without a dime in return -- I mean without a dime in return. You let the white man walk around here talking about how rich this country is, but you never stop to think how it got rich so quick. It got rich because you made it rich.

You take the people who are in this audience right now. They're poor. We're all poor as individuals. Our weekly salary individually amounts to hardly anything. But if you take the salary of everyone in here collectively, it'll fill up a whole lot of baskets. It's a lot of wealth. If you can collect the wages of just these people right here for a year, you'll be rich -- richer than rich. When you look at it like that, think how rich Uncle Sam had to become, not with this handful, but millions of black people. Your and my mother and father, who didn't work an eight-hour shift, but worked from "can't see" in the morning until "can't see" at night, and worked for nothing, making the white man rich, making Uncle Sam rich. This is our investment. This is our contribution, our blood.

Not only did we give of our free labor, we gave of our blood. Every time he had a call to arms, we were the first ones in uniform. We died on every battlefield the white man had. We have made a greater sacrifice than anybody who's standing up in America today. We have made a greater contribution and have collected less. Civil rights, for those of us whose philosophy is black nationalism, means: "Give it to us now. Don't wait for next year. Give it to us yesterday, and that's not fast enough."

I might stop right here to point out one thing. Whenever you're going after something that belongs to you, anyone who's depriving you of the right to have it is a criminal.

Understand that. Whenever you are going after something that is yours, you are within your legal rights to lay claim to it. And anyone who puts forth any effort to deprive you of that which is yours, is breaking the law, is a criminal. And this was pointed out by the Supreme Court decision. It outlawed segregation.

Which means segregation is against the law. Which means a segregationist is breaking the law. A segregationist is a criminal. You can't label him as anything other than that. And when you demonstrate against segregation, the law is on your side. The Supreme Court is on your side.

Now, who is it that opposes you in carrying out the law? The police department itself. With police dogs and clubs. Whenever you demonstrate against segregation, whether it is segregated education, segregated housing, or anything else, the law is on your side, and anyone who stands in the way is not the law any longer. They are breaking the law; they are not representatives of the law. Any time you demonstrate against segregation and a man has the audacity to put a police dog on you, kill that dog, kill him, I'm telling you, kill that dog. I say it, if they put me in jail tomorrow, kill that dog. Then you'll put a stop to it. Now, if these white people in here don't want to see that kind of action, get down and tell the mayor to tell the police department to pull the dogs in. That's all you have to do. If you don't do it, someone else will.

If you don't take this kind of stand, your little children will grow up and look at you and think "shame." If you don't take an uncompromising stand, I don't mean go out and get violent; but at the same time you should never be nonviolent unless you run into some nonviolence. I'm nonviolent with those who are nonviolent with me. But when you drop that violence on me, then you've made me go insane, and I'm not responsible for what I do. And that's the way every Negro should get. Any time you know you're within the law, within your legal rights, within your moral rights, in accord with justice, then die for what you believe in. But don't die alone. Let your dying be reciprocal. This is what is meant by equality. What's good for the goose is good for the gander.

When we begin to get in this area, we need new friends, we need new allies. We need to expand the civil-rights struggle to a higher level -- to the level of human rights. Whenever you are in a civil-rights struggle, whether you know it or not, you are confining yourself to the jurisdiction of Uncle Sam. No one from the outside world can speak out in your behalf as long as your struggle is a civil-rights struggle. Civil rights comes within the domestic affairs of this country. All of our African brothers and our Asian brothers and our Latin-American brothers cannot open their mouths and interfere in the domestic affairs of the United States. And as long as it's civil rights, this comes under the jurisdiction of Uncle Sam.

But the United Nations has what's known as the charter of human rights; it has a committee that deals in human rights. You may wonder why all of the atrocities that have been committed in Africa and in Hungary and in Asia, and in Latin America are brought before the UN, and the Negro problem is never brought before the UN. This is part of the conspiracy. This old, tricky blue eyed liberal who is supposed to be your and my friend, supposed to be in our corner, supposed to be subsidizing our struggle, and supposed to be acting in the capacity of an adviser, never tells you anything about human rights. They keep you wrapped up in civil rights. And you spend so much time barking up the civil-rights tree, you don't even know there's a human-rights tree on the same floor.

When you expand the civil-rights struggle to the level of human rights, you can then take the case of the black man in this country before the nations in the UN. You can take it before the General Assembly. You can take Uncle Sam before a world court. But the only level you can do it on is the level of human rights. Civil rights keeps you under his restrictions, under his jurisdiction. Civil rights keeps you in his pocket. Civil rights means you're asking Uncle Sam to treat you right. Human rights are something you were born with. Human rights are your God-given rights. Human rights are the rights that are recognized by all nations of this earth. And any time any one violates your human rights, you can take them to the world court.

Uncle Sam's hands are dripping with blood, dripping with the blood of the black man in this country. He's the earth's number-one hypocrite. He has the audacity -- yes, he has -- imagine him posing as the leader of the free world. The free world! And you over here singing "We Shall Overcome." Expand the civil-rights struggle to the level of human rights. Take it into the United Nations, where our African brothers can throw their weight on our side, where our Asian brothers can throw their weight on our side, where our Latin-American brothers can throw their weight on our side, and where 800 million Chinamen are sitting there waiting to throw their weight on our side.

Let the world know how bloody his hands are. Let the world know the hypocrisy that's practiced over here. Let it be the ballot or the bullet. Let him know that it must be the ballot or the bullet.

When you take your case to Washington, D.C., you're taking it to the criminal who's responsible; it's like running from the wolf to the fox. They're all in cahoots together. They all work political chicanery and make you look like a chump before the eyes of the world. Here you are walking around in America, getting ready to be drafted and sent abroad, like a tin soldier, and when you get over there, people ask you what are you fighting for, and you have to stick your tongue in your cheek. No, take Uncle Sam to court, take him before the world.

By ballot I only mean freedom. Don't you know -- I disagree with Lomax on this issue -- that the ballot is more important than the dollar? Can I prove it? Yes. Look in the UN. There are poor nations in the UN; yet those poor nations can get together with their voting power and keep the rich nations from making a move. They have one nation -- one vote, everyone has an equal vote. And when those brothers from Asia, and Africa and the darker parts of this earth get together, their voting power is sufficient to hold Sam in check. Or Russia in check. Or some other section of the earth in check. So, the ballot is most important.

Right now, in this country, if you and I, 22 million African-Americans -- that's what we are -- Africans who are in America. You're nothing but Africans. Nothing but Africans. In fact, you'd get farther calling yourself African instead of Negro. Africans don't catch hell. You're the only one catching hell. They don't have to pass civil-rights bills for Africans. An African can go anywhere he wants right now. All you've got to do is tie your head up. That's right, go anywhere you want. Just stop being a Negro. Change your name to Hoogagagooba. That'll show you how silly the white man is. You're dealing with a silly man. A friend of mine who's very dark put a turban on his head and went into a restaurant in Atlanta before they called themselves desegregated. He went into a white restaurant, he sat down, they served him, and he said, "What would happen if a Negro came in here? And there he's sitting, black as night, but because he had his head wrapped up the waitress looked back at him and says, "Why, there wouldn't no nigger dare come in here."

So, you're dealing with a man whose bias and prejudice are making him lose his mind, his intelligence, every day. He's frightened. He looks around and sees what's taking place on this earth, and he sees that the pendulum of time is swinging in your direction. The dark people are waking up. They're losing their fear of the white man. No place where he's fighting right now is he winning. Everywhere he's fighting, he's fighting someone your and my complexion. And they're beating him. He can't win any more. He's won his last battle. He failed to win the Korean War. He couldn't win it. He had to sign a truce. That's a loss.

Any time Uncle Sam, with all his machinery for warfare, is held to a draw by some rice eaters, he's lost the battle. He had to sign a truce. America's not supposed to sign a truce. She's supposed to be bad. But she's not bad any more. She's bad as long as she can use her hydrogen bomb, but she can't use hers for fear Russia might use hers. Russia can't use hers, for fear that Sam might use his. So, both of them are weapon- less. They can't use the weapon because each's weapon nullifies the other's. So the only place where action can take place is on the ground. And the white man can't win another war fighting on the ground. Those days are over The black man knows it, the brown man knows it, the red man knows it, and the yellow man knows it. So they engage him in guerrilla warfare. That's not his style. You've got to have heart to be a guerrilla warrior, and he hasn't got any heart. I'm telling you now.

I just want to give you a little briefing on guerrilla warfare because, before you know it, before you know it. It takes heart to be a guerrilla warrior because you're on your own. In conventional warfare you have tanks and a whole lot of other people with you to back you up -- planes over your head and all that kind of stuff. But a guerrilla is on his own. All you have is a rifle, some sneakers and a bowl of rice, and that's all you need -- and a lot of heart. The Japanese on some of those islands in the Pacific, when the American soldiers landed, one Japanese sometimes could hold the whole army off. He'd just wait until the sun went down, and when the sun went down they were all equal. He would take his little blade and slip from bush to bush, and from American to American. The white soldiers couldn't cope with that. Whenever you see a white soldier that fought in the Pacific, he has the shakes, he has a nervous condition, because they scared him to death.

The same thing happened to the French up in French Indochina. People who just a few years previously were rice farmers got together and ran the heavily-mechanized French army out of Indochina. You don't need it -- modern warfare today won't work. This is the day of the guerrilla. They did the same thing in Algeria. Algerians, who were nothing but Bedouins, took a rine and sneaked off to the hills, and de Gaulle and all of his highfalutin' war machinery couldn't defeat those guerrillas. Nowhere on this earth does the white man win in a guerrilla warfare. It's not his speed. Just as guerrilla warfare is prevailing in Asia and in parts of Africa and in parts of Latin America, you've got to be mighty naive, or you've got to play the black man cheap, if you don't think some day he's going to wake up and find that it's got to be the ballot or the bullet.

l would like to say, in closing, a few things concerning the Muslim Mosque, Inc., which we established recently in New York City. It's true we're Muslims and our religion is Islam, but we don't mix our religion with our politics and our economics and our social and civil activities -- not any more We keep our religion in our mosque. After our religious services are over, then as Muslims we become involved in political action, economic action and social and civic action. We become involved with anybody, any where, any time and in any manner that's designed to eliminate the evils, the political, economic and social evils that are afflicting the people of our community.

The political philosophy of black nationalism means that the black man should control the politics and the politicians in his own community; no more. The black man in the black community has to be re-educated into the science of politics so he will know what politics is supposed to bring him in return. Don't be throwing out any ballots. A ballot is like a bullet. You don't throw your ballots until you see a target, and if that target is not within your reach, keep your ballot in your pocket.

The political philosophy of black nationalism is being taught in the Christian church. It's being taught in the NAACP. It's being taught in CORE meetings. It's being taught in SNCC Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee meetings. It's being taught in Muslim meetings. It's being taught where nothing but atheists and agnostics come together. It's being taught everywhere. Black people are fed up with the dillydallying, pussyfooting, compromising approach that we've been using toward getting our freedom. We want freedom now, but we're not going to get it saying "We Shall Overcome." We've got to fight until we overcome.

The economic philosophy of black nationalism is pure and simple. It only means that we should control the economy of our community. Why should white people be running all the stores in our community? Why should white people be running the banks of our community? Why should the economy of our community be in the hands of the white man? Why? If a black man can't move his store into a white community, you tell me why a white man should move his store into a black community. The philosophy of black nationalism involves a re-education program in the black community in regards to economics. Our people have to be made to see that any time you take your dollar out of your community and spend it in a community where you don't live, the community where you live will get poorer and poorer, and the community where you spend your money will get richer and richer.

Then you wonder why where you live is always a ghetto or a slum area. And where you and I are concerned, not only do we lose it when we spend it out of the community, but the white man has got all our stores in the community tied up; so that though we spend it in the community, at sundown the man who runs the store takes it over across town somewhere. He's got us in a vise. So the economic philosophy of black nationalism means in every church, in every civic organization, in every fraternal order, it's time now for our people to be come conscious of the importance of controlling the economy of our community. If we own the stores, if we operate the businesses, if we try and establish some industry in our own community, then we're developing to the position where we are creating employment for our own kind. Once you gain control of the economy of your own community, then you don't have to picket and boycott and beg some cracker downtown for a job in his business.

The social philosophy of black nationalism only means that we have to get together and remove the evils, the vices, alcoholism, drug addiction, and other evils that are destroying the moral fiber of our community. We our selves have to lift the level of our community, the standard of our community to a higher level, make our own society beautiful so that we will be satisfied in our own social circles and won't be running around here trying to knock our way into a social circle where we're not wanted. So I say, in spreading a gospel such as black nationalism, it is not designed to make the black man re-evaluate the white man -- you know him already -- but to make the black man re-evaluate himself. Don't change the white man's mind -- you can't change his mind, and that whole thing about appealing to the moral conscience of America -- America's conscience is bankrupt. She lost all conscience a long time ago. Uncle Sam has no conscience.

They don't know what morals are. They don't try and eliminate an evil because it's evil, or because it's illegal, or because it's immoral; they eliminate it only when it threatens their existence. So you're wasting your time appealing to the moral conscience of a bankrupt man like Uncle Sam. If he had a conscience, he'd straighten this thing out with no more pressure being put upon him. So it is not necessary to change the white man's mind. We have to change our own mind. You can't change his mind about us. We've got to change our own minds about each other. We have to see each other with new eyes. We have to see each other as brothers and sisters. We have to come together with warmth so we can develop unity and harmony that's necessary to get this problem solved ourselves. How can we do this? How can we avoid jealousy? How can we avoid the suspicion and the divisions that exist in the community? I'll tell you how.

I have watched how Billy Graham comes into a city, spreading what he calls the gospel of Christ, which is only white nationalism. That's what he is. Billy Graham is a white nationalist; I'm a black nationalist. But since it's the natural tendency for leaders to be jealous and look upon a powerful figure like Graham with suspicion and envy, how is it possible for him to come into a city and get all the cooperation of the church leaders? Don't think because they're church leaders that they don't have weaknesses that make them envious and jealous -- no, everybody's got it. It's not an accident that when they want to choose a cardinal, as Pope I over there in Rome, they get in a closet so you can't hear them cussing and fighting and carrying on.

Billy Graham comes in preaching the gospel of Christ. He evangelizes the gospel. He stirs everybody up, but he never tries to start a church. If he came in trying to start a church, all the churches would be against him. So, he just comes in talking about Christ and tells everybody who gets Christ to go to any church where Christ is; and in this way the church cooperates with him. So we're going to take a page from his book.

Our gospel is black nationalism. We're not trying to threaten the existence of any organization, but we're spreading the gospel of black nationalism. Anywhere there's a church that is also preaching and practicing the gospel of black nationalism, join that church. If the NAACP is preaching and practicing the gospel of black nationalism, join the NAACP. If CORE is spreading and practicing the gospel of black nationalism, join CORE. Join any organization that has a gospel that's for the uplift of the black man. And when you get into it and see them pussyfooting or compromising, pull out of it because that's not black nationalism. We'll find another one.

And in this manner, the organizations will increase in number and in quantity and in quality, and by August, it is then our intention to have a black nationalist convention which will consist of delegates from all over the country who are interested in the political, economic and social philosophy of black nationalism. After these delegates convene, we will hold a seminar; we will hold discussions; we will listen to everyone. We want to hear new ideas and new solutions and new answers. And at that time, if we see fit then to form a black nationalist party, we'll form a black nationalist party. If it's necessary to form a black nationalist army, we'll form a black nationalist army. It'll be the ballot or the bullet. It'll be liberty or it'll be death.

It's time for you and me to stop sitting in this country, letting some cracker senators, Northern crackers and Southern crackers, sit there in Washington, D.C., and come to a conclusion in their mind that you and I are supposed to have civil rights. There's no white man going to tell me anything about my rights. Brothers and sisters, always remember, if it doesn't take senators and congressmen and presidential proclamations to give freedom to the white man, it is not necessary for legislation or proclamation or Supreme Court decisions to give freedom to the black man. You let that white man know, if this is a country of freedom, let it be a country of freedom; and if it's not a country of freedom, change it.

We will work with anybody, anywhere, at any time, who is genuinely interested in tackling the problem head-on, nonviolently as long as the enemy is nonviolent, but violent when the enemy gets violent. We'll work with you on the voter-registration drive, we'll work with you on rent strikes, we'll work with you on school boycotts; I don't believe in any kind of integration; I'm not even worried about it, because I know you're not going to get it anyway; you're not going to get it because you're afraid to die; you've got to be ready to die if you try and force yourself on the white man, because he'll get just as violent as those crackers in Mississippi, right here in Cleveland. But we will still work with you on the school boycotts be cause we're against a segregated school system. A segregated school system produces children who, when they graduate, graduate with crippled minds. But this does not mean that a school is segregated because it's all black. A segregated school means a school that is controlled by people who have no real interest in it whatsoever.

Let me explain what I mean. A segregated district or community is a community in which people live, but outsiders control the politics and the economy of that community. They never refer to the white section as a segregated community. It's the all-Negro section that's a segregated community. Why? The white man controls his own school, his own bank, his own economy, his own politics, his own everything, his own community; but he also controls yours. When you're under someone else's control, you're segregated. They'll always give you the lowest or the worst that there is to offer, but it doesn't mean you're segregated just because you have your own. You've got to control your own. Just like the white man has control of his, you need to control yours.

You know the best way to get rid of segregation? The white man is more afraid of separation than he is of integration. Segregation means that he puts you away from him, but not far enough for you to be out of his jurisdiction; separation means you're gone. And the white man will integrate faster than he'll let you separate. So we will work with you against the segregated school system because it's criminal, because it is absolutely destructive, in every way imaginable, to the minds of the children who have to be exposed to that type of crippling education.

Last but not least, I must say this concerning the great controversy over rifles and shotguns. The only thing that I've ever said is that in areas where the government has proven itself either unwilling or unable to defend the lives and the property of Negroes, it's time for Negroes to defend themselves. Article number two of the constitutional amendments provides you and me the right to own a rifle or a shotgun. It is constitutionally legal to own a shotgun or a rifle. This doesn't mean you're going to get a rifle and form battalions and go out looking for white folks, although you'd be within your rights -- I mean, you'd be justified; but that would be illegal and we don't do anything illegal. If the white man doesn't want the black man buying rifles and shotguns, then let the government do its job.

That's all. And don't let the white man come to you and ask you what you think about what Malcolm says -- why, you old Uncle Tom. He would never ask you if he thought you were going to say, "Amen!" No, he is making a Tom out of you." So, this doesn't mean forming rifle clubs and going out looking for people, but it is time, in 1964, if you are a man, to let that man know. If he's not going to do his job in running the government and providing you and me with the protection that our taxes are supposed to be for, since he spends all those billions for his defense budget, he certainly can't begrudge you and me spending $12 or $15 for a single-shot, or double-action. I hope you understand. Don't go out shooting people, but any time -- brothers and sisters, and especially the men in this audience; some of you wearing Congressional Medals of Honor, with shoulders this wide, chests this big, muscles that big -- any time you and I sit around and read where they bomb a church and murder in cold blood, not some grownups, but four little girls while they were praying to the same God the white man taught them to pray to, and you and I see the government go down and can't find who did it.

Why, this man -- he can find Eichmann hiding down in Argentina somewhere. Let two or three American soldiers, who are minding somebody else's business way over in South Vietnam, get killed, and he'll send battleships, sticking his nose in their business. He wanted to send troops down to Cuba and make them have what he calls free elections -- this old cracker who doesn't have free elections in his own country.

No, if you never see me another time in your life, if I die in the morning, I'll die saying one thing: the ballot or the bullet, the ballot or the bullet.

If a Negro in 1964 has to sit around and wait for some cracker senator to filibuster when it comes to the rights of black people, why, you and I should hang our heads in shame. You talk about a march on Washington in 1963, you haven't seen anything. There's some more going down in '64.

And this time they're not going like they went last year. They're not going singing ''We Shall Overcome." They're not going with white friends. They're not going with placards already painted for them. They're not going with round-trip tickets. They're going with one way tickets. And if they don't want that non-nonviolent army going down there, tell them to bring the filibuster to a halt.

The black nationalists aren't going to wait. Lyndon B. Johnson is the head of the Democratic Party. If he's for civil rights, let him go into the Senate next week and declare himself. Let him go in there right now and declare himself. Let him go in there and denounce the Southern branch of his party. Let him go in there right now and take a moral stand -- right now, not later. Tell him, don't wait until election time. If he waits too long, brothers and sisters, he will be responsible for letting a condition develop in this country which will create a climate that will bring seeds up out of the ground with vegetation on the end of them looking like something these people never dreamed of. In 1964, it's the ballot or the bullet.

Thank you.

[moon-ruled-rising]

as the rain hides the stars | xvii

Read it on ao3... or Wattpad...

Babe, there’s something lonesome about you.

Something so wholesome about you,

get closer to me.

-Hozier, “From Eden”

The Godswood of Winterfell was always magical. Something about the overgrowth of the plants gave it a mystical quality and enhanced that it was a holy place. It was surrounded by activity and noise but remained quiet and peaceful, wholly removed from the frenetic atmosphere of the castle. Jon found himself there often, listening to the soft bubbling of the hot spring and the light birdsong. He’d spend hours there if he could but somebody always discovered him and the moment was ruined. 

 Now, instead of the uninterrupted nature scene, there were a hundred or so chairs arranged in front of the heart tree to form a long aisle lined with white and wine colored flowers and twinkling lights. The decorators even wove them around the tree branches, letting the strings dangle off and wave like the branches of a willow. At the beginning of each row of chairs stood an arch, laden with flowers and greenery. There wasn’t an altar or arbor, the Weirwood provided all of that, its red leaves stretched over the place they would stand. 

On top of the ethereal decor, the excited energy from everyone gathered for the rehearsal ceremony created a palpable buzz. Jon hoped it was enough to cover up his apprehension. He refused to be nervous, it wasn’t any different than all the state appearances and functions he participated in. But there was still reason to be hesitant.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Dany’s voice called from the back of the seating area, “The final fitting took longer than expected.”

The wedding planner assured her it was okay as Dany charged up the aisle. When she reached the front, a bundle of fabric was pushed into her arms and she settled into the seat next to Jon.

“Is that a bride’s cloak?” “Yes,” she sighed, “I had to make a compromise with Her majesty so I could repay a favor I owe someone.”

He assumed she meant the single photographer that prowled around the area of the Godswood, whose obnoxious camera clicks interrupted the soft bird song and whispers around them.

Dany unfolded the bundle and swept the black cloak around her shoulders, fastening the clasp with ease. Jon was a little pleased to see it was lined with fur.

“You’ll be glad to have it tomorrow,” he commented.

“Why? It feels fine right now.”

“There’s going to be a cold snap.”

The forecast didn’t predict for anything other than a rain shower over night but Jon could tell. The drizzle would turn to flurries and the snow would stick around long enough for the wedding ceremony around noon. At least it would be ice and snow instead of muddy and damp.

“Let me guess, you can feel it in your bones?”

“Something like that.”

“Doctors say that’s a sign of arthritis.”

Jon splayed his hands out in front of him and then turned them so Dany could see, “They look fine to me. Would you like to assess them, considering you have a wealth of medical knowledge?”

“Mm, I’ll pass, thank you.”

He shrugged and dropped his hands but unconsciously popped the joints. He noticed Dany doing the same thing.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started,” the wedding planner said, “We will be running through the whole ceremony so everything goes smoothly tomorrow. After the processional we will have the opening remarks and invocation from His Highness, Benjen Stark, a reading from both sets of Their Majesties, then the unity promise and changing of the bride’s cloak, then we’ll exchange vows and rings, and finally the recessional. It should be noted that the vows and rings section will only be mentioned.”

They were given the run down of the processional order and dismissed to their starting positions. Dany retreated back down the aisle with Sansa and Arya right behind her, wrangling a gaggle of high born children. A stirring, melancholy melody started from the string quartet behind the seating and his father and Catelyn started down the aisle. They were followed by Elia, escorted by Bran as her husband would be responsible for leading Dany.

As was a royal wedding custom, the bridesmaids and pageboys followed the bride down the aisle, so Dany walked before them. With her brother absent, she forged down the lengthy walkway by herself. She was far enough away that she looked small and lonely despite the bodies behind her.

That Dany reminded him of the version he’d first met, the outer shell of Daenerys that the media observed and critiqued. Jon would’ve assumed she used her solitary nature as a form of elitism. Keeping people at an arm’s length and seeming to float above them just to show she was better. But he knew her at least a little bit better than that and was starting to understand it.

Being alone was easier for Dany. He noticed that long and lengthy social events weighed on her. She still smiled and made conversation, like any good Princess was taught, but she always slipped away quietly when things settled down. It made sense then, why she skipped the gala to swim in fountains.

As she neared, Jon saw that instead of a bouquet she had a sword in her hands. It took him by surprise until he remembered that she was supposed to have it. The presentation of a weapon the groom could use to defend the bride was meant to further reinforce the idea that she was under his protection. Rheagar would carry it tomorrow but, for now, it was hers. And paired with the stoic look on her face, Dany looked like a painting of a warrior queen Jon saw at a museum opening once. A romanticized rendering of a woman standing against the backdrop of a dark, furious storm. Her dress and hair caught in the forceful gales before the skies opened up, the sword held tight against her chest. 

Then the breeze picked up, tousling Dany’s hair and fluttering the white silk of her rehearsal dress. And Jon wondered if the Gods pulled that warrior out of her frame and set her walking down the path toward him.  

“You picked a fine young woman, Jon,” Uncle Benjen remarked.

There weren’t priests for the old gods so the wedding committee picked the closest thing they had to a holy man. It helped that Uncle Benjen was ordained by the state too.

“We’re just lucky she hasn’t sprinted back down the aisle yet.”

Jon elbowed Robb in the ribs, “That’s because this is a rehearsal, dumbass.”

“You never know.”

But they did know and there was no chance anyone was allowed to get cold feet. 

Finally, Dany was standing at his side, her stoic expression as they turned to face Uncle Benjen. As he started in on his opening remarks, Dany set the tip of the scabbard into the ground and rested her crossed wrists on the pommel. 

The invocation started when Uncle Benjen started asking the Gods to watch over the ceremony and provide a number of things to the couple about to be married. It was during this that Dany leaned toward him and whispered,

“So, do you have a huge bachelor party planned for after this?”

“You mean like a stag party?”

“Yes, that.”

Jon hadn’t wanted to tell her about the custom practiced in the North so it would come as a surprise. But he figured Dany wasn’t a big fan of those, so he decided to tell her. The ceremony moved on to the readings.

“Actually, we have this… tradition-” the look she gave him was full of annoyance- “where the groom has to steal their intended from their family. Otherwise he isn’t worthy of her.”

“I think we’re far past needing to worry about ‘worthiness’ but continue.”

“And we get out of the castle for a while.”

“Just us?” she raised an eyebrow.

“And the security detail.”

“Alright, I’m in. Just one more question.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I supposed to put up a fight?” the smirk on her face…

“You can if you want to,” Jon agreed.

“I’m in.”

Uncle Benjen stated it was time for the unity promise and motioned to Dany.

“If you plan to steal me, then you’ll probably need this.”

She offered the sword to Jon, the modestly embellished scabbard glinting as he took it. A hand-and-a-half, a bastard sword. A small smile bloomed on his face, he wondered if Dany knew it was called that. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, a little worn from use, and the silver pommel contained an egg shaped fire opal that shifted between orange and green and red. He pulled the sword out of the scabbard enough to reveal the swirling texture of the blade. Valyrian steel, the technique of making it was long lost to the world. Owning one was rare as the Targaryens kept them in a private collection. 

House Stark had one in their possession, the greatsword Ice. It was gifted to them by the original dragon lords of Valyria who settled on Dragonstone, before Aegon’s ambitious conquest and the doom. The greatsword was only used in the coronation ceremony of a new King of the North now but it was still considered to pass from king to king as though they still used it in battle.

It would belong to Jon, without question. But there was a time when it couldn’t be. He couldn’t remember if he really wanted the sword and he certainly didn't expect it. But what young, bastard boy doesn’t want to rise above his station by some miraculous means?

“Does it have a name? All the best swords have names.” Jon prompted, wondering if Dany knew any of the history behind the weapon.

“If it did, we don’t have any record of it. It’s one that we loan out to museums but I’ve always been fond of it so I figured it could find a home here.”

There was something wistful about her tone, as though she wasn’t really talking about the sword.

Jon handed the sword to Robb, who placed the Stark bride’s cloak in his hands. He turned back to Dany and she removed her Targaryen one. The direwolf embroidered in pearls and jet gave the cloak weight and her shoulders shifted trying to distribute it and keep the clasp from her throat.

“May you each bring your best self to the other. May you each bring commitment as well as faith to the task set before you. May you maintain enduring respect and trust. May all who follow your lives have cause often to rejoice, not only in happiness, but also in your brave and generous living,” Uncle Benjen recited.

Jon couldn’t think of a more perfect blessing for a marriage forged in politics. There was no reflection of love, merely neutral intent and factors that would make any business relationship successful. 

They had to go through the recessional, Dany and Jon retreating down the aisle to the playful cheers of their family. Luckily, the wedding planner deemed the single run through acceptable but there was still one more rehearsal waiting for the happy couple.

The tables of the Great Hall were pushed to the sides, as they would be after the dinner portion of the reception, to create a dancing space. Above them hung the banners of every house in the North, from Karstark to Reed, and the decorators hadn’t spared the hall in their descent upon the castle. The same flowers and lights were strung through the heavy chandeliers, similar bunches near sconces and on window panes.

The choreographer gave them last minute reminders before the music started. An old fiddle, guitar, and pipe ballad at a walking speed, perfectly paced for two arguably amateur dancers but a tad melancholy for a wedding celebration.

“Are you ready for this?” Dany asked over the music as they circled each other.

“As ready as I can be. You?”

“We’ll see.”

The first pass of steps was easy and they stayed far enough away to avoid injury. The next part brought them closer until Jon offered his hands and Dany accepted them. They both had to focus harder to keep from making mistakes. However, their little blunders still happened. 

The instructor once explained the symbolism behind the steps and their order. Something about the development of his and Dany’s relationship but also the expected camaraderie between North and South. Jon didn’t know if any of the wedding guests would pick up on it, they would be too drunk to really care, and all he could focus on was how complicated the steps were despite the slow pace of the song.

Jon second guessed his hand placement and missed the intended mark entirely, colliding with Dany’s rib cage. She stumbled but recovered.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to remember what piece of the overly complex choreography came next.

She chuckled and shrugged it off, “If it boosts your confidence, you’re better than a good portion of the partners I’ve danced with at court.” 

She looked up at him, inclining her chin in the slightest hint of movement. Their bodies were pressed close together as they moved back and forth across the floor, allowing them to lower their voices. 

“I highly doubt that.”

“Not all noblemen are light on their feet. I’ve had my fair share of toes and fingers crushed.”

“Fingers?”

“It’s a long story,” she dismissed.

“One for tonight?”

“If the conversation leads us there.”

They quieted as they came closer to the end of the dance, the series of steps and passes and small hops requiring their full attention if they wanted to get through it. Dany stepped on Jon’s foot when she was behind the music. 

The apologizing started again but was cut off when Jon wrapped his arm securely around her waist for a small lift, foreheads bent close to offset the gravity. Dany’s cheeks were a deeper shade of pink when he set her down but whether that was from the dance or something else he couldn’t tell.

They entered the last section of the dance, a series of spins and twirls ending with the two facing each other, palms touching. Instead of the expected applause, they were celebrated by a groan from the choreographer.

They received a sum of all their mistakes, accented by looks of disappointment, but Jon and Dany fell into their regular fit of stifled laughter that came with the hilarious thought of broken toes and misplaced hands. They would run it two more times before they were allowed to leave the Great Hall, tired and sweating.

Jon found Robb and Theon in the smoking lounge with a large group of people fussing over a pile of foam swords. Left overs from someone’s birthday party long ago but they would serve their purpose. 

“We’re going to have to split into teams, Dany doesn’t have enough family for it to be any fun,” Robb said as Jon approached.

“Sansa and I will be with her and the Southern Queen tonight,” offered Arya as she poked her sister with the soft weapon. 

Sansa knocked it away but when Arya stuck her again, she gripped the foam blade and pulled it from the young troublemaker.

“And I plan to be there too,” Rhaegar Targaryen, who arrived at Winterfell only an hour ago, pitched in.

“Just don’t give Dany a sword. She’d love to knock me senseless right about now.”

“I will make no such promises,” Jon answered, not wanting to deny Dany the satisfaction taking her anger out on her brother in a relatively harmless way.

After double checking the transportation and destination arrangements and sending Sansa and Arya off to ‘guard’ Dany, Jon was able to relax into some light drinking with the men who joined him. They lounged around with their glasses and laughed at stupid jokes they had heard a millions times before. He was already feeling a little more like himself, ready to run through the halls of the ancient castle wielding a foam sword like a damned idiot. It wasn’t long before they were ready to begin that night’s fun.

Jon stood, raised his glass and said, “Alright boys, let’s go steal my bride.”

Cheers and laughter rose up as Jon drained the contents of his glass and slammed it down on the table in front of him.

[citizen-v2pt1]

Focus on The Big Fix!

Citizen v2.1 is founded on two core concepts:

 Americans must become more responsible Citizens.

They will do so, once they are given more serious responsibilities as the fourth, and highest, branch of government – The Citizenry.

 The Voting Rights Movement is unfinished.  

It will be complete when Citizens are voting directly on the national policy issues that affect their lives, issues of their own choosing, and having those decisions be binding on the lower three branches.

 Completing this movement should have priority over all other efforts to fix what is wrong with America’s government; because with this fix, we can begin to resolve the problems ourselves.  

This cause is one that ALL Americans can rally to, because under the current ruling parties, NONE of us has any real voice in our own governance.     

For me, this crusade began in grad school when a passage from Walt Whitman’s “Democratic Vistas” jumped off the page.

 “We have frequently printed the word Democracy yet I cannot too often repeat that it is a word the real gist of which still sleeps, quite unawakened . . .

       It is a great word, whose history, I suppose remains                                         unwritten, because that history has yet to be enacted.”

 It’s true.  In the United States, we’ve never really tried Democracy.  We’ve always governed through elected representatives.  That’s a republic, and it made sense when most citizens lacked a formal education and communicating took weeks instead of seconds. But our society has been transformed since then, in almost every way – every way except the way we govern. Consider these words by the famous futurist, Dr. Alvin Toffler.  

 “I fail to see how it is possible for us to  have a technological revolution, a social revolution, an information  revolution, moral, sexual, and epistemological revolutions,  and not a political revolution as well. 

The  political technology of the industrial age is no longer appropriate        for the new civilization taking form  around us.  Our politics are obsolete.”

  WHY IT IS TIME FOR DEMOCRACY

 “We cannot solve our current problems with the same philosophies, practices and parties that created them!”

 That was my campaign mantra when I ran for the U. S. House a while back.   

You know the problems as well as I do.  Every new episode of the Washington Follies confirms our fears.  Now -- imagine the benefits of upgrading and then rebooting our dysfunctional system of government.  Imagine trying “Government By The People” for a change. 

 **  Citizens feel they finally have control over their government and the course of their lives.

**  Voter turnout rises as voting on the issues becomes a meaningful right and responsibility.

**  Critical policy issues are resolved quickly instead of being allowed to fester for decades and divide us as a nation.

**  The media will have to rediscover its duty of public education.

**  Special interest groups will have to make their case to the nation instead of simply buying seats in Congress.

**  The party oligarchs are put on leash.

**  America sets a new standard of democratic governance in the world.

 This is not wishful thinking.  We can make this happen!  In the words of Robert F. Kennedy:

 “Some men see things as they are, and ask why.  I dream of things that never were, and ask why not.”

 America is not doomed to the same fate as the other great civilizations of history.  We still have time.  We can regain our status as the world’s leading democracy.   But that means growing up politically, stopping the  fighting amongst ourselves like children, finding the truth of our history and politics from objective and knowledgeable sources, and then demanding what was promised -- sovereignty.  

Join the Citizen v2.1 community  by visiting   http://Citizen-v2pt1.us.

You may also wish to read The Democracy Saga which tells the story of American citizen patriots reclaiming their sovereignty.  Will it be political fiction or political prophesy?  You will have to make that decision.

[doomedandstoned]

AS I DIE AT MY DESK

Interview by Shawn Gibson

Can you tell me the meaning of the band name As I Die At My Desk? I imagine dying in a cubicle in corporate hell!

The honest answer to this is that it was a joke. I overheard a co worker say it at work and I thought it would be a hilarious band name. It is also a bit ironic as I always told myself that I would do work I truly love and follow my passions as they tell you that stuff in high school and college and it hasn't worked out that way for me yet! I am not deterred. I do get to make music in my spare time. Music gets to be my fun escape. It gets to be my artistic outlet that I don't have to share if I don't want to. All that aside I am a man who loves to laugh and loves to joke. Despite the themes and sounds of the music which are very real and emotionally heavy for me, the band name was a way to take the piss out of the situation. I can laugh at myself for being a weirdo who likes heavy music, where people scream and howl like demons and laugh even harder at how ridiculous I must look doing that in the bedroom for my music. I am pretty serious about most things, but I have to remember to have fun. That is what I think is important. I'm sorry it's not a very metal answer!

Suicide as Cleansing by As I Die at My Desk

You do everything in As I Die At My Desk, all instruments right?

Yes, I do all instruments and my main goal is to try to not suck. I actually record through a pre amp and I use different virtual amp sims like Amplitube for my tones. I used my Sterling by Music Man John Petrucci 7 string guitar, Ibanez BTB7 7 string bass, and an Alesis brand electric drum set for this record. It's a pretty basic setup, but given the size of my recording space, it's the best I can do. I have been writing for the past eight years or so. This is my first attempt at a metal release despite the fact I am a huge metal head! I was pretty happy with what I was able to do by myself.

What are your influences musically?

My influences range from classical music to jazz to anything under the rock umbrella. I am particularly interested in Soviet era composers. Dmitri Shostakovich, Sergei Prokofiev, and Igor Stravinsky. The first instrument I started playing was a cello at age 10. I graduated college in 2016 and gave a recital featuring Shostakovich and Prokofiev. The desperation and darkness they were able to convey so beautifully have influenced me greatly. I don't have a lot of experience with jazz, but the works of Coltrane, Thelonios Monk and especially Miles Davis have influenced me, as well. I just love especially experimental music and anything that ties to reshape and reform the genres wherein they find themselves pigeonholed. My music doesn't really sound like it to me, but Dream Theater and Iron Maiden are two of my favorites. I didn't actually start to get into doom or sludge until college. Now I love that stuff! Eyehategod is one of my newer favorite bands, as well as Sumac and YOB.

What are some of your favorite books and movies?

I tend to read non-fiction. I am a big history nerd. However I have spent a lot of time in the fiction world, as well. Some of my favorites are Catch 22 by Joseph Heller, Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Twelve Chairs by Ilf and Petrov. I am a big Lynch and Tarantino fan! Blue Velvet and Eraserhead are two of my favorite films. Reservoir Dogs had a really big impact on me, as well. I first saw it when I was 14. It was so gritty and real to me then. That was a very realistic show of violence.

Are you a fan of horror books or movies?

I was a bigger fan of horror when I was in high school. I must have read every Stephen King a dozen times. I don't tend to like a lot of horror books or movies. There are some exceptions, I love monster movies. Give me Jaws or Godzilla any day! I tend to like movies that are creepy or unsettling, but I don't get into paranormal stuff. There are plenty of flesh and blood horrors in our world that are much more terrifying than ghosts.

You have some very heavy music with some very dark themes. What inspired 'Suicide As Cleansing' as your album title?

I am depressed and have anxiety. What more is there to say? To answer your question, though, the title popped into my head one day. I remember I was reading something on social media about mental health and the act of suicide. Someone described suicide as an act of cleansing. That idea stuck with me and I thought about it for quite some time. I decided to use that in an overall positive way. I thought that since I was channeling my negative and destructive feeling into my music, I was attempting to kill myself. Attempting to kill a bad part of myself that I don't want to have to deal with all the time and thus conducting a cleansing of sorts. I wanted that to be the album title because it reflected the whole reason I was making the record. It doesn't help to keep those feelings bottled up cause they fester. I urge anyone who has suicidal or self harming thoughts to seek help. Talk to people; they will listen. You may feel like it doesn't help, but it does. I struggle, but I feel better when I know I'm safe to talk about it. Here's why I give my wife a huge shout-out for being so supportive and understanding!

What was the inspiration for your songs on 'Suicide As Cleansing'?

The inspiration for this whole record was feeling trapped and depressed. Modern day life appears to be doing that for younger generations these days. Waking up one day and realizing careers that you were dead set on are no longer sustainable. Seeing all of the political strife becoming more prominent and ruining friendly and familial relationships. We live in a very depressing world. I don't need to get into all the issues facing us but there are many and enough that are potentially world ending are enough, to make anyone uneasy. In that way I feel that genuine themes of feeling trapped, powerless, isolated and really angry are appropriate.

I would say "No Pride" is one of my favorites. The gallop of the drums, the riff! I feel myself rocking and swaying. Definitely banging my head!

Thanks! It might be my favorite song on the album. It was actually fun to record that one and I did it in far fewer takes than the other ones.

"Trapped In The Bass-Ment" is hypnotizing! It's almost a chance to catch your breath from the other six songs that precede it!

I appreciate the comments! The whole track was written and recorded in one sitting. I am a big fan of drone and ambient music so it seemed fitting. I felt that even I needed a break after "No Pride." It just hit me really hard in conjunction with all the earlier tracks. I worried it might be boring for people, but I silenced that voice. I try to make music for myself, but I really appreciate it when people like my work!

"Annihilate Me" is the equivalent of the musical Dim Mak! Nine-minutes-and-fifty-eight seconds of destruction! Tell me about this song.

"Annihilate Me" was written over a span of about three days. I was in the middle of a very depressive episode and I remember sitting down with my guitar and playing the heaviest, angriest, gnarliest stuff I could get out of it. There was no preconceived plan as to lyrics or vocals. After I recorded the guitars and drums, I screamed anything that came to mind. It was a very cathartic episode and I view it as the perfect ending to an unpleasant journey.

Where did the artwork for 'Suicide As Cleansing' come from? What does it mean to you?

The cover art is a photograph taken from my lovely wife, who gets another shout-out. We were hiking at the Englewood Metropark and we noticed the tree almost all by itself. She took a bunch of photos of it because it was cool and interesting, also creepy. One thing I remember clearly, was the tree's base was covered with these beautiful yellow flowers. In a way I felt it represented the album. The tree itself was dead and bare. It was a little unsettling especially in the photos my wife took. The fact that life had sprung from this dead tree seemed to fit this theme of killing a part of yourself or perhaps a rebirth.

Calculating the Cost of Existence by As I Die at My Desk

Your second album 'Calculating The Cost of Existence' (2019) came out in December. What can you tell us about the new project?

I will say in terms of sound, the new record came out with a different sound. It's a doomy, sludgey mess for sure. There are more introspective parts included. The music is expressing a greater array of feelings than the first.

Another one-man effort?

Yes, I did all the instruments again. As long as I possess the tools to do it, it certainly makes it easier in the creative process not having to deal with other personalities or egos on something so deeply personal to me. Now with that said, I don't mind collaborating or anything in the future.

Is that strenuous at times doing everything in the band?

The worst part about recording is I am not the best musician. It is strenuous when I have to perform everything and I am not that great. (laughs) My skills on guitar and drums are intermediate at best. I have played bass longer so I am a much more confident bass player than I am anything else but that's not saying a lot. It also doesn't help that I don't like the sound of my voice. I fancy myself as a composer, not a performer.

As I Die At My Desk is from Dayton Ohio right?

Yes, the band is based out of Dayton, where I have lived for most of my life so far.

What are some bands from Ohio you love?

To be honest, I don't know a ton of bands from Ohio. I will say I am a fan of Mouth of the Architect and Others by No One out of Dayton, Cloudkicker out of Columbus. Oh I can't forget Skeletonwitch!

Have you been to Ohio Doomed and Stoned Fest?

This might be shocking but I have never heard of Ohio Doomed and Stoned Fest. So no I haven't been but I am certainly interested now!

Will As I Die At My Desk play live or tour down the road?

Well, As I Die At My Desk will probably remain a studio entity. As I said I wouldn't be opposed to any kind of collaboration or possible touring but I don't have any plans for that at the moment. Now for my pretentious answer. As an artist I do not want to feel confined to any one medium as it exists. As I Die At My Desk was born out of specific life circumstances. As long as these circumstances provide emotional weight and depth for me, this project will continue. Once that source dries up(if it ever really does) then I will move on to a new project. As it stands I have a few other projects that I am working on that I can't discuss much yet. Stay tuned!

Follow The Band

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[hisdelicatelittleflower]

ADVICE | Love is TOTALLY Overrated! (But Probably Not for the Reason You’re Thinking): A Love Letter to the Lovers

Worry not, dear reader! This actually isn’t the ravings of the archetypal “woman scorned,” here to tell you how falling in love is an awful idea, making yourself vulnerable in a romantic relationship is never worth the potential heartbreak, or that marriage is not a honorable, beautiful, and blessed vocation to pursue.

In fact, quite honestly, despite being the nearly 700 miles that separate us and all of the surprisingly difficult (and fairly instantaneous) exterior trials that tested and later cemented our bond, I feel that I’m truly with my beloved.

The reason that I write this piece is that I see every day, saturating the world around us, the constant and powerful over-romanticization of love. In our books, films, TV shows, even (and sometimes, especially) on social media!

Going by the metric society around us often portrays, what is love? What are some of the concepts and images that pop into your head?

I know a few of my own: candy hearts, drug store romance novels, and Hallmark Channel-esque love stories of the two polar opposite, diametrically-opposed in terms of values people who fall helplessly in love and live happily, ever after with their two and a half kids and family dog, a big house in the suburbs, and never seem to be challenged by big troubles of any kind.

To me, these are not at all reasonable or realistic representations of how romantic relationships of any measurable depth and breadth are, and if you allow these false idols of what love is “supposed to” look like or play out to color or influence your perception of these concepts in the slightest, it WILL inevitably doom any romance you’re in and dash any reasonable hope of one in the future.

Now, I know exactly what you’re thinking…

“Well, darn, what is love, Alayna, if not completely identical to this hollow and ultimately soulless manufactured product specifically designed to inspire delusions of grandeur and attempts of self-insertion in the willing and naïve consumer so that they hopefully stay engaged deeply and well enough to keep paying for them? And, what’s the problem of keeping my hopes up for that perfect special person and relationship, anyways? Can’t a [man/woman/it?] dream?”

All right, all right, I hear you, I hear you! Calm down!

Now, to begin to answer that amazing and eloquently stated question, here’s a couple truth bombs for ya: There exists no perfect person nor relationship—And whom does this huge revelation surprise, exactly? Not a soul.

And, yet, every single day, in person and in the media, I see the same vicious cycle repeated, over and over again. I hear the sorority girl sobbing or ranting to her friend on the bus about how her boyfriend gave her a one-word response with a period in his text message (Oh, no, the dreaded period! The absolute horror!) and how this must mean that he’s no longer “into her” and that he’s most likely cheating, the guy silently (but visibly) heartbroken when his girlfriend chose to skip out on a date to hang out with her girl friends for the third time in a row, the couple on reality TV that seems completely shaken by the slightest of complications.

So, with that said, what exactly is love?

Well, according to St. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, love is patient, kind, refrains from envy, humble, slow to anger, despises evil and celebrates truth, is protective, trusting, hopeful, keeps no record of wrongs, and always perseveres (1 Corinthians 13:4-7).

In a lot of ways, this definition is pretty simplistic and straight-forward, but if it is, how come it’s so darn hard to live out?

Answer: Because humans tend to be stupid, lazy, selfish, and petty, and when you’re dealing with two of those…Well, things get pretty complicated.

The good news is, though, is that when you’re able to avoid these instincts, this resulting application of love in a romantic relationship is a truly beautiful and blessed thing, and, speaking from experience, there is nothing in the world that will ever compare. It will supplement the joy and fulfillment already inherent in being a child of God and make life sweet and blissful beyond your wildest dreams.

That being said, I don’t know if y’all know this already, but relationships are HARD. With as much tear-jerking laughter, shameless flirtation, and tender moments I share with my sweet beloved, when I swear I can almost physically feel him with me, there is also tons of awkwardness (at least, in the beginning), stress, miscommunication, uncertainty, and faux pas, in general, to go around.

The key I’ve found to truly unlocking this God-given gift of a successful and loving marital vocation is to do a deep examination of oneself and try your best to discover aspects of and flaws in your personality/mentality that may hinder your ability to love in a way that adheres more closely to the biblical definition of love and honors both God and your beloved.

For instance, I know that I sometimes struggle to speak up and ask for what I want and need, and that’s something I definitely need to learn to curb, as it again, puts the pressure on my beloved to somehow read my mind. Fortunately, however, as both of us learn and grow, we’ve always seemed able to stay in sync with one another, despite some extremely stressful circumstances that have popped up from time to time.

If you, too, struggle with this specific issue in your relationship, realize that, no matter how kind or conscientious they may be, they absolutely cannot read your mind. If there are any concerns or conflicts, no matter how minor or moot they seem, they must be appropriately and lovingly communicated, and if time after time, conflicts, minor or major, cannot be resolved to the other’s selfishness or immaturity, this is not the relationship for you.

Others, I know, struggle more with short tempers, tendencies to hold grudges, or struggle with jealousy or cowardice—One of these may be your proverbial cross to bear, but I’ve also learned that all of these, even the more severe cases, can be overcome with time, tenacity, humility, prayer, professional help (if necessary), and patience, mostly on the part of your SO.

So, ultimately, what should you glean from what I’ve written here about that awesome yet curious four-letter word that we all seem to want for so badly in this life?

More than anything, I would hope, at least, that you treat love as not so much a feeling as it is a commitment—A commitment to always work through each of your flaws both individually and as a couple so that you not only bring joy and love to yourselves, but to build up and be an example for your community, and to be effective and loving parents and role models to your children in this respect so that you may glorify God. The truth of the matter is any relationship you initiate with anyone, especially of the romantic/marital variety, does not exist in a vacuum and is not solely dependent on your ever-changing attitudes or drive for instant gratification (whether of the sexual or wrathful nature). There will inevitably be times in your relationship where you’re truly vexed, beyond exasperated, or hopeless with the state of your relationship, either for interior or exterior reasons, to the point that the two of you may actually require outside, professional help to sort things out. In the end, however, love is the decision to always persevere and to fight, hand in hand.

I will conclude with the eternal words of Fyodor Dostoevsky, who had this to say on the matter in his final novel, The Brothers Karamazov:

“I am sorry I can say nothing more consoling to you, for love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams. Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action, rapidly performed and in the sight of all. Men will even give their lives if only the ordeal does not last long but is soon over, with all looking on and applauding as though on the stage. But active love is labour and fortitude, and for some people too, perhaps, a complete science. But I predict that just when you see with horror that in spite of all your efforts you are getting farther from your goal instead of nearer to it — at that very moment I predict that you will reach it and behold clearly the miraculous power of the Lord who has been all the time loving and mysteriously guiding you.”

And, with that, God bless you all, and I hope you have a wonderful Tuesday afternoon!

With love, your Internet pal,

Alayna ☩ 💐

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{Original article}

[crystalracing]

My thoughts on the F1 Hybrid era 2014-present and a timeline of being a Kimi Raikkonen fanatic since 2002

My love-hate relationship with Formula 1 is very much at the Hate spectrum and it no longer feels fun. Those who read my social media accounts could easily mistake me for having the worldview of a 47 year old man, when in fact I’m 3 years short of 30. I see new school fans who only remember Raikkonen’s struggles and care little for his McLaren years, where even then misfortune lurked around the corner. There was one difference back then, however: Kimi was the new kid on the block. On any given Sunday, even after an average qualifying performance, the talismanic Finn could dazzle fans the world over. The vivid sound of a cacophonous V10 would scream in a global audience’s ears and a baby faced Finnish boy wonder from an impoverished Espoo countryside upbringing would leave a smile on millions of faces. F1 was in the midst of what seemed a never-ending Michael Schumacher/Ferrari led domination. Despite near-misses in 2003 and 2005, where the Finn took nine wins and two runners-up for the Woking-based squad in between numerous boozy nights and the beginning of a marriage to Jenni Dahlman, later doomed by the pair’s lack of commitment, bounty of love affairs and lack of mutual interests, the fans sang his praises. Fellow drivers such as Ralf Schumacher were left bemused by Kimi’s taciturn, carefree and single-minded demeanour, but the corporate sponsors found a sweet spot for the Finn: his apolitical attitude melded well to act as a figure of universal popularity- the shyness of a geek, the lackadaisical social standing of a class clown and the heart of a world class athlete. And I just couldn’t help but champion him.

The current hybrid engine formula for F1 is a mess: huge wings creating ridiculous amounts of dirty air, fat tyres, three DRS zones on a regular basis at most circuits, the fuel-saving and Pirelli’s SEVEN compounds of tyres- two of which will be not used meaningfully at all this year (Hard & SuperHard). In 2009, the teams followed a new formula with skinny wings, slick tyres and a banning of bodywork elements on the sidepods and places you wouldn’t expect an aerodynamic piece to hang off. Max Mosley also proposed a budget cap, which encourged Litespeed (Lotus/Caterham), Manor (Virgin/Marussia) and Campos (HRT) to join in 2010. Of course, in true F1 fashion, the FIA failed to follow up on such proposals to enforce budget caps and it’s only now with Liberty Media that an argument to enact a plan for cost cutting has been brought back. Sadly, the three 2010 teams were all gone by the end of 2012, 2014 and 2016 respectively. However, drivers moaned about the lack of driving challenge enforced and the subsequent bigger cars (followed by 2019 regs) begs the question: 

Does F1 have an identity anymore? Is it willing to stand up for a set of sporting and technical values? Because Jean Todt et al at FIA seem sidetracked and manipulated by the corporate bosses at FIAT, Daimler, OICA & Honda. 

In the decade of 2010s, only 11 drivers (Vettel, Hamilton, Alonso, Raikkonen, Bottas, Ricciardo, Verstappen, Maldonado, Webber, Rosberg & Button) have won a race despite 169 Grands Prix having taken place in this decade alone. That’s how truly uncompetitive the Pirelli era of F1 has been, especially compared to the 2000s, which had 17 different winners in 174 races. In fact, here’s a list of the past decades:

1950s- 24 different winners (87 races)/ 15 (77)* 1960s- 21 (100)/ 20 (99)* 1970s- 29 (144) 1980s- 21 (156) 1990s- 17 (162) 2000s- 17 (174) 2010s- 11 (169) (with 18 months still left to go!!!)**

*without Indianapolis 500

During 2014-16, Mercedes won 51 out of the 59 races. 2011-13 saw Red Bull win 32 out of 58 races. 

From 2010-18 (as of Belgium): Red Bull win 52 (out of 169 races). Mercedes win 72 (out of 169 races). Ferrari win 24 (out of 169 races). McLaren win 18 (out of 169 races). Lotus [now Renault] win 2 (out of 169 races). Williams win 1 (out of 169 races).

******

Now I find myself amongst insecure Sebastian Vettel fans, who I do feel genuinely sorry for: if Vettel wins with Kimi suffering issues, rival fans will point at possible favourable treatment. If Kimi gets close and threatens to beat Vettel, then rival fans will point at Vettel’s tendency to be just above-average in favourable conditions. After all, none of Sebastian’s 52 wins have never been won from outside the top 3 starting spots; whilst as recently as Hockenheim, title rival Hamilton finished on the top step of the rostrum from a P14 start. Much has been made of Vettel’s awful 2014 season, where his apparent inability to adjust to a car lacking rear-end downforce enforced by the new regulations (accompanied by the now-scorned new hybrids) was worsened by new team-mate Daniel Ricciardo outracing and outqualifying him. Once seen as invincible, despite Alonso’s best attempts in a clearly inferior Ferrari to interrupt his quadruple title-winning streak, Vettel had been well and truly humbled. Whilst he possesses a chirpy, charming personality, those nagging concerns over his tendency to crash out at crucial moments linger (2017 Singapore, 2018 France, 2018 Germany), whilst rival Lewis Hamilton (despite moaning more than Nick Kyrios in a tennis match) remains impervious under relentless pressure, having only lost in 2016 to his eternal rival Nico Rosberg (mostly thanks to struggling with a dodgy clutch biting point for race starts and that engine failure in Malaysia). Additionally, Kimi’s presence has reaffirmed a belief amongst rival fans that Vettel needs an obedient, passive number 2 alongside him, whilst Hamilton at the very least went head-to-head with two reigning world champs in Fernando Alonso and Jenson Button at McLaren and Rosberg, where equal number one status was mandated by Mercedes. Only twice Rosberg gave way to Hamilton: 2016 Monaco (partly due to brake issues, but possibly to atone for their first lap collision in the previous race in Spain) and 2013 Malaysia when Rosberg was told to hold station and let Hamilton take 3rd. However, it is arguable Mercedes’s sheer dominance between 2014-16 allowed them to enforce an equal driver policy with no serious threats from the opposition for either championships.

To further my claim, more bad news will come for Vettel fans when popular rookie Charles LeClerc joins Ferrari as his long-awaited team-mate: if Charles beats Seb, his time in F1 is likely to over before he turns 35 and his reputation smashed, whilst if Seb beats LeClerc, accusations of team-favoritism will re-emerge as quickly as they disappeared with Kimi’s retirement. It’s a lose-lose situation for Vettel fans, especially when you consider Fernando Alonso’s demise enforced by his own internal politics and poor career choices and Lewis Hamilton’s ability to exact the maximum out of a recalcitrant Mercedes, which has been de-crowned as F1′s fastest and best all-round chassis and engine package. To worsen matters, Kimi fans (including me) feel zero sympathy for anything that ever goes wrong for the German. Unfortunately, it does turn into hate and resentment, but only because we know what our Finnish man is capable of even in his declining years: fastest in FP1 and FP2 and fastest in Q1 and Q2 at Belgium 2018 with a record-breaking time of 1:41.501. Add to claims by Lewis Hamilton himself that Vettel has never beaten a team-mate in their “prime”: after outpacing journeymen Vitantonio Liuzzi and Sebastien Bourdais with ease, Mark Webber’s weight issues, advancing age, subsequent injuries and struggles with Pirellis handed the impetus to the Weltmeister. Followed by an infamous 2014 with the Honey Badger and a lengthy spell with a passive Raikkonen, it’s no wonder Vettel fans will easily attempt to deflect Ferrari's questionable treatment of Raikkonen to that of Mercedes’, Red Bull’s and even Toro Rosso’s treatment of Valtteri Bottas, Renault-bound Daniel Ricciardo and Brendon Hartley. 

Which is not to say they’re wrong, but their defensiveness is compounded by Ferrari’s historic preference for a hierarchal driver system (Schumacher & Barrichello at Austria 2002 & Alonso & Massa at Germany 2010 widely publicised), followed by recent events at Germany again this year (albeit with Jock Clear tentatively trying to make Kimi guess his cryptic message) is telling: they know Vettel has a peripheral place amongst the true greats of F1 thanks to years of Adrian Newey’s double diffuser Red Bull chassis and Renault’s V8 engine mapping system enabling Seb to play the role of the “Opening two laps” merchant. What I mean by that is his ability to create a gap of over one second within the first two laps in a standard 2010-13 race to stop the car in 2nd place from exploiting the DRS detection range against him, from which he then subsequently exploiting his car’s technical advantage to predictable perfection. Plus when you consider Lewis Hamilton’s misfortunes with McLaren, his existential crisis and a troubled relationship with ex Nicole Scherzinger and Raikkonen disappearing for two years to do WRC (and Kimi’s father slowly dying of alcoholism-related illness), it almost seemed 2010-13 was game, set and match for Seb despite occasional gremlins striking in 2010 and 2012.

I see F1 social media figures dismissing the suffering of Raikkonen fans, bemused at how thousands could be enchanted by an aloof old-school Finn, who regards journalists as vultures to be treated with well-justified caution. New school fans belittle Kimi fans, viewing them as holding a monotonous review of Raikkonen’s misfortunes and characterizing them as incapable of leaving the blame at the aging 2007 world champion’s feet, despite repeated strategy failures of a scarlet team saddled with an one-car team mentality. Bahrain saw Ferrari pit Vettel on a dangerous one stop strategy, where had it not been for a cautious Bottas, Vettel could’ve easily come 2nd, whilst Raikkonen would suffer the brunt of vicious social media abuse for stomping off to allow paramedics to tend to injured mechanic Francisco Cigarini after Ferrari failed to solve a crossthreaded wheelnut issue shared by sister team Haas; China saw Ferrari pit Vettel too late and resorting to exploiting Kimi as a road block; Baku saw the Scuderia bizarrely ignore Kimi’s dreadful pace on yellow soft compounds (yes, Kimi had indeed wrecked his last red supersofts in Q2), but then proceeded to place Vettel on the same yellow softs, which saw the German lose time to Bottas and forced Ferrari to resort to changing both cars to ultrasofts during an impromptu safety car period kicked off by the Red Bulls; whilst Hockenheim saw Ferrari absurdly miscalculate Kimi’s pace and end up with the Finn leading ahead of Vettel, followed by an awkward set of radio messages where the impatient Iceman forced the team to directly order him to let Vettel past. Subsequently, Ferrari’s shock at Vettel’s stadium crash and slowness to pit Kimi for new tyres (one lap too late!) during the SC period saw them lose a race they still could win with their “second” car, seemingly disheartened by Vettel’s blunder. Their gamble to split the strategy in Q3 for Belgium, leaving Kimi with less fuel than Vettel in the hope of quickly refuelling Kimi in the case of the rain easing (which it did) and you get the picture of a 38 year old left forlorn by a recalcitrant team hellbent on guessing their chess moves for car #7, but frightened into placing all their eggs in one basket for car #5. In a monotonous hybrid era filled with Pirelli control tyres, countless DRS zones that permit the top cars to overpower the midfielders and mindnumbing fuel saving, both Ferrari and Mercedes have isolated their Finnish wingmen to mere sideshows. 

In this social media age, I see a culture of outrage galore amongst the F1 community. With the fan base no longer proliferated over internet forums, instead it is centralised amongst Twitter, Youtube, Facebook and Instagram, all of which provide more accessible platforms with user-friendly interfaces implemented, the need to find issues that don’t even exist is prevalent. The agonisingly rapid decline of F1′s spectacle has left fans increasingly tribalistic, with winning amongst those supporters of drivers in front-running cars the only source of satisfaction remaining. Unfortunately, I am now more Kimi-focused than I was in the mid-2000s: back then it wasn’t close to feeling like life and death if Kimi struggled (and boy, he had his bad moments then). I could easily applaud other drivers such as Jenson Button and Mark Webber when success came their way. I even supported Felipe Massa in his bid to win the 2008 World Championship, despite being at Kimi’s expense. But now seeing fans stirring up bile and provocation to humiliate reviled drivers leaves me feeling hollow. It makes me lust for the days when social media was not a thing; just myself sitting in the front of the couch watching ITV or BBC. But thanks to Sky and internet streaming, I find myself drawn to my laptop to avoid the increasingly jingoistic F1 TV presenters on Channel 4. The days of Jim Rosenthal, Tony Jardine, Steve Rider, the linguistically discombobulated Mark Blundell and Louise Goodman feel like another lifetime ago; the days before such partisan nonsense emerged with Lewis Hamilton. 

The trivialities have surpassed the main racing events, where transfer gossip and who-said-what is more entertaining. Salacious news about drivers’ private lives now seep through the paddock; asking drivers to sing silly songs and journalists wanting to be friends with the drivers and team personnel where everyone becomes too familiar. The loss of mystique and luster of a Grand Prix environment, where fans become too emotionally involved in events where they possess little power to truly influence and instead whine and cry when things inevitably fail. In the past, with no social media or mobile phones, you had to actively find local neighbours and tour race tracks to find your motor racing pals; now a “friend” is merely a follow button away on a major social media platform.

We now live in the era of “Trial by Social Media” where a truly overemotional or defamatory comment can be validated by a high number of likes, reposts, retweets and reactions.

To make matters worse, not only are tribal lines drawn along with teams and drivers, but debates such as Grid Girls and the Halo. Frankly, there are idiots on both sides of the debates for both issues, who believe they hold the moral high ground and act like they are holier than thou against those who disagree with them. So now only are the drivers, sponsors and teams competing against each other on the track, the press room and the pits, but the fans and journalists are competing against each other for social media brownie points! Strawman anyone with any ridiculous quote and you’ll win! (Of course Kimi Raikkonen fans too are susceptible to nonsense comments. Social media unleashes your emotional rambling at any given moment). But in lieu, one thing about Charles LeClerc’s accident at Belgium stuck out and that was the journalists going on rambling lectures about how the Halo certainly saved his life, despite a lack of any scientific research concluded to prove the Halo actually stopped the McLaren of Fernando Alonso even making the slightest contact with LeClerc’s helmet. The extreme moralistic beating dished out to the viewing audience over the Halo and Grid Girls is jarring. Plus constant gimmicky sideshow jokes from WTF1 and their obnoxious jokes of “That’s Radillon, actually,” which carry no punchline and have already been brow-beaten to death by its strange following. (I know, not entirely related, but I needed to fit a bit about that dogshite WTF1).

F1, along with other motorsport series, has banged about attracting millennials and Gen Zs, but honestly at this point it is literally about as far from cool or hip as you can get.

In addition, I fell out with one truly moronic member of Lewis’ fans: a man with the most conflicting and contradictory political views I’ve ever seen (he reacts to political events and what celebrities say on a whim) and an inability to judge drivers properly at all. A man who was distraught at the idiotic outrage at Lewis Hamilton’s “Boys Don’t Wear Dresses” joke, which was clearly showing Hamilton mocking old conservatives who would demand strict gender roles at all costs. I openly wrote a tweet defending Lewis and comforted his fan via a reply to one of their tweets. But when Raikkonen stormed off after his Bahrain pit stop debacle, this same Lewis fan joined in the outrage mob when everyone called Kimi something around the lines of being a crap human being. I had to block/unblock him simply to avoid verbally abusing him and having my account suspended, as he used his reasoning of excusing of Logan Paul (a bell-end who misused the Japanese’s accommodating nature to insult their culture and deliberately walk into a suicide forest for his own attention seeking sick nonsense and despite having a prejudicial view of East Asians, now has a Hapa girlfriend in Chloe Bennet) to justify roasting Kimi. I’m sorry, but just because you failed to understand the lack of morality in one certain vile human, so you then pick on a softer target who never intended to provoke controversy, is the act of a weak, cowardly and dumb individual.

It must be remembered how badly Kimi was treated in 2008, where Massa gained the upperhand for Ferrari in this article:

Why Kimi was not on top of his game in 2008 by wrcva

https://f1bias.com/2012/04/05/truth-about-kimi-ferrari-santander-2008/

But enough of that, I want to talk the glorious past in my rose-tinted glasses: how I began my life as a bonafide Formula 1 fan.

I started watching the sport in 2002 with a wide-eyed approach due to being 11 years old. Whilst it was in the midst of a Michael Schumacher/Ferrari dominated time span, I had hope his monopoly of victories and championships would end. Mika Hakkinen had retired and in his place came a fellow Finn, Kimi Raikkonen. I was unable to articulate what attracted me to become a Kimi fan, as I initially chose to support Ralf Schumacher, Giancarlo Fisichella & Alex Yoong (!). Whilst I came to cease my backing of Ralf and the hopeless Yoong, I struck by curiosity to the Iceman when I witnessed the 22 year old firmly plant his foot flat through the Kemmel Straight in Spa-Francorchamps, blinded by a heavy plume emitted by Olivier Panis’ stricken BAR-Honda (some things never change!) Through reading a 2002 ITV F1 Guide book, which now lies battered and almost shredded, its description was one of a rebel and a selfish Espoo native, who had lucked his way into the McLaren #4 seat at the expense of his supposedly more deserving Sauber team-mate Nick Heidfeld. That initally turned me against Kimi, believing he had a silver spoon in a figurative sense, but an astonishing drive to P2 in 2002 Belgian GP qualifying, followed by an outrageous rear end save on Sunday began to sway my stubbornness. It proved his storming drive in France to P2 (which he lost the lead in the later stages thanks to running on Allan McNish’s Toyota engine oil) earlier that year was no fluke in a season blighted by major reliability issues, which saw the Finn retire from 11 out of the 17 races held in 2002. That year saw Kimi pick up his maiden podium and fastest lap in Australia and four podiums, plus Raikkonen outqualified elder team-mate David Coulthard an impressive 10-7. Sadly, the mechanical failures would prove a harbinger of what overshadow Kimi’s time at Woking.

2003 would see Macca continue its MP4-17 chassis in a D specification, with plans to introduce the MP4-18 in Canada. A rapid change in FIA sporting regulations (plus a promised abandonment of traction control from Silverstone onwards) was enacted, as the sport’s owners unanimously agreed that F1′s appeal would fade if a certain scarlet team’s monotonous accumulation of wins was not at least curbed in the slightest. Melbourne qualifying, in its new one-lap shootout format with two sessions split between Friday and Saturday, ended with a predictable Ferrari one-two of Schumacher followed by obedient no.2 Rubens Barrichello (or Bwoahrrichello). The new qualifying regulations stipulated cars to carry the race fuel and tyres they’d start with throughout their Saturday qualifying single-lap run, which left the heavily fueled McLarens of DC & Kimi in P11 and P15. On race day, the heavens opened and the track was damp at the start. Raikkonen pitted for dries on the formation lap, so he had to encounter the early laps with caution as the field eventually copied the Finn’s switch to grooved tyres (remember those?) during the early laps of the race. Lap 17 saw the Iceman grab the lead, which he would hold until lap 32, where a drive-thru penalty was administered to the Finn for speeding in the pits. Later a wheel-to-wheel encounter between Schumacher and Raikkonen saw the German lose his bargeboards and Juan Pablo Montoya threw away an improbable 2nd career win on lap 48 with an inexplicable spin. Coulthard flew past for what would be a 13th & final career victory; Montoya took 2nd and Kimi clinched 3rd ahead of a frustrated Schumacher limping in 4th. The race craft was present in the Espoo native’s driving, but the consistency and legendary race pace would appear in the next race in Malaysia. Sepang saw Kimi start an average 7th, but drama at the start delivered the Finn a lucky break. Schumacher lunged at Jarno Trulli’s Renault in a mistimed maneuver and the Italian’s young team-mate Fernando Alonso led, albeit held up the field after taking a fortuitous pole in a Renault qualifying 1-2 abetted by a light fuel strategy. It was all the impressive as the Spaniard was carrying the flu, but after Raikkonen made light work of Heidfeld to grab second, McLaren’s tyre durability and heavy fuel strategy allowed the Finn to overtake Alonso in the pit stops and beat Barrichello’s 2002 all-conquering Ferrari by 39 seconds. Many participants had melted in the sweltering southeastern Asian humidity, but the Iceman had arrived and an impressionable 12 year old had found a new hero.

The 2003 saw Kimi miraculously remain active in a title fight in a two-year old chassis, which was never replaced due to the MP4-18′s dreadful manufacturing structure. Ferrari’s new F2003-GA was revealed in Barcelona, the fifth round of the championship, but Schu would only beat the Spanish local hero Alonso by 5.7 seconds. The youthful zest of Kimi saw him over-commit in turn 7 on his Saturday Q lap, sending him to the back of the grid. Pizzonia stalled on the grid for the start on raceday and Raikkonen hit him unsighted. Along with another spin in Canada Q2 and a subsequent puncture in the race, Kimi toiled to P6 and lost the championship lead to the mighty Red Baron, a lead he would never recover. The following Grand Prix saw Kimi, though, take his maiden pole position in Q2; despite not taking an overall fastest sector time on the Nurburgring circuit, the 23 year old Finn clocked a 1:31.523 with race fuel aboard; his Friday Q1 lap was a dazzling 1:29.989, just 0.08 slower than Montoya’s 2002 pole lap. Race day saw the Finn storm into a nine-second cushion over Ralf and everything went as planned in his scheduled pit stop on lap 16. In spite of having regained the lead, lap 25 disaster struck: a Mercedes-Benz engine failure. The sound of the V10s rang around the historic Rhineland venue from all cars but one: car no #6. For the first time in my twelve years, a sudden rage of anger engulfed me. 

The rest of season saw Raikkonen accumulate 2nd places regularly, but the aging MP4-17 and adequate Mercedes power unit lacking the potency Kimi required to challenge the emerging Williams-BMW FW25s, followed by a resurgent Schumacher, whose Ferrari had been limited by a batch of Bridgestone tyres which struggled mid-summer, as its French counterpart Michelin found a upper hand for the first time since its return to F1 in 2003. Hungary saw Michael humiliated as a gallant Alonso took pole and lapped the five-time world champion around the tight confines of a circuit colloquially referred to as “Monaco without the barriers”. After being stuck behind Mark Webber’s Jaguar before the initial pit stops, Raikkonen took a steady 2nd albeit 17 seconds behind Spain’s debut F1 race victor. 13 races down with 3 races left saw the championship reading Schumacher 1st with 72 points, Montoya 71 points and the young Kimster 70 points, somehow punching above his car’s weight despite losing further points in a first lap collision in Hockenheim in the previous round. Team-mate Coulthard, meanwhile, was floundering in 7th place with just 45 points in a season where many British commentators had declared 2003 as make-or-break for the Scotsman. But the scheming Maranello boys were working overtime to study the rulebook, where they found Michelin’s front tyres had expanded to 283mm rather than the stipulated 270mm. Whatever performance loss Michelin had suffered in remolding their compounds remains unknown to this day, but Monza came and McLaren had capitulated in their battle to get the MP4-18 into race trim. Schumacher won for the first time in front the raucous Tifosi since Canada, Montoya took 2nd and Barrichelllo nipped into 3rd. Kimi took 4th with a MP4-17D that was at the end of its development cycle. Despite heading to Indianapolis with a seven point deficit, Raikkonen took a valiant pole and took a solid lead until the rain came. Fellow championship contender Montoya screwed up massively by turfing Barrichello into the gravel trap at Turn 2 on lap 3 and his subsequent drive-through penalty brought his driver’s championship challenge prematurely. The Michelin wet compounds were no match for Ferrari’s Bridgestone wets, which had a decisive advantage, leaving Raikkonen struggling in fourth when the track dried and mathematically out of title contention.

Thankfully the Indy circuit dried swiftly when the downpour seized and Kimi stormed past Jenson Button’s BAR, which had been leading for 15 laps (!) and elder statesman Heinz-Harald Frentzen, who was driving his penultimate race for the fabled Sauber squad. 2nd was the end result for the Iceman, who headed to Suzuka on a nine-point deficit to a prospective sextuple world champion. Only a win for the McLaren driver and a failure to finish in the top 8 for the Red Baron would suffice in making Kimi what would have been then F1′s youngest world champion, just five days short of his 24th birthday. A late downpour left Schumacher down in 14th in Q2, whilst Raikkonen took a mediocre P8 with Coulthard alongside him. Race day saw Montoya (whose Williams team still had a chance for the constructors’ title) and Alonso launch into an early 1-2, only to retire as quickly as they had surged into those positions. Barrichello controlled the Japanese GP as if he had been Ferrari’s team leader, whilst Maranello’s contracted lead driver carved his way through midfield like he’d been staggering through a hangover after having drank a crate of beer, with collisions with brother Ralf et al. Dutiful team-mate Coulthard fell behind in the pit stops to allow Kimi to run in 2nd in the hopes of an unlikely mechanical failure to Rubens and Michael to stutter, but neither happened. Schumacher, frantically wiping his heavily oiled helmet and clearly unaccustomed to tackling midfield cars for position, somehow fought into P8 and won his record-breaking 6th world championship in the most uncharacteristically clumsy manner. 

Raikkonen lost the championship by just two points (91 to Michael’s 93), but the new points system of 10-8-6-5-4-3-2-1 for the top 8 (instead of the top 6) proposed by guileless Irishman Eddie Jordan had aided the Finn’s unlikely challenge. Under the former 10-6-4-3-2-1 system, Schumacher would have won the title at Indy with a round to spare and Jordan would have take 5th in the constructors’ largely thanks to Fisichella’s unexpected win at Interlagos (where only the intermediate compound was taken due an idiotic new rule to limit teams to one wet weather tyre choice), but Eddie’s boys were left in 9th out of 10th. 2003 was a step towards the changing of the guard, although whilst the grandmaster held onto his crown by the tip of his tongue, the likes of BAR (later Honda, Brawn & now the mighty Mercedes), Renault, Jaguar (now Red Bull) & Toyota had taken major leaps forward and BMW impressed with their engine’s driveability and outright top end power, but let down by the Williams’ poor strategic planning and a mercurial driving duo of Ralf and JPM. Jordan, having won two races and finished 3rd in the constructors’ in 1999 and challenged for the drivers’ title with the now-retired Frentzen and a dynamite Mugen-Honda power unit, had slipped down 6 places the F1′s pecking order in just four years thanks to a lack of investment, as F1′s emerging manufacturer era was in a full swing.

2004 saw Schumacher and Ferrari regain their full-time dominance of F1. Mercedes’ reliability was tragic; Raikkonen retired from 5 of the first 7 races with engine maladies thanks to F1′s new engine rules which mandated power units lasted for an entire race weekend or force drivers to take a ten-grid place penalty, something the Finn became familiar with. Schumacher equaled Mansell’s record of 5 wins from the opening 5 races of a season, whilst Jenson Button emerged as a genuine contender, having taken his maiden podium at Sepang where he held off Barrichello in the closing laps. Elsewhere, Jarno Trulli was beating Fernando Alonso, who seemed rather erratic and possibly complacent after his promising 2003 season (sounds a lot like a young Dutchman in 2018, whose father drove his last season with the lowly Minardi team in a damp whimper). Trulli broke Schumi’s winning run with his sole career win at Monte Carlo, where Alonso crashed after running wide trying to pass Ralf’s misfiring Williams and the infamous collision between embittered enemies Schumacher and Montoya, both incidents occurring in the Tunnel section. However, Trulli’s Renault honeymoon would eruptively hit freefall, culminating in his embarrassing concession of the final podium spot at Magny-Cours where Alonso had taken pole and looked a likely victor until Ross Brawn’s ingenuous four-stop strategy for Schu’s car scuppered a second career win for the Spaniard. Michael proceeded to win 12 of 2004′s first 13 Grands Prix, whilst McLaren built a new B chassis. Then came Spa and the start of the King of Spa legend.

Raikkonen qualified an unimpressive P10 in mixed conditions. The two Renaults took 1-3 split by Schumacher, who was looking to take his 7th drivers’ crown. Race day arrived and despite Trulli/Alonso leading the first quarter of the race, engine troubles for Fernando and an early pit stop paved the way for Kimi to gain control of the race, after surviving the first lap carnage from the backmarkers.  Daily Express editor Bob McKenzie, who had pledged that he would run naked around Silverstone if McLaren won a race in 2004, honoured his deed at the following year’s British GP in front of cackling Raikkonen and a smug Ron Dennis. 

Jarno Trulli would later become the first of a long list of team-mates mysteriously screwed over by having Fernando Alonso as his driving partner (Fisichella, Piquet Jr, Massa, Raikkonen, Vandoorne spring to mind anyone?), whilst McLaren announced the arrival of Colombian firecracker Montoya to join icecool Kimbo for 2005. An early tennis (!) accident sidelined Monty and early setup issues meant the potential of the MP4-20 had been withheld in the flyaway openers, but Imola saw Kimi sprinting out of the gates. A dominant pole pointed towards to an emphatic Kimi win, but race day saw his CV joint fail after just 8 laps. Wins at Barcelona and Monaco brought the Iceman into title contention, but he lagged 22 points behind fast starting Alonso. Then Nurburgring came, the scene of heartbreak just a couple of years prior. Raikkonen, having come off a run of leading 160+ consecutive laps, look set for a third straight win but he flatspotted his tyre whilst lapping Jacques Villeneuve and a subsequent vibration saw the McLaren’s suspension explode on the very final lap. Alonso, driving at 70% his car’s potential clinched an easy win ahead of Nick Heidfeld (who would never win a F1 race), increased his lead to 32 points. Point blank no. 3 for Mr. Raikkonen of 2005, who was now 32 points down on the 23 year old Spaniard. With the engine regs tightened to a power unit life of two full weekends, predictably Mercedes would suffer issues in the practice sessions in France, Britain and Italy, the last of which Kimi astonishing set the fastest qualifying lap but was forced to start 10 places lower. Raikkonen took 19 points in those three weekends combined, whilst Alonso grabbed 26. Add in Montoya’s lack of concentration whilst lapping backmarkers (Monteiro in Turkey and Pizzonia in Belgium) and another mechanical failure at the Hockenheimring, it meant Kimi never could truly chip away at Alonso’s advantage, which remained sub-30 points. It set the Spaniard up to become F1′s then-youngest champion in Brazil, where McLaren didn’t even bother asking Montoya to concede the race lead to Raikkonen as it was so obvious Alonso would keep hold the 3rd place he required to be crowned in Interlagos. 

Suzuka 2005. Kimi’s greatest race. Started P17 after a washed-out qualifying. It was astonishing race in a season where only one compound of tyre was permitted for all drivers, culminating in the Indy-gate farce where all Michelin-shod cars withdrew due to safety fears of tyre exploding around the oval section at turn 13. However, despite Alonso and Schumacher joining the Finn near the back, there was still a constructor’s championship to be won for McLaren thanks to nine race wins thus far. The quality of overtakes was pure as there could be: Alonso’s ace manoeuvre on aging Schumacher at 130R is still highly-regarded by his own fans, but his victory chances was wrecked by race control ordering him to drop 13 seconds to let Christien Klien’s Red Bull after an illegal overtake under yellow flags. Montoya crashed out on lap one after a ludicrous entanglement with another aging fart, this time Jacques Villeneuve in an underfunded Sauber. Giancarlo Fisichella led the race comfortably after Ralf Schumacher pitted absurdly early for fuel in a blatant publicity stunt by Toyota to grab headlines of a home pole position for media value. However, despite a 20 second gap having been built him and Raikkonen, the Finn relentlessly decimated the midfield runners with no DRS or gizmo nonsense (traction control aside) and with five laps to go, Kimi peered into Fisi’s mirrors. On every approach to the Casino chicane in the final lap, the beleaguered Renault driver kept resorting to holding a tight line, leaving his exit compromised and gradually more vulnerable to Raikkonen closing up on him to size up a move into Turn 1. This was possible despite Kimi having to ease off the throttle in 130R due to oppressive dirty air turbulence of the mid-2000s chassis; but yet come the penultimate lap, the impossible had become the inevitable. Fisichella inexplicably, possibly wilting due to an inability to pump consistently fast lap times which were became sadly more common in his later decline, again took a tight inside line into Casino Sqaure chicane despite being a tough spot for cars in behind to lunge forwards to make an overtake. His Renault squirmed with his tyres burning out from his overly-defensive driving and Kimi pounced. Giancarlo wiggled to the inside line across the start-finish straight (and almost touched the pit wall!), but was powerless to stop Kimi overtaking around the outside of Turn 1 on the final lap.

2006 was Kimi’s final year at McLaren. With Schumacher revitalised in his hunt for title no.8, BMW having taken ownership of Sauber, Williams now an independent team, Red Bull very much a thing, Jordan having become a second-hand shed for billionaire investors to pump-and-dump at whim until Vijay Mallya saved them at the end of 2007 and BAR fully sold into the Honda’s shares thanks to the European Union banning of tobacco sponsorship- something which has starved racing teams and youngsters of much-needed funding- F1 was changing again. Michael Schumacher was now 37 and Felipe Massa had replaced Rubens Barrichello as his right-hand man. Raikkonen had now grown tired and appeared increasingly soporific with McLaren’s reliability being worse than any other down the pitlane. With the joint worst retirement and reliability record with equally luckless Mark Webber, Maranello had seen a wonderful opportunity to snap a disgruntled Finn, who had been declared “Ferrari’s next world champion” in a F1 Racing Magazine in 2001. Luca di Montezemelo laid an ultimatum with Schumacher: the German would have to drive alongside Kimi Raikkonen as Ferrari team-mate in 2007 or retire. Michael chose the latter option in an emotional post-race reception at Monza and the rest they say is history.

*****

Despite of all this, seeing Kimi’s heartbreak in the hybrid era and his changed attitude as a father-of-two has endeared me to him far more than I ever did in my teenage years. I can see he is more focused than ever and he’s a better man than he was ten years ago. If I saw lose then, I wasn’t as bothered as much then as I am now (and yes, the passion of being a hardcore Kimi fan boy is burning me out).

[justaredballoon]

Rainy days after weeks of sunny days always feel dreary and reflective to me. Maybe because it forces you to once again retreat indoors, after days spent working and playing in the sun, soaking up those new spring rays of light and life. Then the rain and the cold and the winds hit to remind you that winter isn't quite gone yet. Not all things have been made new. Old memories are still fresh wounds.

Today I finished a graphic novel a friend had given me for my birthday back in June. I used to carry the book with me, walking in a coat and big boots down my little track neighborhood to the greenbelt around the block. Trying to be aware of the following eyes of middle aged white men and concerned moms, and the judgemental looks of kids playing in the street and yards. With head phones in I tried to walk with confidence, but also invisibility.

I would reach the park and find a quiet spot in the grass, where I would sit cross legged, smoking joints I rolled myself; my one time of the day to get away from my house and my parents. Well, my mom. But anyway, I'm getting distracted.

I stopped reading the story because I got caught up with painting for a friend and then moving out. And then I had a falling out with the friend who gave me the book.

Erin. She wrote a lovely message in the book. About how I'm surrounded by people who love and care about me, about how the book reminded her of me and how much she thought I'd like it, and how she wished me love and happiness, always. Maybe she meant it at the time, but after everything that happened it all feels like hollow well wishes, and shallow words of appreciation. How was I to predict that in a couple months time she would be refusing to speak to me for an undefined period of time, removing me from all social media, because of a misunderstanding. I know I lied, but it felt like such a drastic move, to cut me off, after 10 years of what I thought was a good friendship. Sometimes I still miss it.

We made up, short of. She follows me on social media again, but still has no interest in talking. It's okay. Because of a falling out she had with another mutual friend, where she did the same thing she did to me, I no longer have a interest in trying to keep the friendship. But sometimes it still hurts to think she could write such sweet things about me, would invite me to things and talk with me when i was struggling, and then want nothing more to do with me.

The book is further burdened with my associations because it's about a daughter's complex relationship with her mom, something I also have. It represents these 2, once close, now horribly distant and strained relationships, both where I thought I had a secure object of emotional comfort, only to have that connection severed by the other person, so as I'm left wondering if it was even real the whole time; realizing the foundation was built on conditions I didnt know could be so easily unmet.

On of my old psych professors, anjeanette, said it's good for love to be conditional, and that really upset me. I know what she meant, people should have conditions, or standards or expectations, that should be met in order to have love, like respect and such. But conditional love is a sore spot for me, because almost everyone that I've loved had only loved me back with conditions. I latch onto people, wanting to give them my all, becoming emotionally fixated on them as my source of comfort and peace, not realizing that the other person doesnt even come close to having the same feelings for me. I'm not saying mine are healthy, I dont think they are, but my point is I am willing to offer devoted loyalty to someone, but they are not capable or willing to offer the same to me. They are more willing to drop me when I, for whatever reason, dont meat these expectations or whatever they have for me. I'm always dropped, not good enough, wanting me to be something I'm not. It feels like no one knows me or wants to. They have this idea of me, but as I get more comfortable and attached, and reveal more of myself, no one wants to stick around.

Huh, this kinda makes me sound like I'm just shitty or something, which reinforces what I already think. I have a lot of trust issues and insecurities, and fears, so it's hard for me to open up, to let people in. I dont like doing it, cuz again, they always leave. Erin was someone I didnt think would leave. I was in love with her, in a way I guess, love is weird, and I think she knew and it made her uncomfortable, because she saw me as just a friend. I think that's why when I involved her in a lie, she felt so betrayed. How could someone who loves you lie about you? But I still dont think her response was right either. I wish we could have worked through it, but I think the fact that she's not willing to shows more on her.

I'm thankful to have hector. I feel actually like he sees me as me, and loves me for being me, all the good and the bad. But I still feel alone. I dont have many friends left. But I guess I didnt actually have many before either. But I cant blame everyone, I dont really let people in, and will actively distance myself and not pursue people. Do people make me feel like I'm hard to love, or am I actually hard to love. Maybe both. You get told certain things, directly or indirectly, and pretty soon you internalize it. A self-fulfilling prophesy of self sabotage, reinforced by outside people. It's always been something I've struggled with, this need for people to love me, despite my flaws, this idea of unconditional love. I suppose I think if someone could love me, despite of me, I could in turn love myself, because it would mean I actually am someone deserving of love. But instead I have internalized the message that I'm not deserving of love, and love can be taken away at any moment, so it's better to just be quiet or please the person or be what they want you to be, inorder to keep attaining their love. But of course you can never please people, so it's a doomed strategy from the start, and you're accused of lying because you had this "secret" version of yourself hidden from them. But you only did this to not upset them, to make yourself more appeasing, because you wanted to guarantee their love and acceptance, but you upset them anyway, so what was the point of all that?

[seven-dragons]

Quick thoughts on 5.8 (RIP Ned)

I had only called these quick thoughts because while on vacation I didn't have a lot of time to do a write up. Now that I am no longer in Hawaii I can spend as much time Blakeing that I want. Good thing I am no longer in Hawaii. *brakes down sobbing*

Despite everything that happened I don't feel like this ep was the tour du force that previous season finales were. But after the amazing 4.8 that bar may be set impossibly high. And also maybe because being on Tumblr and following every last bit of press and social media and obsessing about everything, the things that intended to surprise didn't. But it was still a good ep.

Speaking of surprises that weren't, dear Ned. Knowing didn't make it any easier. As soon as I saw him with a girlfriend I knew he was doomed. Above all I feel sorry for the actor. "Hey I finally get a bigger role yay oh wait." I had hoped Ned would be one of those minor characters that we got to see more of. Not this way.

Munro still a hypocritical prick to the end. He is in disgrace for corruption which we know is more than an isolated incident and happens in at least two stations. He is on shady business not fully made clear in this ep but related to corruption, and he still finds the gall to lecture Blake on the rules. I don't understand why he jumped in front of Blake. I can't lie though, I won't miss him. Kudos to the writers for keeping that huge event such a secret. I only regret he didn't get to have one last profiterole.

What is Patrick's deal with Jean? Does he have a thing for her? He finally shows himself to have a conscience but also again a moral coward. I never believed his hands were tied. I am glad he finally did the right thing in the end. Almost the right thing. Paying Edward to leave is just foisting the problem on someone else.

Why is Munro not the obvious suspect? Lawson makes out like this is Blake being petty and given the evidence it really wasn't.

Someone finally acknowledged the town's unusually high murder rate! I feel like that was a wink to the fans.

I am glad the Ballarat police have finally discovered radio communications so they don't need to drive everywhere to deliver a message anymore.

The Norm/Munro fake-out over several episodes was beautifully played. I didn't totally buy Norm as the avenging bad guy who killed everyone but his penchant for revenge is well documented. But at some point someone needed to have said to his face that his daughter was a murderer. She went to jail for a reason.

Oh my beautiful Jean. The scenes in church and at the grave broke my heart. I swear they are reading the fanfiction. But I am so glad Jean is finally ready to embrace a new life.

Jean yelling at Norm and jumping in front of Blake - OMG I have missed this Jean!! This woman is fearless!

What the heck happened to Malice? We didn't make this up, it was in an official press release.

I can feel Rose and Charlie breaking apart. I don't mind. At least Charlie finally got some and Rose learned a little humanity.

Christmas dinner. Hobart with them! I thought he hated Blake. All of them together made me so happy. Jean calling them "you lot" at the end. SHE HAS ADOPTED THEM ALL.

Lastly - Blake and Jean have a wedding date? Do they have a divorce???? BLAKE SNORES. I could die. This whole scene made me so happy.

[leonbloder]

Keep Dreaming

I have this recurring dream that I usually will dream right as I am drifting off to sleep.  It's nothing elaborate---just a head-on car crash... that's all.  

When it happens, I will awake with a jolt, typically with a feeling of falling forward.  Also, I almost always have that dream when I am feeling stressed, tired, worried, or just harboring a feeling of impending doom.  

Which is pretty much how I feel every other day right about now.  

The other night I had this elaborate dream where I ended up driving my car off the edge of one of those really tall on-ramps that we have in Austin.  As the car was sailing over the side and into oblivion, I  turned to my unknown passenger and said, "I'm sorry."  

I know--it's messed up.  

There's so much that I feel right about now---feelings that have been difficult to put into words.  There are days when I've had just enough bad cable news, just enough encounters on social media with angry, frightened people to feel like I'm about to drive over the edge.  

Some days it feels like things will never be right again.  It feels as though we will never be able to come to any kind of unity in America over even the most basic things like equality, health, and well-being.  

It also feels like that for many of us, our definitions of what constitutes the common good are separated by a great partisan gulf that will never be bridged.  It's like we're not even seeing the same things.  

Still, I hold on to hope.  I hold on to the hope that the dreams I'm having will be replaced by beautiful ones, hope-filled ones that might actually come true.  

I read this poem by Langston Hughes the other day that gave voice to that longing within me.  

The Dream Keeper

Bring me all your dreams,

You dreamers,

Bring me all of your

Heart melodies

That I may wrap them

In a blue cloud-cloth

Away from the too-rough fingers

Of the world.

Is it the voice of God speaking in the poem?  Perhaps.  It could be the voice of God telling us that our secret dreams are safe with God.  It could be the voice of God assuring us it's okay to dream of a better world, a more just world, a world united in seeking the actual common good... for all.  

A world where we're able to differentiate between personal freedom and responsibility.  A world where we don't politicize viruses.  A world where everyone is given the opportunity to fairly and equitably pursue life, liberty, and happiness.  

It could be the voice of God telling us we are safe to bring our dreams to God, and they will not be lost or dismissed.  If so, it reminds me of the words of Jesus, who told those who were listening to him:

Come to me all you who are weary and overburdened and I will give you rest.  

I learned that verse when I was a little kid in a church context where the people asking me to memorize didn't really understand it at all.  They assumed that the call from Jesus was to too-weary "sinners" who were tired of living a life of sin, and wanted to get right with God.

But it's more than that for sure.  Jesus was speaking to people who had grown weary with all of the rules, regulations, checklists, and pressures that were being placed on them by the overly-religious crowd.    They had given up on their dreams for a just and inclusive world... a world filled with hope in the midst of even the worst circumstances.

And Jesus reminded them that their dreams were safe with him... safe with God... safe with the Dream Keeper, who protects our dreams from the "too-rough" fingers of the world.

So we keep going.  What else are we to do, right?  We move forward in faith and hope that the dreams we hold tightly in our hearts will one day be realized.

We move forward knowing that despite all that seems overwhelming and impossible--the Dream Keeper is the God of the impossible, the champion of lost causes, the restorer of diminished hope and the One who resurrects that which we thought was dead and gone.  

I read this line from a Wendell Berry poem the other day and it resonated with me--especially considering what I've just written:  

He knows if he can hold out long enough, the good is given its chance.

If we can just hold on long enough... If we can keep the faith a bit longer... If we can trust our dreams to God... perhaps we will begin to see that "the good" is given its chance at last.  We might be able to see our dreams for a better world come true right before our eyes.

Keep going... keep holding on... keep dreaming.

And may the grace and peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you now and always.  Amen.

[liveindiatimes]

Social distancing guide for the romantic soul: How to bring back old school love in the days of self-quarantine, isolation and more - sex and relationships

New Post has been published on https://www.liveindiatimes.com/social-distancing-guide-for-the-romantic-soul-how-to-bring-back-old-school-love-in-the-days-of-self-quarantine-isolation-and-more-sex-and-relationships/

Social distancing guide for the romantic soul: How to bring back old school love in the days of self-quarantine, isolation and more - sex and relationships

2020 has begun with its set of serious challenges in the first quarter and with a new month already running, most of us are wondering how permanent is this impermanence going to be? As the world fights back the global pandemic that has taken over most of our lives in both a tangible and intangible sense, people are generally wondering how to take control of their lives, both personal and professional. If you, like me, are also in a work from home situation, that seems hunky-dory, probably feels great too, but are unsure what the next few days might have in store, then bouts of anxiety and nail-biting suspense are pretty much in order.

We have, however, been taught to look at life with rose-hued glasses and don’t want to stay bogged down with a feeling of impending doom, especially when there’s hope on the horizon and we all await with bated breath at a new beginning in the second quarter of 2020.

In the meantime, as we get better at practising social distancing and self-isolation, it might just be a great time to bring back old school love, or the feeling of it, all from afar, much like the princess waiting to be rescued by her prince charming whom she signals (yoo-hoo) with a silk handkerchief. No, not a fairytale, but old school for sure. Read on for some tips:

Write a letter: How long has it been since you saw, let alone wrote a letter to someone? Millennials aren’t totally aloof to the idea of letter writing given that most of our parents got us to write letters to our grandparents, while teachers would give us assignments on how to write a letter, a formal application or one to a friend (mostly describing how our summer vacations were – interestingly, in a French language course I was recently pursuing, these memories and assignments came flooding back, just in a different language). Practically speaking, it might not be possible to head out somewhere to post this letter, but who’s stopping you from being creative with some apps, or clicking a picture of a handwritten note and sending it across? Think You’ve Got Mail and in pure Nora Ephron style, bring back the romance of the 90s through letters sent on electronic mail.

  via GIPHY

Letters To Juliet, originally an idea of a fiction novel that touched many hearts in its cinematic representation continues to be a source of inspiration for many romantics on social media. The ‘secretaries’ of Juliet keep the organisation in Italy running in the present day.

Dedicate a song on the late-night radio show: Some things are best when they don’t change. The age of radio song requests, albeit not as frequent, are still around, and if you’re awake in the wee hours of the morning, you might stumble upon a radio channel that talks about love, gives advice you could use and even take song requests for your significant other. It could be ‘just like magic’ (that’s a movie reference all romantics would know).

In the age when songs are available in a plethora of apps on your smartphones namely Spotify, Amazon Music and others, or a device that can host over 5000 classics; or advertisements and radio spots that play longer than a song, is it possible to bring love back like the good ol’ days of pure radio playback and a song dedication to announce your love? Maybe now is the best time to find out!

A phone call: It’s classic Bollywood and if it weren’t for a phone, however the instrument looked, some love stories would never have been realised. When I think of song requests, it’s either Sunil Dutt singing to Nutan in a Bimal Roy film (Jalte Hain Jiske Liye, Sujata) or Bhagyashree telling her movie beau Salman Khan that she’s sent her first love letter through a beautiful white pigeon (Kabootar Jaa, Maine Pyaar Kiya) or once again, Nutan singing about sending her heart in a letter (Phool Tumhein Bheja Hai Khat Mein, Saraswatichandra). But a phone call has not got its due in a long time especially since we have become more accustomed to the new age of speaking to someone or not being in touch at all when it doesn’t fit our immensely busy lives. I am guilty of that too but it’s not particularly rocket science to know what (or who) makes it to the priority list and what (or who) does not.

Send a postcard: It was always a special feeling to get a postcard in the mail addressed only to you. One with a picturesque backdrop of someplace with a letter format at the back that you could write a short note on and send it to whomsoever it concerned, literally. In most cases, they would also become priced possessions and worthy additions to scrapbooks or photo albums, always a sweet reminder of something special, from someone special.

An Instagram handle called @soaspostcard gives a touch of the vintage life with several throwbacks on the profile, a befitting reminder of the days of yore. But postcards have always been known to be souvenirs of places you’ve never been to, but have a piece of, all thanks to matte-finish photo paper you’ve received. The Postcard Hotels, a homegrown brand, too are bringing back vacationing the old school way, with postcards exhibiting the local flavours from Goa, Bhutan and Galle in Sri Lanka (as the brand name suggests) which you could send to your friends, family or just keep for yourself as a fond memory.

Postcards from Goa: Reprints of Mario Miranda’s works in various sizes; pictures capturing the flavour of Goa turned into postcards by The Postcard Hotels; Poems in Hindi printed in postcard form by Iktara, a not-for-profit organisation. ( Saumya Sharma/@MasakaliBytes )

#PostcardsOfKindness, a crucial social initiative is also doing their bit through a simple yet powerful effort of having people write postcards to people in nursing homes. Several social organisations are making continuous efforts at giving advice, or just being there (albeit in a social universe) so no one feels alone in these trying times, knowing that we are all in it together.

Serenade them: Bookish or immensely movie ‘buff-like’ this might sound, maybe this one will truly set their heart aflutter. Just like reliving a Shakespearean love story (minus the tragedy, if we could please). If you do get around to doing this, just make sure you don’t stay in a high rise (because they’ll either need a long neck to reach close enough or extra permissions to use speakers for their voice to reach you). The second challenge you might face is your beau being a bathroom singer (only). Consider using plus one sound for this, or EDM-ize it for some effect.

Video calls, cooking together on a video call, celebrating date night on opposite sides of the screen, sharing snackable content online is an ongoing process but going vintage or atleast trying to get there is definitely worth a try. Let’s turn the gloom into a romantic bloom worth remembering and telling stories to your grandchildren to – you could write a few letters or record a cool video for the sake of posterity too. What’s more, all those letters, cards (think the Hallmark days), and postcards to their heartstrings can continue being used in forms of decor items, bookmarks and whatever you can think of creatively so a piece of your heart always stays connected even when we’re back to living life the way we know it.

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