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gunterfan1992 · 3 years

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Season One of “Adventure Time”: Short Episode Reviews

At the start of 2021, I had this idea to write up a book wherein I reviewed every episode of Adventure Time, condensing my thoughts down into a few paragraphs. It seemed easy enough at the time —I could knock a season out in a week, no prob, I thought — but it turns out it was quite the challenge. Part of this was the difficulty of boiling everything down into a few coherent paragraphs that didn’t just repeat the ideas that “This episode is wacky. This episode is bad.” (I was also dealing with untreated ADHD, so that probably didn’t help.) Even though it was a hurdle, I still got through seasons 1-4, and I thought I’d post my reviews here. Maybe one day I’ll do something with ‘em, but for now, enjoy!

Season 1, Episode 1. “Slumber Party Panic” (692-009)

Airdate: April 5, 2010

Production Information: Elizabeth Ito and Adam Muto (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Synopsis: Princess Bubblegum accidentally resurrects a violent mob of candy zombies, which leads to Finn doing the unthinkable: He breaks a royal promise to Bubblegum.

Commentary: It is always a delight to remind people that Adventure Time—a show that would go on to win a slew of prestigious awards and be lauded by critics as one of the smartest kids show that has ever been made—begins with Princess Bubblegum “add[ing] three more drops of explosive diarrhea” to a scientific mixture with which she hopes to bring the dead back to life. This elision of a macabre topic like the resurrection of the dead with a poop joke is in many ways emblematic of the sort of humor upon which Adventure Time was built, and while “Slumber Party Panic” might not be the season’s best episode, it does a solid job introducing the odd, madcap energy that would allow the show to flourish in its youth.

The plot to “Slumber Party Panic”—storyboarded by future series director Elizabeth Ito as well as eventual showrunner Adam Muto—was hammered out well before the show’s mythology was set in stone, and so some of the more hyperbolic plot points from this episode (e.g., the dramatic revelation that candy citizens explode when scared, or the fact that the Gumball Guardians are also the nigh-omnipotent Guardians of the Royal Promise, who can stop and reverse time itself) had to be ignored in later seasons. Nevertheless, the main characters’ personalities are all firmly established, allowing them to play off one another in a way that does not feel forced or misguided; Jeremy Shada and John DiMaggio, in particular, have excellent chemistry, breathing whimsical life into Finn and Jake right off the bat. All things considered, “Slumber Party Panic” is a fun entry and a solid preview of the silliness that was to come. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 2. “Trouble in Lumpy Space” (692-015)

Airdate: April 5, 2010

Commentary: “Trouble in Lumpy Space” is a Ito-Muto production that introduces us to Lumpy Space Princess, the loquacious and dramatic drama queen who was destined to become one of the show’s breakout stars. A sentient blob of “irradiated stardust,” Lumpy Space Princess is an alien valley girl parody voiced by none other than series creator Pendleton Ward himself, and this episode does a commendable job illustrating the character’s immaturity and her ridiculously inflated sense of self-importance. This makes for good entertainment in and of it itself, but what really bumps this episode up a peg is the vocal delivery of the cast. Adventure Time always excelled when it came to its voice acting, but in this episode it is obvious that in this episode Jeremy Shada, John DiMaggio, and Pendleton Ward had extra fun playing around with their ridiculous “lumpy space” accents.

Aesthetically, this episode is quite the sensory experience. Lumpy Space itself is a hauntingly beautiful alien dimension of dark magenta skies and purple, pillowy clouds; it is a right shame that the show very rarely made use of this unique environment, considering how pleasant it is to look at. The episode’s soundtrack is also deserving of recognition, with much of the background music—especially the vapid pop tune that plays while Finn, Jake, and Lumpy Space Princess hitch a ride in Melissa’s car—recalling the elastic hyperpop that electro-wizzes from PC Music produce. The tunes add an extra dimension to the whole experience, helping to sell the idea that Lumpy Space is a silly but alien otherworld. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 3. “Prisoners of Love” (692-005)

Airdate: April 12, 2010

Production Information: Adam Muto and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Craig Lewis and Adam Muto (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Ladies and gentlemen, meet the Ice King! Beginning the series as a cartoonishly incompetent antagonist, Ice King would grow into one of the show’s most well-developed characters. While “Prisoners of Love,” being the character’s debut episode, sees the Ice King still in his one-dimensional “wicked wizard” stage, there are hints even at this early juncture—like the character’s dramatic insistence to pluck out a yogurt chip from his trail mix, or his spasmodic attempts to play the drums—that the Ice King is more than just a textbook baddie. Is he evil? Judging by his actions, it often looks that way, but there is also a deep sadness to him that makes even his worst behavior somewhat pitiful.

But as pathetic as he may be, Ice King’s lecherous habit of kidnapping princesses is completely unacceptable (Princesses, Adventure Time would like to remind us, should never be married against their will), and by episode’s end, Ice King receives his just desserts—a feminist-fueled kick to the face, courtesy of Finn the Human. The moral of the story is clear: Poor old Ice King might just be lonely, but that does not excuse him for acting like a frost-bitten incel. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 4. “Tree Trunks” (692-016)

Airdate: April 12, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Tree Trunks” introduces the audience to the eponymous character, voiced by Polly Lou Livingston, an eccentric octogenarian with a pronounced southern drawl whom Pendleton Ward knew growing up in Texas. Despite Tree Trunks appearing as a sweet old pachyderm, much of her dialog is riddled with double entendres and subtle sex jokes that go over the heads of children, and as such, she is something of a divisive character in the Adventure Time fandom: While some viewers find her hilarious, others find her decidedly off-putting. In this episode, however, storyboard artists Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn strike a decent balance between the character’s funny and creepy sides (case in point: The scene wherein Tree Trunks, in the gawdiest of makeup, tries to seduce an evil monster with her “womanly charms and elephant prowess”). The major exception to this overall balance is the episode’s decidedly morbid conclusion, which features Tree Trunks exploding after tasting the crystal apple. This was perhaps the show’s first non sequitur ending, and almost certainly left an indelible imprint on the minds of viewers young and old alike. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 5. “The Enchiridion!” (692-001)

Airdate: April 19, 2010

Production Information: Patrick McHale, Adam Muto, and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists and story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: According to the annals of cartoon history, the initial storyboard for “The Enchiridion” was whipped up by Ward and his crew members to prove to Cartoon Network that Adventure Time could be developed into a full-fledged series. This was almost certainly a stressful task, which necessitated that Ward et al. dissect the pilot, determine what elements worked, and then infuse those elements into a new storyboard. As a result of this “open art transplant,” there are quite a few analogs between the pilot and “The Enchiridion!”—e.g., the wacky dancing, the dream sequences, the ridiculous language—but this episode does a solid job of emulating the style of the pilot without wholesale duplicating it.

In terms of plot, “The Enchiridion!” is a fairly predictable adventure story, but it is one with enough clever variations that prevent the whole affair from dragging or being too boring; standout scenes include Finn and Jake having to deal with granny-zapping gnomes, and the D&D-inspired reverie in which Finn is tempted to slay an “unaligned” ant. The episode is further buoyed by several fun guest stars (including Mark Hamill, Fred Tatasciore, and even Black Flag’s Henry Rollins) that sprinkle a little additional energy on top of the whole thing. Given the exuberant fun of the episode and the way it easily introduces us to supporting characters like Princess Bubblegum, it is intriguing why the producers did not choose “The Enchiridion!” as the series premiere. That question aside, “The Enchiridion!” is one of the season’s stronger episode and an excellent place to start if you want a crash course in what made early Adventure Time so unique. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 6. “The Jiggler” (692-011)

Airdate: April 19, 2010

Production Information: Luther McLaurin and Armen Mirzaian (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “The Jiggler” opens on a fun, hyperactive note, with Finn singing “Baby,” a catchy song coated in layer upon layer of sweet, crisp autotune. But soon after Finn and Jake discover and “adopt” the titular creature, the affair quickly devolves into a cartoonish snuff film of two dullards accidentally torturing a wild animal; the whole thing is made worse by the high volume of bodily fluids excreted by the Jiggler. Thankfully, Finn and Jake are able to return the Jiggler to its mother before it keels over, but this victory is undermined given that the whole situation was Finn and Jake’s fault to begin with. Perhaps it is best to view all of this as a cautionary tale: No matter how cute a wild animal may look, you probably should not take it home and make it dance for you. (2 stars)

Season 1, Episode 7. “Ricardio the Heart Guy” (692-007)

Airdate: April 26, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon, Adam Muto, and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Ricardio the Heart Guy” introduces the titular villain, the brainy-but-sleazy heart of the Ice King voiced to perfection by the sonorous George Takei. Given how arrogant the character acts even before his true intentions are revealed, it is not much of a shock that Ricardio is a rotten egg, and this lack of mystery drags the whole episode down to some degree. Nevertheless, Takei’s histronic performance injects into the episode a funny sort of melodrama, with is further reinforced by Casey James Basichis’s sparklingly dark score, which mixes in elements of opera alongside the usual chiptune blips and bloops to emphasize Ricardio’s pretentiousness. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 8. “Business Time” (692-014)

Airdate: April 26, 2010

Commentary: On the surface, “Business Time” is but a silly parody of corporate culture that sees Finn and Jake become the veritable CEOs of an adventuring firm. It is a silly little set up, and the show has good fun poking fun at business-speak and the deleterious effects of rampant corporatization. At the same time, by relegating Finn and Jake to the sidelines near the middle of the episode, “Business Time” does itself a disservice by focusing not on the wacky shenanigans of the business men, but rather on the mundanity of Finn and Jake’s “managerial life.” It all comes together in the end, when Finn and Jake are forced to jump into the fray and destroy the Business Men’s vacuum robot, but the noticeable lag there in the middle of everything throws the pacing of the episode off.

But while “Business Time” might not be the strongest first-season entry, it has gained respect in the fandom for being the first episode to underline that the Land of Ooo exists in the far future after some sort of nuclear holocaust. In an interview with USA Today, Ward explained that this was a natural development that he had never planned: “[When] we did [the] episode about businessmen rising up from an iceberg at the bottom of a lake … that made the world post-apocalyptic, and we just ran with it” (X). Considering how major the post-apocalyptic trappings would become to the show’s mythology, it is a bit startling to learn that it was added in on a whim. Regardless, it was an inspired choice that added a tinge of sadness to the story of Finn and Jake. They were not just frolicking in some fantasy world; they were frolicking in the ruins of our world, long after nuclear war had devasted the planet. Is it bleak? Absolutely! But this bleakness contrasts nicely with Adventure Time’s colorful surface, resulting in a deeply rich ambivalence. Not many shows—let alone children’s shows!—have managed to fuse such extremes into a workable whole. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 9. “My Two Favorite People” (692-004)

Airdate: May 3, 2010

Production Information: Kent Osborne and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Almost all the first-season episodes that we have considered so far have placed a heavy emphasis on comedy. The point of these episodes is to make you laugh, and anything beyond that is gravy. “My Two Favorite People,” in contrast, may be the first that is grounded on a solidly emotional foundation, and while the episode is very funny, it is primarily interested in telling the poignant story of two brothers and a gal they both like. If anyone has ever found themselves caught up in a love triangle—whether real or, as in the case of this episode, imagined—Jake’s actions, although immature, will likely feel relatable. It is a cheesy cliché, but the story’s strength is that it all feels so real (which I recognize is a funny thing to say about a cartoon dog and his unicorn-rainbow beau).

“My Two Favorite People” is the first episode that really features Lady Rainicorn as a mover of the plot rather than just a fun side character, and it is a wonderful showcase for her. While a handful of later installments—namely season four’s “Lady & Peebles” and season eighth’s “Lady Raincorn of the Crystal Dimension”—would try to highlight Lady, “My Two Favorite People” is arguably the character’s funniest episodes, thanks in large part to her use of a universal translator, which allows the other characters to understand her. To some, a device such as this may seem like a cop-out, but storyboard artists Kent Osborne and Pendleton Ward cleverly preempt this criticism by making the device’s only useable setting one that gives Lady the voice of a great-great grandfather. Lady’s “old-man voice” is an episode highlight, and it makes many of the character’s lines (e.g., “Come on my darling! Wrap your legs around me!”) both hilarious and unsettling. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 10. “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain” (692-010)

Airdate: May 3, 2010

Commentary: During the production of season one Ward exerted considerable effort trying to shepherd the show’s crew in a coherent direction, all the while responding to critiques levelled by dozens of Cartoon Network executives. Many of these critiques were contradictory, and in the process of creating something that he was proud of while also appeasing everyone around him, Ward very nearly went bananas. The experience provided the bedrock for “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain,” and to anyone who has been given the arduous task of pleasing a whole slew of prickly critics, the episode will be immediately relatable.

In terms of the show’s budding mythology, “Memories of Boom Boom Mountain” is notable because it firmly establishes that Finn was adopted as a baby by Jake’s canine parents, Joshua and Margaret. This plot point was likely guided less by worldbuilding and more by humor (perhaps playing on the whole “raised by wolves” idiom). Nevertheless, this decision would have major ramifications for the show’s overarching narrative. Finn’s nature as the only human in Ooo was no longer a silly afterthought—it was now a mystery. Just who is Finn the Human, and where did he come from? These questions would linger for seasons, finally culminating in season eight’s touching miniseries Islands. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 11. “Wizard” (692-020)

Airdate: May 10, 2010

Production Information: Pete Browngardt, Adam Muto, and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Wizard”—co-storyboarded by Pete Browngardt, an artist who storyboarded on Chowder and The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack before creating the divisive Uncle Grandpa for Cartoon Network—is an absolute bonkers installment that throws logic out the window by giving Finn and Jake magical powers. It is a plot setup almost guaranteed to be fun, and you can tell that the writers likely a good time coming up with increasingly asinine magical powers (e.g., “endless mayonnaise”).

But underneath all the distraught dust motes and captivating new hairstyles, “Wizard” also has a degree of depth, reading like a biting commentary on higher education-industrial complex in the United States. It does not seem coincidental that the strategies employ by Bufo’s scam wizard school are strikingly similar to those used by predatory colleges, which offer students a worthless degree alongside thousands of dollars of debt. The parallels are made stronger when it is revealed that all those whom Bufo has tricked are reluctant to upset the oppressive status quo, because they believe “newfangled thinking will get [everyone] killed”; this eerily mirrors those who downplay the student loan crisis, arguing that “that’s just the system works.” Finn will have none of this, however, and by episode’s end, he—channeling his myriad wizard powers and the vigor of “youth culture”—proves that if a system is broke, it has got to go. Maybe we could learn a thing or two from that. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 12. “Evicted!” (692-003)

Airdate: May 17, 2010

Production Information: Sean Jimenez and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Adam Muto (story writer); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Evicted!” is considered a classic by most Adventure Time fans for one simple reason: It introduces the audience to Marceline the Vampire Queen. This iconic undead rocker chick managed to steal the spotlight whenever she appeared in an episode, and eventually she became one of the show’s more well-regarded characters. Given all this, there is some irony to the fact that in her debut, Marceline is the antagonist who steals our heroic duo’s beloved Tree Fort. Marceline is therefore similar to other season one baddies in that she tests Finn and Jake’s patience before engaging them in direct combat. But Marceline is set apart from other foes in how Finn and Jake defeat her—namely, that they do not. In fact, she pounds them into the ground almost effortlessly! Besting Finn and Jake is no easy task, meaning that while “Evicted!” might showcase Marceline’s nastier side, it nevertheless does an excellent job emphasizing how much of a badass she is; this goes a long way in explaining the character’s huge popularity.

But Marceline alone cannot an episode make. Luckily, “Evicted!” is further bolstered by several excellent design choices, including a bevy of fun background critters whipped up by character designer Tom Herpich, a slew of colorful background designs courtesy of Ghostshrimp and Santino Lascano, and a killer soundtrack. Regarding the latter, the stand-out tune is inarguably “House Hunting Song,” a comically overblown ballad detailing Finn and Jake’s arduous quest to find a new place to live. The song, sung mostly by Ward with a few lines delivered by Olson, is an emotion-laden earworm guaranteed to wiggle its way into your brain. (I mean, how can you not love a song that blames the murderous tendencies of vampires on simply being “burnt out on dealing with mortals”?) It very much is the blood-red cherry on top of everything, which helps to make “Evicted!” one of the season’s strongest episodes. (5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 13. “City of Thieves” (692-012)

Airdate: May 24, 2010

Commentary: “City of Thieves” is a workable if somewhat forgettable mid-season entry. The episode’s main strength is its titular setting, a bizarro municipality where theft is the law of the land. Unfortunately, the city is nothing more than a silly plot device, and the episode itself never really rises above “fine.” (2.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 14. “The Witch’s Garden” (692-022)

Airdate: June 7, 2010

Production Information: Adam Muto, Kent Osborne, and Niki Yang (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: If you think the idea of Jake sassing Ooo’s cattiest witch is funny in and of itself, wait until you see this episode’s visuals. From Jake’s grotesque but silly “manbaby body” to the abject horror of Gary the Mermaid Queen, “The Witch’s Garden” is replete with several memorable character designs that make it a satisfying entry. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 15. “What Is Life?” (692-017)

Airdate: June 14, 2010

Commentary: Giving Finn and Ice King a son is not a move that I thought Adventure Time would ever make, let alone in the first season, but here we are. The bouncing baby boy in question is actually a clunky robot named NEPTR, voiced to sadsack perfection by comedian and musician Andy Milonakis. If you had told me prior to this episode that Milonakis could give a sentient microwave a sense of pathos, I would have never believed you, but in “What Is Life?” he does a commendable job conveying NEPTR’s pitiful nature. As for the episode itself, “What Is Life?” is a solid entry that introduces viewers to several recurring characters (one of whom being Gunter the penguin) while offering us a peek into the Ice King’s sad, lonely mind. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 16. “Ocean of Fear” (692-025)

Airdate: June 21, 2010

Production Information: J. G. Quintel and Cole Sanchez (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Oceans of Fear”—storyboarded by Cole Sanchez and J. G. Quintel, the latter of whom would go on to create Regular Show for Cartoon Network—is in an interesting installment that establishes Finn’s fear of the ocean, reminding the viewer that even great heroes will be forced to deal with irrational phobias at some point in their life. The character designs in this episode are quite amusing (with the standout being Finn’s grotesque “fear of the Ocean” face), and Mark Hamill, as always, does a wonderful job, using his trademark “Joker voice” to give the Fear Feaster a delightful air of villainy. But as with “Business Time,” many of these elements are upstaged by the episodes’ post-apocalyptic trappings. In fact, when I watched the episode for the first time, I paused it in several places, asking to myself, “Is that a wrecked battleship? Is that a bombed-out tank? Why are there ruins of a city underwater?” It is an understatement to say that this episode is positively littered with rusted debris and centuries-old detritus that testifies to Ooo’s traumatic history. For eagle-eyed fans hoping to piece together Adventure Time’s mysterious mythology, this episode is an absolute hoot. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 17. “When Wedding Bells Thaw” (692-013)

Airdate: June 28, 2010

Production Information: Kent Osborne and Niki Yang (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: One of the first episodes to team Ice King up with Finn and Jake, “When Wedding Bells Thaw” is a goofy lampooning of bachelor parties and the institution of marriage in general. Although the episode ends on a fairly predictive note (spoiler alert: Ice King tricked his fiancée into marriage), seeing Ice King get along with our heroes is charming, and in many ways it presages the Ice King’s future character growth. The episode’s strongest part is the short dialogue-free montage near the middle depicting Finn, Jake, and Ice King getting into all sorts of “manlorette party” shenanigans; this sequence is made all the stronger by Tim Kiefer’s chiptune score, which enlivens the party with a burst of synthesizers and electro-drums. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 18. “Dungeon” (692-013)

Airdate: June 28, 2010

Commentary: If there is one episode that feels like the entirety of Adventure Time’s first season distilled down into 11 minutes, then it would be “Dungeon.” An episode replete with outrageous monsters and wacky action, “Dungeon” is a high-energy installment that pays homage to the sprawling world of table-top gaming; indeed, it is not hard to imagine storyboard artists Elizabeth Ito and Adam Muto reaching for a D20 or a well-worn copy of the Monster Manual whenever it came time to block out a new scene. Stand-out moments from this episode include Finn’s encounter with the Demon Cat (famous for having “approximate knowledge of many things”), his visitation by a “guardian angel,” and the deus ex machina ending that see Princess Bubblegum swoop in to save the day. (“Get on my swan!”) And amidst all the silliness, “Dungeon” even manages to sneak in a sweet little message tucked snuggly in between all the wacky monsters about the importance of recognizing your weaknesses. (4.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 19. “The Duke” (692-023)

Airdate: July 12, 2010

Commentary: For most of season one, the audience is presented a version of Princess Bubblegum that is bright, effervescent, and totally nonthreatening; the monarch, it seems, is as aggressive as a marshmallow. But in “The Duke,” this all changes, and we finally get to see the princess’s darker, authoritarian side. Unhinged Princess Bubblegum is quite a sight to behold (as is the sight of green-and-bald Bubblegum), but it adds another layer of to the saccharine sovereign, setting her up for substantial character development a few seasons down the road. (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 20. “Freak City” (692-008)

Airdate: July 26, 2010

Production Information: Tom Herpich and Pendleton Ward (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Freak City” introduces the audience to Magic Man, a deranged and flamboyant Martian wizard known for meaninglessly harassing the citizens of Ooo. Although the character’s backstory would be fleshed out in later seasons and eventually come to play a major part in the mythology of the series, this episode was storyboarded well before these developments were dreamed up, meaning that here, Magic Man functions as a simple (albeit funny) villain-of-the-week whose nihilistic tendencies clash wonderfully with Finn’s optimistic worldview. Finn is so used to dividing the world up into “good guys” and “evil guys,” but his run-in with Magic Man is proof that morality is far more confusing than he would like to believe. The main problem is that Magic Man is not really evil: He is clinically insane—a violent psychopath—who does not care about his actions impacting others. No climactic fight or eleventh-hour pep talk is enough to fix him.

On top of this rather weighty consideration of morality and mental instability, “Freak City” contains another, more straightforward message about the power of teamwork and how people should work as one to overcome common problems. Storyboard artists Pendleton Ward and Tom Herpich have quite a bit of fun taking the idiom literally by forcing Finn and the other denizens of Freak City pile on top of one another to function as a single, grotesque being that is capable of fighting Magic Man. While “Freak City” loses some points for espousing rhetoric that folks who are depressed can simply will themselves out of their funk, it makes up for these deficits elsewhere with its character designs—ranging from the inside-out bird to the two-headed monster that Finn groin-strikes—which are all bizarre in the best, most creative way possible. (3.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 21. “Donny” (692-018)

Airdate: August 9, 2010

Commentary: A rather forgettable protagonist and only a smattering of memorable lines make “Donny” the season’s weakest link. The episode does get points for introducing us to “whywolves” (“Creatures possessed by the spirit of inquiry—and bloodlust!”), but they are not enough to completely save it from mediocrity. (2 stars)

Season 1, Episode 22. “Henchman” (692-021)

Airdate: August 23, 2010

Production Information: Luther McLaurin and Cole Sanchez (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: While “Evicted!” depicted Marceline as an apathetic asshole, “Henchman” starts to soften the vampire queen by showing that her evil exterior is an elaborate facade, and that deep down she is really just a prank-loving trickster—or, as Finn puts it, “a radical dame who likes to play games.” This might seem nothing more than a subtle tweak, but it does wonders for Marceline’s characterization; by episode’s end, as Finn and his vampiric “master” chat quite cheerfully in a field of strawberries, it is clear that the writers are setting up Marceline to become a legitimate pal to Finn and Jake, rather than just an avatar of chaos who drops in every once in awhile to shake things up. This was a wise decision, as it provided Marceline with the chance to grow into a hero in her own right with whom the audience can happily cheer along.

Since “Henchman” is predicated on Marceline pranking Finn, storyboard artists Luther McLaurin and Cole Sanchez have a great deal of fun mocking up outrageous scenarios that seem evil at first glance, but are revealed to be quite benign. Perhaps the funniest of these situations is Marceline raising an army of undead skeletons only to throw them a concert, and the vampire queen’s demand that Finn kill a little dimple-plant, which looks like a cutie before it turns into an Audrey II-esque abomination from John Carpenter’s darkest nightmares. (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 23. “Rainy Day Daydream” (692-002)

Airdate: September 6, 2010

Production Information: Pendleton Ward (storyboard artist); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: “Rainy Day Daydream” is a beautiful representation of creativity in its purest form. Channeling his love of multilevel video games and Dungeons and Dragons, solo storyboard artist and series creator Pendleton Ward uses the pretext of Jake’s imagination affecting reality as an opportunity to bounce from one ridiculous plot point to another to great effect. The whole thing feels like an exercise in jovial spontaneity, and while “writing the story as you go” can sometime result in disjointed or sloppy final products, here Ward makes it work, using the approach to illustrate the almost limitless potential of imagination. Another strength of the episode is the way it throws dozens of ridiculous obstacles at Finn and Jake without the aid of equally ridiculous visuals; in fact, almost every hindrance in the episode is invisible to both Finn and the audience, and we only learn what is going on thanks to Jake’s narration. The fact that this approach works and is not boring is a testament to Ward’s skills as a storyteller and dialogue writer. (4.5 stars)

Season 1, Episode 24. “What Have You Done?” (692-027)

Airdate: September 13, 2010

Commentary: In addition to providing us with another glimpse of Bubblegum’s dark side, “What Have You Done?” also serves as an interesting meditation on morality and preemptive punishment. As earlier episodes have confirmed, the Ice King is a creepy little deviant, but is it right for Finn and Jake to imprison him without a cause? This is a real legal question, and the show handles it in a surprisingly sophisticated way, concluding more or less that the writ of habeas corpus must be preserved. Of course, this is all undermined to some degree when we learn that the Ice King actually is to blame, but thanks to some quick thinking on the part of Finn, our heroes are able to save the day without having to turn to the carceral powers of the state. (And people say Adventure Time is not sophisticated...) (3 stars)

Season 1, Episode 25. “His Hero” (692-026)

Airdate: September 20, 2010

Commentary: Who is the greatest hero ever? If you answered, “Finn!” it is obvious that you have yet to see “His Hero,” for the correct answer is Billy, of course! Lou Ferrigno guest stars in this episode as the aforementioned defender of Ooo, enlivening the character with his distinctive voice. As for the episode itself, storyboard artists Kent Osborne and Niki Yang—with an assist from the ever-dependable Adam Muto—produce some of their best work this season, filling each scene with witty dialogue and zany shenanigans. Arguably, the episode’s pièce de resistance is the short montage of Billy’s past achievements, which plays alongside a song, sung by Muto, extolling the hero’s greatness; energetic and wacky, the song in many ways typifies the “chaotic heroism” that defined the show’s first season.

Like many other first-season episodes, “His Hero” ends with a counterintuitive “anti-moral,” stressing that while a commitment to non-violence might seem subversive on the surface, it is actually an ineffective way to make the world a better place; instead, the episode argues that direct physical action—i.e., beating the snot out of monsters and bad guys—is necessary if heroes want to save people from oppression. This may all come across as contrarian silliness, but I would argue that it is profoundly radical, rejecting “common sense” ideals about peace that really only help those in positions of power. (Side note, if the kids who grew up watching Adventure Time turn into a bunch of revolutionaries, I think we will know the cause.) (4 stars)

Season 1, Episode 26. “Gut Grinder” (692-024)

Airdate: September 27, 2010

Production Information: Ako Castuera and Bert Youn (storyboard artists); Tim McKeon and Merriwether Williams (story writers); Larry Leichliter (director), Patrick McHale (creative director), Nick Jennings (art director)

Commentary: Much like “Ricardio the Heart Guy,” this episode suffers due to a lack of a solid mystery; from the start, it seems obvious that Jake is not the one responsible for the robberies. Furthermore, the reveal that Sharon is the one behind the robberies comes with almost no dramatical weight, since we have no idea who she is. The whole thing is forgettable, which is a shame given that this is the season finale. (2 stars)

(Huge shout out to @sometipsygnostalgic for reading over these a few months ago and offering feedback. Also, I want to thank @j4gm for posting his “Slumber Party Panic” review, which made me remember these write-ups!)

#adventure time #atimers #season 1 #season one #reviews #finn #jake #finn the human #jake the dog #marceline #pb #bubblegum #princess bubblegum #marceline the vampire queen #ice king #pen ward #pendleton ward

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poptod · 4 years

Text

The Dead Heed No Lies (Ch. 3)

Description: Things get started.

Notes: I forgot to mention this but there are certain things I took the liberty of defining about you, but it shouldn’t disturb your reading. Here they are: you don’t have a gender, you’re Jewish (not really religiously though), and you’re vegetarian. Word Count: 2.8k

Chapter Three: Anubis’ Crime

On a bright, sunny day like any other in New York, you wandered through the streets. This day was like any other, as you had gotten up near dawn, eaten a healthy vegetarian breakfast, and wandered through the city for a while. You needn’t go to the florist, as you had already gone that week to replace the molted flowers from last week, so you stopped for a drink at a local coffee shop.

The only thing that was any different about this day was a terrible, nagging feeling you had that something awful had, or would, occur. You wondered, in your own negative mindset, if some people had felt this during the morning of 9/11. You hoped this terrible feeling wasn’t an omen of something so cruel.

During midday you took your nap, tossing and turning in bed, embroiled in the conflict of your heavy mind overthinking this Terrible Feeling. Eventually, tightened into a prison of blankets you fell asleep, a few odd nightmares spotting your otherwise eventless dreams.

“I’ll feel better,” you told yourself after waking up with the same terrible feeling as before, “if I sleep some more.”

That you did, taking three melatonin pills before collapsing once more on your bed, an alarm set for your job just in case you didn’t wake up in time. This time, your sleep was deeper, dark and blank, devoid of thought and movement. The only thing you felt was hot - curled in cloth that overheated your system, boiling your skin off and eating away at your bones.

This time, when you awoke, you found you’d left the heater on too high.

Also, you still had the Terrible Feeling.

You groaned to yourself, flopping back onto your pillow when you looked at the time. You’d awoken three minutes before your alarm, something that would usually delight you but instead made you feel as though you hadn’t slept enough.

“My God,” you said aloud to yourself, your voice hoarse. “I wish I was dead.”

Of course, this was a hyperbole. All you wished was that you didn’t have to get up and go sort through more papers. Even though this was probably your last day sorting through papers (you’d reached the letter ‘Y’ yesterday), you felt dread simply at the thought of having to work.

With a heavy grunt you hoisted yourself out of bed, untangling from the mess you’d gotten yourself into. After a quick shower and a small meal you expected the Terrible Feeling in your gut to go away, but it didn’t lingering on even as you reached the steps of the museum. Sighing deeply you went round the back, entering through the smaller, much less grand steps into the basement full of records.

You sat at the end, pulling out the first Y box, going through and making sure they were in order and still relevant, with all the correct information.

A few minutes later, steps, loud and many resounded upstairs, and you knew the tablet had gone to work. In a few minutes the King would be coming downstairs, perhaps along with Tilly, to try and distract you from your work. Most days, you’d laugh to yourself at the thought. Most people ignored you, not bothering to try and be friends with you. It was a nice change.

Today however, following the path of your Terrible Feeling, your stomach stirred in sickness, leaking out in the form of a light sweat that anxiously painted the palms of your hands.

Maybe I’m just sick, you thought to yourself, flexing your fingers against your palm. Maybe I should just go home.

Thirty minutes had passed until you heard the footsteps of someone coming down. You didn’t turn to greet them, keeping focus on your work despite the sick feeling growing into your chest like insidious weeds overtaking fields of flowers.

No cloak dragged on the floor, but there was the clack of heeled boots.

“Hey Tilly,” you said, your voice noticeably weaker than usual.

“Hi… how’re you feeling?” She asked, sounding just as bad as you.

“Not great. Had a weird feeling all day,” you told her, sighing. She stood beside you, leaning against the wall.

“Same here. Hey, have you seen Ahk down here yet?” She asked, crossing her arms and looking at you with a concerned look.

“Uh, no. Hasn’t visited,” you said, looking up at her.

“Hm. I haven’t seen him. Want to come look with me?”

You paused, your eye twitching involuntarily before you stood.

“Alright,” you shrugged, knowing you’d have time. There was only one Z box and it was small.

Following her the two of you walked up into the brightness of the museum lights, blaring the 80’s music that most all exhibits could agree on. Ever the one better with socialization Tilly asked around, while you left to his exhibit. Ahkmenrah had decided to keep his tablet there, mostly for safety reasons, and considering how much he loathed to part with it, it wouldn’t be surprising to find him there.

Up the stairs you walked, leaving behind the calamity and chaos that eons of history brought. From your vantage point upon the balcony you could see at least three people doing something that would most definitely kill them if they were real people.

People have always been stupid, you laughed to yourself, turning back around to find his room.

You continued this line of thought as you wandered the halls, mostly thinking about the age old graffiti. Sometimes, historians would mistake the words for having religious impact, when most times it was something pornographic or stupid. A metaphor for humanity, really.

Upon entering the room the main difference was blazingly obvious - the centerpiece, hanging in its’ eternal, ancient glory, painted gold in intricate patterns of Egyptian hieroglyphs was so glaringly not there.

Confused, you walked closer, eyebrows furrowed as you took slow steps. The guards towering over you in black majesty paid you little mind - Ahkmenrah had explained to them that they shouldn’t hurt anyone. Still, with such careful, near suspicious steps their eyes watched you, careful to jump at any sign of your treason.

Before you could fully circle round the sarcophagus lying as the centerpiece of the room, you saw a hand on the floor, the rest of the body obscured by the coffin. Your eyes widened, breath picking up as your feet skidded, knees falling to the ground as you fell to see who it was.

The golden robes had fallen in waves around his body, almost ornamenting his unconsciousness. His crown that he wore so adamantly, so much so that you hadn’t ever seen it off of him, was now cast aside, lying a few feet away from him.

Hands only shaking a little you attempted to wake him, feeling your legs go numb till his eyes slowly opened.

“Ahkmenrah! What happened?” You asked immediately, helping him to sit up as he knelt on his knees. He groaned, holding his head in his hands as you assisted him.

“I - the tablet, it’s…”

“Gone, I know, did someone take it?” You asked your queries hurriedly, hoping that if you did so you’d be able to call the police sooner. At that moment, it didn’t occur to you that you’d have to wait till morning either way.

“I saw him, I… I did not think he would show his face to mortals,” he mumbled, voice groggy and unclear as his weight fell into you. You supported him, trying to get him to lift his head.

“Who was it? Ahk,” you put your hand on his cheek, making him look up at you.

“Anubis.”

“I - I’m sorry?”

“Big dog head, hot body,” Ahkmenrah groaned, his head falling back onto your shoulder as he grunted in pain.

“Uh, yeah, no, right,” you fumbled, still holding him against you. Your eyes shifted around the room. As though it’d give you answers, like God would send you a sign.

“Gotta… gotta catch him, he’s got my tablet.”

“I know. Let’s go find your parents, maybe they’ll have an inkling as to what the hell is happening?” You suggested, not waiting for his answer before you pulled yourself to your feet, his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you made your way out of the room and into the hallway.

When you finally found his parents most of the place had realized something was wrong. Apparently, if stories were to be true, the last time Ahkmenrah had been weak was when the tablet was dying.

“Your son says he saw Anubis steal his tablet?” You said immediately, not bothering with the niceties and thinking it wouldn’t bother them either. They glanced at each other, then back at you, their expression unchanging from the shock.

“Yes, I, uh, that makes sense,” his mother stammered, blinking rapidly. Ahkmenrah, no longer leaning against you, quickly added in his own input.

“I need to get it back,” he said, determination written in his tone and face.

“Hold on, you just got a concussion,” you stopped, holding your hands out in front of you.

“(Y/N), I’m dead.”

“That’s half the problem. What are you gonna do if it takes more than a night to find him? It’s almost dawn already! Everyone here is going to fall asleep and never wake up and what are we going to do? Call the police?” You began spiraling, tugging at your hair. “What are they gonna do? Can’t exactly shoot a god, right? Besides, Anubis is practically the Egyptian version of the god of death, you can’t kill death, right?”

“(Y/N)?” His father got your attention, seemingly now more solemn. You looked up, trying to regulate your breathing as you listened. “Shut up,” he said. Frowning, you obeyed.

“My son, you wish to go after it yourself?” Shepseheret asked, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. In an almost meek way he nodded, but his stone cold expression remained.

“There is a way you could stay alive during the day, but it takes getting used to. It’s,” Merenkahre glanced at his wife, “unpleasant. And you’ll need to take someone alive with you.”

“I’ll go with him,” you volunteered yourself. Sure, a week ago you were freaking out about museum exhibits and ranting about how you weren’t ever supposed to be part of a fantastical story, but here you stayed calm. Besides, you were probably the best fit - you knew a lot about Anubis and you were, as needed, alive.

“I’ll explain the… ritual, to you,” his mother said, taking you both aside as the room began to fill with chatter of the events to come.

All in all, when she finished speaking, you sort of understood. She would use a specific paint to paint a symbol onto his forehead. It’d turn him to moveable stone during the day, and at night, he would become flesh and bone again. However, every night, you would need to make a blood sacrifice to repaint the symbol.

The young King did not seem to like that.

“Couldn’t we use the blood of a different creature?”

“It’s easier to use (Y/N)’s. Otherwise you’d have to be killing animals everywhere and you’d leave a blood trail,” his mother said.

“I’m fine with it. I just won’t cut my palm. Most nerve endings are there,” you agreed, remembering a stupid post online about explorers in movies.

“See? The child is fine with it.”

“Mother.”

“Come, I will get you ready,” she said, ignoring her sons’ berating and taking him to the side. You watched in interest as she pulled a purple bottle out of one of the glass cases. Assuming it was the special paint she’d spoke of, you sat down across, paying close attention as she drew the eye of horus upon his forehead.

“Oh, Eye of Horus. That’ll be easy enough I think,” you said when they’d finished. “Why is Anubis stealing the tablet? And now of all times? It’s pretty late in the game to do so.”

“He’s the oldest god of death. I suppose he doesn’t like my family coming alive every night,” Ahkmenrah sighed, standing up once his mother put the paint back.

“Right, but the role was taken over by Osiris, a long time ago. Isn’t Anubis supposed to be with the scales now? Deciding who’s good and bad?”

“Actually he’s the god of embalming,” his mother clarified.

“Also protector of tombs,” Ahkmenrah added.

“I know the stories.”

Osiris took over as Ruler of the Earth, then was killed by his brother Seth, who murdered him by putting him in a coffin, sealing it, and pushing it into the Nile. Osiris’ wife, and sister (you shivered, never one for incest) retrieved his body, but Seth cut up Osiris and scattered him through Egypt. It was Anubis himself, along with Isis and Nepthys who retrieved all of him back, except his penis, which was apparently very important, but either way Anubis wrapped the body up in the first process of embalming.

“It’s a disgusting story but yes, I know it. He’s a lot of things but it doesn’t answer my question, why is he interested now?”

“Probably some god drama made him king of the underworld again,” Ahk rolled his eyes, earning a chiding elbowing from his mother.

“Don’t disrespect them. Still, we need the tablet back. It was a gift from Khonshu.”

“My father says he insisted we never lose it.”

“Let’s go find it then.”

The three of you left back into the larger room, where the exhibits had grown louder, only calmed as Tilly frantically made her way through the crowd.

“The tablet was stolen?!” She asked, panting.

“Yes, we need to go get it, Ahkmenrah will be safe if he stays with me. Anubis stole it and I think I may have an idea as to where he might be going,” you explained quickly.

“You do?” Ahkmenrah asked, obviously impressed.

“Yep, let’s go.” You tugged his arm, pulling him off to the side to pull up a map on your phone.

“These are ley lines. Ancient magnetic lines that connect spiritual sites. There’s a major one in Canada near us, and the distance between the two worlds, ours and Duat, is smaller there. I think Anubis needs to go there. Thank God he doesn’t have wings, so he’s on foot like us, but we need to get your tablet back before he goes to the underworld. I don’t think we’d survive a journey there.”

“Probably not,” he agreed easily.

“We should head out that way then. Anubis can turn into a dog, right?”

“Jackal.”

“Right. He’ll probably want to cut through the woods so we’ll follow that way. Thank god for snow, so he’ll be leaving tracks,” you said, pocketing your phone and turning to him.

“Do you think we should take Sacagawea along?”

You paused, ready to leave at a moments notice but stopped by his suggestion. It’d be smart, certainly, but that’d also mean more blood from you. Still… she was the best tracker in the whole museum and you had no idea what you were doing.

“Ask. I’ll get some more information from your parents,” you said, and he nodded, the two of you splitting off from your space next to the wall.

Finding his parents, they immediately pulled you aside before you could ask any questions.

“Ahkmenrah will turn to stone whence the day arrives. Immoveable stone,” Merenkahre said to you, his eyes stern.

“Shouldn’t you tell him that?”

“I believe it’s best not to. Remind him that it’s natural and after a few days he should be able to move his full body.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Okay.”

A few minutes and he found you again, Sacagawea by his side. A few minutes more, she had the symbol upon the back of her hand. In just one more minute, the three of you had bid your good byes, and though Tilly had requested to come with, she rescinded her request when you explained the trek you had to make.

As you left the doors, reality sunk into you - you didn’t exactly have the right supplies for a journey in the middle of winter. You had a jacket, but it wasn’t a winter jacket, and what were you going to eat? Then you patted the cellphone in your pocket, remembering there were charging stations at every Starbucks, and that you had Apple pay. How modernly convenient.

The King had a stern yet worried look on his face as Sacagawea led you, and in a moment of comfort, you held his hand, squeezing once to assure him it’d be alright.

“We’ll get it back,” you told him quietly as she led you down alleyways and backstreets. His eyes glanced to you, burning with determination.

“I know.”

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader #gender neutral reader

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adamwatchesmovies · 4 years

Text

Curse of the Zodiac (2007)

I would rather cure a constipated elephant with my bare hands - without gloves - than watch Curse of the Zodiac again. Think I’m being hyperbolic? Everyone understands what an elephant is. Everyone knows how unpleasant of an experience it would be to reach inside its butt and fiddle around until the feces run freely. No one can truly understand what an overbearing, depressing, blood-boiling and draining experience watching this movie is. When the credits on this abomination finished rolling, I desired nothing more than to track down the director, the people who green-lit this project and the studio executives who thought it was good enough to release so I could strangle them with their own intestines. This is the worst movie I've ever seen.

You’re wondering what this movie from hack director Ulli Lommel is about. You’re out of luck because there's no plot. Things happen during the 81-minute running time, but that doesn't mean there's a story. We have three characters. The first is the titular Zodiac killer (Jack Quinn). He kills women and narrates the movie. If there’s anything resembling a protagonist, it’s a 20-something woman who has visions of the “Z-Man” as he stalks and murders women. These two randomly interact with a reporter, who does little but answer the phone and look disturbed as Zodiac taunts him.

There isn’t a single thing that is good, or even decent about Curse of the Zodiac. NOTHING. The acting redefines the word atrocious. Characters flub their lines, miss cues, and are never convincing even when lying dead. It appears as though there were no second takes, ever. If you can read this sentence and say it out loud, you could've been cast in this film. The dialogue is some of the most dreadful ever committed to the page. We get such linguistic vomit as “Don’t look at the gun I show in your ass” and “Playing piano is like life. You make mistakes in life.” If this weren't bad enough, there is an extreme overabundance and over-reliance on foul language. Goodfellas is notorious for having about 300 uses of “fuck” and its derivatives. It lasts 146 minutes so we have about two a minute. I counted the uses of any 3, 4 and 11-letter swears, along with everything in between and I got a whopping 147, including 45 instances of “fat fuck” (the nickname Zodiac gives to the reporter). Goodfellas still wins but this movie gets pretty close. It’s an astonishingly lazily written script, delivered by a bunch of robots masquerading as human actors and there’s not even a story to keep you entertained.

Not only is this movie less frightening or unsettling than the worst episode of Goosebumps you’ve ever seen, but it’s also boring. There's nothing to look forward to except the end of the end credits or your death, whichever comes first. I can’t even fathom someone making a movie this painful unintentionally. It uses stock screams when women are being murdered, has bad grammar in the screens of text, has sequences where the sound cuts in and out and gore that looks about as convincing as strawberry jam drizzled onto a CPR torso. Don’t even get me started on the editing and “special effects”. The camera shakes uncontrollably and images are constantly being mirrored, flipped upside down, tinted or otherwise modified through filters. It’s as if editor Bertrand Paré (which I assume is either a pseudonym of Lommel's or someone determined to destroy his career) decided to use every single editing tool in the free software they had.

This movie isn’t only infuriating, it's disheartening. The only reason Curse of the Zodiac is available to watch is because Lommel has connections with Lionsgate. Someone saw this and thought “It’s about as appealing as a bucket of crawling centipedes, but we’ll make money off of it if we give it a semi-decent DVD cover”. This knowledge is enough to make me want to go on an ax-wielding rampage. If you’re associated with the production and release, watch your back, I’m coming for you. (On DVD, January 28, 2015)

#CurseoftheZodiac #ZOdiac #ZodiacKiller #movies #films #reviews #movie review #film reviews #UlliLommel #CassandraChurch #JackQuinn #2007Movies #2007films #Worstmovies

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innuendostudios · 6 years

Video

vimeo

[edit: the video was false-flagged as “hatespeech” on YouTube, so I have swapped the embed with a mirror on Vimeo. I will swap them back when I get the YouTube version reinstated/replaced in a re-edited form.]

It would not be possible to continue The Alt-Right Playbook without sitting down and defining fascism, so here we are. I know I said the next one would be shorter, and I was proven a damned liar. Maybe the next one! As ever, keep this series, and all my other videos, coming out steadily by backing me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

"Fascism" is a term I've heard thrown around since I was a kid, but, most of the time, idiomatically. "Fascist" is what you called your Type A, passive-aggressive roommate: "Stop being such a fascist, Debra." Through osmosis, I knew its literal meaning was among a cluster of related words: Authoritarianism, totalitarianism, white supremacy, nationalism, dictatorship. But, for much of my life, if you pressed me to define any of these words, I could have only said, "You know, Nazis. Hitler, the Gestapo... you know, Nazis!"

This colloquializing of fascism, and its association with the cultural shorthand for pure evil, makes it very hard to discuss as an ideology, because even using the word, "fascism," sounds both hyperbolic and like a punch below the belt. To call a person, group, or idea "fascist" is to exaggerate for the purpose of dragging them.

Counterintuitively, this prevents us from criticizing fascist groups, even though most everyone agrees fascism is terrible, because, saying it, you sound ridiculous. You’re talking about Indiana Jones villains. So I'm going to be using the word, "fascism," kind of a lot in this video, hoping that we can semantically satiate it just enough that its connotative meanings - irreverent sarcasm and the envisioning of stormtroopers - are dulled to the point that we can talk about fascism as a system of beliefs, and as a mode of political organizing, and about who practices it today.

Our work necessitates a conversation about fascism; specifically, white fascism.

(Fascism, fascism, fascism.)

I. Fascism

Central to fascism is the belief that some people are more deserving of power than others, and that society’s appropriate structure is a hierarchy where increasingly smaller groups of betters rule over the lessers. This is not unique to fascism; this is the organizing principle of many social systems.

The difference between systems is whom each hierarchy says should be at the top. In a feudal monarchy, the top is the king and his family, and they get there by royal bloodline. In a capitalist free market (*cough*), people earn their place at the top by success in business. In fascism, the ones at the top should be “us,” whomever “us” happens to be, and they should get there by any means available.

The most succinct definition of fascism comes from Roger Griffin: “palingenetic ultranationalism,” a wonderful term because it fits a great many ideas into only two roots and a bunch of affixes, and a terrible one because both words need definitions of their own. (That’s not how efficiency works, Rog!)

So, OK: Palingenesis is the idea of rebirth, with some frankly Biblical overtones. The word “palingenesis” is used to refer to reincarnation, or the remaking of the world after Judgment Day. In terms of fascism, it is the notion that “we,” as a unified people, are ancient, that our former glory has waned, and that we are due to rise again. The implications that this rebirth will come by purging the world in fire with boiling seas and a blood-red sky are not entirely accidental. It is the granting of “us” with mythological importance.

Nationalism is, in the broadest sense, thinking of oneself through the lens of national identity. A single person holds a lot of identities: White, male, gamer, New Englander, cyclist, sports racer, and so on. Nationalism is the lens through which thinking of oneself as, for instance, American, is distinct from being Canadian, Liberian, Chilean, and that putting stock in this distinction is desirable. This can play out a lot of ways: Nationalism can be a colonized people forming an identity distinct from the ruling class and arguing that this people should have its own state, as in the American or Haitian Revolutions; Black nationalism has argued, at times, that Black Americans, while coexisting with other Americans, should maintain a distinct identity rather than be assimilated into white culture; and where Black nationalism has also sometimes argued for the repatriation of Black Americans to African nations, white nationalism typically argues that whites should have a nation of their own, not by returning to Europe, but by removing non-whites from the US (something Native Americans have opinions about). This would be an example of ultranationalism: The emphasizing of national identity as among the most, if not the most, important.

(These are not rare traits, and I want to stress that it is not the presence but the confluence of them that gives fascism its character.)

So, palingenetic ultranationalism: The belief that the nation is of the utmost importance, that the people running the nation should be a narrowly defined “us,” and that “we” should rule because it’s, more or less, our destiny.

The religiosity of this framing is intentional. Most hierarchical systems will make some case for why society should be structured a certain way: The king has been groomed for his role since birth, Steve Jobs did real good at the business factory. Fascism suspends the need for explanation: We belong at the top because we just do. Destiny. When pressed, fascists will offer pseudo-rational justifications for why they should be in charge which fall apart under the barest scrutiny, but debunking these claims is largely ineffective because, while they follow the cadences of reasoned argument, they’re operating on the level of emotion, faith, and a sense of belonging.

There’s a reason fascist regimes rely heavily on propaganda: Propaganda traffics not in arguments but in symbols. For the Nazis, it was the German soldier; for the Soviets, it was the worker. Propaganda relies on inspiring imagery that evokes cherished aspects of the culture, like the family or the countryside - “the babe in his cradle is closing his eyes, the blossom embraces the bee” - and ties those images to fascist ideals - “but soon, says a whisper, arise, arise, tomorrow belongs to me.” All of this is meant to make one swell with pride in such a way that it’s very hard to think about what is actually being said. Racist caricatures of Black and Jewish people - or whomever is “not us” in a given system - serve the same purpose by evoking hatred, or fear of what might happen to “us” if “they” were in control.

Jason Stanley calls this “affective override,” the moment where emotion shuts down critical thinking. If you’ve ever had a conversation with a conservative about, like, healthcare or something, and after a few exchanges they’re chest-beating about how “this is the nation of freedom and choice, the greatest nation that ever was, and I’m not going to let you take from me my god-given…” you’ve seen this in action. Fascism depends on this passionate fervor because it can’t convincingly pretend to be rational. The reason why one particular “us” should be at the top of the hierarchy, or why there should even be a hierarchy in the first place, is arbitrary. It’s that way because a particular “us” wants it that way.

II. Authority

We usually associate fascism with the image of state violence, be it the punishing of The Other, the policing of citizens, or the conquering of other nations, and, while this is almost always the case, fascism is not, as a rule, militant. In practice, fascists are not authoritarians or pacifists. For that matter, they're not capitalists or anti-capitalists. They're not statists or anarchists. They're not monarchists, oligarchists, or plutocrats. They are Whatever Puts Us In Power-ists.

For instance: Capitalism is a hierarchical system, and so fascists will often try to influence policy such that the capitalist hierarchy starts to resemble the desired fascist one, but only until the point that it stops suiting their needs. The “us” of fascism is always defined by essential qualities like race or heritage, qualities that don’t change. A poor person can become less poor, but a Black person can’t become less Black, so, no matter how biased and stratified capitalism becomes, so long as it is still technically possible for someone from the lower classes to rise above their station, there will come a time when fascists must leave capitalism behind in favor of a system fully without social mobility.

Similarly, if fascists have the ability to take governmental control through nonviolent means, they will often do so - remember, Mussolini took power in a coup but Hitler was elected. If democracy and nonviolence can be put to fascist ends, they will be. But instituting a system that benefits the few while the many suffer and where, by design, no one suffering is allowed to improve their situation, might as well be writing ad copy for guillotines, and that’s how you get the SS. So, yes, fascist power trends towards authoritarianism because, on a long enough timeline, it will be the only way fascism can maintain itself.

But, also, fascists and authoritarians think power, brutality, and subjugation are sexy in more or less identical ways, so, while not all authoritarians are fascists, most fascists are authoritarians. And state violence is often a way of getting people invested in a hierarchy that doesn’t directly benefit them: “You may not be at the top, but if you’re somewhere around the middle, we can employ you as military or police to keep the lower classes in line.” Many people will relinquish their rights to fascists in exchange for being “the arm of the law,” and, the more powerful the state becomes, the more vicarious power they get to wield. So long as they’re not at the bottom, they have some investment in the system continuing as is, because it authorizes them to fuck people up.

The other way fascism justifies itself to the masses is to insist that the only alternative is death. “We are a great and noble people with an illustrious history, and if we achieve our fated rebirth we will form the most glorious nation in all of history and take our rightful place as world leader, and if we fail we will be eradicated.” There is no in between. “They are coming for us, they are everywhere, we can beat them, but this is the only way.” Race war is the usual go-to, claiming Black people are savages and razing our cities to the ground is their nature, or that they want revenge for slavery (which, I mean…). Sometimes they go with a Jewish conspiracy as revenge for the Holocaust. Or both at the same time. Right now Islamophobia’s in fashion. Each depends on downplaying slavery or the Holocaust or the Crusades as the horrific acts that they were, insisting that the crimes are greatly exaggerated by history, because these are all pretty damning counterarguments to “us” being the greatest people who have ever lived.

III. Whiteness

Race is like gender and money: It’s real, but only because we make it real. But fascism necessitates the belief that whatever makes “us” us is not only extremely real, in the biological and/or spiritual sense, but that people can be ranked by it. And, when stacking the hierarchy, white fascists put themselves at the top. So: What is whiteness?

The short answer is that whiteness is whatever it needs to be. Whiteness was created to differentiate one people from the people they were oppressing. Whiteness is a means to an end. The people most fixated with the definition of whiteness are racists, but there is no anti-racist definition. Racists invented whiteness, and all white people are folded into it.

And the way white people conceive of whiteness is fundamentally different from how they conceive of other races. A common example of this phenomenon is Barack Obama: Obama had one Black parent and one white parent. But, while he can call himself the first Black President, he could never call himself a white President. (Or, well, he could call himself whatever he wanted, but white people wouldn’t agree, and no one would treat him like a white President.) White people are only white if they’re purebreeds, or if non-whiteness is far enough back in their family tree that one can pretend it isn’t there. These rules of purity don’t apply to other races: When Black and white people have children, those children are allowed to be Black, or any number of (often racist) terms for mixed-race children. But, whatever they are, they can’t be white.

This frames interracial families as an increase of one race and a decrease in whites. So, by this logic, where other races spread, whiteness has to be maintained.

White people don’t consider whiteness a race; it is the absence of race. The undiluted form of which all other races are deviations. And, if it goes, it can’t be brought back.

This is, of course, nonsense. It’s a bunch of made-up rules to justify white supremacy. There’s only so long fascists can insist, “If we don’t strike first, they’re going to kill us all,” before people start to notice that the race war they’ve been promising for a century doesn’t seem to be happening. So, then, the terms have to be updated: Now the existential threat is a generational project. Now Black people even existing near white people is the race war. They’re literally going to fuck us out of existence.

And, because whiteness is made up, it can be endlessly redefined. A tension inherent to fascism is that rather a lot of people are required to bring it into existence, but, by design, only a small number of people will run it once it exists. So, commonly, the definition of “us” is broadened while building coalitions, and gets progressively narrower the more fascist society becomes.

White fascists in the US and Europe go back and forth on whether or not Jewish people get to be white. For a while it was kiiiind of a soft yes, and now it’s tipping the other way as they gain influence. Ethnic groups formerly considered non-white, like Italians and the Irish, became white when white culture feared marginalized immigrants might ally with slaves in revolt.

Bigotry is intersectional; there aren’t a lot of single-issue bigots, people who hate Mexicans but fight for everyone else’s rights. People generally don't apply this hierarchical thinking to just one aspect of their lives. So - commonly - racism is comorbid with anti-Semitism is comorbid with misogyny is comorbid with transphobia is comorbid with homophobia is comorbid with religious intolerance. I mean, just listen to a Klansman talk about Catholics sometime, or, better yet, don’t. Any marginalized group may be inducted into the tribe to consolidate against a common enemy, but, should that enemy be defeated, the inductees become the new enemy.

We can see the history of social progress in the US as successively disenfranchised groups demanding and, sometimes, gaining their rights one by one, with reactionaries trying to beat back the tide. Transphobia is recently rampant in fascist circles and conservative politics because, with the legalization of same-sex marriage, the battle against homosexuality is thought to be lost - or, at least, at a ceasefire. This gives some cause to welcome gay transphobes into the ranks. But, should they seize enough power to strip what few protections trans people have gained recently, and the alliance is no longer useful, their gaze refocuses, and it’s last hired, first fired for the homosexuals. And then the African-Americans, and then the women, and on and on, stripping rights from social groups in the order opposite to which they were gained, like the plot of Final Destination 2.

IV. Goals

You might be thinking the endgame here is a nice, homogenous group of white men to sit at the top of the pyramid, and the white fascists would be thinking the same. But, in reality, there is no endgame. It’s not like, if the fascists get their ethnostate, they’re just gonna call it a day. It’s the flaw in obsessing over racial purity: Whiteness is defined by what it’s not. If it isn’t contrasted with something else, it ceases to be an identity. So, if the whites kick all the non-whites out of their country, suddenly the Irish and Italians aren’t white anymore. And then maybe the albinos, or the brunettes, or the Virginians, it doesn’t matter, the rules are made up. One way or another, the pyramid grows thinner.

The authoritarian mindset is one that just likes stripping rights from people. Leave authoritarians no one to strip rights from and they start stripping them from each other. (And yes, that’s what the research says.) The other outlet for this restless energy is war, invasion, colonization: Deport all the Mexicans and then follow them into Mexico. Go seeking an Other to define yourself against.

You’ve maybe noticed that these three drives - the seeking out of conflict, the need to subjugate more and more people, and the shrinking of one’s base of power - is not a recipe for success. Most hierarchical systems seek equilibrium, finding the point where the masses are just happy enough that they don’t disembowel you. But the trajectory of fascism is to make enemies, cast out allies, narrow the gene pool, and stuff your ill-gotten wealth into the military until you’re fully stocked with the kinds of weapons that ensure mutual destruction.

I’m not the first to say: white fascism is a suicide cult.

The history of fascism is one of atrocity followed by failure followed by disgrace, so modern fascists operate in a cycle of constant reinvention as they try to distance themselves from movements that came before. The ideology doesn’t change, but the rhetoric does, primarily by stealing rhetoric from the Left, because it’s, flatly, more popular. White nationalists calling themselves “identitarians” is an appropriation of progressive identity politics. The rhetoric of “white power” is an intentional bastardization of Black power movements. Even the Nazis, while installing a dictatorship, knew to call themselves socialists, and, despite German antifascism being formed predominantly by socialists and the first death camp being originally built to throw communists in, some people still believe this?

This appropriation of rhetoric is how each generation of fascists rebrands itself. “We’re not like those fascists who got hanged for what they did; we’re young, hip, and successful! Come back, baby, it’ll be different this time.”

V. The Administration

So, with all this explanation of what fascists believe and how they operate, I hope it’s clear that there is no workable definition of fascism that does not include the Alt-Right. They are, to the letter, a white fascist movement. That’s neither a diss nor an exaggeration, it’s a simple statement of fact.

So, then, to ask the trickier question: “Is the current administration fascist?” And, well, that depends on where you draw the line between “fascist” and “opportunist.”

Consider the evidence: The administration has staffed multiple fascist figureheads. It’s repeated a number of fascist slogans. It employs a nationalist thinking in which the nation should always get more out of any deal than the other participants. It holds the hierarchical belief that the President need not follow the same laws as the citizens. It relies on fear and demonization of a racial Other and portrays their mere presence in society as an invasion. It permits and makes justifications for violence against dissenters. It threatens to strip rights from opponents and members of the press. It relies on nostalgia for a mythologized past to sell a narrative of cultural rebirth. And its followers are intersectionally bigoted against women, the poor, Muslims, Black people, trans people, and queer people.

The only hesitance I feel around saying “this is fascism” centers around intent. How much of what they do and say do they believe in, and how much is just riding a wave of fascist sympathy to fuel a narcissistic lust for power and ram through policies that make them rich? But, ultimately, while there is some tactical value in this distinction - you have to deal with an opportunist differently from a true believer - in most contexts, the difference doesn’t matter.

Many will just tell you, “The correct term for ‘Nazi sympathizer’ is ‘Nazi,’” but if you won’t take that leap, consider this: Even if they have no particular plan or aptitude for creating a fascist government, any body in power that uses fascist rhetoric, lays the groundwork for future fascism, and empowers fascist movements needs to be at least viewed through the lens of fascism. Whether or not they’re fascists in their hearts is a question for historians. Whatever they are, they are, some percentage of the time, doing fascism. And, for our purposes, that's all we need to know.

#video essay #the alt-right playbook #alt-right

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harryglom · 5 years

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Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?

One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.

The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.

Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?

She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.

Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.

Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.

"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"

This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.

"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"

She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?

Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.

"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.

"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."

She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."

I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for a moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grown too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Silvery upon the leaves, beams of gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis.

I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

#queer fiction #new poets corner #new writing #original writing #original story #short story #short tales #mental health #positive mental attitude #mental disorder #actually ocd #writers #weird fiction #weirdart #im weird #excerpt from a story i'll never write #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpt from a book i might write #excerpts of stories

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muggle-writes · 6 years

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Stretch Thursday

Prompt: "In front of the protagonist, the grocery store clerk just packed several large glass bottles on top of the eggs. The protagonist hears them crack."

Constraint: write in first person

(I vaguely knew how this was going to end, but everything between the first paragraph and the actual prompted moment, and then most of what came after, surprised me on its way out of my fingers.)

Gods above, could this checkout line move any slower, I wondered. Sure, there were only two people in front of me, but the haughty swaggering lump of a human being in front was questioning everything, in search of a nonexistent bargain:

(readmore should be right here but it's not hey tumblr please build a functional app ever maybe?)

Why didn't you accept this week-out-of-date coupon? Why did that coupon only apply to one package of frog eyes, not four. Are you sure this naga skin rucksack isn't on sale? I'm pretty sure the sign said it was on sale. (the leather shoulder bag in a similar size was on sale.)

The poor clerk - Ashley, their nametag said, a pin on the lanyard instructing people to use She or They pronouns - was the only person on checkout duty in the early afternoon. She seemed flustered, but answered every single question in the same patient, even tone of voice.

I wouldn't be able to do that. Actually, when I worked in retail, I got fired from three different jobs for intimidating customers when they started acting like that. Like just because they cleared out a nest of giant rats on the outskirts of town or prevented a band of goblins from establishing a camp in the caves just across the river, that they're entitled to luxury and hero worship, or at least special privileges, from the rest of us. Thank goodness I finally got a job with the local theater, my talents in projecting illusions finally celebrated for dressing the actors up with "no effort" (on the part of the makeup team, not that I don't stretch my magic as far as it can go and then some every night at rehearsal and for hours at a time eight days straight when our shows are open to the public, to turn the bright-but-plain frocks into resplendent ball gowns and every other bit of nonsense that was asked of me). And that's so much better than when I was viewed with suspicion by peers and teachers alike because apparently creating tiny intangible dragons or silent fireworks and lying about my character are the exact same thing, who knew?

I reeled that train of thought back in. There was no need to be bitter about high school bullies considering I'm now living the (pre)Broadstreet dream, and most of them... Well, even the "successful" ones still work ten hour days at tedious office jobs to keep the heat on and the wards up.

The one thing that bitter spiral was good for was that by the time I forced it out of my head, Ashley was calling "have a nice day, Sir" in the same perfectly-bland tone at Mr Cheapskate as he stalked off, carrying three bags on each arm and leaving his cart half-blocking the checkout lane.

He nearly got blown off his feet as he stepped from the store's heat and calm across the ward line, a generous two feet outside the door, into the frigid wind the meteorologists were calling a sneak peek into the blizzard that should hit this weekend. Good riddance.

I met Ashley's eyes as they tapped the rune to pull the items on the conveyor belt forward. I rolled my eyes sympathetically at her forced smile and dead-exhausted eyes. (Not literally dead! Apparently my brain was stuck in high school again because I could almost hear Mrs Primfoot growling about teens and their inability to describe things accurately. Come on. The zombie revolts in Rhodesia were fifteen years ago, and hyperbole is hilarious. Do people just lose all sense of humor when they turn 30?)

Ashley didn't roll their eyes back, she probably worried about losing her job over disrespecting customers in front of other customers, but their lips twitched and their smile seemed a little less stiff.

"Just these two things?" Ashley asked, with professionally-faked curiosity, picking up a large carton of eggs to scan them. "Eggs and milk to wait out the blizzard?" Eighteen goose eggs was a bit much for waiting out a two day storm, even for a bigger family, but some people liked to overprepare. Gods knew I'd seen weirder purchases when I had to check people out. I'd seen weirder people too. This woman, with her sapphire blue, floor-length dress and gray roots belying her dark brown hair, appeared absolutely normal, even with her curls adding at least two inches in height, making her appear barely shorter than me.

"Those are golden goose eggs," the woman corrected her in a syrupy sweet tone that sent a shiver down my spine. Ashley's eyes widened - probably in recognition because they'd been too professional for anything else, but I wouldn't have blamed her for expressing horror. The only customers worse than the adventurers who thought they were better than everyone else, were the governor's many cousins, who were obscenely rich through none of their own effort and not only thought they were better than everyone else but that we were all too naive to understand that.

"For my sweet niece's fourth birthday," the woman continued as though it were obvious.

I couldn't hold back a snort and immediately faked a coughing fit so she wouldn't turn and lecture me in that same patronizing tone.

Even if a dozen golden eggs wouldn't cost me over a month's wages, the yolks, with the flakes of gold leaf suspended throughout, gave them an awful texture no matter how you prepared the eggs, and they inevitably tasted metallic. No toddler would appreciate that, not even if she was already spoiled so rotten as to only accept the priciest of gifts. Well, if the kid was allowed to smash the eggs raw and then go "panning for gold" she would probably have a blast, but something about this woman's perfectly symmetric makeup, smooth, manicured nails, and shockingly hairless arms told me that she would accept nothing less than the most picture perfect cuisine, which meant she was likely to boil the golden eggs so she could present them, polished to the classic shine.

Regular egg yolks turn chalky and disgusting when you boil them, boiled golden eggs are infinitely worse.

Ashley didn't respond beyond a mild "ah, of course" as they efficiently double-bagged the eggs and set them aside.

The woman made a vague disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, but didn't say anything.

Ashley reached for the next item, the package of six tall carafes that I was now sure were something other than plain milk. Sure enough, when Ashley picked up the package, their hand moved in an arc, as though the carafes weighed less than they expected. The additional height caused the yellow light from the enchanted ceiling to dance across the bottles, drawing my eyes to the anti-theft runes stamped on each one.

Suddenly I recognized them. If I were going to blow an entire paycheck on luxuries, I certainly wouldn't buy the two or three golden eggs I could afford with that amount, but I might splurge on a set of these corruption-identifying bottles. They were supposed to be equally good for home canning, for jams and pickles and the like, and for potions. the not-quite-clear, milky white glass promised to turn sickly green if the contents of each bottle went bad, or if poison was added, intentionally or otherwise, or if the properties of the potion inside changed even if it was still safe to drink.

As Ashley was starting to tuck the bottles into a new bag, the woman cleared her throat. "Dearie, I'm sure those will fit in with the eggs. No need to waste another bag."

Ashley hesitated. "Ma'am, it's Magemart policy to bag fragile items separately and"

"It's fine, it's fine," the woman interrupted. "There's only two items, and I don't need all this extra plastic.

"Of course, Ma'am," Ashley agreed, monotone. They opened the top of the bag of eggs, which had folded itself shut.

As Ashley tucked the bottles into the bag with the eggs, I thought I heard a sharp clink, like glass on glass. Odd, but whatever. maybe one of the bottles is loose in the package. and ran into another.

"This is your total," Ashley said, straightening up and indicating the display. Either the lack of reading the final price was another breach of policy or there was a clause in the policy about not reading numbers with more than four digits aloud. I don't remember exactly, my own job at the Magemart closest to my apartment lasted barely three days, the shortest of any of my retail jobs.

The woman swiped her credit card, and was just tucking it back away into her wallet when one of the carafes exploded with a tinkling crash that seemed to echo for ages. I flinched at the sudden noise, and Ashley jumped back with a yelp, unflappable facade forgotten.

We all looked at the fluorescent green shards for a moment. I couldn't quite believe my eyes - either I'd badly misunderstood how CI bottles were supposed to work or there was something really horrendously wrong with those eggs. Besides just being golden goose eggs I mean. All of the other bottles had dangerous green cracks spreading throughout, and another looked like it might fall apart into thousands of shards like its fellow at the slightest provocation.

Almost before I had processed what I was seeing, the woman had rallied enough to shout in Ashley's face, leaning over the counter. "What the devil did you do?"

Ashley cowered, silent tears building at the corners of her eyes. They still looked stunned, frozen in place.

"Hey!" I shouted, feigning confidence and trying to get in this woman's face to protect a fellow cashier. She ignored me. "You were the one who told them to put everything in one bag!"

That got her attention. It wasn't quite what I meant to say, but I was having trouble figuring out what I meant to say, and that slipped out in the meantime.

"And you want to defend her for what? Selling me defective goods?" the woman demanded, equally happy to yell in my face. At least I'd kind of gotten into this knowingly. "CI bottles don't work like that! Or if this is some new function, then that means these golden goose eggs are poisoned or spoilt and they shouldn't be selling them to me!" she insisted.

"What do you expect her to do?" I asked, meeting her continued shouting with a tone that I would call 'panicked' but that Sierra once called 'dangerously quiet'. "How should she have known? Is she supposed to spend her shift finding any magical item that might interact with other things, and taking it around to set it on every other item it might possibly be bagged with, to make sure there's no unexpected interaction? Should they be doing that instead of checking people out, while they're on the clock?" I tried to make the scenario obviously illogical but I think I rambled too much to get the point across.

The woman only squinted at me for a long moment before putting her nose half an inch from mine and shouting even louder than before, "I! Want! A! Manager!"

I wiped spittle off my face, and she stamped her foot, which seemed to be the impulse needed for the second and third bottles to shatter, with another echoing crash.

Someone in line behind me muttered about a manager, before rushing off. ...Probably. I didn't exactly turn to look, with the woman still glowering in my face. Hopefully they ran off to get a manager who would take this belligerent lady out of my and Ashley's faces.

Fortunately, that's exactly what happened. A manager showed up to talk to the woman right around the time she started making threats, and Ashley and the line of people waiting to check out shuffled over to a new register without glass shards everywhere.

We all kept our positions in line, so it was finally my turn to check out. My heart was still pounding from the confrontation as I handed Ashley the bag of moonstone chips to scan.

They offered me a weak smile. "Illusion magic? Isn't that really hard to learn?" Ashley asked, with a tiny but genuine spark of interest in her eyes.

I nodded before I fully processed the second question, already fumbling for my company credit card. "I work hard at it," I said, stretching the truth a little. I certainly didn't have the usual trouble developing the basics, but I push my limits near-daily at the theater and stumbling out of my comfort zone proves to me that I can do more.

"Will that be all," Ashley asked, but tapped the appropriate button on the register before I could reply, my card already poised over the place to swipe it being answer enough. "Your total is 10.53," she said, the next line in the cashiers' script that I still unfortunately have memorized.

They skipped the part of the script asking me if I wanted a receipt, just grabbed it when it printed and scribbled a quick message on the back of it, before finally presenting it to me, holding it out with the handle of the plastic bag with my moonstone inside. "Here is your receipt Ma'am."

I grabbed both, gently, and before I could pull my hand back to look at the message, she flipped her hand over to grab mine.

"Hey.... Thanks," they murmured, then let go.

I flashed her what was either a reassuring to smile or a pained grimace. Hard to tell from inside my own face. "Cashiers ought to be allowed to yell back at people like that," I said. "I'm glad I could get her attention off you."

Ashley opened their mouth to respond but the person behind me in line cleared his throat, and she turned to him, professionally flat expression back in place.

I flipped the receipt over to read what Ashley had written. It was her phone number and the message

I get off at 5. May I treat you to coffee?

I pulled out my phone to text her a yes, and fumbled putting the basket back into the stack for future customers twice before I paused typing long enough to focus on putting the basket away.

I wasn't really bothered by my klutziness. For once my hot head earned me a hot date instead of a hot mess.

#stretch thursday #well i started this on thursday after work #feedback tentatively accepted #muggle writes #muggle originals #writing from prompts #long post #i've tried to add a readmore but they don't seem to work on mobile #i'm not so certain about the ending but i needed to be done #listen it's 3am and I need to be done proofreading and I'm 95% certain there were more things I wanted to fix and I can't find them #if you think I didn't fullfil the prompt please read the prompt again i made sure to quote it directly #hmm what's the tumblr magic key to skip a post?#press j to skip #?#k and j are up and down in vi but there's no guarantee it's the same here #also that still only helps for people on desktop who presumably have xkit anyway

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96thdayofrage · 6 years

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Here’s a little secret. It’s going to sound obvious and trite, but I don’t think it is. You be the judge, by the end of this essay. Liberalism and conservatism won’t get to social democracy, but America’s — and the world’s — choice is social democracy or collapse. Sounds absurdly, almost childishly tautological, doesn’t it? And yet one of the most fundamental myths that many of us believe is that “progress” comes from pitting “liberalism” against “conservatism”, over and over again, forever, like beating a head against two brick walls. Somehow, these two poles, in opposition, we’re told, lead societies forwards— only no one really examines how, or why, or even if. We just believe it. But is it really true?

What’s going wrong with the world is in a way very simple to understand. Huge surpluses have piled up at the top of the global economy. So vast that there is nothing left to do with them except pile them up offshore, hide them like buried treasure. These fortunes have been earned, mostly, by doing nothing of benefit to societies, people, and the planet whatseover — merely exploiting all three ruinously. Without a way for those surpluses piled up at the top to find themselves back in the hands of the average person, discontent, rage, and fury will continue to grow, as people lose hope, faith, and belief in their systems, societies, and futures. Those sentiments and passions will fold back upon themselves, becoming extremism, fanaticism, fascism. That way lies a new dark age.

All this is precisely what happened in the 1930s — the only thing that has really changed is that nations aren’t indebted to each other, so much as average people are indebted to a class of hidden, shadowy ultra-rich, who have come to own the critical systems and structures in entire economies. That imbalance produces just the same social tensions, though, as during the 1930s — fury, panic, a sense that people are just barely hanging on, redirected at the easiest targets, the powerless, who are then scapegoated, hunted, and demonized.

Hence, the world needs more social democracy, and it needs it now. Societies like America that don’t have it, which have never had it, need to develop it in spades. Societies like Europe that do have it need badly to strengthen and recommit to it, maybe even to rediscover its values and principles, which is what I’d say the Gilets Jaunes protests are really about.

Now. The question is this. If the world needs more social democracy, then can liberalism and conservatism get it there? It’s pretty easy to answer this question, and I’d bet you already know the answer, even if part of you fights against knowing it, so let’s think about it anyways.

Which country never joined the global movement towards social democracy, that roared across rich countries after the last world war? America, of course. America’s politics, uniquely, remained stuck, split, in a weird, binary way, between “liberals” and “conservatives” — mostly because America was clinging on to old notions of supremacy, still institutionalized in segregation, which ruled out any kind of social democracy absolutely.

So what did decades of binary liberalism versus conservatism accomplish for America? Did the dialectic lead to progress? Not at all. It led to stagnation. The answer to what did liberalism and conservatism achieve for America is: precisely nothing. Less than nothing, in fact, one could argue. This is the point at which Americans will cry, “there goes Umair! Being hyperbolic again!!” Ah, but am I? What does the evidence say? The average American’s life isn’t more prosperous today than yesterday — it’s less so. Life expectancy is falling. His income is less than his grandfather’s. He’s broke, though he works longer hours, at a less stable job. Suicides are soaring — and maybe he himself is giving up on life. Who could blame him? He faces bizarre, weird, and gruesome problems, like his kids being shot at school, and having to beg strangers for money for healthcare online. He spends sleepless night wondering he ended up impoverished, despite playing by the rules — maybe not quite understanding that the rules were designed to exploit him.

Decades of liberalism versus conservatism didn’t lead America forward — they turned it into a surreal, bizarre dystopia. The empirical reality of American living standards is this: they haven’t risen during our adult lifetimes. They’ve imploded, to the point that Americans live lives of indignity, shame, fear, and rage. That’s vivid evidence that liberalism versus conservatism accomplished precisely nothing for Americans. (Nothing positive, that is. They accomplished plenty of wasteful, stupid things. Fake wars. Tax cuts for the rich. Weird “market-based” healthcare systems that worked for no one. Bailing out banks. And so forth. They accomplished a lot — for capitalists. By siphoning off everyone else’s money, power, and possibility.)

Why didn’t liberalism and conservatism lead to progress? Well, because in America, they converged to two flavours of largely the same thing — “neoliberalism” and “neoconservatism.” Neoconservatism was a little more trigger happy, always ready to start a war, and neoliberalism was a little more utopian, but their foundational precepts didn’t end up being very different. Wealth would trickle down. Trade should be free, but movement shouldn’t. A person’s worth was how much money they made. And, most crucially of all, given these first three — society must never, ever invest in itself.

Hence, this fatal convergence of “neos”, of liberalism and conservatism to the same lowest-common-denominator, produced modern American dystopia: a rich society of impoverished people, a powerful one of powerless people, a generally decent one somehow ruled by bigots, fools, and ignoramuses. It’s a place in which people are quite literally left to fend for themselves, as best they can, with zero support, investment, care, or consideration. In fact, Americans are taught from the day they are born that caring for their neighbours, society, planet, or even themselves, is something to be scorned: a moral weakness, a social shame, a cultural crime, and an intellectual mistake.

Yet despite all that, many — maybe most — Americans are emerging social democrats. They might not know it — but when 70% of them want public healthcare and debt-free education and safety nets and so forth, that is precisely what they are. They don’t know it, at least many of them, because American pundits and intellectuals act like it’s still 1962, and act as if social democracy never happened, still pitting “socialism” against “capitalism” in a Cold War that no one really won — unless the wrecked state of America today means “winning” to you. So Americans are emerging social democrats despite the tremendous stigma, misinformation, and baffling stupidity that’s become commonplace in America’s public sphere — which is a good thing.

The problem is that while many Americans are emerging social democrats, nobody, really, represents them. The GOP obviously doesn’t — it represents the poor deluded fool who wants to rewind to 1862, more or less. But neither do the Democrats. They are still focused on the same old half-baked, ill-thought-out “compromises” of neoliberalism. For Democrats, markets still trump public goods, social investment, and national institutions, every single time.

But that is precisely why liberalism and conservatism can’t get you to social democracy. Neither one has any interest whatsoever in rewriting a social contract that isn’t severely compromised. Both quite happily put profit before people, capital over society, money over meaning, accumulation before justice, speculation before investment, concentration before distribution, and the same old hierarchies above genuine equality. But what we’ve seen in America is the ruinous consequences of these beliefs — they are mistakes, which lead nowhere but downwards and backwards. Yet how can two ideologies which believe in all the same mistakes at root make any progress?

Let me put that more bluntly. Liberalism can free you — and conservatism can protect you — if you’re a rich white dude, sure. But what if you’re a poor white dude — or an even poorer brown woman? What good are “self-reliance” and “personal responsibility” to you? What if you’re a family who’s a member of the people formerly known as the middle class — does being able to buy little a Johnny a cheap Chinese-made toy, aka “free trade”, make you any better off when you can’t give him decent healthcare or an education? If you’re any of these people — which is to say, 90% of society, at this point — then you need investment in you, by everyone else, and everyone else needs just the same thing. You need healthcare, education, retirement, a decent job, savings, a sense that your life matters, that you belong, and so forth — but you can never have any of those unless everyone agrees to provide them to everyone else. The other 10% — the capitalists, the dynasties, predators, and so forth — aren’t ever going to give them to you, except at the cost of everything you will ever make, money, time, ideas, imagination, life savings. That is precisely the trap the average American is in today — why he is broke, going nowhere, stuck, and losing hope.

Do you see my point yet? Let me make it clearer. The fundamental beliefs of liberalism and conservatism, their mistaken and impoverished priorities and notions, mostly boil down to the same thing, in slightly different ways. Only the strong should survive, eliminate the weak — everyone will be better off! Exploitation will lead to prosperity for all! (Hence, time and again, soon enough degenerate into outright violence.) If one person in a society has lots of money — then we can call the whole thing a success!!

LOL. These are not just strange and foolish beliefs, my friends — they are also obviously false ones. Nobody much was made better off by enacting them. America is vivid proof of the failure of both liberalism and conservatism, and the unworkable compromises they forge. Both are now badly obsolete — maybe they worked in feudal, agrarian, or industrial societies, to better the relative lot of some, at the price of others, through things like slavery, segregation, and today’s predatory capitalism, but that work having been done, they will not work any longer in this century.

At this point, a better, fairer, wiser social contract is precisely what the world needs, or else. Or else what? Or else climate meltdown, inequality, extremism, fascism, and various flavors of collapse and implosion do. To make that point clear, let’s look at America again.

The result of relying on liberalism and conservatism as the sole engines of forward motion that progress in America is stuck, stalled, that America is in stalemate. But stalemate means collapse, because societies need ongoing tending and cultivation, just like a garden. Yet maybe no further progress is possible at all, without a genuinely social democratic movement. And whether or not the Democratic Socialists are such a thing still remains to be seen — because they seem to be focused more on pie-in-the-sky ideas than simply proposing an American NHS, BBC, or retirement system, imitating what works, improving upon it. That’s OK — they’re young, and they haven’t studied the world enough yet. Time will tell if that familiar American arrogance comes to be their undoing, too.

The lesson is very simple. Liberalism versus conservatism ends in collapse, via stalemate, not progress. It’s one of the most fundamental myths that we believe, perhaps, is that progress is only ever the result of these ideologies “compromising”, or “battling”, or “debating.” But it’s not true. Liberalism and conversatism do indeed compromise — in fatally impoverished ways. By making it impossible for people to make shared investments, for societies to measure anything other than money, by assigning life, work, being, no inherent worth, purpose, or meaning, they reduce and abstract away what matters, and privilege and protect exploitation — of people, of democracy, of nature, of the future, of life — and in that way, settlements between them are compromised things to begin with. Both are altogether too comfortable with, reliant on, exploitation to be engines of prosperity in a century where abundance can no longer come so easily from exploitation. All that is what the American example proves, in no uncertain terms.

The greatest discovery of the 20th century was social democracy. Prosperity with a minimum of exploitation, of violence, of domination. All those things are human moments, chances, possibilities, that can be put to better, wiser, truer use. It is just that simple. That insight, that breakthrough, is what made decades of peace, progress, and stability possible, and led to the highest living standards in human history. Yet it’s equally great lesson, which we are still struggling to learn, wasn’t that the future is made by pitting liberalism against conservatism. It was that the future is made by transcending both, and building societies that can invest in themselves, in order to overcome and undo the old ways of violence, dominance, and control, with true freedom, equality, and worth.

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mrpotatobrown · 6 years

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73. DREAMS come true

3... 2... 1... Blast Off! And the drawing’s Done. I’m most of all happy with how fast I doodled it out using Microsoft’s free ‘Notebook’ drawing/writing software on my Tablet, and that’s truly down to the app’s accessibility. Could I have used more powerful sketching software? Yes. Would it have resulted in a better drawing? Probably. But trying to juggle layers in Sketchbook or fight with the insufferable clunkiness of Photoshop is just something I don’t enjoy facing, and so I’ll stick to my quick simple doodles. And I’m happy with that.

Because making it all result oriented can sometimes destroy the enjoyment of the process, (not that I’m saying a result isn’t important, rather the journey is equally crucial) and I openly admit that I sketch away on Notebook because I enjoy it for many of the same reasons I adore writing: It’s the fastest way to get my ideas down.

Throughout my entire childhood, my imagination was fast and fickle, Ideas rushing in faster than I could output them, which resulted in a short attention span on any projects that took longer than, well, a sit-down. And so when a tool pops up that allows me to get ideas down faster, which potentially cuts out that “Photoshop” middleman, it ALWAYS draws my attention, especially if it yields the same high-end results.

But, as a filmmaker who wants to dabble in music, Game design and anything and everything, these tools seldom pop up. Sure, everything’s most certainly become more user-friendly, especially with such game engines like ‘Unity’ and ‘Unreal 4′ now becoming freely accessible, cutting out a lot of Dev. time/hurdles. But these advancements have never articulated in the form of tools that make animating, game design, music and everything in-between feel as intuitive as the sketch I did above on my Tablet or the essay I’m plonking out on my keyboard as we speak (or read).

Until recently, most notably announcements of an upcoming Tool made at the last Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3).

But let us jump back a moment for there’s an origin to this great new tool; an earlier iteration that’s celebrating it’s Ten-year anniversary right now, a birthday I’m personally celebrating with the way it changed games/creativity forever. I know that sounds hyperbole, but trust me when I say this comes from the most Sincere place in my heart, a heart that yearned throughout my entire childhood as I stuck together simple stick men levels in Alien Hominid (Ps2, 2004) or laid out cookie cutter racetracks in RC Revenge Pro (Ps2, 2000) for the game I speak of next brought that childlike wonder back into my heart. I’m speaking of the warm, fuzzy, ambitious and very successful:

Released Ten years ago by Media Molecule (also known as Mm), a small team compiled of such visionaries like Alex Evans and Mark Healy which was founded in 2006*, their first outing on Ps3 from a distance looks like a simple fabric styled platformer. But sown (excuse the pun) deep into the fabric (sorry) of its very roots were creative ideas that grew larger than life.

* 2006 also being the year they released ‘Rag Doll Kung Fu’ which was the first third-party game to be distributed on Steam. Their progressive thinking was there from the start.

The articulation of these ideologies can be best expressed through Mark Healy’s early foray into game development when he programmed titles for the Commodore 64 (Console, 1982, also known as C64). The C64 was the Guinness Record champion for most units sold at 10-17 million units, a record laid to rest with future consoles such as PS2 hitting over 155 Million. Yet, in recent interviews, Mark has spoken of those open source tools that allowed him to create with relative ease, and how as future consoles rolled out into people's homes which ended up selling more and more with each passing generation, that accessibility to create was lost. I mention the word ‘accessibility’ like a broken record because that’s the very word Media Molecule seem to have as their unofficial modus operandi. It’s their very soul!

And it was this very soul that was poured into their 2008 juggernaut, Little Big Planet (Also known as LBP), which was teased far earlier than it’s release (to my impatient frustration); I saw the announcement perhaps a year before, the game post-phoned, but I had a taste of the potential and it was the only thing my heart called out for every day leading up to its release*. Finally, a game that gave me the tools to make my very own games.

* This part was actually true. Extreme? Sure, but I was stuck on an Farm growing up so it was the light in my tunnel.

The Puzzle Platformer’s official slogan was “Play, Create, Share”, basically boiling down to a Gaming Youtube with the tools ready built in. Here’s a cute 10-year-old trailer that best expressed this warm fun collaborative charm and it’s progressive stance on creativity (as well as one of the funkiest Game soundtracks from recent memory). You could make levels with ease, publish, get “views” (in this case, plays) and “likes” (expressed through Hearts) and then surf Mm’s servers to play other's creations. The first worry expressed by Critic’s was that no one would want to make levels, but Youtube as a creative platform was already the monolith of proof that this was not the case; people wanted creative output, and once the game was released with Metacritic scores averaging around 95% the Game sold well and the coMmunity was born.

The creative tools were easy to grasp but hard to master, the layers of ways to utilise them for more complicated contraptions and professionally polished levels took time to learn; fumbling around to mediocre results might draw you to the conclusion that quality couldn’t be obtained, but Mm cleverly put those anxieties to rest by including a campaign that was built exclusively with those very same tools. You had no excuse apart from “lack of practice”, and this pushed the coMmunity to make all kinds of contraptions from Mm’s physics-based engine, including someone building a fully functioning Calculator (the Creator even allowing you to fly around Jet-pack style to see how complicated the mechanisms were; turns out, very).

LBP 2 built on that success, implementing a new refined tool called ‘Logic’ (among other improvements) which was an array of different microchips with simple functions that could be wired together to essentially ‘code’ objects to do your bidding. It was deceptively simple and never bogged down the ease that was at the heart of LBP’s Creative tool-set. The step up between games showed up past ‘peak’ coMmunity created inventions (namely the previously mentioned calculator) as bare-bones in what you could achieve with this new instalment.

I poured hours into these games, playing every LBP sequel; the future iterations were handled well by Sumo Digital (LBP 3) and Tarsier Studios, Double Eleven and XDev (LBP Vita). Mm also produced the Bafta-winning Vita/Ps4 Tearaway which I’m part way through now, enjoying endlessly in an attempt to fill the void till their next highly anticipated game.

For once again they’ve teased a pipeline title which the public await with bated breath; their next instalment in their Creative franchise (and the very reason I’m writing this article) doesn’t just build on their previous efforts of community-based tools but fully realises them. They finally made what I and many others have always wanted, a Gaming engine with the ease of drawing; a level creator that’s as simple as me typing on this keyboard; the true Youtube of gaming:

I love the LBP franchise a whole lot (still play it now), but whatever I built always felt a construct of ‘LBP’; the most approachable expressive tools I’ve ever used still restricted by the 2.5D realm of Sackboy’s recognisably cloth based world, and while you could creatively open up the borders to reveal new perspectives and ways to make games there was always the nagging feeling that you weren’t truly making YOUR game, you were making a game for Mm. This wasn’t their fault, and it’s not like you could point at any other accessible tool to exemplify these faults, because Mm was leading the charge, and still are. But this upcoming release of their new title aptly named Dreams (Beta 2018, full release TBA) shows with ease that Mm doesn’t just continue to lead this push forward, but are doing so with such an extent as to potentially shake up the gaming industry; for you truly are now making YOUR game.

Strong words are easily backed up with results I’ll show further down, but the final hurdle on their next instalment’s success isn’t just the quality or function of the final output (which Mm shows with confidence on their near-weekly streams and collaborations with other gaming developers via Twitch/Youtube) but with how the market will react to it, or if they even will react at all considering a relatively quiet reception in the wake of AAA games like Red Dead 2 and other heavyweights.

But before we discuss that further, speaking of a game like this with mere words doesn’t really do Dreams justice. I’ve watched nearly every video they’ve released across this last year so here are, in my opinion, the videos that best exemplify what their upcoming game/tool has to offer:

Trailer (TGA 2017 Trailer), which is the shortest of the bunch, quickly highlighting the general feel and look of Dreams.

Game Informer’s playthrough of campaign levels, which is fantastically demoed by Veteran Mm founder and C64 programmer Mark Healey.

A run through of fun bite-sized levels made by their team, showing off the astounding variety and how each level flows into the next like a Youtube playlist.

And should you choose to watch only one of these videos, choose this next one; Game Informer’s Rapid-Fire Q sesh (with other Mm Founder Alex Evans), which isn’t just informative but should also be commended as creative and engaging journalism at it’s finest, running at the speed of a scripted TomSka Sketch* (It should be noted that Game Informer has been hitting it out of the park over the last month with their fun and insightful cover of Dreams).

* ’TomSka’: a popular Youtuber, famous for the ASDF Cartoon sketches and his fast and frentic comedic sketches. He’s done much, and with such a consistently recognisable style and tone across all projects it could be argued he’s an auteur, which excites me greatly that Youtube can own such a phrase and that ‘auteur’ could also translate to the users on Dreams (the platform I indulgently want to be referenced coining the term ‘Youtube of Gaming’. I’ll stop saying it when everyone else starts.)

TL;DR to sum up those clips: Dream’s works. Not just in regards to it building on LBP in every conceivable way (especially in being fully 3 dimensional) but also being easier to use, with motion controls utilised to essentially free-mould the level around you, and the jump between creative and playing being even more seamless; I was previously going to link three individual videos, title-ing them ‘PLAY’, ‘CREATE’ and ‘SHARE’ respectively, knowing there are such videos that focus on each aspect out there (shown at this year’s E3), but the Videos linked above demonstrate far clearer how the boundaries between those three different worlds are getting harder and harder to define; less “Play, create, share” and more “placrehare”... which isn’t as catchy but you get the idea.

Above: Picture of the Mm Team taken by Game Informer during their visit.

Everything about this game covers all aspects of game creation, even in terms of building a CV the defines your best skills (Animator, Modeler, Musician etc.) and then allowing you to allocate different roles to different creators (if you so wish). Objects/characters/music/levels etc. can be shared and remixed, creating a library of never-ending stock objects which either help fill in your weaknesses or set up a foundation to build on. Everything is built around a coMmunity which is so heartwarming considering an industry which, much like the film industry, is very clicky and “who you know”.

To prove how Mm appose this, and help highlight their deep-set sincerity, online creators from some of the finest levels on LBP were later hired by Mm to work in their company on future projects based on how well they grasped the tools. Mm recognised them for their talents and allowed these artists to flourish, artists who may have never broken into their dream profession without that much-needed step up.

This harks back to that phrase I’m trying to coin: “A Youtube of Gaming”. Film-making has gotten far more approachable over the last 10 years with equipment becoming progressively more affordable and every PC/MAC coming pre-loaded with editing software. The ability to share with ease online has helped many Video creators land roles in the industry or even create their own*.

* Youtube channels FreddieW (now named Rocketjump) and Corridor Digital (founded by Niko and Sam) springing to mind; their effects driven action/comedic shorts is what made many even consider film-making as an option (they even put out free tutorials/BTS) and their channels frequently collaborate with each other, other channels and even known names (Smosh, Key and Peele, and Jimmy Kimmel to name a few).

And so this is what makes Dreams so special; a chance to lower down the industries’ impenetrable defences and highlight player’s hidden talents with a tool that’s grown beyond ‘making levels for Mm’s games’ and matured (while retaining its essential charm) into a fully fledged game engine*.

* Many of you might think I’m counting eggs before they’ve hatched; understandable, but even if the game came out as a mere shadow of it’s intentions (which at this lately developed stage I doubt considering their showcases), the idea is already there. With VR and motion controls improving across all platforms there will doubtlessly be an imitator who can pick up where they left, improving from their failures. Failures I believe unlikely due to Mm’s track record of achievement and future support (they’re very involved with their CoMmunity, hence why I’ve placed a Mm in every use of the word CoMmunity (not my idea btw, Mm do this themselves)).

But more importantly than this future engine’s apparent depth is it’s accessibility, which cleans the slate of any straight up coding (LBP’s ’Logic’ is still there in spirit), rubs away clunky creation and puts all the tools under one roof with a platform to share and collaborate on. An infinite world of infinite creations that you can join your friends to play, Sofa sharing or online, streaming through playlists or creating, new content or remixed, in infinite combinations with infinite flexibility with an accessibility that has been unheard of until this game/engine.

Above: Front Cover Mm did for Game Informer’s November issue, which was created entirely within Dreams.

Which brings me to why I’m writing this article. I’m not writing extensively of the tools you can use, I’m linking other journalists’ work and mostly speaking of Mm’s past and what their new game could mean; so what’s the function of this? Well, as mentioned earlier, their success on something so CoMmunity led will be based on how the CoMmunity utilise it, which first and foremost means they need a CoMmunity to start with. And as also mentioned earlier, I think the reception for this game is relatively quiet compared to larger AAA games; this feels wrong to me in so many ways, as Dreams with the right support could literally shake up the gaming industry and influx a new wave of creative talent, showcasing an entourage of new ideas; a French New Wave of Games but, well, British (at least in origin). And I want this to be heard. I’m writing this article because I want to support them, in an attempt to build awareness. Because I want them to succeed. For their success will change so much in so many innovative ways.

When I saw all this beautiful creative potential oozing from their E3 trailers earlier this year something inside me changed. It wasn’t a new feeling, not at all, rather a familiar one; one I missed. It was that childlike wonder I had so long ago; that awe and glee when I watched the announcement trailer for LBP; the many days I sat scribbling and doodling on the floor as a child in those long stretched out Summer holidays; those 3 hour long GCSE English Language exams where I would write out whatever story popped into my head (honestly, only exam I ever enjoyed). Those are some of the happiest days of my life: pure unchained creativity with seamless tools.

Finally, those days are returning. Finally, I can be a child once more. And hopefully, so can you <3

#blog #blogger #news #writer #writing #gaming #gamer #game #2018 #Dreams #media molecule #playstation #ps4 #LittleBigPlanet #little big planet #Mm #Future #Potato #writerblr #writers on tumblr #E3

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thebrierpatch · 6 years

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“I realize there is something I have known for some time but have never said, and, since I have just spent another 4 hours of my life in climate change academia I have to get this out of my system.

Please understand that many you reading this won't live to an old age... and likely will start scrolling after one or 2 more paragraphs... (edit...Ok I was wrong on this point. This is now my 2nd most shared post of all time..(edit)...make that my most shared)

The IPCC report and Paris accord are incredibly overly optimistic and that commits the world to a target that means the death of hundreds of millions if not more.

But it is worse than that.

Even the commitments made by countries in the Paris accord don't get us to a 2 degree world.

But it is worse than that.

The 2 degree target is now unattainable (unless the entire civilization of the world doesn't do a 180 today...) and is based on geo-engineering the climate of the earth as well as the sequestering of every molecule of carbon we produced over the last number of years and every molecule we are producing today and every molecule we produce tomorrow.... these technologies that don't exist wont exist and even if they did would likely cause as many if not more problems than they fix.

But it is worse than that.

The 2 degree target of the IPCC does not factor in the feedback loops that such as the increased albedo effect caused by the 70% loss of ice in the arctic, The release of methane from a thawing arctic. (there is more energy stored in the arctic methane than there is in coal in the world). This is called the methane dragon. If the process of the release of the methane, currently frozen in the soil and ocean beds of the arctic, which has already begun, spins out of control we are looking a an 8 degree rise in temperature. (this ignores the scientists that don't see this feedback stopping and ends up resulting in the world oceans boiling off and earth becomes Venus...but I digress.

But it is worse than that

The report which give us 12 years to get our head's out of our arses underestimated the amount of heat stored in the world's oceans by 40%... so no , we don't have 12 years.

But it is worse than that.

The IPCC report ignores the effects of humans messing up the Nitrogen cycle through agricultural fertilizers and more... Don't go down this rabbit hole if you want to sleep at night.

But it is worse than that.

Sea level rise will not be gradual. Even assuming that the billions of tons of water that is currently being dumped down to the ground level of Greenland isn't creating a lubricant which eventually will allow the ice to free-flow into the northern oceans as it is only the friction to the islands surface that is currently holding the ice back coupled with the same process is happening in Antarctica but is also coupled with the disappearance of the ice shelves which act as buttresses holding the glaciers from free flowing into the southern ocean we are not looking at maintaining the 3.4mm/yr increase in sea level rise (which incidentally is terrifying when you multiply it out over decades and centuries. We will be looking at major calving events that will result in much bigger yearly increases coupled with an exponential increase in glacial melting. FYI Alberta is going to need a pipeline... just not for oil. More likely for desalinated water from tidewater...

But it is worse than that... We can no longer save the society that we live in and many of us are going to be dead long before our life expectancy would suggest.

If your idea of hope is having some slightly modified Standard of living going forward and live to ripe old age... there is no hope. This civilization is over...

... but there is hope.. There is a way for some to come through this and have an enjoyable life on the other side. Every day we delay can be measured in human lives. There will come a day of inaction when that number includes someone you love, yourself or myself.

So we have 2 options. Wake the fuck up. If we do we will only have to experience the end of our society as we know it aka...the inevitable economic collapse which is now unavoidable, but be able to save and rebuild something new on the other side. This would require a deep adaptation. Words like sustainability would need to be seen as toxic and our focus needs be on regeneration. Regeneration of soil, forest ocean etc.... This is all possible.

Option 2 is the path we are on. Think we can slowly adapt to change. This not only ensures we experience collapse but also condemns humanity to not just economic and social collapse but in a 8 degree world... extinction.

I am sick of pipeline discussions. I am sick of any argument that is predicated on the defeatist assumption that we will continue to burn oil at an ever increasing rate. Fact is if we do we are not just fucked, we are dead. I am sick of people who don't understand how their food is produced, and its effect on the climate.(both carnivores who eat feed lot meat and vegans who eat industrially-produced-mono-cropped-veggies as they are equally guilty here as the consumption of either is devastating). I am sick of the argument that our oil is less poisonous than someone else's. Firstly, no it isn't and secondly, It doesn't fucking matter. I am sick of people that can't even handle the ridiculously-small-only-the-tip-of- the-iceberg of the changes we need to accept; the carbon tax. I am sick of my own hypocrisy that allows me to still use fossil fuels for transportation. I am sick of those who use hypocrisy as an argument against action. I am sick of the Leadership of my country that argues we can have economic growth and survivable environment... we can't. I am sickened by the normalizing of the leadership of our Southern neighbour who as the most polluting nation in the world officially ignores even the tragedy that is the Paris accord. I am sick of the politicians I worked to get elected being impotent on this subject. Naheed and Greg I'm looking at you. (BTW...Druh, you are an exception) I am sick that the next image I put up of my kids, cheese, pets or bread is going to garner immeasurably more attention than a post such as this which actually has meaning... I am sick about the fact that all the information I referenced here is easily discoverable in scientific journals but will be characterized by many as hyperbolic.

I am especially sick that my future and the future of my children is dependent on the dozens of people that saw this post, said there goes Marc off the deep end again and chose to remain ignorant of the basic facts about our near future.

There is a path forward. But every day we delay the path forward includes fewer of us. Build community, build resilience, work for food security, think regeneration, plant food producing trees, think perennial food production, eat food that does not mine the soil and is locally produced, eat meat that is grass fed that is used to provide nutrients to vegetation, get to know a farmer or become one yourself, park your car, do not vote for anyone who either ignores climate change or says we can have our cake and eat it too, quit your job if it is fossil fuel related, stop buying shit, Stop buying things that are designed to break and be disposed of, let go of this society slowly and by your own volition (its better than being forced to do it quickly), rip up your lawn and plant a garden with veggies, fruit bushes, fruit trees and nut trees, learn to compost your own poop, get a smaller house on a bigger lot and regenerate that land, plant a guerrilla garden on a city road allowance, return to the multi-generational house, realize that growth has only been a thing in human civilization for 250 years and it is about to end and make preparations for this change, teach this to your children, buy only the necessities, don't buy new clothes-go to the thrift store, don't use single use plastic or if you do re-purpose it, unplug your garberator and compost everything, don't let yourself get away with the argument that the plane is going there anyway when you book a holiday, understand that there is no such thing as the new normal because next year will be worse, understand before you make the argument that we need to reduce human population ... meaning the population elsewhere... that it is not overpopulation in China or India that is causing the current problem... It is us and our lifestyle, Understand that those that are currently arguing against refugees and climate change are both increasing the effects of climate change and causing millions on climate refugees... which will be arriving on Canada's doorstep because Canada will on the whole be one of the last countries affected, understand that the densification of cities is condemning those in that density to a food-less future. Stop tolerating the middle ground on climate change. there is no middle ground on gravity, the earth is round, and we are on the verge of collapse.”

Via Marc Doll

#words #thoughts #if you read one thing today make it this

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orribuontheinternet · 6 years

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Depression and Drawing.

When I was a young lass (I want to say around 7-8 years old), I saw my biological father drawing something while he sat on the porch. The details are fuzzy, but I do remember it being an equine of some sort. He was working in ink. Watching him was so fascinating that I decided that I too wanted to be an artist. To be able to imagine something and put it to paper was a foreign concept to me, one that I was excited about. Oddly enough, my first ever drawing was of an intangible concept: an emotion. I forgot why little me was so knee-deep in sadness at the time, but I remember doodling a self-portrait of a sad, crying baby Olive while holding back my tears. Underneath (or around, I can't recall) was a caption that kind of stated the obvious: "Olivia is sad." When I think about that moment, I wonder if that was a form of foreshadowing since I suffer from...well, Major Depression. But we'll get back to that later. I think this drawing was spawned from a conflict with my siblings, but I can't rightly recall. I do, however, remember that someone tore the picture to pieces. Then came the waterworks.

I want to pause for a second and let you know that I'm going to try not to throw a pity party. I'm not going to whine and stuff this note with melodramatic hyperbole. If you can stomach an emotional artist digging deep into her head and making her introspection tangible, I encourage you to keep reading. If not, I respect your decision to stop.

To segue on to a brighter note, I started drawing in elementary school. I remember the exhilarating feeling of finishing my work. My proudest moment, aside from a (not) Sonic-themed powerpoint, was a storybook I made in fifth grade. It was a flip book of some sort, and very colorful. I think it had something to do with James and the Giant Peach considering it was a book report. But that was an impression I left. Olive, the artist. This carried on into middle school, where I first discovered anime thanks to an art teacher who had the magic VCR/TV cart we 90s kids remember fondly. He showed us Princess Mononoke, one of Hayao Miyazaki's well-renowned works. It was um...horrifying. The film scared the everloving shit out of me, but I was intrigued by it. There was something really cool about the way the people looked, far different from the Ms. Frizzles and Rugrats I came to know. It captivated me, and when I got over the stomach-churning blood and guts the movie presented, I strove to attain that cool aesthetic. I was always doodling during my classes and lunchtime and recess. People came to know me as that kid that draws. Some of them flocked to me and asked me to doodle something for them. It was annoying in hindsight, but at the time it brought me immense pride. People were interested in something I was doing! This development boosted my motivation; I drew picture after picture, happily sharing it with anyone who was interested. It was invigorating! Then high school happened, and I realized I wasn't as amazing as I initially thought I was. In 2006 I was accepted into the prestigious Philadelphia Highschool of Creative and Performing Arts (henceforth shortened to "CAPA," as to avoid the apparent mouthful of syllables). I attended with a major in visual arts, which I took alongside my core classes, i.e., math, science, and English. The first few months were humbling, to say the least. I took ceramics, graphic art, and observational drawing. During this year, I also discovered the magic (to a 15-year-old anyway) of Naruto. That was my biggest obsession since the Dragonball Z/Rurouni Kenshin/Outlaw Star/Big O/etcetera days. Where I used to make "Dark Sonic" characters and the like, I made a step towards creating a world of my own. Thus, after a painful defeat in an original character tournament, I decided it was time to start harnessing my writing and narrative skills, as well as my drawing skills. And so I strove to improve, even with those dents in my pride. It became something I was proud of, almost an obsession. I wanted to share it with the rest of the world, so I went for it.

(The first piece I’ve shared with the internet via deviantART.)

This is where my real artistic journey began. When I started, I had no idea of how mentally, physically, and emotionally tolling this would be. Half the time I've made things way more difficult than they've needed to be: sleepless nights, crouching over a desk, risky investments that granted little to no return and thus resulted in me digging myself into a deeper hole of debt, periods of psychological agony–I've experienced a great deal since I started creating these...things. In my naivety, I envisioned making money off of my creativity, having fun, meeting fans around the world, and hitting up cons like those really cool people I follow on the internet. I started comparing myself to more celebrated, experienced artists, to the point where I'd cry out of eye and earshot and wonder why I can't be as good as them. Why can't I be as skilled, or successful, I'd ask myself. This is when I should have realized that the Depression I suffer from has a voice. It'd tell me that I'd never amount to anything, let alone reach that level of expertise and fame. It was painfully merciless and cruel, and I was its punching bag. I'd start wondering what the point was and why I should even try to engage in this creative expression. Then, something tragic happened:

I realized I was falling out of love with it.

I didn't feel the same exhilaration I'd get when I finished something as simple as a little scribble. I didn't feel the warm burst of energy that I felt when I'd make a breakthrough. I desperately scrambled for something–anything–that would rekindle my love for creating again. Then, after some introspection, I decided that I wanted to try for animation. It had always fascinated me during my time in grade school, so I did some research and even wrote a thesis about animation and why it inspired me. To an extent, the passion I have for the arts did come back a little, but it was just a spark. When I started college, I was reluctantly proud of myself. I started dreaming big again, thinking about how amazing it would be if I could create my own animated series and bring my narratives to life. And so, the dreams of being able to support myself and my family returned to the forefront of my mind, again. While I hopped and skipped through my first year at uni, I built a lot of friendships I never thought I'd have after a painful summer season. I thought back to how I tried and failed to start an art team and decided to go for it again. And thus, after planning gatherings and messing around with my friends, Exploding Fairies was born!

(Old Exploding Fairies logo.)

The Depression and my wounded confidence, however, wouldn't allow for anything to go past casual hangouts and being a nuisance to my teammates. Everything boiled down to three things:

1) I was unwilling to relinquish control of any of the facets of the alliance and our stories. To me, the story we worked on was my baby, and only I would have a say in whatever developments occurred. 2) I lacked the leadership and communication skills to collaborate with my partners effectively. 3) Considering the nature of my requests, I SHOULD have been paying my partners as an incentive. I lacked the money to compensate them for their time and talent adequately. I could very well be painting myself in a horrible light considering how terribly influential my depression is to my self-esteem.

(The image above is by @cucoo.)

(Concept drawings of Dan’s actual identity.)

However, exposure and companionship don't necessarily pay the bills. Besides, I was still a "nobody on the internet!" I may as well have kicked sand in their faces. At least, that's what the disease told me. I grew bitter towards the world when Homestuck and a traumatizing anime gained the admiration of my friends. I became green with envy, wondering why my work didn't win such affection. That summer, I went into overdrive. I started an original character tournament of my own and gained a considerable following. I even found love again!

After a busy three months, I jumped into my second year of college. This is when I finally collapsed under the weight of my mental ailments. Week after week, I stressed almost hyperbolically to the point where a single mistake could mean the end of the world to me. I officially started as an animation student (the first year was mostly core studies with elective and liberal arts on the side), and I wanted to bring my A-game to the forefront. I was going to wow everyone with my knowledge of technology while I navigated through the hills and valleys of my second year. I got to take a course in digital 2D animation, the media I've had my eyes on since I started my college career. Everything just hinged on whether I could manage my workload (I took 18 credits). Apart from the building stress, financial troubles, and impaired health, everything seemed fine. That notion, however, was shattered when I lost my progress on a 2D animation assignment. It was all over. All of that hard work that I put in (without saving, no less) was destroyed by a corrupted file. I didn't have a backup file ready for such an occasion. Admittedly, it was my fault for letting my guard down. I should have known better as a geeky artist! To me, there was no way I could ever recover from that. I was an idiot and a crappy artist anyway! I was a failure! I was nothing! All of the horrible thoughts that my sickness cataloged was thrust into my conscious mind, impairing my ability to reason. Devastated and afraid, I called my crush and opened up about what happened. The pressure finally cracked me, and she had to talk me down from attempting suicide.

The turn of events affected everything, from my focus to my ability to complete my assignments. My crush advised me on what steps I should take while moving forward. I was hospitalized to prevent any harm I could bring to myself. I really DID want to escape from the unbearable pain my sick mind caused me. Eventually, I had to contact the dean of students and was referred to an affiliated therapist. After conversing with him and the dean, we all decided that it'd be best if I were committed to an outpatient program to start on the road to recovery. Fast forward to 2012 or 2013, when I completely lost faith in myself as an artist, and thus, my love for art. I didn't think it'd happen, but I hit what I conceived as rock bottom. I swore off drawing. It didn't bring me joy anymore, and why continue dabbling in something that I'd never be good at?

Unfortunately, the resulting slump turned out to be thicker than I'd imagine and I entered a state of deep depression. I rarely got out of bed, I overate and sometimes didn't eat at all, I never picked up a pencil or opened photoshop, never reached out to the people who I knew and who loved me...I was virtually dead to the world. Some good things happened that, in hindsight, I should have cherished. For starters, my crush became my girlfriend, and we lived together in an apartment in Center City. I was too smothered in the fog to show my appreciation and love for her adequately. She loved me and loved my work, which in turn brought back my passion for creating. If I couldn't financially support myself with my art, the least I could do is bring her joy and feed her imagination.

(We both love semi-horror and anime, so our roleplays took that direction.)

Sadly, thanks to the disease even something as precious as her happiness wasn't enough. When I look back, I can see the hurt in her eyes, but during the time I had such horrible tunnel vision and was so disappointed about things not working out with my art that I couldn't sense that. Me, a self-proclaimed empath! My desperate greed and envy were my downfall, and I limped my way down the artsy-fartsy road. I'd draw fan art and create fan comics, only to become bitter about either the lack of replies or patrons on Patreon or the perceived disregard for any personal ventures I took.

I did my first convention at Anime Impulse back in 2015, and after a pretty bad time in the artist alley, I swore off drawing again. I remember nights of staring blankly at the computer screen, smashing Command or Control +Z and ultimately throwing my stylus down, closing photoshop, and crying out of frustration. I remember pulling my hair and sobbing when I faced rejection. It was an incredibly painful time for me. That's not to say I still don't experience that now as I totally do, but something happened this year that strengthened my stride.

I posted something on Tumblr earlier this year about my frustration when it comes to creating art. It was specifically about how I get stuck in the "polishing" phase of building a webcomic page, but when I look back, I can actually attribute it to art in general. I became a "perfectionist." Nothing was impressive enough to finish or release, and I'd wind up with more works in progress than finished ones. My morale just kept dipping lower and lower, and finally, when picking up a webcomic project that I started more than a year ago, I vented my frustrations. To this, my crush, who became my fiancé some four years ago, replied with this:

"You polish because you’re not confident with your work because you're in an evolution phase. Fear holds you back. So you go back and edit. And edit. And edit. So stop the cycle. Kill the fear by not letting it have time to take hold."

Her words of encouragement and insight changed my perspective in ways I've never expected. It was almost like it triggered an epiphany or a breakthrough in my mind! I was reminded of her love and faith in me! With that came a ray of hope, that I could try again, and this time, throw my fear-induced caution to the wind! While my depression still has a voice and beats me down from time to time, I realize that it's just scared. I realized that when Brittany and I sat down and played through Celeste together. I related it to my sadness and anxiety surrounding art, and now I'm slowly getting back on my feet. I can't displace the blame and "use" my mental ailments as a scapegoat. I can't come up with excuses to give up on what I do. There is SOMETHING in creating visual media that breathes life into me.

(I started learning to let go.)

Looking towards the future, I hope I can look back on even these trying times and remind myself of where I was and how stronger I've become because of it. I'm still struggling with comparing myself to others and crashing into creative and motivational blocks, but someday I'll rise above it all. Besides, I should be doing it for me, right? The external validation should just be the topping on a sweet sundae.

That's why I keep drawing, in spite of the voice's apprehension. We're going to get through this together, I promise.

#personal #tw: sucide mention #art #mental health #depression

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a-salty-alto · 7 years

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Tony Stark, Served Well Done

[A/N]: This is my fill for the “Hansel and Gretel” square on my Fairytale Bingo card. It was interesting to write, because I don’t usually write full AUs, much less in first person. I hope you like it!

Tony

I always knew this is how I was going to die.

Now you might be thinking Oh, Tony, you’re being hyperbolic, “eaten by a witch” is a weirdly specific way to go, there’s no way you could have expected it.

Yeah well, I’m not.

Ever since I stepped foot in this school I’ve known something like this was going to happen.

Okay, let me backup.

Hi, my name’s Tony Stark, soon to be dinner.

I’m a junior at Shield Highschool. Now, most people in town who don’t go here think that we’re just a bunch of stuck up genius snobs who get away with whatever we want.

That’s not true.

Well, the genius part is true, obviously, I go here. And so does Bruce, and Sam, and Natasha’s scarily good with computers and of course Jan and Bobbi- and I’m getting off topic.

Anyway we’re all actually a group of barely-functioning hot messes. If it isn’t exams, it’s school clubs, homework, the fact that none of us get enough sleep because we have to get up ass-early in the morning to get here on time, everyone’s got something to worry about here. We don’t have time to be stuck-up.

My current worry is the large boiling vat I’m dangling over.

Right, right, moving on. So, as Principal Coulson will tell you, if you’re in the mood for ten minutes of him waxing poetic about what the school, Shield High was built on top of a potter’s field, which is a mass grave for unmarked bodies.

So yeah, school’s literally built on top of a pile of dead bodies of spirits that are probably pissed they never got a proper burial.

The first time I heard that little tidbit, my immediate thought was “some idiot is going to bring a Ouija board here and get us all killed.” It was joke, but I still called it.

So, it was after school, and I was hanging out with the D&D club that my friends and I formed with the help of the BEST PHYSICS TEACHER EVER, Mr. Yinsen, when suddenly the lights went out, a draft picked up through the school an an unearthly screech ripped through the building.

It was pitch black, so, naturally, we pulled out our phones to have some sort of light.

Natasha put her phone to her ear.

It couldn’t have rang more than once before she took it away again and shook her head.

“I don’t have any signal.”

At that, everyone else immediately started checking their phones too.

“No wifi,” Jan announced.

“Landline isn’t working either” Mr. Yinsen sighed

“This can only mean good things.” Clint muttered.

“Why don’t we take a look around?” Steve said, because he’s a giant innocent puppy dog who’s probably never actually seen a horror movie.

“Are you crazy?” Sam practically screeched. “No.”

“Rogers, what are you a, dumbass? This whole scenario screams demon attack.” Rhodey added..

“C’mon don’t we at least want to be in a room with actual, you know, windows? It’s only 3:30 in the afternoon, even if it’s cloudy, it’ll be more light than in here.” Brucie Bear suggested. It seemed like a good point. Mr. Yinsen’s room doesn’t have any windows, which makes the room darker. Even if we did walk into a monster movie, a you’d think a better lit room would have to help right?

WRONG! Oh so wrong, because as it turned out the sky had become, as Clint so eloquently put it, “a fucking bloodbath of hatred and death.”

Instead of the soft gray clouds and light snowfall that would be expected this time of year, the clouds were a hard black, and the sky was a deep crimson occasionally split in two by the crack of thunder and a lightning strike.

Like any sane person, we immediately tried to nope the fuck outta there, but the windows weren’t opening up and it took us exactly 5 minutes to realize we were very lost. In the school most of us have been attending for a little over 2 years at this point.

“Well, fuck.” I announced, because really, what else was there to say? I’m not sure if anyone else had noticed it, but the speakers which usually pumped terrible jazz music through the halls instead were playing a heaving breathing sound. I didn’t really feel like pointing it out to anyone at that moment, though.

“So. What do we do?” Clint panted.

Steve immediately took charge. I don’t remember what he said exactly, I may have been too busy staring at him as he got that stubborn look in his eyes and went into full protective mode and his eyebrows scrunched up just so and UuuuuggGgGHHhhhhhh.

Okay, so I might have a slight crush on Steve. You don’t get to make fun of it, I’m about to be boiled.

Anyway so, I wasn’t exactly paying attention but I got paired up with Natasha. I have this habit of aggressively hoarding snacks in my backpack, so I gave some to each of the pairs. In theory we’d each head in a different direction and follow the food trails back to where we started.

As Natasha and I made our way up the stairs and somehow ended up in the basement, we heard moaning. Immediately we shared a look and then ran after the voice. Who did we find but none other than Justin Hammer.

Now, Justin is a prick, but even he didn’t deserve the sorry state we’d found him in. He was pale, clutching his arm, and he had a black eye.

“Stark. Romanoff,” he grunted, as if the words hurt to say.

“Yeah, it’s us.” I helped him up and slung his arm over my shoulder.

“Justin, do you know what’s going on here?” Natasha asked taking his other arm. We shared a silent look and agreed that we should take him back to the meeting point.

“I was playing Ouija.” he said.

A few hours ago neither of us would have believed we were having this conversation, but now, the evidence was kind of hard to refute.

“Aren’t you not supposed to do that alone?” I said. “Or in a place where people are buried?

“Justin, what kind of spirit did you summon?” Natasha asked at the same time.

Yeah, Nat was probably asking better questions than I was. I decided to leave the interrogation to her.

“A witch,” Justin whispered.

“And what does she want?”

“Him.” Justin said shifting his head in my direction.

“Wait, I’m sorry, what?” I yelped.

“When I summoned her, she wanted to eat my soul, but I knew you’d be here with your nerd club, and she said she wouldn’t eat me if I got you for her.”

“Shit.” Natasha said, and we dropped Justin like a sack of potatoes.

It was too late though. High cackling laughter erupted from around us. Suddenly, an invisible force knocked me into a wall, and everything went dark.

When i came too again, i found myself in my current predicament, tied up and dangling upside-down over a vat.

“More sage.” A voice from the shadows called out, and a very grumpy Natasha was pushed in the direction of the pot.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” i yelled. I like to think I was somewhat intimidating.

The witch just laughed though, and practically glided over to me. I don’t know what she looks like other than she wears a dark robe with the hood covering her face.

“Ah, Iron Man, I’m glad to see you’re awake.” She said, placing a bony hand to my cheek. “This is such a lovely little universe that buffoon called me to. You Avengers all have the same delicious spirit, but none of the pesky toys or skills.”

“I’m sorry, it might be the blood rushing to my head, but that doesn’t make any sense.” I bit back. Avengers? What was she going on about? “And if you just want to eat my soul, why do you need the pots and spices.”

The witch laughed again. “Oh, I want you to suffer. You’ve all wronged me, but you, Tony Stark sealed me away, so you get to feel being cooked alive. Your friends’ punishment is getting to watch.”

With that, she glided back to her corner, silently watching the two of us.

“So, Nat. Don’t suppose you can convince her I’m not fat enough to eat?

***

Steve

This isn’t good. I’m back at the meeting place, and Rhodey, Jan, Clint, Bruce, Sam and Mr. Yinsen have all made it back, but Tony and Natasha are nowhere to be found. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t an artist, because I can picture very clearly what it might be like to find the two of them ripped apart by whatever was causing this.

The school has seemingly become its own dimension. The hallways send you to completely different floors, the walls randomly become soft like flesh, and strange voices everywhere. Creepy didn’t even begin to describe it.

Not only that, the school was empty aside from the eight D&D club members and Mr. Yinsen. No other teachers, students from other clubs, or any janitors or security guards could be found.

I’m completely out of my depth when it comes to occult stuff like this. I wish Thor wasn’t out of town for family business, he’d know what to do. His brother practically lives and breathes this kind of stuff.

“How long has it been?” I ask absently while pacing the hall.

“30 seconds since you last asked, so about 5 minutes since we our agreed rendezvous time.” Bruce says. Oops. I stop and realize the others are watching me. I’m probably worrying them.

“Ok, let’s just go look for them. They did leave a trail.” Sam points out. “Either we’ll find them at the end or bump into them as they head back.”

Right. That sounds smart, why didn’t I think of that.

“Okay,” I say, “but let’s stick together, I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

With that, everyone in the group nods and we head off after Nat and Tony’s trail. We travel in relative silence, everyone’s concern is palpable.

We eventually make it to the end of the trail in the basement, where our missing friends are nowhere to be found.

“Shit.” Rhodey curses. I feel like punching a wall, but I swallow my frustrations.

“Let’s keep going. See if we can find any sign of them.” I say. It sounds like something the leader would say, which I guess I am.

We scour the basement looking for any signs of our friends, but find nothing. At least until Clint literally trips over Justin Hammer.

The guy’s unconscious, and pale in a way that doesn’t look healthy.

Immediately, Mr. Yinsen kneels down next to him and checks him over.

“He’s breathing, but it’s shallow. He needs medical attention.” The teacher’s gaze is stern. “James, Janet, and I found the Nurse’s office while we were searching. I’ll take him there.”

“I can go with you” Bruce offers, but Mr. Yinsen holds up a hand. “No, I want you all to stay together. Find the others, then meet us back at the rendezvous point in a hour.”

“Right,” Steve nods. As we watch their teacher take off with Justin in his arms, I can’t help feeling worried.

And by that I mean I’m screaming internally.

Right. Stay calm Steve. You’re in charge. You gotta at least hide your worry.

I stick up my head, and move onward.

Eventually, we find ourselves in the boiler room, and we hear voices. I motion to the others to be quiet as we sneak through. The voices stop as we enter a room, and see Nat, with her leg chained to the wall and Tony...

Tony’s being strung upside down over a large pot.

Ok. Weird, but could be worse.

"Ah, it seems the rest have arrived." A chilling voice says from somewhere in the room. Clint and Sam scream and grab hold of eachother, but I stand my ground

"Who are you,” I definitely don’t stammer, “what are you doing to Tony and Nat?"

I actually manage to not screech when the terrifying lady appears right behind me and puts a bony hand on my shoulder. Yay me, I’m so proud of myself.

"I only wish for you all to suffer, and for his to be especially painful, and delicious." she whispers, and suddenly Tony screams as he starts dropping closer and closer to the pot.

With instincts I didn't even know I have, I grab the circular lid from a nearby garbage can and throw it.

It whizzes past Tony's head, bounces off of the wall, then another, and finally hits the lady in the face, knocking her down, and stopping Tony's descent.

I guess I meant to do that.

"Um right. Okay. She needs to be focused to do her magic. Clint, you and Jan help Nat, everybody else keep the lady busy. I’m going to get Tony down.” The others all nod and get back to work.

Rushing over to the pot, the first thing I do is try to tip it over.

“Steve.” Tony says.

It's really heavy, but Tony’s counting on me.

“Steve.”

I can’t let him down.

“Steve! It’s still on fire doesn’t that hurt?”

I look down and realize that there’s a fire lit under the cauldron and yeah, it is really hot.

But not as hot as it probably should be. Still, I jerk away.

I look at my hands and yeah, they're a little burnt but not something I can’t deal with. They’re already healing in a few places anyway.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, try snuffing out the fire first.” Tony says, misinterpretting my shock. Suddenly the rope drops some more and Tony screams again.

That weird muscle spasm that let me throw the garbage can lid causes me to jump into the air, do a flip, and catch the rope dropping Tony.

I land balanced on the cauldron, and pull Tony into my arms.

“Impressive Cap, when did you start taking acrobatics?”

“I don’t know and- Cap?” Tony’s never called me that before and Tony looks just as confused as I do.

“Uh, just ignore me. I’m not sure how long I was upside down. Probably just woozy from all the blood rushing to my head. Anyway,” and Tony looks up at me and gives a little smile, “Thanks for the save.”

I can feel my face turning beet red. I try to tug on the rope that’s holding Tony, but it doesn’t budge. Looks like I’ll just have to carry Tony while the others deal with the witch.

It’s fine. This is fine.

I can just feel my face turning beet red.

Damn it massive crush on Tony, I thought we had an agreement where you wouldn’t do this to me anymore.

I try to focus on the others fighting the witch.

Looks like Clint and Jan have gotten Nat out, and they’ve all joined in the fight.

The Avengers are all on the defensive though. We don’t have anything that will actually hurt her, and most of us can’t survive more than one direct lightning blast. I mean none of us can, we’re all humans, what am I talking about?

“Yo, Wicked Witch!” Tony shouts. Oh god Tony please don’t antagonize the angry magic lady when we’re standing over a boiling pot of water.

Still, the witch turns to us and growls.

“You!”

“Yeah, guess you didn’t get me after all. Can’t even beat me when I don’t have my toys?” He mocks.

The witch howls and lunges towards us. Somehow I know the exact moment I need to jump to make sure she smacks face first into her own cauldron.

Her screams as she boils are going to haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life.

She finally stops, and a blinding flash of light envelops all of us. A split second later, Tony’s untied, the cauldron’s gone, and Tony is suddenly really heavy.

I put him down on the ground as the others come over to us, clearly very confused.

“So, what just happened?” Clint asks, “I mean I’ve always been awesome but I don’t think I’m usually able to dodge lightning for that long.”

“It’s almost like we were actually that thing she was talking about? The Avengers?” Tony asks, turning to Nat, who gives a nod.

“Yeah. The reason the witch wanted to eat Tony was because another version of him sealed her away with alternate versions of us. Apparently in another life, we’re superheroes.” She explains.

Superheroes, huh?

“So we accidently absorbed our other selves’ superhero skills? Is that even possible?” Rhodey asks, and Sam just shrugs.

“We just fought a witch, and didn’t die. I think it’s definitely something more than just dumb luck.”

“Cooooooool. We have to try that again some time!” Jan squeals. “I want to design all our outfits.”

Everyone laughs and starts to leave, but Tony hangs back.

“Something wrong, Tony?” I ask.

“Um yeah, I just wanted to give you something better. To thank you properly.”

“What-” And suddenly I’m cut off by Tony giving me a kiss on the cheek and running off after the others.

So today, I got transported to a weird alternate dimension, my friend/crush nearly got boiled alive, I got proxy superpowers, and my crush just kissed me.

Weird day.

Not a bad one though, so I start chasing after Tony.

#capimanniversarybingo #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #highschool au #sorta #multiverse shenanignas #original villains #alto writes

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williamlwolf89 · 4 years

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57 Metaphor Examples That’ll Pack Your Prose With Persuasion

Aristotle once wrote, “to be a master of metaphor is a sign of genius.”

And the best way to master the metaphor? Devour lots of good metaphor examples!

So, we’ve compiled a giant list of metaphors from content marketing, literature, famous speeches, and pop culture to give you a go-to resource. You’ll also learn:

How metaphors and figurative language are related;

The differences between metaphors and similes, analogies, and hyperbole;

What are the six common types of metaphors;

Tips for effectively using metaphors in your own writing.

In short, by the time you finish this post, you’ll be a certified metaphor genius.

But before we get to all that, let’s answer the questions people ask most often about metaphors. We’ll start with a metaphor definition…

What is a Metaphor?

A metaphor (from the Latin metaphora) takes an object or action and compares it to something blindingly familiar, but completed unrelated.

The comparison in a metaphor is always non-literal, which makes it weirdly illogical. And yet, its meaning is (usually) abundantly clear.

For example:

“Love is a fruit in season at all times and in reach of every hand.” — Mother Teresa

Love is not a fruit; however, the meaning of the comparison is easily understood.

Here’s another example:

“She was the black sheep of the family.”

Illogical, right? But you get the meaning right away.

Okay, so that’s the definition of metaphor…

What is Figurative Language?

Figurative language is a technique that supercharges your reader’s imagination by taking a flat (or factual) statement and injecting it with life, color, or humor to make it more interesting.

It allows you to paint vivid pictures, punch home your meaning, and be more persuasive as a writer.

A metaphor is one of several figure-of-speech devices that uses figurative language.

Here’s an example:

“The first rays of sunshine gently stroked my face.”

We all know sunshine can’t literally stroke your face, but we can all relate to the sensation. The figurative language makes it more vibrant than something like, “the first rays of sunshine woke me up.”

This type of figurative language is known as “personification,” which uses human qualities (stroking) to better illustrate a non-human action or thing (the sunshine). It’s a technique often found in metaphors.

There are several other figures of speech that use figurative language, including similes, analogies, metonymy, and hyperbole — which are often confused with metaphors.

So, let’s clear that up for you…

What’s the Difference Between Metaphors and Similes, Analogies, or Hyperbole?

Similes

Simile Definition: A simile is the metaphor’s first cousin. Where a metaphor states that something is something else, a simile compares two different things by using “like” or “as.”

Example of Simile: “Elderly American ladies leaning on their canes listed toward me like towers of Pisa.” — from ‘Lolita’ by Vladimir Nabokov

Difference Between Similes and Metaphors: A simile directly compares two things using “like” or “as” (“he was mad as hell”), while a metaphor implicitly states a comparison, without intending it to be taken literally (“he was boiling mad”).

To the latter example: Obviously, he wasn’t boiling, or he’d be dead. But were he a kettle, his lid would be rattling and steam would be coming from his ears. That’s how mad he’d be!

Analogies

Analogy Definition: An analogy is a turbo-powered simile. While a simile compares two different things, an analogy explains the similarities or relationships between two different things.

Example of Analogy: “Longbottom, if brains were gold, you’d be poorer than Weasley, and that’s saying something.” — from ‘Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone’ by J.K. Rowling

Difference Between Analogies and Metaphors: While a metaphor uses words or phrases to represent an idea, an analogy uses narrative or comparisons to explain the idea.

Hyperbole

Hyperbole Definition: Hyperbole is an exaggeration that is not intended to be taken literally. It’s most commonly used for emphasis, humor, or drama.

Example of Hyperbole: “I was helpless. I did not know what in the world to do. I was quaking from head to foot, and could have hung my hat on my eyes, they stuck out so far.” — from “Old Times on the Mississippi” by Mark Twain

Difference Between Hyperbole and Metaphors: There is a gray area between the two and it’s often debated. But here are the facts: Hyperbole always uses exaggeration, whereas metaphors sometimes do.

If a metaphor is clearly an exaggeration, it can be described as a hyperbolic metaphor. An example would be, “cry me a river.” Obviously, no one can possibly shed that many tears. On the other hand, “your suitcase weighs a ton” is hyperbole (not a metaphor).

What are The Different Types of Metaphors?

Common Metaphors (aka Direct Metaphors, Primary Metaphors, or Conventional Metaphors)

Implied Metaphors

Extended Metaphors (aka Sustained Metaphors)

Dead Metaphors

Mixed Metaphors

Sensory Metaphors

Google “types of metaphors” and you’ll get hundreds of blog posts and scholarly articles with lists of metaphors ranging from 3 to 20+ different types.

Our take?

Focus on the 6 most common types of metaphors:

1. Common Metaphors (aka Direct Metaphors, Primary Metaphors, or Conventional Metaphors)

These are the easiest-to-spot metaphors.

Common metaphors are comparisons where the link can be easily made and directly understood. Example sentence:

“He was a fish out of water at his new school.”

We know immediately what the writer means, even though it’s illogical to compare a school student to a fish.

Vincent Van Gogh’s “conscience is a man’s compass” is another example. Illogical, but we understand the meaning.

Other examples of common metaphors are “night owl”, “cold feet”, “beat a dead horse”, “early bird”, “couch potato”, “eyes were fireflies”, “apple of my eye”, “heart of stone”, “heart of a lion”, “roller coaster of emotions”, and “heart of gold.”

2. Implied Metaphors

Implied metaphors force you to use your imagination. This kind of metaphor doesn’t make a direct comparison, which is easy to spot. Instead, it implies it.

“She was a dog with a bone” is a common metaphor. The dog-like comparison is stated.

“She tucked her tail between her legs and rang away,” on the other hand, is an implied metaphor — the comparison to a dog is implied, but not stated outright.

3. Extended Metaphors (aka Sustained Metaphors)

Extended metaphors can be direct or implied, but create a greater emphasis with the comparison they’re making thanks to their extended length. They can continue for several sentences, several paragraphs, or even longer. (For example, George Orwell’s novella Animal Farm is considered by many to be an extended metaphor.)

Extended metaphors are often used in poetry and literature where the author wants to convey more passion and commitment to a concept.

Here’s an example from “I Know Why the Cage Bird Sings” by Maya Angelou:

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage

Can seldom see through his bars of rage

His wings are clipped and his feet are tied

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill

And his tune is heard on the distant hill for

The caged bird sings of freedom.

And here’s an extended metaphor from “Hope is the Thing With Feathers” by Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all.

4. Dead Metaphors

Dead metaphors are figures of speech that have been around so long or have been so overused, they have lost their effectiveness.

Phrases like “it’s raining cats and dogs”, “melting pot”, and “you are the light of my life” have morphed from metaphors into trite banalities and should be avoided.

5. Mixed Metaphors

Mixed metaphors are when two or more inconsistent metaphors get jumbled together — often with humorous consequences.

If it’s used intentionally, a mixed metaphor can be an effective communication technique. But in the wrong hands, a mixed metaphor can become a jumbled mess.

Former British soccer manager, Stuart Pearce, gave us this gem:

“I can see the carrot at the end of the tunnel.”

6. Sensory Metaphors

Sensory metaphors use figurative language to appeal to our senses — sight, sound, smell, taste or touch. As such, they’re immediately familiar and evocative.

Examples:

“His voice was silky smooth.”

“Her smile lit up the room.”

Further Reading: 581 Sensory Words to Take Your Writing from Bland to Brilliant is the definitive guide on sensory words, sensory details, and sensory language. If you would like a huge list of sensory metaphors, it should be your go-to resource.

Up to this point, you’ve already seen quite a few metaphor examples as we’ve explained the different types of metaphors and gone over several definitions.

Now, let’s get to the meat of the post. Here are 41 examples of metaphors from content marketing, literature, great poems, speeches, movies, television shows, songs, and more:

Metaphor Examples from Content Marketing

As a content marketer, you fight a constant battle for attention. You need your words to leap off the page and galvanize your readers into action.

Using metaphors is a great way to do that. Especially if you weave the metaphorical theme through your post. It helps give your writing a more intriguing creative tone. It makes your message sticky and memorable.

Take these examples of metaphors from some of the internet’s best content marketing blogs:

Want to bring your ideas to life, to make them take up residence in the reader’s mind, lurking in the background, tugging, pulling, and cajoling their emotions until they think and feel exactly as you want?

Jon Morrow, 801+ Power Words That Pack a Punch and Convert like Crazy

The content landscape isn’t some mythical blue ocean lacking in competition. It’s a teeming jungle — with plenty to eat, and plenty that wants to eat you. Sonia Simone

Smarter companies think of tone of voice guidelines as bumpers on a bowling lane: They gently guide your communication in the right direction and help content creators avoid a gutter ball.

Ann Handley, How to Find Your Company's Brand Voice

All the best consumer brands get it. But for too many B2B brands, voice is the confectioner’s sugar of the marketing cake — something you sprinkle on at the end (if it’s in the recipe at all). Doug Kessler

Carefully crafted, purposeful content is ace at just that: generating REAL traffic and leads. It’s no wonder people are climbing aboard the content train. Now that you’re buckled in, the next step is understanding what a professional content writer adds to your marketing strategy.

Julia McCoy, How to Hire for Superstar Content

If my business was a garden, then my blog posts would be a colorful display of flowers. Lavender, bougainvillea, fuchsias. Mostly in my favorite color (purple of course!). You can walk around this garden and enjoy my flowers. It’s free. Henneke Duistermaat

And this is what exasperates me about the ‘blogging and social media for money’ superhighway. So many times I follow the yellow brick road laid by an enterprising blogger who’s working the system. . .and when I get there and pull back the curtain…nothing. No wizard. No magic. And no message. Just a lot of mechanics and whirling buttons and a robotic, soulless special effects machine.

Kelly Diels, Why Blogging is Like The Wizard of Oz...

In large organizations, content is like a continual series of trains. Each must leave the crowded station on time to make room for the next one or the network quickly grinds to a halt. . . Unsurprisingly, the content may fail to perform. You can see why many pieces of content fail to meet scheduled departure times. Call it death by track changes. Rusty Weston

All these metaphor examples paint a vivid picture you can see, hear, or even taste. Some of them contain both metaphors and similes, some are extended metaphors, and some are sensory metaphors. But none of them are dead metaphors.

Good metaphors are powerful even when you’re tackling a relatively mundane subject matter, like hiring content writers.

So, imagine how exciting metaphors can be in the hands of great fiction and literary writers whose subject matter can roam anywhere they darn well please.

Let’s look at a few such examples…

Examples of Metaphors in Literature

Metaphors in literature have been around for centuries.

They have cemented glorious stories and ideas into our minds. They have made the words on the page come alive and frolic through our imagination.

Let’s start with the king of literary terms and metaphors:

All the world’s a stage / And all the men and women merely players / They have their exits and their entrances / And one man in his time plays many parts / His act being seven ages. from 'As You Like It'

Hands up who doesn’t know these famous lines by William Shakespeare?

You’ll find them in every post and article about metaphors, literary devices, or figurative language, because it’s a classic extended metaphor example that’s hard to beat.

Here’s another one:

10.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? / It is the East and Juliet is the sun! / Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon / Who is already sick and pale with grief / That thou her maid art far more fair than she.

from 'Romeo and Juliet'

“Romeo and Juliet” is chock full of love metaphors. Nothing less than the fair sun and envious moon could express the depth of Romeo’s emotional state at that moment. Imagine if he had been factual and said, “What light through yonder window breaks? Oh look, it’s Juliet heading for the bathroom”.

Shakespeare’s magnificent metaphors have wormed their way into our modern language and today we can recite them without a second thought.

Like these examples:

“A horse, a horse. My kingdom for a horse!” — from Richard III

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” — from Sonnet 18

“Parting is such sweet sorrow…” — from Romeo and Juliet

“All that glitters is not gold…” — from The Merchant of Venice

“Why, then, the world’s mine oyster…” — from The Merry Wives of Windsor

I bet you didn’t know that last one was by Shakespeare.

Metaphors are also used throughout the Bible:

16.

I am the good shepherd … and I lay down My life for the sheep.

John 10:14

In fact, the Bible is a hotbed of metaphors, similes, and other types of figurative language:

“I am the way, the truth and the life.” — John 14:6

“You are the Father, we are the clay and You our potter; and all of us are the work of Your hand.” — Isaiah 64:8

“Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst.” — John 6:35

We can find great metaphor examples in recent works of literature too:

20.

Memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces. from 'Kill the Dead' by Richard Kadrey

That’s a formidable metaphor. This one’s a little sweeter:

21.

You’re a marshmallow. Soft and sweet and when you get heated up you go all gooey and delicious.

from ‘One for the Money’ by Janet Evanovich

And this one pulls no punches:

22.

The parents looked upon Matilda in particular as nothing more than a scab. A scab is something you have to put up with until the time comes when you pick it off and flick it away. from ‘Matilda’ by Roald Dahl

Ouch! Poor Matilda.

Or how about metaphors in poetry? Here’s an extract from a poem written when the author thought she might be pregnant:

23.

This loaf’s big with its yeasty rising / Money’s new-minted in this fat purse / I’m a means, a stage, a cow in calf / I’ve eaten a bag of green apples / Boarded the train there’s no getting off.

from 'Metaphors' by Sylvia Plath

Yikes! Can’t you feel Sylvia’s swollen discomfort? Perhaps it was just as well she turned out not to be pregnant after all.

One more:

24.

Our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind. from ‘Sand & Foam’ by Khalil Gibran

This one sentence manages to fit in two different comparisons, words/crumbs and feast/mind. Impressive.

Metaphor Examples from Famous Speeches

Famous metaphors are found in great speeches throughout history.

Notable statesmen and leaders know they need to capture the hearts and minds of their audience and nothing does that better than a slam dunk metaphor. Like these:

25.

Hitler knows that he will have to break us in these islands or lose the war. If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be freed, and the life for the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. Winston Churchill’s 'Finest Hour' speech in June 1940

26.

America has tossed its cap over the wall of space.

John F. Kennedy at the Dedication of the Aerospace Medical Health Center in San Antonio, Texas, in 1963

27.

In the dark days and darker nights when England stood alone — and most men save Englishmen despaired of England’s life — he mobilized the English language and sent it into battle. JFK referring to Winston Churchill

28.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

Martin Luther King’s 'I Have a Dream Speech' in 1963

29.

With this pledge taken, I assume unhesitatingly the leadership of this great army of our people dedicated to a disciplined attack upon our common problems. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s Inaugural Address in 1933

Examples of Metaphors from Pop Culture

Metaphors don’t always have to be profound or literary. In the hands of song, TV, and movie writers; metaphors are often light, whimsical, and funny (or sad).

But, they’re always entertaining.

Songwriters turn to metaphors because it allows them to be more creative, expressive, and raw with their lyrics. Metaphors in songs are designed to be felt.

Take these lyrics:

30.

Fire away, fire away / You shoot me down, but I won’t fall / I am titanium

David Guetta

31.

We are young / Heartache to heartache we stand / No promises / No demands / Love is a battlefield Pat Benatar

32.

You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog / Quit snoopin’ ’round my door

Elvis Presley

33.

Her heart’s as soft as feathers / Still she weathers stormy skies / And she’s a sparrow when she’s broken / But she’s an eagle when she flies Dolly Parton

34.

‘Cause, baby, you‘re a firework / Come on, show ’em what you‘re worth / Make them go oh, oh, oh / As you shoot across the sky

Katy Perry

35.

And if you want love / We’ll make it / Swim in a deep sea / Of blankets / Take all your big plans / And break ’em / This is bound to be a while / Your body is a wonderland John Mayer

In TV and movies, metaphors are often used as a device to handle taboo subjects such as sex or bodily parts. If you dress them up in comedic banter, it makes them more acceptable (and even funny).

The TV show Seinfeld was masterful at this:

36.

Jerry, it’s L.A.! Nobody leaves. She’s a seductress, she’s a siren, she’s a virgin, she’s a who-oooore.

Cosmo Kramer

37.

I need the secure packaging of Jockeys. My boys need a house! Kramer (on his preference for Jockey shorts)

38.

Just when I think you’re the shallowest man I’ve ever met, you somehow manage to drain a little more out of the pool.

Elaine (to Jerry)

And next time you go to the movies, watch out for an entire metaphorical theme lurking behind the scenes:

39.

Truman is a metaphor for conquering fears, perseverance, and not accepting the reality with which we’re presented. Some also claim there are controlling government and antichrist themes played out through the reality show’s creator, Christof. — The Truman Show

40.

On the surface, it’s about a bickering couple who discover they are spies for rival agencies. But it’s actually a metaphor for the sanctity of marriage, meaningful communication, and learning to be vulnerable. — Mr. and Mrs. Smith

41.

Phil Connors (portrayed by Bill Murray) is stuck in a time warp. He relives the same day over and over until he changes into a better person. The metaphor is one of self-discovery and improvement, which many say are rooted in Buddhist philosophies. — Groundhog Day

Now that we’ve looked at numerous metaphor examples, let’s go over some practical tips that’ll help you use metaphors in your own writing.

How to Use Metaphors to Supercharge Your Writing

Use Metaphors in Your Headlines

Make an Entire Post or Article Metaphorically Themed

Use Metaphors to Make Facts and Figures Come to Life

Be Sure to Use Metaphors Relevant to Your Audience

Use of Metaphors to Make Dull Ideas Sparkle

Metaphors Don’t Have to Be Written (Or, Get Creative With Metaphorical Images)

Avoid the Cliches and Don’t Overdo Your Metaphor Quota

1. Use Metaphors in Your Headlines

We all know that headlines are the most important part of your post. If your headline doesn’t grab your reader’s attention, the rest of your post will be dead in the water.

So, what better place to slip in a nifty metaphor than in your headline? Like so:

Toy Story 4 is a Salute to Parents of Grown Children — from Nature Moms

Win the War on Debt: 80 Ways to be Frugal and Save Money — from Art of Manliness

How Decision Fatigue Steals Your Productivity (And How to Win it Back) — from Evernote

2. Make an Entire Post or Article Metaphorically Themed

This is a great way to bring a subject to life or make a complex idea more easily understood. Here’s how:

First, take your subject and think of a second concept you could align it to. Let’s say your subject is “how to write a content brief,” which involves a formula and process — a bit like cooking. So, let’s use that as your second concept.

Now start brainstorming words and ideas that can be applied to each concept separately:

Next, look at your two lists and identify words or ideas that might overlap:

“Set of instructions” and “recipes”

“Audience” and “diners”

“Outcomes” and “end result”

“Style/voice” and “secret herbs and spices”

“Outline” and “ingredients”

Can you feel a theme coming on?

Further Reading: 5 Ways Marketers are Rocking the Gig Economy by Jay Baer is a terrific example of how to use a fun metaphorical theme (rock musicians) to jazz up the entire post.

3. Use Metaphors to Make Facts and Figures Come to Life

Data. Facts and Figures. We all know they’re important to substantiate your arguments, but on their own they can be meaningless and, to be honest, downright boring.

If I told you the circumference of the earth was 24,901 miles, you’d probably yawn.

But if I said the circumference of the earth was 801,500 Olympic size swimming pools laid back to back, it paints a much more relatable picture.

Think about the way we teach children how to add and subtract. We say, “if I give you three apples and take away one, how many are you left with?”

We are no different as adults. Our brains process facts and figures more effectively when they are anchored to a relatable or concrete idea.

Note: Their ability to make facts and figures come to life is a big reason why metaphors are often used in academic writing. Writers who offer help with dissertations will use metaphors to spice up overused or hard-to-understand topics.

4. Be Sure to Use Metaphors Relevant to Your Audience

Think about who you are writing for and the context of your subject matter. If your post is aimed at teenage girls, you probably wouldn’t use a war analogy.

On the other hand, writers in the self-improvement niche often use metaphors related to battles as we strive to conquer our demons and make changes in our lives.

Use metaphors that are relevant to the times we live in and changes in our society and culture. Think about the age and generational context of your audience. If they are young, don’t use outdated or old-fashioned metaphors that will leave them cold.

5. Use of Metaphors to Make Dull Ideas Sparkle

Like it or not, there’s probably going to come a time when you find yourself having to write about something dull. (And if you write for clients, there definitely will come a time when you’re bored to tears.)

That’s when metaphors become the writer’s best friend.

Metaphors allow you to hold your audience’s attention by shifting their focus away from the boring bits onto something far more imaginative and creative. Comparing religion, art, and science to branches on a tree, as Albert Einstein once did, is a good example.

Kristina Halvorson does this in her post How to Embrace (and Gently Encourage) the Content Audit.

Let’s face it, a content audit is not the most riveting subject matter, but Kristina manages to bring it to life by comparing audits to clearing up other people’s “icky detritus” after the winter snow has melted.

6. Metaphors Don’t Have to Be Written (Or, Get Creative With Metaphorical Images)

Metaphors don’t have to be limited to text. You can make your point just as powerfully — and faster — with a metaphorical image.

In blogging, no one does metaphorical illustrations better than Henneke Duistermaat and her hand-drawn “Henrietta” cartoons.

We can’t all be talented artists like Henneke, but we can find entertaining or moving images that represent our message.

But…

When you’re searching for the right image on sites like Unsplash and Gratisography, remember not to think of the literal meaning. Think metaphorically.

Let’s say you want to write a post on writer’s block. The obvious image would be something like this:

Photo by Steve Johnson

But that’s too obvious. What we need is a metaphor for writer’s block.

What emotions would you compare to writer’s block? Emptiness, fearfulness, loneliness, frustration, feeling trapped?

Look for images that capture one or more of those feelings. Like this:

Photo by Aarón Blanco Tejedor

Which of those two images is going to attract more attention and add more spice and character to your blog post?

7. Avoid the Cliches and Don’t Overdo Your Metaphor Quota

Finally, here are a few what not to-dos:

Don’t overuse metaphors. Opt for simple metaphors (or sprinkle a few well-placed metaphors for the sake of clarity or persuasion). Too many will weigh your post down and start to sound messy.

Don’t force metaphors into your writing. It’s like overusing adjectives or flowery words. Readers will spot them a mile away.

Avoid the overly obvious or dead metaphors. They tend to be clichéd and have lost their ability to conjure up a visual image. Examples are “going belly up,” “kicking the bucket,” and “you light up my life.”

You Just Read the Definitive List of Metaphor Examples. Ready to Unleash Their Power?

Metaphors are all around us.

They sneak into everyday life and everyday language (“the traffic was a nightmare”). They help us form impressions of people and situations (“he fought cancer and won”).

But most of all — as I hope these examples of metaphors have shown you — they are one of the most powerfully-persuasive devices in a writer’s toolbox.

Metaphors are a zap of electricity between you and your audience — a jolt that’s often the difference between a lackluster sentence and a sparkling gem of persuasive genius.

So, next time you want to compel your readers to take action, savor your words, or quickly grasp your meaning, use a metaphor.

The post 57 Metaphor Examples That’ll Pack Your Prose With Persuasion appeared first on Smart Blogger.

from SEO and SM Tips https://smartblogger.com/metaphor-examples/

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harryglom · 5 years

Text

Present Time (a short story)

It was the weirdest wall in the world.

"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.

"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.

"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"

"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."

"As seriously as that first time?"

"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."

She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."

"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."

"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."

"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"

"Because you're as mad as us?"

"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."

She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for s moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grew too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Silvery gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis. I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.

#short story #original writing #original poetry #short #mental health #weirdart #weird fiction #queer fiction #lgbtqart #queerart #new writing #excerpt from a story i'll never write #writers #excerpt from a book i'll never write #free write

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