#seeing how devoted he is to condemning things he hate its really hard to believe he would drink

[unrav3l]

i saw a theory/headcanon that after the final battle sanemi fell into alcohol addiction. and i guess it makes sense but it also had me thinking that whats even more possible hes an abstinent. looking at the hatred he had towards his father i feel like he wasnt drinking at all, like absolutely fucking never. if he struggled with any addiction i bet the alcoholic one would be the least possible

[mhevarujta]

Zoya and the Darkling [Rule of Wolves Spoilers]

It’s a pity that fandoms mostly focus on romantic/sexual relationships, because The Darkling and Zoya have one of the most epic dynamics in the Grishaverse. The way they affect each other is so complex.

Zoya did not go to the Little Palace after being tested in the usual manner of Grisha travelling across Ravka to recruit children with powers. She was a young girl, a child really, living with a bitter and broken mother, in a home where her Suli inheritance was not appreciated, in a country that would condemn her both because of the power she let her demonstrated AND because of who she would have been without it. She was basically sold as a child-bride and her mother deluded herself into thinking that her daughter would not be raped by the old man she was marrying so that she’d feel better about herself, not to mention that she poisoned Zoya with her fears and made her afraid of her own heart. At the wedding her power broke loose and her aunt took her to a hard journey to the Little Palace so that Zoya would be tested and have a chance at a better life.

Zoya was taken in and she was separated from her family, but her aunt was ALWAYS in her heart. She started training and she was stronger than most, she was also driven and resilient. She arrived at the Little Palace when she was 8-9. When she was 13, she was the youngest one to be chosen as part of a group that would travel with the Darkling to Tsibeya to find the white tigers of Ilmisk because one of them was supposed to be an amplifier. By that age, Zoya was half in love with him already and she lived for his rare appearances at the school. She was the best, she had fought to be so, and he wanted him to see it. The Grisha were focused on hunting the female tiger, but the amplifier was a male one. He tried to kill the female’s cubs and Zoya gave them the protection of her body, she got scars that she never had tailored and she almost died, and killed the tiger to defend the cubs; not for the sake of power.

It wasn’t HER turn to get the amplifier, but since she killed the tiger only she could claim it. And THIS brilliant scene happens:

Some part of me always feared that he would send me away, banish me forever from the Little Palace. I told him I was sorry.

“But the Darkling saw me clearly even then. ‘Is that really what you wish to say?’ he asked.”

Zoya pushed a dark strand of her hair behind her ear. “So I told him the truth. I put my chin up and said, ‘They can all hang. It was my blood in the snow.’”

Nikolai stifled a laugh and a smile played over Zoya’s lips. It dwindled almost instantly, replaced by a troubled frown. “That pleased him. He told me it was a job well done. And then he said … ‘Beware of power, Zoya. There is no amount of it that can make them love you.’”

The weight of the words settled over Nikolai. Is that what we’re all searching for? Was that what he’d hunted in all those library books? In his restless travels? In his endless pursuit to seize and then keep the throne? “Was it love you wanted, Zoya?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I wanted … strength. Safety. I never wanted to feel helpless again.”

  “Like calls to like” fits the Darkling and Alina, but it also fits Zoya and the Darkling… in fact it fits Zoya and Aleksander even more so. Both were powerful and KNEW it. Both eventually learned to be unapologetic about it and saw it as their safety net. Both were taught that power would give them safety, survival, fulfillment in some ways, but not love. And yet, as much as they denied it and hid their hearts they DID want to be loved more than anything.

Zoya only rises thereafter. She gets her rank, she is one of the most valued Grisha in the Little Palace, she is admired for her strength and beauty, she armors herself with arrogance, and ruthlessness. But she has not friends. Both her and the Darkling are surrounded by people, they are admired, but they don’t have people close to their heart. The Darkling always cared about Baghra as much as he could still manage and Zoya cared only bout Liliyana and Lada (an orphan girl that her aunt had taken in).

The Darkling SAW her. He saw how she tried like no other, he saw her pain, her anger and he considered these to be things that he could use to control her and to push her towards the direction he desired. And despite not being appreciative of her devotion when he had it, he missed it when it was gone.

When Alina got in the picture everything changed for Zoya. Yes, Zoya had feelings for the Darkling and I DO believe that her feelings and vanity would have been hurt to some extent by the intimacy in the way he approached Alina, but the primary problem was Zoya’s sense of injustice. Zoya had tried for YEARS, had trained hard, had sacrificed to be where she is. Alina never asked for any of it, but from Zoya’s perspective Alina would have been an untrained Grisha who got all the status, power and recognition that SHE had fought for without even trying. Until then, Zoya had been praised for wanting power, but when her anger is not convenient anymore, the Darkling punishes her for it and does not have a second thought about her.

And yet she remained loyal as always.

Even more so than rank, the Darkling and Liliyana were Zoya’s safety-net. And in ONE MOMENT, by genociding Novokribirsk, Zoya’s own mentor, the one who gave her safety and who was meant to create a haven for the Grisha, a person who KNEW her and who KNEW that she had family there, showed that he had no care for her, not care for human life and she wiped out the last people that Zoya loved.

He left her broken inside. In Siege and Storm, Zoya was at her lowest. She has to plead to Alina to have a position in the second army and she has to reveal a part of her heart; not just her loss of Liliyana. Her voice BREAKS when she says that the Darkling could have warned her of his plan; her pain at the idea that he did not give a crap about taking EVERYTHING from her is raw and cutting.

But she is not a quitter. She adjusts, she pulls her pieces together fast, she is a warrior and she stays on the right side without a question.

Then the Darkling attacked the very Grisha he was supposedly fighting for and killed half the people that Zoya had EVER KNOWN. And she still keeps fighting.

 Enter Rule of Wolves. There is SUCH DEEP IRONY in this book and the way Zoya and the Darkling’s arcs interconnect is a prime example of Leigh’s amazing writing.

The Darkling had told Zoya that they would change the world and he completely stopped paying attention to her the moment the potential of Alina’s power blinded him to anything else. And yet, when he returns Zoya has gained the kind of power that could eventually rival his own. But he STILL thinks that he should be the one to rule Ravka. He still thinks that he is the best option for the country. And once more, he criminally underestimates Zoya and overestimates himself.

Who else is vengeful and afraid of his own heart, I wonder…

Aleksander considered Zoya weak for the very same things that were his own fatal flaws.

But unlike him, Zoya SAW her flaws. The Darkling shut himself off more and more in order to save himself from pain. Zoya eventually opened up her heart to grief and pain to become the person her country needed and to embrace her power. She opened the door, when the Darkling did not manage to do so. She showed more courage than he did… and he SAW it.

Aleksander hoped to become the savior during the battle, he wished to demonstrate how only HE could save Ravka. But seeing Nikolai and Zoya defending the country is the first time it registers that there are others who are up to the task and who may be better suited than he is.

And he becomes essential in Zoya being accepted as a saint and in her rise to power partly because he wants to gain her favor but also because he finally sees all her potential, all she can achieve, how a Grisha queen of such power might give the Grisha the haven they need, when he clearly can’t.

And what is left for him to do? What does he want? He wants to serve the country he loves in a way that will affirm his sense of self-importance (he wants to offer something that no one else can) and he wants to be loved. So his new objective is to stop the blight.

The blight was created because of his own power. This man who hunted down and ruined the life of a young girl (Alina) in order to force her to be his balance, so that he could freely use his power in a very imbalanced way, finally realizes that HE is responsible for his power and that HE can be the only one to balance it and himself. So there is a new path he sees ahead of him: he can sacrifice himself to stop the blight and in the process Ravka might finally see that he always wanted to protect the country… and it might love him back. He KNOWS that he has committed crimes, he does not seek redemption, but he desired for all he has done to matter. And it can’t matter if he is not at all responsible for its country’s well-being and if everyone hates him. He has lived so many lifetimes without happiness or fulfillment and they would all have been wasted.

But he can’t achieve this by himself. This man who always thought that he could do things alone, and who took away everything Zoya had fought for, NEEDS her allowance for his centuries-long life to gain a scrap of meaning. He needs her allowance to be appreciated and loved.

I can’t be the only one who sees what a beautiful twist of fate this is.

At the same time Zoya herself understands the Darkling. She understands how anger and using power as a coping mechanism can corrupt. Knowing herself and seeing how he turned out are essential in her becoming a good ruler. He is the cautionary tale of what she could but will never allow herself to become.

When he explains his plan, she KNOWS that he’ll be in eternal pain and she has does not mind that his will be his fate. But when she sees the aftermath of his sacrifice and when she feels the kind of pain he’ll be experiencing for eternity, it leaves her shaken. She feels that pain in her own heart and this is not a fate that she wishes even on him. Genya and Alina are very much willing to let him rot but Zoya, who also believed that she could forgive him, feels that she has to.The Darkling has not redeem himself. He is doing penance. But as Genya mentions, there’s a fine line when one has to do the math of how much a person has to pay and of how much pain they have to feel before their punishment stops being just and they become victims instead. Zoya, being afraid of becoming him, knows that learning to show forgiveness is the only way forward, it’s the way for her to keep her heart open and not become the avalanche.

Zoya Nazyalensky has become everything that Aleksander Morozova, the lost boy, wished to be. Poweful, eternal, with friends, with a true partner, holding the best position a Grisha could imagine without forcing her rule and finally giving their people a true chance without comprominsing them. 

The Darkling was hoping that Alina would have been his balance. We are told how she might make him a better man and she might make him a monster.

But at the end of the day it’s Zoya who allows the Darkling to become the closest thing to decent that he can be at this point.

It’s the Darkling’s life that allows Zoya to see the lines that she will not cross and how to not become a monster.

And it’s Zoya’s ability to forgive him and her willingness to save him that becomes the backbone for the next phase of the Grishaverse, whenever Leigh decides to write it.

The way their paths entangle will always be at the core of the story.

_______________________

@myfriendscallmeraba​ I’m tagging you because you asked for it. It’s very encouraging to have someone interested in my ramblings.

[mormonmonastery]

(Venting anon. TW for mentions of homophobic violence as well) I just… I haven’t been active for more than a couple weeks at a time for four years now, and I wasn’t expecting to be hit this hard. But it really hurts! The gun imagery hurts when last weekend a lesbian couple were shot and killed in Moab! For the first time in ages today I walked around in public feeling like someone was going to see the gay on me and shout me down for it. The more things like this happen, the more I want to just sever myself from the whole thing. I don’t observe any of the rules anymore, and I have no clue what I think about God, aside from feeling like His chosen left me behind. But I don’t quite have the nerve to properly get my name removed. Plus new roommates moved in for the new school year and I have no idea how they’ll be about me being gay, so I’ve been avoiding being home all day because I keep tearing up over it and AHHH 😭

I feel a deep sympathy for how you're feeling, despite not really being able to imagine just how awful it feels to be attacked like this. I'm sorry that you're stuck feeling this stress and that one man's cruel and irresponsible language still impacts you even after you've taken some steps back from the church for your own comfort, health, and safety. That's really the important response. All that follows are reactions that your message sparked in me and which you can take and leave as you see fit.

I'm hoping that, because it was an address only delivered to BYU faculty instead of something like a conference talk or a devotional, that this will end up being a relatively small ripple in the discourse pond for most average Mormons; that at most they'll hear a few rumblings about it before moving on and that we won't see it pointed to as a justification for more hate or violence. I don't know how well that hope is placed. And even if its harm is confined to BYU...that's still a large population of people placed at greater risk. Even what you tell me already about feeling less safe just existing in public is enough to damn anyone who prompted that fear while claiming to speak in the name of God.

I believe what the New Testament writer said when they wrote that God has not given us a spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). Because of that, I don't think anyone who use their power to create fear is speaking with any of God's spirit in them for as long as they persist in fearmongering and the perpetuation of hatreds. I believe that if there is a time when Elder Holland stands before Christ at the judgement day, he'll have to understand and accept responsibility for the exact fear his words caused you to feel and for the miscarriage of his stewardship in saying them. I don't usually like so baldly saying that God will prove someone else wrong; it's a card that's usually best left unplayed and I think it a mean thing to make God into your cudgel. But, frankly, I would not want anything to do with a God who would not outright condemn this kind of speech, who would stoop to the small and petty level that endorsing it would mean. I choose not to believe in any God like that because they have no continuity with the God I have encountered; if such a cruel God somehow turns out to exist, I would rather walk backwards into hell.

It strikes me as grievously irresponsible to reprise Neal Maxwell's whole "musket and trowel" metaphor to compare continuing to persecute LGBT+ people with a historic instance of Mormon persecution, particularly when DezNat is a thing that exists. I honestly don't know how intentional that was, but I also think that if Holland was intending to wink at DezNat he couldn't have found a quote that would be better at achieving that if he tried. I'm sick and weary of even metaphorical violence and I long for the prince of peace. I don't know anything about the couple shot in Moab, but it does indicate the preponderance of violence in our society and the persistence of violence against queer people specifically—which makes telling people to aim their metaphorical muskets at anyone a rhetorical flourish that is distasteful at best and even worse in this context.

I agree with the Latin American liberation theologians that, while God loves all of their children unconditionally, they have a "preferential option" for the poor (literally and in spirit) and the marginalized. I believe you're God's chosen at least as much, and quite arguably more than, any church leader, so long as you wish to claim God's preference or believe a God exists in that way.

It is sad to feel left behind by church leaders but, at least for me, the larger sensation is this sadness from the other direction. It's sad to realize that a man like Jeffrey Holland, who I have received inspiration and comfort from hearing in the past and who I feel like God has been able to use as a messenger for me at times—it's simply sad to see him refuse to move past an attitude and set of beliefs that I can see as so clearly unchristlike and to mistake them for a unique and essential aspect of Christ's gospel. I want to have charity for my brothers and sisters who I see as being stuck there but it's hard—I feel overwhelmingly sad and frustrated and impatient and remorseful about them and it is hard to alchemize those feelings into charity. It's sad for me to feel like, if I'm to continue to grow spiritually and ethically, I might very well have to leave behind this person whose words have at times been an aid to my own spiritual growth. I think that's why my reaction and the reaction of others has been to feel a little more hurt and a little more betrayed than whenever the general authorities who are more frequent purveyors of homophobia deliver this kind of talk—they rarely gave up that kind of talk long enough to inspire me. Of course I knew or intuited on an intellectual level that Holland wasn't significantly better or more enlightened on these issues, but it feels different to see it displayed publicly like this. And it's sad to me to see people I like and respected on the other side what seems to be an ever-widening and impassable gulf in how we understand who the God that has revealed themselves to us is and what their character is like. I cannot believe that God could bring about or observe a situation in which two people were capable of sincere, consensual, and committed love for each other and then condemn them for living in that love and promise to erase their capacity for that love in the resurrection. Apparently, Jeffery Holland can believe that and believe it quite strongly. It's sad for me to realize that about him and about so many other people in the church like him.

[madampianoo]

Hey guys 💖 Here's Zlatans latest FULL interview with France Football. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did. This was such tasty appetiser before tomorrows main course meal match and start of his new season.

P.S. Please excuse english, it was google translated

Have you ever found your stolen Fido Dido ?

"Not. They stole it and I never saw it again. But maybe it was cosmic justice for all the bikes I stole. It's a pity, it was my favorite bike ... "

If you could find the one who stole it from you now, what would you do to it?

"I would buy him a new one and take mine back."

You devoted a lot of space to that story in your autobiography. Was it a turning point in your life to move from the role of victim to the other side?

"No. I was young and stupid. I did all sorts of things to survive. I needed a bike to ride here and there. When they stole my bike, I started stealing them from others. I did it solely for the reason that I could not afford to buy others. I know it's not a positive story ... But things like that are done to move forward in life, right? ”

What would you steal from football today if you could and give it to little Zlatan ?

"Nothing. I would just tell him to be more patient. And that his hard work will return one day. I worked hard, but I didn’t have the patience. I wanted everything now. "

How did you learn to be patient?

"It's very difficult when you're young. But when you have the experience I have now, learn what patience is. But when you are young and wild, full of various ideas and energy, when you want to discover the whole world and learn everything at once, then it is not easy to be patient. You need to be surrounded by people who have experience, who will calm you down and who will tell you the truth. "

What will be left behind Zlatan Ibrahimovic when he finishes his career?

"I do not know. Something will remain ... If something remains, it means I did a good job. Maybe some of my ideas and thoughts will remain from everything. That you should believe in yourself, that you should have your own personality and that you should not refrain from saying something you think. "

Did you make mistakes?

"I make mistakes every day. I am making a mistake now that I am talking about your newspaper. "

Maybe we're making a mistake talking to you too ...

"I'm kidding ... Mistakes are normal, we make them every day and they help us to be better people. "No one is perfect."

What are you most proud of?

"Everything I did. I come from a place where everyone condemned me and told me that something was impossible. I was constantly told that I was not good enough. And I'm still here. I stand still in my football boots. At 39 years old. And I'm proud of that. "

Could you have done more than this?

"It can always be more and better. It's a question of mentality. "

Even you?

"Every person can do better and more. In my head I always aim for the maximum and I am always convinced that I have given the maximum. Could I have done better, that can be discussed ... "    

Do you ever get tired of the attention of the public, journalists, fans, everyone's opinions?

"It's all part of my job. I didn't choose it that way. When you are as good as me, that is inevitable and must be accepted. "

How do you comment on the claims of some that you are a great player in small games?

"Everyone has the right to an opinion and to express it."

Did that bother you when you were younger?

"Not. I used it as a propellant to be as good as possible. I was motivated by such stories. I went forward and looked to never be satisfied. I received all these criticisms in such a way as to ignite the fire in my heart and to extract additional energy from them. "

What do you regret?

"It simply came to our notice then. Do you really think that I would be a better football player if I won all the trophies? "

Not. Even the Brazilian Ronaldo did not win everything ...

"Exactly. Of course, it would be wonderful if I won everything. But that doesn't make me a weaker or better footballer. I like guys who say to me: 'Zlatan, you didn't win the World Cup, you're not a good player'. Okay ... But it's easier to win the World Cup when you're French than when you're Swedish. Let's go back to the Champions League. The longer you wait for it, the sweeter it is. I still have a goal to win it. I won everything but her in club football. But I won't quack even if I don't win it because I've already done a lot more than most footballers. I'm a happy man. "

You didn't even win the Golden Ball. Does Zlatan miss the Golden Ball or does the Golden Ball miss Zlatan ?

"I think they miss me there on that list of conquerors."

You finished in fourth place in terms of the number of votes in 2013, and that is your best ranking. Is it weird that you didn't win it?

"You see, every player wants a trophy that tells him he is the best in the world. Deep down, I think I'm the best in the world. It would be prestigious if I won it, but it is the voters who decide. You journalists are voting and you know why I didn't win it! Ha-ha-ha ... ”

Well, it's not just us from France, there are also journalists from all over the world ...

"A-ha-ha!"

Messi and Ronaldo have won it several times. What do they have that you don't have?

"If you talk about essential qualities, I have nothing less than them. If you look at the trophies, I didn't win the Champions League like them ... But I really don't know how you measure and calculate that. Nor am I obsessed with it. You see, when you do good collective things, then individual rewards are a consequence of that. An individual cannot be good if the collective is weak. "

Where do you see yourself in the history of football? If there was a table, where would you put yourself?

"What do you want me to answer you?"

Who would be next to you on that table?

"It is not relevant to compare players from different eras. Everyone played in their generation, with different teammates. These are difficult things to compare. Everyone has their own story, and mine is full of problems. "

Does your personality set you apart in the world of football?

"I am just what I am. People try hard to be ideal to others. I always say ‘Be what you are and that is perfection’. I will not change because of success. For no reason will I change. Whatever happens, I will be what I am. I just want to play my game and have my team win. The rest will come of its own accord. I didn't choose to be famous. It's just a consequence of the work I do. "

We thought about jumping out of the pattern and what you're doing on the field.

"But it's all connected to the field. People talk a lot off the field today. But if you're not good on the field, and you talk a lot, then you're just a clown. "

Are there many clowns in the world of football?

"As much as you want ... A bunch!"

You consider yourself ideal in your head because you are what you are. How do you know this is right?

"I don't want to be perfect to someone else by force and talk about how I don't make mistakes. Maybe all this is a mistake. But I will remain what I am. I don't want you to send me questions before the interview, I don't want to know what you're going to ask me, I don't care. Readers will judge us whether the interview is good or not. "

When you left Paris Saint-Germain, you said, 'I came like a lion, I leave like a king . ' Do you really care so much about being remembered?

"I wrote my story in Paris and left my motto. Now let someone else write it and leave your motto. I don’t try to make people remember me by what I say. He will remember me on the field and what I did there. "

Are you arrogant or pretentious?

"I'm just a man full of confidence."

Does it matter to you that they recognize you as special?

"I am not special. I am a normal guy and a professional. I don’t want to share my whole life with the rest of the world. I'm not an instagram clown who wakes up in the morning and thinks what is the most beautiful photo for him to post. I share my professional challenges with the rest of the world. Privacy must exist. I don't want to share it either. But I want to share some parts of my professional life because it's part of my job. "

Do you deliberately block the fragility and insecurity from your childhood with your behavior, when the fierce guys in your Rosengard called you "lukewarm"?

"No. And I have a part of the personality that is fragile. I have emotions and weaknesses. There are things that hurt me. It's all natural. I'm not the Hulk, I'm not Superman, nor have I ever wanted to play them. I had difficult moments that hardened me, but I stepped forward. Today, I am no longer a guy of 20 or 25, but a family man with two children. I think differently, but my character has remained the same. "

Are you still a fierce guy at 40?

"People, is it possible that you still consider me a football gangster?" I know you had that title and some picture ... I'm no gangster. Of course I'm still a strong guy. I am almost two meters tall and I train hard and work on myself every day. I'm not someone who lies on the beach and shows muscles. I was born like this and I try to adapt the game to my constitution. I'm not as fast as I was at the age of 25, but now I have some other qualities. "

Does that mean you're a good guy?

"Yes I am. When you meet me, you will see how much heart I have. When they don't know me, people hate me. "

Do you want to be loved by everyone?

"No. I just want to be respected when I do something good. In fact, what is the love of all? There can be no love from someone I don't even know. Love is something reserved for those closest to you. Take Inter fans for example. When I was with them, they loved me. Now they hate me. This means that love has never been as real as with loved ones. Love cannot arise and disappear so quickly. I'm not one of those guys who will organize humanitarian actions just for someone to tell them: 'Wow, he's a good guy!'. It's a 'fake'. I'm going to do something because I want to do it. And not because someone would like me. I do it with my heart, some do it with my brain. If I send money to hospitals, it doesn't have to be known. I'm doing this because they really need that money with this damn crown. And I will not brag publicly. "

Is that one of the worst things in football today?

"It's simply part of football. People want to have perfect images. But in the end, they will meet reality. Everything will be known. Look at Tiger Woods. It seemed to be the most perfect character in the world ... People, just be what you are and don't try to be someone else. Don’t manipulate because it will all come back to you. No filters! ”

When you learned the Swedish national anthem, did you do it from the heart, not to be loved in your own country?

"When I was little, I didn't feel like a Swede. My parents are from Bosnia and Croatia. They influenced me to feel different, to look at me differently, to judge me differently and to treat me differently. That's why I didn't feel 100 percent Swedish. But today I am 100 percent Swedish. Even in France today, many talk about some old France and old times. The world today is full of various mixes and contrasts. And it doesn’t mean you’re not 100 percent Swedish or French if you accept that world. When you are young, you do not understand some things. It is mentally difficult when you are treated differently as a child. People think that it will pass quickly, and they do not know that the consequences remain for years. I was always in favor of getting the strongest blow at once because the pain lasts less than being constantly harassed with small and vile blows. Constant harassment leaves longer traumas. But those people who are harassing do not know that they are backward and live in the old world while we pass in front of them with the new world. It is a world of open minds in which I am Swedish and in which my children are Swedes. "

Do you still think differently from LeBron James, with whom you used to be friends?

"I do not want to enter politics because it divides people. Football unites people. I was lucky to meet people I would never have met without football. From all over the world. "Sport and politics are two different worlds and I am glad to be in the former."

But it happens that you express an attitude that has to do with politics.

"We athletes spread love and joy. I'm good at it and I know how to do it. You will not bring politics into my world. "

What are your fears and anxieties?

"With this corona situation, the world has changed completely. The situation is improving a bit, but ... The other day I went out to a restaurant with my family. It was weird. Then cam video audience in stadiums. And that was weird to me. I got used to it and I only wanted one thing: To go home ?! I'm used to the house, the masks ... It won't be easy to come back mentally. I hope that everything will be the same as before, but I am afraid that this will leave consequences on people. "

When you became a parent, did your children bring fears?

"There is no room for fear when we talk about children. We can talk about weaknesses. When you have children, they become your weakness. Then your life is no longer in your hands but in theirs. They become the most important ... Guys, we missed the interview date! I won't give you any more! I'm too expensive to tell you so much, ha-ha-ha ... "

How expensive are you?

"A lot ... Ask PSG!"

Can I have another five, ten minutes?

"Come on."

We would like to ask you about retirement. Are you afraid to stop playing football?

"A little bit. It is difficult for every football player when he has to retire. You have been programmed throughout your career. It is known when you get up, have breakfast, train, have lunch, rest, have dinner ... Someone else takes care of everything, it's just yours to press the 'repeat' button every day. The first day you wake up at the end of your playing career, you ask yourself, 'What the hell am I going to do today?' You are no longer programmed and you do not know what to do. That scares me a little. But what should I do? Luckily, I don’t think about it yet. I'm not for retirement. "

We in France call it the ‘little death’.

"That's it! Absolutely! After a lot depends on what kind of person you are. How will you cope and how will you fight. It's not easy".

But isn't that some kind of relief? You can eat and drink whatever you want

"After my playing career, I want to disappear. When you are in this world like me for so long and you know what you have been through physically and mentally, you just need to disappear and enjoy life

[sylvielauffeydottir]

Hi I just saw your post about Israel and Palestinian. I don't know if you're the person to ask or if this is a dumb question but I was wondering if anyone has considered starting a second Jewish state? I was wondering because there's a bunch of Christian countries so why not multiple Jewish ones.

Sorry if I'm bothering you and Thanks for your time.

That’s actually a pretty interesting question. I am going to apologize right now, because I essentially can’t give a short answer to save my life.

I’m not a ‘Jewish Scholar,’ so while I can speak with some authority about the history of Zionism, I definitely couldn’t speak about it with as much authority as others. I mentioned in at least one of the posts I have written about the history of plans for a ‘Jewish state’ when Zionism was originally being proposed, and I can kinda of track the history of Zionist thinking for you if you are interested, though essentially it’s just about arguing where to go. But there are better scholars for this than me, so I would recommend Rebecca Kobrin, Deborah Lipstadt, Walter Laqueur … idk. Maybe just read some Theodor Herzl, honestly. With all of that said, I can speak with some authority about the post-war history of this in the Middle East. So let’s go.

In post-war times, there has really only been one serious discussion of an alternative Jewish state, as far as I know. And actually, this is part of why I find it so ironic that people are campaigning so hard to be “anti-Zionist” and to express views like “anti-Zionism” in their activism, because the Jews in Israel who are most anti-Zionist are actually the settlers of Palestinian territories, who want to secede and form a “Gaza-State” called Judeah. There's a great book about this called The Deadly Embrace by Ilana Kass And Bard O'Neill, if anyone is interested. Anyway, most of those people, who are largely Haredim (the Ultra-Orthodox Jews, though some of those settlers are semi Orthodox), have essentially been waging a “culture war” about what it means to have a Jewish state and what the identity of that Jewish state should look like basically since the 1980s.

There is a really good article about this that you can find right here written by Peter Lintl, who is a researcher at the Institution of Political Science for the Friedrich-Alexander Universitat. I’ll summarize it for the lazy people, though, because it’s like 40 pages. Just know that this paragraph won’t be super source heavy, because it is basically the same source. Essentially, the Haredim community has tripled in size from 4% to 12% of the total Israeli population since 1980, and it is probably going to be about 20% by 2040. They only accept the Torah and religious laws as the basis for Jewish life and Jewish identity and they are critical of democratic principles. To them, a societal structure should be hierarchical, patriarchal, and have rabbis at the apex, and they basically believe that Israel isn’t a legitimate state. This is primarily because Israel is (at least technically, so no one come at me in the comments about Palestinian citizens of Israel, so I’ll make a little ** and address this there) a ‘liberal’ democracy. Rights of Israeli citizens include, according to Freedom House, free and fair elections (they rank higher on that criteria here than the United States, by the way), political choice, political rights and electoral opportunities for women, a free and independent media, and academic freedom. It is also, I should add (as a lesbian), the only country in the Middle East that has anything close to LGBT+ rights.

[**to the point about Palestinians and Palestinian citizens of Israel: I have a few things to say. First, I have recommended this book twice now and it is Michael Oren’s Six Days of War, which absolutely fantastically talks about the ways in which the entire structure of the Palestinian ‘citizenship’ movement, Palestinian rights, and who was responsible for governing Palestinians changed after the Six Days War. If you are at all interested in the modern Middle East or modern Middle East politics, I highly recommend you read this, because a huge tenant of this book is that it was 1967, not 1947, that caused huge parts of our current situation (and that, surprisingly, a huge issue that quote-on-quote “started it” was actually water, but that’s sort of the primary secondary issue, not the Actual Issue at play here). Anyway, I’ve talked about the fact that Israel hugely abuses its authority in the West Bank and Gaza and that there are going to be current members of the Israeli Government who face action at the ICC, so please don’t litigate this again with me. I also should add that the 2018 law which said it was only Jews who had the natural-born right to “self-determine” in Israel was passed by the Lekkud Government, and I really hate them anyway. I know they’re bad. It’s not the point I’m making. I’m making a broader point about the Constitution vis-a-vis what the Haredim are proposing, which is way worse].

To get back to the Haredim, basically there is this entire movement of actual settlers in territories that have been determined to belong to the Palestinian people as of, you know, the modern founding of Israel (and not the pre-Israel ‘colonial settler’ narrative you’ll see on instagram in direct conflict with the history of centuries of aliyah) who want to secede and form a separate Jewish state. They aren’t like, the only settlers, but I point this out because they are basically ‘anti-Zionist’ in the sense that they think that modern Zionism isn’t adhering to the laws of Judaism — that the state of Israel is too free, too radical, too open. And scarily enough, these are the sort of the people from whom Netanyahu draws a huge part of his political support. Which is true of the right wing in general. Netanyahu can’t actually govern without a coalition government. Like I have said, the Knesset is huge, often with 11-13 political parties at once, and so to ‘govern’ Netanyahu often needs to recruit increasingly right wing, conservative, basically insane political parties to maintain his coalition. It’s why he has been so supportive of the settlements, particularly in the last five years (since he is, as I have also said, facing corruption charges, and he really can’t leave office). It would really suck for him if a huge chunk of his voters seceded, wouldn’t it?

Anyway, that is the only ‘second Jewish State’ I know about, and I don’t think that is necessarily much of a solution. I really don’t have the solutions to the Middle East crisis. I am just a girl with some history degrees and some time on her hands to devote to tumblr, and I want people to learn more so they can form their own opinions. With that said, I think there are two more things worth saying and then I will close out for the night.

First, Judaism is an ethno-religion. Our ethnicities have become mixed with the places that we have inhabited over the years in diaspora, which is how you have gotten Sephardi, Mizrahi, Ashkenazi, and even Ethiopian Jews. But if you do actual DNA testing on almost all of the Jews in diaspora, the testing shows that we come from the same place: the Levant. No matter how pale or dark, Jews are still fundamentally one people, something we should never forget (and anyone who tries to put racial hierarchy into paleness of Jews: legit, screw you. One people). Anyway, unlike other religious communities, we have an indigenous homeland because we have an ethnic homeland. It’s small, and there are many Jews in diaspora who choose not to return to it, like myself. But that homeland is ours (just as much as it is rightfully Palestinians, because we are both indigenous to the region. For everyone who hasn’t read my other posts on the issue, I’m not explaining this again. Just see: one, two, and three, the post that prompted this ask). This is different from Christians, for example, who basically just conquered all of Europe and whose religion is not dependent on your race or background. You can be a lapsed Christian and you are still white, latinx, black, etc right? I am a lapsed Jew, religiously speaking, and will still never escape that I am ethnically Ashkenazi Jewish.

Second, I think you raise a really good point about other religious states. There are many other religious majority states in the world (all of these countries have an official state religion), and a lot of them are committing a lot of atrocities right now (don't even get me started on Saudi Arabia). I have seen other posts and other authors write about this better than I ever could, but I am going to do my best to articulate why, because of this, criticism of Israel as a state, versus criticism of the Israeli Government, is about ... 9 times out of 10 inherently antisemitic.

We should all be able to criticize governments. That is a healthy part of the democratic process and it is a healthy part of being part of the world community. But there are 140 dictatorships in the world, and the UN Human Rights Council has condemned Israel 45 times since 2013. Since the creation of the UN Human Rights Council, it has has received more resolutions concerning Israel than on the rest of the world combined. This is compared to like … 1 for Myanmar, 1 for South Sudan, and 1 for North Korea.

Israel is the world’s only Jewish majority state. You want to talk about “ethnic cleansing” and “repressive governments”? I can give you about five other governments and world situations right now, off the top of my head, that are very stark, very brutal, very (in some cases) simple examples of either or both. If a person is ‘using their platform’ to Israel-bash, but they are not currently speaking about the atrocities in Myanmar, Kashmir, Azerbaijan, South Sudan, or even, dare I say, the ethnonationalism of the Hindu Nationalist Party in India, then, at the very least, their activism is a little bit performative. They are chasing the most recent ‘hot button’ issue they saw in an instagraphic, and they probably want to be woke and maybe want to do the right thing. And no one come at me and say it is because you don’t “know anything about Myanmar.” Most people know next to nothing about the Middle East crisis as well. At best, people are inconsistent, they may be a hypocrite, and, whether they want to admit it to themselves or not, they are either unintentionally or intentionally buying into antisemitic narratives. They might even be an antisemite.

I like to think (hope, maybe) that most people don’t hate Jews. If anything, they just follow what they’ve been told, and they tend to digest what everyone is taking about. But there is a reason this is the global narrative that has gained traction, and I guarantee it has at least something to do with the star on the Israeli flag.

I know that was a very long answer to your question, but I hope that gave you some insight.

As a sidenote: I keep recommending books, so I am going to just put a master list of every book I have ever recommended at the bottom of anything I do now, because the list keeps growing. So, let’s go in author alphabetical order from now on.

One Country by Ali Abunimah Rise and Kill First: The Secret History of Israel's Targeted Assassinations by Ronen Bergman Kingdom of Olives and Ash: Writers Confront the Occupation, edited by Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman The Girl Who Stole My Holocaust: A Memoir by Noam Chayut If a Place Can Make You Cry: Dispatches from an Anxious State by Daniel Gordis Israel: A Concise History of a Nation Reborn by Daniel Gordis The Deadly Embrace by Ilana Kass And Bard O'Neill Like Dreamers: The Story of the Israeli Paratroopers Who Reunited Jerusalem and Divided a Nation by Yossi Klein Halevi Antisemitism by Deborah Lipstadt Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East by Michael Oren The Yom Kippur War: The Epic Encounter That Transformed the Middle East by Abraham Rabinovich One Palestine, Complete: Jews and Arabs Under the British Mandate by Tom Segev Hollow Land: Israel's Architecture of Occupation by Eyal Weizman

[obsessedwithbbandsuju]

I’d Rather Be Insane

You’ve been in love with Jungsoo for so long, but he has a new girlfriend. It’s clearly that he’s completely in love with her, and you’re even ready to hear the news about the wedding. And then, she breaks up with him. 

A/N: This is my first try at a reader-insert SuJu fic. I really satisfied with how this one turned out. I hope you enjoy.

Warning: Smut

It was clear that Jungsoo had fallen in love.

Those beautiful eyes shone brighter and that blinding smile grew even more dazzling. That kind gaze that was once so fixed, so intent, when you spoke to him was now clouded over slightly with the drug that love was. It was easy to see that even when Jungsoo listened to you, grinned and responded and nodded as you talked, his mind wasn’t fully there. He was thinking of her. His girlfriend, Lee Nayeon.

And it was easy. So easy to see why he was so desperately in love with her. Nayeon was a model; not extremely mainstream or a household name, but successful enough to be more than comfortable in the world. She was full of life, vigorous, with a smile that could draw your eyes away from the sun, sincere and honest eyes that let you know how genuine she was. She was kind, forever taking care of others without sparing a thought for herself. She was confident, walked everywhere with an easy smile and a sure gait. She was honest, never minced words or sugarcoated but was never unnecessarily harsh or belittling. Goodness, even you had to admit, if you weren’t so deeply in love with Jungsoo, you might have been in danger of falling head over heels for her.

There wasn’t a single moment that she’d been unkind to you. When Jungsoo introduced you to her – her as an acquaintance whom he’d met in a photoshoot, although the starry-eyed way that he looked at her prevented you from believing for a second that he thought of her as just that, and you as one of his oldest friends – she had greeted you so warmly and so earnestly commented that she could see the closeness between you and Jungsoo that, even when jealousy burned in your veins at the look in Jungsoo’s eyes as he stared at her, you couldn’t hate her. There was nothing about Lee Nayeon to hate, and you refused to let your envy potentially hurt someone like her.

Even after she became Jungsoo’s girlfriend, she never showed you a hint of animosity despite your friendship with Jungsoo. It was a relief, she told you, that he had someone like you by his side for so long. She would even ask you for small bits of advice here and there: What kind of gifts did Jungsoo like? It was their six-month anniversary and she wanted to give him something meaningful. What were his favorite foods? It was his birthday and she wanted to cook them for him. How could she help Jungsoo de-stress? He’d been packed with work lately and she wanted him to rest a little bit. Small things like that, that you answered honestly, smiling at her sincere thank-you’s and staring at the wall after she was gone, trying not to let your tears flood over.

And sometimes, in the privacy of your own apartment, the bitterness did get the better of you. You would bury your head in your hands, cursing at the world for being unfair. How, how, was it that Jungsoo never returned the feelings you’d confessed to him three years ago, but fell so hard and so fast for Nayeon after barely a month of knowing her? How did it make sense? How was it right? That she had Jungsoo, and you, who had known him since both of you were teenagers, didn’t?

It hurt. It hurt so goddamn much, seeing the man you had loved for so many years, the man who’d apologetically said three years ago that you were a friend who was so, so dear to him, fallen completely and perfectly in love with another woman.

But that much – that much, you could have stomached. Maybe. You weren’t one for self-pity, and as painful, as unfair, as heartbreaking as it was, you accepted it. What else were you going to do? Jungsoo was too important to you to cut off because you were jealous, and besides, he had done nothing to deserve any coldness from you. All he had done was fallen in love. How could he help that, and how could you condemn him for it?

What chafed at you more than that was that he began neglecting your friendship. You two had developed little unspoken agreements over the years of being so close. A meet-up at least twice a month. A phone call at least once a week. Texting at least every other day. More importantly, being there for each other, listening to each other’s problems, offering comfort and help where you could. It was what you valued most about your friendship with him, what touched you and maintained the close connection between you two for so many years.

And at some point, Jungsoo began to slip up. He’d say he was unable to go to your meetings, that he had to do this and that with or for Nayeon. He didn’t answer your calls, and the only acknowledgement he’d give you was a short text, apologizing, saying he was busy doing this and that with or for Nayeon. Your texts were left unread, and if he bothered explaining, usually at least several days later, it was that he was, yes, doing this and that with or for Nayeon. When you needed a listening year, a shoulder to lean on, he wasn’t it. He cut you short, always because of this and that with Nayeon. He had to go, because of this and that with Nayeon.

It wasn’t like it was Nayeon who was making him do so, either. On the contrary, Nayeon would scold him. Send him off with you deliberately, saying that he should be spending more time with you. She’d pull you aside and talk to you, apologizing for using up so much of Jungsoo’s time. You could tell she was genuinely, sincerely sorry.

And you smiled and told her it was alright. What else were you supposed to do? You couldn’t fault her. And Jungsoo – Jungsoo had never done this to you before in his other relationships, but it just meant that he was that much in love with Nayeon. It just meant that she was someone different from the rest, someone that he was even more deeply in love with. Someone that he might marry, have the sweet family he wanted so much with, with a nice home by the Han River and a beautiful view of the sky and the city. You couldn’t begrudge him. He was in love, and you couldn’t, wouldn’t, ask him to put you before that. You considered yourself a rather selfish person, but even you weren’t going to be that selfish.

And so it went that you sometimes went months with minimal contact with Jungsoo, where before you two would barely go days without calling. The entire time, he was fell deeper and deeper for Nayeon. The other Super Junior members complained that all he would talk about was her, that he acted like a starstruck idiot when she was near, or even when she was mentioned. You laughed at their overblown descriptions and accounts of Jungsoo’s utter devotion to Nayeon, telling yourself that the pain in your chest was going to go away someday. Honestly, you were expecting the marriage news any day now; the moment your fractured heart would finally shatter altogether.

And then, Nayeon broke up with Jungsoo. They were together for three years.

You met her one last time after that, and still, you couldn’t hate her. She looked wilted and tired and so, so sorry that the disbelieving fury in your chest shriveled to nothing. You didn’t ask why she broke up with him, and she didn’t say why, but the two of you parted on decent terms. The last thing she told you was to take care of Jungsoo – and to take care of yourself.

Jungsoo was sitting on his bed. You had never seen him look so devastated in your life. His eyes were dull and flat, his movements were languid and exhausted, and his speech was morose and uninterested. You sat next to him, talked to him reassuringly, rubbed his back and held him as he finally broke down, making himself vulnerable in front of you as he had so many times before. 

“It’ll be alright, Jungsoo.”

“It won’t.” His reply was choked. “It’ll never be alright again. She – she l-left––” The phrase was broken up in between sobs, as if it in its entirety was too much for him to comprehend. “––me.” His grip on you tightened until it was almost painful, but you said nothing. “She’s gone.”

You had nothing to say. You were shocked, too. You thought Jungsoo and Nayeon would last forever, you were sure. Everyone who knew Jungsoo was sure. What happened was none of your business, but whatever it was, how massive, how shattering, could it have been?

“One day,” you whispered, your heart aching. “One day, you’ll feel better.”

“No.” The word was shot out like a bullet – instantaneous, unhesitant, doubtless. “Never. I’ll never––” The sob that cut into his words rocked his entire body, shaking you too with the force of it.

“I loved her,” Jungsoo whispered. “What am I… oh God, what am I going to do? Help me.” He broke away and looked at you, face tear-streaked, eyes desperate and raw. “Y/N, please, please – help me. I don’t know what to do. I – I can’t… I can’t just––” The attempt at a sentence crumbled as another cry gripped him.

You had tears in your eyes, too. “Jungsoo,” you said, “Jungsoo, look at me.” When he didn’t, you threw your inhibitions to the wind and, cupping his face in your hands, raised his chin to force him to look you in the eyes. “It’ll get better,” you said, firmly despite the tears falling down your cheeks now. “It will. You’re a good person – the kindest, most caring, most genuine person I know. I know it hurts so much right now, and it’ll hurt so much for a long time afterwards, but you’ll get through it. You will.” His eyes were searching you, wild and visceral, begging you to be speaking the truth.

“You will get through it,” you said again. “I promi––”

He kissed you, molding his mouth aggressively with yours, hands coming up to cup your face. Your body went slack with shock, but his was vigorous – his thumbs tracing your cheeks feverishly, his legs pulling him closer to you so your curves fit perfectly with him. One hand left your cheek to clasp the nape of your neck, closing the space between your bodies even more.

Your body responded on instinct. The man you had loved for so long, the man whom you’d thought would never even glance in your direction, was kissing you. You returned the kiss, clashing with Jungsoo for dominance, and your hands came up to wrap around his forearms, squeezing tightly.

Sensing your reciprocation, Jungsoo wrapped his arms around your waist, sending a delicious thrill up your spine, and yanked you towards him. Your bodies were pressed tightly together, so tightly that you could feel his heart thumping in his chest. Your mind was completely blank except for the thrumming of pleasure running rampant throughout your entire body, spiking your temperature and making your head spin. Jungsoo was kissing you. You were kissing him.

You felt his hands gripping your shirt aggressively before fingers began to fumble with the first button of your shirt. It popped open, exposing an inch more of your skin to the heated air of the apartment. Jungsoo’s hands went lower, and a second button was undone, followed by a third. His hands, you thought hazily, his hands were so warm against your bare skin. His fingers brushed against the top of your breast, and you nearly gasped. It felt surreal. It felt like it was your imagination, that you could feel Jungsoo’s hands on your body, after telling yourself over and over and over that he would never see you like that.

Your lungs screaming for air, you broke away reluctantly, pulling back just a centimeter, but no sooner had you taken your first choppy inhale before Jungsoo yanked you back to him, connecting your lips again. “Y/N,” he gasped against your mouth, his voice raw and hoarse. His hands continued to work your shirt, unbuttoning it, lower and lower. You couldn’t think. Your mind was clouded over, drunk on him and what he was doing to you.

Jungsoo hooked your legs around his waist, and you gasped as your clothed core pressed against his covered erection. Then, moving frantically, he lowered you onto the bed so your unbuttoned shirt spilled open, exposing your abdomen to the air. But Jungsoo didn’t even stop to look. He yanked his shirt off and began to work on your pants, unbuttoning them in a matter of seconds and sliding them down your legs. You couldn’t tell him to stop. You knew, in the back of your mind, that you’d regret this later, that you’d hate the sight of him afterwards, but you didn’t want to think about that right now. Your rationality was completely overwhelmed by this once-in-a-lifetime high, your body desperate for Jungsoo’s touch, and in your haze, it wouldn’t fully sink in, why this was such a bad idea. You needed this – this was the only time you’d get it, and you needed it.

Completely ridding both you and himself of your clothes, Jungsoo wasted no time. He rubbed your core once and, sensing that you were already wet, spread your legs with his hands and pressed into you. You moaned, gripping his shoulders as he buried his face in the crook of your neck with a strangled groan. His hips rocked as he fucked you, moving frantically against your body, but he never looked at you. His face stayed pressed against your neck and shoulder the entire time, even as he moaned and gasped and you whimpered, digging your nails into the skin of his back.

Jungsoo’s thrusts became sloppy and unfocused as he reached his end, and you squeezed your eyes shut, blocking out the warnings that were slamming against your brain. I love you, Jungsoo, you thought, saying the words that you’d wanted to tell him for so long. I love you so, so much. I’m yours.

He stilled, buried deep inside you, and came, his searing warmth filling you. Gasping, you let go of him, and the moment your arms fell to your sides, he was pulling out and away, sinking down on the mattress next to you. You could feel his release dripping out of you, and it was with that small sensation that it all sunk in.

You didn’t try to stop the tears. You only covered your face with your hands, your body shuddering as you sobbed quietly. Jungsoo made no attempt to comfort you. He just pulled up the covers and rolled over, turning his back to your trembling form. Soon, you realized that it wasn’t just your crying you were hearing anymore – it was his, too.

At least one of you had sleep that night. Jungsoo eventually dozed off at what must have been damn near five a.m., but you couldn’t sleep. You just lay there for hours, even after the tears had stopped, staring numbly at the ceiling. Eventually, sometime after Jungsoo had fallen asleep, you got up, bringing your clothes with you, and shut yourself into the bathroom. Your reflection seemed to stare at you with disappointed, reproaching eyes.

Dully, you washed yourself off, put on your clothes, and drifted out to the living room, taking a heavy seat on the sofa. You couldn’t believe what the two of you had just done. The two of you had fucked, you looking for any way to have him, someone who would never see you that way, like that, him seeking comfort from his devastation in the wake of Nayeon’s leaving and taking it from the easiest person he could get it from. He used you, he used your feelings for him – you knew that. And you were angry. So fucking angry at him for using the love you had for him for so long to try to lessen his pain, even just a little – and so fucking angry at yourself for letting him do it. Jungsoo had taken advantage of you, and you had just let him.

With a sigh that didn’t even come close to expressing how you felt, but was simultaneously the only way you could possibly even try to explain it, you shuffled through your purse, took one of the contraceptives that you brought with you inside, and checked the time. It was almost seven a.m. You wanted to leave the house, run from it and never come back, because the thought of Jungsoo now burned, but you weren’t going to be that irresponsible. You two were grown adults, and as disgusting as the notion sounded, you knew you had to talk about what you had done that night.

As the morning brightened, you made Jungsoo breakfast, trying to stifle the growing urge to start throwing plates around the kitchen and scream in frustration and anger. You had just finished setting the table when Jungsoo came out from his bedroom. You met his eyes steadily, and he stared back, expression unwelcoming.

“Why are you still here?” The question was stiff, cold. You briefly pictured picking up the cup of water and hurtling it at his insufferable face, but that wouldn’t solve your problems.

“Eat first.” Your voice was curt. After a tense hesitation, he did as you said, sitting down at the table and staring at the food like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to eat what you made or not. For your part, you sat on the sofa and waited, stone-faced, as he ate. You didn’t need to watch him to know that he barely ate five bites before putting his utensils down.

He walked over to you purposefully and sat down across from you, the defensiveness in his body language and demeanor making you wonder if this was going to be a difficult conversation.

“About last night,” you began, knowing that you didn’t need to elaborate. Jungsoo tensed, sitting up straight and squaring his shoulders like he was about to fight you.

“That was a mistake.” His tone was brusque, clearly determined not to be made into the one at fault. It made you want to stand up and start shouting at him. “We shouldn’t have. It was all… we weren’t thinking straight.”

You stared.

“It’s best if we just forget about it.”

You looked away, feeling like the world had fallen out from under your feet. Sure. Sure, you knew all that. It wasn’t like you had expected, or even hoped for, some drama’s plot twist, some movie confession of love from him. You knew what last night was. You knew what you two had done was a line that you never should have crossed – a line that you never even should have come near. But hearing him dismiss it as just a mistake with his own mouth, after he had purposefully kissed you and initiated everything…

“That’s it?” you said, disbelieving. “That’s what you have to say? That it was all just wrong? That you weren’t thinking about what you were doing? After you kissed me out of the blue while I was trying to comfort you?”

“I wasn’t in my right mind!” Jungsoo snapped. You shook your head.

“No! No, you don’t get to just say that and then expect me to be fine with it!” You glared at him, trying to prevent the tears from filling your eyes. You’d already wasted too many tears on this man – first because he said you were just an important friend, then because it hurt seeing him so in love with another woman, and then because he had the nerve to kiss you and fuck you while not even thinking of you at all.

“You know I love you! And yet you said fuck-all to me when Nayeon was around, you stopped talking to me or calling me or texting me or listening to me because you were too goggly-eyed for her! And I tried! I tried to understand, Jungsoo.” He was looking at you with a defiant expression on his face, clearly not wanting to acknowledge the truth in what you were saying. “I told myself that you were in love, that it was only natural for you to put that and her over me. But you––” Your voice broke under the force of your anger, and you had to stop for a second before you could continue.

“––you think you can just call me over to comfort you, kiss me knowing full well how I feel about you, fuck me to lick your wounds after Nayeon left you because you know you can get me to comply easily, and then say it was all just a mistake and that you weren’t thinking straight?” You clenched your fists to stop yourself from standing up and shrieking at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Why is it all me?” Jungsoo shot back, his voice rising. “I seem to remember that you weren’t exactly trying to stop me, were you? You were just as much a part of it as I was, Y/N! And you don’t get to say it now like I’m the one with all the fault here! Not when you kissed me back and let me lay you on the bed and let me f––” He stopped himself, but you had already heard enough.

“I did those things because I love you!” you spat. “Because I’ve been wanting you to touch me like that for so long! Even when I know you were thinking of Nayeon the entire time, I let you fuck me because it was the only way I’d ever come anywhere remotely close to you returning my feelings!” You clenched your jaw, seething at him. “And you knew that, you piece of shit! You knew I’d think like that and let you kiss me, and touch me, because you know full well how I feel about you! That’s why you kissed me. Because you needed easy, cheap comfort and I was the perfect thing you could use to get it!” You stared at him. “Is that all I am to you? Your plaything to ignore when it suits you and toy around with when your poor feelings need––”

“It was a fucking hook-up, okay?” Jungsoo shouted. “That’s all it was, so just – just stop making it into something you can use to cause a fuss, okay? Just forget it!” He snapped his mouth shut. Something like regret at his harsh outburst seemed to flash in his eyes, but you didn’t see it, didn’t want to see it. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing – Park Jungsoo, your best friend since adolescence, was really going to sweep last night under the rug. He was really willing to pretend that you two hadn’t crossed an impossible line, that he had kissed you and fucked you and used your feelings for him to make himself feel better. He wasn’t going to apologize, he wasn’t going to talk about it, he wasn’t going to make any effort to take responsibility.

And you – you were done. You were done being considerate of him, you were done putting a damper on your feelings for his sake, you were done being hurt by him over and over and over again and still crawling back with the flimsy, all-too-pathetic excuse that you loved him. You were done with him, and whatever was left between the two of you.

“Fine,” you said, standing up. “Fine, I’ll forget it. I’ll forget it for you, so you do something for me too, Jungsoo. You go back to the past three years when you skirted around me and ignored me and treated me like a nobody. You go back to not bothering with me, not contacting me, not listening to or giving a damn about a word that I say. Live your life without me like you did with Nayeon. Don’t you dare think of me, and don’t you dare step foot anywhere near me.”

You picked up your purse and stormed from the apartment, slamming the door. As you stomped down the hallway, you heard the door open again, and Jungsoo call out your name. You sped up your gait and didn’t look back.

You never went back to Jungsoo’s apartment. He tried calling, texting, even meeting you, but you avoided all his attempts. You didn’t want to see his face, and you weren’t sure you’d ever want to again, even until you died.

That day in his home was the end of a long chapter of your life. Your friendship with Jungsoo was no more, and when anyone asked about it you simply said that things had changed. The text message he sent you a month and a half after the incident was the last exchange the two of you shared.

[Jungsoo 😇 – 3:46 A.M.] I’m sorry.

[Jungsoo 😇 – 3:47 A.M.] I was wrong.

[Jungsoo 😇 – 3:47 A.M.] I miss you.

[Jungsoo 😇 – 3:47 A.M.] …don’t you miss me?

[You – 7:59 A.M.] I’d rather be insane.

[asherlockstudy]

Did you end up listening to links EB? I'm curious about your thoughts

Warning, this post is extensively about religion, the concept of sin, trauma, self- torment. Please skip if you feel uncomfortable with any of these being mentioned. Also, this post is my personal interpretation of events discussed in the last EBs. I believe I am not exceeding any boundaries but keep in mind all the same that I do make assumptions here.  

Oookay… where to start and what to say…Even though I’d read many MB comments about Link’s EB and I was prepared, I was much more shaken by the end of it than I had expected. I still don’t know how to start so I’ll connect this a bit to the guess in my previous post. Link was indeed more absolute in his beliefs and thoughts than Rhett but it was for the reason I considered the least probable: he’s leaning away from Christianity / religion more than Rhett. His reaction to it involves anger and disappointment. 

I’ll just address this: I understand there are many valid reasons for which they say they haven’t experienced trauma associated with their religion and its practices but this is 99% not true. Perhaps they don’t say it because they are still processing it, they are just now realising it or haven’t yet. Sometimes when you’re bursting with emotions, especially toxic, you can’t see the truth easily. On the other hand, maybe they don’t want to share with us their trauma and this is perfectly normal. Most people wouldn’t share their trauma with the global population. Speaking to your therapist or a close person is already hard enough. What they did means a lot to them so it was a very brave decision. 

When it comes to emotions, self-awareness and confronting oneself, Link is braver than Rhett. That’s why his episode is braver than Rhett’s too. I don’t believe Rhett’s insistence that his pursuit for answers was strictly intellectual. Yes, they acknowledged they are very different personalities but I think Rhett still has trouble accepting or admitting the toll his choices and beliefs early in life could have had in his emotional world for decades. Link exposed him a little, mentioning several times that Rhett would discuss with him their similar concerns that were often largely irrelevant to the Evolution and the accuracy of the events described in the Bible. You can hear that Rhett is sometimes hesitant to participate a lot to Link’s EB and I respect that. He does not have to say any of this to us after all. He’s not obligated to say as much as Link either.

 As for Link, Link is a person that loathes keeping things buried inside him and yet it seems this is all he ‘s been  doing his entire life. Like I said in my guess, Link’s natural predisposition was not to care all that much about religion as a child but he yearned for guidance (and a father figure) that I am afraid he was deprived of in his household. The reasons Link is so obsessed with systems and organizing is probably because he always felt there was not enough control / order / guidance in his life. He relied on his systems and the most willingly authoritative people he could find: Rhett and, by extension, Rhett’s father. Make no mistake, I’m not condemning Rhett. I hate to say that Rhett was also a victim of his father. Of course, I don’t mean his father wanted to torment his son but simply his parenting was toxic even though he was undoubtedly trying for the best for his family. Rhett was not the one who kicked Link out of his car. The real Rhett was the one who walked back to him. His anger for Link’s “sin” (for fuck’s sake???!!) was his father and all the religious teachings speaking in his ear. Besides, the fact that a 16 year old would feel ashamed on behalf of another teenager and abandon him in the middle of a road because he drank a little alcohol simply shows how much poison was eating Rhett’s insides too without realising it. 

You see, what makes me melancholic is that in this perspective Link and even Rhett sound like they were really innocent children - pure souls. But sometimes when someone is by nature or by circumstances so sensitive / innocent / sheltered / isolated, then whatever attacks them first (i.e extreme religious teachings) can fuck them up very easily. Link was innocent enough that he was convinced that as a baby he had committed serious sins that Jesus sacrificed to save him from specifically. Kid Link felt guilty for things he couldn’t even fathom. He was compelled to maintain a relationship with Jesus (which they were both interpretting almost as a regular, literal one) out  of gratitude for his “””redemption””””. Then he lived in constant fear of what could be perceived as sin by God next. Crying because he had a few drinks. Staying (too) away from Christy because he was more “irresponsible” with his previous girlfriend. (At this point I am really curious what Link considered irresponsible / sinful in a romantic relationship but I am afraid of the answer.) We all understand I hope that this isn’t very different from those monks who have an “unholy” thought and then whip themselves until they pass out, right? The reasoning is the same and it’s self-torment. The irony is I think Link probably was doing a pretty solid job as a Christian (even by conservative standards). He sounds like he had unrealistic expectations about his relationship with God. I sensed that he’s still not completely over this. 

After I learned the truth about their “lost years” I was slightly disappointed because I had this dreamy view of a friendship where one quits his job because the other has artistic visions for both of them. It turns out there was even more devotion and loyalty on Link’s part after all. Link stayed in this religious system basically because Rhett did, because he had so much faith and trust in him and he was repressing himself because “surely Rhett is right and it’s just that I am the insufficient one again”. My understanding is that the first signs of Rhett’s scepticism was something Link desperately hoped for for years against all odds. It’s mindblowing for me that Link started distancing himself from the church only after Rhett’s doubts were multiplying and he started being open about them. The amount of respect and trust he has for Rhett could probably be found in novels. 

In order to make a full circle, all this makes it obvious once more that there is trauma - maybe severe - involved. I mean, these incidents alone are traumatic enough and now imagine everything they have not told us. What’s more, Link sounded like there was trauma involved. So did Rhett. For more proof, just watch today’s GMM where Terry prays for Link. Notice Link’s clear discomfort. He felt bad but he didn’t want to make it awkward for poor unsuspecting Terry who was just trying to make a joke. This shows though how easily Link is triggered - Terry clearly pushed all the wrong buttons there - and that means trauma. I don’t have the slightest doubt that Link was 100% sincere when he said a big part of it was his frustration that people dear to him could not be accepted by the Church he was a member of but, let’s be real, it’s a whoooole different thing realising some stuff and making calm decisions to stand by your non-privileged friends and reevaluate your choices than actually almost having a panic attack at the thought of following your family inside a building that happens to be a church. This hints to a personal wound, it is an instictual response for self-protection. Also, we know how adamant Link is to not disappoint and keep the family as united as possible - it is uncharacteristic that he wanted to make a different choice that day instead of, say, go in there with them and simply stand indifferent and not participate. 

They are healing right now. Despite what Link said, I feel they both still yearn very much for a higher force, an almighty spirit. They just need it to be unconditionally loving and accepting and just. Their spiritual journey is not over. 

[arcticdementor]

Two years ago, when reviewing “The Benedict Option”, I wrote, “Almost all Dreher’s critics accuse him of crying wolf or being a Chicken Little at best … Meanwhile, I’m saying that Dreher is underestimating his enemy, painting an overly rosy picture, and not being nearly alarmist enough.”

This is still true.

“Wait, what?  Totalitarianism!  Gulags!”

I know!

Let me explain; I promise hope, this will be shorter than last time.

…

First, Dreher’s critics, while still far too blasé and insouciant about the end-game-level crisis racing straight for them, have at least started to acknowledge that something’s happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear, but that some greater degree of consternation and freak-out is now warranted.

But they are still far, far behind the power curve on this one.

As a friend of mine put it, “The single biggest problem is lag-seriousness.  We are always just at best about grim enough for yesterday’s battle.”

That is where “Dreher’s Law of Merited Impossibility” comes from.  “It will never happen, and when it does, you bigots will deserve it.”  If it were possible, despite denials, and by pointing out a clear logical implication of progressive ideology – and even going so far as to supplement with the early appearances of those explicit proposals – to scare conservatives enough, early enough, to do whatever it takes to avoid it, then the impossible wouldn’t keep happening to them, over and over again.

But it’s almost never feasible to do this.  It turns out this is the one impossibility.  The frogs never jump out of the pot in time to avoid another scalding.  The need is not to be grim enough for yesterday, but for today, so that tomorrow won’t bring your final sunset.

That puts Dreher in the position of a Cassandra.

…

In “Live Not By Lies”, Dreher seems to assume that something like faithful Christianity as we know it today is going to go through a profoundly difficult era of persecution, but still, its adherents having prepared for it, it will persist at some level despite intense suffering until, well, ‘deliverance’.  Perhaps not in the Acts 12:3 sense, but then again, maybe so.  How else?

…

That’s why even Dreher isn’t radicalized enough yet, because he doesn’t seem to fully grapple with the gloomy prospects for his tradition that is the clear implication of his own arguments about the overwhelming magnitude of the problem.  That is: termination.  Slow and steady and (mostly) gentle evaporation under the relentless heat of the sun until the last drop of water finally evaporates and the spiritual desert goes completely dry.

It would be like Travis telling the defenders of the Alamo that Santa Anna was sending a force in the morning that outnumbered them ten to one, that supplies were nearly exhausted, and reinforcements too far away to help.  But with a tone of brutal optimism, “It’s going to be really rough boys, but if we’re tough enough, we’ll make it.” – “Um, rough?  Well Travis, come hell or high water, I’m happy to make a stand and fight by your side.  No rendirse!  But to be frank, from the way you put it, I reckon it sounds like we’re all going to die.”

…

Now, before I explain why, let me get to the second piece of good news and commend Dreher for a wonderful second half of the book, which contained the inspiring and gut-wrenching stories of what it was like for people of faith behind the Iron Curtain to be the subjects of Communist anti-Christian oppression.

As I look over my notes, I see almost no comments or criticisms in that half.  The testimonies speak for themselves.  These harrowing and moving tales of triumphs of fidelity and perseverance in the face of the hardships and miseries of hard totalitarianism don’t need any gloss.  The stories of these brave people deserve your study, and their memories your honor.

However.

What is both terrible and true is that a month later you are probably going to forget all their names, forget the details of their persecution, and come away with the same rough impression and vague understanding you already have. This is that Christians had it really bad in a place where Christianity was once all of life but had been evicted, that some of them nevertheless stayed devoted, and others gave the last full measure of devotion.  Others resisted, and some of them even lasted long enough on the road through hell to make it through to the other side.

Though, in a way, it was lucky for them there was the other side: that didn’t happen everywhere.  If the Soviets had then what the Chinese have now, likely there would have been no interviews or happy endings.  You can’t even forget a martyr’s name if you never got the chance to hear about his martyrdom in the first place.

…

Alas, this is not really a manual at all, and regardless of whether Dreher is dropping some kind of Straussian signal with that, it’s surprising that few of his critics have noticed the problem.

An actual manual is more than just general rough guidelines; it has clear, specific, step-by-step instructions for how to accomplish some identified, well-defined task or troubleshoot typical problems.  It cannot be a bunch of personal narratives, and, “Follow their lead; just be like them.  Refuse to bend, like Benda.”

If one picked up, say, a survival manual, one would expect to emerge knowing how to start a fire and build a shelter.  A beginner’s cookbook will at least tell you precisely how long to boil an egg.

What does Dreher tell us to do in an age of persecution?  “Embrace Suffering.” “Choose a Life Apart from the Crowd.”  “Reject Doublethink and Fight for Free Speech.”  “Cherish Truth-Telling but Be Prudent.”  “Cultivate Cultural Memory.” “See, Judge, Act.”

He doesn’t get much more specific.  I think he believes he got more specific – “form small cells … read other books,” and the recitation of Solzhenitsyn’s Six Hard Rules on page 18 – but it’s not actually the case.  “See, Judge, Act” is just a description of any rational decision-making process, and “Yeah, but this is Persecuted Christian decision-making,” doesn’t actually put meat on the bones.  These are mostly motivation stimulants and abstract encouragements of the right general attitudes, but those do no a ‘manual’ make.

These are like ordering the military to “Be able to fight and win wars,” and then someone else develops the *actual* doctrine and writes the field manuals.  These commandments, like the Decalogue itself, just raise a host of questions, “How much suffering?  How far apart from the crowd?  Which crowd?  How do I identify doublethink?  Fight for free speech how?  Fight for hate speech too?  Where is the line between prudence and paying so much lip-service I lose my soul?”

…

But how is some ordinary person who needs an actual manual supposed to live not by lies, if the famous, influential guy writing the admonition feels just as compelled by circumstances and prudence to live by omitting the lies?

There should have been at least one page that went like this:

You as a Christian are going to be strongly pressured to “wear the ribbon” and to say the following things which do not accord with the truths of our faith, and in order to live not by lies, you must be willing to sacrifice, suffer if necessary, and never say …

Never say what, exactly?  Yes, integrity in general is a virtue, but obviously Dreher is talking about the Big Lies.

But in his book, there is a surprising paucity of actual lies.  Isn’t that something?  First it’s strange, then it’s puzzling, and then when you solve the puzzle, demoralizing.

My take is the answer to the puzzle of absence is Dreher’s actual manual, the one you are supposed to figure out.  The most critically strategic task is to preserve precisely this kind of room for maneuver: the freedom to speak the truth and to condemn the lies.  If you still can, if there is still some crack open in the window of opportunity, then you must band together and stop your opponents from being able to impose their rival orthodoxy on you, which forces that absence and omission and uses that dominance to call your lies truth and your love hate.

If you can’t do that, if you missed your chance to make that stand, then like the Alamo, it’s only a matter of time.

…

Otherwise, without the list of lies one lacks a clear idea of the threat one faces, and so vague guidelines are all that are left and there is no possibility of a manual with precise instructions.  But with the lies, the enemy hears his own name like the aliens hear a scream in “A Quiet Place”, and then come down on you like a ton of bricks.

VI. From whence the cascade

Well, look, no sense getting some bricks in the face if one can avoid it, that’s just being smart and prudent.  Though, inconveniently, it’s Dreher himself who quotes Milosz to argue against this kind of seductive logic.

Better logic would be to say that one can reason that the intended audience probably knows the lies already, and knows that they have been weak, acquiesced, and lived by them.  They know what they are supposed to stand up for already, and they know they have failed to do so.  They know who their enemies are, and they know they have failed to resist them.  You don’t need to list the lies to send a signal to all these people that, by the very fact of this book existing, knowing that it is being digested by so many other people, they are not alone, and they can act differently.

But what the audience still doesn’t know is what to do about it.  Dreher may not know either.  Notice: a thousand Benedict Option startups have not bloomed.  The Benedict Option was criticized as crazy and alarmist, but again, the ugly, gloomy truth is that it’s actually the hopeful, optimistic, and practically wishful-thinking take on things.  Most likely, there is no such option.

…

The anti-audience already believes Dreher is far more of a kook and Chicken Little than his Christian critics do, and just a continuation of “The Paranoid Style In American Politics.” To them, Dreher can get in the back of the line behind the McCarthyists, “Eisenhower was a Commie!” John Birchers, QAnon conspiracy theorists, and low-status judgment-day-is-just-around-the-corner-all-the-signs-are-actually-happening prepper types.  They are once again proclaiming the first half of the law, “It will never happen.”

And without the list of lies, their argument wins the day.  It seems fully plausible and convincing.  It sounds like this:

Oh look at these idiots going off again.  Here we are, just trying to make sure love wins and hate loses.  Our ‘radical ideology’ amounts to “Don’t be a bigot, help your fellow man, and keep your toxic hatefulness to yourself.”  Everybody should be included, and nobody ought to be unjustly discriminated against.  Simple, self-evident, human universals, really, do real, loving Christians really disagree so much with any of those?  And because the white supremacist homophobes can’t think of anything else to say in response, the hide behind ‘Christianity’ as a pathetic rationalization for their simple irrational animus, and resort to inventing fantasies like gulags and torture rooms and KGB agents.  Like *they’re* the victims!  Delusional!  What kind of creepy psychological problems do they have to really imagine that with all their wealth, comfort, freedom, privilege, and petty first world problems, that they are remotely spiritual kin with people who endured the worst suffering possible?  Crazy!

Do you see the problem?  It’s the ‘merited’ part of the law.  Dreher wants to respond with the simple truth, “We’re not bigots, and we don’t deserve it.”  The response would be, “Ok, let’s find out.  What is it exactly that you are going to insist on believing or doing, that we would possibly think was worth throwing you into a gulag?”

He can’t beat around the bush with something general and evasive, “For being devout Christians.”

The response (at least from the rare one who knows anything about Christianity) would be as follows:

Look, we just think your religion is mostly a collection of mythological fantasies and superstitious prohibitions, but combined with a salvageable core of a worthy moral perspective that, like almost all ancient and traditional lines of philosophy, represents an incomplete and imperfect grasping toward the same ethical framework we now hold dear.  That’s why Jefferson rewrote the bible, removing all those superfluous distractions.  Following the actual bible seems kind of nutty and backward to us, but now that it’s in clear political retreat in terms of numbers and influence, and since most self-identified Christians don’t really seem to live like they take most of it seriously, we regard it as mostly harmless.  So long as you keep it to yourselves.

So, nobody is going to throw you in the gulag for going to church.  Or for believing Jesus is Lord, that he is the Savior of humanity and God’s only son, that he was born in Bethlehem of the Virgin Mary who in turn was immaculately conceived, that he performed miracles, made water into wine, multiplied bread and fishes, walked upon water, healed the sick, raised the dead, died for our sins, and was resurrected.  That he saves his people by means of their repentance and confession to sin and commanded his followers to love each other and their neighbors and their enemies, and to spread his word and the gospel of the good news of their salvation to every soul.

Seriously now, is that not Christian enough or you?  Are these not the central claims of Christianity?  Is that not enough freedom to be a Christian?

And we aren’t going to do a single thing to anyone for any of that.  Why would we even care?  Maybe if proselytizing is done obnoxiously in an imposing manner and makes people feel unsafe and not included.  But let’s face it, 99.99% of American Christians aren’t ever doing that anymore, so it’s kind of absurd to spook them, right?  Now we will insist that you not discriminate against LGBTs, and not to teach people to hate them, and yes, you will indeed get merited punishment if you persist in doing so.  But seriously, is Hate the hill you are choosing to die on?

As another friend of mine put it, “We do not want you to subtract from your faith, only to add to it.  Just don’t be a jerk and you’ll be just fine.”

One simply cannot give this line of argument anything like an adequate response without getting right into the contrasts between what one believes and what one’s opponents believe, that is, between the truth and the lies.  It’s a no-win situation.  Without naming the lies, the progressives will suspect Dreher’s audience are closeted bigots.  Naming the lies, open bigots.  C’est la guerre.

Unlike in the Soviet Union, the progressives don’t see mere belief and worship as inherently threatening, and so aren’t interested in prison and torture for merely belonging to a faith, going to church, being a priest, and so forth.  They look at ‘worship’ in “freedom of worship” in the same ’boutique’ manner that Fish explained as the way they look at culture in “multiculturalism”.  That is, by definition, non-threatening to the imperialist program of imposing progressive orthodoxy on everyone, everywhere.

In other words, Fake Religious Tolerance, and Fake Multiculturalism.  Fake, because it is precisely at the important friction points that the freedom or the multi ends.  Now, as Winnifred Sullivan explained, whether genuine religious freedom is even possible in anything like our system is an interesting question, but the point is that one can’t have any coherent discourse on the subject real or fake tolerance, without identifying those points of difference.

…

Now, the approach Dreher has taken has been to say that, of course it won’t actually be ‘hard’ torture and gulags, it will be ‘soft’ totalitarianism.  Dreher would have given his argument much more punch had he marshaled the parade of horribles of all the “never going to happen”s that are definitely going to happen, probably soon.  Without getting into the lies, he could still have collected in one place the likely sequence of escalation of oppressive state policies and mob pressures which will be brought to bear against Christian (and other) holdouts in the mopping-up operations.

They’ll penalize or dis-accredit private school, take away homeschooling, have child protective services yank your kids away if you try, mandate offensively heretical curriculum on core moral issues, kick your kids out of athletic competitions and related chances for scholarships, boycott your businesses, commercially excommunicate you as unhireable, and ineligible to use the internet or transactions system, give your kids abortions or sex hormones behind your back, take away your guns, allow the mob to walk right up to your front door and smash your windows with impunity, and if you try to defend yourself, you’ll be the one who gets arrested.

To his Christian readers, that parade of horribles will feel closer and more plausible and real, thus helping to raise their alarm to more accurate levels.  Some may reject these claims at first, but as they start coming true, one after the other, he will seem nothing less than, well, prophetic.  Cassandra was cursed, but Dreher can build a track record.

The trouble is, while all these things will happen, unlike in the Soviet system, they will never need to be ubiquitous or even common, so they can always be rhetorically dismissed as rare aberrations.  No one is going to publish a ‘study’ with some nice scatter plots showing the increase in the persecution index.  In the contemporary media environment, one hanged admiral – a pizza shop, a cake decorator, an expelled student, a heterodox professor – encourages millions of the others, to just give in and side with the strong horse, the cool horse.  You only have to hang one or two admirals a year, (only after groveling apologies of course) and soon enough, the whole Navy has surrendered, concludes that those admirals had it coming, and that they “weren’t being smart.”

…

The thing about hard totalitarianism is the fact of brutal oppression is inescapably clear to everyone.  Sure, it will be rationalized and justified, but that people know it’s there if they step out of line is half the point.  And if one is not enjoying being on the delivering end, the common human psychological instinct is to resent such domination.

‘Soft’ is totally different.  People will still have choices, but if they choose ‘wrong’ in the eyes of the elites, then they will just be seen as weirdo losers and low-status pariahs, not martyrs.  The flip-side of resenting domination is admiring, conspicuously affiliating with, and imitating the prestigious.  People – your own fellow Christians too – will look at the refusal to pinch incense for Caesar the same way they look at a hermit’s refusal of all society.  When you think about it, the hermit who could fit in if he wanted to is just persecuting himself.

…

The perception of dual loyalty would mean that you would be spied on, that your closest friends would be recruited to inform against you, and that you would hit an unacknowledged but hard glass ceiling in your career path, “Performance Assessment: A highly competent and reliable professional with unlimited leadership potential, but … does not adequately demonstrate he fully shares our values and commitment to progress.  Pass over for promotion absent a critical personnel shortage in his field.”

And of course, you would never be told: a breeding ground for paranoia and self-doubt.  Nevertheless, if you kept your head down otherwise, you could enjoy a normal life and even some measure of personal success and respect.

Sometimes, to remind people who’s boss, an ‘informant’ would be told to make up some baloney accusations and the local priest would get arrested and interrogated, maybe leaned on to make more false accusations of his colleagues.  No one would hear about him for days.  Then, usually, he was released with a stern warning to watch his back.

When he showed up again at services, what happened?  His whole congregation would weep for joy and relief, hugs and handshakes for hours, invitations and offers of support.  He would be a kind of minor hero, a kind of minor martyr, honored and dignified.  There were thousands of such events in the second half the 20th century.  That’s worthy suffering; inspiring, socially productive suffering.

XI. Live Hard

But what about someone who gets ‘canceled’ today?  Most of the time, it’s the Big Meh, no welcoming arms and no heroic status in one’s reference social group.  Without that, there is no utility in withstanding the suffering, because there is no power of example or remembrance.  Today, if you are accused of ‘hate’, things are such that most of your fellows will feel obliged to act like they believe it, dump you like a bag of dirt, and avoid you like the roof over reactor number three.

Dreher and Benda like to use the example of “High Noon”.  But try to imagine “Low Noon”, where, at the end, all the townspeople ganged up on the sheriff saying, “What the heck did you do that for, you psycho?  Those guys didn’t deserve that!  Now you’ve just gone and made trouble for the rest of us.  Get the heck out of our town, monster!”

…

To throw this into even sharper relief, and to demonstrate the absence of a true ‘manual’, instead of ‘Christianity’, imagine that one is trying to preserve and propagate some even more unpopular views that, while one believes them to be perfectly true, are deeply hated by just about everyone.  Any manual for dissidents necessarily works in general for any strain of persecuted dissent, and if it speaks to a particular kind of dissident, it is only because is it written in the language they are best able to comprehend.

Now, imagine a group of scattered people who were trying not to propagate Christianity and persevere as Christians, but as Confederates.  Some kind of secret society that saw it all coming since Calhoun and had, against all odds, continued for two centuries to the present day, who believed in the lost cause as the right cause, hereditary racial slavery, and all the rest.  What concrete advice does Dreher give that these people could use?  What advice could anyone give them?

There isn’t any.

This hypothetical makes it easy for everyone to immediately grasp, at this stage in the game, that it’s an impossible task.  The powers that be and 99% of society are fully committed and determined to thoroughly eradicating any remaining trace of those ideas and traditions.  They can do it, they will, they are, they are almost done.  Either the hypothetical Secret Confederates get nukes, or the protection of someone who has them, or (if they weren’t already extinct), their days are numbered.  That’s it, game over.

XIII.  Other Feet

The point is, the Soviet context is simply not the proper analogy for our situation.  That ideas makes it seem like the familiar image of the Romans throwing Christians to wild beasts in some arena.  But the right way to look at it is the other way around, once the Christians had won the upper hand.

The right context is something like Watts’ “The Final Pagan Generation”.

In late antiquity there were still sincere worshipers of Minerva and Apollo and Jupiter, continuing a religious tradition that went back, as it happens, about two thousand years.  And then it ended.  It’s a long story, and yes there was a fair amount of actual persecution as the shoe gradually moved to the other foot, but it wasn’t the key factor.

Gradually, there were fewer and fewer of these people, until there really was a last one.  And when he died, the faith died with him; the chain linking 100 generations was broken, and the line went completely extinct.  The last drop of water evaporated and the ground was dry.  Now, no one praises Jupiter, because their great-grandparents praised Jupiter.

…

Dreher’s “Why Communism Appealed to Russians” is, unfortunately, typical progressive mythological narrative (i.e., widely-swallowed propaganda) and mushy-headed nonsense drawing a line from “poverty and oppression” to the allure of Socialism.  The material circumstances of various populations simply do not constitute the proper explanation for how that particular idea – or any idea – spread and came to dominate.

…

If our own past is a foreign country, the past of foreign countries is too weird and alien to grasp without extensive immersion in its particular history.  We are taught to think of tsarist-era exile in Siberia as a retroactive extension of the Soviet gulags, but it wasn’t like that.  Siberia was like their Australia: a far away place you could send prisoners of all kinds with minimal supervision and the understanding that it was really hard to get back.  You might even hope they would try to take a go at making a life for themselves out there like colonists, because you needed to populate the vast, mostly unpeopled wilderness.

So “exile” at that time was mockable as a kind of Siberian summer camp.  Many of the Bolsheviks who experienced it were practically unguarded and made many successful and attempted escapes.  Stalin wrote of his enjoyment fishing with Tunguses, horseback riding, and of fornication (and procreation!) with 13 year old locals like Lidia Pereprygia.  Brutal, I tell you.

…

By page 41, Dreher admits that “Intellectuals are the Revolutionary Class,” but he might have just said ‘elites’.  Major historical events and struggles between groups are always and everywhere a phenomenon of disputes between classes of elites.

But then a few pages later he goes off course, “To be sure, neither loneliness, not social atomization, not the rise of social justice radicalism among power-holding elites – none of these and other factors discussed here meant that totalitarianism is inevitable.”

Unfortunately, when you are dealing with a replacement religion on the rise, and all the elites believe either in the latest edition of it or the version of it from ten years ago, yes it does.

…

With Chapter Three Dreher gets into Progressivism as Religion, but instead of accurate anthropology, we get the enemy’s version of the story about themselves, which is, as in all similar cases, slightly less than perfectly reliable.

…

If one looks under the hood, one sees that what leftism is mostly about is “redistribution of stuff and status.”  The political formula is a tacitly understood bargain to clients that offers, in exchange for political support, the use of state power to take from the enviable and give to those who envy.

…

Here’s another example of bad history:

The original American dream – the one held by the seventeenth century Puritan settles – was religion: to establish liberty as the condition that allowed them to worship and to service God as dictated by their consciences.

Actually, the Puritans immediately established a suffocatingly strict theocracy that did not tolerate heretics except by necessity, and in which ministers were public officials.  Nathaniel Ward’s or Winthrop’s ‘liberty’ was the liberty to be a pious Puritan, and the lack of liberty to be anything else.  If you were not a member of the church, you were officially a second-class citizen, and they would throw you out for anything.  The Puritans did not give people freedom to make choices according to their consciences about living virtuously or not, see, e.g., Platform of Church Discipline (1648).

Most of this ‘liberty’ story was retconned in the late 18th century during the establishment of the popular mythology of American History.  Once upon a time people like Rothbard thought that perhaps one day American society would come to be so confident and mature that it could replace the white lie mythology with the reality.  No such luck.  Instead we got a new religion that is just replacing it with a much more sinister and malevolent mythology.  That’s how it goes.  There is always a de facto state religion, and it will spread the myths it finds most useful.

…

Dreher does a good job in summarizing some of the claims of progressivism and “critical theory”, but he presents them as if they are to be taken at face value.

There is no such thing as objective truth, there is only power

Yes, you will hear this kind of rhetoric mindlessly parroted all the time, but it is by no means some kind of metaphysical principle consistently applied.  It is little more than an opportunistic tactical pose and a weapon to be deployed only when convenient, just like any double standard.  “Out truths are real, whereas your ‘truths’ are just useful lies you can shove down people’s throats and get them to repeat because you can intimidate and bully them into it.”  The fact that one can’t tell which side is making that statement about the other is what gives that perspective its robustness.

Progressives believe in rule by (credentialed, prestigious) experts, a rule that is legitimated by appeal to superior knowledge of objective truth.  Consider: “Reality-based community” or “Climate change is real.  The science is settled.”  None of that is compatible with the “no such thing” claim.

What about the “Myth of Progress”

It seems to flow naturally from the Myth of Progress as it has been lived out in our mass consumerist democracy, which has for generations defined progress as the liberation of human desire from limits.

No, just Christian limits.  This is an important point, and I think one that Dreher resists or finds hard to appreciate, mostly because progressives usually want mandatory toleration for everything Christianity prohibits.

But progressives are not libertines and have their own comprehensive sexual morality that is in some ways even more restrictive than that of traditional religions.  Is it not actually based on “live and let live,” “different strokes for different folks,” or the “anything goes with consenting adults” principle of volenti non fit iniuria, because in the progressive conception ‘true’ voluntariness and consent can only be valid in the absence of a whole host of pressures, undue influences, and power imbalances.  Contra Dreher, this imposes all manner of limits on human desire, as one can witness watching any tribunal of sex bureaucrats on any American college campus.

…

XX.  Woke Capitalism

At the same time, Big Business has moved steadily leftward on social issues.  Standard business practice long required staying out of controversial issues on the grounds that taking sides in the culture war would be bad for business” – now not taking sides is bad for business. … A powerful coalition of corporate leaders … threatened economic retaliation against [Indiana] if it did not reverse course.

Somehow I missed the reporting about all the progressives who screamed in outrage at this corporate interference in our democracy.

Still, the reason they were able to make these threats is pretty obvious: no one was credibly threatening back.  In a ‘manual’, Dreher would tell his readers what to do about this, but he presents it as a fait accompli and new normal Borg against which all resistance is futile.

…

The real issue is the surveillance, and the power of modern capabilities.  Without going full ‘technological determinism’, my impression is that the reality of software eating the world coupled with the constant tracking and surveillance by all entities with the wherewithal and reach is inevitable and unavoidable.  It is in the basic nature of technological change that once the capability is there, Pandora’s Box cannot remain shut for long.  We are already well past the tipping point on that one.

Yes, all the big institutions constantly spying on everything you do for the rest of time is very creepy and disturbing.  But if one is worried not so much about privacy in general but about persecution in particular, then from a more abstract perspective, there is really no reason to implicate ‘capitalism’ except as yet another mechanism by which powerful social coalitions can apply extralegal coercive pressure while circumventing the rules limiting direct state action.

If the state tolerates this, it is allowing an effectively collateral state to fill the power vacuum by abandoning the field of certain sovereign prerogatives.  This is the real “parallel polis”, much like the mafia is a parallel government on its own turf when the official state is unable or unwilling to take it on.  If the state does not protect its claim to a monopoly on all coercion, hard or soft, then someone else is going to pick up the coercion left lying around.

Then again, sometimes the state wants it that way.  If the mayor needs an inconvenient opponent to disappear, he probably can’t ask his chief of police to get it done for him.  But if he tolerates a Don, he can go to the Don.  If the state is not technically allowed to persecute you directly, if it tolerates some persecutors, it can have them do the persecuting.  In either case, when you pierce the veil, the rectified name for it is conspiracy.  The tragedy is that the veil has countless defenders who will insist that if it didn’t come from behind the veil, no harm no foul.

…

Two decades ago, when we started to become aware of this problem, people guessed that a combination of (1) new cultural adaptations to avoid these hazards, (2) new generations being raised from birth to be familiar with the risks of the internet, and (3) an increasingly long track record of lots of people having their lives publicly ruined, would encourage people to “adjust trim” and be much more cautious and prudent.  

Some people did just that, but, in general, it hasn’t turned out that way.  It seems that psychological effect of the way we interface online – when it seems as if it’s just you and your screen in your own little virtual secret world – makes people feel too “alone and private” to keep their guard up.  Unfortunately, if one assumes this isn’t going to get better any time soon, then one can only conclude that in a time of Christian persecution, ordinary people are going to slip up sooner or later if they touch networked devices at all, and if they refuse to do so, they will out themselves all the same.  Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

What that means is that there is no longer any possibility whatsoever of evading the notice of powerful people who are out to get you.  From the perspective of any serious, capable, and determined state (cough, China) this is now a solved problem.  There can be no secret meetings or clandestine samizdat printing operations or anything like that.  Near the end of the book, Dreher advises, “Christians should educate themselves about the mechanics of running underground cells and networks while they are still free to do so.”  As the Uyghurs would tell you, if they could, that ship has already sailed.  The old mechanics are obsolete and no longer work, and there are no new mechanics.

…

Hard cases make bad law, but there is nothing but a hard choice to make about this undeniable situation.  Either one embraces the principle of “they are private companies so they are free to do whatever they like and the state has nothing to do with it,” and accept, well, ‘extinction’.  Or one says no, undermines the principles of free enterprise and private property, but creates a terrible state power that, eventually, can and will be used by ones enemies too.

On the other hand, all the undermining and regulation has already been done in every other possible way in every other industry and sector, especially all those rules insisting on equal treatment.  Frankly, it’s bizarre to watch advocates insist on straining out the gnat of just this one thing that apparently crosses the line though it threatens half the country with political neutralization, when they are unable to summon up ten percent as much passion for having swallowed as many camels as there are pages in the Code of Federal Regulations.

Speech Is Special.  You can’t argue to get it back once it’s gone.  There can be genuinely free platform companies, or universally safe platform companies, but if companies are only free to the extent it is safe for our enemies to use the platforms to crush us, then crushed we will be.

…

“The essence of modernity is to deny that there are any transcendent stories, structures, habits, or beliefs to which individuals must submit and that should bind our conduct”

He says ‘modernity’ but my impression is that he means modern, secular, leftist progressivism.  But if you are not a progressive, ask yourself, do they seem like they aren’t interested in making you submit and binding your conduct?  Do they lack for stories with unfalsifiable elements that explain why they are entitled to do this?

The progressives imagine that they’ve solved for objective morality.  There is no “dictatorship of relativism.”  The Jacobins are not libertarians “At the heart of liberty is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.”  They have a perfectly well-defined concept, and it applies to you too, without any right to define a different one, because error has no rights.

XXV.  Velvet Samizdat:

Perhaps nothing helps to highlight the contrast between Soviet-era or North Korean-style Communist oppression and the current circumstances in America than the irrelevance of ‘samizdat’.  Yes, there is certainly a fair bit of purging and memory-holing, removal of items from curriculum as well as chilling, suppression, and intimidation out there for present-day writers and publishers who wish to go off-narrative.

But all of it has a mostly prospective, deterrent character.  The robust strength of the current system of opinion management is perhaps in no way better demonstrated than by the fact that there is mostly no problem with actual eliminative censorship of the past, with preserving cultural memory, archives, records, and so forth.   Because none of that makes any difference.

All the old books are still out there, accessible to anyone, instantaneously, in their own language, and free, and one doesn’t have to go back very far before most of them have the “currently regarded as problematic” volume knob pegged to eleven.  Don’t even get me started on Greek philosophy!  But almost nobody cares, and it goes unread, and even more unread than one would figure correcting for our increasingly post-literate society.  The ‘soft’ system is so much stronger than the ‘hard’, it is nigh invulnerably, such that brazen, obvious, and easily-disproven falsehoods can be printed without any concern on the part of the authors or publishers whatsoever, who know they’ll win prizes anyway.  

The counterarguments will be allowed to exist, just not allowed to make a difference.  They will never get any attention, buzz, or amplification from prestigious, cool people, and so can be ignored just as if they had been censored.  This is deeply demotivating; why even bother?  In a way, it’s actually better when your enemies know you’re lying and know you can get away with it.  Show’s everyone who’s boss.  No need for samizdat, no point.

…

Dreher is particularly inspired by the Bendas and their commitment to turning their home into a sanctuary, place of refuge, and the ‘parallel polis’ of an alternative community.

But Vaclav Benda had advantages.  The Communist takeover of his country was recent and had been widely predicted.  That meant there was still a large population of people who had grown up in the old days and were formed by that previous order to be loyal to pre-existing commitments, traditions, habits, institutions, and, most importantly, to each other.  That includes Benda himself.  His activities depended on being able to rely on the remnants of that inheritance, along with the nationalistic perception of a brutally oppressive *foreign* occupation.

But pressure and time wears down all things, and another generation or two of persecution, combined with the psychological enervation from a fully indigenous phenomenon such as that in America, and it would have been impossible.

Benda also lived in a time and place where physical proximity was essential and common.  Today it is like herding cats to bring people together, and so the internet is now where all the “private home” discussions are had.  There are plenty of virtual Bendas and little digital salons out there.  They are a great source of consolation and solidarity for dissidents, and the quality of gallows humor is top notch.  But mostly these venues have proven to be impotent and incompetent for any other purpose.  Probably the last old pagans gathered around to drink and talk about their plight, and to joke and complain about those darn Christians as they tried to figure out if there was anything else to be done.  There wasn’t.

XXVII: Man and SuperBenda

If one doesn’t have a manual, perhaps one can imitate a model.  But can the Bendas be models?  A model provides an example that an ordinary person can feasibly replicate.  But the Bendas put the extra in extraordinary.  Inspiring cases of astonishing and, frankly, naturally elite people with incredibly strength of will who are one out of ten thousand are wonderful to hear.  But if that’s what it takes, then any project which relies on typical people following in their footsteps is altogether hopeless.  Consider:

The Benda family model requires parents to exercise discernment.  For example, the Bendas didn’t ops out of popular culture but rather chose intelligently which parts of it they wanted their children to absorb.

I am somewhat less than perfectly confident in the capacity of most ordinary Christians to exercise anything approaching this level of judicious discernment, including the abilities to both choose wisely and intelligently and also to maintain the strict discipline and constant overwatch needed to keep it going, day in, day out.  “Be Like Benda” is a tall order, and if we’re being honest, too tall for too many.

This is a different context from the one in which one would encourage sinners to try to live more like saints, or to imitate the lives of the holy family, as every little step in that direction is an improvement.  As it is in horseshoes and hand-grenades, so it is in holiness: getting closer counts.

But when it comes to resisting overwhelming social pressures, one has to clear tall hurdles, and if one can’t, one cannot move forward.  Imagine you are in the ocean near the beach and someone spots a man-eating shark.  Michael Phelps is there and can out-swim the shark to shore, because he is an extraordinary man.  We all admire his prowess and we can try to imitate what he does, but in our cases it won’t be enough.  Phelps is going to make it, but we will be shark food.

…

Near the end of the book, Dreher writes, “The culture war is largely over— and we lost.  The Grand March is, for the time being, a victory parade.” Dreher has repeated this over many years, and I have been reading a similar lines for two decades at least, and it probably goes back long before that.  In a way it’s true, and, depending how you define terms, it’s been true before any of us were born.  But in a way it’s not true, because there is a great deal of ruin in a culture.  As much as has already been taken, there remains so much more territory left to conquer, and it’s odd to say one has lost a war when the battles never end and new fronts keep opening up all the time.

It’s more precise to say that if non-progressives keep doing what they are doing now, following the conventional rules of the game, then like the Pagan, what they are giving up is the capacity to hold ground.  That means the best they can do is slow down the advance and retreat and retreat and retreat until, one day, they are on the beach, backs against the ocean.

The real trouble with “Live Not By Lies” is that the encouragement of the stories (which are inspiring) and the instructions of the manual (such as they are), are simply not remotely adequate to arrest the trend of the progressive progression, which ends in The End.

The good news is that it doesn’t have to end like that, and it is still not too late to choose a different destiny. The bad news is that it would require measures far more radical than 99.99% of Christians and other non-progressives are currently prepared to accept.  The proper task of a prophet is to expand that acceptance by making them understand they don’t have any better options.   At least, not if they don’t want to end up like the Pagans.

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi, here’s the latest chapter.   Thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” which you can find on AO3 and FanFiction.   Subject to change if it suits the plot and when finished  will go on AO3. Chapter 23

It’s almost dark when we get home.   It’s my fault.    I spent half the night awake worrying over Peeta and the other half having nightmares of shooting arrow after arrow into a force field only to have them bounce back and hit Peeta instead.    Eventually I fell into a fitful sleep but when I woke, I found I’d overslept by nearly two hours.   Marcus said he didn’t wake me because he thought I needed the rest. But it put us behind, when we had planned a long walk for that day.   While Marcus heats up vegetable and bean soup, I put some left-over cheese buns in the oven to freshen up.  Dinner is almost ready when we’re interrupted by a knock at the front door.  It’s Johanna.   I step aside to let her in, but she doesn’t move from the porch.   “I’m not staying,” she says, her voice low.   “I thought you might like to know what’s going on with Peeta.  He got home last night just as I was getting into bed.   I didn’t see him until about mid-morning though when he came down for something to eat. He seemed – I don’t know – sort of flat and disinterested, like someone who doesn’t know what they should feel.   It’s hard to explain.  And when I went to apologize for last night, he just waved it away like it didn’t matter.  And then he went into his room to paint, and when he came out, it was to bake.   And that’s what he’s been doing all day – baking and painting.  He did phone Dr Aurelius though.  I accidently overheard some of it.”   “What did he say?”  I ask, putting aside any scruples that we’re discussing Peeta’s private conversation with his therapist. “Well, I only heard snatches, but it was like, “don’t know what’s real,” “deceived by someone I should trust,” “got everything wrong,” and “feel like not trying anymore.”  He didn’t really say that much.  Dr Aurelius seemed to do most of the talking.” “Anything about me?” I ask fearfully. I’m sure that if there was, it was bad. Johanna swallows and shifts her gaze to somewhere over my left shoulder.  There’s something she doesn’t want to tell me.  A stone lodges in my stomach and rises up into my throat.  “Katniss, I think it was all about you.  While he was talking, he was holding something in his hand, a necklace of some kind.  I found it by the phone after he hung up.  It was his token from the Quell.  The one he gave you.” The locket.  The locket with Prim, Gale, and my mother’s photos in it.  I had given it back to him months ago hoping that it might trigger some memories.  I rack my brain for what it could mean.  Why would he leave it discarded by the phone after saying those things about me?  At the very least, the locket was a symbol of the unity and trust between us.  It could mean only one thing.  He’s given up on me.  It’s over.  It’s really over.   “I see,” I say.  I wrap my arms tightly around myself in an effort to keep it together. “Is there anything else?” “No,” she answers, ‘but if there’s anything new, I’ll let you know.   I hope you don’t mind if I don’t accept your invitation to come stay with you.   I think it best if I remain with Peeta for the time being, in case he needs someone to talk to.  Someone he can trust.”   I flinch at the word “trust” but I know Johanna doesn’t mean anything by it.  I’m glad she’s staying with him, and that he has someone he can depend on. It’s almost certain that Peeta won’t look to me for anything anymore.   “Is the wedding still on?” I ask. Johanna shrugs.  “I think so.  He’d say something wouldn’t he?  If it was off? He’s still wearing her ring.”  Lace had given him a ring on their engagement.  It’s silver with a love knot.  Lace told him that it’s a symbol of love and devotion.  All I saw was another way to mark her territory.

“I didn’t think Peeta would break up with her over it,” I say.  “I knew he’d understand, if given the chance.” Johanna gives my arm a sympathetic squeeze before she makes her way back to Peeta’s house.  I linger a while at the door to compose myself before I face Marcus. He doesn’t need me breaking down again. I’ve already made a mess of one sweater. In the kitchen, Marcus is ladling soup into bowls.  He’s retrieved the cheese buns from the oven and set them on a plate in the center of the table.

“Johanna?” he asks. “Yes,” I say, hoping that that will suffice.

Marcus places a bowl of soup in front of me.  It’s thick and nourishing and smells delicious, but I have little appetite.  Nonetheless, I pick up my spoon and start eating.  I need to force myself to do the normal things.  I can’t let despondency over Peeta take control.  That’s a sure way to spiral into depression.   I take a cheese bun to dip into my soup and wonder if it will be the last of the Peeta-made cheese buns I’ll get to eat.   Did he ever remember how he first came to make them for me?  Probably not. “It’s unusual for her to call around mealtime and not stay to eat,” Marcus observes. “She just came to tell me how Peeta is,” I say. I don’t want to talk about Peeta, but Marcus merits some kind of explanation.  How could he not be curious after witnessing what he did last night, and then having to deal with the aftermath of a distraught female sobbing inconsolably against his chest?  “She didn’t want to stay away too long.  She’s worried about him.” ‘Oh.  And, how is he?” he asks, his expression unreadable.  

“Not great, by the sound of things,” I say.  “Johanna says he hasn’t said much.  Disillusioned with everyone, I guess.” “Well, naturally he would be.  With his fiancé.  I don’t understand why he took it out on everyone else, though,” he says. By everyone, I understand he means me. I was the only one Peeta attacked last night.

“It’s not his fault,” I hasten to say, feeling moved to rush to Peeta’s defense, whether it’s merited or not.  “You’re from the Capitol.  You don’t know what he went through after he was captured. “ “I think I have some idea,” says Marcus, with the first hint of irritation I’ve seen from him.  “It seems to be a common perception in the Districts that if you’re from the Capitol, you were somehow immune from Snow.  Well, we weren’t.   We all knew what happened to anyone reckless enough to speak out against him.  Most of the menial work in the library was done by Avoxes, you know.  I suppose Snow put them there as a joke. No one had to tell them to be quiet.  I doubt if the victims found it funny though. “  

“I didn’t mean – “I begin.   I want to tell him that what I meant was that you really had to see how Peeta was after the hijacking to understand him.  But Marcus continues as if I hadn’t spoken.  He seems determined to get this out. “The Games weren’t just mandatory viewing for the Districts either.  Maybe not in the way it was for you, with it being policed.  But if a neighbor found out, and reported that you weren’t as enthusiastic as you should be, well, people had a way of disappearing.  And I know the Games had its avid supporters, with their sponsorships, and betting, and making celebrities out of the winners.  But there was also many of us who hated them and wanted them gone.   But we were afraid.  Afraid of having our tongues cut out.  Or worse. So, for the most part, we kept quiet, pretended to go along with it, and went about our lives.  Which was very comfortable by most standards – even if the conscience pricked now and then.” Better them than us, I suppose.  Would people in the Districts have behaved any differently, if the positions were reversed?  I like to think so but honesty compels me to admit that we probably would have been exactly the same.   The Capitol was made up of all kinds of people. There were some who exploited the inequality and perhaps even believed we deserved it.  And there were those who simply accepted it as just the way of things, like my prep team.   And yet others like . . . I become aware that Marcus is watching me as if he expects some kind of condemnation and I remember one of our earlier conversations about how the Capitol viewed the Districts.  It dawns on me that there’s a lot of guilt carried by Marcus and others like him.  Maybe this is why he’s so intent on preserving all the forests across Panem when he could have chosen just to fight for the one in his own district.  It’s a way of making restitution, of ensuring a better Panem for the future.  The more I’ve got to know Marcus, the more this makes sense to me.  He’s not at ease in front of the cameras like Peeta.  He likes solitary pursuits like reading and hiking mountain trails, not giving interviews or appearing on television.  He’s had to stretch far out of his comfort zone to take on the public role he has.   I choose my words carefully.  “That’s how Snow operated.  It was the same here.  All of us too scared to move in case we made it worse for ourselves.   And he set people against each other to keep them apart.  I know there were people in the Capitol who sympathetic to the Districts. You remember my stylist, Cinna? He designed the wedding dress that turned me into a mockingjay.  They killed him for that, and he knew they would.  And there was the camera crew who filmed the propos for the rebellion.  One of them was an Avox.  I don’t know what offense he committed, but he was put to work in the sewers.  So, if this is about what Lace said last night, about people from the Capitol having no morals –“

“I don’t care what Lace thinks, but I do care what you think.” “Well, you don’t have to convince me.  I saw what the Capitol was capable of doing to its own citizens.  But you have to understand that most people in the Districts didn’t get to see that. They only saw how much you had of everything while we starved.  And then there was the Games, of course.  But when I said you wouldn’t understand about Peeta, I didn’t mean that because you were from the Capitol, you couldn’t know how cruel Snow was.    I meant you didn’t see what the hijacking did to him.  How it changed him.” “I saw him try to bash your head in with the butt of his gun and then kick the poor guy who tried to subdue him into a pod,” he replies, his face set hard.  “And then at Snow’s execution, when he attacked you again.” “No, no that’s not – “I start to say.  I have to restrain myself from putting my hands to my face and groaning.  Not Marcus too!    “I know how it would have looked on TV, but there’s more to it than that.”  I really can’t blame Marcus for what he thinks he knows, any more than I can blame Max. They only saw what the Capitol wanted them to see and there’s been nothing since – no counter-claims, no witness accounts – that could contradict the Capitol’s version of it.  One day someone is going to have to write a true account of what happened.  Someone who was actually there.   I think quickly, going back to that day when Boggs was killed.  We had taken refuge in a deserted apartment after a massive wave of black tar-like gel engulfed the streets.  Inside the apartment was a spiral staircase that led to a living room with plush furniture and a huge television that covered an entire wall.  Peeta was cuffed and unconscious and draped over one of the sofas and the rest of us were milling around, unsure of our next move, when suddenly the television came to life.  Cressida explained that it was an emergency broadcast that went to all the televisions across the Capitol.  Presumably it was also broadcast to the Districts if Max had seen it.  

The footage started just after the bomb that took off Bogg’s legs. Homes and I are seen tending to Boggs, huddled over him, our backs to the cameras.  Peeta stands to the side, watching, hopping from one foot to the other, clearly agitated.   Chaos erupts when a wall of thick black goo surges towards us.  Homes and I begin to drag Boggs to safety and he cries out in agony.   Then Peeta, in one swift movement, seizes me by the shoulders, yanks me backwards and I crash to the ground.  His gun is raised to smash into my skull, but I manage to roll in the nick of time, and the gun slams down onto the pavement.  Mitchell tackles Peeta to the ground, but Peeta gets his feet under him and catapults him further down the road, straight into the pod that kills him.  Other members of the squad rush in to restrain Peeta, and he threshes wildly in their grip like an animal caught in a trap.     It’s all very damning.  And it was played over and over, with close-ups of Peeta’s face, distorted with maniacal fury.  It was made even worse by the voice-over.  It described Peeta as a dangerous lunatic, so crazed with blood lust, that not even the girl he purports to love more than life itself is safe from him.   And then there’s Snow’s execution.  I don’t know what the media did with this, if anything.  I was in solitary confinement and I know nothing of the aftermath.  But I can imagine how it must have appeared to the audience.  The shock and disbelief when my arrow pierced Coin’s heart and she toppled lifeless to the ground.  The guards, stunned into inaction, were slow to react.  In those remaining seconds of freedom, I contemplated my future – torture, execution – and decided to end my life.   But the audience couldn’t have known what I was thinking.  Nor could they have known about the nightlock pill secreted in a small pocket on my sleeve.  What they do know is that Peeta hurled himself forward to seize me by the arm and of my attempts to wrest myself free by sinking my teeth into his hand, and struggling against him with all my might.   Could it have been in self- defense?  I can see how it might have been interpreted that way.   I put down my spoon.  I have a lot of clearing up to do.   But where to start . . . “They say the beginning is a good place,” says Marcus.   I didn’t realise I’d said it aloud.  But yes, the beginning.   The day Peeta tossed me two loaves of bread and took a beating for it. “So, you see, that ran so counter to his true self,” I say, as I come to the end.  “And he did in fact, save my life two more times after that . . . ah, incident with the gun.  And you also have to remember that he only did it because he thought someone was being harmed.” “Harmed by you, to be precise.  He didn’t attack the other guy,” he points out. “No, but it was me Peeta had been programmed to think of as a mutt and a danger to others.  Later he came to see it as false.  And, of course, Dr Aurelius wouldn’t have allowed him to be released if it wasn’t safe.   Afterall, he was only a threat to me and he knew Peeta intended to return to 12.”  As I speak, a terrible thought occurs to me. The way he spoke to me last night. Maybe he thought Lace was under attack, and I was responsible for it.  That without him being aware of it, he still thinks I’m a mutt.  It would explain a lot.  His distrust of me, his initial reluctance to regain memories of our past together, the guest room ban, the way he’s interpreted the way he has. It’s to keep me at a safe distance. As anyone would, with a treacherous mutt.  

“Why did he come back?  Was it to rekindle your relationship?” “Huh?”  The question startles me, bringing my attention abruptly back to our discussion.  I almost want to laugh.  The incongruity of Peeta wanting to make love to a mutt.   “I’m sorry.  It’s none of my business.  I shouldn’t have – “he begins.   “No, it’s OK,” I assure him.  It’s not unreasonable for him to ask.  I’ve been baring my soul about everything else.  I had even told him how I felt about Peeta – how confused I was in the beginning and how I gradually came to feel the same way for him as he did for me.   The difficulty though, is that I don’t really know why he did come back.   I thought I did, but I turned out to be so wrong.  The primrose bushes, coaxing me out of my depression with cheese buns and cozy breakfasts together, were overtures of friendship, not romantic interest. And I wasn’t the only one with expectations.  The public had too and it’s not so surprising considering how the star-crossed lovers was promoted.  No longer together?  Peeta in love with another? Unthinkable!  I see the speculative way people look at me when they learn that Peeta is with another girl now.  Some pityingly, others accusingly as if it’s something I did.  I don’t know what Peeta tells them, assuming they ask.  Possibly what he told Lace, that the star-crossed lovers had never been real and now we’re just good friends, as we were always meant to be.   “I’m not sure.  We’ve never had that conversation. But 12 is his home.  And his house is here. He thinks of Haymitch and me as family.  There’s a bond that forms between fellow Victors,” I say, with a shrug.

“How do you feel about him now?  Are you OK with how things turned out?”

He watches me closely, as if something important hinges on what answer I give.   I barely know myself how I feel about Peeta now.  I still love him; I know that much.  But my trust in him has eroded to the point where I don’t know if it exists anymore. As to being fine with how things turned out, the honest answer is a decided no.   But if I’m to start a new life, as I must, then certain things have to be left behind.   A new narrative, written my Katniss Everdeen herself is what’s needed. Not by someone who’s been compelled to bend to the wind most of her life.  The tragic tale of the star-crossed lovers was essentially written by Peeta.  I was merely swept along with it.  The same with the Mockingjay thing.  That was written by the public, and then by Coin and Plutarch.   But it’s time to stop.  From now on, I want to be my own author.  Besides, the fewer people who are aware of my private heartbreak the better.  Sympathy, although well-meaning, just makes it harder.  

“When Peeta came back, I had hopes,” I say carefully.   “He could have gone to any district but he chose 12.  And there wasn’t much here then.  Only the Village.  So, I thought, that maybe, he’d come because of me.  But it wasn’t the same.  Peeta wasn’t the same.  So, I was sad for a long while.  And it was hard, especially when he started going out with Lace.  But eventually I came to realize that you can’t recreate the past, no matter how much you might want to.   I’m glad now that Peeta’s found someone.  He deserves to be happy after everything he’s been through.  And I’m ready to move on with my life too.”    There, a mostly truthful account with a hope filled ending I intend to make true. 

He smiles at me then.  A warm, gentle smile.  “I’m glad to hear it.  Because happiness is what you deserve too.”

[dabistits]

The League of Villains vs The Eight Precepts: what kind of villain will you be?

(Originally I wanted to write this response to add on to @codenamesazanka​‘s post about Tomura+the rest of the LOV, but it got kind of long so here it is as its own thing. I also discussed this awhile back with @waxwingedhawks​, so this is an amalgamation of their ideas as well.)

The Internship Arc is, at this point in the manga, a crucial arc to consider if you want to analyze the development of the League of Villains. I think a lot of people have already noted that everyone seems much more at ease with one another, and they’re able to work together in combat exceptionally well, but another way that Horikoshi illustrates their growth is through foiling them against the 8 Precepts. The arc question for the villains becomes just this: what kind of villain will you be?

Overhaul is, essentially, what you’d get if you took USJ!Shigaraki, gave him a little more charisma and underlings with more sophisticated talents. In his first confrontation, we see him kill and maim Magne and Mr. Compress, respectively, but more than that he also unhesitatingly sacrifices one of his own underlings. Later, of course, we also learn that he’s basically been torturing Eri for his own ambitions, and when heroes storm the hideout, he sends his subordinates to slow down the heroes (knowing they might very well get arrested or killed), and uses his quirk in a way that destroys another one of his subordinates. He shows the same disregard for the people he leads as Shigaraki does during USJ; he just uses their quirks and manages them more strategically, but just as with USJ!Shigaraki, those people are expendable and will be thrown to the wolves when most expedient.

Let’s look at the first confrontation, which sets everything into motion between the LOV and the 8 Precepts. The difference between the two parties is perhaps best illustrated by their respective reactions to this meeting and the events that transpire therein. Twice invites Overhaul to meet the LOV, they have a disagreement that results in exchanging blows, and as a result, Magne gets killed, Mr. Compress loses an arm, and the 8 Precepts also lose the guy who jumps in front of Overhaul. The LOV seems, more or less, genuinely upset by Magne’s death—at the very least, Twice, Mr. Compress, and Toga seem truly emotionally affected, as they bore witness to the event. Shigaraki gives less of an indication on what he’s feeling, though in his second meeting with Overhaul, he strongly condemns Overhaul’s actions with respect to Magne and Compress. No one on either side is bothered by the dude who got himself obliterated to save Overhaul’s life (sux to be him).

For sure, Shigaraki handles their second meeting very calmly and rationally, and doesn’t give much of an indication that he’s upset. When he returns to address the rest of the LOV, he also presents the conditions he worked out with Overhaul in a very impartial manner, to the point where it really upsets Twice, who thinks that Shigaraki doesn’t care. We don’t know for sure how Shigaraki feels about the things that happened (other than how he thinks Overhaul’s a massive prick), but we can certainly make a case for the way he acts afterwards, which is that regardless of how he feels, he’s taken into account the sentiments of his allies. He knows they want revenge, and he gives them the chance to get it. At the very least, he keeps up the pretense of caring; at the most, he actually cares.

But let’s step off the leaders for a sec! Let’s talk about the members.

It’s not exactly subtle that the 8 Precepts are united in a near-fanatical devotion to Overhaul and his cause. There are a few exceptions like Rappa and Chronostasis, but for the most part, the 8 Precepts seem to be composed of people who were in a vulnerable state of mind that Overhaul simply picked up. In Suneater’s fight, the yakuza refer to themselves as gutter trash who live for Overhaul; Nemoto is similarly devoted, and does end up being “unmade”/killed by Overhaul at one point in the fight (though he has no say in it).

As self-destructive as their devotion may be, however, it didn’t come from nothing. Setsuno, Hojo, and Tabe truly believe that Overhaul granted them acceptance—and through acceptance, a purpose—when they were discarded by society. Nemoto genuinely found the type of friendship he’d sought within the 8 Precepts.

But, ah... Doesn’t this sound familiar?🤔🤔🤔

The same sentiments run a course through both the LOV and the 8 Precepts. They’re made up of people who bonded with each other by virtue of being casted out from society, people who wanted to reject pretenses and to be true. The parallels of the few explained backstories are almost one-to-one, especially if you go back to read the whole of Twice’s chapter. Hell, Toga and Twice even cite similar reasons to some of the 8 Precepts members for their involvement in this arc: Toga and Twice are there because Shigaraki “believed in” them, while Hojo is determined to fight Suneater because Overhaul "had high hopes” for them. The inevitable conclusion? The members who make the base of both organizations are not that different! What made all the difference was the people they followed.

What scenes we’re shown of the 8 Precepts seem to have an internal harmony that revolves around Overhaul. They’re hostile enough towards newcomers, but there’s very little discussion or disagreement between the 8 Precepts themselves, and they defer quickly to their leader. On the other hand, the LOV’s interactions, within the post-Stain iteration, are marked by conflict and strife even from the very beginning. It still arises at points during the Internship Arc, when Toga and Twice question Shigaraki’s decision to lend them to the yakuza, and again when Spinner expresses doubt about attacking a police convoy.

Remarkably, it’s the group least put together that wins this clash. Contrasting the 8 Precepts and the LOV, at a surface level, we see that Overhaul is charismatic, polite, abhors dirt, and looks slick and put-together. He has a designated hideout, and the 8 Precepts defer to his word. Shigaraki, on the other hand😉, is informal, devil-may-care, and has a fairly disheveled appearance. The LOV flock in and out of abandoned buildings for their meetings, and they bicker amongst themselves. And yet.

What it comes down to is the narrative decision about what Horikoshi wants to show and say about the LOV. He sets them up against another group of villains that are remarkably similar in many ways, and in doing so poses the questions: How will you be different? What kind of villains will you be? Ones that don’t care about your allies, or ones that do?

The answer lies in the culmination of the (obscenely sexy) attack on the highway. Everything that happens, and that motivates the LOV leading up to this confrontation can be traced back to the very first meeting. Toga and Twice were so upset about Magne’s death that they sabotaged the yakuza, allowing the heroes to reach Overhaul before he could get away. The rest of the LOV meet him on the highway to exact glorious revenge, and boy do they succeed. This scene functions not only as a literal, physical confrontation, but also as the conclusion of the clash of values introduced at the beginning. It becomes a disavowal of Overhaul, a rejection of who he is and what he represents as a leader.

There are a few noteworthy things to mention in this scene, which I think substantiate that argument.

When Snatch shows up to stop the LOV, the first person to jump (literally) into action is Shigaraki. Contrast this image to the very first one on this post, where there’s an unnamed underling coming between Overhaul and Shigaraki, and Shigaraki grabbing onto him with unfortunate results. When facing Snatch, on the other hand, it’s Shigaraki being grabbed, and Shigaraki putting himself between Snatch and the rest of the LOV.

Then, of course, there’s the very direct callback to the beginning when Compress maims Overhaul. It’s a clear indication that this was for what Overhaul did back then, signaling that this attack indeed wasn’t just to get rid of a competitor or to get their hands on his experiment. It’s revenge for wronging the LOV. It’s revenge for hurting the LOV.

At this point, it’s only honest to note that no one on the highway directly says that this is for Magne or that it’s because they think Overhaul is a cruel, immoral bastard. The closest we get to an indictment of character is Shigaraki saying that he hates Overhaul for being arrogant (and Shigaraki hates a lot of things, so I can’t argue that this is particularly special coming from him). It’s absolutely fair to be suspicious of Shigaraki’s intentions, and to question whether he actually gives a shit or if he’s just manipulating the hell out of everyone. It’s absolutely fair to wonder if this dichotomy was set up just to reveal Shigaraki and/or the LOV as hypocritical, and even more evil big bads. With still so much unknown about the LOV, it’s hard to make the call.

Nevertheless, I argue that the intention of this arc was to portray the LOV as a different kind of organization than the 8 Precepts. The LOV is a group in which its members find value in one another, not just in the leader and his vision. They don’t agree to being treated as disposable, whether it’s by someone within their entourage or outside of it. Shigaraki understood this, and he acted accordingly. He showed that, regardless of his underlying motives, he can take on the members’ perspectives and incorporate their desires and goals into his own. It’s that commitment from Shigaraki that enables him to lead the LOV to where it is at the end of the arc—defeating Overhaul, stealing the quirk-erasing drugs, placing themselves one step closer to being AFO’s successor.

[the-record-columns]

Dec. 25, 2019: Columns

Junior Johnson holding court among friends at one of his famous breakfasts - just the way we like to remember him

I didn't know Junior Johnson, but I liked him...

BY KEN WELBORN

Record Editor

Some folks are what you would call die-hard racing fans.

Others, like me, would have been called a casual racing fan who, when NASCAR pulled our race from the North Wilkesboro Speedway, felt as though we had been abandoned, and pretty much abandoned them back.

Did that make any sense?

Okay. 

Now enter Junior Johnson.

I, like about everyone who can walk and chew gum, had heard about Johnson all my life.  I had watched him race—of course pulling for the local guy—but really had no real means of getting to know him—and I never did. 

In fact, I really had only one conversation with Junior Johnson in my life during a chance encounter at Smithey's Goodwill Department Store on Tenth Street in North Wilkesboro.  It was in the 1980’s; for me, the old Thursday Magazine days, for him, a retired driver and now car owner.  I was at the back of the line at the lunch counter in the Goodwill waiting to take lunch back to work for me and Joyce Newman—an amazing worker who also liked those special Smithey burgers every much as me.  I happened to look out the corner of my eye to the guy who walked up behind me and, lo and behold, it was Junior Johnson, dressed, as he so often was, in bib overalls

We nodded and spoke, and instantly began talking about the hamburger like no other, the Smithey Burger.  I made my favorite comment about them which is "…not since the Lord blessed the loaves and fishes has anyone taken five pounds of hamburger and stretched it this far," to which Johnson replied, "If eating these burgers would kill you, I would have been dead a long time ago."  (With a quick nod to the late Max Ferree, I confess that I stole that line from Junior and have used it ever since.)

In no time, more folks came in and they all wanted to talk with Junior—and he accommodated them to a man, clearly glad to see them and even signed several scraps of paper held up to him.

Fast forward to the days of The Record.  We would have occasion call on him now and again for a quote or something, and he would always take our call or call hack promptly.  One time that sticks in my mind is a postal carrier who was retiring with about a million and a half miles without an accident. The carrier didn't want a cake or a party—he just wanted his picture taken with his hero—Junior Johnson.  The postmaster called us, and our Editor Jerry Lankford called Junior, and he gladly came to town for the retirement ceremony. 

I tell those two little vignettes to illustrate what I liked best about Junior Johnson.

In fact, when interviewed by a NASCAR program about the 50th Anniversary of Thomas Wolfe's "Last American Hero" story about Junior from 1965, I was asked what I liked best about Junior Johnson. 

"That’s easy," I said, "Unlike NASCAR, Junior Johnson hasn't forgotten his fans, the folks who made him famous."

  As ever, I value loyalty above all else, and, while I didn't really know Junior Johnson, I liked him.

                                Robert Glenn "Junior" Johnson

                                              Rest in Peace

  Palestinian Authority (PA) and Hamas guilty of child abuse

By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX

Undoubtedly the UN Human Rights Council (UNHRC) will meet (multiple times) in 2020 to again go through their regular routine of condemning Israel for one trumped up violation or another yet they will ignore the atrocities committed by Hamas and the Palestinian Authority. 

For more than two decades, Palestinian children have been taught that terrorist murderers are heroes; that Jews are evil pigs deserving of death; that Israel has no right to exist and is, in fact, the enemy of all Muslims and the enemy of the entire world. 

Messages such as these are taught in Palestinian schools and are themes woven into children’s cartoons broadcast on PA television. In Palestinian culture, there is no escaping these negative, brainwashing messages which are used by Hamas and the PA to mobilize and recruit Palestinian youth to become actively involved in acts of terror against Israel.

If the stakes were not so high and the consequences not a matter of life and death, the circumstances would be almost comical.  When Hamas uses these messages to target and recruit children to participate in their weekly confrontations against Israel at the Gaza border, the PA is publicly critical yet the PA uses the same tactics making it just as guilty.  A clear example of the pot calling the kettle black.

The UNHRC finds it perfectly acceptable to blame Israel for the deaths of those killed during the weekly border confrontations yet finds nothing wrong with the PA and Hamas brainwashing and poisoning young Palestinian hearts and minds thus enabling them to use their children for fodder during these border confrontations. While the UNHRC claims to be a protector of human rights, it’s simply not true otherwise it would condemn Hamas and the PA for indoctrinating generations of Palestinians to hate Israel and the Jews.  By creating little killing machines, the PA and Hamas are guilty of the worst kind of child abuse. Palestinian youth have been robbed of their innocence.  They are being raised in a culture that promotes violence and martyrdom as ideals for which they should strive. The PA and Hamas are grooming and using their children as combatants which is a violation of international law. 

As the New Year dawns, we must commit anew to standing, without fear or intimidation, for that which is right. Israel must not suffer condemnation for acting in self defense no matter the age of the perpetrator(s).  The use of children in committing acts of terror is illegal and morally unacceptable. Hamas and the PA must be held accountable.

  “YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS”

Eight-year-old Virginia O’Hanlon wrote a letter to the editor of New York’s Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history’s most reprinted newspaper editorial, appearing in part or whole in dozens of languages in books, movies, and other editorials, and on posters and stamps

THE EDITORIAL

DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, ‘If you see it in THE SUN it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

VIRGINIA O’HANLON. 115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET.

 VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

A Christmas Morning Story

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

It was a long time ago on Christmas morning that little Timmy and his sister Sara woke up early and ran downstairs to see what Santa had brought. They did not expect much, but there was always something special under the tree.

The year had been long and difficult for the Watson family and so many others. Ken and his wife, Mary, both worked for a company that had been in business for almost 100 years.

There had been concerns for years that the factory was losing so much to competition that it might not be able to survive.

With all the good efforts of everyone the dreadful day arrived. It seemed as if it was the worst of all days.  

The family-owned factory employed more than anyone in town. The company supported the schools, the healthcare system, the arts and almost everything else in town. For almost 10 decades it was a family company that cared for everyone in the community.

The Watson family was now in its third generation. Ken’s father and grandfather worked of the factory and little Timmy looked forward to going to work with his father. That would make four generations of Watsons. This however it was not to be.

As soon as it was announced that the factory would close Ken and Mary both started to look for other employment. The problem was that almost 2,000 other people were doing the same thing and in a small town that did not have another large factory that was hiring a lot of people this presented a significant problem for just about everyone.

Most of the people who had lost their jobs were highly skilled people with solid work history. The type of people that any company would love to have. The few openings that were available in the area were quickly filled with the first applicants. And that’s when things got complicated.

Ken and Mary were not in the group of people who quickly got new jobs. They were putting in applications everywhere and getting the same response. “We would love to hire you, but we don’t have an opening”

The Watson family always attended Wednesday night church service. The local minister was aware of the stress in the community over the factory closing, so his messages were focused on giving hope and inspirations.

On one of the weekly midweek services Pastor Simpson delivered a message that sparked and idea for both Ken and Mary. He said, it’s true that we have lost one big company but what would happen if there were a lot of new smaller companies started.

That night when the Watson family returned home. While having tea at the kitchen table Ken and Mary looked at each other and at the same time said. “Let’s start our own business”.

For years Ken had been a furniture designer and Mary had worked in the business office. So, she knew all the administrative basics and Ken knew how to design and make furniture.

Timmy and Sara overheard the conversation and smiled big for the first time in months. They could just tell something good was going to happen.

Ken and Mary stayed up all night long talking over the idea and planning. Before they knew it, it was time for breakfast and the plan was set.

Ken would do what he always wanted to do. He would design and make high quality wooden toys. It would be a balance for Christmas gifting. The idea was not to replace all the high-tech toys and gifts but add to the options. A gift that would not have a short life but would last a lifetime if taken car of.

Ken and Mary’s Forever Gifts would become a household name for those who love the look and feel of real wood. Gifts there stir the imagination and nostalgia that you didn’t even know existed.

In case you are wondering Little Timmy got the first prototype of an airplane that Ken made. That’s the one that launched the company. Sara received the prototype of the first carved wooden ornament that her mother Mary designed.

Other gifts were under the tree as well, however those are the ones that the brother and sister would cherish and share with there children.

 Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White���s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its eleventh year of syndication.   For more on the show visit  www.lifeinthecarolinas.com and join the free weekly email list. It’s a great way to keep up with the show and things going on in the Carolinas. You can email Carl White at Carl@lifeinthecarolinas.com.  

[ladyiceflame-blog]

An Inconvenient Wedding:

Chapter Twelve: Tsukimi in Spring

“Thus concludes our Supper of the First Meeting,” Wakame announced, as the gong was rung again, and the wait staff stood poised to tear down and clean. Renara stood, prompting the rest to do the same.  “May the blessings of health, longevity, and righteous prosperity be upon you all,” she intoned with a reverent bow. “And upon yourself as well, Renara-sama,” the Hokage returned. “And let’s keep these blessings flowing at the Light House!” Ryuumaru added, motioning all toward the parted curtains that led outside. “Just remember to save some whiskey for us!” Gekido called out, as a less formal dinner was being set before him and the other honor guards.  “I hate to rush through supper, but the Yaseiarashi’s don’t leave me any choice!” giving Miriyume a condemning glare. “They do tend to absorb alcohol as well as chakra...” Hiruzen laughed, as he watched Renara and Ryuumaru exit, and immediately get caught up into the waiting throng outside.  “I shall do my best to slow their intake until you arrive.” “The Will of Fire possesses such a remarkably futile sense of optimism at times,” Oda commented, as he moved to stand by his lord’s side.   Kakashi was really fighting an urge to discus a plate at the repugnant man’s scrawny throat... “...One would find more success in teaching an Uchiha to be a pacifist,” the monk finished, smugly. “Oh, we’re trying that, too,” Kakashi returned, as he took the Hokage’s vacated seat, and was immediately served a bowl of leek soup, a plate of duck and mushrooms, and a pot of tea. Hiruzen patted the sterling-haired jonin on the shoulder, smiling proudly.  “Be sure to join me at the party after your dinner, both of you,” he instructed his shinobi. “I can accompany you now if you–“ Kakashi replied, before his stomach growled in loud protest of skipping yet another meal. “I believe you’d better feed yourself first, Kakashi-san,” Kurenai laughed, as she helped herself to the succulent duck and mushrooms.  Luck exists in the leftovers, after all.” “Please eat,” Miriyume pleaded.  “Our friends in Kumogakure worked so hard to create this wonderful meal for us, and my parents and I will make sure Sarutobi-sama doesn’t get into too much trouble...” giving the Hokage a playful nudge. “Listen to the girl,” Hiruzen instructed, “She is the boss, after all,” and made his exit. Miriyume intended to follow right behind, after giving her team mates a playful wink, until Asaito called out to her, stopping her on the threshold: “May I have a moment?” The surprised storm sage-priestess turned to face the statuesque man, stretching her lacquered lips into a disingenuous smile.  “Have you changed your mind about the party?” “No, my lady,” giving a small nod of apology.  “I merely wish to speak with you a moment....privately.” Oda and the Koryomizu guards took their master’s hint to leave, and exited the way they had entered, leaving their food untouched. “Hey!” Gekido called out, obviously offended.  “Is the food not good enough for your shinobi?” “They have other duties to attend to, and there is food enough in our own encampment.  They will not starve, I assure you,” Asaito smiled back, as he approached Miriyume.  His eyes openly registered a building energy as he got closer to the sage-priestess.  Like embers coaxing back to fiery life. Kakashi had noted that Miriyume’s overflow chakra tended to quicken the vitality of anyone caught in its wake, and many actively sought to bask in her spiritual surplus.  But Asaito’s method of ‘basking’ seemed a little different from the rest.  It seemed....unwholesome. “There is a lovely moon out tonight,” the Byronesque bridegroom continued, taking her unsuspecting hand, and pressing it briefly to his smiling lips.  “Let us view it together...” “Hold up, lover-boy,” one of her parents’ personal guards was the first to verbally balk.  Nobu.  “The Lady Ice Flame is to have an escort at all times, by order of the Shimokhan.” “And she will,” Asaito returned.  “Myself, in fact,” as he gave both Nobu and Hyozan a pointed look that left them both oddly pacified.  Both guards settled back into their meals without another word of dissent! Kakashi gave Kurenai a concerned look as Gekido and Matsuko both stood in immediate protest. “Not so fast, Lord Tsuroyuni,” Matsuko rumbled.  “A Shimogakuran bride is expressly forbidden from being left alone with her intended, until after the ceremony.” Aoseishin barked in support. “You wouldn’t want to violate one of our most sacred marriage traditions, would you...?” the Inuzuka pressed, overloading the question. “I most certainly would not,” Asaito answered, as he turned his strange eyes on the two men, “But, how else am I to get to know my bride before our wedding?  Our courtship was on paper.  I don’t want to marry a complete stranger.  So, please, let us briefly dispense with suffocating tradition...just for a moment.  You, of all people, I figured would sympathize....” Miriyume watched in shocked disbelief as Matsuko, Gekido, and even Aoseishin sat back down and resumed eating without further argument. “Um...perhaps Mat-kun had a point–“ Miriyume tried to pull away from Asaito, clearly unnerved by this sudden cowing of her most trusted companions.  Tsuroyuni refused to relinquish her hand, and pulled her closer: “Just a few moments, my love,” looking directly into her eyes.  “Is it too much to ask?” “I...suppose not....” the sage-priestess capitulated. Kakashi could sense her iron-like resolve melting like sugar in hot water, and he silently signaled his alarm and intent to Kurenai by lifting the blind from his Sharingan.   “I must protest, Lord Tsuroyuni,” Kakashi announced, standing up and turning.  “As a representative of your host country, and an ally of the Shimokhan, I am certain that the Hokage would also insist on an escort.” “Please do not take our devotion to duty as an insult, Tsuroyuni-sama,” Kurenai added, also standing, and stepping beside Miriyume, who was looking rather dazed.  “We only wish to ensure the proper protocol for such an important event.” “Your concern for my marriage is comforting...and rather touching,” Asaito purred back, catching Kurenai’s crimson eyes in his own.   Kakashi smirked beneath his mask.  Kurenai Yuhi could neatly shred through any attempt at genjutsu... “I am, and will forever remain, deeply appreciative of all your efforts,” Asaito continued, leaning in so close to Kurenai as to cause her cheeks to flush red.  He then ushered her back to her seat without a hint of further protest from her.  Kurenai’s face had gained the same passivity of the others! Never had Kakashi seen his fellow jonin so mentally subdued before!  He’d easily read the alarm in her eyes mere seconds ago.  All of that had suddenly evaporated.  As if erased. He stepped protectively in front of Miriyume, blocking Asaito’s attempt to reclaim her clearly entranced hand.  “What kind of genjutsu is this?!” he demanded angrily. Asaito gave a soft, cruel chuckle.  The kind of laugh that pure sadists employed.  “Its not genjutsu, Kakashi of the Sharingan.  My eyes play on deeper things than a person’s intellect.” “They won’t play on me so easily,” Hatake warned, screwing his right eye shut, and shifting all focus to his left. “Hmmm....” Asaito offered an amused smile as he regarded the spiraling tomoe in the red iride, “I suppose not.”  He then lashed out with a sudden palm-slam to Kakashi’s solar plexus, causing him to collapse in a gasping heap. He then caught up the Lady Ice Flame’s hand, and gently led her out into the night.  Kakashi caught her eyes briefly as she was towed along: utter bafflement, fighting to make sense of what was happening around her. As he struggled to regain his breath, he regarded the other body guards as they ate in stony silence.  There was no sign of further concern, and no hint of disruptive chakra. Deeper than mere intellect?  What was Asaito alluding to? Whatever it was, it had enough power to instantly quell Miriyume’s team mate’s concerns, and that was unnerving.  Especially concerning their general opinions of this man. He was going to need all the chakra he had left, and this ruse had served its purpose, the shadow clone decided, before disappearing in a puff of smoke. –This isn’t right...— Miriyume inwardly scolded herself, as Asaito led her along a wooded path, toward a small hillock crowned with a copse of cherry trees. ***Neither is your mind!  Who made this mess in here?!!*** demanded a familiar, internal voice, whose nigh-constant reprimand had lost most of its sting to her long ago. –I’m supposed to be elsewhere...where are Mat-kun and Gek-kun...?-- ***Damned if I know!  You put me in an awkward place, Stormling.  I can only shout at you, until you formally summon me!  Never again will I agree to this!*** She glanced around in mild panic, in an attempt to regain some bearings.  It was as if she were inside one of those kitschy snow-globes, with the scrambled bits of the last few moments swirling about her.  Tattered sequences of memory, needing to be re-spliced. Her heart felt as if it were breaking, and yet, here was this man...Asaito, leading her through these beautiful trees, to a vista that never failed to lift her spirits: the night sky. They stopped at the crest of the hill, overlooking the lake.  The moon was only a sliver off of being full, and the calm water mirrored it perfectly.  Its echoed grandeur instantly captivated her senjutsu-using soul, and she released Asaito’s hand to better absorb the chakra of heaven and earth simultaneously.  The brief meditative act sharpened her grasp on the moment. The voice in her head gave a deep sigh of relief. ***You play dangerous games, Stormling.  Don’t let them play you back.*** Miriyume smiled.  He was a petulant, spiteful, and wayward kind of kami, but he had never let her down yet.  –I’ll see you tomorrow, Raijin-sama.– She then turned back toward Asaito, who had been silently watching her communion with nature. “You know, I have a considerable amount of people waiting for me back there,” she began, nodding toward the Shimogakuran drinking yurt.  The sounds of music and laughter spilling out even at this distance.  “One of them being my Father...who is not a patient man.” “I just wanted a moment or two to talk simply, as man and woman,” he smiled, giving her some distance.  “I tire quickly of pretension.” “Could have fooled me,” Miriyume quipped back.  “Flowery worded poetry...your food tasters...your hermetic tendencies.  I do believe that you’re the first person I’ve ever met who out-does me in ‘Things Macabre’!”  She paused to study him in the moonlight, attempted to glean what she could from appearance alone.  But the rumors were true.  He was unreadable.  Even more so than that multi-masked clone user... “Are you always so cagey?” she continued, as more short-term memories began to right themselves, “...and did you just sucker-punch one of Hiruzen-sama’s shinobi?!?”  The image of Kakashi doubled-up in the dining tent sent a few sparks skittering up her spine. “I suppose that caginess is one of my more glaring faults,” Asaito returned, “And, yes.  I did.  That one has been overstepping his bounds, of late.” “That was no reason to hit him!  My Father hired him to help police this three-ring circus, not suffer a performance review!” “Forgive me,” he lowered his head in atonement.  “My clan has made it a tradition to be overly cautious...and perhaps paranoid.” “And mine has turned recklessness into a high art form,” Miriyume returned, shelving the incident.  Where the hell were her team mates...? “So I’ve heard,” Asaito smiled, almost playfully.   He could be annoyingly compelling... “Have you, now?” Miriyume played along, arching an amber eyebrow.  She had been told that the Tsuroyuni Clan had eerie insight on a staggering amount of people, reaching well beyond the Land of Water’s borders.  “What have you heard?” Kakashi held his breath as he watched from the cover of trees that he’d crept silently into.  All he needed was one hint of discomfort from Miriyume: a cry of help, a sign of struggle, and he’d plant a kunai knife deep into that bastard’s dark heart. His shadow clone jutsu had enabled him to keep four eyes on the dinner party.  His real self had been surreptitiously tailing Miriyume since she’d exited the Bridal Yurt, and had remained in the shadows of her curtained entry.  It had been a testament to his immense skill as a shinobi to avoid detection from the four, as they shared that tiny, dark room together.   Asaito ran a hand through his ebony hair, then gave it a quick toss in classic ‘come hither’ fashion.  “A few things of note,” he teased, moving a little closer.  “Like how your great-grandfather liked to wrestle ice bears for fun...and that your grandmother once kidnaped a princess because she wanted her jade necklace.”  His strange eyes looked pointedly at the string of aqua hued beads at her throat. Miriyume touched them in response, smiling self-consciously.  “Yeah, well, there’s a lot more to that particular story...” “...and your Father, the Shimokhan,” Asaito continued, undaunted.  “Organized a loose rabble of barbaric clans into a civilized, shinobi village...” “Hey! We’re still barbarians, when we want to be,” she corrected, crossing her arms. “...And your brother.  The famed North Wind.  Sage-trained at the personal invitation of Nekomata of the Cat Fortress....the sole known user of Nature’s Fury technique....slayer of the Golden Demon Prince–“ ”Don’t speak of Ryuuyuki, please,” Miriyume cut off, her voice suddenly devoid of any trace of mirth. “I’m...sorry, I only—“ ”Just.  Don’t,” she pleaded angrily, her blue-green eyes were narrowed now, and getting glassy. Was that bastard smiling...?  Kakashi clenched the kunai hilt harder, as Asaito watched Miriyume seemed to suffer a mild twitch between her shoulders, caused by a subtle flicker of sickly colored chakra.  Immediately, so fast in fact that it was difficult to discern even with the benefit of a Sharingan, her aurora-hued chakra rushed in to dissipate the unwholesome looking energy. That pearly tattoo on her back!  It was a fuinjutsu seal of some sort.  She had described it as ‘an insurance policy’... Asaito closed in, taking her hand again.  “What’s the matter, my dear?  You seem...stressed.”  He began to kiss her fingertips. “Well....” somewhat surprised at his sudden ardor, “In my defense, it is the night before my wedding.  And here I am...alone with the groom....” Asaito was slowing kissing up her hand, turning it over to get at the inside of her wrist, pushing back the long sleeve of her yukata to expose her arm. His cool lips working ever upwards both thrilled and scared her.... “....who’s making me feel like a woman in an inma novel...” she nearly moaned in protest. The kisses stopped at the inside of her elbow, and Asaito took her up in a strong embrace. The cool skin of his exposed chest contrasted sharply with the warmth he’d just kindled in hers. “Now, why did you have to say that, my lady?” he asked softly.  There was an odd note in his voice....something akin to hurt, or possibly alarm.  “My clan has long suffered from foul rumors, spread my the jealous, and the vindictive.” A flare of pure rage erupted in Kakashi’s heart as he watched Asaito begin to massage Miriyume’s shoulders, coaxing out the tensions that had been steadily building.  His hands were touching her.  His lips had tasted her skin.  His face was hovering dangerously close to stealing what he had stoically refused... “The Tsuroyuni are slandered because the women we bring into our family are always so splendidly desirable....” he cooed. Miriyume rested her face against his broad chest, in an effort to avoid his eyes.  So cold... “...and splendidly evanescent,” she countered.  “I’ve read up on you too, you know.  All these ‘splendid brides’ seem to have a habit of fading into obscurity.  And, I’ll have you know, I’ve no intentions on doing that.” Asaito gave a her a roguish smile, as he pulled slightly back, trying to catch her eye.  “Well, we are nothing if not overly-attentive husbands, with the fortune and social standing to give our brides anything they want.”  He took her chin in his hand, and tilted her coy face upwards.  “When faced with such promises of paradise, the rest of the world tends to...fade away....” He caught her eyes in his, catching her up in his spell again, and he leaned in for a kiss. His Sharingan widened in horror as he watched Asaito begin to draw in all the ambient chakra of Miriyume.  The dancing curtains of her replenished aurora were sucked into the inky black depths of his strange eyes, twin black holes surrounded by flickering, infernal flame iridae. Miriyume gave a shuddering gasp, as Asaito moved a hand to the back of her head, cradling it against her instinct to back away. “Please, don’t...” Miriyume managed to say, her voice thick with the fatigue of resistance, before the mesmeric eyes spun her senses again. “I just want a small taste of what’s to come....” Asaito persisted, as he closed his eyes, and leaned closer to claim her trembling lips with his own. He was brought to a rude halt by the sensation of cold, polished steel in the place of soft, yielding flesh.  He opened his eyes to see the back of a fingerless gloved hand occupying the space between his and Miriyume’s mouths. “I think its time for Miriyume-sama to be going,” Kakashi announced angrily, as Asaito stepped back from the Leaf jonin’s extended hand.  Kakashi gently patted Miriyume’s spellbound face.  Unresponsive.  He pulled her up protectively against his side, and tried to jostle her out of the strange, trance-like paralysis. Asaito was glaring daggers at the intruder.  Granted, he was daring much by meeting with her alone before the wedding, and perhaps he’d shown too much of his hand, too early in the game, but this jonin was getting on his nerves... Her chakra was exquisite!  Never had he drank in such a heady drought of spiritual essence before.  Except....maybe that one jinchuriki...ages ago... “You again?” Asaito sighed, reeling in his murderous temper.  “Will your stalking ever end?” he lamented dramatically. “So long as the Lady Ice Flame needs protection, no,” Kakashi returned.  “Now, what were you doing just now?” Asaito smiled in wicked amusement.  “Are all Leaf shinobi so unschooled in the arts of amorous interludes?” Kakashi drew a kunai from his leg pouch, twirling it artfully into the prescribed position of martial challenge. “You were pulling chakra out of her....like a leech.  Don’t deny this!” Kakashi warned. “Guilty as charged,” Asaito admitted freely, raising his hands, and leaning casually against a tree trunk.  “Although, your choice of simile is hardly complimentary.” “So you admit your crime?” Kakashi pressed. “Crime?  What crime?” Asaito scoffed.  “Miriyume-sama freely shares her chakra with everyone.  I can’t steal what is given.” “And you can no longer hide that not-so-minor dojutsu from me, Tsuroyuni!” Kakashi riposted.  “You seem to have a remarkable talent for messing with people’s minds.”  He regarded Miriyume a moment, as she began to surface from her latest case of mental scrambling.  She seemed to have some ability to recover faster than most. “And you have an unparalleled talent for pissing me off, Hatake!” Asaito rebutted, suddenly standing much closer. Kakashi pulled Miriyume with him in a retreating lunge, as he channeled a jolt of his lightning chakra into the brandished kunai.   This action had a remarkably sobering effect on Lady Ice Flame, and she snapped back into the present moment. “Where the–“ she began to narrate her quickly surfacing consciousness, “Why–?” regarding Kakashi and Asaito in turn.  “What the hell did I drink tonight?!?” stepping out of Kakashi’s hold.  She swayed slightly, but remained standing. “Miri-chan!” came a shout from the dark.  The strident, slightly frenetic tenor of her Inuzuka team mate.  “What are you doing out here?  The party’s back there!” With a withering glare at his new enemy, Asaito fled the scene before Miriyume’s concerned companions arrived.  Kakashi exchanged his knife for his book, and covered his left eye just as Aoseishin bounded up to the cloudy-minded kunoichi. “There she is,” Matsuko announced, as he and Gekido emerged from the trees.  Both of them exhibited clear signs of anxiety: Matsuko was in a cold sweat.  Gekido had lost the carefree spring in his stride. “We’ve been looking all over for you!” Gekido scolded, putting his face a mere inch from hers.  His sudden proximity made her reel backward, and she landed on her butt in the soft, cool grass.  Aoseishin whined and licked her cheek. “Miri-chan!” Matsuko knelt at her side, held her hand, and scrutinized her fatigued state. Gekido turned his pent up feelings of conflicting emotion on a new target: “What are you doing here, Hata-kami?!” he demanded. Kakashi’s right eye regarded the irate Inuzuka standing before him.  “It’s Hata-ke,” he amended in a tired tone. “Whatever!” Gekido dismissed.  “Why’d you run off with Miri-chan?!” “I think the better question is: ‘Why didn’t you?’...” the Leaf jonin drawled back. “Why didn’t I?!” the Inuzuka echoed belligerently, as his face betrayed mounting confusion.  “I was eating....wasn’t I?!” turning back toward Matsuko, who was still tending to Lady Ice Flame. The swarthy-skinned shinobi shrugged his own uncertainty, and returned his focus to Miriyume. Did they not remember what had happened?  Kakashi studied Matsuko, who was regarding Miriyume with obvious concern, as she adopted a meditative lotus position. Even Aoseishin seemed to be struggling with some form of memory lapse, judging by the way he kept sniffing Miriyume’s shoulders, smelling some unexplainable scent. Gekido’s nostrils were also flaring in cognitive dissonance, sensing Asaito’s presence, but, for some reason, mentally blocking it. “Well!?!” the Inuzuka, in keeping with usual clan fashion, became more threatening when agitated.  “Answer me!” “Miriyume-sama wanted to meditate under the moon, briefly,” Kakashi fabricated quickly, believing that it would be useless to try and explain the truth.  Asaito had covered his tracks too well tonight, leaving him as the sole witness of actual events. Very well.  Challenge accepted. “I accompanied her, to stand guard,” Kakashi smiled, returning to his book, to a page he’d read hundreds of times before. “But we’re her guards,” Gekido persisted, sounding rather dejected.  “Not you.  How did you two manage to sneak off, anyway?” Kakashi blushed a bit at the thought, and smiled at the implications.  It called to mind a certain bride-stealing moment in one of these Icha-Icha novels....  Keep it clean: “I’m a lot faster than I look,” he replied, flipping a page. “You three were eating,” Miriyume added, as Matsuko assisted her stand.  “Kakashi-san volunteered to keep me company while I waited for you to finish.” Her voice had regained its customary lilt.  The one that seemed to forever skate on the razor’s edge between charm and castigation.  Fire and frost.  Kakashi pulled his forehead protector up just enough to check on her ambient chakra level.  Nearly fully recovered!  Whatever Asaito had taken would quickly replenished.  Her chakra refractory was astonishing!  Already, ribbons of her personal aurora were weaving about her companions, easing their tensions.  Was it her sage talents that helped, or her priestess abilities...? “But, now that you’re here...” She laced her fingers into Gekido’s hand, and pulled both her human team mates in the direction of the yurt-bar, as Kakashi recovered his Sharingan.   “You’re coming with us, Hata-kun?” Miriyume asked, over her alabaster shoulder. That sidelong glance again.  The one that brought time and space to a standstill.

It also told him that her memory had not been stolen. And that was the first time she’d used that particular suffix with his name... “Of course,” he answered, closing the book.  “I just need to...check-in on my students, first.” His recon team!  Perhaps they’d found something useful! “Just spike their warm milk with a shot of bourbon....knocks ‘em right out!” Gekido advised, having fully recovered his good mood as the three, plus the ninken, continued back up the forest path. Tempting.

Oda indulged in a small amount of amusement as he entered the Koryomizu Pavillion, letting a soft chuckle escape his withered lips.  Someone was spying on him!  The corpsewood incense had told him that much.  Then he saw the tale-tell signs of disturbance in his genealogy records—minute though they were. He’s expected such an attempt, and had made preparations.  Casting some fresh bundles of another vile, herbal ingredient upon a brazier, he performed the hand jutsu sequence that focused his kekkei genkai: Backward Glance jutsu. As the foul-smelling smoke began to form, he produced a hand fan, and wafted it in the direction of the scroll racks. Pale, ashen ghosts began to take shape.  Eerie afterimages left by whoever had been standing there half an hour earlier. Oda chuckled again, as the smoke revealed the face of a very grim-looking boy, the last of the famed Uchiha Clan.  One of that infuriating jonin’s charges.  It figured.  He had wondered how meddlesome the Land of Fire was going to be in this particular venture.   At first, he had balked at their presence at all.  How did this union concern them?  What was the point?  But the Lady Ice Flame’s father had been insistent.  Something about ‘old ties,’ or some such nonsense.  That barbarian fool had insisted on quite a bit, actually.  The location....the guest list...the food...even the officiating priest!  These were usually the responsibilities of the groom, but the exceedingly proud man was clearly insisting on the very best his vast allegiances could provide for his beloved daughter’s wedding. Asaito had relented to the Shimokhan’s demands easily, factoring that the ‘prize’ would be worth it in the end. But these arrangements had become most tiresome.  He missed the comforting bulk of the castle walls.  He loathed the scent of cherry blossom pollen.  And he hated being surrounded by so many unfamiliar faces who didn’t know their proper place!  Especially that jonin with the snide tongue and the hidden face....Kakashi of the Sharingan! How dare he speak to his Lord so dismissively!  How dare he speak at all during that ridiculous supper!  Without censure!  It seemed that the Land of Fire was as unsophisticated at the Land of Frost when it came to protocol. And there was some kind of annoying connection between that Kakashi and the Lady Ice Flame.  Some...mystical link that Oda could sense, but couldn’t fathom.  Something that ran even deeper than the ties between her and her obnoxious teammates.  Asaito had sensed this as well, and was currently taking measures against it.  Unbeatable measures.  They hadn’t lost a single target-bride yet... Oda sighed, and allowed the smoke to dissipate.  He watched thoughtfully as the gray-tone illusion of Sasuke Uchiha melted away to nothingness.  All of this was starting to give him a headache, but the pay-off would make it all worthwhile.  Her chakra would be feeding their dark hearts for far longer than most. As Oda lay down on his cot, he addressed the vanished image of the genin who had dared to pry into the premises: “It a pity that you were not born a female, lone Uchiha child.  We’ve had our eyes on your tragic clan for quite some time.  Perhaps there’s still a chance, if you were to have a daughter...and we snuffed your suspicious little heart before stealing her away.”

[dailyaudiobible]

10/08/2019 DAB Transcript

Jeremiah 10:1-11:23, Colossians 3:18-4:18, Psalms 78:56-72, Proverbs 24:28-29

Today is the 8th day of October. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I'm Brian. It is…It's great to be here with you today taking the next step forward on this pathway that we’ve been following since the beginning of the year. And wow, what turns and twists and peaks and valleys and walking along rivers and through forests. We have been all over the place as we’ve journeyed through the Bible this year. And, we still have a ways to go, a lot of really interesting territory as we wind our way to the conclusion. But we’re at October 8th and so we’re a ways from the conclusion. And we’ll pick up where we left off. We’re reading from the New International version this week. Jeremiah, chapters 10 and 11 today.

Commentary:

Okay, let's talk about its idolatry. Idolatry, that ominous word. We’ve encountered this word countless times as we’ve been moving through the Scriptures this year. We read stories about it. We’ve listened to the mighty condemnations of it, we’ve witnessed the repercussions of it, but now that we’re in the prophetic books there’s no way to escape it, it's everywhere, which can kind of set us off because idolatry isn’t a part of like our normal conversation. How’s your idolatry doing? How are you doing with your idolatry these days? Right? Like this is not something we talk about. Hey, you still have that goddess Artemis in your closet, right? So, idolatry is essentially the worship of false gods. And those false gods at least in the time of Jeremiah were normally fashioned statues of some sort that they would bow in worship too, even sacrifice too, and bring offerings too. And in Jeremiah today we, you know, we…they’re basically scarecrows. Like, they can't speak, they can't walk, like they’ve got to be carried around. There hammered with nails they don't fall over. Right? So, Jeremiah’s essentially making fun. And it's easy enough for us to make fun because it’s like who would bow down and worship? Like if you make the statue yourself and then you think you’re gonna bow down and it’s gonna become a deity, like are you…“are you thick?” That's what…that's what my aunts and uncles who have all gone on that I grew up with, that's one of the phrases they would use. “Seriously? Like, are you stupid?” You made this thing. Why would you bow and worship to it? You made it. For those people though, they didn't think that the statue itself was their god. They thought if they could make an image and they would worship this image then their worship and devotion would awaken their god or open the mouth of their god. But even the idea of, you know, worshiping at the feet of a statue… Like we can look at what…what Jeremiah says about idolatry and about the statues and we can breathe a sigh of relief because we never made an idol like that and we never hid an idol like that and we never worshiped and I like that and we wouldn’t even think about doing something like that. So, we can be like, “cool! Idolatry’s not a part of my life. I don’t know why I need to read these chapters of Jeremiah.” But the thing is, because the description is so…created…something that’s made and then a person would offer themselves in worship at this thing in hopes that it would awaken something in the divine realm and cause this God to look upon them with favor, then just about anything can be an idol. If we are expecting our lives to be improved or sustained in any other way than through our relationship with God, then we’re creating an idol that cannot talk that cannot see that cannot walk and expecting it to bring us life. So, anything can be and idol. Your savings account can be an idol. You just keep building it up, right.? You just keep adding to it. You just keep making something of it and you keep doing that and you keep checking the balance and you keep going there hoping to see what you have accumulated so that later on it will open its mouth and look favorably upon you so that your life can be sustained. You see where we’re going here. Anything can be an idol. I’m not saying a savings accounts a bad thing. It's just a bad thing when you expect that it's going to bring you life and that your turning to it instead of God. So, anything can work like this. Relationships can work like this, right? You can fall in love with somebody and you can't see straight. You can't see clear at all. Like, they become the object of your worship, right? And, so, you get lost in each other and you move towards marriage and everything only to find out, of my gosh, they can't deliver life. We can collaborate and be in life together and be life-giving to each other but they cannot sustain…like I cannot go to them and worship and expect that I'll get a promotion. But here's the thing, Idolatry isn’t something like…God hates it. He’s clear about that in Scripture but it’s not something that makes him nervous about whether or not He really is the most-high God. Like, no matter what we’ll give our hearts to worship, no matter what any human gives their hearts in worship too, there is only one most-high God. But when we worship what’s false we’re withholding, we’re keeping ourselves from him and we’ll miss out on what He cares most about, a relationship, which will only destroy us in the end. So, this is actually pretty heartbreaking. So, like…so like if your…if your son one day tells you that you're not there parent anymore and they found a new parent and it’s a stuffed animal that they’re carrying with…they’re carrying around and they only play and they only talk to this stuffed animal because they believe this stuffed animal has become their true parent, right, we would probably be freaking out and seeking help, but that's essentially what we say to God when we turn toward something false in hopes that it's going to sustain our lives. But even if…even if our kid did this and all they did was talk to this stuffed animal and call it mommy or daddy and ignored us, we’re still their parent, right? Like nothing can change the fact that we’re their true parent. And, so, even though the child’s given their affection to something else we’re still their parent and we’re very, very troubled by it. This is why God hates idolatry. This is God's position towards idolatry. And what we see when He approaches the subject of idolatry over and over again, what is He saying? Return. Come home. Return to me. Because the alternative is destruction. So, let's…let’s consider what we are turning to for life, things that we actually are trusting in that have no power to save us and no power to do good or evil and no power to walk or stand. Because when we do give our affection and worship to something else we’re betraying our only true source of life, which is absolutely backwards to how we were created. It's not who we are and it will not get us anywhere.

Prayer:

Father we invite your Holy Spirit once again to what we read today and what we’re contemplating here in terms of idolatry because it is really easy for us to just zone out like that's not our issue and we ask your Holy Spirit to show us where it might be an issue. What are we counting on? What are we giving ourselves to thinking it will give us life? Come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

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[agrandquiet]

The Emoji Movie Review

I’ve been struggling to start my review of The Emoji Movie. It’s bad. It’s reeeaaaal bad. It’s so fucking bad. And I think that would probably be the cool way to approach it. You shouldn’t watch the The Emoji Movie because it’s shit. It’s a bad story, incredibly poorly told. It features some of the most grating and uncharismatic voice acting you’ve ever heard in one of these things. It is profoundly, profoundly unpleasant to look at for any long period of time. And despite the fact that it steals it’s every idea from a panoply of better movies not a single gram of their greatness rubs off onto it.

It’s unoriginal weak-ass trash. Y’all see, somewhere a few years ago some producer was looking for a project to take off the ground. Disney’s Wreck-it-Ralph had made bank a couple years ago, Warner had just released The Lego Movie to rave reviews and Inside Out had finally entered production, the script was available without looking too hard, and people were reportedly feeling pretty positive about it. Then this soulless husk of a human being had a realisation, emoji aren’t copyrightable, nobody owns Unicode so you don’t have to pay anything for the rights. Then he masturbated everywhere, content that the little idea he had just had would keep him in business for years.

I know this is true because if you pay enough attention the besuited masturbating businessman is hidden somewhere in every single frame of this joint. If you really focus on it very hard you’ll see most of the time he’s staring directly at you and laughing. Laughing that you are enough of a chump to line his pockets by seeing this crap.

Not that he really needs your business, all the business done in this joint was carried out years ago. More grey boardrooms full of people desperate to inject brands into pop-culture, we got major plot points here that reference twitter, facebook, youtube, dropbox, spotify, candy crush, a whole sequence with some shitty Just Dance app that nobody ever heard of. It’s frankly a surprise that phone all these hateful characters live on ain’t some Samsung Galaxy™ EX10 or something like that. Maybe someone decided that that would be a step too far, but then they didn’t for the rest of this bullshit. Nah, I don’t believe it, they were probably asking for too much.

The plot of this ridiculous turd, as far as it matters, is that Gene is an emoji who just don’t fit man, he got too many emotions, i.e. more than just one and that makes him an outcast. He teams up with a High Five emoji, jealous that he’s been replaced from the favourites bar by a black fist bump, not a great scene given how fucking white this movie is. Anyhow they break outta the texting app and go on a quixotic mission to upload themselves to the internet and fix their dreaded nonconformity.

Y’all can see how this ties into that just be yourself narrative that was all the rage about three years ago. Y’know when it was all fine and cool to devote a whole movie to telling the white boy protagonist that, just be yourself man and everything will work out fine. See most movies have caught onto the fact that intersectionality might be a thing and that some people in this world may in fact have a harder time by just being themselves. film don’t need that though, it got a cool, kick-ass, off-brand version of Wyldstyle just ready to spout off white-feminism 101 talking points unheeded as if that give any credibility to this being a social picture.

So now we in the real world and the kid who owns this phone notices it acting weird and decides to wipe it, so if the emojis don’t put things right, their whole world be destroyed. Now this boy also got his own thing going on, he crushing on a girl and the film contorts its way around to the ultimatum, dude can only get her attention by using the one perfect emoji. My fucking god it lame. For all the talk of feminism we get the film don’t actually manage to learn any of these lessons cause guess how many lines the object of his desire gets?

None. Of course she don’t get nothing to say because the film made by dudes in their fifties who just don’t fucking get it. You’ll notice this anytime the film tries to make a joke about technology or the internet. They all fucking flop. Goddamn, at one point they go to the ‘piracy app’ like fuck that’s a thing and then that whole sequence is just a wide array of jokes that don’t connect because none of them relate to anything close to reality. I’m certain that none of these people has ever used a P2P service in their lives, if they had at least they’d be able to come close to a functional gag.

More wasted than the gags though are the spaces that this film lazily tries to palm off to us. In literalising the spaces of a constructed world the filmmaker gets to take their own opinions and imbue the world with them. This an even greater power in the animated medium where the creators aren’t even limited by the frameworks of reality. See on our screens a website, let’s say youtube, is a working manual to its own operation. The very way the site is manipulates and guides our habits until youtube exists not within the videos or on the screen but in our very minds, dictating how we interact with it.

In creating a representation of these places, as The Emoji Movie gets carte blanche to do, it is irresponsible for them not to question the authorial intent of their design. To just accept that these things be the way they be is to propagandise the very states of mind that the developers of these apps wish to trap us in. That what the movie do. It is unthinkingly reverential to the brands it chooses to depict and that is a weak and pathetic way to go. The one exception is that piracy place, which it obviously hates, but doesn’t understand enough to properly condemn.

Look, I’m sure it must have been a lot working on this movie, I’m sure there were a lot of big egos contained within the office’s cum stained walls, but did no one have the courage to admit that the emoji’s themselves look repulsive? Cos they do. They look like hideous disgusting dump. They are certain to haunt my nightmares. Look at one too long and you’ll start to feel physically sick. It might be much, but the film fails on this one basic level, one of the earliest things you gotta get right. No wonder the rest all goes to fuck.

I usually mention people’s names in these reviews. I’m not gonna here, I think the stigma of being related to The Emoji Movie is embarrassment enough.

The Emoji Movie is currently screening in UK cinemas.