#sometimes my children will say seemingly the most unhinged things

[mollywog]

People like to poke fun at children for being irrational, but I think they’re actually extremely rational, just working with a limited set of information.

[nataliaphantomhivesblog]

In the end of it all, Monaca Towa was still a child.

To start this off, this isn't my usual Black Butler posts but ive been meaning to talk about Danganronpa for a hot minute, so please bear with me! Second, this is solely my opinion and before anyone wants to attack me please read thoroughly first. Thank you:)

(Spoiler warning for Danganronpa: Ultra Despair Girls and Danganronpa 3)

Also, before we dive in I'm going to list some trigger warnings:

Physcological abuse

Physical abuse

Manipulation

P*dophillia

Suicide attempt

Violence (?)

Childhood trauma

Please take care and read at your own risk<3

Hello there Danganronpa fandom! Today I will be talking about Monaca Towa (as stated in the title) and how people often minimize her trauma and sometimes forget the fact that shes still a child who got heavily manipulated by Junko too.

Monaca is seemingly very amiable and caring, because of her charming personality, all of the Warriors of Hope love her and try their best to keep her happy and go along with what she wants. However, it's slowly revealed that she is actually manipulative and cunning behind her friendly facade.

Monoca is a character that is cruel, manipulative, and extremly unhinged. Many of her actions cannot be excused or justified, but you can understand where she's coming from.

Monaca's Backstory:

She was born an unwanted child by both her father and her mother. Monaca's mother was supposed to take care of her but instead abandoned the child soon after her birth. Because of all her actions, Monaca saw her mother as a completely selfish and pathetic person. Monaca's father thought of giving her to an orphanage but instead took her into his family.

However, Monaca was always unwanted and everyone else felt uncomfortable around her. Every time Monaca smiled or joked, the others looked at her coldly, as if she didn't deserve to laugh. Every time she spoke, the others turned silent. His older-half brother thought of her as an alien, not part of the family.

She was also physically abused to the point that she pretended to be seriously wounded for them to stop as a result.

Monaca also attended Hope's Peak Elementary School and was part of the "trouble-makers class" along with Nagisa, Masaru, Jataro, and Kotoko.

Along with her fellow abused classmates, she planned a group suicide; however, Monaca never had any plans to commit suicide in the first place and was planning to let the others die as a prank.

The group suicide was stopped by Junko, who took the kids in and manipulated them by treating them with kindness and love.

Monaca then helped Junko mass produce Monokumas for the Tragedy by using her position as a representative of the Towa Group.

She lied to her father and the other adults in order to produce the Monokumas, telling them that she wanted to create futuristic robots that could be domestic helpers and emergency aid workers.

Due to her separation from the family and her genius, her family decided to give her leg room to do what she wanted as long as she brought in profits to the company, and didn't delve too deeply into her plans.

Things to keep in mind about Monoca's backstory:

She was emotionally and physically abused from a very young age.

She started to pretend to be paraplegic because she was finally treated with some kindness and she could have more control over people.

She convinced Nagisa, Jataro, Kotoko and Masaru to commit suicide.

Out of all the Warriros of Hope, Junko took the most intrest in Monoca due to her position, meaning that she was the one who got used and manipulated the most.

How Monoca's mindset works:

The moment she got physically abused to the point that she had to fake her injuries to make her family feel bad was the moment she learned that through sympathy from others comes power. Due to her families neglection and abuse, she started to quickly pick up on things in which benefited her yet hurt others.

She started to use manipulative tactics on her family to gain control over them. She then started implicating these tactics with the Warriors of Hope.

When Junko got into the picture, everything changed for the worst. Junko was the only person in Monaca's life who showed her affection. Even though deep down Monaca knew Junko only cared for her as a means to use her robotics genius for the Tragedy, Monaca didn't care, and happily helped out Junko with her plans if it meant being loved and appreciated in return. At the heart of it, despite all her horrific acts, that's a very child-like thing to do, right? So when Junko dies, Monaca's entire reason for living basically disappears.

AI Junko via Kurokuma may have planted the idea of a successor in her head, but in Monaca's mind it's a way to get her big sis back, and very specifically chooses to mold Komaru into becoming Junko's successor. That's for a big reason, Monaca doesn't want to become Junko, I'd say she actually just wanted her big sister back who would love and appreciate her again, and hence tried to make someone else take on that role initially. Once again, that's the mindset of a child.

Monaca's relationship with the Warriors of Hope:

The Warriors of Hope are a group of children who are extremely resentful and hateful of adults, regardless of whether or not they were involved in their rough paths. 

We all know that the Warriros of Hope are extememly tramutized kids. Masaru had alcoholic parents who physically abused him, Jataro was physcologically abused to the point he bealived he was so ugly that if anyone saw his "repulsive" face they would die, Kotoko was r*ped multiple times by disgusting p*dophilic men (not to mention, Monaca's brother was attracted to her), and last but not least we have Nagisa who had pressuring parents who wanted to raise him as the child prodigy and expirimented on him constantly.

Monaca used the Warriros of Hope's trauma against them, manipulating them to the point were they had to do her bidding completly.

As much as I hate to say it, Monaca truly saw them as pawns. Although there are some instances where she openly declares her care for the Warriors of Hope, it's likely she does that as a form of emotional manipulation.

If anything, she probably did see them as equal in the beginning but then when she started to gain control over her own family, she started to do the same with the Warriors of Hope as a way to protect herself from getting hurt, then again this is my baseless assumption.

Her dynamic with Nagito:

Monaca was amused by Nagito's strange behavior and contradicting beliefs and appeared to be somewhat annoyed with him at the times. However, the two appeared to at least seemingly respect each other in some way, as they treated each other somewhat formally as allies.

Her dynamic with Nagito is one of the most intresting ones. Obviously I think that her being rasied by Nagito was potentially a dangerous thing, considering Nagito's goal was for Monaca to become Enoshima's successor. Monaca seemed to agree with this goal, but Nagito's constant rambling about hope and despair made Monaca bored and feel embarrassed about the whole thing.

She claims he made her an adult in a way, as she grew up in the mental sense and became more cynical and apathetic, not really caring about anything.

In the end, Monaca found Nagito creepy and annoying, but she also appeared to get closer to him during their time together, while originally calling him just "Mister Servant" in UDG, she later refers to him as "Big Bro" in Danganronpa 3. I do think their dynamic was sort of soft and I would've loved to have seen more of it. Honestly the concept of Nagito being a soft brother to Monaca warms my heart, and the wasted potential will forever anger me.

(If any Danganronpa fanfic writer or any writer in general is reading this post: if u could be so kind and do a PLATONIC Nagito and Monaca prompt and tag me in it, I would love you forever!!)

My opinion on Monaca:

I think that Monaca was a very well-written character who deserved more than what she got in the end of Danganronpa 3. She was abused, mistreated and belittled by her family. If anything, I see her as a completely misguided little girl. If she actually had a positive authoritative influence in her life, she wouldn't have turned astray.

A lot of people disregard Monaca's trauma and forget that at the end of the day, Monaca was a child who the moment she was born, the people who were supposed to love her were unwelcoming.

Don't get me wrong though, there is no way in hell I will ever justify or condone the things Monaca has done. If anything, I just think that she alongside the rest of the Warriors of Hope should've been properly taken care of.

Also, if you dislike/hate Monaca thats 100% valid! She did a lot of inexcusable things and its alright to hate on her. I personally love her character but I know she is not everyones cup of tea.

If you read all the way, I'm actually surprised! Thank you and I hope you enjoyed<333

[yamayuandadu]

The Two (or more) Ishtars or A Certain Scandalous Easter Claim Proved to be The Worship of Reverend Alexander Hislop

Once upon a time the official facebook page of Richard Dawkins' foundation posted a graphic according to which the holiday of Easter is just a rebranded celebration of the Mesopotamian mythology superstar Ishtar, arguing that the evidence is contained in its very name. As everyone knows, Dawkins is an online talking head notable for discussing his non-belief in such an euphoric way that it might turn off even the most staunch secularists and for appearing in some reasonably funny memes about half a decade ago. Bizarrely enough, however, the same claim can be often found among the crowds dedicated to crystal healing, Robert Graves' mythology fanfiction, indigo children and similar dubiously esoteric content. What's yet more surprising is that once in a while it shows up among a certain subset of fundamentalist Christians, chiefly the types who believe giants are real (and, of course, satanic), the world  is ruled by a secret group of Moloch worshipers and fossils were planted by the devil to led the sheeple astray from the truth about earth being 6000 years old, tops. Of course, to anyone even just vaguely familiar with Christianity whose primary language isn't English this claim rightfully seems completely baffling – after all it's evident in most languages that the name of the holiday celebrating Jesus' resurrection, and many associated customs, are derived from the earlier Jewish Pascha (Passover) which has nothing to do with Ishtar other than having its origin in the Middle East. Why would the purported association only be evident  in English and not in Aramaic, Greek, Latin, Spanish, virtually any language other than English and its close relatives – languages which generally didn't have anything to do with Mesopotamia or early christianity? Read on to find out what sort of sources let this eclectic selection of characters arrive to the same baffling conclusion, why are they hilariously wrong, and – most importantly – where you can actually find a variety of Ishtars (or at least reasonably Ishtar-like figures) under different names instead.

The story of baffling Easter claims begins in Scotland in the 19th century. A core activity of theologians in many faiths through history was (and sometimes still is) finding alleged proof of purported “idolatry” or other “impure” practices among ideological opponents, even these from within the same religion – and a certain Presbyterian minister, Alexander Hislop, was no stranger to this traditional pastime. Like many Protestants in this period, he had an axe to grind with the catholic church  - though not for the reasons many people are not particularly fond of this institution nowadays. What Hislop wanted to prove was much more esoteric – he believed that it's the Babylon known from the Book of Revelations. Complete with the beast with seven heads, blasphemous names and other such paraphernalia, of course. This wasn't a new claim – catholicism was equated with the New Testament Babylon for as long as Protestantism was a thing (and earlier catholicism itself regarded other religions as representing it). What set Hislop apart from dozens of other similar attempts like that was that he fancied himself a scholar of history and relied on the brand new accounts of excavations in what was once the core sphere of influence of the Assyrian empire (present day Iraq and Syria), supplemented by various Greek and Roman classics – though also by his own ideas, generally varying from baseless to completely unhinged. Hislop compiled his claims in the book The Two Babylons or The Papal Worship Proved to be the Worship of Nimrod and His Wife. You can find it on archive.org if you want to torment yourself and read the entire thing – please do not give clicks directly to any fundie sites hosting it though. How does the history of Easter and Ishtar look like according to Hislop? Everything started with Semiramis, who according to his vision was a historical figure and a contemporary of Noah's sons, here also entirely historical. Semiramis is either entirely fictional or a distorted Greek and Roman account of the 9th century BC Assyrian queen Shammuramat, who ruled as a regent for a few years after the death of her husband Shamshi Adad V – an interesting piece of historical trivia, but arguably not really a historical milestone, and by the standards of Mesopotamian history she's hardly a truly ancient figure. Hislop didn't even rely on the primary sources dealing with the legend of Semiramis though, but with their medieval christian interpretations, which cast her in the role of an adulterer first and foremost due to association of ancient Mesopotamia with any and all vices.

Hislop claims that Semiramis was both the Whore of Babylon from the Book of Revelations and the first idolater, instituting worship of herself as a goddess. This goddess, he argues, was Astarte (a combination of two flimsy claims – Roman claim that Semiramis' name means “dove” and now generally distrusted assumption that Phoenician Astarte had the same symbols as Greek Aphrodite) and thus Ishtar, but he also denotes her as a mother goddess – which goes against everything modern research has to say about Ishtar, of course. However, shoddy scholarship relying on few sources was the norm at the time, and Hislop on top of that was driven by religious zeal. In further passages, he identified this “universal mother” with Phrygian Cybele, Greek Rhea and Athena, Egyptian Isis, Taoist Xi Wangmu (sic) and many more, pretty much at random, arguing all of them were aspects of nefarious Semiramis cult which infected all corners of the globe. He believed that she was venerated alongside a son-consort, derived from Semiramis' even more fictional husband Ninus (a mythical founder of Assyria according to Greek authors, absent from any Mesopotamian sources; his name was derived from Nineveh, not from any word for son like Hislop claims), who he identifies with biblical Nimrod (likewise not a historical figure, probably a distorted reflection of the god Ninurta). Note the similarity with certain ideas perpetrated by Frazer's Golden Bough and his later fans like Jung, Graves and many neopagan authors – pseudohistory, regardless of ideological background, has a very small canon of genuinely original claims. Ishtar was finally introduced to Britain by “druids” (note once again the similarity to the baffling integration of random Greek, Egyptian or Mesopotamian deities into Graves-derived systems of fraudulent trivia about “universal mother goddesses” often using an inaccurate version of Celtic myths as framework). This eventually lead to the creation of the holiday of Easter. Pascha doesn't come up in the book at all, as far as I can tell. All of this is basically just buildup for the book's core shocking reveal: catholic veneration of Mary and depictions of Mary with infant Jesus in particular are actually the worship of Semiramis and her son-consort Ninus, and only the truly faithful can reveal this evil purpose of religious art. At least so claims Hislop. This bizarre idea is laughable, but it remains disturbingly persistent – do you remember the Chick Tracts memes from a few years ago, for example? These comics were in part inspired by Hislop's work. Many fundamentalist christian communities appear to hold his confabulations in high esteem up to this day – and many people who by design see themselves as a countercultural opposition to christianity independently gleefully embrace them, seemingly ignorant of their origin. While there are many articles debunking Hislop's claim about Easter, few of them try to show how truly incomprehensibly bad his book is as a whole – hopefully the following examples will be sufficient to illustrate this point: -Zoroaster is connected to Moloch because of the Zoroastrian holy fire - and Moloch is, of course Ninus. Note that while a few Greek authors believed Zoroaster to be the “king of Bactria” mythical accounts presented as a contemporary of Ninus, the two were regarded as enemies – Hislop doesn't even follow the pseudohistory he uses as proof! -Zoroaster is also Tammuz. Tammuz is, of course, yet another aspect of Ninus. -demonic character is ascribed to relics of the historical Buddha; also he's Osiris. And Ninus. -an incredibly racist passage explains why the biblical Nimrod (identified with – you guessed it - Ninus) might be regarded as “ugly and deformed” like Haephestus and thus identical to him (no, it makes no sense in context either) - Hislop thinks he was black (that's not the word he uses, naturally) which to him is the same thing. -Attis is a deification of sin itself -the pope represents Dagon (incorrectly interpreted as a fish god in the 19th century) -Baal and Bel are two unrelated words – this is meant to justify the historicity of the Tower of Babel by asserting it was built by Ninus, who was identical to Bel (in reality a title of Marduk); Bel, according to Hislop, means “the confounder (of languages)” rather than “lord” -the term “cannibal” comes from a made up term for priests of Baal (Ninus) who according to Hislop ate children. In reality it's a Spanish corruption of the endonym of one of the first tribes encountered by the Spanish conquerors in America, and was not a word used in antiquity – also, as I discussed in my Baal post, the worship of Baal did not involve cannibalism. This specific claim of Hislop's is popular with the adherents of prophetic doomsday cult slash wannabe terrorist group QAnon today, and shows up on their “redpilling” graphics. -Ninus was also Cronos; Cronos' name therefore meant “horned one” in reference to Mesopotamian bull/horned crown iconography and many superficially similar gods from all over the world were the same as him - note the similarity to Margaret Murray's obsession with her made up idea of worldwide worship of a “horned god” (later incorporated into Wicca). -Phaeton, Orpheus and Aesculapius are the same figure and analogous to Lucifer (and in turn to Ninus) -giants are real and they're satanists (or were, I think Hislop argues they're dead already). They are (were?) also servants of Ninus. -as an all around charming individual Hislop made sure to include a plethora of comments decrying the practices of various groups at random as digressions while presenting his ridiculous theories – so, while learning about the forbidden history of Easter, one can also learn why the author thinks Yezidi are satanists, for example -last but not least, the very sign of the cross is not truly christian but constitutes the worship of Tammuz, aka Ninus (slowly losing track of how many figures were regarded as one and the same as him by Hislop). Based on the summary above it's safe to say that Hislop's claim is incorrect – and, arguably, malevolent (and as such deserves scrutiny, not further possibilities for spreading). However, this doesn't answer the question where does the name of Easter actually come from? As I noted in the beginning, in English (and also German) it's a bit of an oddity – it  actually was derived from a preexisting pagan term, at least if we are to believe the word of the monk Bede, who in the 8th century wrote that the term is a derivative of “Eosturmonath,” eg. “month of Eostre” - according to him a goddess. There are no known inscriptions mentioning such a goddess from the British Isles or beyond, though researchers involved in reconstructing proto-indo-european language assume that “Eostre” would logically be a derivative of the same term as ��the name of the Greek Eos and of the vedic Ushas, and the Austriahenae goddesses from Roman inscriptions from present day Germany  – eg.  a word simply referring to dawn, and by extension to a goddess embodying it. This is a sound, well researched theory, so while early medieval chroniclers sometimes cannot be trusted, I see no reason to doubt Bede's account.

While Ushas is a prominent goddess in the Vedas, Eos was rather marginal in Greek religion (see her Theoi entry for details), and it's hard to tell to what degree Bede's Eostre was similar to either of them beyond plausibly being a personification of dawn. Of course, the hypothetical proto-indo-european dawn goddess all of these could be derived from would have next to nothing to do with Ishtar. While the history of the name of Easter (though not the celebration itself) is undeniably interesting, I suppose it lacks the elements which make the fake Ishtar claim a viral hit – the connection is indirect, and an equivalent of the Greek Eos isn't exactly exciting (Eos herself is, let be honest, remembered at best as an obscure part of the Odyssey), while Ishtar is understood by many as “wicked” sex goddess (a simplification, to put it very lightly) which adds a scandalous, sacrilegious dimension to the baffling lie, explaining its appeal to Dawkins' fans, arguably. As demonstrated above, Hislop's theories are false and adapting them for any new context – be it christian, atheist or neopagan – won't change that, but are there any genuine examples of, well, “hidden Ishtars”? If that's the part of the summary which caught your attention, rejoice – there is a plenty of these to be found in Bronze Age texts. I'd go as far as saying that most of ancient middle eastern cultures from that era felt compelled to include an Ishtar ersatz in their pantheons. Due to the popularity of the original Ishtar, she was almost a class of figures rather than a single figure – a situation almost comparable to modern franchising, when you think about it. The following figures can be undeniably regarded as “Ishtar-like” in some capacity or even as outright analogs:

Astarte (or Ashtart, to go with a more accurate transcription of the oldest recorded version of the name) – the most direct counterpart of Ishtar there is: a cognate of her own name. Simply, put Astarte is the “Levantine”equivalent of the “Mesopotamian” Ishtar. In the city of Mari, the names were pretty much used interchangeably, and some god lists equate them, though Astarte had a fair share of distinct traits. In Ugaritic mythology, which forms the core of our understanding of the western Semitic deities, she was a warrior and hunter (though it's possible that in addition to conventional weapons she was also skilled at wielding curses), and was usually grouped with Anat. Both of them were regarded as the allies of Baal, and assist him against his enemies in various myth. They also were envisioned to spend a lot of time together – one ritual calls them upon as a pair from distant lands where they're hunting together, while a fragmentary myth depicts both of them arriving in the household of the head god El and taking pity on Yarikh, the moon god, seemingly treated as a pariah. Astarte's close relation to Baal is illustrated by her epithet, “face of Baal” or “of the name of Baal.” They were often regarde as a couple and even late, Hellenic sources preserve a traditional belief that Astarte and “Adados” (Baal) ruled together as a pair. In some documents from Ugarit concerned with what we would call foreign policy today they were invoked together as the most prominent deities. It's therefore possible that she had some role related to human politics. She was regarded as exceptionally beautiful and some texts favorably describe mortal women's appearance by comparing them to Astarte. In later times she was regarded as a goddess of love, but it's unclear if that was a significant aspect of her in the Bronze Age. It's equally unclear if she shared Ishtar's astral character – in Canaan there were seemingly entirely separate dawn and dusk deities. Despite clamis you might see online, Astarte was not the same as the mother goddess Asherah. In the Baal cycle they actually belong to the opposing camps. Additionally, the names are only superficially similar (one starts with an aleph, the other with an ayin) and have different etymology. Also, that famous sculpture of a very blatantly Minoan potnia theron? Ugaritic in origin but not a depiction of either Astarte or Asherah.

The Egyptians, due to extensive contact with Canaan and various Syrian states in the second half of the Bronze Age, adapted Astarte (and by extension Anat) into their own pantheon. Like in Ugarit, her warrior character was emphasized. An Egyptian innovation was depicting her as a cavalry goddess of sorts – associated with mounted combat and chariots. In Egypt, Ptah, the head god of Memphis and divine craftsman, was regarded as her father. In most texts, Astarte is part of Seth's inner circle of associates – however, in this context Seth wasn't the slayer of Osiris, but a heroic storm god similar to Baal. The so-called Astarte papyrus presents an account of a myth eerily similar to the Ugaritic battle between Baal and Yam – starring Seth as the hero, with Astarte in a supporting role resembling that played by Shaushka, another Ishtar analog, in the Hittite song of Hedammu, which will be discussed below.

Shaushka – a Hurrian and Hittite goddess whose name means “the magnificent one” in the Hurrian language. Hurrian was widely spoken in ancient Mesopotamia and Anatolia (and in northernmost parts of the Levant – up to one fifth of personal names from Ugaritic documents were Hurrian iirc), but has no descendants today and its relation to any extant languages is uncertain. In Hittite texts she was often referred to with an “akkadogram” denoting Ishtar's name (or its Sumerian equivalent) instead of a phonetic  spelling of her own (there was an analogous practice regarding the sun gods), while in Egyptian and Syrian texts there are a few references to “Ishtar Hurri” - “Ishtar of the Hurrians” - who is argued by researchers to be one and the same as Shaushka. Despite Shaushka's Hurrian name and her prominence in myths popular both among Hittites and Hurrians, her main cult center was the Assyrian city of Nineveh, associated with Ishtar herself as well, and there were relatively few temples dedicated to her in the core Hittite sphere of influence in Anatolia. Curiously, both the oldest reference to Shaushka and to the city of Nineveh come from the same text, stating that a sheep was sacrificed to her there. While most of her roles overlap with Ishtar's (she too was associated with sex, warfare and fertility), here are two distinct features of Shaushka that set her apart as unique: one is the fact she was perceived in part as a masculine deity, despite being consistently described as a woman – in the famous Yazılıkaya reliefs she appears twice, both among gods and goddesses. In Alalakh she was depicted in outfits combining elements of male and female clothing. Similar fashion preferences were at times attributed to Ninshubur, the attendant of Ishtar's Sumerian forerunner Inanna – though in that case they were likely the result of conflation of Ninshubur with the male messenger deity Papsukkal, while in the case of Shaushka the dual nature seems to be inherent to her (I haven't seen any in depth study of this matter yet, sadly, so I can't really tell confidently which modern term in my opinion describes Shaushka's character the best). Her two attendants, musician goddesses Ninatta and Kulitta, do not share it. Shaushka's other unique niche is her role in exorcisms and incantations, and by extension with curing various diseases – this role outlived her cult itself, as late Assyrian inscriptions still associated the “Ishtar of Nineveh” (at times viewed as separate from the regular Ishtar) with healing. It can be argued that even her sexual aspect was connected to healing, as she was invoked to cure impotence. The most significant myth in which she appears is the cycle dedicated to documenting the storm god's (Teshub for the Hurrians, Tarhunna for the Hittites) rise to power. Shaushka is depicted as his sister and arguably most reliable ally, and plays a prominent role in two sections in particular – the Song of Hedammu and the Song of Ullikummi. In the former, she seemingly comes up with an elaborate plan to defeat a new enemy of her brother - the sea monster Hedammu - by performing a seductive dance and song montage (with her attendants as a support act) and offering an elixir to him. The exact result is uncertain, but Hedammu evidently ends up vanquished. In the latter, she attempts to use the same gambit against yet another new foe, the “diorite man” Ullikummi – however, since he is unfeeling like a rock, she fails; some translators see this passage as comedic. However, elsewhere in the Song, the storm god's main enemy Kumarbi and his minions view Shaushka as a formidable warrior, and in the early installment of the cycle, Song of LAMMA, she seemingly partakes in a fight. In another myth, known only from a few fragments and compared to the Sumerian text “Inanna and the huluppu tree,” Shaushka takes care of “Ḫašarri” -  a personification of olive oil, or a sentient olive tree. It seems that she has to protect this bizarre entity from various threats. While Shaushka lived on in Mesopotamia as “Ishtar of Nineveh,” this was far from the only “variant”of Ishtar in her homeland.

Nanaya was another such goddess. A few Sumerian hymns mention her alongside Inanna, the Sumerian equivalent of Ishtar, by the time of Sargon of Akkad virtually impossible to separate from her. As one composition puts it, Nanaya was “properly educated by holy Inana” and “counselled by holy Inana.” Initially she was most likely a part of Inanna's circle of deities in her cult center, Uruk, though due to shared character they eventually blurred together to a large degree. Just like Inanna/Ishtar, Nanaya was a goddess of love, described as beautiful and romantically and sexually active, and she too had an astral character. She was even celebrated during the same holidays as Inanna. Some researchers go as far as suggest Nanaya was only ever Inanna/Ishtar in her astral aspect alone and not a separate goddess. However, there is also evidence of her, Inanna and the sky god An being regarded as a trinity of distinct tutelary deities in Uruk. Additionally, king Melishipak's kudurru shown above shows both Nanaya (seated) and Ishtar/Inanna (as a star). Something peculiar to Nanaya was her later association with the scribe god Nabu. Sometimes Nabu's consort was the the goddess Tashmetu instead, but I can't find any summary explaining potential differences between them – it seems just like Nanaya, she was a goddess of love, including its physical aspects. Regardless of the name used to describe Nabu's wife, she was regarded as a sage and scribe like him – this arguably gives her a distinct identity she lacked in her early role as part of Inanna's circle. As the above examples demonstrate, the popularity of the “Ishtar type” was exceptional in the Bronze Age – but is it odd from a modern perspective? The myths dedicated to her are still quite fun to read today – much like any hero of ancient imagination she has a plethora of adversaries, a complex love life (not to mention many figures not intended to be read as her lovers originally but described in such terms that it's easy to see them this way today – including other women), a penchant for reckless behavior – and most importantly a consistent, easy to summarize character. She shouldn't be a part of modern mass consciousness only because of false 19th century claims detached from her actual character (both these from Hislop's works and “secular”claims about her purported “real”character based on flimsy reasoning and shoddy sources) – isn't a female character who is allowed to act about the same way as male mythical figures do without being condemned for it pretty much what many modern mythology retellings try to create? Further reading: On Astarte: -entry in the Iconography of Deities and Demons in Ancient Near East database by Izak Cornelius -‛Athtart in Late Bronze Age Syrian Texts by Mark S. Smith -ʿAthtartu’s Incantations and the Use of Divine Names as Weapons by Theodore J. Lewis -The Other Version of the Story of the Storm-god’s Combat with the Sea in the Light of Egyptian, Ugaritic, and Hurro-Hittite Texts by Noga Ayali-Darshan -for a summary of evidence that Astarte has nothing to do with Asherah see A Reassessment of Asherah With Further Considerations of the Goddess by Steve A. Wiggins On Shaushka: -Adapting Mesopotamian Myth in Hurro-Hittite Rituals at Hattuša: IŠTAR, the Underworld, and the Legendary Kings by Mary R. Bacharova -Ishtar seduces the Sea-serpent. A new join in the epic of Ḫedammu (KUB 36, 56 + 95) and its meaning for the battle between Baal and Yam in Ugaritic tradition by Meindert Dijkstra -Ištar of Nineveh Reconsidered by Gary Beckman -Shaushka, the Traveling Goddess by Graciela Gestoso Singer -Hittite Myths by Harry A. Hoffner jr. -The Hurritic Myth about Šaušga of Nineveh and Ḫašarri (CTH 776.2) by Meindert Dijkstra -The West Hurian Pantheon and its Background by Alfonso Archi On Nanaya: -entry in Brill’s New Pauly by Thomas Richter -entry from the Ancient Mesopotamian Gods and Goddesses project by Ruth Horry -A tigi to Nanaya for Ishbi-Erra from The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature -A balbale to Inana as Nanaya from The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature -More Light on Nanaya by Michael P. Streck and Nathan Wasserman -More on the Nature and History of the Goddess Nanaya by Piotr Steinkeller A few introductory Ishtar/Inanna myths: -Inanna's descent to the netherworld -Inanna and the huluppu tree -Inanna and Enki -Enki and the world order -Inanna and Ebih -Dumuzid and Enkimdu

[migleefulmoments]

Abby is the 1 who needs a reading comprehension lesson. An anonymous person said 'You're a narrow-minded fool if you actually put any stock in whether or not a married man is wearing his ring.' Abby's reply was 'Never once did I or anyone I know say that a married person has to wear a ring.' Am I crazy or is that totally 2 different things? Sometimes Abby is so blind it makes me crazy. Also, if u could do a follow up to her blatherings re her post it would be great. I'm just gobsmacked over it.

I see you wrote another post clarifying it was Cassie who made the comments you quoted but the entire coven’s comments after Cassie just get more ridiculous- “fact” after “fact” of lies and nonsense comparisons.  It’s batty that they believe any of the lies- but they believe them all! 

Anonymous asked: My grandpa doesn't wear his wedding ring because he used to work as an AC/heating repair man (he even taught college courses on fixing heaters at one point) and then was just not in the habit when he retired. That doesn't make his and grandma's marriage less valid. Rings are a symbolic thing that most cultures don't even do. You're a narrow-minded fool if you actually put any stock in whether or not a married man is wearing his ring.

cassie1022 answered: Oh yay, fun. (Cassie -always so charming)  My dear Nonnie, once again, reading comprehension eludes someone that believes in the Miarren myth. Never once did I or anyone I know say that a married person has to wear a ring (and yet Abby pops in below to claim the same but then argue that it IS the ring coming and going that looks suspicious. Let’s pretend that cc rings were real- he didn’t wear them every day regardless of what Abby claims.). Some people don’t wear them because they work with their hands, like your grandpa, and some just don’t feel comfortable wearing them. Let’s be real though. D has never shown an aversion to wearing rings. He’s worn them quite often, even while playing a show (yes, but he also took them off.  It’s his prerogative.  Until he says he’s getting divorced, it’s none of our business). There was a time when the only time he DIDN’T have a ring on was while he was in character (so what? He has had his wedding ring on most times we’ve seen him. You are counting individual photos as entire days and that isn’t accurate)

That being said, let’s examine. When was the last time you think D fixed a car, operated heavy machinery, or, like your grandpa, fixed an AC unit or heater?  (You have no idea what he does in his spare time.  This is a gross comment-some people do things with their hands -build things- because they enjoy it)  (Maybe if he could do that, people wouldn’t be making their own sweat gravy when they go to TSG.)(So now we start with the lies and mischaracterizations. FUN. There are two comments from TSG claiming A/C was broken. Since likely Mia doesn’t own the building, she has no control over the A/C being broken). 

As I’ve already said, rings aren’t for everyone, but I’ve also pointed out that D has been an avid ring wearer most of his life, and there is more than enough photographic evidence to support this. Also, most couples that exchange rings don’t usually stop wearing them in the first year of marriage.(And he hasn’t stopped wearing his now has he?) That’s when it’s usually a point of pride and you want the world to know you are someone’s spouse. (Does Darren seem like the kind of person who is worried about “the world knowing he’s someone’s spouse”? He’s pretty open about his relationship and taking his ring off for an hour or two isn’t indicative of anything).

You know what DOES make a marriage less valid? No legitimate officiant.(LIE)  There are only a handful of states where you can officiate your own marriage, and guess what? Louisiana isn’t one of them.(He didn’t, Joe did)  You need an ordained minister and in addition to that, the minister must register in the parish where the marriage is taking place.

So, if this makes me a “narrow-minded fool,” so be it. I’ve been called worse. (It definitely does).  

ajw720 I needed to laugh this morning, thank you nonnie.(I would imagine you need to laugh a hell of a lot more than you do Abby)  You people really don’t get it (Oh lord).  Also, it isn’t JUST the ring (which is very suspicious especially as he deliberately takes it off at random times, there one minute gone the next) (Here abby argues it isn’t the ring.... except it is the ring) , it is as @cassie1022 pointed out, no officiant (LIE) , weird wedding algorithm (the fact that Abby truly believes there was a guest algorithm says everything there is to say about Abby’s judgment and the cc nonsense)  is FAMILY HONEYMOON (a joke)  constant babysitters (LIE) d’s complete lack of enthusiasm (he practically said he was bored and realized at the last moment that that was bad) (Desperate Abby, you're so desperate) , talked about pooping exes as opposed to how life changed with his bride (and you don’t get that this is was keep from speaking about his personal life? How long have you been a fan? Joking about something to distract from having to answer something private is spot-on Darren), speaks more passionately about his jacket then his wedding (we done got hitched) (This means nothing Abby...NOTHING. He wrote a boring post about his jacket and you’ve been losing your shit over it ever since. IT meant nothing...it was a coat he wore to an event. You only like it because he was boring and serious. It was the farthest thing from Darren I’ve ever read.), announced the engagement using a reference to the wrong freaking franchise (I can’t...this is one of your dumbest arguments out of a lot of arguments. It was a JOKE Abby, a joke.  He used the franchise that made the joke funny. Darren doesnt’ own a franchise)   , FIVE FUCKING encagement rings (LIE), the last of which is an advertisement that she is paid to wear and they haven’t even tried to hide this fact (LIE), utter lack of chemistry (again desperate Abby) , the weirdness with his non-relationship but clear friendship of sorts with his ex co-star (It’s not “weirdness” it’s a nonrelationship-you said it yourself). , the way she is promoted that is beyond excessive for someone who isn’t famous (This entire rant is unhinged. Nobody is promoting her, he’s living his life with her.  Like we expect he would with his wife. There is nothing untoward with their behavior together.  The fact that you have to label it “promotion” says that it worries you a lot). the fact that the sold their entire wedding to about 100 sponsors )(LIE) (I am sure there are more than we even realize), the clear references to fandom at the sham mockery (OMG Abby, give it up. Nobody cares about you), and that this allegedly private couple also released 85% of their wedding for public consumption (They released 27 photos. That is HARDLY 85% of their wedding. You saw a lot of the same photos posted by their friends and it upset you but they didn’t release 85% of their wedding. It was a 4-day event and the wedding events started at around 3 pm and lasted until after midnight -27 is not 85% of 10-ish hours of celebration).  

If it was ONLY that he randomly took his ring off depending on how the wind is blowing, fine, that is evidence alone of nothing.  All of these things, and hundred and hundreds of other facts (which are ALL LIES). (inconsistent timelines (Darren doesn’t owe you a “consistent timeline” that’s asinine)   they don’t know where they met each other RC handshakes (You know that isn’t a handshake- they were photographed together right before the “handshake’ you won’t let go of and he’s heard introducing her as his girlfriend ), D running from her every moment he can, etc, etc)(Whatever you tell yourself to sleep at night), are clear evidence it is fake that is beyond a reasonable doubt (Bwahahahahaha you are conning yourself Abby) .  Him kissing her in her bar is his job.  I suggest nonnie you pay attention to the details (Which ones- your lies or the real details?) And please pay attention to the captain, he hasn’t even been subtle lately, he has been fairly blatant (Le sigh, he isn’t the captain.  He’s a dude who loves his boyfriend Will and writes children’s books that are not cc Bibles) .

Happy Thanksgiving Nonnie!  I hope you can tear yourself away from reading blogs you disagree with long enough to enjoy your friends and family! Cheers!

notes-from-nowhere What love are you talking about, anon? M doesn’t love D and she makes this clear every chance she get (LIE- there is nothing that suggests MIa isn’t in love with Darren). Do I have to remind you how she denied to D’s mom one red carpet to celebrate her son? (LIE Abby fabricated)  Or to D’s dad to be honored for his military past?(another LIE Abby fabricated)  But why listing all of her actions when you know very well this is only the surface.

Btw, I still have to know a singer/actor lost a finger because of a wedding band. Anon, try again, this attempt failed. (SMH)

leka-1998 You know what I like about this instance in particular? Apart from the fact that the ring isn’t off the whole time, he’s still wearing the other one here.

After 284719 years, she should also know what the language D’s mom speaks is called. Seems she doesn’t care enough. (Another LIE that Abby fabricated) 

Also, former platonic roomie says hello. (LIE) 

ajw720

They still can’t explain away B/enny, the man D just praised for his new album yet D hasn’t even mentioned his brother’s (I can’t explain it but it has nothing to do with Darren and Mia.  You’re the one making it a problem) .  The man that mocked fandom on his IG by referring to M/oulin R/ouge when posting about the fraud in NOLA (Nobody-especially Ben Hudson- gives a shit about fandom Abby. You’re a nobody)  The man who seemingly officiated the wedding (Again a LIE)  And the one who appears to have a dog (yes he does, he lives with his girlfriend, Joanna, and their two dogs) . Hey remember just a few weeks ago when PBB dropped her teeth in the dog’s bowl? Funny as we know she and D don’t have a dog (Nope, they clearly don’t- stop trying so hard).…

[microsuedemouse]

Okay I reblogged this earlier today with some comments in the tags but actually I’m still thinking about it so. Here I am.

Luckily I am able to say that my parents raised me as a decent goddamn person who recognises that service employees are real human beings, so I’ve always been fairly conscious of this kind of thing, but on top of that: my first job, back in high school, was as an office cleaner. We worked evenings and Saturdays, so we rarely interacted with office staff in person, but god was it ever a wake-up call about how truly gross and inconsiderate people can be. (People who worked white-collar jobs, too! The people we so often consider to be educated and civilized and shit!)

I could tell a hundred stories about being a cleaner, but those aren’t actually my point. My point is: if you’re out and about and the customers, clients, etc. around you are making a huge mess: call them out on it. Even if they’re strangers. (In fact, shaming strangers can be more effective than shaming friends/family.) Specifically, let them know: the staff have more than enough work to do without you leaving them extra mess. I promise it’s true! Anywhere that’s lucky enough even to have dedicated cleaning staff (rather than leaving it up to the general employees, who also have plenty to do), they are definitely busy enough with their everyday maintenance. The sheer amount of cleaning that has to be done regularly in any space people occupy is far greater than you realise - and that’s without taking into account any additional sanitising protocols implemented over the course of COVID-19. Floors need to be swept, vacuumed, mopped, and sometimes waxed; seemingly infinite surfaces need to be wiped (sometimes scrubbed) and dusted; windows need to be washed; garbage and recycling bins need to be emptied; sometimes textiles need to be laundered… and don’t even get me started on kitchens and bathrooms. Even if everyone in the building has been as fastidiously tidy as they possibly can, all day long, the cleaning staff will still have work to do.

One of the best and most memorable customers I’ve ever had, in any job, was a woman who came in when I was working at a surplus and liquidation outlet where customers generally trashed the store on a daily basis. She found several unsupervised children making an ungodly mess of one of our aisles, and when she couldn’t find their parents nearby, she put her foot down and instructed these kids to clean up their mess, standing over them to supervise until the job was done, and giving them a stern talk about basic decency while she was at it. (I later learned that she was an elementary school teacher, which is why she was completely unafraid of yelling at strangers’ unhinged children.) I know that several of us thanked her profusely, and to this day I remember her every so often and hope that blessings rain down upon her from above.

If you’re a bystander when people are being dicks in public, you probably have more power than the affected employees do. Use it. The way I’ve seen customers balk when another customer openly tells them they’re being unacceptably rude is probably one of the greatest sights of my life, but it’s also fantastic evidence that this works. People don’t expect to be held accountable. In high school I used to chew out my peers when they made messes that I knew were going to be a pain in the ass for our janitors - and the absolute shame on their faces when I pointed out how inconsiderate they were being told me that they did have consciences, and that it did matter to them when someone told them they were being shitty.

The power to inflict shame and judgement is a fantastic tool in certain circumstances, and you have it at your disposal all the time. As a service employee and as a courteous human being, I implore you: use that power for the greater good. Shame assholes into behaving better. You will make the world a little better, and you might also become the nameless hero that the establishment’s employees thank god for even years after the fact.

people who try to justify leaving avoidable messes in theaters/restaurants are SO deranged and unbearable.. going on and on about how “well it’s their JOB to clean lol” and what’s your job? to be a rude, disrespectful little bitch? completely insufferable? totally lacking in common courtesy/decency and compassion? okaaayy

[cainromainelettuce]

( non-binary ) haven’t seen CAIN ROMANOV around in a while. the BILL SKARSGARD lookalike has been known to be (+) RIGHTEOUS & (+) AMBITIOUS, but HE/THEY can also be (-) EVASIVE & (-) UNTRUSTING. The 24 year old is a SENIOR majoring in BUSINESS. I believe they’re living in EMERITUS, but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( snot goblin. 20. EST. she/they. )

surprise !! i am the snot goblin ! (aka james aka saige aka amos aka aleta) !! i very much apologize for this intro being late !! and also for possibly being pretty long.

EDIT: i forgot to mention but 1. like this if u’d like to plot w/ him !! obv !! and then 2. if discord is easier for any of u, my thing is emo stan #3644 uwu

TW: CULT LIFE, HEROIN USAGE / ADDICTION, DRUG ADDICTION / USE / ABUSE, EMOTIONAL MANIPULATION, ABUSE, MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES ( PTSD, ANXIETY ). if i forgot anything PLEASE tell me !!

a e s t h e t i c s

dangling limbs from tree branches, yellowed book pages, opened bottles of vintage wine, oversized sweaters and deep under eyes, bleached denim, worn leather gloves, cat hair against black cloth, fields of wheat, broken windows, descending staircases, tight-lipped smiles during public appearances, golden skies, light spilling from windows, stumbling over one's own words, wire-framed beds, linens, wool scarves, making the wrong decisions; running, from others and yourself.

general information !!

full name: cain alexei romanov

nickname(s): cock and ball torture, N/A

b.o.d. - feb 19th, fuckin pisces

label(s): the fallen, the phoenix, the crestfallen, etc. etc.

height: 6′4″ jfc

hometown: rochester, ny babey !!

sexuality: bi...? bi. yes. bi.

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biography !!

cain, like all of my other children, was born into a life of privilege. his father’s a senator of new york and his mother’s a philanthropist; both pretty prominent figures. cain is the eldest of five.

he was raised in mind of keeping a good public reputation, taught to be the perfect citizen. essentially, he was a golden child who could really do no wrong. as a child, he’d always aim to please his parents in any way he could.

this included joining several clubs during school, such as model UN, debate, DECA, etc. etc. as well as a few sports (soccer, track, basketball, lacrosse -- all throughout the years, not at once). pretty sure he’s been a class president once or twice, and has been in the lead for valedictorian.

his whole thing was that he was supposed to be perfect. volunteered on the weekends at homeless shelters and food banks and like...he just did The Most. the absolute most

this pleased his parents, and he never had a problem with them. life was good. they attended church on sundays, sometimes wednesdays, always did things as a Family. like, we’re talking family dinners and christmas photoshoots and new year eve parties.

probably lived in a gated community tbh

he went into college strong, started off as a double major in political science and business, lookin’ to take after both his parents. he’d Always been fairly close to tatiana, being around the same age as her. nothing freaky ever happened among them, and i wouldn’t have really called them...friends, if that makes sense? they were confidantes, they vented to each other for whatever reasons at the time.

however this whole ~do no wrong~ bearing was a charade. in the community and his families’ eye, cain was just this precious, hardworking citizen who gave back when possible.

those who actually, genuinely knew him knew he was just a dick lmfao

arrogant, harrowing, and an outright bully who tore down others when he felt like it -- often unprovoked. he was the senator’s son and a rich one at that, and ever since middle school he was just...mean !

because of his father and his family’s general position in the community, tattlers were the ones getting in trouble rather than cain, who’d often go without punishment for his attitude.

like...was That Bitch who’d actually, genuinely look down at somebody if they had less than him. just an absolute narcissistic dickhead who only cared about like, maybe two or three people outside of his family.

his only redeeming quality was probably his protectiveness over his siblings tbh -- even if he wasn’t ... the best person, nobody was rly allowed to fuck w/ his family.

this carried into college, he probably joined one of the frats too, y’know. known for keeping his composition even when others resorted to violence, ‘cos he never liked to get physical. it would’ve been bad for press, y’know ??

sometime during college, two important things happened.

the first one is that he became a sort of...middleman? broker? he wasn’t the one creating/growing what he was selling, but he wasn’t the one dealing them. y’know, he was the middleman. took drugs and sold them to dealers to sell, for profit, for funsies. very hush-hush for the obvious reasons.

the second is that he met earl and may meyers. they were fellow volunteers at a thanksgiving food drive, and the older couple were immediately drawn to cain -- and him to them, essentially. to this day he can’t tell you what about them had been so appealing. just, the air around them was something else entirely. some would probably call it unhinged. they were kind folks, very down to earth, very religious and warmhearted. they liked his name being cain a whole lot; told him that he reminded him of their late son.

i’d say the beginning of this was late junior year for cain. the couple volunteered more and more at the same places as cain, as often as he did -- which, in retrospect was odd -- but cain hadn’t really known better. being the Good Samaritan he acted as, he kept talking to them. it became a genuine friendship. a few months into it, they had started talking about like...the sin of wealth and what it does to your soul, god choosing only a select few to be saved when he eventually cleanses the earth, etc. etc. they claimed that cain was special, one of those to be selected, they could see it in his aura, etc. etc.

it was...oddly appealing to him? like hmm..maybe i am being constrained by capitalism and disappointing god!

but like...this was mostly because of a lot of emotional manipulation for a duration of months -- and he had never once suspected anything like that to be happening. cain had always been so sure of himself, that he’d never imagined one day being manipulated, even if he was manipulative himself.

earl and may told him that they were going to leave rochester, that there were so many more who had the same ideals as them -- it was time to join them, to be saved. cain held off from this, as a senior in college by now.

after all, he had his perfect lil family and a good side-business going on, and he had a long term girlfriend who put up with his shenanigans. cain was still an absolute asshole to others but he had at least found his crowd to all be collectively awful and full of themselves, y’know?

over winter break, however, cain had a change of heart pretty suddenly. 

for the third important thing had happened.

it had started off as a pretty average, normal day. christmas had gone and passed -- it was one of the days between christmas and new years eve, y’know? a period of days where time nor place is real. like walmart at midnight, or an empty 7/11 parking lot. during a seemingly normal conversation about his ancestry with his mother, she had suddenly broken down in sobs.

it was during this discussion that she revealed, to cain only -- that he was not his father’s son.

the beginning of vaughn and adelaide’s marriage had a pretty...rocky start, to say the least, and in a night of petty anger, adelaide had cheated on vaughn. this resulted in the pregnancy that wound up with cain.

the news rocked cain’s world in a very bad way, the sort of way that breaks a person. his entire life he looked up to his parents, did everything they ever asked of him, molded himself into perfection for the hope of being a sliver of a man his father was. and to learn that his father was not, actually, his father?

within the week he’d gotten into several altercations, both sober and drunk, and had landed in county jail overnight. nobody knows where cain went on new years eve, but he hadn’t skipped town until the third -- according to tatiana, who had received one last gift from him on the 2nd (her birthday).

then, he was gone. it wasn’t a missings person ordeal -- cain had made it very known that he was leaving rochester and that he had skipped town. hadn’t even broken up with his girlfriend before doing so. hell -- hadn’t even told the people he worked for. 

BEGINNING OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

only earl and may knew where cain went. because he went with them to the place they had told him so much about. this was the fourth most important thing to happen to him, because it changed his life.

cain didn’t know what a cult looked like, but it felt pretty accurate to hollywood’s interpretations. they lived separate from society in rural new york -- not nearly as far away as cain would’ve liked, but thank god in the long run for that. the people wore white, linens and cotton. there was no technology, just prayer and daily chores. money meant nothing, there.

i want to keep this part relatively short, so i’ll try my hardest. cain was only in the cult for three-ish months before he escaped. the beginning was grand -- it was peaceful, it was mind-clearing. he was treated as something special, his name being some sort of ... message, a sign that he’d been a gift for the group. that he’d be, ultimately, an eventual leader for them. however -- the longer he stayed with them, the more apparent it became that he wasn’t the messager they had long waited for.

he began slipping up. they became displeased with him. punishments occurred. sometimes once a week, sometimes multiple. he remembers hundreds of hands, pulling and tugging and gripping and begging -- asking him to repent, please, repent, and submergence on more than one occasion. these were not the worst.

 they were convinced that he couldn’t truly be cleansed of his sins unless he forgot his past life.

fun fact: heroin in small doses, daily, can lead to memory loss.

though it’d only been around three months of this -- it really felt longer to cain. time wasn’t a concept. there was only the ground they walked on, and god, and that was that.

drugged and weakened but still kickin’, he had gotten into a particularly violent, brutal fight with earl. this was the last straw. cain had attempted to murder his ‘brother’. this led to his next punishment.

in a particularly twisted reenactment / retelling, cain had been branded with the cult’s interpretation of the mark of cain (they were going to be accurate and place it upon his forehead, but after a lot of resistance [he bit somebody] it was, begrudgingly, placed atop his heart instead) and left for dead in the middle of nowhere.

by all means, he probably should’ve died. by miracle, though cain was no longer a believer -- he was found by a farmer.

END OF CULT / DRUG / MOST OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. STILL MENTIONS OF TRAUMA / MENTAL HEALTH / RECOVERY BEYOND THIS POINT.

by early april he’d been reunited with his family. things went very fast, suddenly, for him. recovering from his forced addiction, and the trauma he’d been put in within only a small amount of months -- and his father’s reputation -- his mother’s inability to look him in the eye -- cain took matters into his own hands and, rather than return to lockwood, put in his transfer to hendrix.

because he’s a grown man who, while recovering from being in a cult, can still make his own decisions even if they’re irrational. he should’ve taken a year off, really, and recover. but he couldn’t imagine staying in his house, either, and generally ?? his mind was just a very messy place.

he went to hendrix a s a p, before his term in the summer even began. he wound up at hendrix a few weeks (like...three?) before the lockwood kids and was very dismayed to find out that oh, coincidence, there’s an abroad semester attending !!

so that’s sort of where he’s at rn.

personality !!

okay so...douchebag cain is No More. they’re retired.

to the hendrix students they’ve familiarized themself with, they’re a pretty quiet person. well-meaning, kind enough if not a little sarcastic. sort of distant, not much for parties. smokes weed and like, drinks occasionally, but not much else. definitely doesn’t do anything harder. 

they’ve got four cats. that’s their entire personality. four cats. they got them all after transferring to hendrix and like ... no regrets ?

i imagine their parents still pay for their schooling ‘cos it’s not like their father Knows that cain’s not his child. if anything, vaughn just thinks that cain suffered a mental breakdown and needed a break.

anyways. they love their cats a lot. like, probably has photos of them in their wallet.

as mentioned above, their memory is pretty...fucked up right now. they don’t forget anything major, but there are days where it takes them a while to remember faces or names and sometimes they wake up and won’t know where they are.

not that they really...sleep a lot? they have night terrors, which fuck with their sleep schedule. they sleep only for a few hours each night because the nightmares are too bad.

cain suffers from severe touch aversion. skin-to-skin contact of any sort is enough to send them into a pretty bad panic attack. they wear leather gloves more often than not, because it helps without hindering them too much. they’re not the biggest fan of body contact in general, even with clothes, but it won’t send them into a panic like bare skin will. they make sure their few friends know that they don’t really like physical contact at all.

they’re dealing with PTSD, attends therapy every week. keeps an entire journal where they write b/c it helps them cope. it’s like, everything to them.

they’re...sort of like...blunt? they won’t go out of their way to be like ‘hey i joined a cult and it fucked me up pretty badly’ but they won’t lie about it either if the topic somehow comes to that. they don’t like delusions, but they don’t like drawing unnecessary attention to them either.

lockwood students being at hendrix makes them pretty anxious, just because they were looking to sort of ... rebuild themself into a better person, and like pretty much most students at lockwood knows how much of a massive tool they used to be. not to mention like, their plugs and customers they screwed over by leaving, and their ex girlfriend who they’re still probably in love with ?? but it’s just complicated now.

smokes weed to soothe them rather than just get high. is probably stoned often.

doesn’t really like cars! or swimming! or crowds. doesn’t like to feel trapped.

whenever they’re overwhelmed and needs to be away from everything, they’ve developed a habit of climbing into trees. they won’t suddenly go jump in a tree during a conversation, but more so at night or when they need to think.

probably trying to redeem themself in some sort of way. because while they want to avoid the lockwood students as much as possible, that’s not right. they want to fix the shit they’ve done and be a better person, because the whole...situation they’ve been in has opened their eyes.

uuuhh...there are days where they forget that tatiana’s dead. so that’s sad.

i wouldn’t be surprised if people from lockwood were suspicious of cain, considering they left rochester only a week or so before tatiana went missing, and just so happened to come to hendrix around the same time eva went missing ??

oh !! cain developed a stutter, and their voice is a little damaged from...screaming. a lot. in general they look a little gaunt, a little unhealthy. 

they can still definitely hold a conversation, and like i said they’re pretty...lowkey. soft, sort of. generally a quiet person and while they’re not the most social, they won’t be a direct asshole or anything. likes people! just...has low energy.

goes by he/they, doesn’t really care which one as he alternates pretty frequently.

dropped the political science part of his major and like...unfortunately is very much unhappy with being a business major atm. he might just go through another four years of college in a diff major or fuck off all together.

EDIT: i forgot to mention that he’s sort of really into the investigation of the cult he was part of b/c they’re still like...out there. also fascinated by the watershed app and shit, ‘cos they fucking...hate this shit with a passion. probably willing to stick their nose into places they shouldn’t

wanted connections !!

so first and foremost, cain would’ve been known around lockwood. connections relating to that would be v much appreciated !!

mostly enemies or people they’ve wronged, tbh, ‘cos he was a massive dick.

exes they’ve dumped, hook ups, ex-friends, people he’s gotten into arguments or fights with.

his ex gf would be gr8 . if anybody would like some angst.

uuhhh i’d imagine he’d know a few of the other prominent families from rochester, especially. not to say that they would’ve all gotten along.

hendrix pals !! give me some solid friendships based on mutual respect.

people cain used to receive drugs from and people he used to send those drugs to.

ex-party pals ??

people suspicious of them b/c cain was/is a very suspicious person. people still angry at them.

let them RECONNECT and FIX FRIENDSHIPS

people he’d bully or fuck with or whatever.

wholesome shit. angst shit. slowburns, anyone ?!? enemies to friends. friends to enemies. enemies to bigger enemies.

i’m not taking hook-ups for....obvious reasons.

but sexual tension is welcomed. maybe a sexting thing ??

ppl they DON’T even know that well but hATE his dAD because FUCK POLITICIANS y’know ?!?

old pals from lockwood, if i didnt mention that.

i imagine a lot of conversations w/ lockwood kids begin like ‘this is where u fucked off to, huh?’ b/c like....they told everybody they were ditching rochester. it wasn’t a secret or a shock. but it’s still like huh. u bastard.

people who are soft for them ??

people who are hard on him ??

make his life difficult but also uuuhh uwu him

[ubourgeois]

Top 30 Films of 2018

I’m actually getting one of these out at a fairly reasonable time! I’m a champion.

Compared to last year, I would say 2018 had fewer films that I really loved, that shook me and immediately registered as important - but also, more films that have grown on me over time, that were clever and inventive in ways that convince me to look past their shortcomings (or reevaluate if they are shortcomings at all). Plenty of odd, perhaps imperfect movies made it far up the list, and I think I ended up privileging that weird streak more than usual this year. But hopefully that makes for interesting reading here.

I found making this list that a couple of the big arthousey hits of the year (Eighth Grade, Burning, The Rider, and others) ended up slipping into the basement of the top 50. Keep an eye out for a rejoinder post following this in a couple days where I hash out my thoughts on those. For now, top 30 after the jump:

30. Unsane dir. Steven Soderbergh

Remember when Tangerine came out and everyone was like, “wow I can’t believe this was shot on an iPhone” and it was a whole thing? Well, I can believe that Unsane was shot on an iPhone, and that’s really for the better. Ever the innovator, Soderbergh follows Sean Baker’s lead by taking full advantage of the logistical advantages and distinctive appearances of iPhone-shot footage, putting together a film that uses its hardware not as a flashy obstacle to be overcome but as a driver of its look and feel, proving at least for now that mobile-shot films are viable (though we’ll see how his next one turns out). The film itself is good too - Claire Foy gives a wonderfully prickly performance, and the claustrophobic visuals make for a great psychological thriller.

29. Cold War dir. Paweł Pawlikowski

Expanding on the aesthetic territory he explored with Ida, Pawlikowski brings another black & white, Polish-language period piece about identities split between different (religious, political) worlds. Cold War is the more complicated and perhaps less focused film, but also the more alluring one, with a luscious love story, incredible music (Łojojoj...), and great, showy performances from Joanna Kulig and Tomasz Kot. In other words, it’s luxurious, romantic Euro-arthouse fare. Probably best watched with a full glass of wine in hand.

28. Ready Player One dir. Steven Spielberg

A film that many accused of “pandering” to audiences for its many blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nods to 80s nostalgia and gaming culture, Ready Player One was on the contrary seemingly uninterested in anything of the sort. It managed to accomplish something more meaningful by packing the film so dense with nerd-bait that it becomes just texture and noise - Tracer popping up in the background of random scenes ends up being less of Overwatch reference and more of a piece of plausible set dressing in a VR social media hub. This contributed to RPO being not only a technically impressive but a visually overwhelming effects film, packaged around a seemingly knowing 80s blockbuster pastiche (the story, the character types, even the music cues were too old-fashioned to be on purpose). A film both smarter and easier to like than the discourse around it suggested.

27. Widows dir. Steve McQueen

I do really wish that McQueen would go back to making demanding, brutal films like Hunger, but if he simply has to become a commercial filmmaker I guess I don’t mind this. Surely the ensemble film of the year, with the entire cast firing on all cylinders - Daniel Kaluuya as the sadistic enforcer/campaign manager in particular impresses, though naturally Viola Davis, Elizabeth Debicki, Cynthia Erivo, and even Colin Farrell make for compelling characters in this twisty, nervy heist film. The action scenes are all impressively mounted (if a bit few and far between) and there are enough McQueen-esque florishes to keep things interesting in the interim (that long car scene!). Great moody popcorn stuff.

26. An Elephant Sitting Still dir. Hu Bo

Elephant has gotten a lot of press for two reasons: its nearly four-hour length and its director’s untimely death shortly after its completion. The length is important because it beats you into submission, forcing you to accept its rhythm and smothering you in tight focus on its main characters until you feel like it’s your own POV (I wasn’t really into it until, uh, the two hour mark, but then somehow I was hooked). Hu Bo’s death is important because knowing that, the sensation of being trapped, pressured, and disoriented by the Current State of China (ever the popular subject matter) feels all the more palpable and, maybe unfortunately, grants the film some extra layer of authority, or at least urgency. If I ever have the time or energy, I would love to revisit this film - I expect it will one day be seen as a landmark.

25. Make Me Up dir. Rachel Maclean

A bizarre little bit of sugary pop-feminist techno-dystopia, pulling off a sort of cinematic cousin to vaporwave by way of Eve Ensler. What unfolds is pretty insane, involving dance numbers, incomprehensible lectures on dodgy gender politics, and sets that look pulled out from a cheap children’s TV show. It’s definitely a marmite film - how well you connect with this will depend heavily on your tolerance for clearly-fake CG, well-trodden feminist talking points, and pastels - but for those with the appetite for this brand of political kitsch then this is just about the best version of itself imaginable. 

24. Liz and the Blue Bird dir. Naoko Yamada

Naoko Yamada out Naoko Yamada-s herself. A standalone spinoff of Hibike! Euphonium that focuses on members of the secondary cast, Liz makes good on the sensitive, subtly-executed love story that the show ultimately failed to produce (not quite Adolescence of Utena-tier course correction, but we’ll take it). This is a film propelled by the tiniest gestures - a hand tensing behind the back, a nervous flicker of the eye, a cheerful bounce in the step - in that way animation can provide that seems not incidental but hugely, blatantly filled with meaning. While A Silent Voice was a great breakthrough for Yamada as an “original�� feature, it’s Liz that feels like the more mature film, and a promising indicator for what lies ahead.

23. Sew the Winter to My Skin dir. Jahmil X.T. Qubeka

Maybe the most surprising film of the year is this, an action-biopic about John Kepe, a South African Robin Hood figure, that almost entirely eschews spoken dialogue in favor of visual storytelling, physical acting, and clever audio design. But this is not some pretentious, austere arthouse film substituting gimmicks for actual character; Sew the Winter to My Skin is an engaging, fascinating, and unexpectedly accessible historical epic, prioritizing mythic bigness over simple recitation of fact. While it demands some patience at first (with no dialogue, it takes a bit for the film to properly introduce its cast), it quickly shows itself to be an inventive, exciting, and occasionally funny adventure that proves Qubeka as a truly exciting voice in South African cinema.

22. Mom and Dad dir. Brian Taylor

Forget Mandy, THIS is the crazy Nic Cage movie of the year. A slick, rapid-fire horror comedy that feels almost like a music video at points, Mom and Dad has what’s surely Cage’s best unhinged performance in years as well as a great, more restrained turn by Selma Blair. The violence is ludicrous, the premise is nutty, and the sense of humor is utterly sick - that the film manages to squeeze out a surprisingly coherent commentary on suburban family life on top of this is a minor miracle (a scene where Cage destroys a pool table proves strangely thoughtful). For all the broadly acclaimed “serious” horror films in recent years, like this year’s kind of boring Hereditary, groan-filled A Quiet Place, and mostly incoherent Suspiria, I more appreciate this breed of deranged, funny, and tightly focused effort. It doesn’t need to be that deep.

21. Good Manners dir. Marco Dutra, Juliana Rojas

I’m going to mark this write-up with a **spoiler warning**, as I think it’s basically impossible to talk about this film without giving the game away. Good Manners has one of the best genre switcheroos in recent years, starting off as a proper Brazilian class drama (think Kleber Mendonça Filho) with a lesbian twist before explosively transforming into a horror movie that reveals a hidden monster-coming-of-age story that’s nearly unrecognizable as the same film from an hour before. As delightful as this bit of narrative sleight of hand is, it can’t justify a good film alone, which is where the great lead performance by Isabél Zuaa and the mesermizing, inventive matte paintings of the São Paulo skyline come into play, making this fantastical, genre-bending film a true original of the year.

20. The Miseducation of Cameron Post dir. Desiree Akhavan

There’s a tendency in the queer teen film genre to sometimes drift towards miserablist portrayals of growing up; to emphasize the hardship, nonunderstanding, and isolation to the expense of other experiences. Cameron Post manages to avoid this path even as it explores the dreadful premise of life in a conversion camp by balancing the solidarity, humor, and defiant joy hidden along the edges of the camp experience with the cruel, dehumanizing nature of the place. The film works, then, not only as a statement against conversion therapy and the real harm it does to all participants, but also as a lively, triumphant teen movie that feels more powerful than the lazy, doom-and-gloom approach.

19. Minding the Gap dir. Bing Liu

Few films capture the particular small city Midwest atmosphere quite like this one, a very raw documentary that feels very much like the first feature it is - but in a good way. Cut together from years of Liu’s amateur footage as well as new material of its subjects (the director and two of his old friends), a documentary that at first seems to be about the local skateboarding culture stretches out to many other topics: domestic violence, race relations, middle-American economic anxiety. The film, perhaps because of its closeness to the director and his relative inexperience, manages to take on a quick-moving scattershot approach, weaving stream-of-consciousness from one topic to the next, while still giving each the time and weight it deserves. 

18. The Green Fog dir. Evan Johnson, Galen Johnson, Guy Maddin

A hard film to sum up, though at its heart not a terribly complicated one. Ostensibly a very loose reconstruction of Vertigo using clips from other material shot in San Francisco, from The Conversation to San Andreas to Murder, She Wrote, this new, uh, thing from Maddin and the Johnsons is a short, sweet, and really quite funny collage less interested in slavishly reenacting its inspiration than making funny jokes with movie clips. Some highlights include Rock Hudson carefully watching an *NSYNC music video on a tiny screen, a long sequence admiring Chuck Norris’ face that doesn’t seem to match any particular part of Vertigo, and a number of scenes of dialogue with all the speech cut out, leaving only awkward pauses and mouth noises. It’s high art!

17. Sorry to Bother You dir. Boots Riley

Boots Riley’s transition from long-standing underrated rapper to breakout auteur has been wild to witness. Sorry to Bother You is certainly one of 2018′s most original and distinctive films (what other film is it like, exactly?), and any complaints about unsubtle politics or overpacked narrative can be easily counterbalanced with the film’s sheer verve and oddball energy. Like Widows, it’s another of the great ensemble pieces of the year - Lakeith Stanfield and Tess Thompson are great as usual, and of the supporting cast Armie Hammer emerges as the standout with an incredibly funny halfway-villainous turn, plus a great bit of voice casting with David Cross. Leading candidate for this year’s Film of the Moment.

16. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse dir. Robert Persichetti Jr., Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman

The problem with comic book movies a lot of the time is that they’re somehow too embarrassed to own their source material. Into the Spider-Verse succeeds because it emphatically embraces its roots, not only visually (the cel shading, impact lines, and even text boxes that make up the film’s look) but also narratively, by adopting the multiverse concept in earnest and milking it for comedic and dramatic effect. It’s an incredibly innovative (not to mention gorgeous) animated film that not only raises the standard but expands the scope of superhero films, giving new hope to a genre that has been stuck spinning its wheels for years. Plus, it has probably the only post-credits scene actually worth the effort, which is a very special sort of victory.

15. Museo dir. Alonso Ruizpalacios

A playful, thoughtful heist film that gets the actual heist out of the way as soon as possible. Two suburban twenty-somethings pull off a daring robbery of Mayan artifacts from the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, then set off on an ill-fated roadtrip to fence the goods. There’s a certain magic to this film, in its approach that is at once totally reverent and mythologizing but also eager to take the piss out of everything (the recurring motif of Revueltas’ The Night of the Mayas suite does both), and in how it turns this story into something of a love letter to the history and geography of Mexico. Very mature, well-balanced filmmaking in Ruizpalacios’ second feature.

14. BlacKkKlansman dir. Spike Lee

The best Spike Lee joint in a long, long time. It taps into the freewheeling, confrontational energy of his best work, but almost as a career victory lap as he makes a game out of outfoxing Klan members. There’s plenty of humor and tension here, with a great, dry leading duo in John David Washington and Adam Driver, and a funny turn from Topher Grace (!) as David Duke. Even if it does play it a bit safe with an easy target and wraps up a bit too easily (a quick flash-forward to Charlottesville as a postscript notwithstanding), it should be fine, I think, for a film to indulge in the simple pleasure of overcoming obvious villains in a glorious fashion. For all the recent films that give nuanced and serious takes on racism in America, one ought to be about the joy of blowing up the KKK.

13. Mirai dir. Mamoru Hosoda

Since he’s started making original features, Hosoda has been taken with relatively high-concept storylines, from his “debut” The Girl Who Leapt Through Time to Wolf Children, but Mirai is certainly his most ambitious yet. Nearly every choice about the film is a bit weird: from the unusual, compact layout of Kun’s home to Kun’s very believable, nearly alienating (to an older audience) childish behavior to the simply bizarre logistics and metaphysics of Kun’s fantastic adventures. The time- and space-travel antics Kun and Mirai get up to never seem entirely literal or entirely imagined, somewhere between childish fable and psychological sci-fi, a mixture that culminates in a surprisingly existential climax for an unabashed children’s film. After the quite safe The Boy and the Beast, it’s exciting to see Hosoda branch out into such a complicated and strange project, certainly the most daring animated feature of the year.

12. Support the Girls dir. Andrew Bujalski

A bubbly, sensitive, and lightly anarchic workplace comedy in that most essential of American institutions: the Hooters-flavored sports bar off the highway. Bujalski continues to prove himself an observant and funny writer, putting together a fascinating ensemble of characters brought to life by a perfectly-cast ensemble (Regina Hall is flawless as advertised, and Haley Lu Richardson brings us one of the most adorable characters in cinema). I don’t think I’ve seen a more charming film about workers’ solidarity and the lively communities that find their niche in liminal spaces. 

11. First Reformed dir. Paul Schrader

Edgy priests are in a certain way low-hanging fruit; the tension is automatic, the contradiction inherently compelling. It’s a lazy symbol that can be milked for cheap profundity when employed, if you will, in bad faith. That’s why it’s so important that First Reformed, for all of its alcoholic, violent, libidinous angst packed into Ethan Hawke’s (masterfully interpreted) character, is also a great, genuine film about faith besides. It’s a Revelations film if I’ve ever seen one, about facing down the apocalypse with no way of understanding God’s plan, about living on the precipice of a collapse of belief, about accepting mystery. It’s the only film I saw this year that communicated actual dread, but even then still, somehow, bizarrely hopeful. 

10. Birds of Passage dir. Cristina Gallego, Ciro Guerra

Ciro Guerra (now with partner Cristina Gallego co-directing) follows up the excellent Embrace of the Serpent with another powerful portrait of an indigenous community that, under the pressure of colonial influence, gradually devours itself. In the new film, however, this takes the form of a traditional gangster film, from the humble beginnings and runaway success to the explosions of violence and crumbling of an empire. Birds of Passage shows the origins of the Colombian drug trade with the native Wayuu people (a counterpoint, Gallego explains, to the much-celebrated Pablo Escobar narrative), and in doing so still finds room to organically and respectfully depict the traditions of the Wayuu, as well as showcase their beautiful language, which makes up much of the film’s dialogue. Best film in the genre since at least Carlos. 

09. The Favourite dir. Yorgos Lanthimos

Though I really admire Dogtooth, I’ve found myself increasingly disappointed in Lanthimos’ output since that film. Alps was fine but clearly minor; The Lobster started strong but fizzled out; Killing of a Sacred Deer was ultimately too self-consciously bizarre. With The Favourite, we’re finally back in exciting, unsettlingly weird territory, Yorgos having found that his very mannered style of English dialogue works superbly in a costume drama context. He also gets great, uncharacteristically emotive performances (compared to, say, the last two Colin Farrell outings) out of his central trio of Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz, and Emma Stone, with especially great work coming from Stone, who I think has discovered that all of her best roles take full advantage of the fact that she looks like a cartoon character. It’s wonderfully perverse, incredibly funny stuff, with one of the great, inexplicable endings of the year - fair to call it a Buñuel revival.

08. Bisbee ‘17 dir. Robert Greene

A documentary that tackles a shocking forgotten chapter in American labor history - a group of strikers deported from their mining town and left for dead in the desert - as well as the potential of historical reenactment to act as communal therapy. Greene moves a bit sideways from his usual performance-centric subject matter to show a different kind of performance meant not to affect the audience but the performers themselves, breaking through decades of near-silence on Bisbee’s tumultuous small town history. It’s also a remarkably multi-faceted film; though it would certainly be easy to side fully with the strikers, Greene makes sure to document the perspectives of current Bisbee citizens who sympathize with or even celebrate the decision to deport, complicating the emotions and politics of the reenactment in genuinely interesting ways. A powerful, important documentary.

07. Asako I & II dir. Ryusuke Hamaguchi

Unwieldy and annoying English title aside (especially considering all the possible translations of Netemo Sametemo), Asako seems on the surface like nothing more than a cheap TV romance. It hits many of the same beats and adopts much of the visual style associated with this vein of visual media, particularly in the music video-esque, almost-supernatural meet-cute that opens the film. But hidden beneath these affectations is a shockingly cold un-romance, a story with an inevitable bad end that you’re tricked into thinking might not come to pass. By employing so many stylistic and even verbal cliches, Hamaguchi reveals how these internalized these storytelling devices are, and how they not only can’t prepare us for the complications of actual relationships, but even shift our expectations away from reality. It’s an absolute gut-punch of a film, covered in a seductively sweet carapace. 

06. Sweet Country dir. Warwick Thornton

In a fairly large shift from his previous Samson and Delilah, Thornton has put together one of the best and most unusual Westerns in recent years. Featuring great, earthy performances from its nonprofessional cast (plus a bit of Sam Neill and Bryan Brown for good measure) and a weird, almost Malicky flash-forward structure, the film explores a not-widely-depicted history of exploitation of indigenous Australians. It’s a sad film, showing a fairly exciting lead-up to a somewhat deflating moment of unjust violence - but of course, many of the best Westerns aren’t about good triumphing, either. It’s the film on this list that most grew on me over the course of the year, having not impressed me at first but then blowing me away on a second viewing. 

05. Leave No Trace dir. Debra Granik

For all the buzz surrounding Winter’s Bone - a film that still holds up after so many years - it’s a bit surprising that it took Granik eight years to put out a follow-up, but I guess it’s worth the wait. Unlike Bone, Leave No Trace is a kind, gentle film, leaving behind the edgy Ozarkian drama of its predecessor for a similar but more forgiving setting of woodland communities in the Pacific Northwest. It initially seduces you with Ben Foster’s outdoorsy survivalist lifestyle, cut off by seemingly uncaring state officials, but gradually revealing, through the second thoughts of his daughter (Thomasin McKenzie, in a shall we say Lawrencian turn), the downsides and flawed motivations for their lifestyle choice. It’s a quiet and thoughtful film, melancholy and optimistic in equal measure. Makes one hope Granik can get another project off the ground sooner. 

04. Roma dir. Alfonso Cuarón

I mean, what else can we say about Roma? It’s about as good as claimed, beautifully shot, framed, written, acted, whatever. It’s at its best, sort of ironically, when Cuarón breaks up the quiet personal drama for some of his characteristic action-y set pieces (a Children of Men-esque protest sequence and the climax on the beach are particularly memorable), but he also shows his talent in handling relatively uneventful family scenes, using the layout of the house to facilitate some surprisingly interesting camera movements. I’m happy that Cuarón, who could easily transition into a more boring prestige Hollywood filmmaker if he so chose, is using his industry clout to pull together neat little films like this. 

03. The Old Man & the Gun dir. David Lowery

What a completely pleasant film. A film that walks a dangerous tightrope - one of nostalgia, roguish charm, and incessant aw-shucks optimism - that can easily fall into twee, navel-gazing hell, but that miraculously pulls it off, resulting in a genuinely spirit-lifting character study of an almost folkloric figure. Robert Redford’s good in this, but of course he is - that’s the whole point. Perhaps more appropriate to say that this film is good for Robert Redford, that it rises to the occasion of celebrating his career in full and pulls it off without appearing trite or disposable. As good a (reportedly) final outing as anyone could ask for.

02. I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians dir. Radu Jude

A nearly three-hour, densely conversational, nakedly didactic examination of the historical effects and contemporary sources of fascism and ethnic nationalism that somehow flies right by. Radu Jude, a relative latecomer to Romanian cinema’s rise to international prominence, makes a strong argument for being his country’s best and most important filmmaker, taking on complicated, controversial, and infrequently discussed subject matter about Romania’s troubled past. If you can get past Barbarians’ sort of user-unfriendly exterior (Iona Iacob opens the film by introducing herself and explaining her character, which tells you the sort of thing you’re getting into), it should prove to be a remarkably stimulating and even fiendishly funny ride. 

01. Shoplifters dir. Hirokazu Koreeda

If you’ve spent the ten years since Still Walking wondering what exactly Koreeda is trying to do anymore, then this is your answer. He’s spent most of the last decade pumping out the same nonconventional family drama over and over again (everything from I Wish to After the Storm, at least) so he could hone his skills like a weapon and create the perfect, ultimate version. With a pitch-perfect cast (Koreeda regulars Lily Franky and Kirin Kiki are the standouts, but Sakura Ando, Mayu Matsuoka, and the two child actors more than hold their own), and probably the perfect expression of the chosen family, spots and all, that has consumed much of Koreeda’s career, Shoplifters is one of its director’s career-best films, showcasing all of his talent for depicting delicate, intimate moments and bringing smart, complex ideas to seemingly straightforward premises. The most exciting Palme d’Or winner in years and easily the best film of 2018.

[shanastoryteller]

I know you probably have a lot of requests with the gods and monsters - but would you ever do an Ares based one?

Zeus’smistress Io remains in her form of a cow, guarded by Hera’s servant Argus, and Herais content.

Shewill remain in that form until her death. Hera hopes that lying with herhusband was worth the sacrifice.

Zeus won’tspeak to her, unwilling to admit the cow is actually his lover and ensure herdeath, and equally unwilling to stand against his wife to try and rescue her.Hera has him just where she wants him, and it can’t last, it never does, butshe intends to enjoy it while it does.  

ThenArtemis comes to her, gold and fierce. She never flinches away from her queen,staring her in the face as if she is nothing more than another of herhuntresses. If Hera did not hate her for being her husband’s daughter, shethinks she might actually like the girl. “Io has a destiny,” she says, “youmust let her go.”

“I don’tcare for her destiny,” Hera says idly, “especially when that destiny involvesgetting with my husband’s child.”

“She isto give birth to a new line of kings,” Artemis hisses, “to be the wife of adeath god, to be mother goddess of a whole new people. She is not meant for us.You must let her go.”

“I amHera,” she says, “I am Queen. I must do nothing.”

Artemisgrowls, hand twitching for her bow, but Hera only raises an eyebrow. Let thegirl try. There are few that can stand against her, and the huntress is notamong them. Artemis lets out a low breath and says, “Do it, my queen, and Iwill grant you what it is you most desire.”

“Somepeace and quiet?” Hera asks.

“Achild,” she answers. “Let Io go, let her fulfill her destiny as a goddess ofthe Black Land of the Nile. If you do that, I, the patron goddess ofchildbirth, will personally use every ounce of power I possess to ensure youconceive and deliver a child of Zeus.”

Hera’seyes narrow, “Neither my power nor his has ever been able to achieve this. Whatmakes you think you are any different?”

“We allhave our domains,” she says, “just as you cannot command the sea, just as yourhusband has no power over the art of weaving, so can I ensure a healthy childwhen you could not.”

Shetaps her fingers against her throne. They call her a mother goddess, thoughshe’s raised no children. Hephaestus may be her precious son, but he doesn’tknow that it was not her that threw him from Olympus. Very few people knowthat. And she didn’t raise him regardless, that honor belongs to Hecate.

Achild, of her and Zeus. A child she can raise.

“Iaccept,” she announces. “You may take her, and Zeus may fulfill her destiny.”She leans forward, brings the oppressive weight of her power to the fore andlowers the pressure of the air until Artemis is left shivering. “Know this,Patron Goddess of Childbirth. If Io births a son of Zeus before I do, I willtravel to the Black Land of the Nile and slay her and her children with my owntwo hands. Not even Hades will be able to put her back together again.”

“Yes,my Queen,” Artemis says, unable to keep her teeth from chattering.

~

Hera istrue to her word. She allows Hermes to think he’s tricked Argus and to steal Ioaway. She pretends to be outraged at the audacity, at the pure white cowtraveling to the sands of the Nile.

Artemisis true to her word. Hera lies with Zeus, like she has so many times before,and a child grows inside of her. One day she stands before her husband andbrings his hand to the swell of her stomach, “This is your child.”

Somethingalmost like happiness steals across his face. She forgets, sometimes, that theyhate each other only as much as they love each other. After so much timetogether, many would think it would be one or the other. They simply opted forboth.

Artemisis there during the birth, her easy confidence more comforting then Hera willever admit. Delivering Hephaestus was easy compared to this. She screams andcries and Hestia’s hands on her shoulders are all that keeps her fromcollapsing and begging someone to just cut the child from her. She doesn’t thinkshe can die in childbirth, not with Artemis between her legs. She wishes she’dthought to ask before this began.

But shedoes not die. Her son is born, just as healthy and beautiful as Hephaestus was.“Well done,” Artemis says softly, placing the squirming child into her arms.

Zeustouches her hair and kisses his son’s forehead. “We shall call him Ares.”

“Verywell,” she agrees, so tired her eyes struggle to stay open.

Shehands her son to Hestia, and finally allows sleep to take her.

~

Aresgrows into the spitting image of his father. Same copper-red skin, same silkyblack hair. Her husband keeps it short, but her son lets his grow long. Theminutes Hera spends every morning brushing his hair are among her favorite.

He hasan eager smile and a soft heart. Hera doesn’t know where he got it, since it’scertainly not from her or Zeus. Demeter tolerates his bumbling after her,though any time Kore attempts to meet her cousin Demeter’s temper frays.Poseidon allows Ares to explore the depths of the sea with a minor sea godacting as his guide. Apollo plays for him, and Artemis teaches him to hunt.Zeus’s lightning doesn’t burn his son, and when storms rage he takes Ares tothe top of Olympus and teaches him to throw lightning bolts.

Heraselfishly does not allow Ares to go to the underworld. She knows he would besafe there, that Hades would protect him as he protected Hephaestus, but that’sprecisely why she won’t allow it. They got to raise one of her sons already. Itpains her to share Ares with them now.

He ishappy, and kind, kinder than anyone would expect a child of her womb to be.

“Hemust choose a domain,” Zeus rumbles, watching Ares shoot arrows with perfectaccuracy.

“He isa child still,” Hera says, “let him remain so for a little longer.”

“If hedoes not choose a domain,” Zeus warns, “one will choose him. We are gods. Wemust be gods of something.”

Sheflickers her gaze at him, and he scoots an inch away from her. “He is a child,and for now a child he will remain. We are not Demeter. We shall not thrust theresponsibilities and power of a deity on a child who is not prepared for it.”

Zeusdisapproves, but says nothing more.

Her sonwill be the god of something patient, something soft. The god of lost children,of heartbroken suitors, of forgiveness. Something where his gentle heart willaid him instead of hurt him.

Shetraded her happiness for power. She doesn’t regret it. But Ares doesn’t need todo the same – she’s the most powerful goddess that still walks the earth. He’sher son, and he’ll want for nothing she can provide.

~

Ares isalmost fully grown, long hair reaching his hips even braided, and the strengthof his limbs is such that he can keep up with Artemis on her most vigorous ofhunts, that he can throw his father’s lightning bolts halfway across the world.

He’sbeen to every place, and met every god of the earth, sea, and sky.

Exceptfor one.

 It’snot hard to find the volcano. He’s strong enough and old enough to take care ofhimself, and his mother does not worry when he says he’s going to the earth.But he did not tell her where, precisely, on the earth he was going.

He hasstrong legs.  It’s easy for him to climb to the top of the volcano. He’salmost made it there when something grabs his shoulders, stilling him. Heturns, and stares into a single large eye. “What are you doing?” the cyclopesgrowls.

“I’mlooking for Hephaestus,” he says, “He’s my brother.”

“Mymaster has many brothers,” the cyclopes says.

Aresshakes his head. He is not the product of his father’s fling with a sprite ormortal. “I am Ares, son of Zeus and Hera. Just as Hephaestus is. I came here tomeet my brother.” The cyclopes hesitates. He asks, “What’s your name?”

“Brontes,”he answers, surprised.

“Brontes,”he smiles, “I just want to meet him. I’ve never met him before. I won’tlinger.”

There’sa moment where Brontes looks conflicted, and Ares tries to look as unassumingas possible. “Fine,” he huffs, “but don’t get angry at me if he dips you inlava.”

“Thatwould be fun,” he says brightly. Lightning doesn’t burn him. So far the onlything hot enough to cause him pain is Hestia’s fire. He probably couldgo swimming in lava.

Bronteslooks at him as if he’s slightly unhinged. He just keeps smiling.

~

Thereare more cyclopes underneath, and bright glittering machines that Ares can’teven begin to wrap his mind around. “Who are you?” someone demands, and a handgrabs his wrist and yanks him away from a boiling vat of lava that he’d beenpeering into.

Helooks up at a man taller and broader than he is. He has skin almost as dark asthe obsidian of his volcano, but lighter eyes. They are the color of darkamber, of molasses. “We have the same eyes,” he says happily.

Hephaestusreleases him instantly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Whynot?” he asks, “The mortals talk of you. No one else will. But you’re mybrother, right?”

“Youshouldn’t be here,” he repeats, “Does Zeus know where you are?”

Heshrugs, taking a step closer. His brother takes a step back. He wonders ifhe’ll have to treat Hephaestus like a spooked horse.  “Father doesn’t keeptrack of where I am. Mom know I’m on earth.” Hephaestus flinches, small enoughthat he almost doesn’t notice. “We have her eyes, you know.”

Hecan’t stop starring at Hephaestus’s skin. They do not work like mortals –Demeter, Hestia, Zeus, and Hera are all different shades despite coming fromthe same parents. But – Ares looks so much like his father. Kore looks likeDemeter. Yet Hephaestus looks nothing like their father. He can see theirmother in him, in the eyes and shape of his jaw, even in how angry he is right now. He looks likeHera does when she’s about to lose her temper, lips pressed into a thin lineand the careful stillness of his shoulders.

“I wasn’ttrying to make you angry,” he says plaintively, “I only wanted to say hello.”

Unliketheir mother, Hephaestus lets out a deep breath and seemingly all of his angeralong with it. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?You don’t even know me.”

Hephaestuskicks him lightly in the shin, the pretty gold and copper of his metal legs catchinghis eye. “You have legs, and I do not. Hera did not throw you from MountOlympus as she threw me.”

Ares lookshard at his brother’s face. The stories say his mother threw her son away forbeing ugly, but he seems just as handsome as any other god Ares has seen. Hisfeatures are strong and chiseled, and he supposes that could have looked unattractiveon a baby, but –

– his motherloves him. Hera loves him with a ferocity only matched by her temper, she loveshim at his most mischievous and irritable, loves him when a stray thunderboltsets Demeter’s hair on end, loves him when even Artemis and Apollo have growntired of his antics, loves him when Athena can tolerate no more of hisquestions. He is her son, and so her love comes without conditions.

Hedoesn’t think Hera would have loved his brother any less just because of how helooked.

He alsoknows that if he tries to say that, it’s likely Hephaestus will push him into a lava pit.

“Well,that’s not my fault,” he says, “If you don’t want us to be brothers, can’t weat least be friends?”

Hephaestus’sface softens. He looks like their mother then too.  He crosses his arms, “You can’t tell yourparents.”

Our parents, he thinks but doesn’t say. “Obviously.Where did you get so many cyclopes?”

Thelast remnants of his brother’s stern façade shatters as he throws back his headand laughs.

~

Ares isvery near maturity, more adult than child, and his father constantly pressureshim to choose a domain. He usually quiets with one sharp glance from his wife,but the fact remains that it is time for Ares to take his place among the godsof the pantheon, to have temples in his name and worshipers like a properdeity.

Hedoesn’t really want any of that.  Hewants to continue hunting with Artemis, learning with Athena, building withHephaestus.

His brotherlets him help out in his workshop sometimes, if he’s very careful and doesexactly as he’s told. Otherwise he sits on a table, legs swinging, and watcheshis brother work and tells him about what he does in the time in-betweenvisits. He talks about their mother enough that Hephaestus doesn’t flinch ather every mention, which Ares can only consider an improvement. SometimesBrontes will stand beside him and they’ll eat sweet buns together.

Unfortunately,all things, good and bad, must come to an end.

~

Thereare two giants, Otus and Ephialtes, who grow tired of hearing of the golden boyof Olympus, who grow jealous of his kindness and his beauty.

Thesetwo giants sneak onto Mount Olympus in the middle of the night, sneak into Ares’sroom, and kidnap him. They’re not stupid enough to attempt to kill him.Instead, they stuff him into an urn, and seal him inside. Ares rages andfights, uses every trick he can think of to break out his prison, but none ofthem work.

Stuckat the bottom of the urn and seething, he can’t help but think that if he’dlistened to his father and chosen a dominion he might be strong enough to freehimself. But he didn’t, so he can’t, and instead he waits.

Andwaits.

Andwaits.

Daysturn to weeks turn to months. He knows they’re looking for him. He knows hismother will tear apart the whole universe attempting to find him if nothingelse. But – what if they can’t? What if he’s stuck in this urn for the rest ofeternity?

In hisdarkest moments, his sorrow turns to rage. He is a god, son of Hera and Zeus,how dare they do this to him?

Then,one day, the urn opens.

Hermespeers down into it, then his face splits into a grin. “We’ve been looking foryou!” He reaches down and hauls Ares out, and for a moment all he can do isblink at the glaring sun. Then his vision clears, and he sees they’re in themidst of a battle. The giants are fighting against the gods, against hisparents, against the twins, against his brother. It’s bloody carnage, but – he can’thelp but feel touched that all these people came looking for him. “Almost everyoneoffered to help find you,” he says, “but Hera didn’t want to draw too muchattention to ourselves trying to sneak into their territory.”

Nosooner has Hermes finished speaking than a giant barrels into his mother withsickening snap. Her shoulder slopes at a grotesque angle, but it hardly evenslows her down.

“I haveto help,” he says, a desperate urgency filling him. They came to help him, andnow they’re getting hurt. That’s never something he’d wanted.

“Ares,wait!” Hermes calls out as he goes hurtling toward the battle. He doesn’t wait.Fighting on the ground can only do so much good, they’re strong but they’reoutnumbered one hundred to one. He darts to Artemis, twisting around the bodiesshe’s throwing over her shoulder. “I need your bow!”

“Ares!”she says joyously, then, “What?”

“Trustme,” he says, “give me your bow.” A giant comes running towards them. Artemisflips him over her shoulder while continuing to stare at him in confusion. He’dbe impressed if he wasn’t so worried. “Artemis, please!”

Shehands over her bow. She moves to give him her quiver of arrows as well, but he’salready moving away from her. Next it’s to his father, who’s hurtling lightningbolts towards the swarm of giants crowding him. They’re deadly, but only soeffective at close-range. He grabs a sizzling lightning bolt right from Zeus’shand, the only being on the planet who could do that and survive, and keepsrunning. “Get clear!” he calls out over his shoulder. “Everyone move!”

He runsup past Hermes, needing to get to high ground for this to work. “Get everyoneoff the battlefield,” he says to Hermes. “Now.”

Hermespulls a face, but by the time he makes it to the top of the mountain, the godshave shaken off most of the giants, are far enough away that he doesn’t have toworry.

He cando this. He’s Ares, the son of Hera and Zeus. He’s been trained in archery bythe great huntress herself. He breaths in, and strings his father’s lightningbolt like an arrow. He pulls it back, breaths out, and lets the lightning boltfly.

Itlands in the middle of the battlefield full of confused giants. With a greatclap of thunder and a burst of light, they’re all gone.

Allthat remains of the traitorous giants is a crater.

Thegods are approaching him, his mother at a limping gait that makes his chestache. Zeus gets to him first, grin stretched wide as he grabs him by both hisshoulders. “My boy! That was magnificent!”

“Thanks,”he says. The smell of charred flesh is in the air, and it makes his stomachroll.

Theykidnapped him. They stuffed him in an urn for over a year. They hurt his mom.

Thatdoesn’t mean he enjoyed it. He never wants to do anything like that ever again.

“Thiswas destiny,” his father says enthusiastically, and Ares has no idea what he’stalking about. “This is what you’re meant to do, son.”

Hestares. He hopes it’s not.

Theother gods are still at the bottom of the mountain. Artemis and Apollo each have one of his mother’sarms slung over their shoulders and are helping her up the mountain. Hermes andHephaestus aren’t far behind.

He’snever seen his father look so proud of him. There’s a leaden pit in his stomachhe can’t explain.

“Inhonor of my son’s great feat,” Zeus booms, his voice carrying across air,speaking with the voice of the king of the gods so his words become law, sothey spread to every corner of the world, “I declare him Ares, God of War.”

Arescan’t breathe.

This isn’t what he wanted.

gods and monsters series, part xvii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

[rilenerocks]

Sometimes things just have to blow, out of nowhere, for no reason in particular. Internal seismic shifts. The other day started out innocently enough. In fact, it was a welcome relief from the previous one which was incredibly stressful. The events of that day began  with a morning email from my mortgage company, telling me I’d filed legally incorrect documents. As I’d completed them myself with no lawyer, I got seriously worried. The bank’s underwriters turned out to be wrong, but still. Not the most relaxing way to start the morning. Then I got a truly disturbing phone call from a friend who’s suffering from intractable depression which has thus far been unresponsive to pharmaceutical intervention. Behaving way beyond my pay grade, I managed to find at least some temporary intervention for him by using my powers of persuasion on his primary doctor. But I know my limits and I was edging past them. I was seriously afraid and uncomfortable. Next up was having some truly beloved people stop by my house, people who were visiting from a coronavirus hotspot in this country. And they have been only sporadically wearing masks. What a dilemma. Contact or no contact? Did I get exposed? No one we love and who love us wants to deliberately harm us. But we can’t possibly know who’s quietly carrying the virus, nor whether we’ll be the ones who wind up with the life-threatening aspects of this disease. When will this pressure end? Not for a long time, apparently, when the public’s responses to the threat are so disparate. Then the guests used the toilet where the seat, unbeknownst to them had been hanging by a thread. When they left, I went in to the bathroom to sanitize and found the seat hopelessly broken. Groan. I ordered a new one that I could pick up without going into a store. I picked it up, went home and took everything apart.  The new one was the wrong size. The day just kept going. I got a huge painful splinter in the bottom of my foot and I couldn’t get part of it out. Later, another friend wrote me from the ER where her teenaged son was in some inexplicable digestive agony. He was released without having a Covid19 test which made me nuts. My youngest grandson swallowed Legos. I couldn’t wait for bedtime. Just one of those wake ups you’d rather forget.

Donald J. Trump

@realDonaldTrump

SCHOOLS MUST OPEN IN THE FALL!!!

1:40 PM · Jul 6, 2020

444.3K

158.7K people are

In Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and many other countries, SCHOOLS ARE OPEN WITH NO PROBLEMS. The Dems think it would be bad for them politically if U.S. schools open before the November Election, but is important for the children & families. May cut off funding if not open!

The next day started with Trump’s  unhinged comments on opening U.S. schools in the fall, including the threat of cutting federal funding to them if they choose to put their students’ health ahead of his re-election objectives. This infuriating drivel in the midst of the accelerated rate of Covid19 infection in this country wasn’t what I needed after the previous day’s irritations. So I made my way out to my backyard and my tiny pool which is my current substitute for the swimming I so desperately miss right now. 

I slipped my headphones on, put my feet in the water and focused on relaxing. After a short time, I felt the familiar deep rumbling of that seismic shift I was talking about, the one associated with the deep grief I still feel over Michael’s death and the inconsolable sense of loneliness connected only with him. So the wailing burst from me in a series of mini-convulsions that are shocking in their physicality. I’ve learned that there’s nothing to do but let them complete their cycle until I’m left at the end, exhausted, with not much left inside. These don’t happen that frequently any more but I expect they’ll be my companions intermittently for the rest of my life. Big consuming love comes with the expense of its absence. I wouldn’t trade away any of it. My approach was always and remains, full speed ahead, embracing the euphoric and wonderful along with the gaping hole and the despair. Yes. Full speed ahead.

I was pretty spent but took a stroll around the garden where there’s always something to lighten the mood. I decided to try staying away from the news which is never an easy choice for me. One day off won’t hurt anything. I was going to focus on finding some laughter and lightness. Maybe the stars were aligned for me because when I went inside to seek a television line-up, often a wasteland for me, there were  some serendipitous options for a change. I mean, really, does Gladiator have to be playing every single night for seven straight days? Or Kevin Costner’s pathetic excuse for a Robin Hood film when everyone knows the Errol Flynn one from the 1930’s is the best?

I was lucky enough to find Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I’ve always found that movie really funny. This scene, filmed in my hometown of Chicago, never fails to make me smile.

That was followed by the fabulous screwball comedy, Bringing Up Baby, starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. Good acting and great writing hold up over decades and I’m so glad I know how to yank myself out of a dark space using old reliable films.

I finished my mental rehab with the Marx Brothers’ Night at the Opera. Sometimes slapstick works and sometimes it doesn’t, but ridiculous zingers and mad physical antics worked like a tonic for me. All in all, fairly easy ways to revive myself after a big slump. For the rest of the night, I cut myself some slack and just let my mind wander. I started thinking about the different television shows I watched when I was growing up.

There was Lassie, Fury, My Friend Flicka and Annie Oakley. I was always partial to animals and Westerns. I often have conversations with my daughter about how much tv time is too much time for kids these days. Maybe the level of sophisticated technology and the dynamic relationship between the person and the device is really different from how sitting in front of the tube was back in the day. But I certainly watched a lot of shows. And I didn’t get lazy or stupid. I read a lot of books, too. But I suspect there were people in my generation for whom that sedentary part of their lives had adverse effects.  Maybe the difference between now and then really isn’t that dramatic. Or maybe I just feel like being optimistic and naive for awhile. Truthfully, it’s a welcome relief to being grounded in today’s dystopian reality.

I realized that I’ve been so intent on the pandemic, its effect on the foreseeable future and the constraints I’m wrestling with, that I hadn’t gone out in several days to look up. The clouds and skies are always so interesting and soothing for me. So I got back with the program. I was glad I did. Later, when I discussed what I’d felt like on the lousy day with my daughter, I told her that fundamentally, I thought I’d been doing pretty well under the circumstances. Ever the nihilist, she told me she agreed that for a person who was living alone, in a seemingly endless lockdown, with perhaps this current Groundhog Day life being the way my old age  would end, I was doing fantastic. I have to say, her comment made me roar with laughter. I’ve risen from the depths again. As I said, full speed ahead. Maybe to nowhere, but whatever.

  Full Steam Ahead Sometimes things just have to blow, out of nowhere, for no reason in particular. Internal seismic shifts.

[curlygirl79]

Today, as part of the blog tour for Overstrike, book one in the Fixpoint series, I am honoured to be able to share with you a Q&A that the author took part in for me. Many thanks to CM Angus for taking the time to do this, and to Rachel at Rachel’s Random Resources for inviting me to be a part of the tour.

What made you decide to move from writing technical non-fiction to writing fiction?

That’s probably not how I look at it. I guess I’m more of an opportunist. Back in 2006 I found myself working with a couple  of technologies which were new enough to have literally no books written about them. As I was learning the hard way to get to grips with these I saw there was an opportunity for a technical publication.

Likewise in 2014 when I found myself with the embryo of the story that went on to become Overstrike, I decided to give it a go.

It was certainly very different, but I believe the past is a dream that doesn’t define us – each of us has the capacity to continually reinvent ourselves..

What authors inspire you?

I’d have to say: Ones that make it happen against the odds. People like David J. Kowalski – whose 2007 debut The Company of the Dead I enjoyed a lot. The fact that he managed to write a pretty awesome novel whilst being a Obstetrician, inspired me to believe maybe I could somehow find time to write also.

Thank you David.

Do you have a literary hero? How about a favourite literary villain?

In a lot of ways, this is likely to be the stream of consciousness everyman like Bukowski’s semi-autobiographical Henry Chinaski, or The Narrator (Phaedrus) from Pirsig’s Zen & the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Whoever it is, they’re likely to be a thinker, a drunk and a little unhinged. In a lot of ways, I find characters, or for that fact, people in general, become far more interesting when they don’t conform. As for hero’s and villain’s, I tend not to think in those kind of binary terms, I think that there are angels and devils in all of us –  that everyone is both good and evil. The most interesting characters, for me, are ones that either fall from grace or seek redemption – whether that’s Milton’s Lucifer in Paridise Lost, Rowling’s Snape,  Jane Austen’s Mr D’Arcy, Dickens’ Scrooge or even Martin’s Jaime Lannister, the idea that a character’s drivers and motives are fluid, makes them interesting to me.

What is your favourite under-appreciated novel?

Not sure whether this counts, but I’d have to say The View from Gallows Hill by Nick Stead. I was lucky enough to be a beta-reader on this and liked it a lot – certainly one to look for when it comes out. 

Where do you do your writing? Do you have a special place to go for calm and inspiration or are you a write anywhere kind of guy?

I’d have to say wherever the muse takes me. But it’s more about finding the headspace than than a particular location or time. If things are too noisy I’ve got no chance. If things are too quiet – again; that’s an issue. So it feels like I’m forever in search of my own Goldilocks zone *laughs*. Sometimes I find it in my local park with a laptop, sometimes it’s in a bustling coffee shop – I seem to change like the wind. Invariably it ends up being stolen moments interspaced between other activities – I try to use technology so that I can switch between desktop, laptop, tablet and phone and keep going in between being Dad’s taxi! So I guess I’m a write anywhere kind of guy…

What is the strangest thing you have had to Google for writing research?

Man, now that’s going to be quite a list…

I guess it would include:

* Current theories on quantum entanglement and the plausibility of time travel.

* Elements of the Holocaust during WWII.

* Key players in early electroconvulsive therapy.

* Details of Schizophrenia.

* Large parts of London and its transport network. 

However I’m sure I must be missing something.

You seem to be a man of many talents – how do you fit everything in? I find I am easily distracted from one hobby or interest by another – do you find the same?

Definitely. It’s not just a question of passion. I need to set myself goals and make these public – actively throw myself under the bus, if you will, to force myself to complete things. Then its a case of multitasking and combining things, but it isn’t easy and without the support of my family I couldn’t do any of it.

At the end of the day though, it’s about setting realistic goals and keeping on with these – even if the progresses glacial. For instance: Overstrike has taken around 5-years, so I’d say it’s more to do with perseverance and pig-headedness than some kind of silver bullet.

Thanks again to CM Angus for taking the time to answer my questions. For more information about Overstrike, read on!

BLURB:

When Matt Howard’s grandfather told him he must alter history to protect his newborn son, Matt thought the old man was crazy…

…Then he realised it was true.

Overstrike spans 4 generations of a family haunted by the prospect of an approaching alternate reality where their child has been erased from history.

Touching on themes of retro-causality, ethics and free will, and exploring ideas of cause, effect and retribution, it follows the path of Matt Howard, whose child, Ethan, is at risk, as he, his father and grandfather attempt to use their own abilities to manipulate reality in order to discover and prevent whoever is threatening Ethan.

Overstrike is volume I of Fixpoint, a trilogy about a family who discover their inherited ability to manipulate reality. It enables them to effect changes in order to safeguard themselves and all that they hold dear. But even seemingly small changes in a timeline can have unforeseen and far-reaching consequences. Follow the stories of the Howards, on a journey exploring reality, time and our own sense of self.

PURCHASE LINKS:

Amazon UK

Amazon US

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

CM Angus author and writer of Speculative fiction, Sci-fi and Horror grew up in the North East of England and now lives in Yorkshire with his wife and children. He is interested in all things creative & technological.

Currently working on Fixpoint, a series of books with each piece tackling different aspects of discontinuities in time and is a Speculative Fiction spanning 4 generations of a family haunted by the prospect of an approaching alternate reality where their child has been erased from history.

Overstrike, Volume 1 of Fixpoint, will be published by Elsewhen Press in early 2020.

SOCIAL MEDIA:

Twitter

Website

Facebook

Amazon

Goodreads

Publisher

GIVEAWAY:

Win 5 x Overstrike T-shirts  (Open INT)

*Terms and Conditions –Worldwide entries welcome.  Please enter using the Rafflecopter link below.  The winner will be selected at random via Rafflecopter from all valid entries and will be notified by Twitter and/or email. If no response is received within 7 days then Rachel’s Random Resources reserves the right to select an alternative winner. Open to all entrants aged 18 or over.  Any personal data given as part of the competition entry is used for this purpose only and will not be shared with third parties, with the exception of the winners’ information. This will passed to the giveaway organiser and used only for fulfilment of the prize, after which time Rachel’s Random Resources will delete the data.  I am not responsible for dispatch or delivery of the prize.

ENTER HERE

To find out more about Overstrike, head on over to the other blogs taking part in the tour.

@c_m_angus is answering my questions on the blog today. #bookblogger #Q&A #fixpoint #overstrike #fictioncafewriters #spoonshortagebookclub @rararesources Today, as part of the blog tour for Overstrike, book one in the Fixpoint series, I am honoured to be able to share with you a Q&A that the author took part in for me.

[fuse2dx]

January ‘20

I felt like trying this for a bit again. 

Untitled Goose Game

Where Journey and its ilk blew up the idea of a short, single-visit game, Untitled Goose Game feels closer to the next evolution of this ultra-focused style of design. It’s a perfect elevator pitch of a game - surmised exactingly in its abstract, and not even needing to commit to a ‘proper’ title… and yet more immediate and relatable than countless other games. Your aims are clear and simple, and a compact suite of commands elicits a range of responses from its environments and characters to help you achieve them. How one begets the other is just logical enough to work for its two hour duration, but does suggest it’s unlikely to have had scope to go much beyond this without repetitive tedium, or becoming bewilderingly obtuse. That’s not to say that it’s challenges are totally intuitive, or even that it’s free of moments where janky controls entangle you - but again, you’ll easily endure through it given how briefly you’re expected to stay. The primal appeal of being a horrible goose is easy to be ensnared by, and is neither overdone nor worn thin, once again thanks to the length of it. Its elegance and charm complements the simplicity of it all wonderfully, and though not revolutionary, or pushing any particular aspect of the medium to new highs, the quirk, laughs and originality of it is the type of bottled lightning that is unlikely to be replicated any time soon. Honk. 

Wattam

It’s a game by Keita Takahashi. You can assume plenty; warmth, charm, whimsy, colour, humour - and you’d be right. Divorced of a big studio and the legion of other talent that comes with it, his solo work continues to be mechanically light and missing a few layers of polish, yet is simultaneously far more experimental and groundbreakingly humane than most anything you could care to mention. Trying to explain in regular video game terms what you do is somewhat redundant, but to at least give it a shot; you play a large green square - The Mayor - who’s initially alone, but slowly coerces its population back, repopulating the world through various interactions within it. 

I’ll be straight with you: I’ve had to rewrite this passage, as some of the first sessions I spent with this drove me up the wall and lead to a less-than-favourable commentary. Fully aware that talking predominantly about how it plays was “doing it wrong”, I nevertheless took to highlight how I found the camera frustrating, the characters’ erratic and independent movement to be testing, and the rapid-fire sampling of children’s cries laid over the jazzy background music to be cacophonous and anxiety-provoking rather than joyous. That I persevered and made it through the rest of the game is not to say I don’t still harbour some negativity towards it, but the last portion of the game did do a far better job of bringing me around to its charms than those earlier moments where I felt a bit too much like I was wrestling with it. I knew I wanted to see it all and to love it; the idea of being on the outside of something so light being quite so glum, but it didn’t come quite as easily as I was expecting. Don’t be too put off, but perhaps don’t also expect it to be completely painless either.

Neo Cab

Neo Cab’s setting shines a miserably relatable light on a dystopian city and the people living within it. There’s an increasingly downtrodden population of gig economy workers, a police state whose corporate favouritism is not remotely subtle, and a growing number of people whose sentiment against this climate is rallying them together, and turning to action. There is not a lot of digging required to expose the game’s politics, or to join the dots to whom it really wishes were held to justice.

Normally when talking about visual novels, or even just narratively-focused ones, I tend to find myself on the back foot, expecting folks to turn off, and having to find ways to walk it back to more traditional game tropes. Here, I was actually quite pleased with how well Neo Cab defies any lack of interaction - to the point where I’d actually be pretty comfortable recommending this to near anyone. A big component of this is set up early on; a wearable device is forced upon your character that visibly broadcasts her current mood for all to see. As well as mood limiting what you’re willing to say (crucially though, not stopping you from contemplating these options), it’s also un-conveniently right there on her wrist for folks to see when they’ve hit a nerve. As a cab driver by trade, branching dialogue options you need to assess are incredibly frequent - and give your cues are often assuming, intrusive, or just plain rude - your management of them becomes all the more immediate and crucial. Ride quality influences your rating as a driver as well as your income, which in turn impacts which rides you can take, who you can meet, and who you can rely on in future. Sometimes your choices are simple, whereas other passengers may be more obtuse, or inadvertently land you in a quandary more moral in nature. It’s not a long game, and while I naturally don’t want to say too much, it does a good job of keeping the focus grounded on its key characters, who really make it all tick over nicely. I thought Neo Cab was pretty great - it’s got a simple but stylish look to it, and gives you just enough to think about.

  Demon’s Tilt

Pinball tables may not have changed much in the layman’s eyes over the years, but video game versions certainly have. In paying quite unsubtle homage to Naxat’s series of tables that blessed a number of 16-bit systems, the passage of near three decades has given Demon’s Tilt plenty of space to grow into. Larger, higher resolution screens gives us bigger play spaces and more detailed imagery, while increased technical grunt lends itself to a seemingly limitless crescendo of frenetic, often incomprehensible action. I mean, why not throw a little bullet hell into the mix? Goodness grief. 

Given my particular fondness for Devil’s Crash, which to Demon’s Tilt is the clearest, most singular inspiration, I was naturally drawn to this. I’d played a little before in early access, but a more complete Switch version was appealing enough to revisit it. I was already safe in the knowledge that it’d managed to build upon and flatter my favourite pinball game without reducing itself to an imitation, but the option of portable play (with a FlipGrip, even) was particularly exciting. As it happens, trying to condense so much to a small screen wasn’t quite such the modern convenience I’d hoped - it’s a neat showcase, but quite impractical to actually play with. Not thrusting yourself within an inch of the screen and having to squint may give a smidgen more a fighting chance, but a bigger display also allows you to appreciate the slick blend of neon effects spewing themselves over the striking gothic imagery. The music contributes yet more welcome intensity to things, and though I’ve begrudged a few near misses and unfortunate bounces, in calm retrospect it’s clear the this is far more a reflection of my skill rather than any lack in ball physics. For those who are practised in ways I am not, the table itself has plenty of opportunity to flex your muscle, but even though my games aren’t the feats of endurance I’d wish for, I’m still coming away each time clamouring to go straight back in. 

198X

I missed this game’s crowdfunding attempts, but after seeing its trailer - a moody and romanticised nod to all things 80s arcade culture - it was very clear this was making a direct appeal to my sensibilities. It’s a coming of age story about a bored suburban teen, whose discovery of the local arcade ‘changes everything’. Now, I love arcades far more than most, but even I found the story to be over-egged. The Kid’s monologuing through the game’s cut-scenes jumps at such breakneck speed that it genuinely made me feel uncomfortable about their state of mind. Pre-arcade, all is miserly and monotone, whereas the escapism they indulge in after this discovery is worryingly unhinged. The pixel art propping them up may be quite tasty, but I think most people will find the story being pushed to be a touch cringeworthy. 

The game that’s book-ended by these scenes are actually a series of mini-games, each clearly inspired by a particular 80s title. In short clips and stills, you could be fooled into thinking these are not just dutifully upgraded, but maybe even improved homages to the given classics. Visually, yes, there is some argument to be made here as there is some terrific pixel artistry being conducted here, but as there’s only about 15 minutes of each to play, it’s no surprise that some corners have had to be cut. Generally speaking, the balance  of each isn’t quite so nuanced, and unsurprisingly this leans towards them being easier than you’d expect, but there’s specific shortcomings in each too. For example: definitely-not-Final Fight has some shocking collision detection, and of particular disappointment for myself, definitely-not-Outrun has but one gear, and hardly any impression of speed. While not fatal flaws, my point is simply that you’d not choose to play these over the original games they intend to pay their respects to. A second part being teased at the shortly-reached end is likely a downer for those expecting value, but I think it’s two-hour runtime is probably just about right considering it’s best viewed as a novelty. 

[its-just-like-the-movies]

Horror For Horror’s Sake

Looking at the (albeit few) films I’ve chosen to review, the ones I’ve been willing to dive into blind, the expectedly shitty ones I’ve willing put up with, it’s fair to say I have a bias to exploring horror films more than other genres. At the very least I’m more interested in exploring scary movies when looking for something to watch than other genres. And in some ways, they’re more rewarding on a base level than say, romantic dramas that are equally good or bad. I’m sure Death Note is worse than Tulip Fever, but lord knows I’m not gonna go watching the latter for “fun” the way I got wine drunk with friends and tore at that racist, unscary piece of shit. On the other side of that spectrum, I went and saw It with that same dynamic duo as Death Note roughly a week later and had a ball, premised around actually having a wonderful time with a great film that all of us liked on its own merits and as an adaptation. It was all we talked about during dinner, and if I didn’t have to run home before meeting them at Tommy’s place we probably would’ve talked about it even longer. The film is a monumental step up from the original TV adaptation (obvs), but I sincerely hope that we’re at a place where the culture can stop being as reverential as it is with Tim Curry’s performance - one I liked but couldn’t quite be impressed by - in favor of the truly horrifying wraith that Bill Skarsgard has created. Andy Muschietti deserves plenty of credit for Pennywise too, but also for negotiating such a dense source novel, a mostly child cast, a more elastic range of tones than necessary, a time period wholly original to this adaptation, plus all the hokum reputation surrounding the author, and doing justice to all of it. Never in my life would I have expected the director of Mama to have succeeded in marshalling all of that into such a purely enjoyable, scary, funny, and utterly full film as It. Yes, it’s not perfect in parcelling out equal screen time to every member of The Loser’s Club or establishing what their lives are like when they aren’t hanging out together, but if that’s the worst this film has going for it, I’m absolutely delighted to recommend it to everyone and go along with friends who’re too scared to see it alone. Maybe with a red balloon in hand, and a severed arm to hold it for me.

I originally intended this to be a sort of two-shot with mother! but, given how absolutely insane that film is and the likelihood I’m going to ferry David along someday soon, I’m going to put off a formal review of it until another showing. I think I have my reaction to it sorted out, though another trek through it would do me good. The last scenes recontextualize the whole film so fully, even one as bluntly allegorical as that one, I think it’d be worth checking out again before I dive into it. With that being said, and to give me something fun to write about, I’m gonna just jot down some favorite memories of horror films I’m really in love with. You can consider this a recommendation list, I’d be more than happy to elaborate on full-throttle reviews and explanations of any of these films. Hopefully there’ll be another list of five tomorrow. Either way, sit back and enjoy the ride, dear reader.

To start off with the recentest features, I think one of It’s greatest successes it that each of its characters has pretty individualized embodiments of fear that Pennywise deploys, each scene delivering its own unique terror. That being said, there’s no way the film’s most utterly terrifying scene isn’t its first, where Pennywise lures poor Georgie into reaching out his hand for a little paper boat. For all I said at the top about Bill Skarsgård’s interpretation of It - and I’ll be shocked if I don’t write up this performance on my year-end list - credit must also be given to Jackson Robert Scott’s sweet, almost saccharine take on Georgie Denbrough. Watching Pennywise somehow circle this poor child even from within a sewer grate, convincingly entrancing by the standard of a six year old even if he can’t help but notice how unhinged this clown is, it’s maybe the only film I’ve been around for the release of that palpably conjured the same kinds of lumps in my gut I got watching Ileana Douglas and Juliette Lewis wrangle with Robert De Niro in Cape Fear (minus all the sexual overtures of Cape Fear, thank god). It’s the only time Pennywise is patient enough to even try and lure in his prey like this, more eager to eat the boy than he is to prey off his fear. The tension here is so efficiently realized I had to wonder what a version of It that drew out a few more of these encounters into their own short films would look like. A little longer, sure, but when the result is more scenes that make your skin crawl and your stomach churn, we’d all be winners.

mother! was an insanely vexing experience, purposely so, but in many ways a virtuoso one. A lot of it comes down to how marvelously it’s crafted, plus Michelle Pfeiffer’s deliciously crafted turn as a home invader, and I’d love more time to sit and think about Aronofsky’s script. Pfeiffer is the only ingredient missing in the film’s most stunningly crafted scene, where the house of Jennifer Lawrence’s nameless character is beset by an seemingly infinite swarm of her husband’s idolaters. Her painstakingly assembled home, one she made all by herself with her own two hands, is torn apart by the mob of fans proclaiming the poet’s will of sharing all that he has. One hangs up the phone as she calls the police only for another to yank it out of the wall, each hurling the philosophy of sharing at the other to justify their actions as though the other is stupid for not expecting them to do this. The police arrive a few minutes after, and suddenly her house seems to be divided into factions of SWAT members, violent cabals of her husband’s words, and those directly loyal to him. It’s almost impossible to imagine how long this sequence takes, especially since mother! often presents its sequences as though they’re happening in real time, but it’s stupendously mounted and realized by everyone involved. The transformation of Lawrence’s home from an idyllic, rustic nest for her and her hubby into a war-torn wreckage plucked straight from Children of Men isn’t the film’s scariest scene - that would be everything immediately after something delicate is inevitably, disastrously shown off - but on a sheer technical level it’s the film’s most impressively realized scene, and one of many I can’t shake for the life of me.

If you’ve never seen [safe], I beg you to go see it right now. Surely everyone who loved Carol has gone back and examined some of Todd Haynes’s filmography, if not looked up his Wikipedia page and seen this film, whose heroine has the same first name as his 2015 masterpiece. [safe] is about as asphyxiating and antagonistic to the audience (while still being immensely hypnotic) as any film can get, and one I had difficulty rewatching last semester in the hopes of finding a screencap to use for an art project. I ended up not using what I got, but there’s so many indelible moments picking one feels difficult, let alone throwing my hands up and just reveling in what Haynes’ direction does to make the film so menacing. And yet, there’s that one object that I instantly thought of for this little piece, in some ways the one that convinced me to do it at all. Early in [safe], Carol White (a genius Julianne Moore) orders a couch to her house and starts to help the movers arrange it in her house, only to find that it’s seemingly the most antagonistic shade of black on the planet. Carol is horrified to see this thing in her carefully constructed beige palace, as was I when I first saw it. Never has an ordinary couch been so pointy and prickly and out-of-place and threatening in a film, and never have I wanted to leave a room so much once I saw it. Pressing against everything pale and beige and carefully styled in her home, this couch doesn’t just look out of place but as alien and invasive as any of the houseguests in mother!, and even more unwanted. [safe] isn’t necessarily a horror film, but it’s still the most unsettling feature on this list, one that’s even more horrifying for all that it has to say on the human experience, and for the tremendous filmmaking (and actressing) that makes it such a seminal, terrifying film.

Suspiria, on the other hand, is nothing if not an exercise in how many scary, go-for-broke aesthetics you can grate against each other and mold together and throw at the audience at once. The production design can be summed up as though the art directors of Wes Anderson and Pedro Almodovar had a child that was trying to kill you, specifically, but of course the real star of this entry is the vicious score of Dario Argento and the band Goblin. Much like Get Out, you have the distinct feeling that somehow the score itself is going to slaughter our hero before the actual forces of evil hunting them do. Even in scenes that don’t seem overtly menacing, the orchestra shrieks at you to remember that Jessica Harper and her friend are always being watched, always in danger, always among those who have killed before and would kill them if they got the chance. And somehow, this only makes the scenes with an actively dangerous presence more affecting rather than less so. In the words of Decider’s Joe Reid “Everything is heightened, so everything is fuckin’ heightened”. Suspiria is so heightened it’s a wonder the central school doesn’t just fly off into the upper echelons of the Earth’s atmosphere, which is probably close to where the film is heightened to, but thank god it’s stuck to the ground. Not all stories work in space, and sometimes all you need is a man, his dog, a weird gargoyle, and a bunch of nice looking buildings to make a scene as tense as all hell. And, of course, a bullying, visceral score.

There’s a multitude of great performances from David Cronenberg films. In truth, the best two probably reside in the duet between Jeremy Irons and Genevieve Bujold in Dead Ringers, if not the duet between Irons and Irons in the same film. But we’re really here for The Brood, which boasts the most volcanic performance I’ve seen among Cronenberg’s filmography in the form of Samantha Eggar’s ferocious, unstable shrew of an ex-wife and absent mother. The entire film is premised on her rage, literally summoning embodiments of her anger to carry out acts of vengeance against those she decries in therapy sessions. These sessions have the head physician role-playing as the target of his patient’s psychosis in the hope of provoking a real break in their psyches, and take place in a facility miles out of town and built like log cabins, resembling a hotel from a distance. Her character’s ex-husband is right to suspect something’s amiss here, that Nola isn’t getting the treatment she needs, but even as he finds the corpses of the gremlins whacking their family members it takes until he witnesses the creation of one of these rage babies for him to fully grasp a situation that’s actively threatening everyone he loves. Eggar’s vitality and commitment gives the film a beating, potent heart that The Brood otherwise wouldn’t have, in spite of its crazy conceits and directorial strength. Without her exorcising fury, The Brood would be a weaker film, and it needs Eggar’s to power the whole thing through its demented thesis and towards its inevitable, monstrous climax.

[rilenerocks]

Sometimes things just have to blow, out of nowhere, for no reason in particular. Internal seismic shifts. The other day started out innocently enough. In fact, it was a welcome relief from the previous one which was incredibly stressful. The events of that day began  with a morning email from my mortgage company, telling me I’d filed legally incorrect documents. As I’d completed them myself with no lawyer, I got seriously worried. The bank’s underwriters turned out to be wrong, but still. Not the most relaxing way to start the morning. Then I got a truly disturbing phone call from a friend who’s suffering from intractable depression which has thus far been unresponsive to pharmaceutical intervention. Behaving way beyond my pay grade, I managed to find at least some temporary intervention for him by using my powers of persuasion on his primary doctor. But I know my limits and I was edging past them. I was seriously afraid and uncomfortable. Next up was having some truly beloved people stop by my house, people who were visiting from a coronavirus hotspot in this country. And they have been only sporadically wearing masks. What a dilemma. Contact or no contact? Did I get exposed? No one we love and who love us wants to deliberately harm us. But we can’t possibly know who’s quietly carrying the virus, nor whether we’ll be the ones who wind up with the life-threatening aspects of this disease. When will this pressure end? Not for a long time, apparently, when the public’s responses to the threat are so disparate. Then the guests used the toilet where the seat, unbeknownst to them had been hanging by a thread. When they left, I went in to the bathroom to sanitize and found the seat hopelessly broken. Groan. I ordered a new one that I could pick up without going into a store. I picked it up, went home and took everything apart.  The new one was the wrong size. The day just kept going. I got a huge painful splinter in the bottom of my foot and I couldn’t get part of it out. Later, another friend wrote me from the ER where her teenaged son was in some inexplicable digestive agony. He was released without having a Covid19 test which made me nuts. My youngest grandson swallowed Legos. I couldn’t wait for bedtime. Just one of those wake ups you’d rather forget.

Donald J. Trump

@realDonaldTrump

SCHOOLS MUST OPEN IN THE FALL!!!

1:40 PM · Jul 6, 2020

444.3K

158.7K people are

In Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden and many other countries, SCHOOLS ARE OPEN WITH NO PROBLEMS. The Dems think it would be bad for them politically if U.S. schools open before the November Election, but is important for the children & families. May cut off funding if not open!

The next day started with Trump’s  unhinged comments on opening U.S. schools in the fall, including the threat of cutting federal funding to them if they choose to put their students’ health ahead of his re-election objectives. This infuriating drivel in the midst of the accelerated rate of Covid19 infection in this country wasn’t what I needed after the previous day’s irritations. So I made my way out to my backyard and my tiny pool which is my current substitute for the swimming I so desperately miss right now. 

I slipped my headphones on, put my feet in the water and focused on relaxing. After a short time, I felt the familiar deep rumbling of that seismic shift I was talking about, the one associated with the deep grief I still feel over Michael’s death and the inconsolable sense of loneliness connected only with him. So the wailing burst from me in a series of mini-convulsions that are shocking in their physicality. I’ve learned that there’s nothing to do but let them complete their cycle until I’m left at the end, exhausted, with not much left inside. These don’t happen that frequently any more but I expect they’ll be my companions intermittently for the rest of my life. Big consuming love comes with the expense of its absence. I wouldn’t trade away any of it. My approach was always and remains, full speed ahead, embracing the euphoric and wonderful along with the gaping hole and the despair. Yes. Full speed ahead.

I was pretty spent but took a stroll around the garden where there’s always something to lighten the mood. I decided to try staying away from the news which is never an easy choice for me. One day off won’t hurt anything. I was going to focus on finding some laughter and lightness. Maybe the stars were aligned for me because when I went inside to seek a television line-up, often a wasteland for me, there were  some serendipitous options for a change. I mean, really, does Gladiator have to be playing every single night for seven straight days? Or Kevin Costner’s pathetic excuse for a Robin Hood film when everyone knows the Errol Flynn one from the 1930’s is the best?

I was lucky enough to find Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I’ve always found that movie really funny. This scene, filmed in my hometown of Chicago, never fails to make me smile. That was followed by the fabulous screwball comedy, Bringing Up Baby, starring Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. Good acting and great writing hold up over decades and I’m so glad I know how to yank myself out of a dark space using old reliable films. I finished my mental rehab with the Marx Brothers’ Night at the Opera. Sometimes slapstick works and sometimes it doesn’t, but ridiculous zingers and mad physical antics worked like a tonic for me. All in all, fairly easy ways to revive myself after a big slump. For the rest of the night, I cut myself some slack and just let my mind wander. I started thinking about the different television shows I watched when I was growing up.

There was Lassie, Fury, My Friend Flicka and Annie Oakley. I was always partial to animals and Westerns. I often have conversations with my daughter about how much tv time is too much time for kids these days. Maybe the level of sophisticated technology and the dynamic relationship between the person and the device is really different from how sitting in front of the tube was back in the day. But I certainly watched a lot of shows. And I didn’t get lazy or stupid. I read a lot of books, too. But I suspect there were people in my generation for whom that sedentary part of their lives had adverse effects.  Maybe the difference between now and then really isn’t that dramatic. Or maybe I just feel like being optimistic and naive for awhile. Truthfully, it’s a welcome relief to being grounded in today’s dystopian reality.

I realized that I’ve been so intent on the pandemic, its effect on the foreseeable future and the constraints I’m wrestling with, that I hadn’t gone out in several days to look up. The clouds and skies are always so interesting and soothing for me. So I got back with the program. I was glad I did. Later, when I discussed what I’d felt like on the lousy day with my daughter, I told her that fundamentally, I thought I’d been doing pretty well under the circumstances. Ever the nihilist, she told me she agreed that for a person who was living alone, in a seemingly endless lockdown, with perhaps this current Groundhog Day life being the way my old age  would end, I was doing fantastic. I have to say, her comment made me roar with laughter. I’ve risen from the depths again. As I said, full speed ahead. Maybe to nowhere, but whatever.

  Full Steam Ahead Sometimes things just have to blow, out of nowhere, for no reason in particular. Internal seismic shifts.