#the episode’s about religion and the solution is this long shot

[warlenys]

remember when this boy fucking levitated off the bed and they never fucking explained it. house was just like eh it was a magic trick but they never confirmed that. this shitting fucking show

[poohnotpiku]

Chapter5 : Pooh & Singh Jiju

Let us now talk about a sane person who has been sucked into an insane world i.e. Singh Jiju, DeeDee’s better (rather quite better) half!

I know Singh Jiju for more than 6years and I can tell you that in these 6years, I have not left any chance to pester him too (like I pester the entire world)…. (Inner Pooh : “I seriously feel sorry for him…how he handles this mad gang!! Hats-off to him!!)…

Me and Singh Jiju have had many friendly debates on general topics ranging from religion to politics to movies....and every single time, I have had to give-in coz Singh Jiju knows his stuff....whereas I play around with half-baked knowledge...LOL

Let us start with Singh Jiju’s eating habits. He has a very selective palette and he eats very slowly (Inner Pooh : “Tooooo slowwww”). Now, do I need to explicitly compare him with us? Anyways, let me try to give this a shot! So, we three (Pooh, DeeDee, Sonu) are Foodies….we can eat anything and everything….(as long as its vegetarian for me & DeeDee)…There have been incidents when Singh Jiju was appalled at seeing, what me & DeeDee were ‘devouring’!!! ROFL. We three are very ‘fast-eaters’…we don’t eat, we gobble up! In fact, me and Sonu had tracked this formula that our first helping of the dinner (yeahhhh we take multiple helpings when we eat together) completes exactly at 7minutes into an episode (of any series we were watching)….and our dinner is wrapped up somewhere between 15 to 18-minutes of an episode….Now when it comes to Singh Jiju, his food would not complete even after a one hour-long episode ends…I think he seriously loves his food :D

It was Singh Jiju who introduced us to Marvel-verse. It is because of him that we have now watched (Inner Pooh: “And you have forgotten too..!!”) all the Marvel movies. We are now such Marvel experts that we know that we are not to exit the cinema hall immediately after the movie ends….We keep standing and waiting for the ‘Post-Credits’….We do not even leave after that…We wait for the ‘Post Post-Credits’ ….LOL…

Now let us get into few more scenes where Singh Jiju is ‘tortured’ by Pooh….LOL…..

Scene#1

Singh Jiju is a geek when it comes to technology…he loves spending on expensive tech gadgets and then exploring all their features in details…for people like me this is eyes-rolling…I would rather book a ‘fixed-deposit’ than spending on stupid gadgets….for me as long as my mobile phone allows me to make calls, do WhatsApp, access Google search and Gmail, take some out-of-focus pics (that’s my another talent)…I am happy…I do not need it to do anymore!! Anyways, let me take you guys through this particular scene.

I enter DeeDee’s & Singh Jiju’s house, ask DeeDee for sanitizer (#pandemicphobia), liberally spray it all over my hand AND over my mobile phone. Singh Jiju is flabbergasted seeing this. I then roughly wipe the mobile with my kurta/top and throw the phone onto the bed/sofa (Singh Jiju’s heart is in his mouth by now!!!)

Singh Jiju (very ‘saintly’ and ‘faintly’ murmurs): “Di (aka elder sis), you guys are seriously not worthy of gadgets…now I understand why you do not want to spend more than Rs 15-20K on a mobile phone!!”

Me (like a naughty kid being caught): “I just very lightly sprayed the sanitizer and immediately wiped it off…”

Singh Jiju (nodding his head): …..

Inner Pooh: “Silly Lady!! Remember?? You spent Rs 5K on getting the screen repaired….the mobile phone guys said they found water inside the phone…. but poor guys had no idea it was sanitizer killing away Corona germs inside every damn circuit of your phone!!! I wish there was some solution to sanitize your stupid brain!!”

----Scene ends------

Scene#2

Singh Jiju started driving recently, 1-2 years back….and he is very possessive about his car…..Whenever I get into a car (not Uber, of course), I feel as if I am going on a long-drive!!! There have been many incidents with Pooh, DeeDee, Singh Jiju and ‘The Car’….I am just merging them all together to give you a summary….

DeeDee (pulling me aside): “You know Singh Ji has just started to drive…so he needs to concentrate on the road…so please please please shut your chatter-box and stay quiet in the car….”

Me, nodding my head, open the backdoor of the car, get inside and shut the car door….

DeeDee (turning back from her shotgun seat): “Can you not bang the door every time???”

Me (looking at her and back to the door and back to Singh Jiju in the driver’s seat): ………. (sorryyyyyy, ‘The Car’)

Few minutes into the journey, a loud smack on the car window….!!!

DeeDee (turning back from her shotgun seat): “What was that sound???”

Me: “There is a mosquito in the car…I am just trying to kill it…”

DeeDee: “Are you nuts?? Window would crack!!!”

Inner Pooh: “Just like her brain…..”

Me: “Seriously?? They should make these windows unbreakable….”

Singh Jiju (patiently): “Di, suppose there is an accident, if these windows are unbreakable, how would people break open the window and come out??”

Me: “Ohh…that’s a valid point Singh Jiju….”

Inner Pooh: “Lady, Your General-Knowledge is seriously general….”

Few more minutes pass….me fidgeting in the backseat…trying to shoo away the mosquito with my mobile phone….thinking this was supposed to be a long-drive…where is the music??....

Me: “Can we please turn on some music???”

Singh Jiju (carefully maneuvering the car through a crowded place): …………………

DeeDee (glaringly): “Just let him cross this place, will then play something…..for now, let him focus on the road….”

Me: ………………………………………………..

 ----Scene ends------

Scene#3

DeeDee and Singh Jiju enter our house…and even before they settle down….

Me: “Singh Jiju, some juice? Or Coffee?”

Singh Jiju (politely): “Not now Di, may be later…”

5 minutes later….

Me: “Should I order something to eat???”

Inner Pooh (rolling her eyes): “We know you are not going to cook….”

DeeDee: “Leave him be, he will ask when he wants to have something…why do you keep asking!!!”

Me: …….

Few hours later, after we all are done with food….

Me: “Singh Jiju, would you like to have some laddoo (India’s favourite sweet-dish)?”

DeeDee (from outside the room): “Please come here Madam….Laddoos? You have Laddoos at home?” (Dad being diabetic, me being fatso…we avoid keeping sweets at home….)

Me: ……

DeeDee: “Don’t tell me these are those 4-5 laddoos from the prasad, I Swiggy-ed you few days back…!!!”

Inner Pooh: “Smart DeeDee….I love her!!!!”

Me (gulping): “Yeahhh…they are not spoilt….I kept them in the refrigerator…”

DeeDee: “Are you insaneeeeee??? First, could you guys not finish them off in 4days??? Second, you are offering those stale laddoos to Singh Ji?????”

Me (doing complex calculation in my brain): “Arreee….I gave half to Dad and half to Maya on 2 days…had one half myself…2 or so are left…”

DeeDee (pissed-off all over again): …………………………………..

Singh Jiju, in the other room, was sure listening to all this hullabaloo going on outside….

Me (going back into the room): “Singh Jiju…may I order some ice-cream or pastries?”

Singh Jiju: “No Di, I am fine…I am too full after that double-egg chicken roll…”

Me: “Ohkk…may be some juice? Coffee?”

And the cycle continues………..

Same night, me Netflix-ing and eating the same laddoo..…’It isn’t bad….It is gooddd!! (Inner Poor : “We all know that you can eat anything and everything!!!!”)

----Scene ends------

So now you guys understand the pain and torture Singh Jiju has to suffer at our (ahem my) hands… LOL…

Jokes apart, he is awesome and his family is equally awesome….They may be DeeDee’s In-Laws officially, but they are like my own family….And yes, they also do suffer Pooh from time-to-time..…We will visit that chapter some other day…

Until then, Ciao!

P.S.: This is the last chapter on the main characters of the ‘Pooh Saga’….let’s wait and watch where Pooh (& Inner Pooh) travels next in this journey…<wink>….

[cogentranting]

Arrow 1x04 Rewatch

“You really did lose your mind on that Island”  “Found a couple things too”  “Like what archery classes?” “No. well. Yes. Technically. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” 

Two things:  1. Laurel said she heard about the shooting and came to check on Oliver. But she was with Tommy. Did Tommy not come check in to see if his best friend got shot?  2. She accuses him of being so self centered that he doesn’t think people will care if he’s okay or not and be worried about him. But that just.. doesn’t make sense as a line of reasoning. I feel like the more logical conclusion relates to the 5 years that she believes he spent in total isolation and often in life threatening danger. You know. Where he wouldn’t have had anyone worrying about him that he needed to check in with. 

Ok. So I know why Oliver isn’t thrown by the shooting. By why isn’t Thea more upset by it? 

Oliver’s voice changer this early is different than the voice he uses later and I can’t decide if that’s good because it sounds more like a regular voice so it’s less obvious that he’s disguising it or if it’s too close to his regular voice

“You were born with a platinum spoon in your mouth. What you spend five years on an island with no room service and suddenly you find religion?” I mean... yes? That’s a reasonable explanation even if the public story of just being marooned and isolated was true. A near death experience, watching your father and childhood friend/girlfriend/mistress (whatever you want to call Sara) and multiple other people die, then struggling to survive for 5 years in total isolation is enough to make most people reevaluate their life. 

“I thought you said your father died when the boat went down.”  “We both made it to a life raft but there wasn’t enough food and water for both of us, so he shot himself in the head.”  So the acting on these lines is really interesting. Oliver for most of his statement is very obviously not making eye contact; he’s turned sideways looking away, staring at the table, anywhere but at Diggle. Until he gets to final clause-- on “he shot himself” his eyes go up and meet Diggle’s and he just stares at him for the rest of what he says about his father shooting himself, and atoning for his sins, and his own mission. I think, if I’m remembering right, that this is the first time that Oliver has told someone about what really happened to his father (it’s possible that he told Sara or someone else in the flashbacks that I’m just not remembering but I don’t think he did). And I think more than anything else on the whole course of the show, with the possible exception of the time Chase spent torturing him, that memory is hard for Oliver to talk about. He does later get to where he can talk about it a little easier (because he tells the story somewhere between 3-5 different times after this point) but I think at this point he’s really struggling to force those words out. But. It’s also very calculated. So when he does it he forces himself to stare Diggle down. He wants Diggle to feel the impact of those words. Diggle at this point has some idea of how much Oliver was affected by the Island-- in episode 2 he spots the PTSD signs. But that comment I quoted before in the last section shows that he’s still not quite getting it. And Oliver wants him get the full force of ‘this changed me’. And Diggle does. You can see the shock on his face as he processes what Oliver’s saying. What that means. What that would be like to watch something like that. But as Oliver continues through the rest of his Crusade Sales Pitch, you can tell that he’s not really sure what to think still. He sees Oliver’s intensity, and hears what he’s saying about corruption and believes that, and knows that Oliver’s changed, but he’s not sure into what. And honestly, in that moment Oliver’s frightening. His assessment of the problem in the city is fair, and Diggle sees that. But Oliver’s solution is a lot of violence. In a way this episode is sort of Diggle deciding to make a deal with the devil. He believes in what Oliver’s accomplishing so he decides to go along with this dark violent man to hopefully rein him in a little bit.  It’s only later that Diggle will start to truly like and trust Oliver, when he starts to see more of who he really is (something I think he has some sense of at the moment but only vaguely). For now working with him is a sort of compromise. 

“I mean I’m not your girl. I wasn’t making a pass at you.... but I am the future wife of your stepson.” 

I’ve probably said it a dozen times but it is so funny for me that the first stretch of flashbacks keeps Oliver in long sleeves and a shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar to hide the fact that Stephen is ripped at a time when Oliver shouldn’t be. 

“I took your advice with Laurel to be myself. I chained a man to some train tracks for her. It’s going great.” 

Quentin to Laurel: “You lied to me, straight to my face. I thought you and I didn’t do that.” Ohhhh just wait, Quentin. Just wait. 

Remember Andy Jr? Diggle’s nephew who is seen once in season 1 and then never again? And is never even mentioned in the second half of the show. 

“You remember the friend that I mentioned? the one that believes in you? Well he said he’s going to violently coerce a confession!” 

Somehow I think Oliver is more recognizable in this balaclava than in the hood. Like to the point that I think Laurel should have recognized him. Especially after she pulls him off the guy and is looking right at him. 

I really do love that moment when Oliver hears Laurel talking to Quentin about the Hood and says “he’s a killer”. Especially in light of the Russia flashbacks and knowing what Oliver is trying to get away from in himself.

“Just to be clear, I’m not signing on to be a sidekick.” No dude. You’re taking the first step toward being the Green Lantern. Congrats. 

“But maybe this way, there will be fewer casualties. Including you.” Even now, Diggle knows enough about who Oliver is that he wants to protect him and to make sure that he doesn’t die. Or completely lose himself. 

“‘except you have no idea what war does to you. How it scrapes off little pieces of your soul.” This line kills me every time because Oliver knows SO well how it does that. “And you need someone to remind you of who you are, and not this thing you’re becoming.”  I take back what I said in my long bit earlier (or at least some of it) about Diggle not really seeing yet the good in Oliver, because he shows here that he does. He sees both the monster and the man in Oliver right now. (And remember, it’s only been a few months at MOST since Oliver was killing people in Russia). And Diggle knows already that there’s someone worth saving in Oliver. And Oliver actually looks really affected by what Diggle has to say. Maybe because it sounds really similar to the warning that Anatoly gave him not long ago. Maybe because it echoes his own fears about himself. He knows what he’s capable of, what he’s done, better than Diggle does. And he’s trying to convince himself that he’s atoning for his father, not himself, that he is a man who can be here and have relationships. And in a way Diggle is offering him exactly what he desperately wants. Someone to believe in his humanity and be an anchor for him. Someone to trust. 

I love the audacity of the shocked and angry response Oliver has to being arrested for the things that he very much did do. 

[shy-magpie]

RQG 157

these things get long and are by definition one spoiler after another, so live blog under the cut

pre episode nonsense:

My hopes for this episode are mostly just the obvious: For Zolf to pull out of his spiral; for Azu to talk to someone about how she's doing; for Hamid to find his footing with the Kobolds (loving that they are devoting a proper arc to using unearned privilege/power rather than pretending it doesn't exist); more Cel lore; a Wug; and for someone to shake answers out of the Brorb. Not sure Alex is going to let us get to know the kids individually which makes sense as juggling 7 new NPCs would seriously cut into everyone else's screen time. I think we will get more of Skraak & Hamid working through their issues, and Skraak's helping the kids through recovery. If we are very lucky maybe Zolf & Skraak will talk rather than just have Zolf resent the Kobolds for putting Hamid in a place to fall into old habits. Okay lets hit play!

Episode live blogging:

Intros are quick: Zolf sounds low, Ben sounds higher energy than he was.

Oh the Brorb drawings come better when the other half is distracted but not thinking about the real topic.

Krakens are through out the globe, unknown numbers, not true instances of Shoin, network is down.

Cel and I both react to having Shoin be the one to come closest to a truly non physical form.*

Krakens are cloned brains in robot bodies. Specifically said Daleks not Jurassic Park.

Shoin thinks he sent a ransom note using the Kraken as a threat against the world.

Does not handle it well when Zolf hones in on that no one knows who he is, much less trembles at his name.**

Hamid follows Zolf's lead and twists it towards boasting about beating the Infection. The talking half doesn't seem to know how he did it as clearly as the drawing bit. Unfortunately its strictly surgical which would be hard to reproduce at scale even before you consider the side effects.

Quick huddle with the rest of the team:

Cel always wanted to go to London?

Zolf wants to ask more about how the infection works so they could prevent infection. Wilde thinks he is suggesting using Shoin's solution, I get Alex has to catch people up but I don't like Wilde being a paragraph behind me or underestimating Zolf.

Bryn wants to review the diary. Alex confirms the diary says he had a possible  way to "end it" as a whole.

They go back and Cel feigns being extremely impressed that Shoin might have a way to stop the infection. I think having time to regroup cut him off from his memory of the infection again. Alex spells out Shoin loses coherence whenever they bring up the infection/the time period around when he was infected.

Heal check time. Zolf crit fails. Azu got a 29 and can see where his theory was better than his surgery. It may be an aphasia (issues to with communication. can't get to certain words, some can't be spoken even if he understands the concept; others he can't understand if he hears them even if he uses the word/concept himself. Brain trauma, memory problems more severe the more recent you get, sounds like unable to store short term memory properly so anything longer ago than a week but after surgery likely lost.)

Cel switches to the simulacrum. He verbally dismisses it as a waste of time. His hand keeps drawing based on the previous question re:stopping the infection.

Alex calls for a sense motive. Zolf & Azu see the latest drawing is a landscape using technical notation. Its a barren mine. Yes! it's the entrance to Svalbard. Cel can see its a circuit. Alex makes us/Lydia wait until after he's done with the simulacrum stuff.

Shoin thinks using humans as your base design to improve from is the wrong approach, gives some credit to Francois Henri for taking a different approach.

The circuit maybe to transmit something, it needs an organic component. Cel couldn't roll much better then that so they probably need to kick it towards the Harlequins to set a team on.

Shoin is moaning about paying the bills. Took on the contract to provide Simulacrum fluidics to Damascus for the money.

Drawings change shape get less technical and focus on the cavern entrance. Ben catches it sounds yonic, Alex was trying to not go there but did he really think you could go from cave imagery to seed imagry without stopping there?

Hamid tries to get more on how he caught the infection.

Bryn and Alex spell out that to get answers you ask a real question he won't answer verbally but will answer with his hand, with a decoy to keep the talking him distracted while the hand answers.

Decoy question is about Harrison Campell.

Concept drawing of a person, overwhelmed by an image of a huge figure with lines going from the small to the large? Is he suggesting they plant someone they prepare to be infected, and have them infect it back?

Proofs? Minor changes between the proofs and published version of early Campbell books.

Another review session upstairs. Hamid's red string wall got cited as being useful! Cult of Hades/Wellington may have been the one to hire Shoin to make parts for Damascus. Zolf and Hamid talk briefly, about work and as dry "stick to the subject" as possible but they are talking productively.

Oh Ben finally gets in that the interrogation is hard on Zolf's knees because he has to keep his legs out of the cell. He snaps a little at Cel when they comment on cell vs Cel. Carter suggests "naughty box" which nicely derails that point of tension. Cel refers to Shoin as being more pleasant to talk to than Carter. Not sure if that undermines the tiny Cel/Carter ship or fuels it with tension.

Cel asks who hired Shoin to make Sim parts. He can answer directly. Well directly for him, it seems to be mostly justifying stealing Tesla's work on the basis that Tesla wasn't going to implement his theory. Hamid snipes him with a shot praising Edison to get him back on topic. Shoin says Edison was being backed by a big investor. Is it to much to hope this is Alex finally consolidating the factions? If Hades is Edison's investor (leaving Edison & co as effectively their minions, rather than a faction of their own) and the factory owners we can cut down on sides considerably.

He goes on about how he spied on Henri, religion as money maker. Shoin was directly approached by Hades lot. Shoin made sure his bits won't work since he didn't want competition. Wellington was his contact with Hades. Wellington always had a pair of cloaked figures.  Vinegar + squizard = funny? Could be useful.

Do not follow what is going on with the hand.

Shoin is still unstuck in time and thinks he is going to connect them. Cel unplugs the speaker on his villain speech. Cel induces a dream state by powering him down

~break~

Cel suggests  painlessly killing him. Zolf seconds the idea because its immoral to keep him like that.   Hamid points out the longer the keep him around the more likely it is for someone to be infected. Wilde rules they should kill and seal it off.

Cel & Zolf have an argument about having the Kobolds handle the remains. Cel calls Zolf out on his inconstant stance on whether the Kobolds can be infected because if he doesn't believe that then he is risking them.

Wilde is moving on? Cel suggests letting the Brorb die, putting it in a bag of holding, keeping the bag in the anti magic field.

They can't just call Einstein because using unofficial channels is bad when irregular behavior is a sign of infection(?)

Alex's unhealthy attitudes about productivity are called out when he refers to the time Wilde spends thinking/planning before getting their transport arranged as "working" (with the inverted commas) rather than considering it part of the work.

They work out possible paths if teleporting is off the table.

And the boys are snapping at each other again. Zolf, you can't flip out every time you are reminded that Hamid doesn't have the experience or expertise of a seasoned sailor. Yeah you did leave the team without your skills and maybe the kid was a bit green for a field promotion; but you know what? He did a fine job, and the other choices were Sasha, who wouldn't lead, and Bertie, who shouldn't. Just because stepping down was the right thing to do, doesn't mean you get to lose it when you are confronted with the mere allusion to the idea it had consequences.

Barnes tells Hamid why going over the pole is a really bad idea. That Azu's suggestion is carrying Hamid has troubling symbolism.

Zolf actually comes more or less to Hamid's defense by pointing out that all their options are bad options, so having a go at Hamid's idea in particular is unwarranted.

I'm not going to bother listing out options. They will pick one or won't need to pick one. If we have been a very good fandom Alex may reward us with Earhart coming back as their preferred transport.

There we go, Hamid suggests her, Zolf seizes on the idea compliments Hamid on it, and immediately takes it to Wilde. Thank God he isn't so far down he can't do that. If he isn't compulsively shooting down any hope (especially from Hamid) then he really is on the upswing from the low brought on by quarantine stress.

Lydia isn't happy that there isn't going to be an American chapter. Then again we wrote off Svalbard, so don't give up!

Its the Northwest Passage and its so weird realizing that not everyone has it as a cultural reference. Wonder if it's an Oregon thing or a US thing.

Yes it would have been cool, but I think Alex is not going to let us have cool new story arcs when we haven't played with the ones we have at home.

Einstein and Earhart are our two best transport options. I am a happy fan. Especially if Zolf has to use his family and Earhart’s reaching out to him near the end of the journey to appeal to her. I mean we did get more on Zolf's relationship with his family than I expected after Paris, so I'm not going to sulk if they don't pursue this, but it would be nice.

Conflicted as a fan, its hard to remember that this taking months extra is a bad thing when the end of the series is feeling too close for comfort.

Zolf, look at you leveraging your experience with moving even when things feel hopeless!

Cel I love you, kraken as submarine is brilliant. Air kraken is suggested by Carter.

Hamid plays with the ideas while Alex goes "why?". Because you are going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that if you want Hamid to see it as a no win situation rather than proof he needs to redouble on cheerful creativity. Feeling like he had no options led to the worst parts of Hamid's life, the things he is truly ashamed of; having few losses outside of those, he is going to make Kirk's Kobayashi Maru hang ups look amateur.

Zolf is heading to the beach.

Cel is checking on their village.

Hamid wants to contact Einstein himself, Zolf says he should talk to Wilde about that. Hamid wants Zolf with him for that meeting. Zolf either doesn't want to be a safety blanket, wants Hamid to get used to dealing with Wilde directly, or completely missed Hamid offering a chance to work together because he is incapable of seeing Wilde as an opponent. He does say some nice things about being a team.

Hamid tells Cel to say hi to Jasper for them. He is good at the people side of leadership. Remembering names and relationships, knowing how to show he cares because it's important to Cel without overstepping. If Zolf can learn to let go of the rank stuff, they could be an unbeatable team of co leaders.

Zolf nods at Azu. Azu smiles proudly back. Alex jokes about not liking giving them time to heal because they coordinate.

Hamid offers hugs to both Cel and Zolf. Because this entire character is a "fuck you" to toxic masculinity and he is not afraid to openly show affection to his friends.

Cel gives him a great hug.

Zolf hesitates but gives him a pat on the shoulder. Hamid's has high enough charisma to make that not awkward. Good kid, accepting that Zolf is reaching out as far as he can.

Hamid talks to Skraak. Hamid is worried about taking the kids. Maybe Skraak can convince them to stay & help Jasper with science. Because RQG loves us and wants us to be happy, they are considering a fantasy some of us harbored since "science" as a serious possibility. Could solve the issue with Alex not wanting the kids to take up too much screen time too. Skraak is the perfect character for Hamid to have as his second. He believes in Hamid, and can be confided in, but isn't going to take an ounce of self pity or bullshit.

Alex that village better be okay. Smoke? Controlled burn. Ben lightens the mood. The tank is still guarding the village. The barricade is up but they are guarding about as well as a village of level 0(1?) characters can be expected to.

They are having a party and there is a bon fire. Because Alex knows we wouldn't have trusted him if there wasn't a little scare with the smoke. !puns

The village is visibly healing since the weather is fixed. They thank Cel but know better than to ask.

Jasper! Jasper is looking good. He stepped in as a leader of the village. Cel and I could burst with pride. Jasper thinks Cel is coming to stay, Cel tries to explain they are going to help save the other villages around the world and mentions that Jasper would like the Kobolds.

!puns

* One day I need to hunt down the right corner of SF because there has got to be a decent amount of trans humanist fiction for trans humans out there somewhere.

**Not sure if I should feel bad for hoping this gives him a safe target for his destructive tendencies. Ideally Zolf would get past that point without indulging his dark side lest he reinforce bad coping mechanisms. Ideally Zolf would have weekly therapy without the fate of the world on his shoulders too. Its the more personal version of looking forward to a fight after Hamid's been stressed because he seems to find cooking baddies cathartic.

[catilinas]

a squalloscope song for every episode of the terror (2018)

(inspired by @dedraconesilet's post which was in turn inspired by this post!) 

or: @endofvanity and i spent way too long making ourselves sad in order to make what is Definitely Not just an attempt to get more people to listen to squalloscope, ideally while thinking about the terror

1. go for broke - nocturnal “is it too much to ask to stop all the clocks / for the wicker basket or the pine box? / any room of the house can be your cenotaph. / i'll send you departure through a polygraph”

2. gore - big houses “we follow our own steps while our shadows keep watching us. / the wrong steps would be not to start this exodus”

3. the ladder - A.A.A. “i’d like to multiply horizons from battlefields to the stage. / who will we be the next time we meet? / with our cracked cuticles and our sharp teeth? / all things hidden in the mouth of the wolverine”

4. punished, as a boy - rifle scissor stone “hate to say i told you so said the scissor to the stone / when you’re finished with me i’ll be sharper than i’ve ever been before”

5. first shot a winner, lads - relaxation contest “this love is a jar of medicine / sometimes it ain't good for anything. / got friends my age who live in graves / got brains that often misbehave / got milk in all my fever dreams / and i’m bursting, bursting at the seams”

6. a mercy - open water reckless fishes “and i watch you as you want your god to watch over you / but you’d like to choose what he’s allowed to see / you remove your sign of religion / he may see you drink but he shouldn’t see me”

7. horrible from supper - hate cake “i can give you a problem if you need one / and a solution, it's easy. / you need to sacrifice something, baby. come on, eat your hate cake, / gobble up the whole plate, happy birthday”

8. terror camp clear - mistakeism “I got here wearing a coat made from other people's fingers / I'll exit wearing nothing but my own soft shell”

9. the c, the c, the open c - all caps “i never saw so many stars at night when i still lived on earth / nobody down there tells you being lost out here's got its perks / sat by the side of the road to take a breath / told you sometimes i dream that your ribcage caves in on your heart”

10. we are gone - desert pacific octopi “and my lips are sewn shut and my hips are boulders / for ships that won’t come to crash on my bones / i run to where the stray dogs won’t find me / where the broadcast breaks off / where the darkness and the ocean align”

(And Then Some Notes:)

go for broke was almost dust: “bring me a soft invasion / i’ll provide the sea and the ships [...] bring me my packed suitcase and all our favorite words / bring me my library, our books of fishes and birds”

wrt lyrics choice for gore: “the cairn scene...when goodsir calls out to him...that’s EXACTLY this line”

“FOUR IS THE MOST DIFFICULT CAUSE ITS THE MOST SACRIFICIAL”

when you listen to relaxation contest you are legally required to think abt blanky and crozier

“episode 7 is full of HERE HAVE SOME MEN WHO DIED AS A SACRIFICE (farlhorne, morfin...)”

the lyric from mistakeism is fun bcs it’s simultaneously fitzjames and hickey...... dare i say mimetic! at this point we decided that if jfj was a squalloscope song he would be knot two

mistakeism also contains the lyric “i’m thinking next year in the presidential election / maybe i can vote for the mighty rat king”

the c, the c, the open c was almost crying swimmers: “and I hold on, i curl up where i belong / i belong wherever you are, i'm hungry, i'm wrong / we sleep with interwoven limbs, limbs and knots in hankerchiefs / i’m sorry i cannot leave”

ultimately though it was all caps bcs of the line “come on, abyss, take this wedding ring”

when you listen to desert pacific octopi you are legally required to be sad about crozier and james clark ross

[paperwick]

This is my not spoiler free take on Picard.

This is a mess of a post, but I’m still trying to work through my thoughts. If I was still in college, I would watch the series one more time and write an essay, but we’ll have to settle for this stream of consciousness under the cut. (My apologies to mobile users). 

The main theme of Picard is about ‘killing for a cause’. It tries to explore this through several character’s arcs: primarily Soji, Sutra, Agnes Jirati, Seven of Nine, Rizzo, and Oh. (I don’t include Elnor because, though he kills for a cause, there’s no character development for him in this respect.)

There’s loosely a theme of “Should I kill to prevent more death/disaster?” vs “Should I kill so I might not be killed?”. 

I’m mostly gonna leave out Seven because her development on this is really non-existent, but the writers use her as a positive example of “killing to prevent more death/disaster” as a foil to Rizzo, Oh, and Agnes. I honestly feel this comparison is falsely equivalent, because Seven wasn’t wiping out an entire race or murdering an innocent man when she killed two very guilty murders. Is it right to kill murderers? Who knows, the show doesn’t REALLY touch on it so neither will we.

Here’s the scene: a faction of organics (Rizzo, Oh, Agnes) believe that synthetic life spells doom for all organic life and are seeking to destroy them. In response to total annihilation, the synthetics (Soji, Sutra) are willing to annihilate all of organic life to permanently remove the threat. Picard insists both are wrong and that there is always a more peaceful solution. 

It’s all pretty black and white, with very few grey areas of opinion. 

It drives me nuts because there’s so much ROOM in this to open up the conversation about the role of violence in independence and in survival. How far do you pursue peaceful solutions before it gives way to violence? What are the consequences of being peaceful too long? Is it ethical to use excessive force if it’s the only means to survive?

But they break it down into harshly black and white scenarios. “All life must die so that we might survive.” “If we fight back at all, we lose our humanity.” There’s no subtly, no real moral exploration. 

There’s room in the show to explore how killing might effect how events unfold. But every time it happens, it’s the dead-end of that storyline. Maddox had already told them all they needed to know, what further damage could he even do when Agnes killed him? Bjayzl was no longer a threat to them. Rizzo was no longer a pusher in the story, they’d both fulfilled her plot-purpose when Seven killed them. 

There’s room to explore how similar synthetic life is to organic life, in their humanity and morality, and lack there-of at times, in their will and desperation to survive. But we constantly come back to androids not being “real”. It’s always about their function, never really their humanity. The writing from all angles, throughout the season, is that synthetic life is somehow less real. Nonequivalent. And we never really touch on that either, it’s wildly frustrating.

So we have Sutra, who is willing to destroy all organic life to save her and her family, representing a hard extreme. Oh wants to destroy all synthetic life to protect organic life, representing the other extreme. And Picard is firmly in the middle, saying we can all live in peace and harmony. 

And that’s the end of the conversation. 

There’s a moment where Soji tells Picard that he can’t be the voice of synthetic life, and that was a great moment. The androids can take up their own cause instead of relying on a third party for protection.

But then the writers turn around and have Picard be that voice anyway, against their will, to prove that the peaceful solution is the better solution. And he has to because there’s no grey area in these moments. It’s “choose to kill literally everyone in the galaxy or choose to kill no one”. Where’s the “choose to fight the people who actively want us dead” part of the conversation?

In response to “how can the marginalized defend and empower themselves”, we’re told “make friends with less marginalized people.” But they aren’t even the operative force in that solution. It’s Picard alone. They don’t get to add their voices to the mix. It was all out of their hands to begin with. Starfleet walks in all deus ex machina because one man asks them to show up. 

When Agnes killed Maddox, their point was that she was doing it to save organic life. We never explore why she thinks it was the right thing to do. What was she afraid of him doing? He was already dying, his death was unnecessary, all we’re given is that she was haunted by the vision Oh thrust upon her. And then we spend the rest of the season redeeming her because she “felt bad about killing him” and was “out of her mind” when she did it. SURELY she had a reason for doing it at the time? Even a really bad one? Was she worried he’d created another synthetic lifeform? Was she worried he might be integral to helping the androids fight back? Fuck if I know, we never really touch on it. 

The most blow back Agnes gets from literal murder is a slap on the wrist from Picard and Dr. Soong. She was supposed to turn herself in, but that didn’t happen in the end. We pleasantly forget she killed a helpless man because she and the pilot are in love, and “she knows she was wrong”. 

As it stands, it was just an excuse to inject needless drama into the show. But there is a real and current need for us to talk about people ‘killing for a cause’. 

We see it in our own lives on the news and in our daily lives, and it’s a mind-fuck. 

How governments “root out terrorists” and kill innocent civilians in the process. They say “it saved more lives than we took”. Did it? There’s a conversation to be had there, and a necessary one if we want to continue to look ourselves in the eyes. 

When a foreign country arranges for another’s leading revolutionary to be assassinated, do they have the right to do that? No, but they seem to think so and encourage their population to believe so. There’s a conversation to be had there. 

When the government (Oh) instructs their citizens (Agnes) that this other peoples is dangerous and will be the death of them, and gently encourages their citizens to harass that other party, the citizens will take the law into their own hands. It’s wrong, but many people seem to think it’s appropriate. Whether it’s race, religion, nationality, populations are constantly being guided towards believing other peoples are a threat to themselves. And there’s a conversation to be had there. A dire one. 

Instead of developing a commentary about this senseless act of murder, the show focuses on redeeming Agnes’ character. She was “crazy” at the time, her mind filled with “poison” from Oh. Which in a way is true, people become brainwashed by those in authority and act horribly, but she never faces the consequences of her actions. She ultimately suffers no consequences for murdering a man. And she does very little to truly redeem herself. She saves Picard to save the androids. Everyone seems to go, “oh no, she spilled the milk” and gently clean it up for her. 

Do I want her burned at the stake? Not really, she did help them in the end, she did seem to have growth, but to get away scot-free is just an insult to the crime she committed. Maddox was denied justice. I think there could have been a real conversation about people coming back from getting “red-pilled”, but it’s hard to walk back on murder. 

Overall there was a frustrating lack of real commentary. The deeper conversation here might’ve been “How can we navigate and defend ourselves in a world where others seek to undermine and destroy us?” and “Does the government have the right to dictate who should live or die?”. The first one is the harder question but so necessary, with so much room to empower people. The second is very straight forward, but one that a lot of people are struggling with right now because of a warped perspective promoted by their government (at least in America). 

What we got was “total annihilation of any group is bad” and OF COURSE IT IS. I know we’re having an issue with people believing that again, but even so, the show did not really deliver that message super well either. The final note on it was “there’s a ‘peaceful’ solution to total annihilation, but really only if you have a defensive force equal to that trying to destroy you”. The androids didn’t have any real say in their defense other than “we decided not to kill everyone.” 

UGH, I could go on, but the message of the series is so muddled. I keep coming back around to how poor the writing is. How punchy and action-packed it wasted its time being, instead of really working through the core problems. Instead of making a strong statement. 

Star Trek to me is about challenging how you think/feel. It’s about opening our minds and encouraging us to be better than what we are. It hasn’t always hit the mark, there are dozens and dozens of episodes where they shoot themselves in the foot they were so off the mark, but the spirit of it is to challenge your given perceptions. Especially relevant to the time it’s being made. 

Give us more LGBT relationships other than 1 second of on-screen handholding in the final shot, and maybe write something that actually shakes people’s hearts and challenges what the general population takes for granted. 

[arcticdementor]

Well, it’s about to happen all over again. I’ve been wondering how soon a certain marriage of convenience in contemporary cultural politics would come messily apart, and now we’ve seen one of the typical warning signs of that impending breach. Those of my readers who are concerned about environmental issues—actually concerned, that is, and not simply using the environment as a convenient opportunity for class-conscious virtue signaling—may want to brace themselves for a shock.

The sign I have in mind is a recent flurry of articles in the leftward end of the mainstream media decrying the dangers of ecofascism. Ecofascism? That’s the term used for, and also generally by, that tiny subset of our society’s fascist fringe which likes to combine environmental concerns with the racial bigotries and authoritarian political daydreams more standard on that end of modern extremism. If you’ve never heard of it before, there’s good reason for that, but a significant section of the mainstream media seems to have taken quite an interest in making sure that you hear about it now.

…

The first thing I’d like to point out to my readers here is that, as already noted, ecofascism is a fringe of a fringe. In terms of numbers and cultural influence, it ranks well below the Flat Earth Society or the people who believe in all sincerity that Elvis Presley is a god. It’s one of those minute and self-marginalizing sub-sub-subcultures that a certain number of people find or make in order to act out their antinomian fantasies in comfortable obscurity, and enjoy the modest joys of being the biggest paramecium in a very, very small pond. It’s fair to say, in fact, that the chance that ecofascism will become a significant political or cultural force in your lifetime, dear reader, is right up there with the chance that the United Church of Bacon will become a major world religion.

So why is this submicroscopic fringe ideology suddenly on the receiving end of so many faux-worried essays in important liberal newspapers and magazines, and in the corresponding end of social media and the public blogosphere?  The reason, I’d argue, has to do with something else that’s been finally receiving its own share of media attention.

…

That is to say, counting up all its direct and indirect energy costs, this one conference had a carbon footprint rivaling the annual output of some Third World countries—and you guessed it, the point of the conference was to talk about the menace of anthropogenic climate change.

…

At this point, in fact, one of the current heartthrobs of climate change activism, Swedish teenager Greta Thunberg, refuses to fly anywhere because of commercial air travel’s gargantuan carbon footprint. Sensibly enough, she travels through Europe by train, and her rich friends have lent her a sailboat to take her across the Atlantic for her upcoming North American tour. This would be bad enough if Thunberg was an ordinary citizen trying to raise awareness of anthropogenic climate change, but she’s not—she’s the darling of the Davos set, a child of privilege who’s managed to parlay the normal adolescent craving for attention into a sizable cultural presence.  Every time she takes the train, she adds to the number of people who look at the attendees at the Sicily conference mentioned above and say, “So what about your carbon footprint?”

That, in turn, is fatal to climate change activism as currently constituted. For years now, since that brief period when I was a very minor star in the peak oil movement, I’ve noted a curious dynamic in the climate change-centered end of environmentalism. Almost always, the people I met at peak oil events who were concerned about peak oil and the fate of industrial society more generally, rather than climate change or such other mediacentric causes as the plight of large cute animals, were ready and willing to make extensive changes in their own lives, in addition to whatever political activism they might engage in. Almost always, the people I met who were exclusively concerned with anthropogenic climate change were not.

…

To some extent this is common or garden variety hypocrisy, heavily larded with the odd conviction—on loan from the less honest end of liberal Christianity—that if you feel really bad about your sins, God will ignore the fact that you keep on committing them. Still, there’s more to it than that. Some of what else is going on came to the surface a few years ago in Washington State when a group of environmental activists launched an initiative that would have slapped a fee on carbon. As such things go, it was a well-designed initiative, and one of the best things about it was that it was revenue-neutral:  that is, the money taken in by the carbon fee flowed right back out through direct payments to citizens, so that rising energy prices due to the carbon fee wouldn’t clobber the economy or hurt the poor.

That, in turn, made it unacceptable to the Democratic Party in Washington State, and they refused to back the initiative, dooming it to defeat. Shortly thereafter they floated their own carbon fee initiative, which was anything but revenue neutral.  Rather, it was set up to funnel all the money from the carbon fee into a slush fund managed by a board the public wouldn’t get to elect, which would hand out the funds to support an assortment of social justice causes that were also helpfully sheltered from public oversight. Unsurprisingly, the second initiative also lost heavily—few Washington State voters were willing to trust their breathtakingly corrupt political establishment with yet another massive source of graft at public expense.

…

If you haven’t heard of these followup studies, dear reader, there’s good reason for that. They argued unconvincingly that everything would be just fine if only the nations of the world handed over control of the global economy to an unelected cadre of experts, under whom the institutions of democratic governance would be turned into powerless debating societies while the decisions that mattered would be made by corporate-bureaucratic committees conveniently sheltered from public oversight. (If this seems familiar to those of my readers who endure EU rule just now, there’s a reason for that:  the state of affairs just described has been the wet dream of Europe’s privileged classes and their tame intellectuals for quite a few decades now.)  That’s the usually unmentioned reason why The Limits to Growth fielded the savage resistance it did:  a good many people in 1972 recognized it as a stalking horse for a political agenda.

…

In the same way, the mere fact that certain people are trying to use climate change as a stalking horse for unrelated political agendas doesn’t mean that it’s a good idea to dump trillions of tons of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere, or that doing so won’t cause epic disruptions to an already unstable global climate. Mind you, anthropogenic climate change isn’t the end of the world, not by a long shot; the Earth has been through sudden temperature shifts many times before in its long history, some of them due to large-scale releases of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere—that’s one of the things really massive volcanic episodes can do, for example.

Attempts to dress up climate change in the borrowed finery of the Book of Revelations—sinners in the hands of an angry Gaia!—have more to do with our culture’s apocalyptic obsessions, and with the desires of ambitious people to scare others into signing on to their agenda, than with the realities of anthropogenic climate change. That said, we can expect a good solid helping of coastal flooding, weather-related disasters, crop failures, and other entertainments, which will take an increasingly severe economic toll as the years go on, and help drive the declines in population and economic output mentioned a few paragraphs back. Yes, this is one of the things The Limits to Growth was talking about when it predicted the long slow arc of decline ahead of us.

The problem faced by the people who have been pushing climate change activism is that their political enemies have found a very effective way to counter them:  they can point out that the people who babble by the hour about the apocalyptic future we face due to anthropogenic climate change don’t take their own claims seriously enough to walk their talk. Thus the attendees at the environmental conference on Sicily mentioned earlier can no longer count on having their planet and eating it too—or, more to the point, they can’t count on doing so while still convincing anyone that they ought to be taken seriously. This is hard on certain delicate egos, and it also makes it hard to keep pursuing the agenda mentioned above while continuing to lead absurdly extravagant lifestyles propped up by stunning levels of energy and resource waste.

There’s a simple solution to that difficulty, though:  the celebrities, their pet intellectuals, and the interests behind them can drop environmentalism like a hot rock.

That’s what happened, after all, in the early 1980s. Environmentalism up until that point had a huge cultural presence, supported by government-funded advertising campaigns—some of my readers, certainly, are old enough to recall Woodsy Owl and his iconic slogan, “Give a hoot, don’t pollute!”—and also supported by a galaxy of celebrities who mouthed pious sentiments about nature. Then, bam!  Ronald Reagan was in, Woodsy Owl was out, John-Boy Walton and John Denver gave way to Gordon “Greed is Good” Gekko and “material girl” Madonna, and the Sierra Club and the Friends of the Earth had corporate executives on their boards of directors, and did everything they could think of to deep-six the effective organizing tactics that got the Clean Air Act, the Clean Water Act, the Endangered Species Act, and a galaxy of other environmental reforms enacted into law.

…

I think we’re about to see the same thing happen to climate change activism, and one of the symptoms of the approaching swerve is the sudden flurry of mass media publicity being given right now to the tiny fringe phenomenon of ecofascism. Over the months ahead, I expect to see many more stories along the same lines all over the leftward end of the media and its associated blogosphere, insisting in increasingly shrill terms that anyone who pays too much attention to the environment—and in particular, anyone who expects celebrity climate change activists to modify their lifestyles to match their loudly proclaimed ideals—is probably an ecofascist. In fact, I would be very surprised if we don’t see a series of earnest articles in the media claiming that believing in ecological limits is racist; such claims are already being made in the blogosphere, and their adoption by the mainstream left is, I suspect, merely a matter of time.

[sadisticscribbler]

Why Suicide?

Why do people kill themselves? I’m not talking about those who attempt suicide for attention, nor do I mean to belittle them, but what of the many more who chose to end their lives?

I am not asking some philosophical question here, but am talking from personal experience. You see, I have just found myself about to take my own life, and would have if I wasn’t disturbed just at the point of no return by a mundane phone call. Maybe because of my autism, but I had to answer the ringing phone which subsequently took me out of what I was about to do.

As a result I was left in some sort of limbo in which my body took me back home, and here I now sit talking to myself via this blog post. So how did I get there, and why do so many people find themselves where I did?

There is no simple reason… or rather there is no single event that in itself triggers suicidal ideation. Contrary to popular belief, suicidal thoughts aren’t caused by moments of depression that need to be “got through”, it is a more serious state of being. Let me explain: I was born suicidal.

As shocking and unbelievable as this might sound, it is true. I first attempted suicide before I was aged three (I drank bleach) which was not recognised for what it was… a genuine attempt to kill myself. I subsequently tried two more times in as many months, but survived them all. But what could have happened, you might be asking yourself, to make me want to kill myself? In a word: Nothing. Or in another: Everything.

For some context, I was born autistic; and I also had a very high IQ. Together, these factors, and the world in which I found myself, made this world intolerable. And it still is nearly sixty years later. The reason I have survived thus far is not because I have found some way to navigate this world, but in spite of it. No matter what experiences I have, it all comes to the same conclusion that I shouldn’t be living in this world. So why am I? For several reasons: external interference (such as my parents as a child), my Catholic faith, but more importantly my constantly trying to deny the inevitable. So what has happened now that these mechanisms are no longer sufficient to stop me doing the only thing available?

Until a few years ago I had responsibilities and family: both extended and my own wife and kids. Then I became chronically ill and unable to work. My parents and brother died and my family fell apart. And then my (now ex-)wife decided I was no longer useful to her and took everyone and everything away from me. I was left disabled and with nothing to my name. I had nothing and no-one… except for one very important friend who stuck by me. Last year she killed herself.

Like myself she was autistic and very intelligent. We talked endlessly about her decision to kill herself but I was unable to give her a convincing reason not to. This is because everything she said had been correct, and I could offer her (nor myself) any reason not to die. Unlike me she was an atheist and so the threat of eternal torment was not enough to deter her (as it had been doing for me). So I was unable to satisfactorily answer the question: What is the point of continuing to live? And my being unable to save her affirmed her conclusion in that, in my case, if I can’t save the life of my only true friend, then what is the point of my being around?

Before continuing with my journey, allow me to add her words herein as they show not just how I feel but how I and others, I suspect, see the world and why we can’t live in it. This is her final statement:

If you’re reading this, chances are my attempt to leave the world has been successful. If you happen to be religious, please pray for me to be treated compassionately in my next life, as I will be praying beforehand for this as well, as a relatively quick and painless death, despite my lack of religion.

Many people say suicide is selfish. To those, I would want to ask: is it not also selfish to expect someone to live, when existing seems to them intolerable?

None of us ask to be born, but we can decide when to die and in my eyes that right is fundamental; a human right, just like any other.

People stigmatise death, especially voluntary death, because to them it seems the most terrible thing they can imagine. To that, I say, what is so bad about death? The universe is so very old and will continue to exist long into the future, perhaps indefinitely. So why does it make a difference if someone dies at 20 or at 80, provided their life was not taken against their will?

As an autistic, I long for a world where autistic people can exist happily, but I’m not sure this can ever happen. I have pretty much given up on the world at this point. It’s not designed for people like me.

So who am I in this world? An autistic, chronically depressed, jobless, homeless in effect waste of space who was born into a female body but probably isn’t. Born to a teenage single mother, raised by a grandmother who is now dead and fated to a life where anything I attach to will be my undoing.

Dying isn’t something alien to me. I first began to think about suicide around the age of 7. As a child, I was intelligent and had a seemingly bright future, but that rarely translates into the adult world.

The only thing I really regret is losing the two people closest to me. Mostly, however, I am sad about losing hope, for it is only hope that keeps us going.

I’m also tired. To quote The Green Mile, “I’m tired of people being ugly to each other. I’m tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There’s too much of it. It’s like pieces of glass in my head all the time.”

Like my friend I am autistic, suffer from chronic depression with episodes of clinical depression, jobless, and as illustrated above: “a waste of space”. I also have a catalogue of degenerative diseases. So what is there left to hope for?

“Oh it’s the depression talking, and that can be managed” you may be thinking. Sadly no… and not just just due to the mental health teams (who spectacularly failed in my friend’s instance). Depression is not an aberration of thought that can be corrected with a shot of serotonin. Rather it is the cold hard truth of reality that serotonin (naturally produced or chemically induced) obfuscates. This is why it is nigh impossible to help someone resist suicide. And I speak from experience of trying to help others, as well as trying to convince myself. In the end, the only argument against ending one’s life is the I “haven’t done it yet, because I’ve managed to knowingly delude myself”.

But what of speaking therapies… can these help? I would say no. This is because that people like I already see the reality of a hostile world, that no matter how hard we try to improve our lot in life, the full horror of it is a mere hair away. Distraction is no solution. So speaking with a therapist can only succeed if he/she can ‘enlighten’ the person to the ‘knowledge’ that life isn’t all that bad… or that it won’t always be that bad. But what if you’re smart enough, or have experienced enough, to see that what the therapist has said does not change the reality that there is no reason to go on, and that continuing to suffer now is worth the remote possibility that a less terrible time might momentarily punctuate the pain.

But it cannot work… there can be no going back: Once a child realises Santa doesn’t exist, there is no way to recapture nor replace what it meant to believe it. And so, once we have seen the world for what it is, there can be no way back. All that is left is how long we can distract ourselves, and finding a reason to so. Sooner or later one or both of these management techniques will fail. And it might take only the slightest of not-so-bad problems to break it all apart. And this is where I find myself.

I cannot promise that what almost happened tonight to me might not happen again, but for now I am still here writing this post in the hope that someone somewhere might be able to find a way to keep going that I, and my late friend, cannot. So, what was my ‘straw that broke the camel’s back’? I have been trying to cope with losing the only, and most dearest friend on whom I leant very much, and whom I loved very deeply; as well as developing cancer to add to my list of debilitating and very painful medical conditions. The Catholic church has become victim to corruption and evil, including in the office of the Pope. So I truly am alone. The loneliness is immense and the daylight short. I am barely managing to live on my benefits, and it is not easy. And then I receive today notification that my benefits have stopped. So soon I shall be unable to feed myself nor have shelter. So is there any reason not to kill myself? I thought not.

I won’t be out on the street tomorrow, but the time is rapidly approaching. This would be the end of the line for me, so as my friend said, we may be unable to fit into this world, “but we can decide when to die and in my eyes that right is fundamental; a human right, just like any other.“

[seniorblog]

A Listening Sports

A ray of light pierced through the curtains and greeted a less than excited Kit to the start of a new day. Although that day wasn’t just any day; it was his first debut on the national stage. “I knew it. I shouldn’t have watched another episode,” Kit mumbled as he rushed downstairs, getting dressed for the day. Opening his laptop and frantically logging onto the meeting, doubt and excitement flooded this young man’s senses. From a young age, he’s always been passionate about understanding the world around him. He craved for someone to talk to and explore these worlds with him until one day, he discovered debating - a competition where people take turns and argue about different ideas ranging from religion, sports, international relations, economics, philosophy, etc. It was the perfect place for him to develop his passions, but getting in wasn’t so easy. It took him many attempts to finally get into a debate organization, and he almost gave up on debating, diverting his attention to his other responsibilities in life. Until in his eleventh grade, he chose to give it another shot, and to his surprise, he finally got accepted. Today, he’s given the honor to represent his university in the most prestigious tournament in the country, The Philippine Debate Championship.

“Every battle is won before it's ever fought.”, Sun Tzu. Eyes darting across the screen, Kit dragged his cursor over the big green button and checked in with a sigh of relief. He notified his partner that he was already in the meeting, ready for the announcements. “Matchups and motions will be released in two minutes,” right on time, a voice interrupted the silence of the digital room. Anxious and sleep-deprived, Kit organized the files and documents needed for today’s round. In debate, the game begins long before you stand on the podium. Motions are declared on the spot, only giving debaters a limited amount of time to prepare their speeches. Debaters have to research and be well versed in recent events and historical events so they’re ready for any topic the tournament may throw at them. “For today’s first round, the motion reads..” exclaims the announcer, instantly stealing the attention of these competitive minds. The timer starts marking the beginning of a heated debate.

The clacking of keys filled the room as the boy’s focus was consumed by the lines of text that flooded his screen. The silence would only be interrupted momentarily by his partner's suggestions for their case. Debating was as much about arguing as it is about teamwork, having each pair work together and pick up each other’s slack. His partner had been debating for years and carved her place in debating, so the pressure was on Kit to keep up and not be a burden. There were seven minutes left on the clock to get ready before the show began. Both were anxious and hesitant to speak, but the thrill of competition and fighting an equal adversary pushed them to work harder. As they wrote down the final lines of argument, the bell rang, signaling the end of preparations and the beginning of a fierce clash of ideals. He listened attentively to each speaker, taking notes and understanding each case, their strengths, and weaknesses but as the round went on, his confidence in his own case wavered. Each case piled over the other, launching a barrage of attacks on their house, and it was up to him to resolve these deadlocks. The situation was dire, with no feasible solution to all these predicaments, but Kit loves the thrill of a challenge.

“I’ll start my speech in three, two, one,” Kit remarked and began to forward his case to their house. He stuttered and ate his words as the anxiety tripped him up, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins got his back up and running on the case. Despite his nerves running cold from the hurdle in front of the young man, he remained headstrong and pushed through with his speech, knowing he had an ace up his sleeve. All that time he spent listening and taking notes on what each speaker had to say was not for nothing. As much as the debate is about arguing stances and providing evidence, it’s just as important to pay attention and engage with the opponent's case, stating flaws in reasoning and argumentation. Finding the weak points in cases and countering their strongest arguments headed on, that was Kit’s weapon; rebuttals were his silver bullets. Heading straight into enemy fire and rebutting arguments was the bread and butter of Kit’s debating style. Imbued with self-confidence, Kit got caught up in the heat of the moment and rebutted each case, argued a more nuanced case, and ran wild with his speech like it was his last. Feeling the blood coursing through his veins, he spoke from the heart and showed the fruits of his labor. As the final seconds of the speech came to a close, his voice calmed down, but Kit could still hear the beating of his heart reminding him why he loves debating so much, “Very proud to oppose.”

Gasping for air after what seemed like an eternity, Kit breathed with a sigh of relief as he’s done his part and the rest was up for the adjudicator to decide. Looking back on the round’s events, he knew that there was room for improvement, but that didn’t bother him right now. All that mattered was he tried his best, and that room for improvement just means more fun to be had. As the round came to a close, it was time for the adjudicator to declare her verdict. Despite having resolved himself to accept any outcome of the match, Kit had been eagerly waiting for the results of his labor and to see if he had a shot at the center stage. He had learned to gain more confidence in his craft and remember why he entered debating in the first place. He enjoyed the nervousness when it comes to preparations, the planning that comes into every round, the careful laying out of traps, and the thrill of diving head first into the fray. In his mind, Kit had already achieved what he set out for, having fun, and so when the adjudicator declared them the winners, it made the victory all the sweeter—marking the end of the first round and the beginning of new challenges to come in this listening sport.

[demonweasel]

- It has been a busy summer thus far. Not in the racing around, vacationing kind of way but a slow, steady drumbeat of self-imposed deadlines and projects that I've been hopping back and forth. It's a good thing, for sure, as I've gotten the first MYTHPOCALYPSE story "Bulls on Parade, Men on the Run," lettered and available as an ashcan for sale at the shows I've been going to this summer (Wizard World Columbus, Hypericon in Nashville, and Wizard World Chicago this next week). The next two stories, "Ghost Riders on the 405" and "Under the C-Line" are out to artists and I hope to have done in the fall. Even better, the most recent Winston & Churchill story "A Bodyguard of Lies" was completed and the next collection of stories FALL OF SHADOWS was released in print and eBook form. I've also gone back and made all of the individual stories Kindle exclusives so you can read them all for free on Kindle Unlimted if that's your thing. Then, when you've done that, you can order yourself a nice flashy paperback to put on your shelf and go "Ah yes, now those were some fun horror adventure stories! Gosh, I can't wait until the next one comes out!" Well, if you do like reading them in episodic fashion the next story, "The Lamentable Catalog" will be out this fall. When the final four stories wrap up Lexie and Henry's first year of adventures the final book in the "seasonal trilogy," DEAD OF WINTER, will be released. Yes, I skipped Spring. Perhaps I'll do a special Spring collection at some point just to confuse people further down the road. - As I said above, I'm still hitting the convention trail. The next show will be Wizard World Chicago August 23trd through the 26th and after that I'm looking at Imaginarium in Louisville, KY and the Full Moon Horror & Tattoo Festival in Nashville. There may be some other shows but at that point I may be well for a short fall/winter's nap for convention-ing until the beginning of the year. Not that I won't be busy as I have a couple of other irons in the fire, including a new project with "Bulls on Parade" artist Claudio Munoz that I've been looking to get off the ground for a good few years now. I'm excited to see what he and colorist Kote Carvajal will do with it. - A lot of my energy in this last little bit of the summer has been going into playing Deputy Governor Danforth in a production of the The Crucible at my local theater. It's a juicy role and my first foray into drama so when the opportunity came to pick my role I was eager to tackle and delightfully villainous role. However, between studying for that and watching nearly all of "A Handmaid's Tale" my thoughts on religion and society are even more skewed toward "Yuck" than usual. - Personally, things have been going pretty good as well. I've been trying to be healthier and have been losing a bit of weight (and then finding it again, and then slowly losing it again) and that's always a bit of uphill climb. This past May the girlfriend and I went to Disney and Universal in Orlando with her family for her and her brother's birthday. It was my first time going to any of those parks and it was quite a sight. I may have left with a bit of an enamel pin collection which is cool until you realize you don't really have a lot of places to put them. At least soon it'll be hoodie weather down here in the South so I'll be able to display them then. I haven't been playing as much D&D as I would have liked but I'm still doing some map-making for my long-imagined and finally realized fantasy world. I'd love to do more stuff with this in story and comic form, as well as trying to create an actual playable environment for people to enjoy. All of this behind the scenes work and running my campaign in this world has me really itching to just play with a group, but then I look at my schedule and go...yeah, maybe not.

  - I'm looking to expand my social media footprint but see the above about time and like. I'm getting back into posting and (mostly) reading Twitter, although the latest debacle on there with Alex Jones and some proposed changes leave it with a bad taste in my mouth. I'm on Tumblr a lot but that ends up being kind of personal at times...although let's face it, keeping your personal life out of being an independent artist is really hard. I know I have a tendency to overshare at times but I also...don't care? My days of posting NSFW content on there are pretty much behind me as I know that's not everyone's cup of tea and I'll be posting this separately on there as well. Maybe I just need to expand my net instead of thinking of a single-shot solution. Granted, I should take that advice in pretty much every aspect of my life. I was told by someone earlier in the week that my website is "a mess" and, well...they aren't wrong. There's a lot that needs to happen there, beginning with a complete teardown and starting over to make it a lot more streamlined and easier to use. All things considered, that's a  pretty admirable goal.

[spnsimpleman]

The Unknowns: Twenty Three

This is a continuation for The Unknowns.  A one-shot turned into a long ass Prologue.  Part One.  Part Two.  Part Three. Four.Part Five.  Part Six.Part Seven.  Part Eight.  Part Nine. Ten. Eleven.  Twelve.  Thirteen. Fourteen.  Fifteen.  Sixteen. Seventeen.  Eighteen.  Nineteen.  Twenty.   Twenty-one.  Twenty Two.

Dean x Psychic!reader

Teaser/Summary: An AU sparked from a songfic challenge, The Unknowns is based on Season One Episode Nine, Dean met reader in Lawrence as a child and they created an unbreakable bond. At the end of The Unknowns, reader decided to stick with her boys because she felt something coming but she holds secrets; one she holds close to her heart and a few that she doesn’t even really know yet.

Word count: 3373

I stared down at the pretty calligraphy. I had snorted the first time I saw it and Pamela only grinned in response. A lot of my father’s family had thought this dream was merely a fairy tale and someone had taken it a step further by writing it down like it belonged in an old book or maybe had been torn from one.

Pamela had warned me multiple times that it had been translated too many times and rewritten to remove some of the flowery nonsense but I could hear her warning loud and clear, don’t waste your life hanging everything on a dream.

I think in some way she still blamed my father for leaving us too early because of his obsession but it might be the one thing that ends up saving my life, our lives. If it helps us in any way, could it really have been that much of a waste?

If I can’t figure it out, it just might. I shook my head and tried to focus.

A fair warning, powers shall bless and curse while some always remain stringently aloof. All will leave marks. To those who have the ability, to read and to choose, not only what legacy they shall leave behind, but what future they will set forth.

The same powers that whispered freedom into the ears of men at the Alamo on that November night when Halley’s Comet blazed high in the sky, a different kind of battle was revealed to an old warrior with spurs already retired. A vision of bloodshed and a solution, but only if he was steadfast with his time, his sweat and blood, and the iron and steel.  

A warrior’s sacrifice will prove fruitful if the solution stays on course and gripped by those destined to wield it against the evil that threatens them. The Marksman, Soldier, and Witness.

Below the text, someone added in a careful hand without the fancy swirls and ink,  

Samuel Colt built a weapon and thirteen bullets to end a war brewing between heaven and hell. The same night brave men lost their lives at the Alamo, the last sigil was carved in the revolver that would end a demonic plot and reign.

Entrusted to a fellow who appeared in the vision and held promise in his own right. Wesley Campbell bore a son that continued the line for generations, the weapon will pass through these hands until finally gripped by those destined to wield it.

The marksman, soldier, and witness?

Scrawled underneath in a familiar messy hand,

Halley's Comet- November 1835.

The Texans defeated at The Alamo- March 6th, 1836

Gun surfaced in 1920 with seven bullets in Chicago before disappearing again.

Marksman- Danny? Soldier- John? Witness- me.

My father had fact-checked what he could and added his own assumptions. Did he ever know Mary’s maiden name? Was it just coincidence that we ended up on that street?

Lips pressed against my neck in a sensual touch and I stretched my head to the side. Dean looked down at the paper as his hands smoothed around under my chest, “still reading over it?” I nodded and leaned back into him. “I thought your dream or feeling was four though. Why did you have something tell you four if this family thing is three?”

“I don’t know. I talked to Pamela about it too. She reminded me once again that it was just a dream and premonitions are not always clear but she did have a few ideas, only one that had any strength though.” He pulled me up, sat down, and yanked me into his lap. I chuckled but settled against him soothed by his energy swirling with mine. Even though he showered, he still smelled like grease and metal. He was so close to finishing Baby and I knew when he left I wouldn’t be able to go this time. My focus needed to be here and away from Sam.

Sam. My brother who could barely handle being in the same room as me.

He squeezed my side and nuzzled his face into my neck, grief and love surging through the bond and blending with mine, “what’s this idea?”

“Three is a strong magic number but Pamela said four is balanced and it would make sense since four always relates to stability. In some old cultures, and you can find it in almost every religion…” He pinched me again and I rolled my eyes, “okay, geez, she focused on Native American culture, the number four is sacred and she said the first thing that came to mind was the four sacred obligations of the Zia people; to develop a strong body, a clear mind, a pure spirit, and a devotion to the welfare of your people. She doesn’t believe in coincidence and she thinks the reason that came to mind is because we could break those four obligations up between the four of us.  Strong body, clear mind, pure spirit, and devotion to your people.” I worried my lip again, “although she spent a good amount of time in New Mexico where the Zia tribe lived so she could be...”

“I don’t get it.”

I blew out a breath and pulled away, “never mind. It still doesn’t mean anything.” He gripped my sides, not allowing me to leave his lap.

“Okay, come on, dumb it down for me.” I scowled at him and he chuckled, “sorry, I’m not dumb but I’m a little lost.” He pouted and I looked away, frustrated more by my lack of any progress than his attempt to distract me.

“It really doesn’t mean…” He turned my head to face him and his brow rose. His fingers playing against my jawline just skimming my lips. “Fine. Jess is the pure spirit, you are the devotion, I’m the mind, and Sam…”

“Wait, why am I not the body?”

“Seriously? You’ve been devoted to protecting us since we were kids.”

“So have you or did I just imagine a little girl holding up a bat to beat away a demon?” I narrowed my eyes and he chuckled, “okay, but this is just an idea? Because I’m not judging… I’m just...”

I punched him and he barked out a laugh, “we’re grabbing at straws.” I sighed, “I don’t understand why your dad thought it was us that the stupid dream was talking about when I know that Jess is supposed to be with us. That we’re supposed to be four, not three.” I scrubbed my face and pressed the heels of my hands into my tired eyes.

“You know what?” He stood, lifting me with him only to let me slide down his body until my feet hit the ground. He grabbed my hands, “enough of this for today. You need some fresh air.”

He pulled me toward the back door. “What are you doing? I don’t even have shoes on!”

He flashed that smile and despite the shadows beneath his eyes, it was blinding. “You leave them by the door, stop fighting me. You know you don’t really want to.” He stopped and turned as I bumped into him. “Actually, yes, fight me. You said yourself you’re grabbing at straws and we haven’t sparred in too long. You’re gonna get your ass handed to you if I don’t intervene.” He wiggled his brows, gave me a quick kiss, and then dragged me onward again.

My laughter, however scratchy, followed us outside. A good fight with him sounded wonderful, but anything with him was.

~~

I walked into the kitchen stretching my arms over my head. Dean had been right, of course, I needed to get out of my head. The stress had been knotted up my muscles more than I had realized. I smirked. There was no way I wanted to admit it but I knew he already felt it. There was no point in fighting it when it streamed through the bond completely awake because of our time together outside.

I bumped into a solid wall of muscles and winced. I was so busy thinking about this open wave between us that I completely lost focus on the world in front of my eyes. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

Sam walked across the room while I glanced around for Jess. No save there. I opened my mouth to say something else but nothing would come out. I snapped my jaw shut and winced at the stupid sound that echoed in the small room with too many acoustic surfaces. I rubbed my arms and moved to the cabinets Bobby kept some snacks in. I didn’t want any, I needed to get in the fridge. I glanced over and Sam shut the fridge door, a glass of orange juice in his hand. The one he would ultimately shove on me missing and completely jarring no matter how hard I tried to forget it.

The room was hollow, an empty void where I stood alone. My heart punched my ribcage, the rushing sound in my ears overbearing. I ached to tell him what I didn’t need to say, what I needed to say but couldn’t. Shouldn’t. There was nothing but empty space, an overwhelming silence that hurt more than anything I could imagine. I watched him from the corner of my eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders and arms, his back far too straight as he turned and strode out of the room without a word or a look in my direction.

My eyes burned and my vision blurred, the shelves in front of me weren’t even there. Memories crashed over me, more torture than relief to a throat too tight, a chest too full.

My laughter filled the room the second I saw my gangly goof. Sam held a glass against his chest with his forearm as he gripped another he carefully poured orange juice into, trying not to spill and incur Bobby’s wrath. “That’s what counters are for, pumpkin. Why do you need two glasses anyway?”

He glanced over and almost spilled the juice. “Shit. This is what I get for looking out for you.”

I laughed again and opened the snack cabinet. “Please, you give oj way too much credit.”

“No, you don’t take care of yourself. Everyone knows Dean isn’t going to help. The only vitamins he knows are flintstones.”

I shook a box of crackers and pulled them down. “I know and eat all the food groups.” I closed the cabinet and Sam was next to me holding out the second glass.

“Malnutrition is not only a third world problem.”

I glanced down and the juice didn’t sound half bad. “If I drink that will you leave me alone?”

He chuckled, “nope. Without me, how are you ever going to be as strong as you dream to be?”

I fought back the laugh, “okay, coach.” I narrowed my eyes, “but I’m not running 5 miles today.”

He grinned, “we’ll see about that.”

I closed the cabinet and turned. I needed water and a beer for Dean but my feet were so heavy. I rested my hands on the counter, my arms shook and I cursed myself. This was my own choice. This was what I had prepared for. My lungs screamed and I squeezed my eyes shut.

I snatched the water bottle out of the air, “hydrate.”

“I know,” I chuckled as he poured half of it over his head. He glanced at me and I knew that look in his eyes but didn’t move fast enough. He shook his head and I shrieked, “gross, Sammy! Damnit, get away!”

His laughter echoed in my head but didn’t match the man that couldn’t be around me, that couldn’t look at me without seeing the person who lied to his face, who allowed him to hurt for so many long months. This was mine to bear. I knew this would happen when I made my choice.

A searing pain in my chest had me leaning on the counter, my legs too shaky. I was strong enough. I had to be for him.

I was yanked off the counter and spun around before crushed in a familiar embrace. “Breathe, damnit!”

I knew what would come if I gave in to that desire, what I would unleash. “Y/n,” Dean’s voice cracked, “please. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.”

It was too hot in here, too heavy. Get me out of here.

BREATHE! His voice shocked through my system with an actual electric jolt.

I sucked in a breath and the sob was smothered by his chest. He lifted me up and moved. I couldn’t tell where and couldn’t care. I just let go while hanging onto him for dear life. Trusting him to tether me while I drowned.

“Not drowning. I got you. I’m right here. This will pass, we’ll get past it. Just keep breathing. I protect you, y/n. Always.”

The tears continued, my chest heaving out sobs I couldn’t control. I slipped into that place where his energy blended with mine, weaving through it and curling around it. I didn’t deserve escape but I couldn’t survive without him. At least I’d always have him.

“He’ll come around too. Just like you said. It’ll take time.” He whispered into my ear, his breath hot pulling me toward the surface.

I curled inward tucking further into his swirling green. The one thing I didn’t want to think, didn’t want to give any piece of reality to, slipped out, he hates me.

Never. You’re family.

But I knew Sammy. I knew his worst, most vulnerable thoughts. I knew how he felt about John during those years when things were tortured and crazy and things were just too much.

“I hate my own father, y/n. What kind of person does that make me?”

I touched his face, those eyes screaming and echoing the strong emotions churning with my own. “Human, pumpkin. It makes you human.”

“You’re different from him and you know it. We’ll always be different.” We weren’t moving anymore and he had me tucked into him somewhere soft or maybe that was just him.

I gripped him tighter and didn’t answer. I couldn’t because I didn’t have one.

~~

I believe there's a moment that everyone comes upon once or multiple times when they feel a future event coming. They call it gut instinct, women’s intuition, or sometimes a sign from above, but no matter what they call it or what rationale they give it, they all know that something’s coming, it’s going to happen no matter what and it's going to hurt. In spite of all that, they do it anyway because they also know it's the right thing, that it's supposed to happen. For better or worse. We just hope to hell it’s better. Or they don’t think they can change it because it’s already been written.

I don’t know which one is a better way to look at it.

I haven't had many moments where my intuition told me it was something I couldn't change ahead of time, but there have been a few. When I saw John at the motel the night Dean left me in bed; it had solidified a feeling I'd had the whole drive there but I ignored it because Dean was there and I was too excited to see him again. I could blame my sex drive but I have blocked things plenty of times because I didn't want to think about it.

But tonight, tonight I wanted to savor every inch of him, commit him to memory. I wasn’t clingy so much as I kept close within range so I could touch him at every chance. Sitting next to him on the couch finding any space for skin to brush, at lunch and dinner our hands sharing touches underneath the table, and then as we headed to bed, we moved together to the bathroom. We brushed our teeth, took a shower much like we had before but the touches were different, they weren't rushed or heated but slow, purposeful in a completely different tone. He dried me off, I dried him, and we pulled our towels around us for the walk to the bedroom.

Once behind the closed door, I thought we might lose that calm for frenzied action but we didn't. Dean peeled the towel away, each movement deliberate as if opening an unknown package. Before he touched me, I did the same to his. We stood naked in front of each other, taking in the person standing there. I could feel his melancholy, his longing, and that steeling; an armoring process he started when we were kids just before we had to leave each other. We knew tonight would be our last night for a while.

I shivered, an unfounded fear twisting in my stomach as I allowed my gaze to wander over a body I knew so well, but when I pulled at it, it fell away. The last time we said goodbye like this, darkness had been hanging over us, Dean’s possible death blocked from me. But there was no feeling of impending doom on the horizon this time, but there wasn’t one when he had come close to losing his life because of a damn taser either.

He closed the space between us and pressed his finger to my lips, “shh. Just us. Nothing outside of this room right now.”

I looked up into those eyes and didn’t need to say a word. He took my hand and led me to the bed. I climbed on but before I could crawl to the pillows, he grabbed my waist. I turned and knelt before him on the bed not having to question before his hands were on my neck, his thumbs brushing my jaw before moving up and over my lips. They were soft and tantalizing before moving over my cheeks and into my hair. His lips were next, gently teasing mine before pulling me in and pressing my body against his.

Sometimes it could be too much when he was constantly gentle, not demanding anything but more like gently lapping waves moving and discovering then taking what he'd found, marking it as his own. Tonight, it was perfect. We took turns exploring and memorizing, murmuring through the connection but not rushing the other.

When we finally joined in a slow, smooth stroke, my legs wrapped around his waist and we held each other there pulsing. Our foreheads pressed together, his darkened green gaze staring into mine.

I love you.

Forever and ever.

This was our memory. Our one moment we’d always want to keep the other in. We were both many things, both had so many favorite memories but this was where we always found ourselves. These were always the memories held closest to the heart, when we were joined in every sense of the word.

He finally kissed me and began a slow rhythm. We moved together, rocking, tweaking the position to find another until we found the one that was explosive, but still, he kept a torturously slow rhythm through each orgasm he coaxed.

His hands smoothing up my back, down my sides, gripping my hips. I pushed back into him, kneaded his thighs or his arms, and trailed my hands up his stomach and chest, smoothed my hands over the stubble on his jaw before pulling him down for a kiss. We changed positions, becoming a little more frantic when we felt him getting close and then finally wrapped our arms around each other, crushing our upper bodies into one as our last thrusts sent us reeling over the edge. My cries and his groans mingling in our ears until we fell to the bed, spent and yet still swimming on the high.

He kissed my forehead, my nose, and then my lips. “Perfect.”

I touched his face wanting to say that I didn't want to lose him but I didn't want to make this any harder than it already was. He kissed me again only this time he went deeper. You’ll never lose me because I will never let go.

No matter how hard it gets, I was still the luckiest woman on earth.

Twenty Four

@duchessofwinchester , @jodyri , @jencharlan , @deanssweetheart23  @torn-and-frayed , @chrisatplay , @mogaruke, @captainemwinchester  , @ashrod98 , @mrswhozeewhatsis , @caitsymichelle13  , @escabell , @thealyana , @michellethetvaddict , @ashch , @rashinyx2002 , @tamtamlov

[whatsgodgottodowithreligion-blog]

Will The Circle Be Unbroken?

In the chapter titled “The Steeple And The Damage Done”, I discuss the myriad sins of the Catholic Church - not only has the church marginalized, demonized and otherwise ostracized many of its believers/followers, it has turned a blind eye to many societal atrocities: from Wounded Knee to the Crusades, from The Inquisition to the Holocaust (the Vatican’s unholy ties to the Third Reich during WWII have been widely chronicled) to its ignoble history of sexual abuse by church clergy. Singer Sinead O’Connor’s seismic episode of tearing up the picture of Pope John Paul II on SNL over twenty-five years ago was viewed as not only heretical, but disrespectful, and an unfair indictment of the Catholic Church. Of course, genuine heretics always show us what we are unwilling to see, and so, O’Connor’s brave gesture (bolstered by her own memories of being abused in her childhood) turned her into a pariah overnight - essentially imploding her musical career over a ‘crusade’ no one was ready to lobby for.

Frankly, scandals involving sexual impropriety by church clergy have always been the elephant in the sacristy - one only has to objectively examine the timeline of sex abuse within the Catholic church and its subsequent denial by church hierarchy to see that periodically, the general public becomes outraged to hear of priests having inappropriate sexual contact with children and/or adolescents of church members. And similarly, we are told that someone (or likely everyone) within the church hierarchy was aware of this abuse, but either turned a blind eye, or cloaked themselves in denial of having any foreknowledge of such abuse occurring within their midst. Media exploitation (motivated by both perverse titillation and viewer ratings) spurs on charges, litigation and frequently, prosecution of those trespassers. And since we, as a society are ‘all about the children”, those who have been exposed as pedophiles become the devil incarnate, and looked upon as the lowest form of human life.

But while we revel in self-righteous condemnation and demonization of sex abusers, we fail to recognize that both the abuser and the abused are broken souls in need of healing. I remember listening to a talk by Ken Keyes, Jr, author of the personal transformation tome, The Handbook To Higher Consciousness. He began by stating the basic truth that all our actions and behaviors as human beings are motivated by a desire to either gain love or to compensate for a lack of love. All the attendees to his lecture were in agreement. Once they had accepted this ‘truth’, he then challenged them to see it in a situation that made many uncomfortable: “What about the child molester?” he asked, “Isn’t the child molester trying to gain love?” Few in the audience had the understanding to explore the truth in that statement - after all, we are conditioned to view the world through our dichotomies placed upon it: good/evil, right/wrong, righteous/heinous. We cannot accept the idea that even in the context of such sin, behind that sin is a person trying to fulfill a basic emotional need, a need all human beings have - to feel loved and validated.

Like O’Connor, I have a backstory of abuse - psychological, physical and sexual, and like O’Connor I think the Catholic Church needs to confront the devastating cycle of abuse and denial that continues to damage the souls of those who put their faith in religion and God by way of its pastorate. However, I go one step further to say that both parties are in need of ministering to. I realize this puts me in the minority, but then, I have a bigger understanding of the cycle, or the circle that remains unbroken when we fail to look at the dynamics of abuse. Psychologists and psychiatrists have long pointed out that if we were to look at the backstory of the abuser, we find that somewhere in that continuum, the abuser began as the abused. 

One of the most important elements of my own healing journey was to take a sobering look at the upbringing of those who parented me - partly in a search for answers, but also to gain a better understanding as to what would make someone who was responsible for bringing me into existence treat me like I didn’t deserve to be alive. I learned that my mother’s dad was an alcoholic and her mother didn’t have much time for her; my dad was raised by his grandmother, after his birth mother ran off and abandoned him - she bore a child out of wedlock, and had no intention of saddling herself with a child and no husband to help raise him. My great grandmother was a proud Cherokee woman, but she also harbored some extreme ideas about discipline and child-rearing that manifested itself in some horrific beatings visited upon my father.

If a child, any child, who seeks love, acceptance and validation from his parent receives instead anger, violence and criticism, how exactly is that child able to have anything resembling a healthy self concept? And without that self-concept, what can that adult child bring to the table in terms of being a nurturing parent for their children? I was one of seven siblings - I find it nothing short of miraculous to think that two people so devoid of personal examples of love and compassion by their caregivers could ever give out what little emotional resources they had at their disposal to effectively raise seven children into healthy, responsible and caring adults - the harsh reality is, it’s not possible. And I can see the outcomes of such an environment played out in the stories of my adult siblings - which is why, I was not shocked when my sister (the eldest sibling) dropped out of college and left home to join the Army, marry a fellow serviceman (who surprise, turned out to be both an abusive alcoholic and a womanizer) and wind up a widow when one of his many mistresses shot him to death.

Will the circle be unbroken?

Which brings us to the latest sex abuse scandals rocking the Catholic Church and the Vatican, some twenty-eight years after Sinead O’Connor’s public protest against clergy abuse and complicity on national tv. Last week, in light of recent allegations of sexual abuse by two (now retired) Chilean bishops, Pope Francis expelled both Francisco Cox (84) and Marco Antonio Ordenes Fernandez (53) from the Chilean Diocese - their defrocking was one step below total ex-communication, but was no less punitive in the eyes of church canon law. A day before Pope Francis’ announcement, he accepted the resignation of Cardinal Donald Wuerl, considered up until that time a fierce advocate for victims of clerical abuse, but whose own history was rife with instances of foreknowledge of abusive priests during his tenure as bishop of Pittsburgh - a Pennsylvania grand jury report scathingly outlined a well-documented timeline of abuse spanning over several decades under Wuerl’s watch. 

In Cardinal Wuerl’s case however, The Pope was considerably more merciful: he accepted the resignation, praised Wuerl for putting “the good of the church before himself”, let him stay on until his replacement was chosen, and allowed the Cardinal to keep his influential offices inside the Vatican. Apparently canon law has a different set of tenets than American law, where if you have knowledge of someone committing crimes and you look the other way rather than reporting it, you are essentially an accomplice to that crime. Perhaps what’s even more troublesome is the official response by Pope Francis to the current spotlight on sexual abuse by clerics:

"The Church must be saved from the attacks of the malign one, the great accuser and at the same time be made ever more aware of its guilt, its mistakes, and abuses committed in the present and the past." Pope Francis wrote. In addition, he implored parishioners to recite a daily rosary during the entire month of October, ending with this petition to St. Michael: “St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls." In other words, errant clergy have been overtaken by evil - specifically the Devil, and that prayer and vigilance are needed to restore the Catholic Church to its status of holy impunity. 

But if indeed the sin of sexual abuse is being acted upon by clerics possessed by some evil entity, why no mention of exorcism? Such a solution is in perfect alignment with the ideology of spiritual warfare - we are at war with Satan. Satan must be rebuked. Therefore, wouldn’t it be possible for these pedophiles to be redeemed through some sort of exorcism, or intervention of the Holy One to vanquish Satan from their once forthright souls? I am not saying this to be facetious - I am saying this because at least the idea of exorcism allows for some measure of atonement, redemption and reconciliation, which is a whole lot better than just damning abusive clergy to Hell. Perhaps the biggest tragedy in all this is the presumption that the abuser is beyond saving - that the crime is so outrageous, such a blatant atrocity, that the only action required is condemnation, conviction and incarceration. 

I am not dismissing the idea that in terms of sexual predators, the instance of recidivism is high, and perhaps so deeply ingrained in the psyche of the abuser that rehabilitation is impossible - yet I am told (constantly by those quoting scripture) that nothing is impossible with God. So is that just another holy platitude I need to discard? Are some souls too damaged to be saved, under any circumstances? And what about forgiveness? Victims of abuse will never heal completely as long as they hold onto anger, resentment and hatred toward the abuser - forgiveness is always done for the benefit of the wronged, not the violator. But some things are unforgivable, they say. Forgiveness condones the abuser, they say. The abuser is evil and should be stoned to death, locked up and raped in a penal environment, stoned and set ablaze, etc. etc. Why bother examining the culture of forced celibacy dispensation, repressed sexual feelings and desires, the eunuch paradigm which fosters shame, guilt and self-loathing? No one is born a sexual predator, but why waste time looking into how pedophiles are born?

The two things which allow the circle to remain unbroken are denial and a lack of compassion for both the victim and the victimizer. We can talk all day about good and evil and how folks are beyond saving, but at the end of the day, what will help not only those adversely affected by sexual abuse, but those who seek out sexually abusive behavior in a desperate but wholly inappropriate search for love and approval? If we are unwilling to ask these questions and look earnestly for answers, nothing will change. Abusers will abuse, the circle will remain unbroken, as will the cycle of suffering. Only until we see the truth in their mutual suffering, will we have any hope of reconciliation and healing. 

[popcartoonkabala]

The Superman in super-heroism: Tipheret in Yesod because the problem starts from need.

Before was created the yawning absence through which reality was made possible, by getting out of the way, and inviting a world to be, as if, completely devoid of The Perfect and whatever That is-- 

--there was no drama. 

No injury. No boundary violable. No story and no crime. No world, for all this trouble is impossible in the Pure Presence of whatever perfect used to be. That was a long time ago, by definition. History is made of the bouncing and pop! that filled the absence of that initial pre-day with movement, passion, novelty and accident. The God thing that could be described was entirely problematic, mercenary according to the sensory capacities of the most honest and expressive demand, animal and then human and more human. Maybe memory, maybe dream. What’s noticed when gazing down the absence, back at the Source of all Flavors in the appendage-tips of Allah Most High. Because, lets say, there are at least two fundamentally different ways we, popularly, when not being overtly facetious or ironic nowadays use the idea of “god” --The characters we identify with fundamental popular priorities. As regional as the priorities themselves, the local Elohim. 

--The real that we cannot perceive, because it’s too big and all inclusive. The actual-beyond-regional. Whatever that is, the mystery behind science, maybe trivial, maybe utterly present and involved

Either the Real, or the True that discredits the Real. The core experienced that we cannot help but notice, identify, love and fear. This what what religion and popular media both formed as tools for relating to, but also, for unmasking and ritually stripping the power of, so that we could feel like we understand enough to at least relate to, safely. The forces that insist on being Problem, Solution, or Phenomenal Mystery Theater for the whole. This is what Kabbalah, historical and ongoing, traditional and experimental, aspires to clarify, that we might be empowered to at least understand how we are relating to Being. And solving problems! This is the moral aspiration in Kabbalah: overcoming cycles through perspective.                                                          --- Hi! My name’s Yoseph and this is Pop Cartoon Kabala, where I try and relate the historic mystical language that offers to contextualize and decode the meaning behind All The Stories, in the simplest terms available, breaking them down into convenient and accessible little codenames, elaborated and associated at length later on, as has been the history of written mysticsm. Start cryptic, because you can say more with less and so you won’t get in trouble, and then let generations build up to more detail the less was understood from context. Pop media mostly eschews this model? Only for a while. Every series, every program serially produced finds its way back from it’s novel pilot distinction to Approaching the Ancient of Days, delving into genre, history or just cliche for lack of the compelling in the unelaborated novel. It’s one of the blessings of the super-modern Netflix era, the extra episodes and spaces for character-or-theme development, deleted scenes, and all the nuance that remains peripheral and thus esoteric, saved for those who love enough to long for more detail and understanding. Written esoterica, i.e. Judaism but also all the rest is characterized by its infinite and expanding corpus of Apocrypha and commentary, each one more obscure than the last until or unless it emerges as Super-Canonical and becomes a certain kind of defining text for the whole community for the rest of all time. All the books, canonical and extra-- these compilations and elaborations became the main source that most communities have for their entire connection to the original source texts, and the original and everdefined divine expressed and experienced through them. This is the virtue and danger in making anything clearer. Responsibility for the update, the main work of the Tzaddik, the Hero, the Foundation, the protagonist: authentic and balanced sensitivity, as much as could be wanted, whatever will compels and continues to compel an engagement with. In this groping for language, personification and relation, is the beginning of the euphemisms that shine with our truest will and the testimony behind them. 

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The Problem With People, even and especially the most sweetest amongst us: Manipulative dishonesty or unapologetic insistence on unhelpful satisfactions. It’s the sort of problem that goes until noticed except half unconsciously, making us uncomfortable until a language emerges to express the problem.  This is the problem with deific language that seems to constantly demand heresy and blasphemy, just to be honest, righteous or real. It’s one of the radical kindnesses of post biblical modernity, the vicious hostility to divinity, even as much as divinity is the main voice speaking, and purest sought thing. It’s why arch-cynics can have the 10 commandments on their desks: the invitation in even the worst excesses of religious dogma is a certain amount of re-clarified honesty. And the main concern that allows fundamentalists and evangels to intrude upon Our peace is the fear that we do not even understand ourselves, what we yearn for or mean. And so, rightness swivels and moves to be, according to the natural excess that it longs to offset. Hero literature invites clarification of a certain kind of super best good. This is what a Superman is for: Truth, etc. “Justice” is clarification, resolution, a harmony purchased through effort, and even sacrifice, for clarity’s sake. Super = Tipheret & Man = Yesod. Because need is the void that pulls imaginary hero into being. Win the war, whichever war is rightest and closest.  Exciting mediums of moral conflict, in which fantasies of relative scales of infinite power and success are used to express a yearning for constantly changing and renewing stories of “justice.” The main difference between the previously revealed and popularly acknowledged-as-torah torah is only in the use of the visual/verbal fusion in the emerging comic book language.     --- Yoel Chajes, scion of a long dynasty of rabbinic scholars and musicians, as well as mighty whalers and religious dissenters, once gave a “vort” at his Bar Mitzva comparing the visions of the mighty G-d of Israel and his power at the Song of the Sea following the exodus, just as the sea is splitting, with King David’s victory anthem, both ritually chanted on the seventh day of Passover, when his Bar Mitzva happened to come out. To do this, he contrasted the original vision of a merely super-powerful Superman circa Action Comics #15 with the nigh-invincible demi-god that Superman would become, transitioning from leaping really high (wow! Over a building? Whoa!) to flying at light speed around the sun to go back in time at his leisure (“yeah, sure. I can do that. Whatever.”) As if to say: the same El takes on different scales of role, depending on how much we need to be impressed and redeemed. From simple gravity? Or from Life and Death themselves? The more infinite Superman’s powers are, the more responsible he is to explain why he isn’t doing more, so theological answers start to be given for why Superman must allow some bad things to happen so humanity can work their shit out. The best and wholest of these efforts range from the generous to the theodic, with the mystery laying on Where Are The Limits of Our Expectation? Paul Dini and Alex Ross’s Superman: Peace on Earth, where, at least, he does try, features a beautiful shot of Him weeping as the food supplies he was carrying to African refugees smolder around him, destroyed by a rocket fired by some faction or another, intent on controlling the food. This is contrasted by a similar frustration in Garth Ennis and John Mcrea’s Hitman #34, where Superman is weeping bemoaning his own limitation in not being able to rescue an Astronaut. In Ennis’s story, there is nothing to be done, because nature and space and limits are what they are. In Dini’s story, the problem is more just the human heart. Both stories, notably, are Christmas stories. Because Superman is a super-Christ, as is known, a Solar deity in the aspect of Tipheret, often killed and resurrected. Often limited but the virtue is not giving up.    Like G-d, the more infinite Superman’s power is, the harder it is to feel good about him, because after all: he’s letting the bad structure that rules the world endure.  He must have his nifty reasons always, but the more he accepts his own limits, the sooner he becomes the lame tool of stories like Dark Knight Returns, endlessly justifying the sanctity of the status quo, until the point of nightmarish dystopian demiurgency. Who feels inspired by a god like that? Only the wicked.   That’s a short history of world religion, and the development of the Theology in “the” Torah for you:  God/the world/good is described in a certain way, to arouse the heart to excite people to a certain truth about how good is repressed and must not be accepted as such by any one in a position to do anything about it, until the limitations of that position are recognized by, like, everybody, and the relationship towards the responsibility evolves in response to the popular interest, now easier to track than ever thanks to sales figures (er… not counting all the torrented copies, alas--) 

Ignored in the context of talking about Superman is his fictionality: Why not just take His presence in the world seriously? He is a metaphor for the power that is wielded by Something, and could be wielded by Us… if only we knew how? Enter the One hero, whose victory defines us, and hopes to survive us, in every sense in that he is certainly us, once.  But the first could not last there alone for long. My theory here, that every hero is Superman in the same way that every God is Yahweh is the only god that any one can worship, or hero that one can revere: whichever one we're looking at now.  Superman is the Christ that always wins, that's what he means, and I reckon, what the Christ is supposed to mean. There are only three things that can happen to superman, that have been discovered, that can be the end of his infinite saga of transendence. He can become evil, fall in love, or go off into space to approach bigger concerns, not to return to earth until the final crisis.  This is how many Return of Superman sagas have begun, from the failed Superman Returns movie to Rob Liefeld's Supreme pastiche, which began as a violent superman ripoff in the context of early nineties grizzle, but emerged as the introduction of Alan Moore's Kabbalistic mythologization theory, where all retreads and retcons could make sense as part of one cosmic untidy poly-continuum, a principle which would soon become normative in all comic book universes, now unfettered from the need for an internally consistent alternate-reality justifying theory. It is all just narrative now, and some patterns for that narrative have been described.

Superman can only return from his slumber or distant war for the sake of One Last Victory, at the end of which he must be honored forever. This is the difference between Superman and Captain America, someone in many ways very similar, except that Captain America is defined, upon his resurrection, by his dissonant anachronism, as opposed to superman who can never function as an anachronism for long. Superman must fully assimilate into super-competence, including socially, in order to be, and if not, he must degrade into something less-useful, an intolerable situation, from which he must flee as soon as possible, to where he can super-function again.  This can be any kind of need, from the powered down adventures on Kandor, or New Krypton, or in the 30th century--  That's ok, he can handle that, AS LONG AS THERE IS A NEED FOR HIM.

This is the hall mark of the Sephiros-- they are summoned by need. On the higher levels, it's unclear whose need-- there is little distinction when everyone is in the same boat. Superman's defeat of his enemies is special, in that even his enemies tend to ultimately benefit from his victory. This total victory is beyond distinction, and climbs up the ladder to the very highest priority.    Tipheret is the center of the tree, bound to the highest and lowest of it's aspirations and sources. The irony of the kabbalistic tree is the degree to which it is upside down-- it's roots are singular and monistic, it's branches ultimately more like leaves.  If you want to defeat Superman, you must make his priorities change. 

   Therein lies the mystery of the evolving living god, the emerging better priority of Harmony: adaptation to emerging need and emerging morality, the daughter of need. Law is a boy in love with a girl named need, and seeking to impress her, and superman has never given up on his first love, the one his mother inspired: devotion to the best and most modern good. “The American way” gave up to some better term for the righteousness that superman MUST represent if he's not going to be terrible, just as Christ has to die a little in order to not be as flawed a god as his father was (and he is) before the great sacrifice.  Same with Dumuzi and Horus, the elohei tipheret, who represent the new order and it's marriage to infinite power. Batman is so different somehow, the Yesod hovering over malchus, closer to where the bad world becomes good. Maybe he's as high as Daas, but no, his virtue is too much about goodness and discipline. In some contexts, he could represent something closer to gevurah, but the truth is, Yesod is where he lives. Alan Moore's thelemic Kabbalah relates Yesod to the imagination, but that's not the association that we get with it in Jerusalem. Here, it's identified rather exclusively with righteousness, piety, faith and devotion, a certain kind of grounded harmony, the perfect balance between giving for the needs of the giver and giving for the needs of the receiver, a level of true sensitivity and intimacy that the Tipherets of infinite pre-packaged perfection can never touch. Yesod comes down to kiss reality in a way that Truth never can, and this is why Batman is always going to have a deeper and better relationship with Wonder Woman than Superman will, and why Batman is ultimately more resonant forever. The Saints are always going to be cooler than the Christ, no matter how much they love each other. There is much more to say about this, and so we will (G-d willing) every day or so, for the next week and half, relating to these last few days of Sephirat Haomer, until the Pentacost. So much for intro into the middle!  I’ve been working on this for while, and it’s still a work in progress. Feel free to comment, ask questions, argue, clarify, or anything. What Id’ really appreciate is as much art as y’all want to send me; this project is being published as a big Art Book eventually, and the finest of submissions here will be paid for permission to use. But more than that: we’re trying to illuminate, take the resonant and spin it into the profoundly meaningful, the core that is appreciated inside of the noise and medium clarified like pure gold. Won’t you help me? Any illustrations inspired by the words above, please.