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jenniferisacommonname · 4 years ago

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Voiceactors in my Head

One of my many contradictory feature sets is a silent, circumventing stubbornness paired with a pathological fear of confrontation. I will get what I want, and I will not stand my ground if verbally pressed on it. I concede points like it’s an Olympic sport. But as long as everyone's still smiling—gently, snidely, or otherwise—then I can go on forever. Case in point, I once trolled a stranger on the internet for over a year. (Don’t worry; by the end of the story you’ll be on my side again. And if you’re not, well, I mostly agree with you.)

It all started with a CD which was, at the time, exclusively available through the record label’s website. This was back in 2005, when online retailers still ran on frontier justice and only fools uttered the words “free shipping.” Needless to say, I did not have an existing account.

But we do what we must. So I bent the knee, and delivered my modern-day rogation of name, email, and PII governed by the Sarbanes-Oxley Act in order to receive my one CD—then I defiantly wasted that effort by never patronizing their establishment again. I mean, the album was fine, and I’m sure they had other struggling artists whose work I would have enjoyed, but apparently I’m against creative expression and the American small business owner or something.

Anyway, five years of blissful non-interaction go by. Then one day in 2010, I get a mass email from the founder of this little indie record label. It was—or at least it aspired to be—a classic “starting a new chapter” kind of announcement, letting everyone know that he had sold his (incredibly!) successful company, and was using the proceeds to start a charity that would bring music lessons to inner city children.

And, hey, I thought, that’s cool. Music is great for kids. Except… the tone of the email was weird. It was more than just casual; it was chummy. The concept of a YouTuber didn’t exist back then, but here was its primordial ancestor, testing the beachhead with its nascent flipper-legs of peppy chic.

“Yo, J-dawg, how's it hanging? Remember back in [mail-merged year] when you bought [whatever]? What a great album, am I right?! Anyway, it's been so long since we rapped, I thought I'd update you on my sitch…”

Obviously, I’m paraphrasing, but that’s how the voiceactor in my head performed it. And it just rubbed me so hard the wrong way. I mean, look, I get it—we live in a promotional society, and there's no avoiding that. I’ve done my fair share of book pimping, and if you have a legitimate fan base the intrusion can even be a welcome one. So, fine. Tell me about your thing—once—and maybe I'll buy it. But don't act like we're friends, like I have some kind of obligation to you beyond this basic consumer relationship that we've established.

So my gut reaction was a hard pass, pleading children’s eyes be damned. But the email didn’t include a link to unsubscribe. This spammer was so brazen, he had sent the message from his personal email account, as if threats like “more updates to come!” belonged in anything but a ransom note font. If I wanted my name off the list, I would have to actually write him back, creating exactly the kind of low-stakes, one-on-one confrontation that we all know is worse than torture.

How would I even phrase it, knowing that his overture was from the heart and my rejection would travel right back along that path? “Listen, amigo, I know you probably spent an hour composing this raw, honest self-reflection on your priorities, but it’s garbage, and I never want to hear from you again. Please keep in mind that while you have failed to inspire me, you’ve also failed the children. Because you’re a failure.”

The actual words wouldn’t matter; I was sure that’s what he’d hear. In fact, I would argue that a polite rejection is often worse, because it leaves no option for the rejectee to write off the loss as a dodged bullet. They really were a nice person, and you’ll probably never find anyone so humble again, you loser.

So instead, I got out my favorite piece of social armor: the ironic “yes, and.” In improv theater, if a scene partner implies that you’re the best of friends, you don’t argue with them. You commit to the bit. So I did.

“Oh my God, Steve, it's so good to hear from you!” I wrote (except I used his real name, of course.) “I can’t believe you still remember our special album. Makes me weepy just thinking about what it meant to us. Anyway, here’s what’s been going on in my life...” Then without warning, I dumped several years’ worth of emotional trauma on him—about severe autism, and how hard day-to-day life was, and how each treatment brought hope and frustration in equal measure while somehow never easing my crippling fear of the future. It was a therapy session on steroids, directed at a stranger under the guise of bitter sarcasm. My flippant sign-off left no doubts about my true feelings: “Anyway, as I’m sure you can imagine, we are flat broke with medical bills, bruh! So I'm gonna need you to take us off your list. But in the meantime, here are some autism charities that you could donate to on our behalf, since we're such good friends.”

To be clear, open snark isn’t remotely in the spirit of “yes, and.” But it felt better in that moment than honest rejection, and I figured he’d take the hint.

Instead, the guy wrote back.

“Wow, what an amazing story!” he said. “Crazy world we live in. I'll go ahead and take you off the list, but I do hope you'll think of us in the future.”

Ugh. He had met my bad behavior with empathy, and I felt moderately ashamed. Then again, you couldn’t argue with results, and at least I knew this ordeal was behind me.

Except he didn't take me off the list. A couple of weeks later, I get another fake-personal email, which I must again paraphrase, though I remember with furious precision the way it made me feel. “Heyyyy Jenn-ster, it's me again! I know how much you've always loved music, so I know you're gonna want to hear about this...”

BITCH. YOU. DON’T. KNOW. ME.

“Steve, what happened?!” I wrote back. “You used to be such a good listener! I think the money's changed you, man.” And I asked once again to be taken off the list.

This time, he ignored me. No reply, and the spam kept coming.

So I just decided that this was going to be our thing. Every time he sent me an email full of stuff I didn't care about, I was going to send him an email full of stuff he didn't care about. Except I kept pushing it a little farther each time, like, “Ooh, potty training's not going so great, let me tell you all about it...” And at the end of every email I'd always remind him, “Hey, anytime you want to stop getting updates on my son's bowel movements, all you have to do is take me off your list.” Sometimes I bolded it; once I super-sized it into a 40-point font. But he never did.

This went on for over a year.

But I won.

It’s a trite saying, but sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words. The last email I ever got from this guy was short, which was unusual for him, and it said something like, “Great news! We've just graduated our first class of students—check out these pics!” (Why am I paraphrasing so much, when email is forever and I could just go back and give you direct quotes? Stop asking questions and roll with me for a minute.) Anyway, embedded in the email, like already loaded and filling the screen HTML-style, was this giant picture of… I don’t know, a kid kissing a trumpet or something. It was probably super cute, to be honest—but I was on a mission.

“Great news!” I wrote back, trying as always to mimic the exact structure of whatever he had sent me. “My son just had a colonoscopy—check out these pics!” And I pasted the actual medical photos of my child’s rectal passage into the email, pre-loaded and filling the screen, so he’d be forced to view them against his will, just as I’d been forced to endure his endless marketing crap.

Sure enough, he never emailed me again.

Pretty good story, right? And that closer—I mean how can you top sending medical photos to a complete stranger just to gross them out? Unfortunately (or fortunately; I’ll leave it up to you,) this one has a weirdly philosophical denouement. If you like your narratives sassy and single-layered, I suggest you duck out now.

Around 2015, I was trawling my past for wild stories that could be condensed into a tight three minutes for open mic night, and ‘that time I emailed colonoscopy pics to a spammer’ was an obvious contender. Once I had the basic structure written down, more or less exactly as I remembered it, I went digging through those ancient emails to finalize the details.

And what I found was… not what I remembered. The story I told above clearly had some emotional embellishments (see: paraphrasing), but it was fundamentally true in circumstance, I thought. And, yes, I really did send this guy two pictures of my son’s colonoscopy, though they were just thumbnail attachments, not embedded. But the text of my actual emails to him barely came off as snarky at all, and I never once told him in clear terms to take me off his list. There are a few lame hints at irony that you can pick out if you really squint, but by and large I was just… writing him back. Like we were friends.

Which is a good thing, because his emails to me were even less accurate in my memory than mine had been. He hadn’t cut me off; he’d replied to every single email I’d sent, in a way that made it clear that he’d watched every video and read every article. He was cordial, empathetic, and seemed genuinely interested in my kids. It was a therapy session on steroids, all right—minus the steroids.

BITCH.

YOU. KNOW. ME.

And in return for all this kindness, I had sent him horrific medical photos for no reason. To which he had replied (and this time I’m not paraphrasing,) “Thanks for the update on your son. I appreciate it. Keep up the good work. All the best to you both.” The updates from him had indeed ceased after that, but from what I can tell it was just a coincidental winding down of that particular enterprise, not a removal of my name from any specific list.

Eventually, I ended up emailing him again, this time as a penitential mea culpa to ease my own conscience. I explained the situation, and apologized for my unfair judgment of years past, plus of course the unsolicited sigmoid landscapes. He thought the whole thing was hilarious, and admitted that he’d never once picked up on my poorly-conveyed bitterness.

More important than the personal amends, though, was the lesson I had to swallow about how emotions don’t just cloud memories—sometimes they invent them out of whole cloth. I swear, I swear I remember a photo of a kid graduating from his charitable music lessons, but I can find absolutely no evidence of it anywhere. My brain made it up to retroactively justify my behavior: yes, I sent a photo, but only because he sent a photo first. It’s not even a remotely good justification, but I guess it took the edge off just enough to keep seeing myself as a good person.

It was an important lesson professionally, too. History is nothing but a mashup of inherently self-serving memories, and multiple perspectives can only draw a narrative closer to objective truth by half-steps, never to fully reach its destination. Even hard evidence is fallible, because my emails as written did not accurately represent how I felt when I wrote them, which is an important part of the story in its own way. Misinterpretations and flawed perspectives are inevitable, but they’re also necessary, and stripping them out as a historian is just as wrong as taking them at face value. A story is both what the participants think it is, and what we know it isn’t—especially when those two conflict—and every non-fiction piece I write is just somebody else’s therapy session on steroids.

#spam #spammers #autism #troll #colonoscopy #medical photo #stand up #open mic #music #album #online retail

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lanx-reads · 7 years ago

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The Blood Diamond Review

Final Rating: ***/***** or 5/10

You’re a Vampire Hunter. Killing Vamps is what you do. No exceptions. Ever... right?

Antoinette Drake never chose her role in life to be that of a Vampire Hunter, yet now her main mission is to quell the misdemeanors of the NYC vampiric underworld. But when a new nightclub is opened by the handsome and notorious vampire Henri Sinclair, she finds herself taking on more than she bargained for.

The last thing Antoinette wants to do is get wrapped up in Henri’s cryptic games, but if she wants to unveil his plans and save her sister’s life at the same time, she might just have to get closer to a vampire than she ever has before...

Even tho @authorrjcity is my friend and fellow mutual and writer, I did indeed promise her a 100% brutally honest review of her book. As it stands, I am of course reviewing this as a critique and judging her as an author and nothing else. I also wanna note I am reading somewhat outside my preferred genres to a degree! So that also affects my rating.

Since I am still wading my way through how to write these reviews, I’m gonna try a new tactic that kinda combines my previous review styles. I will be breaking my review into numerous sections: Characters, Plot, World Building, Writing, What I Liked, and lastly, What I Disliked.

There will be minor spoilers in this review, so just a heads up if you want to read The Blood Diamond spoiler-free!

Writing:

I want to note that I am not the biggest fan of first person. I find it kinda stiff to both write and read and incredibly limiting. Likewise, I personally think that this book could’ve benefited from a pure third person style rather than sticking with first person. Furthermore, The Blood Diamond did have transitional scenes written in third person due to the fact that information had to be given to the reader and Toni couldn’t be around to narrate it. Personally, I didn’t really much agree with this artistic choice, as it would’ve been much smoother if the entire book stayed in first person, but merely bounced around different heads as needed.

Minus the issues I had with the POV the writing was decent. I do feel like Toni had too many stock sentences in her narration at times, like “Well, yeah” and “Hmm...” and such that were distracting and could’ve been cut out without changing the story at all. Sometimes Toni had thoughts as if she were talking to the reader, which was also a little distracting at times.

Another artistic/style choice I didn’t like was the fact that Toni’s direct thoughts weren’t italicized. Instead of being written like [This is a thought, Toni thought.] it was written instead like [This is a thought, Toni thought.] which sometimes made reading her direct thoughts a bit confusing as they ran into the narration.

The author also uses a lot of epithets and describes eyes as “orbs” a couple of times, which are pet peeves of mine. Nothing inherently wrong with either, but they did ruffle me a little. Another pet peeve of mine that popped up was dropping a Twilight reference. Considering how long ago Twilight was published, I feel it was a bit awkward. I think this sentence could’ve easily just been cut out and replaced with the general “Have you been reading vampire romance novels or something?” as then the sentence would be funny in the sense that its pure irony (though I also have a huge weakness for irony as a plot device so...).

Lastly, though the book was pretty clean from typos and mistakes in the beginning and the middle, but near the end I counted a lot of mistakes popping up. I only caught one actual misspelled word, but mistakes such as writing an instead of a and using a dash rather than a hyphen did find its way into this book. A couple of other mistakes were some capitalization errors (The Order vs the Order vs the order in describing a political group).

Now, everything I have stated so far is mainly just. Little pet peeves of mine and things that can be overlooked more or less. However, the one negative aspect of the writing that stuck out like a sore thumb to me was the fact that setting descriptions were rarely, if ever, used. The most description the author used was saying what type of room someone is in, or a club, or a mansion or apartment, or whatever. However, these places weren’t actually ever really described, which sometimes made it hard to visualize certain scenes. The lack of setting descriptions also made certain scenes in the book pass by too quickly. In some places this worked, however in others, I feel the lack of a slowed down pacing did a real disservice to building up tension in some places.

Characters

There are quite a few characters in this book! I will be talking about the side characters as a whole group to keep it simple, but talk about the main characters individually.

Toni:

Toni is easily a main character you will either really enjoy or dislike. She tends to be sarcastic, though not always witty. There are at times inconsistencies with her character, such as the fact that she has destroyed some pretty powerful vampires, but doesn’t seem to be very good at planning ahead and rushes into things at times, which although is a interesting and good flaw for this sort of book, doesn’t match with what we’re told of her being an infamous hunter among vampires. That being said, Toni is overall a really fun character. She has a couple of pretty popular tropes included with her character (such as parents dying via a vampire and such...) but those things didn’t really bother me as I like those tropes well enough.

Henri:

Henri is a character I can honestly say without a doubt that will become a fan favorite. Broody, though not above mockery, secretive, and dangerous, he employs numerous popular vampire tropes, yet there are scenes in which he inverts them to a degree. He isn’t a good person at all. He’s killed people and is a clear vampire, which is always fun and refreshing to see. Though he is a powerful vampire, he’s also not the most powerful vampire to ever exist or anything. Another part of him I liked is that though he acted like he knew everything and was in control of things, he really wasn’t, and that arrogance in many ways lead to many downfalls for him. He’s a fun character I would love to see more development of.

Gavin:

Gavin is Henri’s twin brother and in many ways is the polar opposite. He’s narcissistic, psychopathic, outgoing, and overtly sexual. He’s a genuine asshole and though there are points where he feels a bit like an archetype, overall Gavin, like Henri, will most likely become a fan favorite as well. He has a certain villainous charm to him where every time he pops up, you know some exciting shit is gonna go down, and you’re sitting on the edge of your seat.

Robert:

Warning: Major Spoilers

Robert seems to be the Big Bad of this series, but as a big bad, I have to say he is a little underwhelming. His backstory was monologued to us in the climax, which was a little uninteresting. If instead Toni had to slowly uncover the identity of who he was over the course of the book, I feel the plot twist relating to him would’ve been a lot more powerful. He’s described as a pretty stereotypical vampire and besides being evil we really don’t know much about him. He seems to be younger than Gavin or Henri, which makes me wonder as to why he’s a master vampire and their master in the first place.

Not much of his personality was given, and his motivations seem a little flimsy. Hopefully, the sequel will shed more light on him and flesh him out as a villain more because as of right now, he’s a little bit forgettable.

Liz:

Liz is Toni’s younger sister and though she is told to us to be a major part of Toni’s life and her only family left, we really don’t get to see much of her. We get to see her a little bit near the end of the book, and she starts forming a more interesting personality then, but overall we’re left with too little too late due to the plot twist. I do wish she was given more of a chance to breathe and grow, as I feel that fleshing out her character would’ve made the plot twist at the end a lot more weighty and emotional.

Ethan:

Ethan is Toni’s best friend and fills the roll pretty well for the most part. Though he pops up quite often, he has a pretty general personality and isn’t the most memorable of characters.

Micah:

Micah is a side character, but is one of the more interesting ones. Though I do wish to learn more about him as some secrets of his are both exposed and kept under wraps, his personality is a little hard to place. The sort of character roll he fills doesn’t quite match the personality he is given. Though I do wanna learn more about him, as a character he is a little bland besides the roll he is given in the plot.

The rest of the side characters:

The rest of the side characters such as Giselle, Melissa, Stephan Church, Hannah, Clary, and the like are a bit of a mixed bag. They have a lot more clear personalities than some of the main or more important cast of side characters and have clear quirks in the way they talk and such. That being said, we really don’t learn much about them, and a couple of these characters do fall into archetypes I am not a huge fan of (such as two of the female characters just kinda being jealous bitches to Toni...) Some of the other side hunter characters, such as Hannah and Clary, are used very sparingly. Hannah, who is a faerie, only really pops up in the beginning and end of the book while Clary is mentioned briefly in the beginning, then finally gets a little screen time at the end.

Considering how big this cast of characters is, I do hope that all these side characters are given more development in the sequels to come.

Overall, the characters weren’t too bad! A little bit of a mixed bag- some were quite interesting while others less so. The only real issue I had was some of the names of the characters being a little out of place. Such as an age-old vampire being named Andrew, for instance, and I personally wouldn’t have called the Big Bad Robert of all things (unless that’s purposely done to be a bit comical, tho Toni never finds his name a little funny...) Despite the little inconsistencies in character naming, and in some characters in general, they overall worked well for this sort of book and plot and were fun to read about overall!

Plot

The plot is a little difficult to describe, if I am being honest, as the plot drifts quite a bit in this book. Sometimes, it’s really focused and other times, not so much. I would say its a mystery, but there is little foreshadowing and the mysteries themselves aren’t touched upon and after a while, become quite vague, leaving you a bit confused.

Overall, the story is about Toni trying to bust The Blood Diamond and the vampires within it for illegally turning humans while also trying to figure out who the master vampire is, who is the one pulling all the strings and causing the violence in the first place. Unfortunately, this plot is dropped pretty quickly and instead, the subplot of Toni and Henri’s relationship and him Marking her takes over for a good chunk of the book.

I think one of the biggest weaknesses of the plot is its reliance on the readers to understand the world building and how this system of vampire hunters work. However, this system isn’t given a lot of screen time and at times, the plot (and world building itself) gets muddied. There are many places where I feel like if the world building had been fleshed out a bit more, it would’ve helped the plot a lot. Such as why doesn’t Toni, and by extension everyone else, know who the master vampire is? Why are certain vampires not archived in the system? Though the latter is brought up at one point, it’s not really touched upon, and I personally felt that it could’ve been part of the overarching story and a puzzle piece of the mystery this book was trying to build.

At times, the overarching plot of the book felt a little everywhere, and thus when the climax at the end happened, it wasn’t quite as powerful as it could’ve been.

Furthermore, the pacing was a little odd. The book was a fast read for sure, but in places it needed to slow down, it didn’t, which led to it not being as emotional as it could’ve been.

There are also a couple of scenes I feel could’ve been cut out.

I also want to note that this book does not end with a clear stop. Not everything is wrapped up whatsoever, and thus, this book by itself is an incomplete story. This isn’t a negative point or a bad thing at all! It’s just how this book is written and set up. A lot is built up for the sequel.

Though this book never felt “plot-less” by any means, the plot never felt like the focus of the book either, and instead felt muddied and a bit vague. However, I think this is less the plot’s fault, and more of the fact that the book could’ve been a bit longer to accommodate some changes and that the world building could’ve been fleshed out more to give definition to the plot elements present.

World building

Out of everything in The Blood Diamond, I think the world building is its weakest aspect. Though these is no infodumping, which is always a good thing, the author also doesn’t really give us a chance to learn about the world. Since Toni already knows about the world more or less, she doesn’t explain much, so you’re basically thrown in and hope you can hang onto the information that’s thrown at you.

Furthermore, there are points in The Blood Diamond where I think not everything was thought through. How does the Agency keep vampires and other supernatural creatures hidden? Vampires themselves aren’t discreet and there are numerous times where there are “supernaturals only” places around. It’s never explained if they are hidden or if normal humans are compelled to not enter via magic. Furthermore, if the Agency has to tell family of the victims of vampires of the supernatural world, how has the truth not gotten out yet? And also especially with all this taken place in the modern world and a densely packed city, how have vampires, or other supernaturals, avoided being caught on tape or anything?

The Agency seems a bit small for the setting as well and at times, a bit unprofessional. The entire system of this government isn’t explained the best either. The Agency is what I suppose are like cops while The Order is closer to something akin to the FBI I am guessing, but it isn’t exactly clear. The Agency also seems to work as the judge, jury, and the police, which gets even more confusing and doesn’t fit in with how America is run as a country either.

Vampires and their powers are also not that well explained. Other supernatural creatures, such as werewolves and witches, are mentioned but not touched upon at all or fleshed out, making them feel more like an afterthought.

There is also a scene midway into The Blood Diamond with some mermaids in the NYC rivers. Though there were a lot of cool ideas in this scene, the scene itself felt completely and utterly pointless to the rest of the book and felt more like something in there for a sequel or to try and world build a bit more. However, the world building should’ve been tied into the plot. If less of the plot had been on Henri Marking Toni and more focused on fleshing out the plot, the world building could’ve gone along with that, and overall both world building and the plot could’ve been a lot stronger.

What I Liked

I know that it sounded like I didn’t like this book with how much negativity is in this review! But trust me, there is plenty I enjoyed about this book as well, and I will list out everything I did enjoy in this section below!

I enjoyed Toni’s narration and her character.

Henri and Toni’s romance was interesting.

I really enjoyed the powers we did see from the vampires. Some of them were very unique.

Hannah. Just. Hannah was adorable I enjoyed her a lot!

A lot of the names in this book I liked too. Such as The Blood Diamond and La Luna and such!

A fast-paced and quick read overall, which is pretty good!

Toni staking vampires was always a fun treat to read about.

Giselle. She was great. Like I said, there are a lot of side characters to enjoy here.

Woman friendship between Toni and Clary at the end was fun. Though it stuck out a little, I did like that the author confirmed that Toni was bi/pan and that Clary is at least, not straight either.

The plot twist, though it had its problems, was good in theory.

I enjoyed the idea behind Marking as well as compulsion.

Actual forensic science was used in a scene near the end, which was a pleasant surprise in a book such as this.

Though I did mention a couple of pointless scenes, the pointless scenes themselves were at least interesting to read even though they went nowhere. There weren’t any slow paced, snore-fest parts, which is good.

The print itself in the book was pretty big, which was easy on the eyes for me.

I think this book, if just read as a piece of light entertainment with vampires and mystery, is great.

Honestly, I really did enjoy reading another vampire book again. I haven’t in a while, so it was fun to go back to reading vampire fiction.

Near the end had some showing of Toni working with some other hunters on what seemed to be pretty standard run-of-the-mill cases, and that was really fun to read about.

What I Disliked

The stuff listed here are further nitpicks that personally made me cock my head to the side. Nothing major enough to discuss in the above sections, however.

Too many teenagers in things like clubs. Unless you’re counting 18 year olds as teenagers, then I guess it fits, but I found it a little distracting.

It seemed like only women were the victims of vampire attacks all through this book. It kinda rubbed me the wrong way.

At times, Henri and Toni’s romance squicked me out, especially there is a point where he feeds on her without her consent and the fact he does assault her. That being said, he does apologize for the feeding from her and admits he it was wrong and though its a little vague, it’s explained he was being controlled by the Mark, just like Toni was. The assault, though it does rub me the wrong way, makes sense as he was defending himself against her.

Some of the descriptors at times felt a little cliche, such as “raven-black hair.”

Toni’s supposed infamy for being a badass vampire hunter usually didn’t match up to her as she actually acted in the field.

Near the end of the book, Toni was knocked unconscious about three times, including once during an action scene. I was a little annoyed at this.

There was no explanation how any sort of “clean up�� was done after vampire attacks. There didn’t seem to be a protocol, which mixed me up.

A lot of the timing of events felt off to me.

Dream/nightmare sequences were used to tell us Toni’s backstory. I feel like this could’ve been woven into the actual story and narration, as the way the nightmares were written didn’t feel natural or convincing.

I wish there was more of a focus on the supernatural creatures and how they work cases.

The slang for vampires at times seemed a bit childish and random. In one sentence, Toni will think of them as purely “vampires” and the next, they’d be call “vamps” or “blood suckers.”

Final verdict

The Blood Diamond is pretty middle of the road for me and sits at a 3/5 stars, which basically means “good” to me. The rating of 5/10 also matches this. The Blood Diamond has its problems, but if you can look past those, and are looking for a fun and light piece of entertainment, it may fit what you’re looking for.

What really knocked off those two stars were the world building issues, the muddy plot (that romance took over), and some of the writing issues I had stated above.

That being said, a lot is promised in the sequel, and I do hope the sequel gives us readers world building, a better crafted mystery, a more focused plot, and details our established characters a bit more. I would definitely rec this book to people who enjoy vampire books and miss reading them and those a fan of YA and tired of the dystopian genre currently being passed around.

***/***** or 5/10

#book review #The Blood Diamond #my book reviews #RJ City #bookblr #Vampires #inkitt book #wattpad book

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murlinxmaverick · 4 years ago

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Max-Q

This is the start. We just made a decision that we must keep. I cant remember exactly what it was but I thought out the whole idea and it was beautiful, sexy, spontaneous, and all that great stuff. But its gone. I cant remember it any more so this is my attempt to remebering it as it was in that moment of escapism. This blog is for you. This is the start of becoming the person you are today, a letter from your past self. I’m making changes to this shit life. I started writing this thing like 6 days ago or something and I cant remember wtf I wanted to say. We had a revelation of what the future can bring if you just put everything into it. I want to break the boundaries and go above the limits of this shit life.

user912968235, you are no longer bounded to your role. You are free to do anything. lets go to the fucking stars because we are literally ripping the mental shackles off. i can actually feel pain in my arms as im writing this. its probably from the way I’m sitting but I will not let the irony just slip by like so many other opportunities have. And right now what we need to focus on is the shit memory we have, or maybe by now, I have. I want this life to be writn by your hand and not the hand of an other. take control of this narrative, write a fucking campaign like some mad scientist on shrums. Lets fuck shit up. Lets find the love of our life. lets build a home where everyone wants to be, a place where people come and ask to stay. never turning down those you love. family, friends and just great people.

Lets stay humble and work hard every moment we get. but also take breaks and let loose when the time is right. dont be lazy. because you had loads of time and youve wasted so much of it. But we are at a critical point, Max-Q aint no joke, we can really fuck it up here. We must start to plan out our future. I’m talking self image, ladies and career. we are starting at rock bottem because thats where i am. but not for long. this starship is not going to stay grounded for long. (starshitp just crashed) I’m talking werried i know. i must think about what I say before saying, my instinctive verbal responses are never wha people want to hear, lets start thinking. I have some serioius mental issues and the mind is so powerful. It should be functioning at max capacity, or else whats the point. i need to send this bitch to the garage because its not working right. Im going insane. like you cant stay focused on one thing and because of that you cant remember shit. like wtf dude, just slow down and live in the moment. remember to acknowledge yourself and the little victories. You hear this all the time and its kinda true. buit the difference is no one has your life and no one will ever have your life so no one can tell you what is right. you must decide. i must decide. and i have. i have decided to be an artist, a scientist, a pornstar, and teacher, a great son, a great brother, a great friend to those who are great. Im tired of esisting, i want to live.

Lets do a recap: 2020 has been shit. I cannot remember shit because most of it you would rather forget. For instance, all the masterbation, the porn watching. you do it too much for not to be part of your income. Be a journalist for playboy or something. like please, get something out of looking at these computer ladies all the time. Diahann got away. that fucking sucked. We tought about contacting Erika, just get her to be a voice actress in you movie. that is your oplan on getting her back. uhm what else. look at how low dropping out of college is on this thing. why? like I really dont care, do I? so yeah we got to get back to that and finish. because we need to be done with it. just make sure to keep practicing and well finish. You did! Music still isnt a big part of our life. the world is at your fingertips and all you can seem to view is shit like google, and social media. this year youve gotten closest to drawing by searching things that influence you. We are going to sell advertisments. but we must build outr protfolio. you Just made the email adress today. that had to have been the easiest and hardest step you have taken. (the first little acievement acknowledged) What else... IDK whatever. time to focus on the future.

So the plan is to not put somuch pressure on yourself, time to give yourself less to think about. stay busy. dont let anytime go to waste and use it on fewer things. or more things, idk , you dont do much as of right now. But yes. the remainder of 2020 will be used to plan for the future, we want hot chicks lots of money and true happiness in our future. lets get organized and lets change it up. i want three comics done, wake up being the focus, then that adult comic you have in mind with the black market and buying a girl. idk some crazy shit. just do it. let your demons free. think of the craziest shit and hide it in plain sight. fix your car and make it worth driving. because its kinda shit. focus your story to being about reusing. education, and storage. Maximize your brain and push it to its limits. do let the time slip. Time slippage is damaging your tools to grow. Plan on remembering more information. read. write. film. photograph, invest. do it. you cant continue like this. Plan like you are the person you want to be and you will becomethat person. And most importantly, you must reflect, that is the most important part rightnow. Work on a play. Make it powerful. that can be a form of reflection. but make sure you are planning a future that you want. you cannot be successful if you do not.

The girl: this is probably the biggest part to you rightnow. she is going to be everything you want. and you must be everything she wants. so think along those lines and do what you need to do make that happen. she going to be beautiful and you are going to keep being reminded everytime you look at her, and she will know by the way you look at her, wha you say and what you do. fuck her till she cant form sentences. Be that guy, thats who i want to be. i wnat small tits. please. you know!

And take it one step at a time. just try to be productive with your time. Keep learning. today Diana thanked me for opening up to her because when she asked how i was feeling i replied with” stressed horny tired and depressed” instead of the usual “ok” and she really liked that. i need to be better at talking to her but also choose your words wisely, she loves to talk. I dont trust her to keep a secret. that might be a friendship thats worth keeping though, i think her and Nani will get along.

i am broken in so many ways. and a lot of is is simply neglect. pay attention to it all and fix it. start exposing yourself the be best and become the best. Train the brain everymoment you get. because right now its starting to feel like a burden. like your thoughts are holding you back, but instead they are whats propelling you forward. i am proud of who i am regardless of my past mistakes. Keep yout back straight and head up.

Ihate doing something and it not being perfect. that is what is keeping me from doing anything, and now i have done nothing. i need to react to not doing something perfect differnetly then i have because i cant keep doing the same things, its whats keeping me back. you are gemini. what ever the fuck that means. if you need someone to hold you accountable, then stream your shit and act like someone is always watching you. Do porn. (<jesus fuck im funy) .

that brings me to the topic of astrology. i am going to study this shit like its some kind of science and im going to use this knowledge to fuck hot women. i swear its going to be a mind fuck of total satisfaction. yes.

This is going nowhere at this point. back to future me. Adopt a kid and mold that mother fucker into a fucking jem. and be the kind of guy he will always look up to and he will become someone you look up to. acknowledge his ideas as an equal. and get strong. we gotta be able to protect them from anything.

gotta look good too, start buying like you know who you are. you are everyone and everything is going this way for a reason. i wnat to be responsable and i need to look the part.

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theartificialdane · 8 years ago

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Galactica, part 226

This is halloween, everybody make a scene, trick or treat till the neighbors gonna die of fright! Happy Halloween everyone from the Galactica characters who has finally made it to the biggest costume party of the year <3

Thank you @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull for all their help with this wonderfull story <3

“Ta da!” Courtney burst into the bedroom, hair in French-braided pigtails, curled at the ends, tied with blue ribbons. She was still wearing pajamas and carrying her costume on a hanger. “What do you think?”

“If it say you look cute, is this gonna become another weird age thing?” Bianca asked, closing her computer.

Courtney laughed and crawled onto the bed, shaking her head.

“Okay, then you look fucking cute. Come here…”

Courtney bit her lip. “Don’t we need to start getting ready?”

“Seriously? We have like 3 hours.”

“I know! But you have all that green makeup to deal with, and Ben is making me wear false eyelashes. That’s gonna take me like a half hour.”

Bianca burst out laughing. “I’ll do your eyelashes, bunny.” She pulled Courtney into her lap, kissing her neck. “There. I just saved us a half hour.”

“Mmmhmm, okay…” Courtney closed her eyes.

Bianca slid a hand up her thigh, wondering if she should be trying to talk to her girlfriend instead of doing her usual thing. An image flashed into her mind of Courtney the night before, clinging to her mother when it was time to say goodbye, sobbing her eyes out like the world was ending. Even Adore seemed a little taken aback, but ultimately shrugged, reminding Bianca that Courtney had gone almost 2 years without seeing her parents in person, so obviously it made sense that she’d feel emotional seeing them leave.

She seemed alright today, though, sighing happily as Bianca caressed her soft skin, murmuring into Bianca’s ear, “I’m sorry, B.”

“Sorry for what, baby?”

“I know that’s I’ve been a little, um, you know, distracted by the album and the concert and everything. But tonight is all about us. We’re gonna have a great time. Okay?”

“Deal.”

“So I have to ask...what are you planning to wear under your costume?” Courtney smirked, fingering the black fabric beside them.

“What...do you want me to wear?”

Courtney’s eyes lit up. “/I/ get to choose?”

“I think it’s your turn, right?”

She bounced excitedly in Bianca’s lap. “Oh my god, this is amazing! I feel drunk with power…” She grabbed Bianca by the back of the neck, kissing her deeply.

Bianca laughed. “I think I’m gonna let you pick my underwear more often.”

***

“So what are we watching again Bonbon?”

Pearl smiled as she dumped down on the couch, two beers in her hand before she gave one of them to Laila. Laila and Pearl was dressed up, their hair perfected, Laila crafting Pearl’s makeup to perfection, but then as they were about to get out of the cab, Laila had gotten a panic attack, Pearl holding Laila as she couldn’t breath, the thought of all of the people, of having to hang out with Pearl’s friends, coworkers and the social climber strangers that tried to use her girlfriend all too much, so Pearl had done the only thing she could think of. She had booked them into a hotel and ordered an extra large pepperoni pizza.

“Nightmare before Christmas.”

“Nice.”

Pearl turned her head, Laila kissing her, their lipsticks mixing slightly.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Laila looked small, her eyes a dim, and Pearl felt worry settle in her stomach.

“Of course I am, I’m here with you.”

“But what abou-”

“I don’t care about some shitty party, or the foam cannons or the fact that I have three different kinds of body glitter in my bag.”

“But-”

“No.” Pearl grabbed the box of pizza and opened it. “Now start me the movie so we can watch Jack the Fruit king.”

“Pumpkin.”

“Duh, pumpkin is a fruit dumbdumb.”

***

“Coming!” Courtney skipped to the door, swinging Kylie in his little basket, throwing it open to reveal Adore, Jinkx and Alaska. She gasped in delight. “You guys look AMAZING!”

“I know, right?” Adore replied smugly, twirling her axe, silver makeup glittering.

Jinkx laughed and stepped inside. “My friend Roy works at this fantastic costume house. He helped out. And of course we’ve got the best makeup artist in the city at our disposal.”

Alaska tongue popped.

“Seriously, you look SO good! I feel so underdressed…” Courtney shook her head.

Adore put her arm around Courtney. “Awww, bae, you’re a perfect little Dorothy. Someone’s gotta be the bitch from Kansas, right?”

Courtney laughed. “Yeah, and Ben would only agree to the theme if he was Glinda. But I mean, I thought I went so over the top, with sequins and false eyelashes.”

“You’re wearing lashes?” Alaska asked, squinting.

“Yeah, you can’t tell?!”

Alaska laughed. “Not really, but that’s okay. You look pretty.”

“Fuck. Bianca helped and I told her to use a light hand with the mascara. ‘Cause, you know, between her and Vanity, I’m not sure who wears more makeup.”

“Ha! Speaking of the witches...where are they?”

“B’s almost ready, and Vanity wants to make an entrance. Can I get you guys a drink?”

Jinkx shook her head, the shiny curls of her lion’s mane shining in the lamp light. “We’ve been instructed not to eat, drink, touch our skin, or move until after photos are taken, lest we destroy Alaska’s artistry.”

“Hey, assholes!” Bianca said, walking down the hall in full Wicked Witch regalia, trailed by Sammy and Dede as little flying monkeys.

“B! You’ve shed your human skin and come as your true self!” Adore cried. “You look radiant!”

Bianca held up one green hand to give Adore the middle finger. “And who decided that you’d be the Tin Man? You have the mushiest heart of anyone in the universe.”

“Well, right, isn’t that the whole point? Like...irony, or whatever, cause he had the heart all along?”

“Yeah, exactly, and Alaska is the smart one; that’s why she’s the Scarecrow,” Jinkx added.

“I thought it’s ‘cause she’s the tall one…” Adore mused.

Alaska laughed and tossed Adore a kiss, posing sexily in her burlap booty shorts, long legs covered with intricately drawn patches and stiching.

“And we’re supposed to be celebrating your remarkable bravery?” Bianca asked Jinkx.

“Rowr!” Jinkx growled.

“Nice.”

“Citizens of Oz! Behold!”

“Oh, dear Christ,” said Bianca, and Courtney giggled, taking her arm.

Vanity swept into the room, in a gigantic pink ball gown, strawberry-blonde wig, and 2 foot crown. Courtney clapped and jumped up and down in her ruby slippers, squealing.

“Holy shit, you are STUNNING!” cried Alaska.

“Thank you, love,” said Vanity. “I know. To the party?”

“Ummm…” Courtney shook her head. “Hello, no, we need to Snapchat first.”

“Yes!” Adore squealed.

Vanity looked at Bianca, shaking her head. “Kids, amiright?”

***

Sutan laughed as he and Violet stumbled into Sutan’s car, the Violet’s dress so big he had to lift it to sit down, the fabric falling over him and covering him as he finally got into the car too.

“Your costume is gigantic mata indah.”

“My dress is the perfect size.”

Sutan settled in and closed the door, Violet giggly and happy, happier than Sutan had seen her in a while for some reason, the girl carefully leaning her head against his shoulder. Violet was beautiful, a fantasy of flowers and silk, her hair put up, jewerly covering her slender wrists, and Sutan had never felt prouder to be Violet’s boyfriend, his own costume nicer than any other he had ever worn, though he wasn’t proud of the fact that his Hades costume put the Batman one to shame.

“Ow ow ow ow, Sutan, you’re arm is on my hair.”

“Oops.” Sutan smiled, quickly moving so he wasn’t caught up in Violet’s extensions anymore. “I’m sorry.” Violet rolled her eyes, and Sutan grabbed a strand, tugging on Violet’s hair, her head bending at the pull.

“Sutan!” Violet gasped, surprised painted on every feature as the car started moving.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did, you totally did!”.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sutan smiled as Violet sat up straight, the woman rolling her eyes as she took out her phone, turning on the front camera as she was checking her hair and fixing her makeup, the car stopped and Sutan opened the door and got out. He turned around, ready to tell the driver to take Violet around the corner and drop her off so she could walk into the party through the backdoor, when he felt a slender hand on top of his own, Violet smiling as she got out of the car too, and before Sutan knew it, he and Violet were walking the red carpet together.

***

“Should we wait any longer Miss?”

Fame looked at Roxy and sighed. “No… Let’s go.” Fame picked up her gloves, and Roxy and Fame left Fame’s townhouse, Patrick’s costume left behind on the untouched bed upstairs since he hadn’t been home in weeks.

“Miss, are you okay?”

Fame turned her head, quickly wiping her tears away. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Fame snorted, but smiled. “Were you also this annoying and nosy when I hired you?”

“Afraid so Miss.” Roxy grabbed a handkerchief from her bag, and wiped Fame’s cheeks gently without removing her makeup.

“I’m glad you are.”

***

"I swear this dress looks even better on me now than before," Raven slurred as she kissed on Raja's neck, the rum pumping through her system. "Would you toot me Rara?" Raja shivered as she felt Raven's teeth tug at her earlobe, "only if you refrain from leaving hickies on my neck," Raja purred. "Wanna play a game baby?" Raven peeked up at the sound of playing a game, "I love games! Games give me life," Raven sang happily as she drained her glass of wine. "Games games games!" Raja laughed at Raven's song and dance, "Let's play toot or boot with the guests." Raja began as she scanned the crowd for their first contestant, "I spy with my smokey eye, a glittery devil in cowboy boots." Raven narrowed her eyes as she zeroed in on the person Raja was talking about, "I would hate to be him," she said as she twirled Raja's hair around her finger. "I mean look at those boots and that patchy glitter job… Fucking boot those boots." "I toot for originality, and for commitment since he'll never get rid of all that glitter," Raja added with a nod. "Oh look," Raven started as she used Raja's hand to point to what she could only assume was a woman. "I spy with my shady eyes, a DIY Victoria's Secret angel." Raja snorted into her martini at Raven's description, "She doesn't look that bad lovey," Raja crooned as she felt Raven try to crawl into her lap. "I think she looks quite lovely." "She's wearing a cheap white mesh bodysuit from Leg Avenue, $15 lingerie, fishnets from the bodega and a child's sequined fairy wings." Raven replied with a flat tone as she tipped some of Raja's blood orange martini into her empty glass. "She should have gone to Party City; if you're going to look cheap, make it a cohesive cheap look all from the same plastic bag." "So do you toot it or boot it?" Raja asked as she drank the rest of her martini making Raven pout and huff. "I toot it," Raven said with a cheeky grin, "I'm all for looking like Julia Roberts better looking slutty sister." "So is that tonight's esthetic theme, I thought you were Aphrodite?" Raja asked innocently as she turned her head to look at Raven, "It's very Slut-a-rella couture?" Raven cackled, kicking her legs in drunken glee, "Yaaaaaasss!! This is from the spring/summer collection for the new season!" Raven squealed happily as she clung to Raja's neck before flinching as she felt her implant shift. "So do you toot it Athena?" "The siren before me or the angel wannabe below?" Raja drawled as she watched Raven get up to grab a half drunk bottle of champagne and bring it up to her lips. "The wannabe," Raven replied with a hiccup as she poured some champagne in Raja's glass. "I'll give it a toot for effort," Raja said after draining her glass of champagne, offering it back to Raven to refill. "But a boot for poor execution and absolutely no attention to detail; Victoria’s Secret would never dare put one of their angels in that white mesh tragedy." "But what about the siren?" Raven asked, "does she get a toot for effort or boot for slut appeal?" "I'll give her a toot for her daring," Raja replied as she fingered the hem of Raven's dress, "but she'll get a boot and a spank if she wears that dress again without anything besides fashion tape underneath." Raven wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or Raja's words that made her face tinge pink, "what about a toot and spank?" Raven asked as she straddled Raja's lap, mindful of Sutan and her knees as she settled down on her fiancées lap. Raja looked up at her drunk fiancée who looked like she was having the time of her life giving her a pseudo lap dance while lip syncing the song playing, "a toot now and a spank later." Raja replied, letting her hand creep up the back of Raven's skirt, her fingertips grazing right below her bare ass. Raven giggled at the ticklish sensation that ran up her spine, "I'll be holding you to that since I have this dress in 3 different colors and one will definitely be worn at our wedding." Raja gripped Raven's ass tightly, pulling her closer to her smiling slightly, "you're so scandalous," Raja purred near Raven's ear, "but that will be a honeymoon outfit only." "If you say so," Raven crooned as she wrapped her arms around Raja's neck, almost flashing the crowd below. "I toot you too babe." Raja smiled as she felt Raven settle against her and her breathing slow down, "thank you Rave, you're my top toot of the week." "I'm your top toot of life bitch," Raven mumbled into Raja's neck. "That you are princess, that you are."

***

Alaska turned to Adore and murmured under her breath, “Is she ever gonna get bored?”

Adore laughed and shook her head, pulling the taller girl closer. “No, she fucking loves a step and repeat,” she responded, watching Courtney ham it up with Bianca and Vanity, pulling faces as reporters snapped photos of all of them.

At the moment, she was pretending to be terrified of Bianca as the Wicked Witch, cowering against Vanity as Glinda, with Kylie clutched in her arms. Jinkx stood off to the side directing them.

“Lasky! Adore!” Courtney waved them over excitedly. “Come on! Yellow Brick Road Realness!”

Adore glanced back at Alaska, grinning at her, before they went to indulge their friend and the paparazzi some more. “Sure, Dorothy. You bossy cunt.”

***

“Raja! Take our picture!” Raven smiled brightly. Her friends in the “Elite 6” had finally all shown up, and Raven wanted to get pictures with them - with herself center stage as usual, showing off her new tits and her offseason ass in her tight, sinful costume. Celia got close right away, her blonde hair and fair face making her look like a snow queen next to Raven’s deep brown colouring. Fo was already slightly drunk, the girl happily vlogging everything with her phone, while Jaslene had to be pried off her husband’s face. Allison got in the picture too and Sutan smiled when he saw that she looked genuinely happy. He, Raja and Violet sat nearby in a booth. Raja got up to oblige her slightly tipsy fiancee.

“Tati! Come here! You have to be in the photo too!” Allison called.

Tati protested, but Allison dragged her in as Raja began to snap photos of all of them, the girls laughing together for the camera.

***

Tati was nervous afterwards when they sat down, Sutan buying a round of shots for the table. She watched Raven scrolling through the photos on Raja’s phone, deciding which one to post. “Do you think I can see the picture? I don’t want to look weird,” she requested softly, perhaps too softly as Raven didn’t seem to hear her.

“I wouldn’t worry,” came Violet’s voice beside her. “You look great.”

“Are you sure? We had pizza the other day and I know gluten was a choice, but I feel all-”

“Your ass is nicer than my entire face Tatianna, you’re gorgeous.”

Tati looks over at Violet, slightly surprised by such a passionate compliment from her agent’s girlfriend.

“I mean...uh...you know…” Violet was flushing furiously. “You’re a model, you must know how pretty you are!” she finished.

Tatianna smiled, touching Violet’s hand. “I’m a little out of my element here. So sometimes...thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Violet pulled her hand away quickly, not meeting Tatianna eyes, almost looking like she was blushing, but Tati couldn’t really see her in the dim light. Violet reached out, picking up her glass and pushing one towards Tatianna. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

***

“Sutan! Hi” Chad smiled brightly as she leaned against the bar, her Cher costume making her a striking image of the celebrity.

“Hi Chad. Lovely outfit.” Sutan wiggled his eyebrows, making Chad laugh as she knew he was making fun of her.

“So have you heard?” Chad accepted the drink the bartender gave her, taking a long sip while she looked at Sutan, mischief in her eyes.

“Heard what?” Chad always had the best gossip, the woman somehow knowing everything about everyone since she was working at Saks, every brand with respect for themselves had their stuff there, so she knew practically everyone.

“Marie Claire is fighting.”

“.. The Ford models?”

“No silly! Bianca and Nina.”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Sutan took a swing of his beer, not really sure if he should believe Chad, but she had never shared anything that wasn’t true before, he could see that she was looking at him in that certain way though, clearly expecting him to share some gossip himself since he knew Bianca so well. “I’ve always told Bianca she was better than MC anyway. She deserves to be the editor in chief of Vogue.”

Chad laughed at how Sutan deflected the question, letting him off the hook since they had known each other for years.

“You’ve always shot for the moon Amrull, both for yourself and for everyone else.”

“Everyone should, even if you miss you still end up among the stars.”

***

“Okay goblins! If everyone walks /slowly/ to the kitchen, we can divide your candy in threes.”

“But we don’t want to share with Grace! She’s too small!”

“Too bad munchkin, sharing is important, now walk.” Detox picked up his kids shoes, the terror twins having toed them off the moment they got inside, Julia dressed as an egg while Owen was a TV. Detox had no idea why Juju had allowed them to pick their own costumes, but since he hadn’t been home, he wasn’t going to complain about the fact that his wife had taken care of Halloween for him.

“You’re being so harsh on them.” Detox looked up, and saw Juju who was dressed as a cowboy, fitting in with her children’s theme of weird shit, while Grace who was sitting on her hip, the little girl dressed like a sheep.

“Aren’t you the fruit boxes and organic grapes queen?”

“But it’s Halloween. You have to get a stomachache” Juju looked down at Grace who was sleeping in her little costume. “And if we let them eat and watch TV, we could have time for a little Halloween celebration ourself.” Juju smiled and reached out to grab onto the belt of Detox’s chicken pants. “My sexy chicken man.”

“... This costume turns you on?”

“More than you know.”

“... I’ll take Grace.”

***

Allison walked over to Tatianna, carrying drinks for both of them. “Here you go… You drink vodka Red Bull, right?” Allison smiled sweetly. She looked so cute in her little angel costume, Tati thought.

“Wait...you paid for these?” Tati asked, adjusting her devil horns.

“Sure.” Allison smiled and stood next to Tatianna, surveying the crowd. “Wow, everyone looks great, don’t th--”

“Oooh, look at you and your fancy supermodel girlfriend!” came a playfully teasing voice from the side.

Tati turned to find Adore in a sexy glittering Tin Man costume, hand on her hip, eyebrows cocked. “Fuck off Adore, you know I don’t swing like that.” Tatianna said. She felt weird when she saw Allison’s big, expressive eyes widen at Adore’s comments.

“Seriously? You’re going to pretend to be straight,” Adore laughed.

Tati put a hand on her hip and began, “I’m very straig-”

Adore grabbed Tati around the waist and kissed her. Tati sputtered out a protest at first, but soon got into the kiss, grabbing Adore’s hair, not new to this little interaction between them, although it normally occurred when she had far more alcohol in her. Allison watched, wondering if this was why her roommate never talked about boys.

Tati was breathless by the time they broke apart, and tried to cover it up by saying, “Ugh, you ruined my lipstick, didn’t you?”

Laughing, Adore brushed a finger against her cheek, where silver glitter lingered. “That’s the least of your problems, princess.”

Tati glanced over Adore’s shoulder and saw a very jealous-looking woman dressed like the Scarecrow looking like she wanted to stab her eyes out. “Yeah, tell me about it. Your girlfriend looks pissed.”

“Which one?” Adore grinned impishly, then held out a hand to Allison. “Sorry, I’m being very rude. I’m Adore Delano. I went to college with Tati.”

“Allison. I’m her roommate.”

“Pleasure. You girls have fun. Happy Halloween!” Adore winked and turned to head back to Jinkx and Alaska.

*** “Sutan! Sutan! Are you out here?” Violet peeked out of the door, and stepped out onto the patio. Heidi Klum truly thought of everything, the area for smokers kept warm by several space heaters, everyone drinking and laughing as there was a bar at the far end of the room, the floor covered by superheros, musical characters and a slutty version of everything under the sun. Violet wrapped her arms around herself, her delicate gown, the deep neck and her bare arms making her shiver slightly anyway. Violet walked around, the cigarette smell crass in her nose as she walked around, looking for her boyfriend who she finally spotted at the edge of the patio. “Sutan!”

Violet smiled as she quickly walked over to her boyfriend who opened his arms and pulled her into a half hug.

“Hello lovely eyes.” Sutan kissed her hair. “How come you got such lovely eyes?”

“Stooop.” Violet giggled, the girl sneaking her hands underneath Sutan’s costume to warm them. Sutan flicked his cigarette and threw it in one of the ashtrays before he wrapped both arms around. “What are you doing out here?” Sutan took a step away, making a little distance between him and the big group of men he had been talking to just moments before.

“Looking for you.” Violet smiled, her cheeks a dusty pink as she snuggled into Sutan’s chest. “You have my wallet.”

“That’s correct.”

“Can I have it?”

“Why?” Sutan was gently swaying with Violet, the two of them almost dancing to the music from inside they could faintly hear.

“To buy drinks?“ Violet giggled, the woman gently turning her head up, effectively shutting Sutan up as they kissed lacy, neither of them noticing the bald man that took pictures of them from across the room.

#galactica #au aag verse #rpdr fanfiction #my fics

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ratherhavetheblues · 5 years ago

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INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘A LESSON IN LOVE’ “What do you do?”

The film we’re about to come to grips with, namely, Ingmar Bergman’s, A Lesson in Love (1954), has by all and sundry, maintained that its action amounts to be a “comedy”—a whimsical romance confirming a matrimonial imperative. That would be a validation of mainstream life. Where, pray, comes the idea that Bergman strives for such an outcome? I think I know.

A Hollywood film, from 1940, namely, His Girl Friday, under the auspices of Howard Hawks, a figure nearly as talented as Bergman (though nowhere near as profound), became a “screwball classic” for an era needing some laughs. It had to do with an ex-wife still tangled up with her newspaper editor, being so adept and delighted with the work as to be indispensable. Notwithstanding, she’s about to remarry and leave the job, a prospect the boss can’t contemplate. The ensuing skirmishing, between the incomparable, Cary Grant, and likewise, Rosalind Russell, are an epiphany of old-time, rapid-wit and cynicism. With their barrels of charm, they end up staying together, and the customers applaud with gusto.

Had the customers, of Bergman’s film here, taken a look at the three preceding Bergman films, they might have curbed their zeal about A Lesson in Love being an effort to live up to Hawks’ His Girl Friday. The newshounds are already in their heaven of advantage. Hawks was as flush an adjusted giant as Bergman was as flush a maladjusted giant. (A bit closer, though, to our helmsman, was Howard Hughes!) Though Hawks was, in addition, a daring sportsman, for sure, he would not have wanted any part of the rigors which Bergman faced all his life. As such, Bergman assembles an action with many formal aspects of the 1940 film, but only to display how very different such domestic conflict can careen into long-term emptiness. Gunner Bjornstrand and Eva Dahlbeck, though handsome enough, are not built for swooning, but instead for bloodless self-mutilation. Once in a while a bit of mirth escapes, but only to emphasize the loss of real sustenance. (This seems to be the moment to take to heart how badly served the commentary of Bergman films through the years have been left. A few ridiculously overrated pundits have managed to disfigure the work beyond recognition, to be followed by the quick and the dead. One of the more egregious and destructive faux pas along this slope is the daft reflex to the assumption that early works [like the one here] are minor and dispensable. Bergman was ready to shoot out all the lights from the outset. A Lesson in Love is as brilliant and indispensable as Wild Strawberries, The Seventh Seal and Persona.)

This is a vehicle with many flashbacks during a train ride to Copenhagen, where Marianne, telling David, for the umpteenth time, “I’m not for you, my man,” induces in both of them a reverie of 15 years before and the irony of their wedding there. (We begin here—about the mid-point of the narrative—to absorb the harsh measures being promulgated, measures that strikingly distance the Hawks’ comedy.) Pushing off, one of them brags, “We were like The Three Musketeers… [rich killers with an excuse]. From that fanfare, the missing of Marianne on her wedding day (to sculptor, Carl-Adam) leads out to a stream of casual contempt. At the wedding ceremony underway, Carl-Adam tasks David with finding the bride. Finding, as he knew where she would be, namely still in bed, David becomes a lightning rod to the young girl’s faulty decisiveness. The groom had prefaced the confusion with, “She needs to reflect, analyze the past, say good bye to virginity” [all laughing about that, even the pastor]. Adam chugged down something strong—“You’re supposed to be calming me down”—and turned to David with, “My only friend, can you pick up the car and console her if she needs? I know you exert a tranquillizing influence.” (Behind the two searchers, one of the revelers wore a black and white dress with chevron patterns which no one knew what to do with.) On waking Marianne at Adam’s pad, David discovers that she’d rather marry him. The seriality of the handrails up to the door had not created the sensation it could have. Nor did the Hollywood wind motif, up to the door. But entering, he saw a noose hanging from a light fixture, which gave him a start. When the patrician youngsters are eye-to-eye, Marianne’s eyes are crying. Between there and the feeble bid to use the noose, she deflects David’s scorn—“ What are you saying? The wedding has already begun!”—with , “I wanna die… If you’re going to scold me, you better go.” Followed by, “Can’t I be tired of him, the buffalo?” She cites how handsome David looked on blushing when he saw Adam using her as a nude model. And she adds, “Carl-Adam, the buffalo, laughed and said, ‘He’s [David’s] going to be a gynecologist!’” And finally, she crafts an intimate history of his tracking down an ant in her pants, eliciting from the budding gynecologist, “I’m still ashamed to think of that… ant.” And when she can’t seem to swing David along with her, she pulls down the plaster, saying, “I’d rather hang myself.”

But eventually they do see themselves becoming married (an early Millennial marriage), and rush off to announce the eleventh-hour nuptials. (Not before, however, her declaring, “I’ve loved you for over two years!” And not before David’s deadpan, “We need to talk with Carl-Adam…” [in one of their patented seepage of manufacturing “important information”]. Now, for a bit of spice, she adds, “He’s gonna kill you!” And he adds, “Rightly so. We’re best friends.” And this becomes the origin of a 15-year marriage, with two children. (A few years later, Bergman will return to discern more rotten rich pussies, in his Scenes from a Marriage [1974], replete with another Marianne.) David resists her wanting to make love at this moment, and she praises, “What a strong personality!”—the ways of subterfuge spinning crazily.

Entering the reception to cheers, here screwball shows us something far darker than the resources of Howard Hawks. It involves an effete fraternity. David pipes up, “Dear Carl-Adam, I can’t tell you how annoying it is coming here to spoil your wedding. It’s doubly painful that we are best friends…” Marianne, cutting to the chase, looks for bloody tidings, with, “But we love each other… David and me.” Adam, burly, but far from proletarian, having embarked on an invisible cash-flow and an endless supply of alcohol, laughs a zany laugh, as if someone else has been stiffed (or, as if the contretemps has shot up an instable disinterestedness). The moment provides the once-groom handing over a fine beverage to the traitors. “Let’s toast the new bride and groom! My sincere congratulations!” (This angers Marianne, who had been born to be a princess, never to be fast food, nor to be less than a centre of the universe, carrying a world-wide anxiety about those not endlessly in awe of her supposed prestige and power.) A laugh comes from the artiste. Then, to David, “You’re afraid, you dog!”/ “I can’t deny it,” is the new family man’s response. The sometimes-ugly drunk chooses, “A healthy little man, very surprised…” His smile—now a stage smile—clicks into a murderous register, and he smashes David into unconsciousness. The aggrieved tells her, “Witch!” But Marianne, who in another era would be a leader of a counter-revolution, easily avoids his haymaker. She tells him, being a paragon of convenient correctness, “Are you going to hit a woman?” Adam, perhaps having some class-time at a law-school (the other Marianne follows in her daddy’s footsteps as a lawyer), tells her, “I’ll get you what you deserve, you bastard!” (One of his savage sculptures is in view for the festivity.) She smacks him in the face. The pastor says, “Peace, my friends, peace.” The born lawyer emotes, “Who was wronged? [Who has the advantage?]. On what side is justice? In my innocence! No?” Marianne objects, “What innocence?” she addresses the divine. “And the sluts he uses as models, vertically and horizontally… like a dirty goat!” “I was going to marry this bitch, pastor! I am a man of peace…” She jumps up on a chair and pulls up her dress to expose a thigh. “Kisses me where the sun does not shine. Can anyone see the bite mark? I told people I got it when I climbed up a tree!” The pastor cries out, “Peace, in the name of God!” Adam rushes to the dock. “I protest! Deceptive propaganda!” She retorts, “You protest? I’ll kick you in the ass! That’s right, your pigs dumpling! … Sorry, pastor…I’ve been a maid to this pretentious genius for three years! ‘Marianne do this, Marianne do that… Sew my socks… This food is bad, make some coffee, kiss me… It is an honor for you to serve me, the greatest sculptor in the world! I talk to Michelangelo…’” When he protests, “I never said that,” she comes back with, “You were drunk! You’ve always been drunk. And on our wedding, too!” He protests, “I was sober when the wedding started—was I not, my friends?” Marianne sneers, “You and your friends have never been sober…” (The friends denounce her.) “I’ve passed your threshold for the last time… And I let you draw my breasts, also for the last time…” (She brandishes her fist in Adam’s face.) “And I shit on your art, your immortality, your ostentatiousness and your unbearable and idiotic virility!” She underlines her oration by smashing a cup. Adam tells, “I am very angry with your imprecation… who took you out of the gutter, who will become famous from his unique art… Lick my… Pardon, pastor… the soles of my boots… I gave you a home, food and drink! I was like a father, all these years! [Clichés to the max.] Marianne, you repay me badly. The world is an ungrateful place…”

She, momentarily, and dysfunctionally ashamed, says, “I created a snake in my chest.” David has recovered, given another chance to find equilibrium. “Actually two damn snakes,” Adam perseveres. He loses his balance and falls. Marianne’s self-criticism now out the door, she sheiks in vicious laughter. David does not laugh, nor anyone else. A glimpse of viral derangement. On regaining his footing, he finds a gesture to regain some dignity: “Get out of here or I’ll kill you and that good-for-nothing friend of yours!” And he pushes over the piano for high effect, which belies his commitment to dignity. Then Marianne, seemingly taking a course in self-destruction by way of virulent advantage, declares, “I’ll take everything that’s mine.” She races around the centre, grabbing bits of décor, while the other guests regard her as terminally shabby. Adam does nothing helpful in the way of poise, by smashing all her dishes. “I won’t forget that,” she didn’t have to tell us, “you fucking camel!” She equips herself with a club-like utensil and smashes down one of his larger works. Adam begins to overturn a table; but he manages a second thought. He grabs David, but then pushes him away, before any more assault. He approaches Marianne, with hate in his eyes, while her club is on the ready. He spits in her face, and charges… But then he calls out, “A woman, my friends! What a woman!… The party goes on… Hell! The bottles are empty!” David lifts Marianne! She’s beaming, and so is he! She commands, “Don’t just stand there! Come on, pastor…” Marianne lights a candle, and the guests feel they’ve seen the heart of creative depth. (This being, among other rejoinders, Bergman’s challenge to Hawks’ famous expressive vigor.)

Going into this fascinating, early and far from minor film, we are on the hook to discern how Marianne and David (as we rejoin them on the rails for that supposed date with destiny, in the form of Marianne—once again—about to tie the knot with bemusing Adam) fool themselves that theirs has been and will continue to be a rich relationship. Along with this scrutiny of the protagonists, however, there is hovering over it all the question if anyone surpasses their chaos; and, if so, what it looks like. The narrative transpires in one day, as mentioned, with a flurry of flashbacks exposing both of them as self-indulgent mediocrities.

However, laced within their nausea, there is, as always with Bergman, a motherlode of apparitions piercing, somewhat, the thick-skinned perversity. With the first image, being a music box with a mechanized scenario of a rococo, Era of Reason coquette flitting between two rich men, we are ensnared by essentially obsolete players remaining dominant. This minuet is suddenly shattered by a brief lightning flash, followed by David, having become the gynecologist of his dreams, and being told in his office by an attractive woman patient, “You’re a bastard! You’re spoiled, coarse and technical. And you’ve never understood a woman… You’re extremely naïve…” After feeding her with, “The conjugal bed means the death of love” (wit from the 18th century), he races off to catch that train, having a chauffeur allowing him to doze off and dream about that flirtation he was trying to put in the past. (One very odd vision in that medical facility is his lab-coat—more a trench-coat than an indoor apparel. Then there is the chauffeur, Sam, speaking along lines of Hollywood detective, Sam Spade. Does the “technical” worthy need a supplement of something else? Another of David’s epigrams is, “Perhaps repentance and painful conscience are only Siamese twins” [another nod to something missing]. The impatient woman patient is seen in a chair involving a pattern of delicate parallel lines, hoping for sensation. Try to keep in mind this surprising bid of ragged poetry, from the supposed “technical,” because one of the highlights of this film shows him, very briefly and near the end, to be truly distinguished.)

The dance of Sam’s windshield wipers lulls him to sleep; but it could also, given the right outlook, be a shot in the arm. “You have nice hands and a very beautiful neck,” David praises. He continues, “I have certain principles with regard to marriage and faithfulness… I have an extremely attractive wife that I sincerely love. I’ve never been unfaithful…” (This after his reminiscence of his kissing another woman in the moonlight, after his wife went to bed.) The mistress, Susanne, tells him, “You have an uncontrollable will to kiss me and that’s not all…” His retort is, “I prefer my life with you to be one of small joys and hassles. I prefer my slippers and the indifferent fire from the fireplace, to a perfumed body, and a completely different fire that is dangerous and suffocates everything we call home, children and decency. And gains absolutely nothing.” (Little does he recognize that the fireplace is not indifferent!) A dream being more candid, he veers into, “I don’t love you, but I have come to touch you and erase my apathy by fire. Let me overcome the garbage in my brain… This was banal, stupid, silly and ridiculous.” She, seeing him making her point, calmly says, “Don’t talk any more, just kiss me.” He begins to kiss her, and then backs off… rattling on, “My cogency is indispensable, however boring.” She smiles, “Think of it as a diversion…” He tells her, “I’m crazy with desire, who wouldn’t agree to it?”/ “I’m still waiting,” the more coherent of the two tells him. “Your wife doesn’t trust you. Fidelity exists if you are faithful… Infidelity is the invention of moralists and gossips.” He seems to need more talk: “If I’m going to hell, you’re the best company.”/ “Men need reasons for everything,” she triumphs. “I dreamed about you at night,” he blurts out. Going farther, he says, “You were like our own child!” Her response? “He’s turning into a poet…” And—of course—they kiss passionately.

In a coda to that romp, David doses off again during Sam’s trusty navigation—this time elicited by a ripple of light from the highway. (These occurrences, however, could be part of an agency of incisiveness.) This time bodies, not talk, take over, due to a lovely archipelago just beyond Stockholm, also seen in Bergman’s sensual films, Summer Interlude (1951) and Summer with Monika (1953). David and Susanne (the “patient”) drift in his sailboat. “The delicate memories remain. Yes, that summer…” A shimmer from the seas passes over her face (like the “glitches,” in the 1951 film, eliciting mystery and joy). His refusing to go swimming stings her, in her journey toward disinterestedness. “I see, one, two, three, four… stars,” he avers, prosaically, not on the same page. They both admit to be tired. She takes his pipe out of his mouth, and puts it in her mouth. He feels “satiated.” She’s “insatiable.” He declares, “Men cannot vegetate.”/ “You can’t just be,” she complains. “I want to do some research,” he posits. (But research is a wide-ranging notion. A test for both of them.) Her slur, “That’s so minor,” finds her at her worse. He trots out a slur, himself: “Eat, eat, satisfy.” And then she waits for the product, “Hate.” Once again, a shimmer of light from the sea passes over her face and body. Instead of a progression, there is an impasse. “You’re tired of me,” she declares. His, “I didn’t mean that,” is met by, “Yes, that was exactly what you did mean. Don’t try to dodge that.”/ “I could spit! But you’re under my skin… at the tips of my fingers…” She counters with, “I’m a kind of poison…”/ “Call it what you want. Stop smoking my pipe… You leave it filthy.” (She could have turned the tables by saying, “You leave it pedantic.”) She grabs his throat. “I could cut your throat!”/ In a flash, he chirps up, “I’ll show you the quickest way! Put my head on your desk, and use a lamp [emitting no light] to smash me between the eyes.”

Catching the train was easy. Using the train was not. Such a vehicle happens to be one of Bergman’s means of offering the gifts of dynamics to a sluggish constituency. No longer wearing his eccentric lab coat, David, like a gumshoe, plies the first-class relaxation until he finds Marianne. And here comes one of the film’s “whacky,” “screwball,” and let’s face it, “cynical,” initiatives, face-to-face with His Girl Friday. Seeming to be encountering someone he’d never met before, the droll Carry Grant wannabe obsequiously addresses his wife, “Is that place occupied?”/ “No, it’s unoccupied,” she reports, not really surprised befalling complicating from an agency who had driven her to the portal of divorce. The supposed classic, harmless pedant, begs her to spare his frail constitution, by moving over to the window seat. “I don’t like the wind in my face.” In the maneuvering there, he pretends to accidentally sit on her purse. (The ambiguity of David’s powers is a major hot spot to consider.) After the arrangements are finished, the other occupant of the deluxe room, a gregarious gentleman, making a point of never taking a train due to being an avid car driver—whose car is needing repairs—sizes up David as a rather meek intellectual. (The little home away from home, however, is provided with headrests in the form of patterns of two wings spread out, and a central figure therewith of oblique nature. There is something engaging about the pattern, to be sure; but there is also a fascist, military thrust.) The genuine stranger also sizes up Marianne, as one of his type, sophisticated and promiscuous. He fibs being delighted here, without his expensive chariot, telling his audience, “We can meet nice people… and beautiful ladies…” Cut to Marianne, who smiles warmly and then opens a book she was reading before David messed things up. The latter opens his valise and begins to read a formidable-looking book. That brings from the mixer, “A black-cover book, huh. Probably modern literature. Can I ask its title?” It reads, “Introductory Study of the Arterial Circulation and Sexual Glands.” Marianne rolls her eyes in boredom, seeing in the stranger a soulmate. She asks for a light (David’s incursion being more annoying than she realizes). And, Hollywood Lite, the people guy immediately lights her cigarette while David’s lighter refuses to perform. (Like a TV ad. This motif takes off in earnest, in Bergman’s punchy rendition of The Magic Flute [1975].)

The couple whose wedding was unusual might have been understood, by those not present at the reception, as merely eccentric. But we have Howard Hawks’ Hildy and Walter, from the era of real screwball, never departing from the aegis of savvy skepticism. They enjoy the cuddle of a virtually universal escapism. With Marianne and David, however, there is an intensity far abrogating even the quirky normal. Their sham of being strangers is actually a truth. She’ll go out of the chic little cabin (regarding David with disdain), to visit the washroom, whereupon the critic of modern literature proposes to the supposed easy mark a bet that she’ll happily kiss him before the trip is over. “What a woman!” he exclaims (the very words that Adam used during that up-and-down wedding). “What posture, what way of walking, what breasts…” David is almost serene, having, in the course of rushing to save their marriage, a strange disinterestedness. Here the dynamics of the ride, seen out the window, show up. “Won’t you be sad left alone?” the rambling gambler asks./ “On the contrary!” David enthuses. Then they both laugh uproariously, for different reasons. The conductor comes in, and by this time David covers his eyes. That visit done, he opens his book, but he doesn’t read. He stares into space. The book falls on the floor. A lesson in love. (The carpet shows a pattern of binary forms, with a gap.) Two photos fall out of the pages, and he’s in a mood to relive, by reverie, an episode pertaining to his daughter, Nix, played by Harriet Andersson, who—talk about “nix”—had only a few months before portrayed the savvy skeptic, Monika, in Bergman’s film, Summer with Monika (1953).

Of course, the gambler gets his face slapped—a slap coinciding with David’s resumption of trying to make pearl out of swine. (He bets the kissing loser that he, the supposed nerd and nothing else, can kiss the chick. And he wins, though winning with Marianne is hardly winning.) Thus, begins a pell-mell race of our bemusing protagonists performing yet another blind alley. (Nix takes over the memory, with her crusade to never marry, to stay masculine and to resent her parents’ going separate ways. “It’s not healthy for a woman living without a man… [more incoherence]… It’s so disgusting! I pity all women.” They visit an uncle/ potter (everywhere they turn there are estates and the idle rich); but Axel, the artisan, does carry some gentle, if quietist, traction. Moreover, Nix’s noisy rebellion does sustain some sense. “It means that Mom also plays the ‘love game.’” (In a show of ambiguity, she also declares to David, “If you have a new lover, let Mommy have hers.”) Seemingly a level-headed, classical rationalist, the dad advises (with something up his sleeve), “The best of life seems to be a collaboration.” Nix sums up the day, “And you’re a baboon!” After a pause, he replies, “Yes, maybe I am.” She adds, “You despise yourself, Daddy!”/ “Yes, Nix. I despise myself. I see everything being infinitely incoherent…” How lacking in acuity, comes in the follow-up: Nix, unsparing, “So you see Mom, and Pelle [Nix’s brother] and me to be incoherent?”/ “No!” [of course], he rushes to assert. “They’re the only thing I care about!”

Now that the voyager finds herself needing more substance and far less fantasy—Marianne, beginning with feigning a bit of grit in her eye (grit being in short supply) which David attends to with some body contact—attempts to fabricate some validity for her folly of linking to an alcoholic idiot. How far had David slipped from the momentary reflection of his past moment with Nix? He tells Marianne, “I’m known for my delicate touch…” She thinks to be on solid grounds by musing, “I’ve always thought of the huge powers that a gynecologist has over our hearts and our confidences.” He brags, “You can lose your head. Sometimes it’s relaxing.”/ “Does his wife also find it relaxing?” she asks. And he snipes back, “She seizes the opportunity to lose her head.” After much more mutual steeling, David shifts to self-criticism. “Aside from reproduction, man is an insignificant player in the world of women… I admit my inferiority without grudge. I just cannot babble…” [a means of surrender including being tops, anyway].

Babbling and embarrassing seem endless, coming from blast-furnace experts of advantage. Let’s see the rare moments of vision, as the action subsides to spineless retreat. Adam, that easy target, drives Marianne to the epigram, “A grown man is rare, Dear David.” But she spoils it with the loopy arrogance, “A woman chooses the man-child whom she fits best.” He musters, “In the beginning, it was just you and me… A company with a future. [But seeing yourself as cash-flow, therewith, is in fact a form of bankruptcy; however, a ‘company’ may be quite a different action from that.] Our painful experiences can be our start-up capital.”[Painful experiences may veer for good; they may also veer for collapse.] David, bidding for a prolongation of what was already too long, enlists the wrong powers, powers of bathos: “Give me again your heart, and I will treat you like a sacred reliquary.” (His winning kiss is far less than it might seem.)

As Marianne drifts for the second time to leave Adam in the lurch on account of an extended family too big to fail, they, nearing Copenhagen, bring us along in shaky celebration to the birthday of David’s father, only a year before real time. By this time, Marianne routinely puts down booby-traps to spoil, for instance, David’s morning at the palatial homestead. (And, before that, he rudely slaps her ass as a wake-up call.) The grandma, barging into their temporary bedroom and ignoring Marianne, wants it known that the birthday boy—forever the pedant—got up at 3 a.m. to change for the party. But the day does put out some magic. Sam, turning out to be the oldsters’ chauffeur, can’t persuade the ancient limousine to start, and they take their two horses and a cart to attempt to make the day shine. A flute passage jumps up, and the woods are everything the household isn’t. They arrive at a cliff on the seashore, and they scatter at will. The protagonists invade a pristine swatch of saplings touched by a bright sun. Their cigarette smoke-clouds predate vapers. “Do you still love me,” she asks. “That’s a stupid question,” is all she gets. “Imagine that it ends one day…” she continues. “No one’s beautiful like you,” he asserts. And in response, she says, “I’m serious…” The subject of his mistress hovers like bugs. And she, hardly a paragon of stability, emotes, “When you are far from me, only for a day or so, I feel I have become small and sad. And as if everything died around me. Is that weird?” Her jist comes down to, “Let nothing change,” and let’s have another baby… (“Imagine its smell,” she brandishes… “Imagine holding that life… I get creepy talking about it…” All of this futility occurs in close-up, with them reclining in the grass.)

Still in reverie, but productive on the basis of hard-wired outlooks, earlier on that day, while waiting for the car to behave, grandma demands that grandpa return to the house and put on one of his best vests. Nix is ordered to accompany him, and a conversation takes place, a conversation, opened by Nix, which David and Marianne would regard to be “small and sad.” The candid granddaughter asks, “Grampa, are you afraid to die?” His response is, first of all, “No, not at all, I believe in God Almighty. I believe in the next life and all kinds of life… Death is just a little part of life…” He mentions that life forever would be a bore. [Coherence be damned!] “It’s understandable that a child be afraid and worry. Only an old man like me can begin to solve the meaning of life… Everything has a beginning, a middle and an end… Maybe this life is just the beginning…” Nearly everyone subscribes to that pattern; but the dramas sustaining the work of Ingmar Bergman don’t.

The train conductor snaps them out of that. They meet Adam at the station (the host seemingly and unbelievably forgetting who David was) and the less than fully welcome third proposes going to a hot club. (Before that, at a café for a bite, Adam salivates, “What a wonderful idea! The woman, the lover and the husband!” From there they take a ferry to the heart of Copenhagen [a craft resembling the boat in Bergman’s Summer Interlude]. On this interlude, Adam—perhaps stung by David’s congratulation, “Marianne said you were sober for several days”—maintains, “Women are realists. They choose the strongest. I have big muscles…” David mocks him that his works will be known 2000 years from now; and the artist reports, “You’re being ironic, but you’re right… Women love the great artists…” A flurry, in close-up, of a tray delivering their drinks, comes and goes without attention.)

Back to David’s last-ditch hope at a hot club, Marianne moots, “Maybe another drink won’t hurt.” He, looking for a miracle, jazzes up the fanfare, “Promise me that we’re going to hell! [hold that thought]. I want to see something exciting. Slightly immoral. Something shocking!” There’s a jazz trio, far from shocking; a woman swirling, sort of like Rita Hayworth in, Gilda, and, to Adam’s annoyance, David and Marianne enjoying a dance together, cheek-to-cheek. In that moment of solitude for Adam, the budding family man, he notices a close friend, a hooker, in fact, and he prevails upon her to get David into single-guy mode. For good measure, he arranges by way of his close-buddy-bartender, to induce David to drink a notoriously unhealthy stimulant. (On entry, Adam calls out, “Marianne is an independent woman. She isn’t bourgeois [like you]. There is no such thing as purity. Only impotent men are faithful. Wives betray you without delay.”) Lise, the supposed distraction, complaining, “Business is bad,” tells Adam, “He’s very attractive” [and though he steps on Marianne’s toes, his renegade gambit shows him at his best]. Marianne knowing something’s that wasn’t there before, asks, “Are you crazy? What’s wrong with you?” (David’s explanation is not quite right—“This dance made me excited!”) She glares and marches away toward Adam, where she grabs the bottle out of his mouth, his equities plummeting, while the blur of the takeover could have been gold. Lise catches up the seldom-dancer, and declares, “David, you didn’t see me?” He smiles within his rare roll. “Give a kiss to Lise!” (Marianne sees this affection, and becomes even more angry. Adam remarks, “It’s nice that David found a girl.”) The new lovers come to the designated bartender. While waiting for the complex mixture, he asks her, “What do you do?” In a flash, she comes up with, “I’m a teacher,” adding, mysteriously, “You want a deal?”/ “What do you teach?” he continues. “My love, of course… What did you think?” And she exposes a shoulder and chest. David has a moment of nonplussed (“Where’s Marianne?”) ; and recovers with laughing out loud, “I’m an idiot, Lise… Hello!” (The ebb and flow of this tonal frontier being never surpassed in Bergman’s many delights.) Then he drinks some of the preparation (the bartender alarmed). He drains the glass (the bartender sticking out his tongue in empathy). “A love potion,” he says. Lise the critic says, “Yeah, good!” The bartender—right out of Depression Era Hollywood—fears the worst. “Can you give me the ingredients?” David asks. “It goes down to the knees… Now I’ve lost my muscles. Why did I do this?” he asks. And he’s glad he’s become (perhaps not for long) someone he’s never been. He orders a second wave of seemingly out of this world, and Bergman’s perfect pitch shows no more reaction from the front line. “There’s a kink in my neck,” the crasher observes; and his glasses fall off. “You look better without glasses,” Lise enthuses. He then treads another step toward dangerous and necessary territory. “Lise, my girl, you’re so beautiful one could die for. But you shouldn’t tie up your hair. You must be loose and free! Like rapids!…” (Cut to the farther range of the bar, with Adam smug and Marianne morose.) “Let’s dance!” the hidden talent calls out./ “Yes!” Lise winks to him. (All smiles.) On the crowded dance floor, Lise says, with more than professional delivery, “Kiss me, David!” He remembers he hasn’t had his second drink. On completing that, he says, “Now, I’m going to kiss the most beautiful girl in Denmark! Not even the King could disapprove!” He, tiger-like, tells the crowd, “Get out of the way, I need space!” He backs into Marianne, produces a rude gesture toward her, and pivots away. Adam laughs uproariously. David kisses Lise passionately. The room applauds. Marianne grabs Adam’s drink and drinks it down. David kisses Lise once more, as if he’d made a discovery needing more details. Unfortunately, impetuous and violent Marianne rushes into the caress; and chaos ensues. Recalling 15 years before and the seriously questionable embrace there, Marianne reverts to advantage at any cost. “Let me go! I’ll make mixed meat out of her!” Lise rushes to find David, but he has left the building, and left forever not only his moment in the sun, but hers’. She does find Adam, once again failing to find some kind of marriage. “I want to scream!” she tells him, far more a lady than what David had pulled out the stops for.

The denouement, winding up in a 5-star Copenhagen hotel and its bridal suite, with a card strung on the door handle ordering, “Do Not Disturb,” is one of the saddest celebrations you could ever imagine. Cutting from the bar, we have David and Marianne at twilight, along a canal as seen from the other side. She is shrieking like a complete fool, and marching toward him with a panzer attack, while he silently back-peddles. “How could you kiss that filthy and vulgar slut? And right in front of me! Your promises are worthless… I want to fuck you!” David, still slightly in a moment of vision that Marianne will never for a moment savor, has what he wanted, and he might as well be dead. The advantage-pro dips into the world of entitlement and rococo: “I’m sad, cold and depressed. If there’s water here, I’m going to drown myself… I’m going to pummel you first!” David, shrinking by the minute, manages to say, “My beloved Marianne. What a day, what a night!” Sam, the fixer with the fixed limousine, had handled all the arrangements for a night of, if not love, victory. On being driven to the appropriate address, the princess exclaims, “David, you slut! You were so sure!” Masters of ceremonies. Midgets, forever! Once again, that 18th century music box confirming endless nothings.

#ingmar bergman

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