#this is what trying to study ancient philosophy is like. it's a great time

[thoodleoo]

me: i don't know, zosimus, i worry that in trying so hard to follow a nebulous philosophical "good" i'm failing to actually act in a way that supports and connects me to my fellow man. what do you think?

the stoic philosopher who lives in my house and advises me in exchange for eating breadcrumbs out the bottom of my toaster: have you considered killing yourself to attain true virtue

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Years later - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Word count: 1666

TW: religious imagery

Out of guilt and dread you end up leaving Vermont and building a new life. Just as you thought you escaped your past, you once again find yourself in its grasp.

The past haunts me. It has been years—so many I cannot begin to count, and if I’m being completely honest, I was not counting to begin with. Everything I have done was to escape that wretched part of my life in which my naivety and perhaps self-consuming passion, managed to control me. I wanted—want—to forget it all. 

The first time I stepped foot into what would soon come to be one of the few select places in my nightmares was very awe-inducing. The university was large, larger than I’d imagined. The stone walls had arched indents that made it look as if it belonged in one of the novels I read as a teenager and that my family wholeheartedly despised. The hallways were a contorted maze of watchful ancient statues following every movement with their eyes, priceless antiques donated by rich parents and students with more money in their pockets than I could ever dream of having. A multitude of departments found their home in that twisted place, such as theater, arts, modern literature, architecture, history, music, philosophy, and more. I believe you can imagine my excitement when faced with the exact kind of university I dreamed of studying at, especially when I had little to no hope of ever getting anywhere close to it, much less belonging.

One thing, as you know, led to another, and I ended up as one of the infamous Greek pupils. I’m quite sure everyone thought we were some kind of cult, which, if you think about it, isn’t entirely wrong.

The first few years were everything I had ever hoped for. I felt that I had found my place and, most certainly, my kind. We used to do everything together. Being with them was the only time I truly felt alive. It doesn’t matter whether we went to the comforting country house engulfed in trees safely from the outside world, had delicious dinners debating the most obscure topics, or simply studied in the library, sleep-deprived and on immense amounts of caffeine, I always felt as if I was doing something more than just existing.

Where did it all go wrong? I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I do not want to categorize Richard’s arrival as the initiator factor, for it was not his fault. Nor is it correct to say that the Bacchanal was the beginning of it all. It wouldn’t be Henry’s doing either, at least not the start of it. I have speculated on this over the years, and I have come to only one conclusion that seems right. My theory as to what the answer is and my attempt to pinpoint the exact place on the timeline are not as precise as I hoped they would be. It was not a single event that gave birth to our ruin, but rather multiple little moments, that are rather large in the big scheme. I also like to believe that Julian had as much of a role in all of this as the rest of us. Perhaps, even a considerably more sizeable one.

Everything that happened—I wish to leave behind. However, I recently came to realise, that, to my misery, it incorporated and formed my very being. My views, my ideas, my tastes, and my activities are all, to a certain extent, if not fully influenced and ruled over by it. I am my past.

My great, futile attempts to escape the life I once had, led me to London, a perfect setting for someone who wished to hide. A bustling place, where I had the chance to not be me, but a mere shadow lurking throughout the crowded streets, observing every passerby, while trying to guess their life stories, deepest desires, and strongest fears. I was no one, and I adored it. However, my presence became known among museum guides and librarians for its consistency. I have also earned a reputation among university students for being one of the few odd professors. This is probably due to the fact that I am very selective with my pupils, and I teach a couple that are quite brilliant in my office. I often have open discussions with them, for I consider it helps them engage with the topic better and understand the meaning and philosophy behind it in such a way that encourages them to analyze, observe, and critique. One such day, we were talking about the loss of self, Plato’s four divine madnesses:

‘Death is the mother of beauty,’ said Felix, one of my students.

I nodded in approval as I propped myself up on the desk.

‘And what is beauty?’ 

‘Terror,’ a voice answered from my office’s door.

My life up until this moment, along with all my darkest memories and the series of events that led me to where I am today, flash before my eyes, and it feels as if the universe has stopped specifically to play along with his sadistic trick. My jaw clenches involuntarily, my eyes threaten to betray my emotions, and I have to remind myself I’m not the same brainless kid chasing empty promises and impossible dreams, fully convinced that every existing land, no matter how vast it may be, is my playground and that fate will bend according to my petulant will. I have to get out of my head, the silence is stretching. My students, probably confused, are expecting some kind of sign from my disordered self. He is waiting for a reaction. The past has finally caught up to me. After all my futile attempts, it still managed to intrude on my present’s doorway. 

I take a deep breath. I look at my students, curiosity mixed with confusion clear in their expressions. I don’t need to look at him to know who he is.

‘I apologize,’ I start hoping that they cannot hear the tremble in my voice as accentuated as I seem to do, ‘class is dismissed.’

I need not say more before my students start gathering their belongings in complete silence so as to not further disturb the room completely filled with palpable animosity and perhaps something more vivid, cursed to lurk in the depths of our minds. I reach blindly toward my pack of cigarettes, lying somewhere on my desk between books and coffee-stained papers. Lucky Strikes, yet another sign of his hold on me. I light my cigarette, breathing in the curls of smoke spiraling down my throat. The sound of his leather shoes clicking against the wooden floorboards reverberates through my beating heart. I am well aware that even now, after years of attempting to escape from the rosary He entangled around my neck, I am still His most loyal devotee, respecting vigilantly every silent command. Deep and numbing smoke inside my lungs, like a relaxant, washes me with warm Indian summer waves of calmness.

He is fixating me with his cold blue eyes, watching for any sign of defiance. Over the years I’ve spent in his presence, I’ve learned to recognize his transitive facial expressions, his secretive ways, and his small habits, whether it is the way he holds a page between his fingers before turning it or his tendency to dive into long monologues about whatever interests him at that moment. It is a distinct ability that has grown its roots along my blood vessels, twisted and intertwined beyond differentiation. Understanding each other used to be our way of showing our affection. It is something so sacred that I cannot bring myself to weaponize against him and betray the bond we once had. You’d think that after so much time I’d be able to break free from the shackles His divinity holds me in and convert to a different faith. But He is nestled so deeply in me, that I cannot help but like the burns and the imprints upon my skin.

Henry Marchbanks Winter looks the same. But he now has a new pair of glasses and slight crow’s feet, along with faint smile lines framing his lips. He’s wearing one of his dark English suits, which have always fit him incredibly well. And if the wrinkles weren’t enough, the few grey hairs peeking from underneath the familiar dark colour of his hair are a brutal reminder of how much of him I missed. A cruel admonitum of the years that have passed and of all the times I wasn’t next to him, not by chance but by choice. It takes all I have in me to not fall to my knees, confess my sin, and beg for forgiveness. As if all the years I’ve been away from him turned into mere days I find myself falling back to my old habits and once again bowing down to his silent command.

Amor dominus terribilis est.

The cigarette burns, forgotten between my fingers, as I get wasted on his scent, for once, unbothered by the consequences.

‘I’ve finally found you, dilectus.’ Beloved.

‘I suppose you have.’ I cannot help but stare at him, hypnotized by the storm in his eyes.

‘I have been searching for you since the day you left.’ He reaches a gentle, steady hand to brush my cheek ‘London of all places-’

As much as I wish to let him hold me again I find myself interrupting him. ‘You have no business here.’ I walk to the open window and take my second drag from the almost fully burned cigarette.

He sighs, frustration slipping through the cracks of his perfection.

‘Like it or not,’ he emanates divine turmoil as he emphasizes every word  ‘you are my business.’

‘After so long we can’t be anything but strangers.’

‘You are wrong.’ He states immediately as I finish the sentence. ‘You cannot act as if you have forgotten everything we’ve been through.’ His hand once again finds its way to my face and caresses it with smooth, slow motions. This time I let him. ‘One more chance is all I ask for.’ He whispered.

‘One more chance.’ I agree, defeated.

[slamdunktheories]

Sannoh's Unusual Team Slogan

Sharing a little Slam Dunk shrine that's in my study! Let's use this to jump into a topic that's rarely discussed: Sannoh's unusual slogan. I might be overthinking here but... considering that Inoue was a Literature major in college before dropping out to become a manga-ka, I'm pretty sure there's something interesting going on here and it didn't happen by accident.

Let's dive in!

Sannoh's slogan (一意摶心) was only revealed in TFSD and I loved it from the moment I saw it. Of all the team slogans that were shown in Slam Dunk, this was by far the best one IMO. What a kickass slogan. What a philosophy to live by. And so on brand. But... there's also something weird about it.

First, what does the slogan mean? The first phrase that comes to mind is actually 一意專心, a similar phrase that's pretty well-known in both Japanese and Chinese. It's a very similar phrase but not exactly what Sannoh has for their slogan. And 一意專心 loosely translates to: to focus or dedicate yourself single-mindedly and wholeheartedly to something.

It's a phrase that still gets used in modern day Japanese and Chinese. And it does seem to fit Sannoh. Just like the phrase itself, there's an air of austerity/Zen-ness to the way Sannoh is depicted in the story. The tradition of the team shaving their heads and resulting in that monk look, the simplicity of their uniform (in both design and colour choice), the discipline that's so evident in the way they play on court during the critical moments, etc. Of course, this is all inspired by Noshiro, the real life high school with a famed history in basketball.

But the thing that made me pause over the Sannoh slogan was the third character: 摶. TFSD was the very first time I'd seen this character in my life (despite being a native Chinese speaker and fairly well-read). I wasn't even 100% sure how it was pronounced. Why would Inoue opt for the more complicated and obscure 摶 instead of 專 when the latter would have been just fine per the modern phrase mentioned above? Was he trying to achieve something by opting for this character for the slogan?

So I did a bit of digging and it turns out... even Japanese natives don't know this character. In fact, some online Japanese dictionaries don't have an entry for this character. And for good reason: Sannoh's slogan is a phrase that first appeared 2,500 years ago during China's Zhou Dynasty, in an ancient text titled Guan Zi written by a philosopher. However, the phrase that was coined in Guan Zi (aka Sannoh's slogan) has virtually not been used outside of that particular book; all subsequent mentions of this phrase actually reference Guan Zi. And there's been barely a mention of this character in recent centuries.

Also, note that even though 2,500 years sounds like a long time ago, in some ways it isn't, considering that the Chinese civilisation is essentially one continuous civilisation that's ~5,000 years old so this was already 25 centuries into its development. The Zhou Dynasty already had a bunch of technology and tools; irrigation systems, canals, chopsticks etc. had already been invented. It was also the time of Confucianism, Daoism, and complex military strategies that still remain relevant today. (That seminal book on military war strategy, "The Art of War", came from this period. GREAT book, BTW.)

Anyway, the next time this phrase appears in another piece of text, it's written as 一意專心 (aka the contemporary version of the phrase). So it could be that the modern phrase that Chinese & Japanese speakers know so well is a corruption/mistranslation of the original phrase (aka Sannoh's slogan). Also, this ancient character 摶 has the additional meaning of unity, circle, and harmony, which 專 does not possess.

When you look at how 一意摶心 appears in Guan Zi, you get a fuller context of what this original phrase actually means.

The original is here for those interested, but loosely translated it means: to calm your breath and your pulse, to hold your posture upright, to purge your senses of distractions, and to singlemindedly and wholeheartedly devote yourself to a cause, letting nothing distract you physically or mentally from it.（full breakdown of this text here in Chinese)

So that is actually the context in which Sannoh's phrase appears and makes 一意摶心 so much richer than the modern phrase. Again, it evokes a Zen-ness and discipline that fit Sannoh to a T.

In my view, Inoue-sensei wanted to go back to the roots of that phrase and honour the original intent behind it, which carries connotations of unity and that makes sense for a team sport. I'm still amazed that he knows this phrase, considering that it is not known to be in any Japanese texts; again, it really only exists in a Chinese text called Guan Zi.

Anyway, hope this was interesting for at least some of you! Would love to hear what people think about this (and if you have insights on the Chinese or Japanese aspects, please do chime in! I'm not a literary specialist.)

Further reading: This article (Japanese) - it offers some interesting interpretations as to why it was picked for Sannoh's slogan that I didn't mention here since this post is already so long XD

[plasmasimagination]

Hii

I'm very new in this plataform and the english is not my first language, so i'm very nervous. 😓

I saw your account for casuality and your open requests (if are still open) so, I'm here!

I can ask for a HSR and genshin matchup?

PD: I like your writing, I think it's cute and congratulations for yours almost 400 followers✌

She/Her

I'm pan, so I'm fine with anyone you think.💕

I'm ENFP and I'm pretty sure a 8w9.

I'm a bit like the tipycal sunshine character, optimish, always happy, extroverted, distracted... But I still a mature and wise person who sometime are very weird and feel like a strange, like so young and so old in the same time. (Ancient dreams from Marina is literally my song 😭)

I don't have a good relation with my family and I speake about them and my past never (That make me feel cringe) so, I considere myself like a bit mistery and reserved person for that and a others little things.

i love with all my soul the animals, the fantasie and sci-fi, whatever misterious-type things, philosophy and the classic fairy tales, I wanna be a writer and I have planned study philosophy.

I have a little problem with the authority for that I'm most a leader over a follower but if athe person is more capable and I respect that person i can follow the orden, and I'm very passionated when I have to defend my ideologys or when I saw a injustice, the discussions in my classroom are very interesant���

My senses of self-preservation is almost non-existent, you know that character who always die for someone else? I'm them, I think this is the reason cause I'm a Griffyndor.

I'm very attached to my own moral, but no to the rules in general, so if I must be a alignment I would be a chaotic good.

I hate be alone, but I still fell very nervous in big crowds specialy if are very noisy, and places with no visible exits.

I can cry for whatever, I'm very kind, compassionate and affectionate all the time, i love help people in whatever, but i can be a little cruel with bad people.

I think that is all i can say about me, sorryyy id this is too long😭 i didn't know very well what write.

If you do this, so thaks to you, don't forget take care od you and a good rest.💕

HEY SWEETIE, THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING AND DONT WORRY YOU DID GREAT, and please, no need to be nervous you're way too sweet!

Anyways onto your request....

.

.

.

BLADE

Sunshine x grumpy

Fight me over this

It doesn't matter how you end up together, but what matters is that you are together and that's all thats important

He was very cautious of you in the beginning but later grew fond of you

He's okay with your want to be leading, he doesn't mind it at all actually, he appreciates it, he's more of a follower type of person that just does what told to

I think he would be a lot more laid back and sweeter around you, he wouldn't always be frowning or emotionless, occasionally smiling and generally enjoying your presence, it somewhat heals him in his eternal suffering

He will try to stop you from always putting others Infront of you, and will force you to take more care and be selfish from time to time

Kindness and compassion...you're gonna need that with him

You're like his safe place, he can trust you and actually tells you about him and his past.

Generally I think you guys would be very cute and that blade would appreciate a cute sunshine like you

SCARAMOUCHE

Rare matchup I do

But I also think that scara could use some sweetness in his life

No matter how much he denies it he absolutely loves you and your personality

He would burn the entire world down just to make you happy

At first he was very closed off and distant from you but got comfortable sooner or later and now he's all yours

Tho there might be a few discussions about who's gonna plan certain missions and who generally takes lead in the relationship (it's always gonna end up being you) but otherwise you guys are a great match

Do reassure him a bit and make sure he's doing fine because that boy needs it

[enlitment]

Top five history books?

Thank you for the ask! ✨

Some of my favourites may be well known at this point after the book ask, but I'll try not to repeat myself too much!

1. Ghosts in the Middle Ages: The Living and the Dead in Medieval Society by Jean-Claude Schmitt

A fascinating book on a rather niche topic which explores the changes in people's belief about ghosts/souls of the dead coming back to life. Schmitt does not only focus on obscure anecdotes however; he analyses what role the so called 'revenants' came to play in medieval society (spoiler alert: the Catholic church used stories about them to their advantage to pressure people into paying indulgences and/or spread Catholic doctrine).

2. Historiography in the Twentieth Century: From Scientific Objectivity to the Postmodern Challenge by Georg G. Iggers

Not sure if this is cheating or not, since I had to read it for uni? The title sounds quite bland, but I actually enjoyed reading it quite a bit! It gives you a framework for how to think about other history books in terms of reliability and potential biases. The author also explores the question where is the line between history and fiction (and whether it is as clear-cut as we would like to think). (It also defends the Age of Enlightenment legacy from postmodern criticism which I appreciate, though I'm not sure this would be of much interest to people who don't study/aren't into philosophy.) Still, it's quite a short, comprehensive read and a great place to start when one wants to learn more about historiography imo.

3. The Great Cat Massacre and Other Episodes in French Cultural History by Robert Darnton

Probably my favourite book on this list, since it hits so many of my areas of interest (French history, the 1700s, cultural and especially book history). It includes six essays which analyse different aspects of French culture across different social classes, ranging from villagers' fairy tales to analysing the texts of the Encyclopédistes. It's also very engaging and fun to read, though be warned, if you like cats, maybe skip the titular chapter, the name is quite literal I'm afraid!

4. Jean Paul Marat: Tribune of the French Revolution by Clifford Conner

Okay, I'll confess, I'm only about half-way through, but I'm really liking it so far! It reads more like an apology/ a text that tries to correct some of the problems with previous biographies on Marat, but I actually quite like it. It makes for an interesting read.

The author definitely has biases on his own, since it is clear that he shares much of Marat's political views, but a) he's upfront about the fact b) I don't think that the goal of all historical books should be to be as objective as possible - there's a room for subjectivity in my opinion, as long as it is reflected c) he cites his sources much more meticulously than - let's say - Scurr d) his biases are also my biases

Plus, Marat is such an interesting figure to read about! That said, this Goodreads commenter puts it much better than I ever could:

5. From Olympus to Pantheon: The Religion and Ethics in Ancient Times by Ladislav Vidman

A super interesting and accessible overview of the religious practices of ancient Greece and Rome! The author explains that many books focus on mythology, but his aim is to explore the lesser known aspects of the Greek and Roman religiosity, such as the ritual sacrifices, the oracles, the mysteries etc. It was a fascinating read, though the chapter on the sacrifices was very, very vivid in its descriptions.

(The author also seems to low-key have a crush on Vergil, explaining how he was a great role model and essentially beautiful inside and out. Not a deciding factor, but definitely a bonus!)

I unfortunately don't think the book was ever translated from Czech though, which is a shame. It would be certainly worth it!

[theblackbookofarkera]

Cyzarik Kinship

Among the wind-swept peaks of Kaspia, where the thin mountain air carries whispers of ancient secrets, dwells a remarkable order of Platara monks known as the Cyzarik Kinship. These spiritual philosophers have dedicated themselves to a unique calling - the ethical governance of mystical forces. Unlike many religious orders that either condemn or embrace sorcery wholesale, the Cyzarik Kinship has carved out a more nuanced position as shepherds of responsible magical practice.

At the heart of their philosophy lies a profound understanding of sorcery's dual nature. The Kinship teaches that mystical power, much like fire or medicine, is neither inherently good nor evil, but rather a tool of tremendous potential that demands careful stewardship. They believe humanity's relationship with preternatural forces should mirror the delicate balance found in nature itself - taking only what is needed, and always with keen awareness of how each action ripples through the cosmic fabric.

Perhaps the most remarkable practice of the Cyzarik Kinship is their mass meditation ritual, known by some as the "Dampening." During these extraordinary gatherings, hundreds of monks enter deep meditative states for weeks or even months at a time. Their combined consciousness forms what they call a "spiritual watershed" - a metaphysical barrier that temporarily limits sorcerers' ability to reach into the cosmic void. During these periods, practitioners of the dark arts often report their powers becoming muted or unreliable, as though trying to draw water from a partially dammed river.

The monasteries of the Cyzarik Kinship are architectural marvels, carefully constructed to complement their spiritual work. Built with precise geometric patterns that naturally dampen harmful mystical energies, these mountain sanctuaries feature high-altitude meditation chambers positioned to align with celestial bodies. Within their walls, monks maintain vast archives documenting sorcerous activities across Arkera, while training grounds allow apprentices to hone their ability to detect and influence mystical currents.

Daily life within these monasteries follows a careful rhythm. Dawn begins with rituals of energy sensing, where monks attune themselves to the natural flow of preternatural forces. This is followed by intensive study of historical instances of sorcerous catastrophes and successes, physical training that emphasizes control and precision over raw power, and regular periods of collective meditation to maintain their spiritual barriers.

The path to becoming a full member of the Cyzarik Kinship is long and demanding. Initiates spend years studying both theoretical and practical aspects of mystical forces, mastering unique meditation techniques, and developing their ability to detect and influence preternatural energies. Most crucially, they must demonstrate complete understanding of the Kinship's ethical framework regarding sorcery and successfully participate in at least one Great Meditation before being accepted as full members.

While the Kinship's primary focus remains their spiritual duties, they maintain an active relationship with the outside world through a network of observers, diplomats, and teachers. Their observers monitor significant magical activities across Arkera, while their diplomats advise rulers on matters of mystical policy. Teachers from the order travel to major cities, spreading their philosophy of measured use, while investigators study instances of dangerous magical practices to better understand and prevent their recurrence.

The Kinship's influence extends far beyond their mountain homes through their role as advisors to rulers on matters of magical regulation, their ability to temporarily limit dangerous magical practices, and their training of selected outsiders in ethical mystical practices. Their extensive records of magical activities and their consequences serve as a valuable resource for those seeking to understand the proper use of mystical forces.

In a world where sorcerous power flows freely, the Cyzarik Kinship stands as a testament to humanity's attempt to channel such forces responsibly. Their presence in the mountains of Kaspia serves as both warning and promise - that while humanity can and should work with preternatural forces, it must do so with wisdom and restraint. Through their careful balance of spiritual devotion and practical regulation, they offer a sophisticated approach to one of Arkera's most pressing challenges: ensuring that the power of sorcery serves rather than dominates humanity.

The ongoing influence of the Cyzarik Kinship suggests that in a world where magic exists, someone must take responsibility for its ethical use - or face the consequences of unbridled power. Their success in maintaining this balance has earned them respect from both spiritual seekers and practical rulers alike, making them an indispensable part of Arkera's mystical landscape.

[wonderjourneys]

To Help You Plan Your Trip to Tuscany

Tuscany is a stunning region, somewhere in between Milan (north) and Rome (south). Tuscany is the heartland of Italy and ancient Rome: this was the home of the Etruscans from whom the Romans learned so much about architecture.

Welcome to Tuscany: enjoy.

San Gimignano

The walls around this city have been build in the 13th century. San Gimignano is known for its skyline of medieval towers. Oblong stone shapes overlooking the hilltop town and the lands around it. San Gimignano is located in the province of Siena, a little to the west of Siena itself. This historic center is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. And with good reason. Not only is it a wonder to walk through, but as it is not yet too touristy, it is quite the hidden gem.

Val d’Orcia

This is the place to visit, to see the cypress trees. The trees are in the whole of Tuscany, but Val d’Orcia is the hotspot.

Pienza

Marvel in this beautiful renaissance town. This too is an UNESCO World Heritage Site. This city was there in the 9th century, by another name: Corsignano. Perhaps Pienza is most known for its panoramic views of the Tuscan landscape. A must visit for every tourist is the panorama boulevard around the city.

Lucca

The city with the wall that has never been breached. Located in between Florence and Pisa. Lucca has an intact Renaissance-era city wall. It is called “Mura di Lucca”. It is not literally a wall, but a wide earthen structure. Approximately 4 kilometers in diameter, the Walls of Lucca functions today as a city park around the historic town. Within the walls is the entire world: palaces and squares, towers and churches, narrow streets, water, a prison and the famous Piazza dell’Anfiteator.

Fog over the Tuscan hills

This is what you see, if you are a bird at 6 o’clock in the morning and start to fly. Tuscan hills in the fog. Pure magic.

Siena

The red stone city. Just like other cities, this city was first settled by the Etruscans (900-400 BC). The floor mosaic in the Siena Cathedral of Hermes Trismegistus is a must see. The three time great Hermes Trismagistus may be connected to Greek God Hermes and the Egyptian God Thoth. The Hermetica is a teaching of philosophy and practical magic: the alchemical procedure to make the Philosopher’s Stone. Most noticeable of Siena are the Cathedral and the Piazza del Campo. The Siena Cathedral has that typical white / dark green layers. We see the same in the Duomo of Florence, and Byzantine architecture (like in the German city of Aachen, for instance). The streets of Siena are red and best discovered by just letting fate decide your path. You will be in for a treat at every corner you take.

Monteriggioni

A small walled village. Near Siena and San Gimignano. If you have the time: this is a wonderful place to visit. The medieval town was a front line in the wars against Florence. It is small. It is charming. It transports you to days long past. Truly wonderful.

Volterra

Yes. The home of the vampire royalty The Volturi: from the Twilight saga. But Volterra is a real place. And what a beautiful place. Founded in the 8th century BC, this town can take you through the ages. The ruins of a Roman theatre are in this city. The streets and buildings are stone like in so many Tuscan cities. But every Tuscan city has a character of its own. And so does Volterra. Tall stone structures. Not red as in Siena, but Gray and ochre. With the magic of the light in Italy, it can paint paintings you would love to see.

Florence

Florence. Botticelli. The birthplace of the Renaissance. After centuries of the Church telling people that only God can create, they realised the amazing works of Plato, Aristotle, the Greeks and the Romans. And there was the moment the Humanistic Renaissance was born. Brunelleschi studies the Roman structures and engineered never before seen techniques in creating the Duomo of Florence. Florence is very busy. Try to get to the main attractions early. And then: discover the marvels of this gem of a city by just wandering around. My heart belongs to Florence.

- - MUSIC - - 'Resolutions' by Scott Buckley - released under CC-BY 4.0. www.scottbuckley.com.au Be sure to check out his site: amazing work!

[conceptsnest]

RELEVANCE OF MYTHOLOGY: BEHAVIOURAL LESSONS FROM ICARUS/ JATAYU

Tales from the Mythology & Us

Sometimes, the mythology that resounds with us the most reveals much about where we are in life. How we interpret the ancient stories reveals more about our internal struggles than the motives of the authors who lived thousands of years ago. Mythology is a fascinating topic that has captivated people for centuries. It is the study of traditional stories, legends, and folklore that have been passed down from generation to generation.

While many may believe that mythology is a relic of the past, it is still very relevant today. Firstly, mythology helps us understand our cultural heritage. Every culture has its own unique set of myths and legends that define its identity. These stories provide us with a glimpse into the beliefs, values, and customs of our ancestors. Secondly, mythology can help us understand ourselves. Many of the stories found in mythology are allegories that explore the human experience. They can provide us with insights into our own fears, desires, and struggles. For example, the story of Icarus (or Jatayu, that which we will see in detail) warns us about the dangers of hubris and the consequences of ignoring sound advice.

Thirdly, mythology can inspire us to greatness. Many of the heroes and heroines in mythological stories exhibit qualities such as bravery, wisdom, and compassion. These stories can inspire us to strive for these same qualities in our own lives. For example, the story of Hanuman teaches us about the value of perseverance, loyalty, and the rewards of hard work. Fourthly, mythology can help us make sense of the world around us. In today's complex and rapidly changing world, it can be difficult to find meaning in the events that shape our lives.

Finally, mythology can help us connect with others. The stories we tell and the myths we believe in are an important part of our shared cultural heritage. By sharing these stories with others, we can build connections and foster a sense of community. In a world that often seems divided, mythology can help us find common ground and build bridges between different groups.

They say mythology was initially used to communicate ideas that the proponents of civilization felt were crucial for their citizens to understand and incorporate in their lives. As it has been demonstrated, there are more lessons that can be taught from mythology than just history or philosophy. These stories are powerful and interesting, and have concepts and ideas that can be studied that one might not initially realize. Such a story as Icarus (Or that of Jatayu), is one of the first references to man attempting a long flight.

Icarus: Greek Mythology

Daedalus looked for a way to break out of imprisonment. There was no escape at sea, which was dominated by seafarers who were loyal to Minos. The land crawled with Minos' soldiers. Daedalus saw only one option for escape: the air. Daedalus gathered feathers from the rocky shore and used hot wax to create a structure in the shape of wings. When one pair successfully carried him into the air, he created another pair for his son and taught him how to fly.

Lessons to Take Away from Icarus

The traditional moral of the story is to beware ambition because risks can lead to unexpected consequences; however, there are far more lessons to be learned from Icarus.

A) Ambition Is Not Always Rooted In Pride: . . . Why did Icarus fly so high? Perhaps it was because he wanted to know what it would be like to touch the sun. Or maybe he flew too high purely by accident - simply enthralled by the pleasure and exhilaration of the flying-- the wind in his hair and the sun warming his face-- and forgot to pay attention to where he was going. Maybe he was chasing a high, longing to experience what he thought the ecstasy of that warmth would feel like after being locked away in a cold stone tower in the dark for such a long time.

B) Escape Takes Many Forms: . . . Icarus was trying to escape from a violent fate on the island of Crete. For some freedom is merely physical. Icarus was no longer trapped behind bars or locked in a tower, but he still wanted more. 

C) Being Passionate Towards Achieving Our Dreams: . . . Icarus was passionate. He gave his life to achieve his dreams. To him, reaching the sun was worth any cost. It made him forget everything else. The sun was the only thing that existed for Icarus, and he had no desire for the rest of the world. One can imagine that, as he fell from the sky, he could only stare longingly back at that ill-fated star and admire its beauty. We can all think of being in love with our goals like Icarus loved the sun. D) The Importance Of Listening To The Wisdom Of One's Elder: . . .

However, Icarus was exhilarated by his newfound power of flight. He soared high into the heavens, ignoring his father’s warning. Daedalus (Icarus’s father) was a master craftsman and an accomplished inventor. Icarus’s ignoring of his father's warnings resulted in his death, which is a not-so-subtle warning to the youth of the society. There was no room for disobedience and disrespect of one's elders in our mythology. We should always revere our elders and heed their advice, before we go our own way.

E) Understanding One's Limitations (Or) The Limitations Of One's Situation: . . . Icarus let the sheer exhilaration he felt from the act of flying distract him from the limitations of his wax wings. We often let the exhilaration of various activities and the sense of youth and a future distract us from the fact that we are still very much mortal and it could all easily end. We have to define what exactly is too far or too much for us in order to know how much we can achieve without negatively impacting ourselves. Setting boundaries means specifying to the people in our life what we can give and share, but also what we need from those relationships.

F) Failure Is Not Something To Be Feared: . . . Maybe Icarus didn't touch the sun, but he got closer than any man ever had before. He breached domain that was thought only to belong to the gods as he conquered the skies. His flight was revolutionary and far beyond what was thought possible for humankind. The road to progress is paved by people who take risks. Perhaps, his flight was enough to give others (prisoners on the island of Crete) hope. Icarus makes us ask ourselves what we would do with a chance to fly.

G) Too Much Of A Good Thing: . . . There was nothing wrong with Icarus enjoying the experience of flight. However, he let this enjoyment cloud his judgment. He was only focused on the pleasure of the experience and lost sight of its purpose, his gateway to freedom. Instead, his pleasure brought him crashing down. More often than not, too much of a good thing has unexpected consequences. These can vary from substance abuse having a direct influence on our body to more abstract ideas like too much attention being spent on devices or activities versus one's loved ones.

H) The Importance Of Being Balanced: . . . This applies to all aspects of our life: physical, mental, financial, social, emotional and spiritual. We should not be too greedy and want everything and neither should we be too fearful and avoid everything. Greed and fear are two emotions that direct lot of what we do. We need to consciously be aware of these emotions as we live our lives and make sure we do not fall prey to either of them.

I) Greed and Arrogance: . . . The newfound ability was too intoxicating for Icarus. His father might have constructed the wings, but it gave Icarus an ability everyone has long dreamt of: Being able to fly. He now had that ability, and understandably, it was a rush. He was excited- he let it go to his head. Ignoring his father’s cries and prior advice, he went higher. Ambition and arrogance outgrew his ability, and he died for it.

J) Being Intoxicated With Ambition: . . . Daedalus (Icarus’s father) built wings for both of them, and he stayed at a safe altitude and flew safely, and that can be contrasted with Icarus’s carelessness. Daring and innovation works just fine if we understand their limitations, but they’ll destroy us if we don’t.

Daedalus was still able to fly perfectly at certain heights. However, it is Icarus who literally got “above his place” and flew too high. Icarus thought that he was the greatest human being, as he was the only mortal who could fly. However, his wings came apart and he crashed into the sea.

The Ramayana- Jatayu and Sampati

The Indian epic Ramayana contains a similar tale of what happens when you fly too close the sun. Jatayu   and Sampati (The sons of Aruṇa & Shyeni) are two demigods in the shape of birds, who also happen to be brothers. During their youth, Samapati and his younger brother, Jatayu, in order to test their powers, flew towards Surya, the solar deity.

As a consequence, it was Sampati who had his wings burnt, descending towards the Vindhya mountains. Incapacitated, he spent the rest of his life under the protection of a sage named Nishakara, who performed a penance in the mountains. Sampati is said to have been enlightened with spiritual knowledge in these mountains by sages, who told him to cease lamenting about his broken body, and wait patiently until he is able to serve Rama. He never met his brother alive again. Sampati, unfortunately, never recovers from this incident, and lives a sad, flightless life in the forest. Although Jatayu's wings are only partially burnt, he also falls. Eventually, Jatayu is able to recover and has further role to play in the rescue of Princess Sita.

Just like the Daedalus and Icarus myth, the tale of Jatayu and Sampati warns readers not to be reckless or overstep their bounds. But unlike Sampati, Daedalus never tries to shield Icarus from the sun. Because of this, the Indian myth contains a stronger lesson about the importance of sacrificing yourself for others (especially your family).

Finding The Balance in Our Lives

We all have, and are given, wings to fly on and it is our choice what we do with them. Do we not use them and never take flight? Do we accept them as they are and fly proudly on them to new destinations? Or do we misuse them, flying too high, too close to the Sun, destroying our gift and ourselves in the process? If we don’t fly—or try to fly too high like Icarus, the myth teaches us that we will find ourselves falling into the depths of emotional despair, drowning in our egoic feelings (as represented by the sea Icarus drowned in).

To make the most of our gifts, we don’t need to make ourselves into more than we are, you don’t need to fly higher than we can and burn, but we also don’t need to stay down on earth, denying our own wings to fly. Icarus teaches that we have power over what we do with our gifts, and to what heights and destinations they take us.

In today's fast-paced world, finding balance in our lives can be a challenge. We juggle multiple responsibilities and commitments, and it can often feel like we are running on a hamster wheel, never quite getting anywhere. However, finding balance is crucial to our overall well-being.

Firstly, it is important to prioritize. We cannot do everything at once, and trying to do so will only lead to burnout. It is essential to identify the most important tasks and commitments and focus our energy on those. Secondly, we need to learn to say no. It can be challenging to turn down requests for our time and attention, but saying yes to everything will only lead to overwhelm. We need to set boundaries and be clear about our priorities.

Thirdly, it is important to take care of ourselves. We cannot pour from an empty cup, and neglecting our own needs will only lead to burnout. Self-care looks different for everyone, but it might include things like exercise, meditation, spending time with loved ones, or engaging in a creative hobby. Finally, it is important to remember that finding balance is an ongoing process. Life is full of twists and turns, and what works for us one day may not work the next. We need to be adaptable and willing to adjust our priorities as needed. We also need to be patient with ourselves and remember that finding balance is a journey, not a destination.

The Two Facets of Living Life

The story of Icarus presents the notion of two facets of living life, namely:

Being too humble has its own disadvantages too because once we start caring excessively about others, they might walk all over us instead of recognizing the generous behaviour. Hence, Icarus’s father plainly exhibits that we shouldn’t fly too high that we forget our roots (else the wings shall melt) and we shouldn’t go too low as it may prove fatal to our overall flight. Either way, it’s maintain balance or be killed.

Content Curated By: Dr Shoury Kuttappa

[biribaa]

Hii! How are you doing I hope your doing well :)) if you don’t mind could you write some general and relationship hc for the guardian pls?? If not that’s totally fine!! Ty have a good one <3

General and x reader hcs with The Guardian

General headcanons

As much as I always use masculine pronouns for The Guardian, sometimes I like to think he don't care about prns and use any.

Guardian studied the art of martial arts and meditation coming from the soft ones, in which it was difficult to find traces of the art. He also studied meditation

He's a big fan of flowers! He loves to learn their meanings and what they look like.

As much as he protects thousands of companions, most of the time he prefers to be alone.

Big fan of old history :)

Bet he's a fast sleeper

He loves animals! But he prefers those that are less agitated and that make less noise.

I like to imagine that if Guardian were human, he would be albino.

Guardian isn't the biggest fan of music actually, he is aware that many people meditate with music, but he prefers silence and the sound of soft rain.

Guardian loves abstract art done in frames! He doesn't really know how to do it, but he loves to look at these paintings.

I dont got much hcs srry 😭😭

Dating headcanons

Guardian is quite nervous with phisical touch at the beginning of the relationship, he has never experienced romantic love before in his life so he wants you to take it slow, holding hands and small kisses on the cheek

He's suuuuuch a gentleman, does almost anything for you(Well, only the things he can do of course)

As said before, Guardian is very nervous and shy, but when it's a dangerous situation, his instincts kick in and he turns into someone else to protect you. If you got hurt, he'll take care of you right away, and he'll definitely drag you back to your bed if you try to leave.

A great listener for venting, Guardian is a very wise companion, he would love to help you with his advices, plus... "So, I hope these advices helped... Would you like to, ah... What the soft ones call that?... Cuddle?"

He will definitely at one time or another invite you to have a meditation session with him, it could even be with your favorite music.

If you make art on frames, Guardian will force you to show you EVERY SINGLE ONE of your works, and he just won't stop praising your work to keep you motivated. If you draw Guardian and show it to him, Guardian will become speechless and bewildered, he doesn't know how to thank you, and words or hugs and even kisses are not enough to show how, how grateful he truly is.

Guardian isn't very creative with dates, but for him, you and him alone together is already a date.

Oh you talk a lot? Guardian will hear you until the last word, and still, with admiration in his eyes

He loves talking to you about topics he learned during his life, philosophy, ancient history of the soft ones, art... He wouldn't mind if you laid your head on his chest during the chat

As long as you don't miss out, Guardian lets you wear his hat at one time or another, he thinks you look adorable

Guardian doesn't mind conversation, but during cuddles, the scene of the two of you in silence in the sound of rain doesn't come out of it, it's such a calm scene for him...

[thegrapeandthefig]

Spiritual protection in the Greco-Roman world

This was this week's hot topic, so I'm using the opportunity to make some things clear from a purely hellenic and historical perspective. Needless to say I am tired of seeing modern magical concepts being slapped on ancient beliefs and I am not writing this post unbiased.

Amulets Etymologically, the word amulet probably means "something that can be carried". It's, personally speaking, my favorite type of protection. Technically speaking, an amulet could, therefore, be a lot of different things as long as they serve two main purposes: tutelage (protection) and prophylaxis (preventive).

Let's go through some of the most common types:

Bulla: typically given to male roman children 9 days after birth. It is worn like a locket where other amulets are placed (typically phalluses).

Lunula: a crescent moon pendant worn by little and young roman girls until their mariage.

Fascinum, tintinnabula and other phalli: the symbol of protection par excellence, found in many shapes and forms. The tintinnabula is more potent, as it also has bells, which are considered apotropaic as well. Bells could also be put around children's and animal's neck for a similar protective effect.  

The Eye (mati): still widely in use, it appears as soon as the 6th century BC on Greek cups. Sometimes added on the phallus for a double protective effect (also true for wings).

Gorgoneion: Often worn simply as a pendant and easily found a bit everywhere, from house thresholds to carved on bullae.

Hercules' Club:  late Antiquity amulets shaped like wooden clubs and most common in Roman Germany between the 2nd and 3rd centuries AD. An examplary speciment bears the inscription "Deo Herculi", thus confirming its link to Hercules hero worship.

Amulet strings: Mostly seen for Athenian children. It is a cord with several amulets attached to it that is worn diagonally (or on the chest) instead of around the neck so the child can't choke on it.

Garter and waist amulet strings: Mostly worn by Greek women. Their function is debated, but it seems that amulets that were worn this way might have had something to do with easing childbirth, menstruation and sexuality in general (eg. to avoid miscarriages or, the opposite, as a contraceptive).

Coiled snake ring/bracelet: Common protection for young Roman women. 

Depiction of gods on medaillons and other objects: quite a straightforward way to put yourself under the protection of a deity. Helios and Semele together seem to both have been a popular choice.

Coins: Especially old reused coins, sometimes pierced in the middle but not always. This is especially the case for coins which have the image of a deity or hero (Alexander the Great got very popular for this function). Other notable examples include Fortuna, Nike or Helios. The image on the coin matters more than the coin itself.

This is not even an extensive list, but it's worth noting that when we're talking about the ancients, we're talking about people who have been put under some kind of magical protection since their first days of life. I personally have used 2 types of amulet cited above so far, a silver coiled snake ring which I worn until it broke, which I replaced by a fascinum. This one travels with me, as I keep it with my apartment keys but I have 2 consecrated phalli in my apartment that also serve a purpose: one to Dionysus and one to Priapus. The latter being by definition, a protective deity. 

Protection starts at the threshold

I know this can be hard to pull off, but in ideal conditions, you’d want to have a small altar or shrine by the main door of your place. Amulets are meant to follow you around, but protecting your space is just as important. In one of the ridiculous arguments I’ve witnessed this week, someone said, and I paraphrase, that “you could have negative entity living in your house and fucking your life up” when trying to honor the gods, which is “why you should banish". The problem here is banish against what? If the answer here is "negative spirits", then, by hellenic standards, this is a whole other process that: 

1) Doesn't happen at the altar 2) Protects the household on the long term instead of a one shot thing

This, alongside other elements of ancient greek theology, is why you don't need to "protect yourself when you approach the gods" and other ridiculous claims I've seen. If you need to protect yourself in such manner, it means you never either 1) developped kharis with a deity to protect you or 2) took care of protecting your place. 

The first protection for a typical greek door would be an aniconic pillar dedicated to Apollo Agyieus aka "of the street" because that pillar was outside of the house. This Apollo, protector of entrances is also called Thyraios in later sources: 

Apud Graecos Apollo colitur qui Θυραῖος vocatur, eiusque aras ante fores  suas celebrant, ipsum exitus et introitus demonstrantes potentem. The Greeks worship Apollo under the name Thyraios and tend his altars in front of their doors, thereby showing that entrances and exits are under his power.

-Macrobius, Saturnalia 1.9.6

It's important to note that the same epithet is attested for Hermes, which makes total sense since he and Hekate are also traditionally linked to the protection of thresholds (represented by hekataia and herms). 

Why am I insisting so much on doors? To quote Johnston: 

"Divinities who guard the entrances to cities or private dwellings would be expected to avert all sorts of dangers that might threaten those dwelling within, from burglars to mice, but in ancient Greece (like many other places), they were particularly expected to ward off unhappy souls and other demonic creatures, who were believed to congregate at entrances for two reasons. First, because inhabitants vigilantly used protective devices to keep them out, these creatures were imagined to lurk near entrances, patiently awaiting those rare moments of laxity when they might dart back inside."

It's important to note that the protection granted by threshold deities, whether it is Hecate, Hermes or Apollo is that it concerns both the mundane and the spiritual, restless spirits are one thing but it seems to extend to general ills.

Conclusion

I should add, before wrapping this up, that there is an evolution in time with how the Ancients considered their protection to work. As such, between the 8th and 5th centuries BC, amulets weren’t so prevalent. The gods were considered the only ones who had the ability to protect. After the end of the 5th century onwards, there is a gradual shift towards a more “DIY” approach to protection, where human action is considered impactful, thus making the use of atropopaic amulets relevant. 

Further reading: 

Faraone C., The Transformation of Greek Amulets in Roman Imperial Times, 2018

Habib R. R.,  Protective Magic in Ancient Greece: Patterns in the Material Culture of Apotropaia from the Archaic to Hellenistic Periods, 2017

Johnston I. S., Restless Dead: Encounters between the Living and the Dead in Ancient Greece, 1999

Kerr M. D., Gods, Ghosts and Newlyweds: exploring the uses of the threshold in Greek and Roman superstition and folklore, 2018

Porto C, V.,  Material Culture as Amulets: Magical Elements and the Apotropaic in Ancient Roman World in: Philosophy Study, 2020

[aquamarinescarlet]

The Half of It

Pairing: Gerri Fields x Reader

Word count: ~ 5.5k

Warnings: catfishing (kind of), crushing on a straight girl… y’know, the basics

Request: Hello there! Not sure if you take requests but there’s a movie titled the half of it and I thought it would be a great fanfic idea for a lizzie (or any of her characters) x reader (if you’re not busy of course)

Author’s note: Alright, I cut this in two parts ‘cause it needed a lot of editing and I wanted to post it soon. Thank you anon who sent the request, I loved writing this, I hope you like it. Stay tuned for part two.

Taglist: @b0mbdotc0m

Part 1 - Part 2

The ancient Greeks believed the human body was once formed by 4 legs, 4 arms and a head with two faces. They were complete. So complete that the Gods, fearing their wholeness would not require a need for worship, separated them in two, leaving our split selves to wander the Earth in misery, forever longing for their other half. It was believed that when one half meets the other, there’s a harmony, a moment of no greater joy.

Of course, the ancient Greeks never went to high school, or realized they don’t need the Gods to mess things up for them.

Perhaps humans spend too much time looking for someone to complete them. How many people find true love? And if they do, make it last?

All the more evidence to support Camus theory that life is irrational… meaningless.

And that, my friends, is an A plus is philosophy. You thought to yourself as you discreetly passed around the papers during quire class, your phone chiming with notifications from money sent by Tori, Steve, Coraline, or whoever had paid you to write their essays this time.

Mr. Fields, completely oblivious to your secret scheme, stood in front of the class, explaining something about the talent show which you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to. Soon enough everyone was standing, per the professor's request, following along to some music sheet he had handed.

You sat by the piano, following along with the rest of the band, although completely lost on what you were, in fact, supposed to do.

There were at least half a dozen seniors singing, and yet you couldn’t help but only pay attention to her. Gerri Fields. The girl dating the hottest, most popular guy in school. The girl who always had her nose buried in some book. The girl with the most angelic voice you’ve heard.

Maybe it was all in your head, but she overpowered the whole room. Her voice completely filling the space.

Unfortunately the moment was short and soon the bell rang. Since quire was your last period, you now found yourself biking back home. The ride was boring, as much as it was every single day. You appreciated the nature surrounding you, the peace and quiet, seemingly alone, or so you thought. You were pushed to the floor, being completely broken from your daze.

“What is your problem?” You said while picking yourself and your bike up.

“Sorry- I’m sorry- I just…” the boy trailed off and you noticed he had a paper in hand.

“Ten dollars for three pages, twenty for three to ten.” He looked at you nervously.

“I’m not trying to cheat.” He simply stated.

“Then what’s that?”

“A letter.” He handed it to you and you quickly opened it.

“Who even writes letters these days?” You read the name on the top, Gerri Fields.

“I thought it’d be romantic.” You folded the paper back, looking at him with disbelief.

“Dude, I’m not writing for Ger- some girl.”

“Why not?”

“Letters are supposed to be authentic not-”

“That’d be great,” he interrupted you.

“No,” this boy must be stupider than you thought, “I cannot be you being authentic,” your patience was starting to wear thin “look, get a dictionary, read some poetry, and good luck Romeo.”

“I can pay more for authentic.” You heard him scream, but you were already far ahead.

Back home, you took the interaction off of your mind and focused on your studies in the living room, while your dad watched a movie. Your concentration was broken by the lights flickering, you knew he hadn’t paid the bill, so you made a mental note to call the company first thing the next day.

And that’s exactly what you did. You rang them first thing in the morning and was put on hold. While you biked to school, during class, while you practiced piano alone in the band room, at least two times in which you had to avoid the boy in the corridor... throughout all that you were on hold.

You were so concentrated that you bumped into someone on your way to class, all your stuff falling to the floor. You leaned down to pick’em up when a pair of shoes came into view.

“These hallways are murder,” you looked up to find none other than Gerri Fields.

Her brown hair tied into a bun, a few loose strands framing her face perfectly. Her body dressed with the characteristic boho-chic clothes, and somehow her green eyes out shined all that color.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you muttered when you noticed you were staring.

“I know,” she responded while picking up your stuff, “you’ve been playing my dad’s services for years now. You’re his favourite, he hates mediocre accompanists,” you couldn’t think straight when her eyes met yours.

She handed your stuff, while you just remained completely silent, and walked away. You just stared, the hallways now empty due to the bell just ringing.

You were brought back to reality by the voice on the phone.

“Miss Y/L/N, your bill is three months overdue, we will need a minimum payment of fifty dollars by tomorrow or we’ll be forced to terminate your power.” Your mind was empty with ideas of how to solve this.

On cue, the boy from yesterday, who was running down the hallway, stopped by you, looking expectant.

“Fifty dollars. One letter. After that, you’re on your own,” your face was one of pure annoyance.

He raised his hand in celebration, but you just turned and walked the other, him following suit.

Dear Gerri Fields, I think you’re really beautiful. Even if you were ugly, I’d wanna know you, because you’re smart and nice, too. It’s hard to find all those things in one girl, but even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into it. But you’re, like, all three, just to be clear.

You were shocked, to say the least. The fact that normal teenagers wouldn’t write essays such as yours was not news to you, but this letter, this was something else.

About me: Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my grandma… who’s dead now. Nevermind my dead grandma. All I’m saying is that I like fries. I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? It’s actually really tasty. Would you like to try that with me sometime? I work part-time and I have a truck. Let me know whenever. Thanks. David Avery.

“So what you’re trying to say is-”

“I’m in love with her.” He blurted out, not giving you enough time to take that all in.

“Have you ever spoken to her?”

��I- I- I’m not good with words.” Shocking, still you pitied him as he looked at you, slightly ashamed.

“And you know you’re in love with her?” You tried to take in the whole picture of what you had gotten herself into.

“I know I think of her when I go to sleep, when I’m working at the ice cream stand, when I go to the beach, when I’m at the studio, when-” you cut off his rambling.

“That just means you’re stubborn, not that you’re in love.”

“No, it’s love. Love makes you screwy. Don’t you get screwy?”

“No.” Who gets screwy because of someone? How does that even make sense? This thing was going to be more trouble than you initially anticipated.

Your attention shifted back to the piece of paper on your hands. A pen scribbling over the words, trying to figure out how you could fix the mess that this was.

“Oh, I get it,” David said, while you mumbled random ideas, “you’ve never been in love.”

He got into your nerves. What does it matter if you’ve been in love or not? You considered getting out of this, leaving him to try his own luck, but you needed the money, so you just got up, shoving the letter onto his chest and saying,

“You want a letter about love? I’ll write you a letter about love,” and stomping away angrily.

Writing it turned out to be more of a challenge than you thought. You were again sitting in the living room, watching a french movie with your dad, struggling to get the words onto the paper.

You were close to giving up when a sentence, uttered by one of the characters on the TV, caught your attention.

“Longing… longing for a wave of love to swell up in me.” That would work.

The next morning you handed David the finished piece, sealed so he couldn’t look at what you’ve written.

Yet again you were caught by David while biking back home. Thankfully this time he didn’t throw you onto the floor, he didn’t need to since you stopped immediately when he said she’d written back. Of course you had said ‘one letter’, but you were allowed to be a little curious at her response.

He caught up with you and handed the letter.

Dear David, I like Wim Wenders too. Wouldn’a plagiarized him though. - Gerri

She was good, better than you expected.

“Who’s Wim Wenders, and why did you cheat off of him?”

You couldn’t be bothered by his confusion, completely ignoring his question, you were interested, you were hooked, you were eager to see what she would come up with next.

“This is good.” You mumbled.

“How?”

“It’s- It’s like a game. She’s challenging us. But in a good way.” And for some reason, you were willing to take that challenge.

You biked away leaving him behind like a lost puppy.

“Game on, Gerri Fields. Game on.”

Dear Gerri, okay, you got me. I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know nothing about love. I’m 17. I’ve lived in Squahamish my whole life.

“Such a downer,” David finished reading the, still incomplete, second letter you wrote for him.

“Not a downer,” you retorted.

“Major downer, ask her to hang out.”

“What do you mean by ‘hanging out’?” You asked with genuine curiosity, doing everyone’s homework had kept you from having an active social life. The fact that you lived in such a small town did not help. “Like… what do you do?”

His friends interrupted the conversation before he could explain.

I hang out with my friends. I keep my head down. I’m a simple… guy. Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I would quote myself. - David

“Psst, in here,” David called from the confessionary, “she wrote back.”

The second letter had been finished and sent, and now you had another response.

Dear David, Did you know it takes 11 muscles to yawn? This is the sort of weird fact I find myself recalling to keep myself from… well, yawning. Or showing anything I feel really. So, yeah, I turn to other people’s words, too. When you’re a pretty girl, and I know it makes me sound conceited, but that’s why you’re even writing me, right? When you’re a pretty girl, people want to give you things. What they really want is to make you like them. Not like them as in ‘I like you’, but like them as in ‘I am like you’. So I’m like a lot of people, which makes me kind of no one. - Gerri

“Can I text her now?” What was up with this guy and going so fast?

“Too soon,” you quickly shut him down.

You left him inside that church, mind bubbling with ideas as to what to write next.

I never thought about the oppression of fitting in before. The good thing about being different is that no one expects you to be like them. - David

Doesn’t everyone think they’re different, but… pretty much we’re all different in the same way? - Gerri

Says the girl perched on the rarefied peak of Mt. Popularity. - David

Easy Mr. I-Know-Nothing-About-Love. I may surprise you. - Gerri

The messages became shorter, and somehow deeper. It was no longer a simple exchange of letters, it became some sort of a game, and Gerri was a damn great player. So much so that you didn’t even notice her coming into the bathroom while you washed your hands, lost on thoughts of the conversations you’ve been secretly having.

She was leaning against the wall, her hair pulled up by those bandanas she’s always using. When your eyes met, you stopped breathing for a second, nervousness prickling at your skin from the prospect of getting caught on the scheme you had with David.

But she just smiled, and you could’ve stayed there, looking at her for hours. Unfortunately the other girls chatting in the bathroom, oblivious to both your presences, scared her away when the topic of her boyfriend came up.

You could sense how hurt she was by those words, how they talked her down by talking him up. It was the first time you’ve seen first hand how this universe that she was trapped in could suck sometimes. All you wished was to punch their faces. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

What’s surprising is: people don’t see what they’re not looking for. - David

The obvious unseen. - Gerri

You were getting too caught up by this. No longer writing people’s essays for them. To the point where even one of the teachers started to notice. It was funny how she knew everyone cheated and still preferred to cover for them over having to read what they’d actually write.

You didn’t care. You were getting the money and Gerri Fields was piquing your interest immensely. She was much more than you expected.

I’ve been thinking about what you said - about seeing and not seeing. I had a painting teacher once tell me that the difference between a good painting and a great painting is typically five strokes And they’re usually the five boldest strokes in the painting. The question, of course, is which five strokes? - Gerri

Along with the message came attached a picture of a painting. It was a challenge. Would you be able to see those five strokes?

I get it. After one’s slaved away at making a pretty good painting, the last thing you’d want to do is make a bold stroke and potentially… - David

Ruin everything. - Gerri

You spent hours analysing the painting. You had your ideas of what those strokes were, but had she seen the same thing? Or did she see it from a totally different perspective?

You tried to explain to David the strokes. How to read a painting like it was a book. Showed him the painting she’d sent. Explained what made that painting a great painting.

Sure, he didn’t understand any of it, just nodding along, which surprised you since he has interest in pictures. It was pointless, but he was still the one she was flirting with, the least you could do was to keep him alert, curious, aware of who Gerri Fields was and what he was in for.

That’s why I gave up painting. Still, I wonder if that is how I’m living my life. It’s a… pretty good life. Probably the best life one could hope for in Squahamish. - Gerri

It was time to step up your game.

Perhaps… but how well do you really know Squahamish? 41.1º24’12.2”N 2.1º10’2.65”E - David

You found a simple stroke of paint on the mural you had prepared. The coordinates you sent her led to this empty wall, a few bottles of spray paint sat at the bottom. Since you’re talking about paintings, why not make one yourselves?

Oh, so that’s your boldest stroke? - David

I’m into the slow build! What was that? - Gerri

The conversation had shifted from a paper and pen to paint and a wall. You had added some random pattern, and came back to find she had done some of her own as well. Let’s see what you can do, Gerri.

Decisiveness, but please… take all the time you need to be BOLD. - David

Is this BOLD enough for you? - Gerri

What was once a splash of light green paint was now overpowered by a golden figure in the center, specks of a darker green surrounding it. Now that’s a bit more like it.

And thus was abstract art born… - David

And transformed. - Gerri

It wasn’t just the spray paint this time. She had broughten tools of her own. The golden figure had taken the form of a woman, delicate shades forming her body and marking the roots of her hair. A star at the tip of her hand.

It was a great painting. No change needed. No more bold strokes.

Unfortunately, it was gone as soon as it came to life. A now white wall hiding what was once a great piece of art.

Or not. - Gerri

Everything beautiful is ruined eventually… Maybe that’s the thing. If you do ruin your painting, you gotta know you have everything in you to get to that pretty good painting again. - David

But if you never do the bold stroke… - Gerri

You’ll never know if you could’ve had a great painting. - David

“But when does the dating start?” Why does this boy have to be so impatient?

“This is dating.”

“No, dating is burgers and fries and shakes. And maybe another order of fries. And…”

This was a shallow way of putting it, you thought, there must be more to dating than eating fast food and talking about dead grandmas. Although you wouldn’t know, life hasn’t given you much opportunity for dating.

“... I’m gonna text her.” Your eyes went wide with those words.

“Wait, what?”

Before you reached him he had already sent out the message. Fast food emojis, tonight was spelled ‘tonite’, it was all wrong, so wrong. You watched the phone intently, waiting for a response, hoping you’d get a response.

Those three little dots appeared and disappeared, making your heart sink in your chest.

You had to think, and you had to think fast. David was getting utterly frustrated behind you and no response was coming. A thousand ideas went by your head when a specific one seemed a good enough excuse.

“Little sister hacked my phone. Can we take this to a safer platform? Ghost Messenger? My handle’s ‘Smith Corona’.” You typed frantically.

“Who’s Smith Corona?”

“Just… a guy,” you shrugged him off.

The both of you were staring anxiously at the screen when, once again, those three little dots appeared and disappeared, earning loud sighs from you. So this was it? All that for a stupid message to ruin everything? Would Gerri really give up that easily just because she now thinks David’s a moron?

The sound of an incoming message on your phone broke you out of your thoughts, raising your hopes back again. You fumbled to your bag and there it was.

‘New Ghost Message’

DiegaRivero: So… where are these fries?

“Yes!” You and David celebrated. Gerri wasn’t that easily scared off after all.

Although now you had a completely new problem. Gerri and David would go out together. On a date. Just the two of them. And you couldn’t be there to help him. The heavy feeling at the pit of your stomach was screaming at you that this wasn’t going to work.

Sparky’s Diner was the place of choice. Secluded, not that popular, nice food. A good choice. You had David on the phone while he drove.

“She prefers abstract to representational. If she brings up Remains of the Day, talk about how the movie loses out by not spending more time on the Nazis.” You explained, more to comfort yourself than to help him, you really didn’t want him to screw this all up.

“Relax. I got this.” This boy is too confident for his own good. “It’s a date, not a book report.”

He kept you on the line, his phone on speaker, but with no volume, so you could hear into their conversation while being at home. You were dreading having to listen to this.

“I got two of them signed when he came to Powell’s Books last year.” You heard her voice for the first time in a while, you assumed she was talking about Remains of the Day just like you had predicted. “I drove all night to get there.”

“Oh, uh… cool.” What an idiot.

“You’ve probably already read it. Thought you’d like one.” You were starting to pity the girl and the night she was in for.

“Uh, yeah, totally. No, I- I love, uh… Nazis.” You almost hit your head on the wall out of frustration. “I mean the- the- the ones in the book. I mean, like, more of those Nazis. Am I right?”

Silence settled for a few seconds, a pretty uncomfortable one you’d bet, before Gerri spoke again.

“Uh, speaking of Nazis, thank you for meeting me here. My dad… he isn’t a Nazi exactly, but, uh… he can be pretty strict. You know, people talk.”

“Um, yeah. Talk. Ugh.”

More silence.

“It’s nice… to make a new friend, though.” Points to Gerri for the effort, but damn was this going badly.

“A friend. Good.” He sounded disappointed but what did he expect, for her to propose or something? She has a boyfriend, and he knows it.

Silence filled the conversation more than words, David saying the stupidest things that definitely didn’t sound like what she expected of him. They didn’t sound like you. This was over and done with, but he just couldn’t accept it.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he tried to convince you the next morning while you biked.

“What about that date wasn’t bad? You have nothing in common.” You argued. “Game over!”

“I can’t give up!” He retorted.

“Look, you and Gerri Fields, not gonna happen.” You needed to get some sense into this boy’s head.

He, on the other hand, didn’t give up, following you all the way to this abandoned school bus.

“Gerri Fields thinks you’re into abstract art and repressed British literature. None of that is you.”

“It could be, I started reading that Remains of the Day book.” You were pleasantly surprised. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“There are no points for effort.” Gerri already thought highly of him, he could no longer win her over with just ‘trying’.

“Isn’t that what love is? How much effort you put into loving someone?” Is he right? You never experienced love, you wouldn’t know for sure.

“Well, whatever love is, we just blew it with Gerri Fields.”

On cue the sound a notification came from your phone, leaving the both of you shocked.

DiegaRivero: So that was… weird?

Maybe not everything was lost.

“We can do this!” David exclaimed. “I’ll pay you double,” he added when you didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have to pay me,” the words were out of your mouth before you could process them.

“Don’t be weird, why else would you do this?” You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t even know why you were still doing this.

You quickly accepted the offer so he wouldn’t get suspicious and, let’s be real, some extra cash could always come in handy.

Now that the game was back on, you devised a three week plan to get David ready for the next date. You didn’t have time to teach him everything, you had to be selective, deep versus broad-based learning. Spy on Gerri and specialize David on her favourite things.

Existentialism. Sartre. Camus. Hepburn. The Philadelphia Story. Conversation Lessons. Reconnaissance. Following Gerri around the movies, the pharmacy. Kathenne. The Roman Holiday. Mapping out her boyfriend, her interests, favourite foods. Watching her family, night dinners. Soon enough the entirety of the abandoned school bus was covered with information on any and everything you could gather on Gerri Fields.

Other than quire class, Sunday services were the only moments in which you could see Gerri Fields without creepily following her around town. Her father, Mr. Fields, was in charge of the church quire as well and, as Gerri had pointed out weeks ago, you were his favourite accompanist.

DiegaRivero: Do you think Father Shanley has any idea what’s going on around him?

You received the message in the middle of one of the services, after Father Shanley, who was in fact too old, had one of his ‘moments’, which basically meant he screamed some nonsense for no reason.

SmithCorona: I think Father Shanley KNOWS ALL

Your heart ached when Gerri turned and smiled at David, sitting amongst the crowd, while you watched from your place on the piano, above everyone else. It was lonely. But the fact that her eyes were on him just made it all the more lonelier.

The training with David kept going, conversation lessons making you both closer. While playing ping pong you’d learn about your past and present, suddenly aware of how sad it is that neither of you have ever been anywhere other than Squahamish. He has his truck, but the beach and his family business keep him stuck in town, and also away from pursuing his dream of working with photography. You, on the other hand, never even thought about leaving.

DiegaRivero: So… why you always up so late?

Night had fallen upon the small city before you even noticed.

SmithCorona: World’s asleep, more room for thoughts

DiegaRivero: Hour of secrets?

SmithCorona: Something like that

DiegaRivero: So what secrets… ?

It was in moments like this that you were reminded of the fact that she wasn’t talking to you, she was talking to David. Or, at least, that’s what she thought, and that secret was killing you inside.

After one of your ping pong/conversation lessons, you caught yourself wondering what it was about Gerri Fields that was so enticing to David. He knew nothing about her before this whole scheme started, and they had nothing in common.

“What do you like about Gerri?”

“She’s pretty,” he answered with no hesitation, “and smart… and she’s never mean. And she smells like fresh-ground flour.” See, nothing in common. “Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“What else could I like about her?”

The question got you thinking about what it was in Gerri that enticed you so much. Why you kept up with the game. Why you were so invested on it.

“I don’t know.” So many thoughts were flooding your mind. “How her eyes look right into yours. How… she twirls her hair when she’s reading.” Images of these moments going through your head. “How her laugh busts out like she can’t help herself and she stops being so perfect for just a few moments. She has at least five different voices. How you could live in an ocean of her thoughts and… feel like she knows, like really knows-” You stopped the moment you noticed David’s expression had turned into a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“I’m so stupid.” Your heart stopped for a second. “I’m so dumb.”

“No,” you were getting desperate, “don’t think that I-”

“What you said,” his voice was louder, “that’s what you say when you love someone.”

“No I- I was just talking,” you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince yourself or him, “I- I would never, ever actually-”

“No, it is, and- and you don’t even care,” a rush of relief took over you. “I mean, I love her and I can’t even… agh!”

He was getting frustrated. He wanted to be as good as you were with words. Poetic and… romantic. That wasn’t his thing. You felt sorry for him, you really did. So much so that you caught yourself contradicting what you’d said weeks ago to him.

“You try… harder than anyone I’ve ever met,” your voice was soft, soothing his nerves, “to show a girl that you love her. And if love isn’t the effort you put in… then… what is it?

He smiled a little, calming your own nerves. This boy was starting to grow on you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

David was becoming a friend, someone you truly care about. Despite how much it killed you to flirt with Gerri for him, you wanted him to be happy. You wanted this to work.

SmithCorona: No secrets. Just a good guy… and you should be with a good guy

These late night talks weren’t particularly helpful.

Three weeks passed and that second date was long overdue. This time you wouldn’t stay too far away from him, but close and ready to come to the rescue whenever he screwed up.

“Okay,” you opened the door to his truck, “Gerri. If she brings up immigration, you’ve been talking about the recent-”

“I know.”

“When in doubt, if the name is Italian, probably an artist. If French it’s probably a-”

“Hey.” You stopped your rambling. “Thanks.” His voice softened.

“Oh…” you were surprised, he had not thanked you yet for all of this, you did not quite know how to respond, “uh, sure.”

“I’m probably gonna crash and burn, but thanks for sticking it out with me anyway.” He was nervous, it was endearing.

“Well, not like you didn’t pay me,” you tried to lighten the mood, earning a gentle scoff from the boy. “You’re not gonna crash and burn.” You reassured him while he left the truck.

You didn’t believe your own words. He was totally gonna crash and burn. But a little boost of confidence couldn’t hurt.

They were sitting at one of the window seats at Sparky’s Diner. You could see them clearly, and, by the confusion on her face and the nervousness on his, you could tell it did not start well.

The conversation was clearly taking a weird turn. You couldn’t hear what they were saying but you could see none of them seemed to be enjoying the date that much. So you had an idea. You picked up your phone and typed Gerri a message.

SmithCorona: I get nervous when you’re close

She smiled at him. She bought it.

DiegaRivero: Why?

David, on the other hand, was totally confused by what was going on, and soon enough you received a message from him.

“Wut????”

“Look at your phone!” You typed back, she had to believe it was him who was texting her.

SmithCorona: …

DiegaRivero: …?

SmithCorona: …..

DiegaRivero: I’m just a girl

SmithCorona: You’re not just a girl

David was quick to interrupt, still being kept in the dark.

“WUT. ARE. YOU. SAYING???”

“STOP. LOOKING. AT. ME!!!” Why can’t he just go with it?

DiegaRivero: I’m not? Then what are you?

SmithCorona: Also… not just a girl

She giggled at the joke, and boy what you would have given to listen to it. David, still oblivious, gave her thumbs up, while she just stared him up and down, totally confused. You don’t blame her, it feels like it’s two different people because it is, and if the boy doesn’t learn better, he won’t get her ‘cause she’ll be stuck in this idea of who he is.

DiegaRivero: You’re strange, but cute

SmithCorona: You have classic bone structure

You typed, instead of sending all the things you were thinking about her just by staring at her through a window.

DiegaRivero: ...Thanks

Your mind tried to think of something, what to say next, but came out empty. While you brainstormed something that was fit for Gerri Fields, David decided to take matters into his own hands.

“I don’t wanna be just friends,” he stood up abruptly and spoke loud enough that even you could hear.

No, moron, that’s how you crash and burn. But of course David wouldn’t listen to you, your advice. Too eager, too impatient, unable to enjoy the build up. If he didn’t ruin everything before,for sure he would do it now. And you were helpless, there was nothing you could do from inside his truck at this point.

You couldn’t listen to what they were saying and it was nerve racking. His mouth moved, she just stared, and it all seemed uncomfortable and confusing, until it wasn’t. He smiled, he sat back across from her, and when she turned she was smiling too. That moron had figured it out on his own.

You were proud of him. But you were also a little sad. He was starting to walk by himself, soon enough he would not need you anymore. And yet you were enjoying this little game. You were enjoying these interactions with Gerri, even if she didn’t know it was really you she was talking to.

That was the deal when you signed up for this. You flirt, you put in the work, and David ends up with the girl. Why you ever thought it would happen differently is beyond you.

So, reluctantly, you left his truck. You left them alone. David could carry himself from here on out. There was no point in being there anymore.

And yet, you wanted to be there so bad.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: What do you make of Oswald Spengler’s “Decline of the West” book and the thesis he presents? Does it have any value at all?

Few questions have preoccupied Western minds as insistently as those which probe the reasons for the rise and fall, or the progress and decay, of all man-willed ventures on earth, including nations, states, and cultures. In the West especially such navel gazing has been particularly acute since the Middle Ages down to our modern age.

Was the West destined to slide into retreat? How does one know just what is rising, what by contrast dying? And what exactly is meant by “decline” in the world of different cultures? Questions such as these have always been the purview of religious prophets of doom or philosophers. Oswald Spengler was one of the first modern historians to try and make sense of the past by asking “Is there a logic of history? Is there, beyond all the casual and incalculable elements of separate events, something that we may call a metaphysical structure of historic humanity…?” This German historian straddling the late 19th Century and the beginning of the 20th Century certainly thought so.

As a curious teen I came across an old copy of Spengler’s Der Untergang des Abendlandes (The Decline of the West) sitting anonymously and gathering dust on my grandfather’s book shelves in his library alongside similar books with epic sounding titles by Arnold Toynbee and Edward Gibbon. I was put off by it firstly because my German wasn’t that great at the time and secondly, the prose seemed a little too stuffy for someone as impatient as I was to waste time over. It was a few years later at university I finally gave him another chance and tried reading it again.

Even then I knew very little about Spengler other than that he was one of many ambitious intellectuals who had attempted a systematically interpretive, or meta-historical, record of human events - a sort of world history. Spengler equated meta-history with the nature of history, the meaning of history and the cause and significance of historical change.

Spengler achieved immense popularity after his publication of The Decline of the West in wake of the First World War first in 1918 and then re-published in 1922. His intellectual legacy lingered into the middle of the 20th Century. It was about this time in the mid-1960s that a precocious young Roger Scruton at Cambridge became fascinated by Spengler’s vision: “how rewarding it has been to wrestle with his influence and, finally, to cast him aside.”

As Scruton airily notes, there are simply too many issues with the clunky sounding ‘Spenglerism’ to adopt it as a plausible worldview. 

So why study it at all?

Undoubtedly the very subject of his magnum opus, Western decline, is always of relevance. Like Edward Gibbon’s flawed but brilliant history of the Roman Empire, it is admirably conceived. And there is something to be said for studiously dissecting a major philosophical work at first hand, even if one ends up critiquing it mercilessly.

If the study of the past were left entirely to mere chroniclers of kings and queens and a dry laundry list of dates, history would never have attained the position that it holds in the modern world. It was only when history entered into relations with philosophy at the hands of Montesquieu and Voltaire, Hume, Robertson and Gibbon, that it became an invaluable tool to aid modern thought and understand our place in the world.

Of course meta-histories, as popular as they are now, has its downside too. There is the temptation to oversimplification and the manipulation of evidence to fit an eloquent and compelling narrative. But there has never been any lack of interest in the topic. It explains the best-selling Outline of History by Spengler’s contemporary, H. G. Wells. Such comparative studies existed even in ancient times (e.g. Polybius). Later meta-history often took on the role of ersatz metaphysics - a kind of secular theology. Marx is the obvious example.

Ironically, the foundational work of universal history, which set the pattern for all subsequent attempts, is St. Augustine’s Christo-centric City of God - one of the most significant books in the Western canon.

There is no doubt that Spengler as a pioneer in his field as a historian and as a theorist. In the 1920s he carved out a nice little niche as a pioneer in the discipline that would come to be known as ‘world history’. His complaints about Eurocentrism were novel for his era, keeping in mind that he wrote well before such views were trendy or ideologically loaded.

Spengler challenges the assumption that Europe be, “treated as a steady pole, a unique patch chosen on the surface of the sphere for no better reason, it seems, than because we live on it - and great histories of millennial duration and mighty far-away Cultures are made to revolve around this pole in all modesty.” He was referring to the major civilisations of Egypt, China and India. What compels Spengler to such insights also involves a degree of cultural and ethical relativism - something I don’t have there time to get into here.

He also rightly complains that the division of history into ‘Ancient,’ ‘Medieval’ and ‘Modern’ is a “meaningless scheme” which has “dominated our historical thinking.” There is the questionable “expedient of shifting the initial point of ‘modern history’ from the Crusades to the Renaissance, or from the Renaissance to the beginning of the 19th Century.” The Latin term modernus originally referred to what was contemporary. But with the rise of rationalist thought the concept of “modernity” acquired overtones of inexorable progress and the quasi-religious idea of a “terminus” of human development.

Related to this is Spengler’s description of the millenarian speculations of Joachim of Floris (1145-1202). The unorthodox medieval cleric posited the idea of three spiritual epochs: the Age of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit - the latter corresponding to an earthly paradise. Spengler describes him as “the first thinker of the Hegelian stamp”; as one who birthed the “Gnostic world conception” that took hold of modernist eschatology, particularly in the theories of Karl Marx. A later German scholar, Eric Voegelin (1901-1985), would examine the dangers of the Joachimite perspective in his own meta-historical researches.

There are sound reasons for Spengler’s critique of Enlightenment optimism: “The future of the West is not a limitless treading upwards and onwards for all time towards our present ideals.” As understood in terms of his theory of cultural cycles, recent history is not “the highest point of an ascending straight line”; rather, it is a “stage of life which may be observed in every Culture which has ripened to its limit.” In other words, Western civilisation is analogous to any great culture of the past - not only in its maturation, expansion and refinement, but also its inevitable enfeeblement and deterioration. As to the accuracy of this assessment (however plausible), it remains open to further scrutiny.

Reflections on Spengler allow for the thought that his own biography is an eloquent metaphor for one of the most pervasive themes in his work, that, namely, which centres upon the place of the creative individual in culture, society, and time. Spengler held with Goethe that humanity is an abstraction, and that there have always been only men (and women). Only the individual - der Einzelne - thinks and has ideas. Humanity, or mankind, he notes, has no goal, no plan, and no ideas; it is an empty term. These were not fashionable thoughts in an age marked by crass materialism and totalitarian systems of rule, but Spengler never wavered in his commitment to acknowledge the primacy of ideas and the distinctiveness of men who bring them forth.

In praising the wondrous life of ideas, however, Spengler never forgot that all life is change, that concepts undergo transformation and that becoming and declining are two aspects of one and the same organic process. Contrary to numerous respected theorists and historians in the Occident, who accentuate the themes of evolution in their work and who are programmatically “upbeat” in conjecturing the future in terms of progress, Spengler was convinced that the full measure of life can be discovered only when decline and decay are perceived and assessed as clearly as beginning and becoming. It is this dual focus that seems to have irritated many of his detractors, causing them to charge Spengler with the social sin of pessimism.

Spengler was quite conscious of this clash of orientations in the West. He knew that men are generally disdainful of experience and that, driven by limitless and uncontrolled hope, they like to conceptualise the future in terms of what they consider the desirable rather than the likely course of events. In counterpoint to these, in his view, irrational trends, he remarked that optimism is naive and in some respects even vulgar, and that it surely stands for cowardice when one is afraid to face the fact that life is fleeting and transient in all its aspects.

These thoughts touch a major motif in Spengler’s philosophy which critics tend to ignore, namely the recognition of the place of tragedy in the Occidental cultural world. Tragic modes of experiencing life can only evolve there, where the individual human being is presumed autonomous in his feelings, thoughts, and actions, and where he is therefore vulnerable to the agony of having to make choices between conflicting interests and commitments. They are thus absent in the high cultures of the Orient, where human beings are generally subsumed in the superior concept of the consensus or in the social roles assigned them. In fact, they have been fully developed only in the cultures of the West, and in this context, again, Spengler suggests that they have been more enduring in continental Europe than in England, where they atrophied under the weight of utilitarianism and pragmatism, and in the United States, where “the longing for the happy ending” came to set the tone for life.

Spengler’s pessimism, then, is strictly qualified. And the same holds for his determinism. He notes that there is nothing absolutely inevitable about the passage from one phase in the history of a culture, a nation, or a state to the other, and that none of these three organisms is bound to wither away. Decline will set in only when living human beings choose to play light with their society’s moral and legal ground rules and when they voluntarily indulge in the mechanisation of their intellectual and sentimental lives. Indices of decline are man-made, after all - hence Spengler’s distinction between possible and actual culture.

Just as Spengler himself had the courage to fathom the idea of decline without ever suspending efforts to arrest this process, so he seems to have believed that intelligent men must always be ready to size up the epoch and the milieu in which they find themselves so that they may take constructive action in response to the demands of the hour. Statesmanship in particular, he tells us, is just not conceivable without this dimension of thought.

As I get older, and perhaps more cranky in my ways,  it’s hard not to disagree with his concept of culture and civilisation, especially with the idea of living organism - I do believe that everything in our world is strongly connected with nature and we should always remember such a salient truth. The decline of a culture is a natural process and can’t be hidden, therefore, it should be just noticed. People should not forget about their roots, traditions and values somehow people could prolong the process of constant decline or maybe even change it by living in balance and harmony with each other, the nature itself and, of course, with ourselves.

It’s easy to dismiss Spengler as a dour Germanic party pooper with his pessimistic take on both culture and civilisation. But the more one lives and experiences the world the more realistic it seems. Spengler gives us the aesthetic and mental tool kit in discerning and understanding of the process we pass through, no matter which culture we belong to because the final step of each culture is civilisation.

I would urge to try reading ‘Decline of the West’ if you have the time and the patience. Otherwise wait for a highly anticipated biography of Oswald Spengler by Ben Lewis called ‘Oswald Spengler and the Politics of Decline’ which is out in July 2022. Lewis sets out to explain Spengler’s ideas within the context of his life and experiences within Weimar Germany.

Thanks for your question.

[ohthehumanities]

Studyblr Intro Post

Hi fellow scholars! I’ve had this blog since 2018 but I figured it was finally time to make a studyblr introduction post. Check out below the cut to learn a bit about me.

About Me

I write under the name Esther (a name my boyfriend uses for me). I am in my mid-20s. I’m a nerd for mid-century and academic fashion. That means I try to fit most of my style into the dark and light academia aesthetics. But I also exercise a lot, so in real life, you’d tend to find me in t-shirts and jeans. I don’t subscribe to the philosophies behind personality tests, but my temperament is Melancholic-Choleric, if you’re into the four humors. 😉

I am physically and cognitively disabled from a head injury I had in high school. The injury affected just about everything in my life, but I continue to recover as the years go on. Some of my posts will focus specifically on disability and academia. Always stay open to what anger and stubbornness can accomplish!

Academics

I am currently in my first year of online studies at Franciscan University in Ohio, for a Master of Arts in Theology and Christian Ministry with a concentration in Catechetics. Biblical studies was not the field I expected to go into for most of college, but I am excited to see where it takes me. I’ll probably go into education at this point, but my dream is to go to a Ph.D. program for neuropsychology.

For undergraduate studies, I earned a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and Humanities. I wrote a book with a small colloquy for my Humanities capstone, which was published and sold by my college bookstore. We discussed Charles Dickens’s novel A Tale of Two Cities and I wrote about theological themes and conversion in the novel.

I speak English (native), Spanish (working proficiency), and modern Hebrew (beginner). Spanish and Hebrew are always in progress. Apparently my accent is perfect for both. I studied some Koine Greek in middle school and want to study that, ancient Hebrew, and Latin in graduate school. Future modern languages I am interested in learning are French, German, and maybe Chinese.

Interests

Books: classic literature, great works, theology, existentialist writing

Hobbies: sewing, playing piano (classical, jazz, and some contemporary music), exercise, writing, spending time with my dogs, language learning, studying theology

Music: classical, jazz, indie pop (specifically Belle and Sebastian), orchestral goth, Gregorian chant

I enjoy meeting new friends, so drop me a chat if you’d like to connect!

- Esther

Some frequent tags I use (links to come):

ohthehumanities: my posts

academia aesthetic

disability studyblr

theology studyblr

gradblr

langblr

[roman-ticist]

Why to study?

English: reading classic literature; analysing poetry;training your writing and interpretive skills; becoming familiar with new authors you might fall in love with

Biology: ability to determine herbs; knowledge about anatomy and functioning of human & animal body; distincting poisonous and non-poisonous plants (it's really helpful)

Chemistry: being able to recognize minerals; knowing chemical substances and their usage - for example that some acids make bones elastic or that strong alkalis can burn even flesh; being the crazy scientists of "Frankenstein" kind

Physics: discovering the mysteries of universe while studying astronomy; feeling like Da Vinci when solving exercises; doing experiments and becoming a madman once again

Geography: recognizing places you travel to and being able to talk about them all day long; knowing where to find minerals and plants; old maps and atlases; discovering the secrets of world just like your ancestors from XV/XVI century did

History: drowning into the past; recognizing yourself in figures dead long ago; devouring long lost ideas of ancient civilisations and falling in love with them; realisation that people haven't really changed; learning about wars and events you see repeating before your own eyes; gods no one remembers

Foreign languages: communication with others all over the world; finding familiar roots in words from different languages; reading books and not needing translation; making lists of words late at night in your journal; learning a new word in language you don't know and understanding it

Math: precise drawings of geometric figures and having graphite all over your hands; solving difficult equations and feeling like a renaissance scholar; hearing names like Pythagoras or Thales and wondering how such ordinary people from old times changed the world

Philosophy: discovering contradictory concepts and choosing your own; imagining what it took to formulate such complicated ideas; thinking about the great minds of the past and trying to become equal to them; aiming to find the meaning of life when really not knowing anything

Music: soft sound of the piano and loud noise of the trumpet; devoting yourself to the sound and getting lost in the music; finding your soul in the works of particular composers; admiring the chills on your body when you hear a piece you know is going to be your obsession; reading notes and understanding them; melody playing in your head

Art: long gallery & museum visits; staring at the paintings trying to learn each spot of paint, each smear of the brush; imagining who were the ones depicted in the works; frozen life from earlier ages being resurrected once again

[romanticchemacademic]

Dear future health professionals and stem professors,

We need a revolution of thought. Only through a renaissance of pure and genuine passion towards medicine and other sciences will we have competent doctors, nurses, other healthcare workers, and teachers. We live in a world where people pursue noble professions for the sake of social and economic advancement. However, we lack individuals who love the process of learning and their career.

I recollect quite a marvelous excerpt written by one of the world’s greatest scientific minds, Albert Einstein. In his book, The World As I see It he writes:

ACADEMIC CHAIRS ARE MANY, but wise and noble teachers are few; lecture rooms are numerous and large, but the number of young people who genuinely thirst for truth and justice is small. Nature scatters her common wares with a lavish hand, but the choice sort she produces but seldom.

We all know that, so why complain? Was it not ever thus and will it not ever thus remain? Certainly, and one must take what nature gives as one finds it. But there is also such a thing as a spirit of the times, an attitude of mind characteristic of a particular generation, which is passed on from individual to individual and gives a society its particular tone. Each of us has to do his little bit towards transforming this spirit of the times.

Compare the spirit which animated the youth in our universities a hundred years ago with that prevailing today. They had faith in the amelioration of human society, respect for every honest opinion, the tolerance for which our classics had lived and fought. 

  I believe that one of the faults lies within education institutions. Educators rely on testing, textbooks, and detached memorized lectures. Lectures lack passion and another essential factor: the real practice. The theory is important but the practice is necessary to understand the theory. But without passion, nobody will learn to love the material being taught. Ibn Sina is known for being one of the greatest physicians and teachers of Islamic medicine. I am not completely sure whether what I am about to mention is true. But I read that when he lectured theory to the medical students at the Madrassa (University) he would show them how it worked. Besides medical history and theory. He also taught physics, astronomy, philosophy, and mathematics. However, he is also famed for being an excellent teacher duly because he would take his students to test out the theories and practice what they have been taught. If they were learning medical theory, they were taken to the hospital to observe patients and their cases. If they were learning astronomy, they would all gather in the evening to look up at the heavens to look at the constellations. Lastly, his passion for his vocation was the final touch. Educators without the drive cannot teach. Learning is about understanding oneself, others, and the world. Learning evolves our minds and our spirits by making us get in harmony with the universe. I believe this ties in with Aristotle’s famous saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Though my interpretation may be a wee bit off, I translate it as thus; we can gather all textbook knowledge as possible but if we do not put into practice the knowledge learned, what is the point? I yearn and I pine to experience all that I have learned. I want to see why the theory makes sense in reality. I want to conduct experiments. So much potential is being wasted. Biology is the study of life. However, when I took the course, it was so cold to a point that it did not even feel like I was studying the human body but something alien instead. There is also such a rush to memorize material within a couple of weeks because of exams that the material ceases to be interesting and becomes more of an arduous chore instead. Our sense of time-shifted completely after the industrial revolution. Perhaps this is a reason why we feel the need to rush through everything and not take our time to study profoundly. 

We need another Scientific Revolution, curious minds thirsting for the acquisition of knowledge and unanswered questions. However, I believe that the leading force behind this is a necessity. I would like to mention an example to illustrate what I mean from a novel I read a while ago called, The Physician by Noah Gordon. A boy from Medieval Europe lost his mother from an unknown disease leaving him orphaned. He then grew up with the necessity to learn what the disease was and how to prevent other similar deaths, so that others do not suffer what he has suffered. He then worked with Barbers (people who performed medical procedures in Medieval Europe). But the medical knowledge these professionals had was not enough to answer his question. Thus, he traveled to Persia where there was a quite renowned and exclusive medical school. He did not have the economic means or previous schooling to attend but he impressed the headmaster with his passion and knowledge. Thus, the headmaster admitted him into the Madrassa. The European boy then invested all his time doing research, dissections and treating patients until he finally found out what ailment caused his mother’s death, side sickness (appendicitis). He figured out a way to treat this illness, removal of the appendix. From his initial necessity which was the driving force for him to pursue a medical career, he became a famous physician and felt that all his suffering and odyssey were worthwhile. The sense of necessity leads to the feeling of passion. It was his love for his mother that made him follow such a journey full of obstacles. I am beginning to apply that to my own life. I want to figure out my necessity which will be the driving force to power through university and medical school without ever feeling burnt out. I want to feel fulfilled. I believe this is what all pre-medical students and teachers should think about. What is your necessity? We are going to be dealing with human life, someone’s mother, father, friend, sister, uncle, lover, husband, or child...It is not something to be taken lightly. I know so many doctors lacking empathy because they went into the medical field with just the intention of being acknowledged as “Doctors” and getting rich. But I feel that even the most apathetic healthcare workers can become great empathetic professionals the moment they realize that something was triggered deep inside them, perhaps a loved one having an unknown disease. This would lead the apathetic doctor to do mass amounts of research to try to find a cure. This feeling becomes a necessity. A necessity to not lose the loved one. A necessity to save lives. Thus, finding passion, purpose, and becoming a better person. Though each person is different, we all share a selfish feeling. Most of the time we do not truly care about other peoples’ suffering until it happens to us. Once we are affected by something, we drive all our time and attention to find a solution or a way to deal with a problem. We become consumed and completely obsessed by it. I regard this as passion. I do not think passion subsides, it lingers on inside us. It is a fire that never burns out. I remember my high school teacher writing in my yearbook:

Remember a few things, BE PATIENT. You are eager and you will accomplish so much. But take your time, you are always rushing. Life is a journey, it is not about the destination. Be picky. You love everything with enthusiasm but enthusiasm can burn out. Find a fire inside yourself that burns for a long time.

-V

We cannot rush our personal legend. I believe it comes to us. It is Maktub (it’s written). But we also have to do something. Imagine you are on a stranded island but you have a machete, a fishing rod, coconuts, a cave for shelter, wood for a fire, an ocean full of fish. Everything required for survival is there, but you simply have to cut open the coconut with the machete, go fishing for food, fire to cook, and warmth. The fish isn’t going to swim right into your hands and the fire will not light itself. We must use our resources and do our bit. The Universe has a lot going on, we must help out a bit.

If you ever think about quitting, try to remember what made you start your odyssey in the first place. I do not know what my necessity is yet but that is okay. I believe it will come to me eventually. So for now, I simply love to romanticize academia. I like to imagine the: earthy tones of the universities archways, cobblestone paths, laboratories with clean Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, pristine white lab coats, bunsen burner flames changing colors as different salts are added, Bromothymol Blue pen stains, elegant calculations inside a worn leather-bound notebook, formulas scrawled over the blackboard, forgotten cold Irish breakfast tea on the desk, academics discussing theories, applause from a successful experiment, gray rainy days spent inside the lab, Whitman, Hemingway, et Sir Arthur Conon Doyle being read during break, intellectual conversations with professors, chemistry reports being written, molecular models built, volumes of ancient words, fire slowly burning in the stone fireplace, trying to understand, looking at the constellations on a clear night in the astronomy tower, reciting poetry, Tchaikovsky playing whilst completing a long lab report on Lê Chatelier’s theory of Equilibrium, curious minds, sleepless evenings in the library, beautiful anatomical illustrations...Just imagining these things motivate and inspire me to continue my path. Though it may seem superficial, it awakens something inside me. I yearn and I pine to become a Chemistry Romantic. 

I want to conclude this letter by saying that pupils and educators keep ideals alive and can change them accordingly as well. We have the power to become excellent professionals or simply exist and do nothing for the human race. But if you plan on becoming a physician or educator, you must find the trigger which brings your passion to life, your necessity. Once you find that, you are guaranteed greatness and fulfillment. However, do not rush. Perfection takes time. A couple of obstacles should not hinder you from persevering. Many will tell you to give up but do not. That is the Universe testing you. Do your best until you master the topic. Once you know better, you are then able to do better. 

Regards,

Confessions from a Chemistry Academic

[fear-before-valor]

AU Ficlet: Jim, who was raised by the Order from the age of five, attends Arcadia Oaks High, for his first day of human high school. Weird things happen in Arcadia, though, and his appearance seems to be one such weird thing to the residents in this small, strange town... 

Aka: How an Order-raised Jim met Toby and Claire

Words: 2939 II Warnings: none II ok to rb --

Jim dropped his backpack at the empty desk next to one Tobias Domzalski’s, one of the only people at school who’d been properly friendly to him so far. It was Jim’s first day of mortal high school, and he’d been vetted mercilessly by every student group but Tobias’s, though he was beginning to suspect that said group consisted of only Tobias.

Of course, Jim had been screening his peers right back, but it was still exhausting. He thought he’d been ready after the Order’s… extensive lessons on humanity, and how to fit in with the mortals like himself, but already, everything he’d done felt like it must have been a social faux pas of some kind.

Act quiet around the quiet kids? Then no one speaks, until the silence grows so long that it’s awkward, and starting up a conversation makes it feel painfully forced. So, okay, maybe find some louder kids and try to blend in with them. Except, they start to grow obnoxious, and at some point, the headache simply stops being worth it.

Jim wasn’t even going to dare try and bond with the overly studious; he wasn’t here to vie for valedictorian, nor was he all that interested in making grades that separated him from the pack. Not to mention, he much preferred whatever lessons the Order could teach him anyway. They were very practical things, going over philosophy, strategy, combat, computations. He was already conversational in Bellroc and Skrael’s original languages, and though he knew Spanish would be equally valuable, the Spanish teacher seemed… intense, in a way that Bellroc and Skrael, who could likewise be rigorous sometimes, were not.

In fact, the only class he was indeed eager to take was history—and, okay, perhaps physical education didn’t sound horrendous, so long as he was careful about holding back in certain areas—because while he could learn plenty of history from his very ancient guardians, to hear of human history from the mouths of humans, like himself… it sounded unique, in a way that he hoped was amenable, at the very least, if not genuinely interesting or entertaining.

As he sat down in the chair beside Tobias, the boy seemed to light up, beaming over at Jim, a reaction that he hadn’t expected from his peer. He’d thought he’d rather botched his first conversation with Tobias in homeroom that morning, as he hadn’t known anything about anything that Tobias had referenced (what on earth was Gun Robot?). But, evidently, he must have done something well—or at least, acceptably— because Tobias was leaning over and excitedly holding out his hand to show Jim something which clattered in his palm as he moved. Politely, Jim glanced over to see what it was, and—oh.

Oh no.

That was definitely the remains of a troll.

Tobias was holding out small, grey pebbles for him to see, on which Jim could just make out hints of tattoos that had been etched into the troll while they were alive.

Holding back his mild panic, he gave a tight smile and a nod, as his classmate diagnosed them incorrectly as gneiss—which, admittedly, Jim thought wasn’t a bad guess, really. It’s not like the other boy had any reason to think that the rocks he was holding were anything but an average metamorphic stone.

Tobias was looking to Jim for a response, though, so he opened his mouth to speak, breathing in—

—magic.

Jim froze once more. The distinct tingle of magic had just washed over his senses, keen and undeniable, unlike anything else he’d felt that day.

It was raw, underdeveloped, not yet bolstered by the right teacher, but it was there, and it spoke in tones of purple, pulsing with potential.

Jim was no wizard himself, much preferring combat to the arcane arts, having not a strong penchant for it or its intricacies and delicate, temperamental nature, but even still, he’d been raised with the three most powerful magic-users in the known world. They’d taught him from youth how to recognize when magic was present, how to glean as many clues as he possibly could about it, or who might have cast it, might be walking in it, based on its style and scent, its intensity, or its intentionality. He wasn’t quite the best at sensing the finer details, nor could he find it when it was masked, but when it was open, unhidden, he could feel it like a mild electric shock that one might get when touching a door handle in dry weather; he could sense it like the faint scent of ozone during a storm, or like a prickle on the hairs on the back of his neck, when lightning was about to strike.

What’s going on? He thought, as he turned his head in the direction of the epicenter of the magic. First, there’s troll remains in the hands of a classmate with the same schedule as him, and then there’s—the girl, there. The girl with the blue streak in her hair.

The witch.

She’d caught him staring, as she set her books down on a desk in the front row, a couple columns over from his. Beside her plopped down two more girls—her friends, Jim noted, as they chattered familiarly, cheerfully.

The girl gave him an awkward smile, then, and Jim realized that he must have been staring for a few moments too long, so he rapidly flicked his eyes back to the surface of his own desk, trying not to think about the flush he could feel splash across the back of his neck, or the tips of his ears.

Tobias did not grant him such grace.

“Ooh,” he grinned, smug as a cat in a sunbeam. “That’s Claire Nuñez. President of the drama club, valedictorian candidate, great actress. She’s tied with Seamus Johnson and Shannon Longhannon for top of the class right now, I heard. She’s wicked smart, and—Jim?” Tobias huffed, “Are you paying attention to me?”

Jim’s eyes darted back to his new friend, from where they’d been briefly studying Claire Nuñez’s back, trying to get a more in-depth read on her arcana. He nodded distractedly. “Yeah, yeah, smart, a president; I heard you.”

Tobias sighed, shaking his head. “Jim.”

Jim raised an eyebrow, indicating that he was listening.

“She’s out of your league.” He deadpanned. “She’s super popular, and you’re, no offense, definitely not.”

Jim shot Tobias a confused look, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

The boy stared openly at Jim. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? Do you really not— Oh my god.”

Jim blinked. “What?”

Tobias shook his head. “Jim, you’ve kinda… scared a lot of the people in our class today. They don’t know what to think about you. You’re like a giant question mark! No one even knows where you came from—”

“Ohio.” Jim recited his cover story, which Skrael had helped him pick the night previous. They’d chosen a city that started with a c… right. “Columbus, Ohio.”

Tobias shot him a deadpan look. “Okay, fine, Jim Lake from Columbus, Ohio. Why’d you suddenly move to Arcadia, then? Why not L.A.? Why not Burbank?”

Jim frowned. “Do you interrogate every newcomer like this? My parents got a good job opportunity here.” He held up one hand, “And before you ask—real estate.”

“Oh yeah? How come I haven’t seen them put up ads, then?” Tobias crossed his arms. “I’m just saying, dude; I think you’re cool, but you freak a lot of people out with that brooding, silent thing you do.”

Jim snorted. “I do what?”

“Y’know—”

“No, I don’t know—”

“You act, like, all silent and mysterious when people try to talk to you.” Tobias shrugged. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, but some people don’t seem as ready to brush it off as me. I’m only telling you so that you can make more friends here.”

“Well, I have you, don’t I?” Jim’s head canted.

Tobias blinked, floundering at that. “Well—y…yeah, I guess so, but—”

“I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

It was Tobias’s turn to go a bit pink, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If you want, yeah, but—”

“Then there we go. I have a friend.” Jim smiled.

Tobias tried to protest, “But—” only to find himself cut off as Mr. Strickler strode into the classroom at that moment, placing a leather briefcase on his desk with a decisive thump. Cacophonous voices incrementally petered out, as attentive heads turned to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Strickler had pulled out a stack of syllabi, handing them to the student nearest the door, with the instructions to “take one and pass them,” spoken precisely to the class.

Tobias looked like he wanted to say something when Strickler turned his back to write his name on the chalkboard, but Jim shushed him from the corner of his mouth, opening a fresh, blank notebook as he did so. This was the only class he’d bothered to buy a separate notebook for, and, to be frank, was the only class he’d even intended to take notes in at all.

Tobias looked chagrined, but not angry, as he rolled his eyes and went to fetch a pencil from his own bag. Might as well have something to do with his idle hands for the next hour.

—

As his first day was winding to close, Jim had to admit, having a friend at school did end up making it a little easier.

The rest of his time there had passed largely unremarkably, since a rather thrilling start to the history curriculum. Jim’s hand had shot up just as much as the apparent reigning top of the sophomore class, one Miss Claire Nuñez’s, had— a fact which had, according to Tobias, already begun to percolate across campus.

The lesson had only briefly covered the basics of ancient Rome, going over a bit of easy, more widely known trivia, to see what the class already knew about their oncoming first unit, but, nonetheless, Jim had been eager to jump in, to talk almost directly to Mr. Strickler, going back and forth in the form of a discussion. He’d spoken quietly, quickly, and he’d felt the eyes of his peers glued to his desk, but had ignored the sensation altogether, in favor of listening to what his teacher had to say about aqueducts, instead.

When the hour had finally come to an end, in fact, he’d packed up slowly, most of his classmates abandoning the room as quickly as they could—the lunch period was about to begin—though Tobias was kind enough to wait for him. As such, Tobias was the only other person present to hear Mr. Strickler stop Jim after class, paying a brief compliment to his performance that day, and accompanying his words with a poster for the history club. Jim didn’t think his furtive smile had gone entirely missed by the teacher, but as they’d exited into the now mostly empty hallway, he forgot to worry about it further, as Tobias wasted no time in asking him how the heck his new friend knew so much about history already?

Jim had shrugged it off, saying that it was his favorite subject; and besides, didn’t Tobias— “Seriously, dude, it’s Toby, by the way”— know more about geology than anyone else in their class? The compliment had made Tobias—Toby— preen, and he’d promptly dropped the topic, instead launching into an enthusiastic lecture meant to coach Jim through the cafeteria process. Jim, who had tried to jump in to say that he’d heard this at orientation the week prior, but Toby had shot him an appalled look at that, swiftly informing him that orientation did nothing to help the social side of things. Sure, he knew the motions, but did he know how to do them without standing out in the crowd? Absolutely not—in fact, the thought was almost laughable, according to Toby.

So, Jim had grinned, followed Toby’s lead, and had just barely survived the ever-important lunch line waltz.

The rest of the day had passed mostly the same way, in the end. Toby, having warmed up to Jim, took him through the whole rest of the day, guiding him through the intricacies of Arcadia Oaks High, and by the time the final bell was ringing, Jim almost felt like a normal student. Some of his peers had even started waving to him in the hallways; he’d broken the ice, after all.

Well. He’d thought so, until Toby had said goodbye, peddling away on his bike toward home, leaving Jim alone in the courtyard by the bustling lockers, surrounded by students eager to either go home, as Toby had, or to dive into after-school clubs and sports.

Jim opted to take his time, though, to enjoy the Southern California sun, as he strolled casually across the campus, toward the front of the school grounds.

As he rounded the corner, though, intending to head toward the Arcadia Oaks sign, where he’d stop and shoot off a text to the Order that his first day had gone well, and that he’d be home soon, he felt a tap on his shoulder, instead, and heard a throat being cleared behind him.

He knew who it was before he even turned to face her; her magic had given her away as soon as she’d reached a hand for him.

Despite this, Jim whirled as if she’d caught him by surprise, schooling his features into something startled but friendly, relaxing his shoulders as a polite smile crossed his face, upon seeing her. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—” he rethought his words, shaking his head. “Never mind. …It’s, ‘Claire,’ right?”

She nodded, returning his smile. “Yeah! And you’re ‘Jim Lake’, hm?”

Something about the way she asked that question sent up a warning bell in the back of Jim’s mind, but he tried not to look unsettled; it was probably just nerves.

“Yup; just Jim is fine, though.” He added with a casual laugh.

Claire tilted her head, continuing. “So, you’re quite the history buff, huh?”

Jim’s hands dropped to his pockets, as he glanced at his shoes, then back up to her. “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“You guess?” She teased. “You were on fire in class today.” She lifted her chin, to look at him head on. “Do I need to worry about you unseating me, Jim Lake from Columbus, Ohio?”

Jim snorted, shaking his head. “No, no; it’s not like that. History’s just a hobby.”

“Pretty intense hobby, if you know half as much as you seem like you do.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

Jim grinned. “Intense? Like being the president of drama club, the vice president of debate, and the supposed shoe-in for the lead in the play this fall?” he recited, much to Claire’s surprise, who shot him an impressed look.

“Huh. You sure do pay attention, don’t you?”

He glanced around, making it a leisurely movement, concealing the way he was searching for anyone who could overhear, before his eyes met hers again, as he said, “Only to certain people.”

Claire blinked, cheeks reddening, mistaking his meaning. “Oh, yeah? What kinds of people?”

Jim rolled the dice. “Well, people who seem nice, or kind, who I could make friends with. People who do things I wanna do, too, so I can have an ‘in’. Like clubs, and things.” he clarified.

“And, uh…” his voice grew hushed, “Magic-users in the human world.”

Claire’s face fell. “What was that last one?” Her nose scrunched with the skeptical look that overtook her features.

Jim’s eyes darted to look for an exit, realizing coldly—fearfully— that he had grossly miscalculated.

“Uh…” Stupid. He chided himself. Think of a lie before you go backing yourself into a corner. Skrael would be disappointed in him if he were here.

“Did you just say ‘the human world’ like you… aren’t human?” She stared at him suspiciously.

Jim blinked. “What? No. I’m human. Of course I’m human.” He gave a strained laugh. “What else would I be?”

“…Someone who thinks they aren’t?” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“It was a rhetor- well. I mean, I guess that’s true. But I’m not!” He smiled weakly, and then froze for a split-second, rapidly adding, “Someone who thinks they aren’t human! I know I’m human!”

Claire’s eyes shot to the street, where, to her poorly hidden relief, her dad had just pulled up to the curb, there to pick her up. “…Right. Well, Jim Lake from Cleveland, Ohio, my dad’s here, so I need to go, but this has been… interesting.”

Jim nodded rapidly, shooting her one more smile— a sheepish, apologetic one— as he gave her a shy wave. “…Yeah.”

Claire hoisted her backpack onto one shoulder, giving him a half-hearted wave back. “…Bye, Jim.”

“Bye, Claire.”

As she turned to leave, Jim frowned to himself. He wasn’t sure why, but something felt wrong. He supposed it could have been the awkward manner in which he’d acted, but in a flash, he decided that wanted to see her again, just in case that wasn’t it. He couldn’t be too careful.

So, before he missed his chance, he called after her retreating back, “See you around?”

Claire stopped, hand poised on the handle of the passenger side door, freezing there for a heart-pounding pause.

Then, she shot him a look over her shoulder, one of interest, meeting his eyes deliberately. Jim got the sense that he should heed it carefully.

“Yeah. See you around, Jim.”