#this post has been sponsored by me complaining to myself all the way to the bus while I was walking on my suit the other day

[ohitslen]

I often think about how Wolfwood walks around the desert with his suit only and carrying that heavy ass cross on his back, so far I think that’s the most batshit insane thing he does

Oh and the loafers what the fuck

[chxckens]

some life updates... this is a big chunky post, just for those who care abt what’s happening w me. i feel like a dvd player

i had a difficult conversation with my mother yesterday where i was able to explain how difficult working has been for me with my health conditions and how i’ve been struggling to keep things like stable income for rent and health insurance because of it. like, i’m on long-term disability leave from work right now but i’m not even sure that i’ll be able to return to working full-time in the same capacity because of my health. and it isn’t a matter of finding a better job or a more flexible job- no employer likes that i keep growing tumors and getting cancer. like, that’s not a particularly good trait for an employee. legally they can’t fire me for it but i feel terrible not being a reliable employee because of it, it makes me feel like shit (even though my self-worth shouldn’t be derived from how Good a worker i am. i know this.)

my mom was taken aback somehow by how deeply it has been affecting me (of course it has. i’m always stressed.) and she actually literally said, “i think that we- that i- have been holding you to impossible standards considering your circumstances.” and that meant a lot. she said, “no, you don’t have to be financially independent right now, fuck it. i have money, move back home for now and let’s just make life comfortable for you.” i can’t explain how surreal it was to hear all that from her because she’s always been the one pushing me to Be Normal (work full-time, live independently, etc.) but i think i got through to her yesterday about how impossible this all feels.

it’s just, like- at this point i have had three separate cancers and i am only 28 years old. i will likely have more cancers down the road because of my genetic disorder. the three cancers isn’t even counting the benign brain tumor i had last december, that was a fucking freebie. nothing about the life i’m living is normal and it was killing me trying to work forty hours a week and keep house and take care of myself on top of all the medical misery.

so like....

i’m not HAPPY about having to live with my mom again ‘cause we don’t cohabitate super well (i love my mother dearly! but i would say this to her face and she would agree- we are both hermits and like having our own space) but there’s a wing of her condo that she’s fixing up that has its own entrance/exit so i can have like. a mini apartment in her condo. hopefully we can figure out enough systems that’ll make it manageable

it is a fucking miserable bummer to have to constantly curb my mother’s plans. she bought some land out in michigan and has plans to build a house out there and she’s been so excited about it and talking about it constantly and i’ve seen the land too, it’s lovely. but now she says she might sell it so she can take care of me. and that’s fucking wretched it makes me want to cry again to think about. but she reassures me, says that the money is better spent closer to home right now. on me. i don’t want her to sell the plot, i told her i’d move out there with her but she thinks it’s too far away from any major medical center for me to live there. because i have my perpetual ball and chain wherever i move- i have to be near a hospital. a cancer center, preferably.

but i can’t complain because it’s huge that she’d be willing to help me survive without working like i have been. and she’ll help me pay for health insurance that isn’t employer-sponsored so i don’t, like, die... that’s huge for me... definitely don’t want to die....

it does make me nauseous, of course, in a survivor’s guilt type of way- i am hyperaware of the fact that the only reason i have this option is because i come from a family with money and that my mother is offering it. i am fully aware of the fact that i would have died several times over if not for the fact that my mother happens to be sitting on enough money to care for me when i’ve been sick and out of work. having grown up with that wealth, it wasn’t until i got cancer for the first time that i was truly radicalized, politically. the system is horrific and even with my immense privilege it is still impossible to navigate when you’re sick/disabled. none of you need me to tell you this, but it is on my mind a lot, especially when it feels like i’m getting handouts like this

so, y’know, there’s a lot of guilt/shame here. and i’m trying to remind myself that this isn’t “giving up” it’s “finding a way to live that doesn’t feel like torture.” i think this is the only decision i can make right now?

i’ll start packing up my stuff and get rid of a bunch of it so that i can fit in my mom’s space. that’s prolly the first step here. the rest, we’ll figure out, i guess? i still feel queasy and like crying about this to be honest. being on my period probably isn’t helping LMAO

[nozomi-kaizoku]

12/17/2024

Okay, so quick update on my little crush on YandereDev.

So a few days ago, I ended up telling one of his friends (who's a sponsor for Yandere Simulator) about how i've been feeling, and I found out that he isn't wanting a relationship atm (and after everything that's happened in the past while, i completely understand), and I just... I don't know exactly how to feel about it.

Like honestly, I don't want to force him into a relationship that he's not ready for or doesn't want, and if i'll be completely honest, I kinda was expecting her to give me an answer like that (especially given the massive age gap between me and him), but at the same time I don't think she really... gets it.

She said that i might be having a crush on him because i'm simply lonely, but that's not exactly the case.

It could've just been me not explaining how I felt correctly (I told her when it was like 3-4am and I was super shaky, which didn't help), but while it is true that i'm lonely, the main reason why i have a crush on him is because I feel like he's the only person that actually understands me, and not just bullshitting about it.

I heard about his past before Yandere Simulator, and I learned that during his teen years, he was just like me: A sexually frustrated kid who ended up becoming a NEET and living his life isolated in his house, with barely any friends or understanding of social cues, and he's been treated like shit both online and irl.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but even though I hated him at first for the very same reason, learning about all of that made me understand that i'm not the only one feeling like this, and everytime i see an anti-yandev complain about him, it brings me back to some of my worst memories, and in addition reminds me about everything I hate about myself, but for years I just.. learned to tolerate that kind of mistreatment, since they taught me it was okay because "he's a bad person" for being the way he is. (and looking back, i feel extremely guilty for holding a grudge against him for so song, and it honestly pisses me off how these people want to act like they care about mental health, and then turn around and be cruel to those most in need of their help...)

Of course, I still plan to confess to him on Valentine's day, even if I know he won't reciprocate, because let's be honest: trying to bottle up your emotions isn't a good idea, never has been. And plus, I posted about it online anyway, so... :p

But overall, I just kinda feel like shit about all of this..

Oh well, at least I can ship myself with Sutemi (osana's stalker) to replicate the same feeling. (After all Devvy did say he was in his late teens/ early 20's, so it wouldn't be illegal... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  )

[noa-nightingale]

Gay Oar!!! ✨💖 - second post

After I wrote my nerdy little text about the appearance of Oar Oar in the Mansa Musa PH ep (you can find that post here), I naturally also had to write one about Sword Oar appearing in the Smallpox ep.

I honestly should have expected him to show up sooner or later after his boyfriend already did but it still caught me off guard. ✨

I’ll use my beautiful “autisticwatcher” tag for this (and if you also have to say things about Watcher-related autism stuff or autism-related Watcher stuff, feel free to use it too). Here is an attempt to justify it even though this topic probably is not inherently autistic: a) I experience every part of life through an autistic lense and b) the ways I express joy are... let’s say, atypical.

Here’s what I mean by that (and don’t worry, this is going somewhere): I am not a very outwardly expressive person. My face is kind of neutral most of the time (you could call it resting bitch bastard face), I have a voice that is often monotonous, and I don’t like showing strong emotions.

And this is what I did when Sword Oar showed up: I sort of jerked back in my chair and clapped my hands once. Then continued watching the episode with the biggest autistic grin (i.e. with what probably looked like a mild smile from the outside). ✨

Let’s get into it! Once again, it brought me great happiness to write this, and - be warned - some of this stuff is pretty specific. And once again, I did not expect that I would spend my time writing about a sponsorship part. ^-^

Enjoy! 💖

“Okay, moving along! Oh-” - “Oar are we!” Never stop with the oar puns, please. I live for the oar puns.

I think I already talked about Oar Oar’s voice and how much I like it but Sowrd Oar’s voice is equally amazing (sometimes a bit hard to understand but I can live with that - I love that voice). I also enjoyed his soft little laugh in the beginning. It was sweet.

We get a little more info on the Professor who apparently smells like “rotten cotton candy mixed with expired vinegar” (also, the sound effect after that killed me lol). Oof. Didn’t have to expose him like that lmao. I like that Sword Oar says to the Professor “I like you but you are a smelly guy” - confirming that he indeed likes him (I have one or two headcanons about this but I am... not going to mention them here, for reasons I will write about below).

The sponsor for this episode is Scentbird, and Sword Oar starts talking about “smelling seasonally appropriate” which I like - we are transitioning into autumn, the leaves will change soon, it is almost Over the Garden Wall rewatch time (I usually start my annual rewatch in October), and I just like the autumn vibes, the thoughts of pumpkins and colorful leaves and little ghosts. It’s my favorite time of the year. 🍂

Here’s a quote from the episode: “put that light sexy summer fragrances on the shelf in exchange for a thick seductive scent for the colder months”.

Okay okay OKAY you... you can’t do this to me!! >:( I have Thoughts about this, okay? Again, I am not giving you any details here (see below) but I have one or two new ideas about Sword Oar’s and Oar Oar’s relationship, and all this talk about “sexy” and “seductive” is not helping.

Like... not to get too depressed in a post about anthropomorphic oars and a sponsorship but there was a time when it was not even legal to be gay (and that time was not that long ago) and there was a time when I did not see any happy queer representation in any media. (I had Brokeback Mountain and that movie is sad as all hell; it breaks my heart every time I watch it, it is incredibly tragic, and that was pretty much the only thing I saw happening to queer people in fiction when I was growing up - struggle, suffering and death. It does something to a queer teenager, is what I am saying. And you carry that pain into adulthood, even if things do get better.)

And then look at these oars - openly gay, openly in love and openly sexual with each other. Yes I am getting emotional about a goofy little quote in a friggin’ sponsorship part, goddamnit!! Even considering all the things that are better now, queer people still get hurt and harassed and harmed and sometimes killed for being queer, and queer sexuality is still stigmatized, and it means a lot to me to have these puppets who are just so unapologetically gay and talk openly about it.

Maybe all of this is an overreaction to a tiny little quote. But it makes me happy (and sad), and I want to talk about it. ❤️

Moving on! To more queer stuff (it is more lighthearted this time, don’t worry)! :D

He mentions not having arms or legs, and that’s the bane of my existence tbh. You probably know by now that I draw a lot of gay oars art, and I have complained before about the fact that these guys don’t have hands. Do you know how many gentle things I could draw if they had hands? You can’t lovingly hold someone’s face without hands, you can’t intertwine your fingers with them, you can’t hug them without arms. So. Yeah. The audacity! /lh

(Come to think of it, Maizey and Gebra don’t have hands either. Shane Madej, sir, I am begging you, please give your LGBTQ+ characters hands!)

Here is another quote: “Let me give you a rundown of some of the sweet sweet sniffs I’ve been dancing with thanks to Scentbird.” Ugh it sounds so charming. It’s just such a charming way to put it. 🌻

He then lists some fragrances and I especially want to mention Confessions of a Rebell - Morning After, and the quote “hot nights never smelled so good”.

I AM ASKING YOU AGAIN

WHY

WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME

And again, I won’t go into all the new headcanons and ideas and thoughts I have about these oars and here is the reason - I don’t know how many minors are following me. Like, I don’t want to make this stuff sound too lewd or crass because I think that queer sexuality is already too often seen as something “dirty” instead of something perfectly okay and natural. Still, I will keep some of my thoughts to myself. Let’s just say, I am very fond of... all of this. 😊

Annnnyyyyways, Sword Oar lists a whole lot of other stuff, and I know that he has to talk about the sponsor, but what I am getting from this is, the guy really likes his scents.

He mentions amber+leather, he mentions lavender, and he mentions Gendarme - Sky which is a “complex and sultry blend of bergamot, cardamom and aged leather”, and I now have a few more ideas about what Oar Oar smells like. (Personally, I like “masculine” scents. Wood, leather and the like.)

Watcher has a code again (you can get 30% off). ✨

The last thing I want to mention is this: “you delicious thing, you”. I am not entirely sure if he is talking to the Professor or the audience but I am okay with both. Because a) I already have a headcanon about the oars and the Professor (which I will not talk about here because, again, there are probably some minors following me) and b) ... oh to be called a “delicious thing” by an anthropomorphic gay oar. 😘

That’s it for now. I spent the better part of three hours with this and hey, if you want to do me a favor, be kind to a queer person today (and if you are any flavor of LGBTQ+, please be kind to yourself - you are wonderful). 💖

I did not mean for this whole text to be this emotional and sometimes sad but I don’t mind it either.

Thanks for reading! ✨💕

❤️ 💛 💚 💙 💜

Also, here is some of my older art. Seemed appropriate. ^-^

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Black Tie.”

I hope you guys like this. Writing has been weirdly difficult for me these past few days, so I sort of hope it isn’t showing lol

This is a little peak into the way that humans try to subtly one up each other in social situations, so Karma is fun :) 

Krill was mildly uncomfortable, and so was Sunny. They had all been invited to what the humans described as a “black tie” event on mars mostly for political delegations, rich sponsors, a couple of famous people, and the occasional member of the UNSC or the GA. Most of the GA reps were Rundi since they tended to like this political sort of thing. There was at least one Tesraki, who had made the executive decision to come since he saw financial opportunity in getting to know some rich humans.

Sunny had been invited to stand in for the Drev counselor, who could not attend due to some issues back on Anum. Dr Krill and Dr. Katie had been invited to attend the event in case medical personnel were required for any reason.

Adam was the only one who had been invited for himself.

The black tie event had been sent by way of a physical letter which Adam had called, “Excessively pretentious.” in a day and age where everything was sent electronically. The fact they had managed to get a letter to him out in the middle of space in the first place was pretty impressive.

Sunny hadn’t really known or cared what all of this meant, but Adam had been nervous and very serious about the dress code. Despite thinking the entire thing was pretentious, that didn't stop him from immediately sending away for his mother’s help.

Sunny was, of course, encouraged to wear ceremonial formal armor to the event.

Krill was keeping very close track of this odd human behavior constantly asking questions as Adam was preparing himself.

“Why don’t you just wear a regular suit?”

“Because that would be a social faux pas.”

“A what?”

He sighed, “I don't know, it's french or something. I think it’s a ballet term. IT just means it would be a social screw up and people would totally judge me for it.”

“They would judge you for wearing the wrong thing?” Krill wondered curiously.

Adam nodded, “That is the point of these parties, and has been for the last two and a half thousand years. These parties are honestly just the biggest pissing contests where people try to out dress each other in subtle ways, and the old people who know what they are doing make fun of the new people for having no idea how to do it properly.” 

Krill looked interested, “how fascinating. So it is a way to show your status subtly.”

“Oh yes. Status is a big deal. It started to go out of style for a while, but this whole adherence to dress code has come back with a vengeance in the last few years. The fashion world has seen an upheaval in pretentiousness, and celebrities have been laughed out of parties for trying to be avant-garde.”

“To be what?”

“Sorry, pretty sure that’s also french too. It means new, interesting, or out of the ordinary usually to make a statement.”

Sunny leaned in a little, “And they expect an air force commander to know how to properly dress for black tie?”

“They don’t, which is why they invited me. I am supposed to make others look good by looking bad. Of course I also make them look good by being invited in the first place. Of course joke's on them because i have a secret weapon on my side…” He patted the front of his shirt, “Thank you mother.” 

“I am now confused.”

Adam waved a hand, “Yeah, I know, It’s pretty stupid 

“I thought you recently decided that you like dressing up.” The human turned in place a couple of times in front of the mirror trying to get a better view of himself, “Correction, I have always enjoyed dressing up -- got that from my mom -- what I don’t enjoy is the pissing contest that comes along with it.

“What is that?”

“Bow tie.”

“You look like someone’s Christmas present.”

He adjusted the bow tie, “Well than someone is getting a sexy as fuck Christmas present now aren’t they.”

He buttoned up the front of the ‘waistcoat’ and pulled on the jacket.

When he was done, the two aliens had to admit that he really did stand out, all in black black pants black tuxedo jacket, cuff links, black tie, black waistcoat, and a purple/blue carnation threaded through the buttonhole on the lapel.

His shoes were almost as reflective as the mirror behind him.

“How do I look?”

“Like a goofy idiot, but the suit wasn’t going to change that.” He lifted a finger to flip Sunny off.

“Not very dapper of you.” Katie said from the doorway.

They looked up to see Katie, who had also commissioned a dress from Martha, and honestly made Adam look a little plain.

“Ready to go.”

“As I will ever be.”

***

Krill kept a shrewd eye on all the strange human protocols. As far as dressing up went Krill could immediately see who the in-crowd included. Ost of those people understood the rules Adam had laid out for him wearing the proper evening attire, where those not in the-in wore clothing that approximated the rules but missed them on several occasions. 

The way the evening was set up was a little bit more like a ‘ball’ as Adam described being announced as they were walked in, and then ordered to mingle with the crowd. Adam and Katie got a few glances from the in-group who seemed surprised that a simple ship captain would known anything about formal evening attire.

Sunny just found the entire thing hilarious. All of this subtle dressing up to impress each other.

If Drev held balls, instead of dancing they would probably just beat each other to death.

But here, there were a lot of subtle clues and hints that went right over her and the Doctor’s heads, while Adam seemed to know what he was doing.

As they walked in waiters offered Adam an alcoholic drink, while Krill received water, and sunny a rather strange tincture that was generally just water with plant flavoring. It was pretty good though so she didn’t complain.

They were met on arriving by the event coordinator whose eyes opened wide when she saw Adam pausing and holding out a hand.

Due to the conflated and rather twisted nature of black tie events in the future, Adam took the hand, and bowed a bit lowering his head, a strange area between the less formal handshake and the more formal kiss on the hand, which was also not a thing in societies post WWIII

“Commander, I… you look…” She trailed off 

Even to sunny it was clear the woman hadn’t expected him to know anything.

He smiled icily at her.

Krill leaned in in fascination.

This was one of the most intriguing parts of humanity. The polite way in which they were totally rude to each other, “Well than you. My mother has a Ph.D  in the information age and a masters in historical fashion.”

That shut the woman up and she politely dismissed herself walking away straight back.

Adam smirked, “Her dress isn’t the right length for an evening event.”

“I thought she coordinated the event.” Sunny muttered

“She couldn’t coordinate herself out of a paper bag.” He winked at Sunny and Krill, “You can’t out-dress the son of a historical fashion expert. Simply not possible, she even used the correct materials.” He tugged lightly at his jacket.

Dr. Katie had disappeared on entry leaving the three of them to wander about the room as Adam pointed out the other important people.

There were a few military commanders, rundi, and the aforementioned Tesraki. There were at least five major political leaders, and even larger handful of actors who had their hands in charities or political causes related to the event.

Adam was only halfway through his first drink when he was waylaid by one of the younger actors. Even Sunny could tell straight off that he was not dressed appropriately.  He had clearly tried very hard, but his efforts were in vain. While everything looked alright from a distance, up close something was wrong about everything. The material of his jacket, the style of his shirt, the type of pants, the lapels on the coat, and even the patterned pocket square which should have been a solid color but wasn’t.

He was joined by another group of men who then began some pretentious conversation about noticing how Adam was new to these sort of events. The way they spoke made it pretty clear they had no idea who he was or what the proper dress code was either.

Adam smiled and didn’t say anything.

“And what do you do for a living?” One of them asked

“Simply a UNSC representative.”

“Ah that explains a lot.” They glanced down at him with pointed looks 

The conversation continued. Sunn wondered why Adam didn’t just shut them all up by telling them exactly who he was, but Krill had a theory that Adam was just playing with them as a human way to build up the moment so that he could socially crush them.

As humans do, their conversation wandered until it eventually moved around to the UNSC and other related topics. 

One of the men nodded knowingly, “I am somewhat knowledgeable on the subject myself.” Adam raised an eyebrow.

“Are you?”

“Well yes, I have a brother in law who flies shuttles and planes for the UNSC. Tell me, what is your opinion on the D-4 class engine on a F-90 darkfire. I honestly think they are rather overpowered for what is being asked of them.”

Adam frowned, “The darkfire doesn't have a D-4 engine. That is a warp classification which-”

The man raised a hand, “No no. I heard my brother in law talking about it. Personally I think they should have just kept the jet engines they would have been plenty enough power to make it into orbit.

The Commander’s face scrunched in confusion as he shook his head, “No, it's a fusion engine, and the jet engine can’t fly in the upper atmosphere because there is no lift-”

“Look, Adam, was that your name. I generally tend to know what I am talking about. The darkfire jet engines would have plenty of power to make it into atmosphere,”

“But its a jet engine which implies it is for a plane and not for a rocket-” 

The guy cut him off again and continued to ramble onward about how he took some engineering classes in college and would know what he was talking about. Since Adam Joined the UNSC and didn’t go to college, that he probably didn’t know anything at all, or at least that is what they said in not so many words.

Sunny was getting a bit annoyed and would like to have squished the guy, but Adam just shook his head at her.

She stayed silent and grumpy as the other men continued to correct Adam on knowledge of his own favorite aircraft.

“My brother owns a spaceship with a class E warp core one of them boasted.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, “There is no such thing-”

“My brother owns the craft, I am pretty sure I know what I am talking about. It’s one of the most powerful cores in the galaxy.”

“Um, I don’t think.”

“Yes the E is more powerful than the A. A ship like the Harbinger or the Enterprise would only make it part of the way across the galaxy but the-” He kept going. 

Adam looked like he was dying but why didn’t he say anything.

It was just then that someone appeared from the crowd. Sunny recognized a political figure they had met at GA summits on occasion.

He raised his glass and stepped into the group, “Ah commander! I am glad to see you could make it.”

The group of men glanced at each other in confusion.

Adam nodded, “It’s good to see you two counselor.” He motioned to the group we were just having a fascinating discussion on warp engines.”

“Oh yes.” He turned to look at the men, “Than I am sure the commander has told you about his escapades as a darkfire pilot.”

The satisfaction Sunny got from watching their faces was priceless, almost orgasmic. She could tell from the look on Adam’s face that he was feeling similarly, “Well no we had not made it to the subject, “I was just going to explain to them how the duel E 20 engine has both a jet engine and a fusion engine. The jet engine for flying in atmosphere and the Fusion engine for moving out of atmosphere considering that the jet engine is not powerful enough to lift the craft without air buoyancy.”

Sunny was laughing on the inside.

“Ah yes. I seem to recall a discussion along those lines. Tell me commander, what about the Harbinger’s engine is it a class A-1.”

Adam nodded, “Could potentially get you to the other side of the universe if you asked her. The classification system is A-D 1-4 on each, so my ship has one of the most powerful engines mankind has ever bothered to build.”

He glanced out of the corner of his eye and the other men who were beginning to slink away.

Sunny chirped in pleasure.

The rep nodded as they left, “I heard the futility of your conversation from the other side of the room.”

“Thanks for the help. I was dying inside.”

The two men laughed and took their drinks.

Krill was very pleased with his examination on how humans subtly tried to one up each other with their dress and understanding of certain topics, though it seemed odd to him that someone would claim to be an expert when it was, in fact, their brother or brother in law who knew about the subject and not them.

But he supposed that was the social nature of humanity. 

[qqueenofhades]

Could you expand a bit on the "death of expertise"? It's something I think about A LOT as an artist, because there are so many problems with people who think it isn't a real job, and the severe undercutting of prices that happens because people think hobbyists and professionals are the same. At the same time, I also really want people to feel free to be able to make art if they want, with no gatekeeping or elitism, and I usually spin myself in circles mentally thinking about it. So.

I have been secretly hoping someone would ask this question, nonny. Bless you. I have a lot (a LOT) of thoughts on this topic, which I will try to keep somewhat concise and presented in a semi-organized fashion, but yes.

I can mostly speak about this in regard to academia, especially the bad, bad, BAD takes in my field (history) that have dominated the news in recent weeks and which constitute most of the recent posts on my blog. (I know, I know, Old Man Yells At Cloud when attempting to educate the internet on actual history, but I gotta do SOMETHING.) But this isn’t a new phenemenon, and is linked to the avalanche of “fake news” that we’ve all heard about and experienced in the last few years, especially in the run-up and then after the election of You Know Who, who has made fake news his personal brand (if not in the way he thinks). It also has to do with the way Americans persistently misunderstand the concept of free speech as “I should be able to say whatever I want and nobody can correct or criticize me,” which ties into the poisonous extreme-libertarian ethos of “I can do what I want with no regard for others and nobody can correct me,” which has seeped its way into the American mainstream and is basically the center of the modern Republican party. (Basically: all for me, all the time, and caring about others is a weak liberal pussy thing to do.)

This, however, is not just an issue of partisan politics, because the left is just as guilty, even if its efforts take a different shape. One of the reason I got so utterly exasperated with strident online leftists, especially around primary season and the hardcore breed of Bernie Bros, is just that they don’t do anything except shout loud and incorrect information on the internet (and then transmogrify that into a twisted ideology of moral purity which makes a sin out of actually voting for a flawed candidate, even if the alternative is Donald Goddamn Trump). I can’t count how many people from both sides of the right/left divide get their political information from like-minded people on social media, and never bother to experience or verify or venture outside their comforting bubbles that will only provide them with “facts” that they already know. Social media has done a lot of good things, sure, but it’s also made it unprecedently easy to just say whatever insane bullshit you want, have it go viral, and then have you treated as an authority on the topic or someone whose voice “has to be included” out of some absurd principle of both-siderism. This is also a tenet of the mainstream corporate media: “both sides” have to be included, to create the illusion of “objectivity,” and to keep the largest number of paying subscribers happy. (Yes, of course this has deep, deep roots in the collapse of late-stage capitalism.) Even if one side is absolutely batshit crazy, the rules of this distorted social contract stipulate that their proposals and their flaws have to be treated as equal with the others, and if you point out that they are batshit crazy, you have to qualify with some criticism of the other side.

This is where you get white people posting “Neo-Nazis and Black Lives Matter are the same!!!1” on facebook. They are a) often racist, let’s be real, and b) have been force-fed a constant narrative where Both Sides Are Equally Bad. Even if one is a historical system of violent oppression that has made a good go at total racial and ethnic genocide and rests on hatred, and the other is the response to not just that but the centuries of systemic and small-scale racism that has been built up every day, the white people of the world insist on treating them as morally equivalent (related to a superior notion that Violence is Always Bad, which.... uh... have you even seen constant and overwhelming state-sponsored violence the West dishes out? But it’s only bad when the other side does it. Especially if those people can be at all labeled “fanatics.”)

I have complained many, many times, and will probably complain many times more, about how hard it is to deconstruct people’s absolutely ingrained ideas of history and the past. History is a very fragile thing; it’s really only equivalent to the length of a human lifespan, and sometimes not even that. It’s what people want to remember and what is convenient for them to remember, which is why we still have some living Holocaust survivors and yet a growing movement of Holocaust denial, among other extremist conspiracy theories (9/11, Sandy Hook, chemtrails, flat-earthing, etc etc). There is likewise no organized effort to teach honest history in Western public schools, not least since the West likes its self-appointed role as guardians of freedom and liberty and democracy in the world and doesn’t really want anyone digging into all that messy slavery and genocide and imperialism and colonialism business. As a result, you have deliberately under- or un-educated citizens, who have had a couple of courses on American/British/etc history in grade school focusing on the greatest-hit reel, and all from an overwhelmingly triumphalist white perspective. You have to like history, from what you get out of it in public school, to want to go on to study it as a career, while knowing that there are few jobs available, universities are cutting or shuttering humanities departments, and you’ll never make much money. There is... not a whole lot of outside incentive there.

I’ve written before about how the humanities are always the first targeted, and the first defunded, and the first to be labeled as “worthless degrees,” because a) they are less valuable to late-stage capitalism and its emphasis on Material Production, and b) they often focus on teaching students the critical thinking skills that critique and challenge that dominant system. There’s a reason that there is a stereotype of artists as social revolutionaries: they have often taken a look around, gone, “Hey, what the hell is this?” and tried to do something about it, because the creative and free-thinking impulse helps to cultivate the tools necessary to question what has become received and dominant wisdom. Of course, that can then be taken too far into the “I’ll create my own reality and reject absolutely everything that doesn’t fit that narrative,” and we end up at something like the current death of expertise.

This year is particularly fertile for these kinds of misinformation efforts: a plague without a vaccine or a known cure, an election year in a turbulently polarized country, race unrest in a deeply racist country spreading to other racist countries around the world and the challenging of a particularly important system (white supremacy), etc etc. People are scared and defensive and reactive, and in that case, they’re especially less motivated to challenge or want to encounter information that scares them. They need their pre-set beliefs to comfort them or provide steadiness in a rocky and uncertain world, and (thanks once again to social media) it’s easy to launch blistering ad hominem attacks on people who disagree with you, who are categorized as a faceless evil mass and who you will never have to meet or negotiate with in real life. This is the environment in which all the world’s distinguished scientists, who have spent decades studying infectious diseases, have to fight for airtime and authority (and often lose) over random conspiracy theorists who make a YouTube video. The public has been trained to see them as “both the same” and then accept which side they like the best, regardless of actual factual or real-world qualifications. They just assume the maniac on YouTube is just as trustworthy as the scientists with PhDs from real universities.

Obviously, academia is racist, elitist, classist, sexist, on and on. Most human institutions are. But training people to see all academics as the enemy is not the answer. You’ve seen the Online Left (tm) also do this constantly, where they attack “the establishment” for never talking about anything, or academics for supposedly erasing and covering up all of non-white history, while apparently never bothering to open a book or familiarize themselves with a single piece of research that actual historians are working on. You may have noticed that historians have been leading the charge against the “don’t erase history!!!1″ defenders of racist monuments, and explaining in stinging detail exactly why this is neither preserving history or being truthful about it. Tumblr likes to confuse the mechanism that has created the history and the people who are studying and analyzing that history, and lump them together as one mass of Evil And Lying To You. Academics are here because we want to critically examine the world and tell you things about it that our nonsense system has required years and years of effort, thousands of dollars in tuition, and other gatekeeping barriers to learn. You can just ask one of us. We’re here, we usually love to talk, and we’re a lot cheaper. I think that’s pretty cool.

As a historian, I have been trained in a certain skill set: finding, reading, analyzing, using, and criticizing primary sources, ditto for secondary sources, academic form and style, technical skills like languages, paleography, presentation, familiarity with the professional mechanisms for reviewing and sharing work (journals, conferences, peer review, etc), and how to assemble this all into an extended piece of work and to use it in conversation with other historians. That means my expertise in history outweighs some rando who rolls up with an unsourced or misleading Twitter thread. If a professor has been handed a carefully crafted essay and then a piece of paper scribbled with crayon, she is not obliged to treat them as essentially the same or having the same critical weight, even if the essay has flaws. One has made an effort to follow the rules of the game, and the other is... well, I did read a few like that when teaching undergraduates. They did not get the same grade.

This also means that my expertise is not universal. I might know something about adjacent subjects that I’ve also studied, like political science or English or whatever, but someone who is a career academic with a degree directly in that field will know more than me. I should listen to them, even if I should retain my independent ability and critical thinking skillset. And I definitely should not be listened to over people whose field of expertise is in a completely different realm. Take the recent rocket launch, for example. I’m guessing that nobody thought some bum who walked in off the street to Kennedy Space Center should be listened to in preference of the actual scientists with degrees and experience at NASA and knowledge of math and orbital mechanics and whatever else you need to get a rocket into orbit. I definitely can’t speak on that and I wouldn’t do it anyway, so it’s frustrating to see it happen with history. Everybody “knows” things about history that inevitably turn out to be wildly wrong, and seem to assume that they can do the same kind of job or state their conclusions with just as much authority. (Nobody seems to listen to the scientists on global warming or coronavirus either, because their information is actively inconvenient for our entrenched way of life and people don’t want to change.) Once again, my point here is not to be a snobbish elitist looking down at The Little People, but to remark that if there’s someone in a field who has, you know, actually studied that subject and is speaking from that place of authority, maybe we can do better than “well, I saw a YouTube video and liked it better, so there.” (Americans hate authority and don’t trust smart people, which  is a related problem and goes back far beyond Trump, but there you are.)

As for art: it’s funny how people devalue it constantly until they need it to survive. Ask anyone how they spent their time in lockdown. Did they listen to music? Did they watch movies or TV? Did they read a book? Did they look at photography or pictures? Did they try to learn a skill, like drawing or writing or painting, and realize it was hard? Did they have a preference for the art that was better, more professionally produced, had more awareness of the rules of its craft, and therefore was more enjoyable to consume? If anyone wants to tell anyone that art is worthless, I invite you to challenge them on the spot to go without all of the above items during the (inevitable, at this rate) second coronavirus lockdown. No music. No films. No books. Not even a video or a meme or anything else that has been made for fun, for creativity, or anything outside the basic demands of Compensated Economic Production. It’s then that you’ll discover that, just as with the underpaid essential workers who suffered the most, we know these jobs need to get done. We just still don’t want to pay anyone fairly for doing them, due to our twisted late-capitalist idea of “value.”

Anyway, since this has gotten long enough and I should probably wrap up: as you say, the difference between “professional” and “hobbyist” has been almost completely erased, so that people think the opinion of one is as good as the other, or in your case, that the hobbyist should present their work for free or refuse to be seen as a professional entitled to fair compensation for their skill. That has larger and more insidious effects in a global marketplace of ideas that has been almost entirely reduced to who can say their opinion the loudest to the largest group of people. I don’t know how to solve this problem, but at least I can try to point it out and to avoid being part of it, and to recognize where I need to speak and where I need to shut up. My job, and that of every single white person in America right now, is to shut up and let black people (and Native people, and Latinx people, and Muslim people, and etc...) tell me what it’s really like to live here with that identity. I have obviously done a ton of research on the subject and consider myself reasonably educated, but here’s the thing: my expertise still doesn’t outweigh theirs, no matter what degrees they have or don’t have. I then am required to boost their ideas, views, experiences, and needs, rather than writing them over or erasing them, and to try to explain to people how the roots of these ideas interlock and interact where I can. That is -- hopefully -- putting my history expertise to use in a good way to support what they’re saying, rather than silence it. I try, at any rate, and I am constantly conscious of learning to do better.

I hope that was helpful for you. Thanks for letting me talk about it.

[herpronuonsarefemslash]

Do Not Tap the Glass - TEASER

Enjoy an ABO Supergirl / Jurassic Park (barely) crossover where Alex is a scientist for the Luthor Institute studying a mysterious "creature" that was found in the arctic ice, her wife Maggie definitely thinks pregnant Alex is sexy Alex, they go to a sex club together, and Lex throws Lena in with the beast...that maybe isn't a beast at all. Chapters 1-5 are public and Chapter 6 is Patreon exclusive.

Chapter 1 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1qpiYG0XLyuUU79_P2YTwG6IYR6GISse3/view?usp=sharing Chapter 2 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1EJlb75hUbGXdNAkkwPzW691XFS9AXx-d/view?usp=sharing Chapter 3 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1jE-f6E4McfFWKUXCX-ZhJWAg0XvHn1el/view?usp=sharing Chapter 4 -  https://drive.google.com/file/d/1HEcDBzNaB6qmZ2JkzInx46INWOyawfdC/view?usp=sharing Chapter 5 - https://drive.google.com/file/d/1SQaoF7H2aG1kVyhA35zFfQ5ZfK86lU3Z/view?usp=sharing Chapter 6 - https://www.patreon.com/posts/54672610 Alex has a ritual when she starts a new job: ride the bike in for confidence. Sadly, the list of 'required tools' she was asked to bring would never have fit in a bike. It would never have fit in Maggie's beloved 'princess plug' either, that silver Subaru with a bedazzled back hatch and two surfboards eternally attached to the rack.

Hence, renting a small U-Haul that drives like a dead whale. Maybe the Luthor Institute isn't really hiring her for her mind, maybe they just want her and her mom's research and devices. Lex Luthor has a scary rep in the academic community. He's probably just going to have someone shoot her as soon as she's buzzed in the gate.

Still. It's an interesting job because the not-interesting jobs don't come with 200-page non-disclosure agreements she signed, being watched by lawyers so clenched a punch-press and a vat of KY couldn't help them. It's a lot of money. It's enough money to put aside a million for their daughter by the time she graduates college. Once she finishes developing a spine, organs, and nervous system, that is. Alex was too busy puking to nickname the fetus, so Maggie stepped in.

Regrettably. Cervix-Kicker is just not something Alex can tease her slowly-swelling belly with, at least in public. Maggie's turn, next time. She's pretty sure there will be a next time. Alex suspects that pregnancy sex makes the case for the pregnancy itself, in Maggie's view.

Her phone lights up and a bonobo's shrieking voice comes out. Eliza recorded it during the early days of her fieldwork. Alex taps answer.

"Hey, Mom."

"Morning, sweetie.  How's the new job?"

=====

Nia rolls her eyes with such exaggeration it makes her fairy-dusted eyeshadow sparkle a bit in the sun.

"Come on, new girl," Nia teases. "I'll show you around."

"She will. She's basically in charge of the pep squad here," Frank teases. "When I started, I gained five pounds from all of the bonding lunches Nia organized."

"Did you complain?" Nia demands.

"I did not. And I do not regret a moment of it, kid. Someone will come unload the truck, doc. Thanks for bringing all your gear."

Frank tips his ball cap at Alex and goes back to the main group by the door.

"My mom's designs too." Alex mumbles. One accidental touch and she's blubbering out self-deprecation to near-strangers.

"Right," Nia chuckles. "The infamous Doctors Danvers. So is your kid going to be a world-renowned psych researcher does the third generation end up a bunch of losers who like, found the next Google?"

"Um, not sure. I have to meet them first."

"Shut the front door!" Nia exclaims. Her smile just went up about fifty thousand watts. "I was just joking but you're actually preggers."

"How ca-"

Alex glances at Nia's nametag. In the lower right is an omega symbol with an F beside it. Curiously, it even has the sub-status there even though that's unnecessary in the case of female omegas given the extremely low variation rate. Alex has never heard of subtypes being used outside of therapy or a doctor's office. Using them at work is legal--probably--but it's also downright bizarre. As an omega, Nia can not only smell the tiny changes in Alex's scent indicating she's pregnant, she can probably tell Alex what soap Maggie uses, along with her age, ethnicity, and most recent rut.

"They categorize us by status?" Alex asks. "How 1890s."

Nia sighs.

"Well, it's actually not so bad. There was a dude in maintenance who I thought was taking notes on my heat cycle. I mentioned something and the next thing I know there was this absolute unit of a woman from HR sort of shadowing me. Eating lunch, printing stuff to the copier we use, so on. Being obvious about it to, making sure he knew she had her eye on him. So they do use the information for the right reasons."

Any competent HR department could handle all that. Nia must realize that too.

"The creature. The creature can sense human genera and reacts to them."

Nia makes finger guns.

"Bingo. Got a nose like a bloodhound, that one. Even with the enclosure being vacuum-sealed and using completely different air, the creature catches it somehow."

=====

She nods towards the ruined hard drive, which has been ground and punctured and shaved to produce the bearings.

"I'm afraid I never made a backup."

"Fuck," Lex snarls.

She got Lex to curse in front of his men. Victory enough for one lifetime.

"Take her."

She lets the goons cuff her.

"Oh, and I injected myself with an agent that reacts violently with truth serum drugs. Violently and fatally."

"Which ones?" Lex demands.

"All of them. And I put an implant in my teeth with 2 grams of high explosive. So electrocuting me is out. We'll have to make a deal the old-fashioned way, brother."

Lex's pained bellowing is so sweet. ===== Lena's gurney is tilted back vertical and she's wheeled down a long hallway. A pair of armored doors buzz open.

It's a goddamned zoo enclosure. Gorilla enclosure, from the look of it. It reeks of alpha. Almost human. Almost sweet, even. A scent she wouldn't mind nuzzling into at night if she didn't know it was a beast's. Lex himself unclips her and tilts the gurney forwards, spilling her onto wood chips.

"Quite the specimen, I hear. She's used up three omegas so far," he sighs. "Maybe you'll fare better. Maybe you'll live long enough to get a pup in you. When you are ready to talk, press the red button."

Classic good old boy alpha thinking. Like many a single omega, Lena has guiltily indulged in rut non-con fantasies. So that's not quite the threat he thinks it is. Loss of control over the body and second-guessing whether it was consent or just surrender to the heat is Female Omega 101. She could maybe power through that. Close her eyes. Remember boarding school. Andrea and her flashing blue eyes and her exquisitely shaped cock -- ladylike, somehow -- long enough to slam the breath from Lena's lungs and her long hands closed over Lena's neck. Her affected machismo. Taking Lena like she was a mafia boss and Lena was some worthless whore from the back streets. Fulfilling that and any other roleplay Lena wanted.

This is a goddamned gorilla though. That's beyond the realm of kink.

She's in a puddle of light but the rest of the enclosure is dark. Too dark to see anything past her ankles.

That's when she hears it. Huffing. Panting. Too loud and to big a noise to be human lungs. Squelching. Grunting. Moaning.

A face spills out of the dark into the light. Matted blonde curls. Blue eyes glazed over with orgasm, drugs, or maybe in shock. The grunting increases in pace.

"So good, so good..." the blonde mumbles, throwing her head back and forth.

"Hi, Lena."

"Eve Tessmacher? Fuck. I thought you got fired."

=====

"Hey, Nia?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you go to my desk..." Alex begins before shame clamps her jaw shut. She's going to have to say it. Say it to a friend who is her employee and she wonders if the fancy toilet can be reprogrammed to drown her.

"Go to your desk and?" Nia prompts.

"Target bag. Sweatshirt and pants," she huffs.

"Copy that."

Alex catches her breath, then spanks the toilet paper roll over and over. She starts cleaning up. Nia's a good kid. In both the psychological and physical sense had painful days herself--phantom ruts colliding with her desired heat cycle--and she and Alex worked out a system. With it, Alex could sneak her pot chocolate from the cooler in Nia's car, sign it in on her behalf at security, hit the vending machine, and meet her in the breakroom like it's nothing.

Their friendship started out the way a thousand five-minute friendships do in bars. Nia asked for an opinion and Alex assured her she looked cute and that her blind date would love it. The guy turned out to be a moron but the resulting debrief cemented their dynamic.

She's not sure how someone can go from acquaintance to best friend, to kid sister in less than a month. She only knows Nia did.

=====

The member lot is small and the gold member lot is smaller still. Perhaps thirty stalls and mostly full.

Maybe when you spend this much on VIP access to a sex club, it makes sense to spend every weeknight there. Eliza didn't volunteer a number for the membership she bought Alex and Maggie but both she and Alex assumed that down payment on a house would be Eliza and Jeremiah's contribution. She probably went with this out of fond memories of her own years studying at UC National City. If she and Jeremiah ever shared an omega playmate, it would've been somewhere like here. Somewhere deniable.

"Look, babe," Julia whispers, pointing at the engravings in the concrete of the marked stall that Maggie is gradually working their Prius into, sliding it between a Range Rover and a Suburban.

"AD and MS, sponsored by EG?" Alex mumbles.

"Founder sponsored," Julia adds, pointing out something in smaller print and filling the right half of Maggie's vision with creamy cleavage and her lungs with candy-sweet scent of a willing omega.

"I fucking knew it," Maggie chuckles. "Your mom was one of the people that started this place."

"No!" Alex squawks. "Absolutely fucking no!"

"You park," Julia chuckles. "I'll distract her from herself."

[palaugranetes]

🔵BLAUGRANETS🔴

22 OCTOBER 2020

Riqui: Well I guess there is no other choice than doing this..

Pedri: Do what?

Riqui Added Arnau

Riqui: Well we have another one here. At this rate, we might as well just include the whole squad. BUT Welcome to this adult free mess bro!

Iñaki: 💙❤💙❤💙❤

Carlitos: Benvingut nanu!

Ronald: MANITO!!!!

Ronald: Look at you using those braincells @Riqui

Riqui: Nothing new

Ansu: BRO!!!! @Arnau 💙❤

Arnau: What even is this?

Frenkie: Adult Free Space.

Frenkie: WELCOME!! ❤💙

Arnau: Why is this even?

Francisco: Well I really am not quite sure of that yet.. But welcome!!!

Carlitos: This exists because we are sick and tired of the grown-ups.

Arnau: Who are the grown-ups? Aren't we all technically grown-ups?

Arnau: Well beside Ansu and Pedri.

Ansu: BOY DO NOT.

JC: 😂😂😂😂😂

Dembz: 😂😂😂😂😂

Ansu: 😒😒😒

JC:"Dembz: 😂😂😂😂😂"

Dembz: 🤜🏿

Ansu: I hate both of you so much.

Frenkie: It's only a week.. Just hang in there🤭🤭

Ansu: 😒😒

Pedri: 🙄🙄🙄

23 OCTOBER 2020

Carlitos: Anyways.. What I meant is that we are sick and tired of the ones in charge, their incompetence and their stupidity.

Riqui: Here here 🍻

Ronald: Thought popcorn was your TM

Riqui: 🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿

Riqui: Happy Now?

Ronald: Elated!

Arnau: Ahhh I get it now. I see your point.

Arnau: So how long has this been going on?

Pedri: Like a month or so

Francisco: We still don't know what is happening here most of the times

Sergiño: Hey dude!! Another newbie here!! Welcome @Arnau

Arnau: 🤗🤗🤗

Ansu: What we do know is that El Clasico is tomorrow and I am about to jump out of my skin!

Riqui: I mean...

Carlitos: What do you guys think?

JC: Well what version of FCB is going to show up.. It depends on that.

Arnau: I really cannot sit through another Getafe type match... there aren't enough hugs in the world.

Iñaki: I feel ya bro.. pure torture.

Ronald: Look we tried..

Riqui: No Ronald.. You did.

Carlitos: And now that Jordi is back .. Y'all need to try harder.

Carlitos: I mean I love the guy but he needs to remember how to football.

Riqui: You say y'all as if any of us not named Frenkie Ansu and Sergiño is going to start.. Don't drag all of us into that mess..

Ansu: 🙄🙄

Carlitos: Oh no no Nanu I am happy for you.

Riqui: We'd be dead were it not for you kiddo.

Sergiño: I am just glad I'll be back to the right flank tbh

Sergiño: Like I'll play wherever I'm asked but...

Pedri: Exactly.. Imagine me playing on the left.. I'll do it sure of course, I'll try my best but it is not my favorite.

Francisco: Well I think it's natural.

Riqui: Ever since Antoine spoke he has been benched 🤭

Carlitos: Are we sure that is the only reason?

Riqui: Jeez

Dembz: 😐😐😐😐

Carlitos: Sorry.. But I only say this because I know what he can do..

Dembz: I guess we are all rusty...

Riqui: I wouldn't know.. I've played all of 10 minutes..

Carlitos: 🙄

JC: Well y'all better not make me watch for nothing.

Riqui: Again.. Can't help you there bro.

JC: WHOEVER IT IS. DO NOT.

Riqui: Sometimes I wish Puyi is here just to like make them focus.

Carlitos: Remember when he yelled at Geri? 😂😂

Riqui: Which time 😂😂

Carlitos: All of them 😂

Ansu: OMG GUYS!!

Ansu: We should ask for his help.

Francisco: To come and make 'us' focus??

Pedri: It doesn't work that way dude.

Ansu: NO! With Geri

JC: I'm listening

Dembz: Are we really going to go ask for help from Carles Puyol?! Ansumane are you nuts!?

Ansu: GOT ANY BETTER IDEAS OUSMANE!?

Dembz: No..

Dembz: And stop yelling @Iñaki is probably asleep.

Frenkie: We all should be ...

Ansu: BUT my Puyi idea.

Ronald: Can wait till after El Clasico.

Ronald: Go to sleep now

Ansu: 😒

24 OCTOBER 2020

JC: 4 OUT OF 11!!!

JC: Oh for fuck sake😒

JC: ANSU YOU BRILLIANT GENIUS I COULD KISS YOU!!!

..........

JC: I AM GOING TO KICK HIM! PHIL WHAT!!!!?!?!?!?!?!

JC: What the fuck was that shit....

JC: But it wasn't...

JC: I give up.. Screw this..

...........

Arnau: This blows.

Iñaki: Once again.. pure torture.

Arnau: No but we were doing actually okay..

Iñaki: I mean.. relatively so-so.. we could have had it...

Arnau: What even was that 2nd ..

Iñaki: Bro.. Let it go..

Arnau: 🤦🏼‍♂️🤦🏼‍♂️

Iñaki: 😐

Ansu: I hate us so much.

Pedri: I should not have said anything the other day..

Pedri: I jinxed myself.

Francisco: That was horrible

Sergiño: Truly awful

Riqui: I am going to keep my comments to myself.

Riqui: Because if I speak, I will get in trouble.

Carlitos: Okay José.

Riqui: HOW DARE YOU.

Carlitos: It was a José move.

Ansu: I just... WHY TAKE ME OUT SO EARLY!

Dembz: A Mess.

Frenkie: So we are just going to get a penalty every time we breathe next to a player!?

JC: BS. Just that.. BS.

Ansu: Siempre igual.

Frenkie: I hate this.

Riqui: We all do.

25 OCTOBER 2020

Ronald: On the bright side..

Riqui: There is not one bright side in this

Ronald: There is.

Ronald: The fact that it's over.

Riqui: Okay one bright side to this. And now we have Juventus next.

Riqui: Without Gerard

Riqui: Which means he will have time...

Riqui: Which means we are screwed.

Carlitos: I would like to go back to the match please.

Riqui: So I was right.. There is no bright side.

Dembz: Dammit.

Riqui: Good night.

Pedri: Night!

JC: See ya later

Carlitos: Nanit!

Sergiño: ✌🏽

26 OCTOBER 2020

Frenkie: They did not just say that.. 🤦🏼‍♂️

Frenkie: As if we needed more backlash...

Carlitos: WHY WOULD THEY EVEN SPEAK!??

Carlitos: WHEN HAS THAT EVER HELPED ANYONE?!

Riqui: Just leave already for the love of everything good...

Riqui: We are a meme Club I swear...

Riqui: When has complaining ever benefited us ever?!

Carlitos: As if they don't know

Ansu: Did he really say that or did I hallucinate it!?

Riqui: They did kiddo

Carlitos: They did kiddo.

JC: Yikes

Francisco: What is the point?

Arnau: What is the point of their existence really

Iñaki: They have so many problems coming their way, the guys say they are taking action against them

Arnau: Well they should have let them finish the season and not just send them off like that.. They deserved to play the play-offs.

Iñaki: Don't remind me.

Arnau: Can the president just issue an arrest warrant against them already?!

Riqui: I wish

Carlitos: THE AUDACITY OF THEM TRYING TO POSTPONE THE REFERENDUM. THE AUDACITY.

Riqui: I hope they end up in Jail. Or like exiled.. whichever can happen quicker..

Ansu: We cannot have one day of peace in this place.

Riqui: How else will the time pass..

Ansu: I rather not have it pass in stress.

Carlitos: Well.. tough.

Riqui: And another one tomorrow.

Riqui: AND FOR WHAT... JUST LEAVE

Sergiño: I am having such a dèjà-vu..

Riqui: About?

Sergiño: Tr*mp..

Riqui: Well.. Kinda.. sorta..

Riqui: Like.. take away the mania and psychopathic behavior and total lack of human empathy and decency... yeah it could be him

Sergiño: I meant the desperate need for him to just leave.

Riqui: Oh well yes that... spot on.

Carlitos: we have to wait more I guess.... But now Juve.

Frenkie: Exactly. Juve.

Ansu: Ronald's big moment. Hope he doesn't screw it up.

Ronald: Appreciate the vote of confidence.. really. So sweet.

Ansu: Anytime broski Anytime.

Pedri: Did you really just say broski?

Ansu: And what about it?

Pedri: Nothing..

Ansu: Mhm...

27 OCTOBER 2020

JC: Another meeting today?

Riqui: Yep

JC: Evening?

Riqui: Yep

JC: You think he will?

Riqui: Who the hell knows.. He might be coming out to announce a new sponsor for all I know

Carlitos: I hear he will

Ansu: Will he though?

Carlitos: Well I'm not his babysitter but I hope so.

Ansu: We shall see.

Frenkie: Ready to take off to Torino?

Pedri: YES!!

Francisco: Cannot wait tbh

Francisco: I saw Gerard today and he was being very suspicious.

Riqui: I do not need this now

Sergiño: I hung out with him during training this morning.. He seemed normal

Dembz: So what is the truth...

Ronald: All I know is he has time now.

Ronald: And I feel sorry for you guys..

Ronald: Not you @Riqui 💙 and Sergi would agree

Riqui: 😒 I hate you 💙

...............

Arnau: HOLY CRAP HE DID IT!!!

Arnau: WE ARE FREE!!!!!!

Carlitos: I cannot believe it. Someone slap me.

Carlitos: I DID NOT MEAN IT LITERALLY RONALD!

Ronald: You asked.

Riqui: I JUST... I WOULD LIKE TO SAY....

Riqui: 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

Carlitos: WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE! WHAT DO YOU MEAN A EUROPEAN SUPER LEAGUE.. BRO!!

Ansu: Like I said.. We cannot have not 1 moment of peace.

Riqui: Is he really playing a victim?!

Carlitos: Great... more games for us not to play😒

Ansu: But things are changing.. so

Frenkie: Oh wow.. oh wow.. OH WOW

Francisco: What even is the point of a Super league?!

Francisco: It's like the Nations' League.. What is the point of that

Pedri: Money.

Pedri: 🤷🏻‍♂️

Francisco: Fair point.

Iñaki: Isn't everything?

Francisco: Yep.

Dembz: So now what guys?...

Riqui: Now we are free. We wait for the new President.

Riqui: And maybe a new coach 🙄

Dembz: I dig that.

Pedri: How do you guys think Leo is feeling??

Ansu: I wonder what the adults gc is like right now.

Ansu: Dammit Carles when are you going to be useful!

Carlitos: RUDE MUCH

Ansu: We need to know

Riqui: 😂

Frenkie: So now that he is gone.. What are we going to complain about in this Club.

Riqui: It's us.. We always have something. But enjoy this Win bro

Frenkie: I am.

Sergiño: I hope we can enjoy more wins

Francisco: Leo must be very happy.

Riqui: I wanna post something.. but I don't know if I should.

Dembz: Do it subtly.

Arnau: Have you met him? He doesn't know subtlety.

Riqui: I brought you here to back me up dude not join them😒

[things2mustdo]

I doubt anyone needs to be reminded that the media is rotten to the core; even the most reluctant and closed-minded people are accepting this as a given now. But despite the media being widely condemned nowadays (my special thanks to Germans for bringing the word “Lügenpresse” back), few people know or understand what’s really going on in the journalistic kitchens, where the foul slop of lies that people are fed every day is cooked up. However, there is always a way in—through purposeful infiltration or, in my case, by accident.

I have an old friend—let’s call him Sven—whom I always knew as a kind-hearted and sincere man. However, these traits are also coupled with always assuming the best of people and being rather naive. Due to this, he keeps ending up in awkward and sometimes dangerous situations. One of them turned out to be a short stint as a journalist for a popular online newspaper. He barely maintained contact during his employment and eventually went completely off the grid. In about a month, he resurfaced a changed man, and not for the better. As he explained, he quit the job and then shut himself in for a while, armed with nothing but alcohol, to cope with the depression working as a journalist gave him.

Now, this probably sounds very soft to many of you, including myself. Men don’t sink into depressions or try to drink themselves out of problems. While I granted my friend the clemency of explaining his failures to him, I also recognized the usefulness of his experience and started questioning him about what he saw and heard at the job. I will relay his findings below; however, I will not disclose his true name or the name of his employer—given the “free” country we live in, this can land him in very hot water.

Whoever pays you, owns you

Sven joined the ranks of journalists to tell people the truth. To his credit, he believed he would be doing exactly that. His first assignment sounded so simple, after all—talk to a person, record the conversation, write an article, publish it. The reality turned out to be diametrically different—after our fresh-baked journalist returned from his first interview, he was immediately ordered to transcribe the recording and email it to the content manager. Half an hour later Sven received a heavily edited version of the transcript, with the parts he considered most crucial replaced with meaningless buzzwords or removed completely. When he went to the manager to voice his indignation, the manager simply replied: “This man did not pay us for an article that would disparage him. Get back to your desk.”

This was far from the only case of Sven witnessing how much pull money has in journalism. His numerous colleagues almost never produced independent content—they were too busy publishing one paid article after another. When Sven asked whether these articles should be marked as sponsored, the only reply he got was a bitter laugh. Very often the content manager would come over to his desk and say something along the lines of “Do you know the guy you are writing about is a close friend of our boss? Do not screw this article up.” Sven was also surprised to see that many interviewees (usually politicians) would not even bother to talk to him, instead referring him to their secretaries or assistants. One of them even went as far as to hand him a pre-written speech, tell him to work with it and walk away.

However, our Sven also happens to possess a burning sense of justice, which has several times led him to ignore the “recommendations” his content manager gave him, deviate from the official story and allow small snippets of truth to make their way into public view. For each of such occurrences he was called to the manager’s room, given a strict admonishment and had his paycheck for the month reduced. Any “unsanctioned” things that he wrote were quickly edited away afterwards—even if the article had already been read by thousands of people. And his was supposed to be a “neutral and objective” media outlet!

Standards? Never heard of ’em.

It was a big shock for Sven when he finally realized that his employers were beings without conscience who whored themselves out to the highest bidder. It was an even bigger shock when he discovered how nonchalantly his colleagues treated their responsibilities. Investigative journalists relied on information they got from Google searches and Twitter posts, editors and sub-editors used rumors and hearsay to write scathing op-eds, website managers just posted any content that caught their fancy as long as they could come up with a flashy enough headline for it to attract people. Fact-checking was almost unheard of, unless someone specifically paid for it.

When it came to choosing topics and writing articles, the guideline for the entire establishment was simple: do not make the people angry. Not the regular people, mind you—those were not even considered human beings, just a faceless mass that one threw articles at and got pageviews and money in return. No, the label “people” was reserved for people who mattered. This included representatives of the powers that be, well-known public figures, moneybags with fingers in the political pie and, of course, personal buddies of the outlet’s owner.

These were to be protected, coddled and praised at all costs, while everyone else was fair game. Needless to say, politics held as much sway in the outlet as money did—whenever something noteworthy happened, “protectors of truth and objectivity” immediately went to work spinning the events in a way desirable for those holding their leashes. Hit pieces against political opponents and undesirables were churned out, smokescreens were cast, facts were omitted, denied and misinterpreted. Sven confessed to me later that the day his outlet covered the parliamentary elections was the first day in his life when he spent the entire evening drinking. Journalistic ethics, a term that the media loves throwing left and right, turned out to be nothing but hot air.

In the media omelet, you are an egg

The title says it all. For top dogs in the media business, a rank-and-file worker is not just a pawn—he is a condom. Contrary to what many people think, a typical journalist’s existence is quite pathetic: underpaid, undervalued, thankless and constantly bossed around. Staff turnover in the “kitchen” is very high, and not because people are getting promoted. In this field, the term “veteran employee” frequently means a poor sod who has no alternatives and cannot quit.

According to Sven, plenty of his colleagues worked only for the sake of getting their paycheck, which explains their negligence. Grey faces, pinched mouths, shifty eyes and sour attitudes—whatever it takes to get through the day. In addition, the higher-ups avoided any responsibility for the published content: whenever an angry reader called the office and complained about an article, the guy who wrote it was immediately thrown under the bus, even if his work was reviewed and approved by the management before publication. After all, what does it take to find another office drone with half-decent writing skills?

However, Sven also describes those of his coworkers who enjoyed their job. They arrived at the office with a spring in their step, a smile snaking across their faces and a mischievous glint in their eyes. These were the “talented” favorites of the outlet’s boss—unfeeling, cold assholes who would sell their own mothers for a juicy piece of gossip that they would later smear all over the website. Whenever they got a chance to write a hit piece, spread a nasty rumor or ruin someone’s life, one could almost see them light up from within. Remember all these smug, holier-than-thou, oh-so-intellectual articles churned out by rags like Salon, Dagens Nyheter and Huffington Post? You can bet your pinky finger they were (and are) written by these people. Which brings us to the next topic.

No wrongthink allowed

As you have probably noticed long ago, the media field is a huge and accommodating Petri dish for all varieties of Kulturbolschewismus. In Sven’s case, it wasn’t just a fear-based company policy of snitching and self-censorship, but an actual agenda at work. He told me there was a flowchart hanging in the newsroom explaining what to do when reporting crimes and incidents. It went something like this: “Was the perpetrator native (white)? Y = report in detail, amplify, N = gloss the details over, downplay.”

Sven wrote an article about a national holiday once, but his content manager refused to approve it for publishing due to it being “too patriotic,” advising him instead to “write more inclusively about minorities’ participation in the festival.” Anything praising the country and its indigenous inhabitants was undesirable and omitted whenever possible, while any piece that brimmed with self-hate, praised inhabitants of other (read: African and Muslim) countries or attacked the natives and their way of life was a big hit and flew through approval like a bird.

Needless to say, the outlet’s newsroom was crammed full of women, their pet cucks and, of course, Jews. The former enjoyed absolute power regardless of their position—a simple complaint to HR was enough to fire anyone, no proof required. The cucks, represented by twig-armed, piercing-laden, wispy-bearded creatures in Che Guevara shirts, were very pleased with the way things were going, sipping lattes and snitching to HR on those who expressed ideas incompatible with the narrative. Jews were in their native element in the newsroom, doing their usual “arrogant intellectual” schtick and getting promotions out of nowhere. The majority of articles bashing natives, their culture and values came from them, as later study of the newspaper’s website showed me.

Liars for hire

So, to sum it all up: the media is not composed of good but misguided people, as many still think. On the contrary, it is a very purposeful and self-aware entity that positions itself somewhere between an unscrupulous opportunist and a loyal lapdog of the state. At best, it is faux-patriotic (“such a wonderful country we have, let’s invite more immigrants!”), while at worst, it is openly hostile towards the indigenous population of the country it exists in.

Moreover, it allows for consolidation and self-affirmation of globalist forces—the traitorous governments, the world Jewry, the multinationals, the entertainment industry and the like—against the increasingly disenfranchised and declining native population. And last but not least, the media is complicit in crimes committed in the West by non-White immigrants due to purposeful obfuscation of them and, if that fails, rabble-rousing to pressure the courts into letting the criminals off scot-free. To me, the latter reason alone is enough to send all the journalists and their owners to the gibbet.

The bottom line is to always remember that the media is not your friend in any way, shape or form, even if its lowest tier operatives fit the description of hapless victims rather than nation-wrecking enemies. The media must be opposed, exposed and boycotted at every turn until it starts bleeding money and choking on its own venom.

Read More: Is Washington Post Writer Adam Taylor A Shill Or Part Of Something Larger?

While reading  Roosh’s article about Adam Taylor and the Washington Post, I noticed quite a few things I would like to share with people here. The direct link between Adam Taylor and the Radio Free excerpt is an anomaly. Such blatant copying is a very rare thing to occur because it gives away a possible collusion between entities.

Looking for these open relationships is long and hard. The better way to analyze  the relations and motivations of certain publishers, policy makers and other manipulators  is to study the various themes they put out and where these themes repeat. While Roosh  might assume that Adam Taylor is the paid shill by himself, I’ve noticed that his writing changes to whoever publishes it. Therefore the Washington Post Worldviews section may be the one that is parroting US State Department themes not just Adam Taylor.

As is shown in Roosh’s article, the similarities between Adam Taylor’s piece and Radio Free Europe are quite telling. It is a possibility that it is a coincidence but a small one. People that try to influence public opinion go to great lengths to ensure things like this do not happen which is why I’m assuming that Adam Taylor is  part of larger machine and not a shill by himself.

Looking back at Adam Taylor’s writing for the Huffington Post, he wrote fluff pieces about gay dogs and other mass consumption items for that audience. His writing about geopolitical intrigue only takes the current form when he begins writing for the Washington Post. All his articles are the Who’s Who of what the US State Department doesn’t like. The roster includes Russia, China, Venezuela, Syria, and Zimbabwe. He writes nothing critical of any American allies.

Could this mean that his change in format indicate that someone turned him? I doubt it. Compare his work at the Washington Post to the rest of the “world views” section there, his writing is merely a contribution to a giant echo chamber and not unique to him.

As I said earlier, it’s very rare for open evidence of collusion such as the similar quotations to present themselves. A better technique to discern propaganda and collusion is to analyze trends and themes.You should look for such things as what the work attempts to convey, does it try to get you to think or act in a certain way, and does it try to get you to disregard other things.

In the Adam Taylor case, the pattern changes significantly from the Huffington Post to the Washington Post. You can also apply this trend analysis to pretty much any author. You can even apply to the contributors here at  Return of Kings and see what you get. Do the trends indicate that the publisher may dictate what the writers write about? Do the trends indicate whether or not the writers have freedom to write about whatever they want? To help you readers out on this exercise I’ll inform you there were two articles I did at the direction of the publisher. They were my article for fat shaming week and my article for #backtothekitchen.  Feel free to comment on any other trends you might notice and if they do not line up with the “about” page.

[xsecretblastsx]

2x01 Summer Kind of Wonderful

SEASON TWO HERE WE GO.

I was dying to get here, this is one of my favorite episodes in the whole show. It’s also the episode were I really turned into a Chair shipper, so there’s that too, also The Hamptons!! Honestly was not to love about this episode.

I think this is the longest recap I’ve done in a while. As usaul recap under the cut.

Thoughts I had while watching:

I’ve watched this before and yet I’m still surprised our first taste of S2 is Nate going at it

After the super promising tease on Nate and Serena on the S1 turns out... she’s covering for him while he sleeps around... 😒

Chuck being Chuck, still a womanizer, still obsessed with Blair and as always ignoring Serena’s disgusted face. Also hilarious his enormous basket with cuttlery and such.

Look Joe Goldberg!!! Or is it Dan Humphrey? This bookstore setting is making it even more confusing.

Hi Jenny! And her never ending disatisfaction with her place at whatever she’s trying.

This scene between Chuck and Serena is so underrated. Her mocking face is hilarious. Pimp all you want Chuck it’s useless. Good luck in your suicide mission indeed.

What’s a Jitney? 😆How about where Blair returns to the Hamptons with a new beau. On your face Chuck Bass! On the words of GG: ain’t karma a bitch? We know Blair Waldorf is.

“A hot lifeguard is like Kleenex: use once and then throw away, you couldn’t ask for a better rebound” so says Blair 🤔

“The only thing lamer than dating Dan Humphrey is mourning Dan Humphrey” speaking words of wisdom Blair Waldorf

Of course all the wisdom goes out the window when Chuck appears. With the most extra polo ever and the shortest shorts in the history of menswear

Not that Blair wasn’t transparent with all her talk about James but oh my god Serena’s is so bad a going along with it.

“You’re lying. Your eyes are doing that thing were they don’t match your mouth” Chuck Bass: a walking manual on Blairisms

“I bet you’ll like him as much as I do” “If by that you mean I won’t like him at all then you’re right” meanwhile Serena is trying to pretend she’s anywhere else and not there silent witness to that verball pin pong

I always wonder how Jenny and Dan end up being like that with a Dad like Rufus

So this is “Jenny admitting she was a bitch and that Eric didn’t deserve it” first season.

“A honk instead of a knock? Did someone order a townie?" Blair’sn lines this episode are hilarious

I feel bad thinking that Nate’s main contribution so far is looking really good without a shirt.

Chuck Bass: a walking encyclopedia on everything Blair Waldorf.

If only the show had given us more Chuck and Cece interactions.

I feel I should have kept a score for all the Chuck and Blair jibes to each. That pin play on Blair’s part was check mate though. Auch. I almost feel bad for Chuck. Almost

In terms of cinematography that scene were they talk about the pin is gorgeous probably my fave in the show only behind that scene in Paris in S4. The matching outfits, the colors and the scenery are sooo good. Also the acting.

Knowing her like he does it’s interesting Chuck doesn’t realize Blair only gave that pin to James to hurt him. But the fact that it works is very telling on Chuck’s insecurities and feelings.

Nate being kicked out so the husband won’t catch him wouldn’t be half as hilarious if it wasn’t for Serena’s “no effing way face”

“Damn that Motherchucker” a novel by Blair Waldorf

I love Blair’s summer dress by the way

“All I could see was that Chuck Basstard” the sequel novel, also by Blair Waldorf

What a difference a summer makes: Nate and Chuck talking about Blair. I do feel Nate’s like “thank god it ain’t me anymore”

“And unlike you I don’t lose something if I let it out of my sight” Blair strikes again, this girl is on fire.

This episode is kind of proving that I barely care for any other storyline that doesn’t have the original four. After those two side by side arguments, getting back to Dan is really annoying

I kind of love it when Rufus points out to Dan how he never stops talking and doesn’t let anyone else said anything. Is kind of boring already how he only seems to write about Serena and the UES.

Chuck’s cricket outfit reminds me of how I should enjoy the crazy outfits while they last.

Ofc Chuck’s has a PI on speed dial Eric, duh. Gotta love him though: “i know that face, that face is not your friend” sorry Nate

I’m still trying to come up with the reason why the show let the fake dating storyline between Nate and Serena be such a waste. Whyyyy????

Just in case I forget: this white party was sponsored by Vitamin Water. For real there’s product placement and then there’s this.

The constrast between Serena looking like a greek goddess next to Nate’s I didn’t bother of an outfit is making me dizzy.

Chuck’s outfit for the white party kind of deserves a post of his own. Then again is probably my fave outfit of his on the whole show.

James calling out Blair for using him, while mentioning charade feels kind of overplayed now. Anyway he’s already pointing out how Blair and Chuck are the same and that’s why they deserve each other.

“Don’t you see? We’re the same? Stop trying to fight it” “I will fight it to my last dying breath because any resemblance to you is something I would hate about myself” this whole dialogue feels like a premonition.

Serena and Nate kissing and being totally into it while paparazzi plays is the background is just one of those moments. This is the kind of content I’m here for. Only to be ruined by Dan Humphrey.

And here we are again Dan getting mad when he doesn’t have a right to, thankfully karma is a thing in the form of drinks poured all over him

And somehow is Serena the one busy cleaning that suit, useless Dan is useless

Chuck’s “I’m so screwed” face when his PI tells him Blair’s guy is actually a british Lord is priceless.

THREE WORDS EIGHT LETTERS SAY IT AND IM YOURS.

Epic scene aside they both look so good here. This episode is gift in matching outfits.

Dan, Serena and fireworks. 😪 here we go again

I loved this episod the first time I watched it and I think I love it even more so now. It’s really good, full of funny lines, great outfits and epic moments. Season two is as of now my fave season (i think this is also true for many people) and it starts with a bang. Quite literally actually with the opening scene being Nate going at it with an “older” woman, which I guess was meant to be shocking in part because we ended last season wondering if something was going to happen between Nate and Serena.

Sadly it didn’t and that’s my biggest complain for this episode because how on earth did they thought it was ok to waste all that set up, and to add insult to the injury they are like so Serena and Nate are secretly dating... but it is just like a throway line because except for that amazing kiss at the white party we never see them fakee dating and I honestly want to pull my hair out of frustration. Just imagine the possibilities that weren’t, granted fake dating is one of my favorite tropes but it could have been quite the storyline imagine: Serenate fake dates and that sparks the feelings that were pushed aside on S1 but that were always there, and now there’s nothing that can stop them to act on it, except Serena has feelings for Dan too, and she struggles because of it all the first half of S1 until eventually she picks Dan and breaks Nate’s heart, combined with all the other pressures in his life, he wants something easy and this happens to coincide with Blair’s downright spiral and that’s how Nair happens again in the second half of S2.

My point being you could add so many more moments in the Serenate saga, also give more force to the idea the show always tried to do: that Serena can’t really let go of Dan, because Nate and her are quite something and yet... and still have almost the same story on the second half which was important because it gave closure to Nair and also had both Chuck and Blair realizing a couple of things. Alas one can only dream and be happy that at least we got that kiss at the white party

So back to the episode, we learn that Nate is having and affair with a married woman, Serena misses Dan a lot and basically mourned him the whole summer meanwhile he was being an asshole in the City fooling girls he met at his intership and Jenny is working and trying to stand out in her own internship at Waldorf desings. Which reminds me Eric is such a gem of a character, he’s always have good one liners but whe’s also a nice counter balance to all the manipulation and bitchery going around him. Anyway all of these storylines are barely a tease of what’s coming, and they really take off in the next episode, so I’ll get into them then, so at the end of the episode Nate manages to keep the affair goin into the city, Jenny earns a bit of respect from her boss and Serena and Dan see each other again (thanks to Cece which is another character I wish we had see a bit more) they meet at the beach ready to see if there’s something to salvage between them. We’ll see.

The real star of this episode are Chuck and Blair. This episode belongs to them. I’ve seen comments that claim this is the season that made them epic and really take off and I quite agree, and this episode in particular sets up the stage for it, touching on a lot of the aspects that are going to be their arc for this season and even beyond. So at the end of S1 Chuck stands up Blair and she goes alone to Tuscany and he doesn’t goes after her the whole summer. Instead he spends the summer in The Hamptons being Chuck Bass, she ends up in France. We soon learn that while Chuck  enjoyed himself during the summer Blair wasn’t far off in his mind:, the minute she’s back he goes aftet her, roses in hand only to find out she came back with a new guy, and she does everything in her power to rub that fact in his face which Chuck should have expected, it obviously bothers him but truth is they both know this is just Blair trying to get back at him for abandoning her, he hurt her, she obviously doesn’t tell him but he ruined his summer and she couldn’t stop thinking about the motherchucker

Shenanigans ensue but there are bits that really stand out: first of them the heart pinn. That's a telling bit about Chuck’s feelings, when that pin make its first appearance on S1 it was the beginning of the end for Chuck, the meaning of it was what got her to accept going to Cotillion with Nate  and now she has gave it to James and Chuck buys it because I guess part of him couldn’t believe she would go as far as to use that to hurt him, that’s a low blow and she also didn’t gave it to him that week they were going out after the wedding, even though it went really well but most importantly he believes she can’t really feel that way about him because he’s just not the kind of guy someone can feel something for, but specially someone  like Blair Waldorf, who dreams of finding her prince charming and such, and to his utter horror it’s revealed that Blair’s new guy is actually a british lord. Just his luck.

He’s anything but that, therefore not for Blair. He tells her as a much later in the episode when he let’s her know that he basically stood her up because he was afraid of her getting to really know him and see he was not good enough nor someone she could be with. And this is something that’s going to be quite the struggle for him for a long time, more than once during the show he’s going to remove himself from the picture because he believes she deserves someone better who can actually make her happy, and this season this happens quite a few times.

Thing is nothing is ever that simple, and this is the other bit that really stands out for me: when James calls her out on how she just use him to make Chuck jealous she justifies herself by pointing out Chuck’s an awful person, who lies and deceives so he kinds of deserve it, and James points out the fact that well she’s sort of the same, and they deserve each other. She lashes out at Chuck because of this and blames him for her argument with James, it’s his fault she played with James, and Chuck’s point out that no one force her to do anything she did it because they’re the same, meaning they scheme and manipulate to get what they want, so she should just stop fighting this thing between them, she rejects him claiming she would hate any resamblance to him. This whole argument is honestly quite interesting, because variations of it are going to keep popping up the rest of the show, and depending on who you ship you either take literally as if  Chuck is the root of Blair worst tendencies or rather see this argument as representation of Blair struggles not with Chuck, but with herself.

Blair struggles in accepting herself, at her core she’s an insecure person, and the fact that she has a dark side that she can’t exactly change because it’s so deep roothed in her bothers her even before she and Chuck were anything, to me it bothers her not because she really wishes she was nice & good person, but rather because Serena is  nice person, who’s regarded as literal ray of sunshine at times, and Serena got two things she wanted for the longest time: positive atention from Eleanor and Nate’s interest.So that fight within herself was always there, it didn’t appear the day she started dating Chuck, is just that in the same way they brought out the best in each other, when things go bad between them the opposite sometimes happened, and even then when they blame each other for something half the time it was to share some of the hurt and to avoid dealing with their own shortcomings and mistakes. Truthfully Chuck and Blair did something for each other no one had really done for them they accept each other fully, Blair’s able to accept and love his darkness, and for Chuck there’s no darkness in Blair she’s the way she is and that’s what makes her wonderful. It was easier for them to love each other than to love themselves. 

Finally the biggest stand out of the episode is that iconic scene, the one that really puts into place the dynamic they will have for the rest of the season: Three words, eight letters are brought to the table, and they won’t move forward until the words have been said. It makes sense, because they tried this twice before, the first one came out of nowhere and it ended with Chuck getting dumped in favor of Nate, and that burned him badly, the second one Blair was the one who got hurt, and both times this pretty much happened because they aren’t able of telling each other how they feel, particularly Chuck. The first time he didn’t let her know he actually cared and wanted to be with her, the second one he didn’t tell her he was afraid, and all of this was too much too soon. So Blair wants, needs some kind of reassurance, and it makes me wonder how that week after the wedding really went, what happened? how wonderful it must have been that even though he abandoned her a that helipad she still had hope in the fact that he may love her. He doesn’t say it, and yet I still love this moment so much for  because jus by asking him to say it is in some way an admittance on her own feellings, and he fails to saythe words  but he did try, and the fact that he did try is also a form of admittance and as such  from here on no matter what happens, how much they fight and toy with each other there’s always an undercurrent of love behind their actions,and this is (borrowing a phrase from a certain popstar) the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever. 

Random bits I’ve noticed

Chuck has a bouquet of yellow roses for his intent on getting Blair back. If my memory serves right, those were his mom favorites

I’m such a sucker for the little backdrop details like the Van der Bass house having all these background pictures of the wedding

Thanks to Chuck for giving us the rank on Blair’s favorite films: Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Roman Holiday & Funny Face (even if he said Charades to prove a point)

I’ve read somewhere I think it was on twitter that Blair’s crying in the garden scene was unscripted, Leighton did because she got really caught up in the scene particularly by Ed’s acting. I’ve looked it up but so far I haven’t found anything on this.

There’s a bunch of miniature cyclists under the mirror where Cece’s doing the final touches to her hair, looks sort of weird.

that vitamin water is even on the invitation, agust 30, 2008.

[early-sxnsets]

We Are Far Too Young and Clever

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20327977/chapters/48197671

Chapter 1/6 of We Are Far Too Young And Clever

Word Count: 3,068

Summary: Youtube's a buzzing, content-creating platform, where people from all walks of life can create and share. Simon Snow and Baz Pitch are on a rise at two very different angle, but by the coincidence of shared people, they clash and come together at all the right (and wrong) times.

~~~~~~~~~~

SIMON

I don’t really remember how it started.

Well, that’s a lie. I remember starting it. I remember setting up my mobile, using a mirror to make sure it was at the right angle (using random little things like Penny’s tiny bottles of face cleansers and such to keep it propped, despite them continuously slipping). I remember it being half past 3 in the morning on a Thursday right before a final. I wasn’t studying. I can’t study--I can’t make myself study, I should say. Never could. And, I remember laying out craft scissors, glitter glue tubes, googly eyes, and finding old class notes to go to town on.

I remember the build up.

I remember the upload, and I remember thinking nothing of it.

But I don’t remember the rise.

More to this, I don’t really know why anyone really watches my videos. I think it’s sort of dumb to watch a man now climbing further into his mid-to-late twenties sitting on his living room floor, working in a ranging the state of his soberness from completey dry to beyond wrecked, and doing shitty primary school crafts.

But then again, I’m the man making them, so I guess I’m not particularly the one to judge on this front.

Part of me still really doesn’t connect the popularity with myself--like it’s been Penny’s doing. Which, she says, might be partially true. She already had a decent enough following, but I’m on a completely different genre. She does educative videos, and she stays popular because they’re on current events topics (defines hot topics, explains what a certain celebrity is in trouble for, yada yada). I call her the cliffnotes of the ever-rolling social media 15 minutes of fame. She asks me if I’ve ever needed to read a book with cliffnotes, and I didn’t have much defense besides “You know, I was an English minor.” (“For the first year, yeah.” “Still, had a year of it.”)

But for me? I don’t do anything new or appealing.

I think I might be a handsome face (which, in all honesty, would be a nice brag, if I could actually maintain a relationship). Or maybe it’s because I can get a bit funny, especially when I’m plastered. And there’s never really any instructions when I do these things. I have a Pinterest board, a google search option, and a flow of craft store gift cards at my disposal to make shit work.

Or, maybe, I’m just entertaining.

I’m not really confident on that front, but I’ll take what I can get.

I don’t mind it much. People seem to like the videos, and I never mind making them. Brilliant distraction, and surprisingly decent income (especially since crafts require products, so sponsors are easy to get for videos, and I never feel really guilty because I’d have to get shit to use anyway).

Penny gets on my arse about my sleep schedule, though.

“Why can’t you do special editions of Simon’s Arts ‘N Crafts in the morning?” She asks, or more complains, hovering over the kitchen bar with a mug between her hands and her flannel pyjama bottoms on. It’s nearing 1 in the morning now, and I’m just cracking open my second beer. (Don’t actually like them, but they’re tolerable.)

“Aesthetic, Penn.” I cringe after a thick gulp, squeezing my eyes tight. Shit tastes like a gym sock. “Premise of it all to put up a video that looks like a bloke who hasn’t properly slept in 10 years on his floor trying to build a shitty flower crown.”

She’s been a bit fed up with it for a little while, and I can see her point. Insomniatic tendencies aren’t something you particularly want to profit off of, but it pays the bills (and gives me something better to do than stare at my ceiling and try to count sheep into the thousands).

I hear her huff, my back turning to grab my mobile off the counter as I try to chug back a few more gulps.

Thumbing through notifs, I see a post alert for Baz Pitch. Something on Twitter--commenting on the flawed mentality of what socialistic systems are seen as vs what they are, or some other poshly worded bullshit about something that only really matters if you’re taking a secondary school course on politics.

Or if you’re Penny, I guess.

“You’re looking at Baz’s shit again,” she mumbles over her mug, sipping slowly as I glare back.

“What?”

“You get this look on your face--that one where your brows come together and makes you look constipated.”

“Yes, and? What about it?”

She smirks. “Well, you only ever get that when you’re looking at something Baz posted.

I pull my brows together when I look away, just for emphasis, and slip my mobile into my pocket. “Not only,” I counter, going for another pointed sip and holding back a cringe as I point at her, going on. “And it’s only because he’s full of himself. I don’t need, nor do I want to hear his halfhearted ramblings on something that he won’t have any affect on.”

“Then why do you have him on post-notifs?”

I try to look offended, but I just stare, mouth hanging open. “Maybe I like to keep a keen eye on him.”

She hums, unsatisfied.

“Excuse me for wanting to keep track of the man I’ve got an ongoing tiff with.”

“Ongoing tiff? Is that what you’re calling it now?”

I shrug, ignoring that with another shitty gulp.

“Look, Simon, just talk to the bloke. He’s a smart guy, if you give him a second of your time and attention beyond a twitter feud over some dumb shite like his family upbringing.”

“He’s rich, Penn! Guy’s a hypocrite.”

“Maybe,” she gives me a halfhearted shrug, leaning more over the counter. “You’re just mad that he’s got more following on his personal Twitter than you do on your proper Instagram.”

“Of course not.” She’s right, but I won’t dare admit it.

I’ll never admit to being jealous of Basilton fucking Pitch--some bloody political page gone pretty boy vlogging. His main work is only relevant because he talks about shit that’s within the dizzying political-sphere, nothing of which is something I really like to think about (I vote for whoever Penny describes as the best, then hope some other prick doesn’t throw us deeper into the cesspool that is this Brexit nightmare).

But he has his vlogging channel. A popular one, at that. Talks about what he’s reading, where he’s traveling. Skincare routine. Mindless bullshit, that I’ve forced myself to sit through just so I have a proper excuse to go off complaining about him.

Never seen the bloke break a proper smile, though. Not even in fan pictures. He smirks, and he’s got a barking, bitter laugh, but I’ve never heard anything that relates “Joyous” and “Basilton” in a similar sentence.

It’s a wonder he and Penn interact amicably.

She scoffs at me, sipping her tea slowly as my shoulders slump, beer can held tight enough in my hand that it’s denting in at my fingers. I should probably let go of it.

“Are you gonna help me set up?” I ask, deflating from the conversation and trying to distract with a new one.

“If you need help.”

“Need? No. Want? Yeah.”

She rolls her eyes, settling the mug down onto our countertop anyway before turning to start dragging the lights out of the side closet while I polish off my drink and head to grab my camera and tripod.

I’ve gotten better at this over the years. Swapped majors from social work to media studies, then minored in advertising, once the channel had hit 1k subscribers. Hadn’t quit my dayjob at the cafe until I hit 100k, but the steady rise since hasn’t been bad to us. Penny’s got a decent income, too, and she still decides to work in the school’s library as she’s working on her PhD in Sociology.

The flat’s a better one than the one we’d started in. We’ve even got a guest bedroom (screams disposable income). And, well, nicer equipment. A real sense of seriousness and maturity while we work.

Well, mostly.

I’m speaking as the grown man with a metal cabinet full of crafts supplies.

Business man with craft supplies.

Makes me sound more professional than “Newly 27 year old Youtuber who does nothing of serious impact, other than hoping to make others smile while throwing together terribly made, barely functioning crafts.”

I make my way back into the living room after setting up the camera and wandering back off, arms full of supplies as Penny starts setting up cameras, glancing over her shoulder. “What’d you choose tonight?”

I look down, then plop myself onto the floor and spread out my shit. “Uhh,” I say, shifting through. “I was thinking a beer can ghost.”

“Beer can ghost?”

I nod, holding up the gauze and glue. “As a Happy Halloween episode.”

“It’s not even October yet, Si.”

I shrug. “September’s close enough.” I grin, going off to grab my empty beer can and sprawling back out onto the floor. “Want to join in?”

“I think I’ll take a rain check for this episode, thank you.” She smiles teasingly, brushing past and messing my hair a bit as I’m settling myself onto the hardwood floor. I don’t take it harshly; I never take her harshly. I don’t think I’ve got the room to take it harshly, given I don’t seriously have anyone else in my life besides her (at least on a consistent basis).

“Suit yourself!” I call back, watching her disappear into her bedroom while shutting the door behind herself.

Before going at it, I take and post a quick Instagram picture at the layout in front of me, adding Halloween-themed emojis (so everyone knows I’m serious about wanting to get festive) as the caption.

I sigh and clear up my space, glancing around to make sure the area looks clean-enough, then get up to press start. It takes a second to make my way back and get myself properly situated on the floor, exhaling quietly and collecting my thoughts before shooting my head up and grinning at the camera angled a few feet away and slightly above eyeline with me.

“Hey everyone! Welcome back to Simon’s Arts ‘N Crafts!”

BAZ

I don’t understand the hype of Simon Snow.

I never truly have. He feels like he’s the sort of mindless bloke to pull out a guitar at uni and unironically start playing Wonderwall.

Allow me to rephrase; I don’t understand the hype of Simon Snow’s channel.

Snow himself, on the other hand, is a different story.

Cheerful smile, rosey cheeks. Curls that stick out at all angles (you’d think he’d try to style them properly, given he’s got the time and money now, but he doesn’t; he looks as disheveled as the day his channel began). Snow’s an utter mess just trying to occupy himself while avoiding other aspects of life, and somehow, for reasons I can’t chalk up to anything but his glittering disposition, he’s popular.

Not too popular, no. A couple million popular. Sponsored by major chains popular, due to the spike in young hobbyists trying to “Unleash their inner child” following his lead. But, of course, he donates huge portions to schools, giving them arts supplies and, for some saintly reason, gives to orphanages too.

I wonder at times if there’s anything deeper than just a handsome public face and overly generous donor. And, usually, I try to doubt there is, but I can’t quite ignore the occasional sign that Simon Snow may be a saint, and I fucking hate him for it.

I hate him for a number of reasons, starting with “He hates me”, and ending with “He’s gorgeous, and he hates me”.

I scroll down my Instagram feed, then refresh, immediately getting his post as a priority (I feel as though I’d be damned if anyone knew how often I go to simply look at him, or try to snoop through his older pictures to put the pieces together). It’s not much; his lap, which is a pair of grey joggers (Chris, I bet he looks fit in them), mismatched athletic socks, and a pile of half pulled-apart gauze, supplies for paper mache, an emptied beer can, and a sponge brush laying on a disposable plastic tarp. It’s simply captioned with a set of emojis that are definitely a few weeks too early.

baz.pitch Can’t count a calendar, Snow? Not surprised.

I stare at the comment for a brief moment, jaw clenching and swallowing back the strange, twinge that comes with our either interaction as quickly as it appears before trying to scroll and avoid any further thoughts on the matter.

It isn’t much longer before a notification drops down, hanging over the top of my screen.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Are you still awake, or sleep-commenting?

I snort and tap onto it, letting the direct messaging screen load up.

baz.pitch: I am awake

baz.pitch: Is there something you want, Bunce?

Penelope Bunce and I interact far more than I’d originally thought we would. At first, when she first reached out, I’d assumed we’d quarrel, given her general harshness brought through her Twitter account, but I soon learned that she and I have a good bit in common. Personal views align, and she’s got a devilishly sharp sense of humour on her (not that I’d ever tell her, of course). Never thought I’d consider her not only an ally, but a friend in this harsh digital age, but I’ve found solace in her conversations.

That, and she teases Snow for me more than I could ever repay her for.

When I say tease, it isn’t quite the taunting I find myself regularly drawn into, but rather the simple name drop can be enough to get him to squirm in place (I know; I’ve seen it through live streams). I’ve never found it in myself to say any of my opinions on Snow to her, but given her intellect, I’d assumed she knows far more about my views of him than what Snow knows himself.

Which, at times, scares me. Nobody should know any vulnerability about me, unless I know equally as much incriminating information on them.

But so far, I haven’t had much a reason to worry.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Do you know when you’ll find yourself in London again?

Interesting question.

Intentionally? Who the fuck knows.

As of recent, my life has consisted of no proper flat (which has begrudgingly left me living in my family’s manor, avoiding a permanent residence) while I hop about the island, then once a month, I spend a week in some various part of Europe. I just see it as trying to squeeze the most out of my life as a pitiful bachelor, but some others (Snow) consider this as me being a privileged arsehole and not wanting to commit to a proper life. (For the record, I regularly donate to LGBTQ+ nonprofits, but you don’t see me flaunting it in my personal work.)

Whatever. He probably hasn’t gotten snogged in the back of a Porsche in Venice during late spring.

Although, admittedly, that wasn’t very fulfilling.

Those trips never quite are.

And, sadly, neither are the men. All looking somewhat of a similar face; square jawed, wide-nosed. Long necks, wide shoulders, and curly hair that I love to tug and hold back.

But none of them are ever named Simon, and none of them hit quite the spot that this damned yearning has held.

Which is, I suppose, why I’m rarely ever in London. I’m not sure what I’d do with myself in London, unless I’m there with a purpose. I feel like I might go off the rails and try to actually find Snow without the guidance of some other party. I’d be a walking disaster.

baz.pitch: Depends on why you’re asking

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Well, a couple of reasons.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Which all ultimately have the same suggested outcome of us collaborating on a video, and I’m not particularly set on getting myself out to Hampshire to sit in your frankly terrifying mansion.

(baz.pitch) buncespeaking: Plus, you can put me out of my misery and finally speak to Simon in person, for once. He’s driving me mad, and at this point, I’d pay for you to just put him to silence in person, for once.

As tempting as it seems, a small part of me worries that Bunce is believing that I’d sock Snow instead of snog him (maybe both are possible, but assaulting someone on their own property is risky at best).

I stare at my screen for a good, long pause, worrying at my lip as her typing pop-up ceases. It’s hard to not leap at opportunities I really wish to take--to just hold my dignity to somewhat of a respectable point.

But Snow crashes any barriers of my real rigidity.

He has for well over a few years now--ever since we were introduced digitally.

I’ve found myself watching his videos, over and over again, and trying to imagine how we’d play about. I like to wonder whatever happened to that pretty girlfriend of his (I’m aware they broke up, but he’s certainly too private to share the rest).

It’s been years since I first heard about Snow, and since then, I can’t quite get him off my mind.

It’s quite dizzying, trying to get Snow off my thoughts. I try to occupy--I try to fulfill. I try to find my way through life without some dull half-rivalry, full-teasing he and I share through out linked lives, but it’s like a drug. Draws me in, making me wish I had more of a good thing while trying to ignore that the good thing isn’t quite good for me, but rather simply a shocking want, prickling under my skin and bringing me back for more.

In all the things I do to occupy myself--to occupy the life I’ve been trying to lead (without success)--Snow’s been my favorite distraction. And I might just have to break through this and meet him, for once.

baz.pitch: Give me a time and a place and I’ll fit you into my schedule

[closetofanxiety]

Fyter Fest: SUCCESS

I liked this show a lot! Not everything was to my taste, but there was plenty to enjoy. Briefly:

* The Cody vs. Darby Allin match was one of the best wrestling matches I’ve seen in 2019. The crowd was a little subdued for long stretches of it, perhaps being accustomed to more of a flashy style, but I loved the whole thing. Cody, who liked like a giant compared to Allin, was trying to wrestle and old-school (dare I say, Southern) style match, while Allin was trying to shift it to a more familiar indie style, which would be to his advantage. It was a genuine collision of two different approaches to wrestling, and it worked incredibly well. Darby took at least two completely insane bumps I’ve never seen anyone do, and after one of them, Cody contemptuously did push-ups in the ring. THAT’S GOOD OLD SCHOOL VILLAINY. I also loved that this was a time-limit draw, another old school story device. Neither guy lost any face in the match, and the crowd was still excited by the end, which they timed very well (Cody hit his finisher with two seconds left, and thus couldn’t get the three-count). Cody, derided in his initial indie run as “The Three-Star General” for his supposedly pedestrian matches, has stolen the show on both AEW events so far. 

* I did not love the post-match run-in by Shawn Spears! Without getting into any of the piping hot takes about unprotected chair shots, I thought it pulled focus from the great wrestling match that just happened, with Darby Allin being turned into kind of an afterthought. I get that they need to advance storylines and right now they don’t have weekly TV to do that, but this felt almost Russo-esque. 

* The Moxley-Janela match was really good! Going into it, I wondered how much different an AEW hardcore match was going to be from the WWE template. Like, would they go full indie and have shopping carts and pizza graters and barbecue skewers? The answer is no: we didn’t see any items in this match that would be outside the bounds of a WWE match (except maybe the barbed wire), but it was how the two wrestlers used them that made the difference. The barbed wire spots were wince-inducing without being truly gruesome, the tables were swiftly destroyed, and the barefoot thumbtacks spot at the end was a stroke of sadistic genius. What a first match for Moxley in AEW!

* The women’s triple threat match was a little sloppy at parts, but the whole thing was redeemed by Nyla Rose totally playing against type down the stretch and hitting a truly insane flying guillotine knee drop from the top turnbuckle. She then snapped off a truly brutal German suplex to solidify her status as the early badass of AEW. Yuka Sakazaki and Riho looked a little out of step a few times, but mostly they did well in the role of competitors who also have to compete against the monster opponent. 

* One thing AEW has managed to do well so far is put on three and four-way matches that don’t get bogged down the way they do so often in other companies. You know: there’s a three-way match and invariably one person spends most of it outside the ring, effectively turning into a two-person match with occasional run-ins. In the women’s match and in the four-way, AEW’s agents managed to produce matches that actually felt like all the competitors were involved throughout the course of the contests. The four-way was particularly good, and should go a fair distance toward making Jungle Boy a breakout star in the company. He’s got a great look, he’s got unique offense, and his friendship with giant dinosaur man Luchasaurus is the stuff of a marketer’s dreams. 

* The six-man tag was fine. I know this is going to sound like I’m complaining that a buffet is too good, but I think I’m full up on matches pitting the Young Bucks against the Lucha Bros for a while. They’re fun, they involve incredible athleticism and exhibitions of timing and skill, but you know what to expect. The bright spot of the match for me was the underappreciated luchador Laredo Kid, who got a lot of quality time as the Lucha Bros’ partner. 

* I really did not like the pre-show. The three-way tag match was very good, and I was really happy to see people online reacting with astonishment at Private Party. Those guys are fantastic, and they’re so young. They’re only going to get better. Everything after that match was extremely not my thing. I appreciate they’re trying to do something different with the comedy, and it’s going to be important for them to have something that connects with non-wrestling fans or wrestling-curious fans who aren’t going to want to watch two hours of matches every week. And I certainly don’t expect a company that has two shows under its belt to have a foolproof formula in place. But if they’re going to do comedy, they should really hire actual comedy writers, as much as the idea of writers has become a taboo in non-WWE wrestling. The jokes were flat and most of them centered around the Fyre Fest documentaries, which are really yesterday’s news at this point. 

* The librarian thing really died a death with the crowd. I don’t watch Being the Elite or The Road to, so I missed the explanation for this gimmick, but it does not come across well. The constant shushing is so bad it feels almost avant-garde after a while, like it’s actively confrontational with the audience over our expectations for a wrestling show. Then Leva Bates cut a heel promo in defense of books and I wanted to check out. Her match with Allie was decent for a match on a Shine midcard, but Leva’s limitations as a wrestler are pretty much what they’ve always been. The match ended with a totally blown spot that was supposed to be the pay off for the whole “the librarians love books” thing. Terrible.

* I hated the last pre-show match. Every once in a while, you’ll see a super local indie show where one of the sponsors gets to “wrestle,” usually meaning the crowd is treated to the owner of a car dealership standing on the apron for most of a tag match, until getting the chance to throw a weak clothesline and cover a hated midcard baddie for the three count. AEW, though, decided they should do that same thing but with the non-wrestler sponsor being put in a 10-minute hardcore match. I’m sure some people liked this. I am not among them. This match inadvertently featured the gnarliest spot of the night (until the Darby Allin coffin drop onto the edge of the apron JESUS DARBY WHAT ARE YOU THINKING DO YOU WANT TO DIE YOU HAVE A LOVING SLEAZY WEIRDO SPOUSE PLEASE THINK OF HER) when the fighting games convention organizer guy did a German suplex that dumped Nakazawa directly on his neck. Thank God Japanese wrestling training involves constant neck bridges! This is why super local indies only let the sponsor guys throw a weak clothesline: because they know that non-wrestlers doing wrestling moves endangers everyone’s safety. 

* Other things: Commentary seemed to be markedly better for the most part, thanks to the addition of “Goldenboy” who might be a video game person? (sorry video game people I am no use here) ... JR is really straying into Grampa Gaffes territory with his praise of “Oriental” wrestlers and blurting out that the women wrestlers all seem like his daughters ... the camera direction still needs work, with the director missing a number of big spots ... Kenny Omega running in to pummel Moxley after the final match was good stuff ... the Super Smash Brothers’ “Dark Order” thing is treading perilously close to Black Scorpion territory ... this was just shy of four hours, counting the pre-show, and I found myself wanting more when it was over ... a friend was over watching with me and we found ourselves yelling at the screen in a way we haven’t done with televised wrestling in a long time 

[sasuhinasno1fan]

Unlocking for you

So it's a bit later than usual, but I had been working on making things for my book arts class which also involved me cutting myself really badly. It's ok though. I'm kinda not looking forward to tomorrows date because I can't write YouTuber aus, even though I wrote a whole birthday series. So if I don't post a fic tomorrow, don't be too worried. Also, this is a Now You See Me au, if the words The Eye and Four Horsemen didn't make a ton of sense. Movie AU

“You are such a fucking control freak! I can’t believe I have to be in a group with you!” Lance screamed from the other room.

Pidge really wished they hadn’t broken their headphones. Granted with the fact they were working under the sponsorship of Daibazaal Industries, it would be totally easy, but nothing was easy to get from Zarkon. That’s why they were building their cred as the Four Horsemen so he’d easily fall into their plan. They needed at least one more show to truly get his full attention so they could start their final plan. Pidge wasn’t sure how alive they’d be for this with the way Lance and Keith kept arguing though.

They knew a bit of the relationship the two had, some parts filled in by Hunk’s mentalism. Lance had been Keith’s assistant back when he was just starting out as a magician. Apparently, there was a falling out and Lance was replaced with another assistant. In Pidge’s opinion, Lance was better. Lance then went on to working his own act of being an escape artist. Keith left comments on his website that at first at first glance seemed kinda nit-picky but Pidge actually noticed they were good criticism to keep Lance safe anytime he dropped into water. Lance could complain all he wanted, but Pidge noticed Lance actually listened to those comments. Hunk had figured out the two used to date but it ended badly, something about Keith not giving a ton of attention to Lance. Point was, there was a lot of tension between them. Of course, with the pressure of doing what The Eye wanted them to do, things were getting worse.

“It’s a shame Keith knows how to tune into my tricks. I could have hypnotized him and had him and Lance solve their issues.” Hunk said, lifting his hat from his face from where he was sleeping on the couch.

“Then Lance would have kicked your ass like he keeps threatening to do.” Pidge reminded.

“Oh yeah. Can’t forget what he did to that handsy stage hand can we?”

“Or what Keith did to him after when Lance wasn’t looking. But I swear this is getting out of control. If this keeps up we could end up messing up and losing Daibazaal and lose our chance at The Eye.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t seem to understand basic instructions. Apparently, all the water you keep drowning in has gone to your head!”

“Basic instructions? Who the hell put you in charge you K-pop star reject!”

Pidge was focused on the lock they were trying to undo when Lance’s screaming broke their concentration and they heard a snap. Their pick broke. The pick they had as part of their kit since their brother gave it them. The same brother they couldn’t talk to by order of The Eye ‘for protection’ they said.

“What happened?” Hunk asked.

“I just broke my lock pick because they’re fighting. You know what, screw hypnosis. I’m taking care of this myself.” Pidge stood up and grabbed their bag from the table, dumping everything out and grabbed a pair of handcuffs. They’d been giving them problems because the tumbler wouldn’t unlatch to unlock the handcuffs. And now, it was their problem. They walked into the room Lance and Keith were arguing in and quickly latched the cuffs around their writs.

“What the hell? Pidge?” Lance asked.

“Uncuff us now.”

“No. thanks to you two, I just broke my lock pick, the one my brother gave me before we got started on this whole crazy plan. So you two can spend all day together, because even I’m having trouble unlocking these.”

“You can’t be serious.” Lance said, tugging his hand, like he could break the cuffs apart.

“Oh I’m very serious.”

“We have practise in an hour.” Keith reminded.

“Then it’ll be just like old times. See you there. Hunk and I are going for lunch. Come on Hunk!”

“What the hell? Pidge!” Lance yelled, trying to go after them but stumbled back when his wrist was tugged.

“Ow! Lance!”

“Have fun you too!” Hunk called from the living room before the front door was closed.

Lance glared at Keith, “this is your fault.”

“How is it my fault? And by the way, aren’t you the escape artist?”

“With a hidden key I can.” Lance reminded.

“Well apparently you can’t do your job properly.”

Glaring at Keith, Lance kicked him hard in the shin, not realising that Keith collapsing would drag him down as well.

“Pidge, what the fuck!”

“That’s a very interesting way to practise.” Zarkon said, raising an eyebrow at Lance and Keith handcuffed together.

“You can thank Pidge for that.” Keith said, shooting a glare at Pidge, who shrugged helplessly. None of them were expecting their sponsor to show up at their practise.

“I’m practising my lockpicking skills and thought I should try on someone other than myself.” Pidge explained.

“Well then, I look forward to the practise.”

“Of course. Excuse us.” Keith said, grabbing Pidge by the arm and dragging them, and essentially Lance, to the side. “Get these off of us. We’re not going to be able to practise with these on and especially not with Zarkon right there.” He hissed.

“See, um, slight problem. Those handcuffs are giving me issues unlocking.”

“High and might ‘nothing is ever locked’ can’t unlock a pair of handcuffs?”

“I was working on them but you two arguing was starting to piss me off and you made me break my lock pick by the way.”

“Then find a paper clip or something because if we’re still stuck together when it’s time for us to get up there for practise, I’ll make you disappear like I do my cards got it?” Keith threatened.

“Alright fine. You two just stay in the green room. Hunk, you first.” Pidge called jumping off stage.

“Alright then.” Hunk said turning to the theatre staff, who all looked a bit nervous. “Who’s first?”

Lance tugged at his hand, making the cards Keith was shuffling fall from his hands. He hadn’t really meant to do that but Keith’s constant moving was hurting his hand. Keith always had a deck of cards on him, shuffling through them with ease. Lance knew Keith always wanted something to do with his hands. He remembered back when he was his assistant. Due to the fact they were late, they climbed into a cab and Keith had his cards in the suitcase in the trunk. Keith had started picking at his hands to the point where he was starting to draw blood so Lance took his hands and started drawing with his fingernail in his skin. He’d calmed down after and even though he never got a thank you, there had been a black rose on Lance’s bag at the end of the show. Lance tried giving Keith one back after they’d been reunited, but it seemed Keith didn’t remember.

They did date back when they were working together. They depended on each other, held each other up but Lance wanted more support than Keith could give. Maybe at that time, they thought they were more than ready for and wen things started not working out, they took it out on each other. Lance wanted to work things out with Keith. Part of him still felt the same but the other part of them still hated Keith.

“Where the hell is Pidge?” Keith groaned.

“Probably got dragged into practise probably, which we still have to get to.”

“This isn’t like back in the old days Lance. we can’t exactly do our old trick up there.”

Lance had a small smile to his face. “It would certainly make things interesting. I remember when you let me try my first escape trick on stage.”

“You lost the key and had to then clip me to the saw.” Keith felt like reminding.

“It worked didn’t it? I got the audience very impressed with me.” Lance bragged.

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

“Course, you never let me even try to even do anything else after that. Guess you didn’t want me screwing up anymore.”

Keith didn’t say anything but started to shuffle his cards again and then fan them out. Lance went ahead and took a card without prompting.

“Compared to now, your skills weren’t nearly as good. You still manage to get yourself stuck in bad situations because you can’t get to your key quick enough.”

Lance tried not to bristle at that. Thing was Keith was right. But Lance had wished Keith had told him this back when they were working together instead of making him feel like he was constantly disappointed in him.

Shoving the card back into the deck, Lance snapped, “Sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

“I never said that.”

“It sure felt like that half the time. You know, I was hoping with how we have to work together that maybe we could fix things from how they’d been before but you could apparently care less. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. Where the hell is Pidge?”

Keith handed Lance a card not looking at him. Lance took it, still annoyed at Keith but stopped when he saw what was on the other side. It was an old picture of Lance, locked in his chains. “Unlock your mind to the newest escape artist, Lance McClain? What is this?”

“The flier I would have made you pull before we broke up. The show at that big theatre? I was going to give you the stage. But I guess my usual behaviour had finally pushed you over the edge.”

“Why did you never tell me this?” Lance asked, stunned that Keith had actually been thinking of giving him a show, like a complete show.

“Would it of made a difference? It might have fixed things with us for a little while but we both know we weren’t right for each other then. I can’t give you a show now, but I can at least help you get into the one thing I always said had to be a myth.”

“Guess you have changed.” Lance said. “Well not everything. You’re still a control freak.” Lance said.

“Thank you.”

“Ok,” Pidge said, finally coming into the room. “Sorry, I had to pull Hunk away from hypnotizing Zarkon’s wife and practise a few card tricks. Thankfully, I did grab his wife’s brand new broach, sharp end and all. Hold still. Also can I just say I’m surprised you two didn’t kill each other while I was gone.”

“Yeah, don’t hold your breath. I’m sure I’ll say something that’ll piss Lance off later.” Keith said.

“Yeah, we’ll see if I can hold me tongue.”

[fadinginfluencerblaze]

Fallen Dreams

 Disclaimer~ Art is devised by me and all editorial work is a solo operation. “Fallen,” will be my last publication before my vacation: https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057611 If you would like commissions or requests for art work done please visit my patreon  account   https://www.patreon.com/AdventVoice  https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057550      https://adventvoice.newgrounds.com/news/post/1057522

From several authorities of art and creativity, I’ve heard something after completing “Loving My Dragon,” something I’ve not heard since I was sixteen. My ability in the arts is worth more than a few hearts, likes and the endorsements of a few passerbys. It is better than what people have been forced to digest in the past twenty four years. Could be longer really. Depends on your tolerance for main stream media.

Forced to settle, due to never being exposed to minds similar to my own. Which there are a lot of us. I’ve realized as I dig deeper into the internet, blogs, and journals of other dreamers.

There was a study, a social experiment really, given by Facebook and other online platforms, seeking to gauge how to rate worker performance by emoji. Wanting to reward creative minds who earn the most accolades and applause of the people. It can become rather addictive and I find I may be falling into that same trend. Advertising more or less for the approbation of people and not so much for pay.

I explained this to a few supporters and they were shocked. Believing me to be worth far more than the few seconds of increased impressions on twitter and the level of dinner table conversation I can influence with a few well directed bards and illustrations of the latest trending topic.

Now if only I could find a paying sponsor that believes the same thing. Then me and the Dream Weaver would really go places. Here’s the thing about me, that is different from your average ambitious and dedicated creator. I don’t want to go anywhere my friends won’t be invited to reap the benefits.    

I’ve seen too much in this life to believe I can do anything on my own and be a success at it. You know I remember a time when people could have 500+ Facebook friends and no one spend a dollar with or on each other. On anything that could turn a profit. Nearly a thousand people talking, interacting, mingling and no money is made on the effort. Oh there is a lot of sexy talk, a lot of people locked up cause the girl is underage and the guy is enthralled with her pictures. Oh there was a lot of room fo shows like “Cheaters,” to corner a market in tracking people via location recognition devices on the broadband signatures, but for nearly ten years, no one was making any real money that would put them on the Forbes list as the best entrepreneur, besides those buying out all of the larger retail stores and Disney. Could be why I spend so much money on everyone else and not on myself. Makes me feel like I am saving the small business owners world, one click at a time.

The loss of Tina-Raze  on the                                         internet and access to her work has really made me appreciate the gift of visibility attributed to my own work. Sure I desire a physical gallery, but that cost money and you need dedicated staff. An online gallery is a one man show that will last as long as I have material, drive and an interactive audience. But when outside forces wage against one’s output and you are forced to erase everything and the years put into a showcase are no longer accessible; there is something daunting in the realization that everyday I have a chance to present anything, it should not be wasted on the trivial.

That is a sharp word because I highly doubt any of us have the authoritative right to define what is relevant or trivial to a creator. We can choose to interact with a product of not but we can’t say what someone was seeking to share has no value and thus erase them from existence. Not if we have any respect for the sanctity of the culture of art and the freedom in which we universally share this gift.      

~ I can never say enough of how much I appreciate the time we shared and I hope you return to the creative scene soon Tina-Raze.~

 I was reviewing “The Action Bible,” published by David Cook and illustrated by Sergio Cariello. It is an extensive publication that sought to illustrate the entire Bible, without the mistakes seen in previous renditions. It really took that whole group a while to find the best method to bring the Bible to life for young and old readers. I enjoyed their expressive illustrative skills and dedication to keeping to as much as can be had with a book as fantastic as the Bible.

What surprised me was the decision to eliminate the wings of angels and go with the ‘golden locks,’ signature.  For years the wings of angels and demons played a big part in aiding people in separating the two worlds. Without the wings, we are no more than disembodied spirits, ghosts of our formers selves and have a long journey yet to that pinnacle of glory that awaits the faithful. So it was taught to me at least.

There were a lot of ideas shared with me as boy that I spend little time contemplating now, because I am a man and more than assured of where I will be regardless of the mistakes in this life.

Others may doubt. Others may seek to clip my wings as I ascend. Others may project their insecurities and through bitter imaginations suggest that because of the curse of Ham, and Nimrod, the black race will never have a place in heaven. Some may build a whole world of fantastical proportions and place compartments, as zookeepers, locks and doors upon the gates, with signs that say, “If you never drank yourself into oblivion while on earth, you go here, you never loved anyone but God you go here, if you never where tempted to fuck a woman in the ass, though she begged for it, you go here.”

Another sign reads, “Collect your white wings for perfect attendance on the earth, to every Sunday meeting.” In this corner of heaven, you should have received a notice in your casket upon death, we were sure to send Gabriel, who after years of working for God, never got his golden winged promotion.

All who have been the black sheep of the family and have been to prison more than once in their life time be sure to collect your “black wings,” down isle five. Five is the number for grace and that is the only reason you’re hear, so don’t be cute and try to steal the ‘white wings,’ from your betters, who happen to shine a little sharper in hue and have more gold flakes in their hair.  

Those who were on earth and always fought for a righteous cause but failed to achieve any victory and remain angry behind the loss, you will receive your ‘red wings,’ in the dust falcons chamber. Some of you were clumsy on earth. Always bumping into things. Could never walk in heels or win a fashion show. Never turned the heads of men or appealed to women. Had a haunch in you back from never learning poise and posturing. Be sure to pick up your set of ‘spotted owl,’ wings, found in the east gate.

God is a god of order and angles never complain about their lot in heaven. There in whatever state they are in, there, they are to be content. There is a hint of a karmic code in association with the hue and colors of heaven and I was never one to believe in eastern influences when it comes to what my place in heaven would be like. I bend so far on earth, doing what I am told, I will go to heaven with white skin, white wings and all curse will be lifted from my body upon death and the curse of the previous life that marred me and made me black, while I was alive.  

I don’t think so. No, I’ve believed for a long time now that even black angles deserve to fly.   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/11/03/even-black-angels-deserve-to-fly/   https://avproductionsblog.wordpress.com/2017/03/18/you-read-it-here-first-black-amethyst/

I know I am not one to be denied.

Those of you that know how to twirl and twerk and shake your tail feathers, to win the Twerk Team Auditions https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rba9Z0CcWwQ&list=PLxwfHzPeMrG0N0E5Q3hBI_vRjXl-BqJAR or hang out with DJ UNK https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TeLdCPINh6M and earn 15 minutes of fame for being a video vixen with a phat ass, you can gather your eagle wings in the North tower. You should notice the Notorious BIG Smalls in the butlers uniform, set to serve and assist you wonderful ladies in fitting for your wings. He was always so good at zipping up Faith Evans dresses, we thought he’d like doing that for eternity.

Just stand there and zip wings.

He was way too dark and ugly so he never earned his own, but Puff Daddy sand and danced enough to ensure he’d make it in.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LHyvFryW2M

What a joke, eh that might have been a cheap shot to bring Puff Daddy and Biggie into this conversation, it’s just, I am so sick of color being a barrier for people I guess. But as long as there are people, it will play a part in the minds of men and women that hold their minds hostage and will build politics and kingdoms centered around it. We will split God into figures of hued stone that resembles us in some fashion and suggest if he looks like me, then he is the one that created me. Odd considering how I can create characters of different races, backgrounds and love each with as much joy as the next. Why would I doubt God would love me less because my hair is not wavy or red and ruddy and my skin is not peached or pinked, but bronzed and red? Why is my tolerance for people and the curves, shapes and hues greater than that of a god and I am a mere man?

King Solomon, black but comely: I am glad I’ve never heard it taught, due to Solomon’s hue of skin the temple came down. Why are we so caught up with color that we would actually base our safety on it, risk our lives for it? When in the middle of turmoil, pain, upheaval, or simply in a moment of benign joy during an annual parade in the city, color should be the last thing discussed.

Ever since I was a boy, I’ve held a rigid position on color talk. I had to be set because all of my friends where white. My first love was a gothic princess, that used to put a cat collar and a leash around my neck. I lived in New Jersey and traveled to upstate New York and Ohio all the time and had so much fun playing video games, poker or reading comics with white people. Lived in Kansas where they tried to make me where a confederate uniform for the JROTC program. I did not know if it was a joke of if they really felt I would be honoring someone’s death by wearing that uniform.

I sought to be above the barriers poised by classification and color because I am an artist.  Because I am a storyteller and find relevance in people and can’t deny anyone based on my insecurities. I would not want someone to look at me and deny me access to anything. A communicable discussion, a forum, anything political, or my own comfort and what I believe to be good for me because of my color, because  their preconceived beliefs  denotes I should be marginalized.

I laughed myself into stitches, when during my junior year of highschool I realized all of the black children expected me to eat my lunch on the wall and away from the ‘preppy-white,’ children because they decided to self-segregate. Because they felt they did not have a life style or come from a family that could afford to play golf at the local country club. That they would not and were not admitted to be  apart of a society setting our grandparents and great grandparents were conditionally denied. I was infuriated by the idea of having to defend my home and right to existence, from people of my own color, if I ever married an Asian, white, Indian, Arab, anything besides a black woman. Especially to look at me, you’d never out right believe I was of African decent until I grew out my hair, which I would wear proudly, long and wild.

Fredrick Douglas had nothing on me in my desire to topple the walls the youth of my generation would build around themselves for the sake of traditions that should have been long dead. I would have loved to ignore this conversation, but it is all over the conservative radio, it is misdirected or used callously on liberal stations and it’s become too easy to degrade someone you might disagree with on a benign social discussion, as a racist.

It is too easy to believe I don’t attribute credibility in the claim when you call me an Uncle Tom because I speak well and try very hard not to curse when it would be so much more convenient to do so.          

https://www.newgrounds.com/portal/view/730095

Honestly in the world of art this should never be a discussion and if life truly imitated art in this dynamic the world would be a better place. At least confrontation and schisms would not be as prevalent as it is today. To me it is like we begin the topic of hues and what is beautiful or seen in heaven, because we don’t have anything else to talk about.

I illustrated “Fallen,” as a response to how ridiculous of an idea of not being accepted by God or anyone would feel that way, because they are black. That someone would use the Bible to teach that and we would stop illustrating wings when talking about angels, in order to unify the spectrum of colors that make up our world into the kingdom of Zion.

Hard to imagine; in some aspects we still can’t agree on a marketable environment that unites black, white, Asian, and Indian dreamers.      

[grantfieldgrove]

Your friends want you to fail.

It’s true.

It’s true and it sucks.

But the sooner you realize this, the better off you’ll be. You can set yourself on the course for success while leaving them behind.

That’s exactly what your friends don’t want, but you have the capability to make it happen.

I’m not trying to be negative, but I’ve learned this the hard way.

Let me back up a bit.

Ten years ago I was working a dead end job at a grocery store. I hated it. The pay was crap. The work was crap. Most of the customers were crap. But I had friends!

I was miserable. I had a temper, I was angry about everything. I was bitter that I worked this job I didn’t like when I knew I should be doing better. I was all over social media, posting about everything, even belittling people I didn’t even know by snapping pictures of them and posting them, then enjoying a laugh at their expense.

That’s bottom of the barrel, self-esteem wise.

I would fight with people who held different political beliefs than me, different opinions about religion, or even movies. I was the loud mouth Fred Flintstone type, but I always got laughs. At least some.

It didn’t take long after my son was born to realize that something wasn’t quite right with him. He was extremely delayed and obviously autistic. I blew it off and didn’t believe it, making excuses as to why he was so behind.

We had to enroll him in a special school at age 2. The bitterness grew.

One day I decided to buy an iPad. Just because.

I took it home, unboxed it, and sat on my floor to play with it. But instead of playing games, I started writing.

I literally started writing a novel out of nowhere. It was a hoot. I started carrying a little notebook around work, thinking of plot points. It was great, because when you carry a notebook and pen around while working, people assume you’re working really hard!

Before I knew it, I had a book. I didn’t know what the hell to do with it, but I had one.

I found out you can self-publish books on Amazon, so that’s exactly what I did. I gave it a once or twice over, figured out how to format it, and it was published. And wow, did it have a lot of typos. The story was good, though. Some people bought it and it actually got good reviews. Some friends even bought it, though I doubt many of them read it. But still, it felt good. So I started the second book and finished it in record time. This one was even funnier and I liked it a lot, although, once again, I skimped on the editing.

Shortly before the release of that book, I had a falling out with most of my friends. I had planned a big party in Las Vegas, everyone was going to attend, but it was just a disaster. We had a suite at the Aria, but none of my friends even stayed in the hotel. Not a problem, but they stayed way down the strip at Paris. Then got so drunk at the pool, not a single person showed up. So yeah, I was pissed. And the party wasn’t just for fun, it was a special occasion for my wife. And every one of them let me down. So that’s that. We left first thing in the morning, leaving them all in the dust.

Nothing was really the same after that.

All of this is just specific backstory that doesn’t pertain to you, but the basic elements could. The moral of the story remains the same.

Cut to ten years after I first sat down to write that novel. I now have 11 books, including the first ever murder mystery series for kids, which even, somehow, became the runner up for some award I already forgot the name of. Three of my books have been produced into audiobooks and two have advanced to the semi finals in an Amazon-sponsored fiction contest where out of 10,000, 400 advanced. I’ve gotten positive reviews from Kirkus, and a few other publications.

These are facts that I am proud of. I share these from time to time on social media, although I am still not comfortable with talking about myself.

But, now my friends don’t buy my books. Maybe one or two, not even my “Facebook friends” who were on board at the beginning. The last book published is my favorite. I’m so happy with it and proud of it. I literally tried to give away copies to people I know. I didn’t have a single taker.

I would promote the book being free on Kindle during a particular day or weekend, or whatever, and not a single person would respond to it. I tried to give away Audible audiobooks. Not a single taker.

It’s so bizarre.

Why?

I could understand if the books were garbage. There are a lot of genuinely bad books out there, especially since self publishing has gotten so popular and easy to do. But my books aren’t those books.

I started a small publishing services company, just as a side job to help people out. People who were lost like me when I first started.

My friends didn’t care.

Granted, it’s not very exciting, and with the emergence of “multi-level marketing,” starting a business isn’t that impressive, apparently. (Remind me to tell you about this amazing magical wrap thing! Kidding.)

One thing I forgot to mention earlier, is that I went without Facebook for about a year and a half. I hated it. I hated the fakeness of it. And I was bitter. Bitter that I was trying to better my life, to branch out from a dead end job and try to make something of myself, and I never got any good feedback from it.

My son is severely autistic, he’s ten now and still completely non-verbal. We don’t have a typical life. We have to adapt to whatever life throws at us, and that’s what I was trying to do. My son hated when I had to go to work. He didn’t understand why I had to leave, often in the middle of the night. So I tried to change things.

And still I got nothing. So, bye bye Facebook. Good riddance.

It was weird at first. I still had this urge to let everyone know what I was doing. Like, them knowing would someone validate me doing it. If your Facebook friends don’t know what you do, are you really even doing it?

While I’m typing this, my Facebook is back. But there is a reason. Over the summer, while I was doodling on my iPad, I had an idea. I could put these things on tshirts. I would totally wear them.

So I looked it into. I saw that the possibilities were seemingly endless. Why stop at tshirts when you can make leggings? Why stop at leggings when you can make backpacks?

It goes on like this.

So I went all in. And I mean, ALL IN!

I had quit my job at the supermarket a few months prior. I had enough money to survive for a while while I explored new paths. So I sunk everything into this little venture. I was going to make horror related clothes. The horror market is severely underused. There are, of course, some major players in the horror game, but they all had to start at the bottom, too. So I went for it. I made a website. I made an Instagram and a Facebook. And after a week of the site being up, I made a sale. And then another sale.

Turning a profit is tricky, though. I needed word of mouth. I needed friends.

So I got back on my personal Facebook page after a year and a half, and let everyone know what I had been up to while I was gone.

It landed with a thud.

Nobody cared.

In the time I was gone I had a kid’s book, and novel, and this clothing company all launch.

I got nothing.

I started booking comic cons and would post pictures.

Nothing.

I have a little booth downtown, with all my stuff displayed, where you can walk in, buy something, and help support me and my family, by buying small, staying local.

I’ve had one friend visit it.

One.

It’s been there for six months.

I posted a few pictures of horror-celebrities wearing or showing off something I created.

Nothing.

I drew posters for a few events, movie screenings, even a stage play. I posted them. The most recent one I posted got 6 likes.

I have 590 Facebook friends and 6 of them liked a poster I did for a Scream 2 screening.

I have a family member whose daughter wanted “something Michael Myers” for Christmas. I have tons of Myers stuff. Stuff I poured my heart and soul into. Stuff you can’t find anywhere else.

This person did not buy from me. She bought a generic Myers t-shirt from a major store and probably spent more than she would have with me.

Right now, through luck and hopefully hard work, my work is in the processing of being officially licensed. Which means, with a little more work and a whole lot more hustle, it could end up in stores like Hot Topic, etc.

And then what?

I don’t know. I like to daydream. And I would like someone to be proud of it, someone who doesn’t live with me.

But, there comes a time when you have to let that go. Your friends won’t be proud of you. They will belittle you. They will find something to nitpick about what you’re doing.

And it sucks.

Strangers will support you. Your friends will not.

The sooner you know this, the better. You can delete your personal Facebook, you can shrug your shoulders at all the people holding you back and making you feel bad about leaving your comfort zone and taking a risk.

There is no law that you must remain friends with the people you were once friends with. Cut em loose.

This is about you. It’s about your dreams. Your life. Not theirs.

If they don’t want to follow you on your journey or cheer you on, cut them loose. Release that anchor from around your neck and push full-speed ahead.

You’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish when you stop worrying about what so-called friends think and start realizing that no matter what you do, there will be someone who admires you and looks up to you, just as you’ve looked up to someone else when you started your self-fulfilling journey.

Be the person you would want to look up to.

You can do it.

Start today.

Two months ago I had to attend a wedding where all of these people would be, all these “friends.”

All I heard were complaints. Whoever we struck up a conversation with, complained.

Complain complain complain.

I understood what was wrong.

We didn’t complain. My wife and I, we only told positive stories.

Our complaining days are over. We’ve moved on. We seemed out the positives from our lives and choose to focus on that.

All this did was draw out more complaining from the wedding guests.

So tone deaf and these people we’ve left behind, they were complaining about students (the teachers we knew) that are very similar to our son.

Like, really?! This is our life. You go home at 3. We live with this. And we still don’t complain.

So far back these people are, I had to hear outdated and cringeworthy jokes, I had to hear casual sexual harassment, breasts referred to as fun bags, in front of the girl they were talking to, and the groom’s nieces. They still use the R word to describe anything, despite knowing my son is extreme special needs.

Once you realize that you don’t want to live in the world these people still inhabit, the sooner you can progress to where you want to be.

You’ll never be happier leaving them, and their outdated thinking, and their complaints, and everything else that makes you miserable to hear about, behind.

And you can do it.

You can do it right now!

Log out of Facebook and get to work.

Find people to look up to and follow them. Do your own thing. People will begin to follow you.

I’m not saying it will be easy. I’m just giving you a heads up of what’s to come.

You can sidestep it completely.

You just need to realize that your friends want you to fail.

Prove them wrong.

Don’t even tell them.

Start now.

Go.

[thetravellingvagrant]

Vagrant 8 - The Extended Weekend Break

Yes, hello. It's me. A grumpy, dishevelled man, tutting disdainfully at foreign things, online - in a fun, frothy way though; not like 'Terry, 59, from Maidstone', posting in the Sun's comment section by mashing the heel of his palm against the keyboard of his decade old iPad, dribbling half a mouthful of British brewed lager down his fat tummy, in sheer, blind rage that 'them' in Brussels want to take all the bends out of our bananas - or add more of a bend to them? I'm not sure which, and neither is Terry, but whichever one it is, he's absolutely apoplectic about it and would only be angrier, still, if he actually liked bananas. ...Anyway, not like that. More like tittering at the word "coq" and complaining that continental Europeans have no idea how a queue system works and clearly can't be bothered to try and learn, which, to be honest, is fair enough. Why bother lining up when you can walk to the front of any queue and get whatever thing you want without involving effort or manners. It just makes sense. Regardless, it's been a good old while since my last vagrancy; even longer since my last solo one - four years, by my count - owing to, first, a horrible little goblin man costing me all my money with some mis-registered council tax details and then I think there was some bad cough going around for a couple of years or something? I wasn't paying much attention, to be honest. Either way I've been injected full of microchips now (big ups to Bill Gates - the world's homeboy) and apparently that means I can travel again, so here I am, presenting, with pride - the 10 year anniversary of this blog - Vagrant 8: The Long Weekend Away (sponsored by Microsoft)

It should be noted that this particular vagrancy is a little different from previous iterations. Owing to both being asked to put on an hour long show of what essentially amounts to comedy, that I wrote produced and starred in (very cool) and various unavoidable early-December commitments to Universal Credit (...less very cool), this years trip has been slightly truncated, starting, as it has, nearly a full month later than it normally would. The result of this is that I have left myself a very scant eight days before needing to return for Christmas, to explore, complain about and walk along the motorways of whichever shit European city I happen to be visiting this time. Treat it as a mini-vagrancy if you will. To get me back into the swing of things. Whee.

Worry not though brave fan(s?)! A truncated trip doesn't mean that I'll be skimping on locations! No, sir! In fact, my eight day trip, barring some unforeseen disaster, should take me from Milan, to Nice, to Monaco City (and back), to Genoa, back to Milan and finally to Bergamo, before returning home. How? You ask can I fit six destinations, so sparsely located into only eight days? Why, by allotting no more than a long afternoon to explore any of them and then travelling to the next one via early-morning bus the next day, of course! Why? You ask would I do something so horrid to myself, when I could have just done three places and luxuriated in each, instead? Because I'm stupid and plan things poorly, of course! That is, after all, literally all this blog has been for the last decade. Keep up. Its not hard.