#this reeks of north british

[dr-george-ordell]

SNIPPET OF CH 2 - "Hold Your Horses, It Only Gets Worse!"

[tyrantisterror]

At Sea Without a Map pt. 17

She's the first friend you've made in your entire (admittedly very short) memory, you are not letting Calibani get eaten without a fight! With a heroic athleticism you didn't know you possessed, you take a running leap off of the broken boat and onto the deck of your own, bridging the gap of water between you so quickly that no lurking beast below could hope to catch you. Unfortunately, you act so swiftly that you don't actually prepare well to land, and end up slipping when your feet hit the deck, sliding a ways until your sheer momentum sends you crashing into Calibani. On the other hand, you hit her with enough force to pry her tail out of whatever was holding it, and as you lie on top of her in a heap on the deck...

...well, she doesn't look particularly upset about it, at the very least.

You don't have time to dwell on your close proximity for long, though, as the boat shifts violently beneath you while the waves around it become larger and nastier. Quickly you get to your feet, steadying yourself with the railing as you look over the side to see something massive rising up from beneath the water.

What emerges is more hideous than you would have dared to imagine, a twisting collection of lumpy, tumorous flesh held loosely together by rancid sinews of rotting muscle tissue. One by one the pus-dripping flesh globs that make up the bulk of its mass begin to split open, their skin pilling apart to reveal a chaotic assortment of eyes and teeth. On occasion an eye will close and the flesh will seal over it, only for another tear to appear elsewhere in the beast's roiling surface like a fresh zit. All of this occurs as it continues its dread ascension out of the ocean, its body like some nightmarish pustule oozing its way out of the skin of the sea.

More gaping maws on the beast open, and soon you are hit with that familiar reek of halitosis as long, hideous tongues emerge from the rancid mass and slither towards your boat. You're fairly certain you know what killed the other sailors now.

As the hideous glob of rotting meat rises in front of your boat, ones of its twisted jaws opens and speaks with a soft, vaguely-British voice that has an oozing aftertaste of lewdness. "Oh my my my, what luck! Two tasty sausages for me! A crunchy one and a chewy one, how splendid! I can't wait to take you inside me!"

As you confront the worst nightmare you've seen yet, you consult your compass.

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

UDLTTOM WORLDBUILDING RAMBLES: American Wizarding Society vs British Wizarding Society

This is like the 3rd installment of what is quickly becoming a series of long ranting posts about the lore surrounding Harry Potter & a current time-travel au I'm writing on AO3. But you don't need to have read the previous two posts to understand this one. (I still link them for those interested: pt 1, pt 2, pt. 3.) .

I think it's been fairly established that JK doesn't have much awareness of anything outside of Britain when it comes to world building. I've seen posts discussing how unrealistic the magical schools are and such. (Which obviously there can't be just 11 schools. I refuse to believe it. It exceeds my suspension of disbelief.) But this post isn't about that, but the whole societal structure of the American Wizarding society as a whole. I recently started watching my through the Fantastic Beasts films (I know I'm late to the show.) and as an American I can't help but to address some of this...

There's a lot to address & I'm sorry if this post gets a off on some tangents. But I'm just gonna jump right in with the things that bother me most.

1)The MACUSA reeks of British colonization.

As we all know, North America wasn't unpopulated when people from Europe started arriving. Native Americans, the Mayans, the Aztecs, Inuit people, and while some of them were nomadic others had established cities & advanced communities for that day in age. It was the religious zealot Protestants, aka Puritians, being driven out of England that pushed into these communities and brought with them this harmful religious dogma and pushed these people out of the homes and their lands. Like if you read into any of these cultures and their histories, you'll see that these communities were accepting of magic and in the HP world were probably very much wizards themselves.

And so the MACUSA doesn't make sense to me having been founded before the American Revolution, but after the Salem Witch Trials because in all likelihood wizards were being persecuted long before all that. Like I can't believe that the indigenous communities wouldn't have formed some sort of collective in order to combat these foreign invaders from overseas—Especially if they were wizards.

I mean so there had to be something before that, right? Like in all likelihood what I see happening is that these British wizards pushed themselves in with the Puritians (for whatever reason) and in the process brought with them their backwards views on muggles & blood politics & classism which wasn't a part of the original society. Because if you look at the indigenous histories you'll see that medicine men/women were respected members of their communities. Wizards and Muggles lived alongside each other just fine. But then the colonizers came & ruined that harmonious dynamic between the magical and nonmagical.

And that it's called the Magical Congress of the United States of America...It doesn't make sense unless that name came about after the American Revolution. Because before that it was referred to as the 13 colonies. Then it also took some time after the American Revolution for the 13 colonies to expand into the United States. (American didn't get all 50 states until 1959 with the purchase of Alaska from Russia and the forceful occupation of Hawaii.)

It makes more sense that there was a power struggle between two or more opposing Magical governments for the control of the Americas. And this would lead to a sort of Wizarding Civil War. Between the indigenous magical communities and the British, & Spanish, & French Colonies. It's a big place, huge. & it would be diced up and divided I think much more than than the muggle/no-maj community/government is.

The MACUSA being only on the East Coast makes more sense to me. (It also explains how there can only be one wizarding school in MA.) And how that school is a sister school of Hogwarts & how they are structured so similarly. Because watching the Fantastic Beasts films I don't feel like I'm watching American wizards, it more feels like I'm watching British Wizards with American accents.

And then the rest of the country is split up into districts or regions (much like it is in real life with: East Coast, Deep South, West Coast, Midwest.) where the indigenous practices and cultures are still prevalent.

I also don't buy into this idea that France and Spain would abandon their stake on the Continent. So in reality, it's more believable that Spanish Wizards would control Florida and expand all the way up to Arkansas, French wizards would Have control of Louisiana & Mississippi, East Texas, parts of Oklahoma, the British Wizards would have the colonies & maybe parts of the Great Lakes area like Illinois or Ohio, and then the rest of North America would be divided up into different territories amongst the indigenous communities.

Which then brings me to the second thing that bothers me: Rappaport's Law.

2) Rappaport's Law is a heavy-handed allegory for Jim Crowe & Segregation Laws.

As a white person, there's a lot in this topic that I am likely under informed and underqualified to unpack. It is a subject that would be better dissected by someone who understands the cultural histories and nuances better than me. But I read up a lot on random histories (because my Adhd brain leads me down some interesting research rabbit holes & I find myself fascinated by lore histories and folktales.) And I've learned a bit about the various histories pertaining to the Trans Atlantic Slave trade and how things like Voodoo made their way to America through the enslavement of various African tribes.

And again back to the British colonization, slaves were sold to the British by rival tribes & then some of those people made their way to North America when the colonies were formed , but that there was also a significant number of slaves that were indigenous to North America as well.

But how the indigenous communities were structured and how the tribal communities were structure were not all that dissimilar from each other. They both have an awareness of magic and similar spiritual practices. Again magic coexisting with muggles and what makes the most sense was that rival tribes would in fact sell the wizards into slavery and keep the squib/no-maj members of the village because they were less of a threat.

Which in turn would lead to most of the magical communities in North America being POC. Like honestly, I think they are the majority in the Americas. And the Rappaport Law, preventing the intermingling of no-majs & wizards would be heavily criticized because of the similarities to Jim Crowe and Segregation Laws.

And you might try to argue that because of the Statute of Secrecy, wizards wouldn't have any awareness of those muggle laws. But I argue that because of Slavery and most of the wizards being either slaves or negatively impacted by the European settlers would be very, very aware of those laws and prejudices & be actively fighting against them.

Like it was wizards creating and maintaining the underground railroad. It was wizards getting other wizards out and getting them away, regardless of whether or not they were magical because they were all slaves. And they would in fact still have muggles living side-by-side with them in these magical communities and spitting in the face of the Statute of Secrecy. And entire generations of no-majs would live and die in these communities and possibly even leave these communities to assimilate with other muggles and what not, but the American wizards would not be as cut off from the no-maj world like their British counterparts are.

3) Blood Politics would never be able to take root there.

Because most of them are unable to trace back their own bloodlines. It's why Americans don't have house elves working for them because it's Slavery, which they spent centuries combating and trying to escape. And why Grindelwald couldn't gain a foothold there because he was European and was actively killing muggleborns, squibs, no-majs like that wasn't their own people.

And this would also mean that, technologically, the magical communities in North America are more advanced. They are not stagnating like they are in Britain. Wizards are not a dying breed. They have a healthy growing population and low inbreeding rates, and advancements in magic and no-maj sciences. It's the sort of strength Grindelwald and Voldemort would want to recruit for their causes, but with how the majority of the continent is structured would never be able to.

[thank you for coming to my tedtalk.]

[superconductivebean]

#962: victor rookwood hc post - 1?

Not sure I've lots about that one. A follow-up to the latest hc post.

Once again raising my head from the Brainrot fog to share some character headcanons with the world. Brainrot is a fic I’m working on.

Tags: @thriftstorebabayaga @limonnitsa @catohphm

Cut because tw I'd gotten a little too gnarly to my liking by the end.

Salacious around young (ages 19-22) women of higher classes;

Reeks of whiskey, sweat and cologne. Not terribly so, but enough for his presence to quite literally fill the room;

After killing his father on a lively duel and taking the Ashwinders for himself, got stuck in the perpetual decline of power, as he saw it;

Brainrot: His father was a deviously clever and a vicious crime lord. The name -- Ashwinders -- came from the way the pest multiply. In its early days the Ashwinders were setting fire to hearths around the coasts of Continental Europe in order to get children, magical or not, to follow them, learn from them, and spread their agenda not knowing what it entailed;

Brainrot: Rookwood Sr. minded the Statute very much, as well as many others among the traders and the poor. But the methods he chose were… questionable. Some called them a commendable effort, especially the destitute, but in the grand scheme of things, Rookwood Sr. was either raising an army, no less, or he was an idealistic mind unable to be understood by the contemporary;

Brainrot: The truth leaned powerwards. Rookwood minded the Statute because it was an obstacle. He could act in the open in the south but couldn't in the north, and that was the problem. He and his beneficiaries were constantly getting in serious legal troubles along the northern -- Normandy, Dutch, German, Danish, British, Irish, Swedish, Norwegian -- coasts;

Brainrot: Everyone he managed to snatch, recruit, get, and forced into the ranks was an expandable force, constantly tested. Blood pacts, dark sacrifices, grim rituals; Rookwood gang was less than pleasant place with little hopes of ever escaping its bloody horrors;

Brainrot: Victor didn't know them very well not he was ever let in. He only knew that his father was a powerful Dark Wizard, raised himself a following whom he was meticulously defending, and had literal tons of accumulated wealth he wasn't very keen on sharing;

Brainrot: Fast-forward to Victor's adult years: Victor cultivated an insatiable hunger for power. Unlike his father, he isn't politically savvy, but he knows ruthlessness can open many doors without the need to find any keys for any locks;

When Victor killed his father, he had proven that to himself. The scion and an only heir to the family's line, he took all there was to the gang to himself, changing its course to something more vile and violent on an outward;

Victor doesn't think a discrete approach matters so much as his father used to think. To him, it is a necessity, not a credo, how else would people see where his intent lies and how unequivocally pointless would be to resist it;

He is a force to be reckoned with;

But the more one has, the harder it is to control. He'd cut the beast's tail bit by bit and sew it back* many times until he'd realise he made a grave mistake, and it'd already too late to turn back.

[tricornonthecob]

Dialect notes! Dialect notes! Dialect notes!

Because I missed my calling in academic research, I've spent a non-zero amount of time going down rabbit holes on early North American dialect for Along The Northern Heights. Is it worth doing all this research for a fanfiction of a PBS kids show from 20 years ago? Well it gives me considerable amounts of joy to write, so yes.

Anyway! I want to share a massive infodump, because writing gives me goodfeels and so does sharing! Please let me know if I am inaccurate or wrong about anything. I am not an academic and furthermore I do not want to spread misinformation.

MASSIVE WORD BLOCK UNDER THE CUT

A Pregame With Disclaimers About "Good" English

The history of Modern English is rife with Big Oof moments, and I'm not just talking about The Great Vowel Shift or Noah Webster deciding that the "u" in "colour" was silly. Especially in the late 18th century, there was a push to make accents more uniform and to establish a single "Good" English - and there is so much aggression towards what those scholars considered "Bad" English. And, in my extremely uneducated opinion, it seems like it's a conveniently moving target, just like "whiteness." In the context I'm in when writing, it positively reeks of shitting on any of the world's population groups that aren't Southeastern England. And, being from the United States, I know all too well the absolute shit that's been lobbed at AAVE for not being "Good" English.

This "Good" vs "Bad" way of looking at dialect is reductive, destructive, and boring, and I think it goes without saying I don't condone it in the slightest.

A Further Pregame With Received Pronunciation, or RP

the "generic" British dialect many of us outside the UK think of when we think of a British accent (a shame, I think, because the UK is so dialect-diverse and there are some absolute bangers on that damp island!) There are certainly a myriad of reasons for this, but probably the most common reasons/claims I've heard through my life are

A) 19th-century upper-class British folk wanting to have a more separate dialect from the other classes.

B) associations with the way the Royal Family has spoken English since at least Queen Victoria (a generic reasoning that we see happen along populations: imitating those in power)

C) 20th-century RP became "generic" in a similar way that the broad North American dialect* now associated with the United States and, to some degree, Canada, did - that is, it was further developed and use encouraged as the easiest to understand when recorded and played-back on period audio recording equipment (specifically radio and television.)

*a timeout is to be made here for the so-called Mid-Atlantic dialect at the dawn of "talkies" and early Hollywood. Its the delightful way of talking you'll hear in old black-and-white movies: slightly musical cadence, and combining the broad north american dialect with a bit of the non-rhoticity of RP. This dialect was mostly affectation and as anyone with living American relatives born before 1960 can tell you, mid-20th-century Americans largely did not speak it in normal settings.

Now, all of this is to say, RP as a dialect doesn't really appear until mid-19th century (although it would seem the loss of rhoticity we so associate with RP was a gradual shift starting in the very end of the 18th century.) Furthermore, the ways that we, 21st-century denizens, know RP don't come into their own until the 20th century and proliferation of audio-based mass media.

On to My Actual Point : 18th Century American Dialect (non-AAVE)*

*I make this distinction because the history of AAVE is a massive topic all on its own and I feel even less qualified to speak on it

It can't be ignored that the base strata making up Anglo-American speech patterns would have been as varied as where the original settlers/invaders came from, nor can it be ignored that the American Colonies were made up of more than just Anglo-Saxon descendants. Even back then, they were a mosaic of cultural interaction, which is why Thomas Paine declared America (at least the white part) a European, and not British, culture.

That being said, multiple primary sources indicate that the dialect of Anglo-Americans at the late 18th/very early 19th century was similar to "well-bred" Londoner dialect of the time (assuming there's enough of a distinction here from broad Southeastern UK,) and that this particular dialect was broadly spoken with less regional variance than the family of dialects in the UK.

This is made clear in vol 3 of Timothy Dwight's Travels in New-England and New-York, a collection of letters sent to colleagues in England:

"I shall not, I believe, offend against either truth or propriety if I say, that the English language is in this country pronounced more correctly than in England. I am not, indeed, sanguine enough to expect, that you will credit the assertion, nor that you will believe me to be a competent judge of the subject. Still I am satisfied that the assertion is true. That you may not mistake my meaning, I observe, that by a correct pronunciation I intend that of London; and, if you please, that of well-bred people in London."

(Dwight, Timothy. Travels in New-England and New-York vol 3 p 265)

Now in context he is only speaking of the New England region, and he does make a disclaimer here that he's not "a competent judge" of the subject, and we are certainly ignoring his hope that he won't be cited on the matter. But, his observation holds true from other primary accounts, especially William Eddis' Letters From America, which are composed of his observations (mostly of Maryland gentry) from 1769 to 1777. (His letters also happen to be an invaluable primary source for observations on culture and political commentary on the rising crisis between the colonies and Britain, from the perspective of a loyal well-to-do British subject.)

On the uniformity of language, Eddis has this to say:

"In England, almost every county is distinguished by a peculiar dialect; even different habits, and different modes of thinking, evidently discriminate inhabitants, whose local situation is not far remote; but in Maryland, and throughout the adjacent provinces, it is worthy of observation, that a striking similarity of speech universally prevails; and it is strictly true, that the pronounciation of the generality of the people has an accuracy and elegance, that cannot fail of gratifying the most judicious ear."

(Eddis, William. Letters from America, Historical and Descriptive. p 59)

if the odd comma placements are making it hard to read, you're not alone. 18th century writing is choc-full of what we might today consider run-on sentences, comma splices, or just generally cumbersome. Here's me paraphrasing as best I can:

"In England, almost every county has its own dialect, habits, and modes of thinking, noticeably different inhabitants that don't live very far from each other; but in Maryland and adjacent provinces, there is a notable similarity of speech, and its absolutely true that the generalized accent/pronunciation has an accuracy and elegance that won't fail to gratify a discerning ear."

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All this background I'm giving comes to this point: late 18th-century "well-bred" Londoner is the dialect I have chosen to loosely base what I write in Along The Northern Heights. I listen to alot of Simon Roper's work on youtube regarding the topic. I would say these two are probably the most valuable videos on the accent.

He makes disclaimers about not being formally qualified to speak on linguistics, and I would be remiss to not pass along those disclaimers.

That being said, what's in my mind is pastiche of that, the local "country" (read: appalachian) dialect in rural Virginia, the dialect work used in Turn:Washington's Spies and HBO John Adams, as well as some of the dialect you hear in PBS Masterpeice's Poldark, and various media I've watched/read from Living History re-enactors about reconstructing dialect.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Since I've made it a headcanon feature that James Hiller has a bit of a brogue that he feels pressured to correct, but slips into when he is excited or upset, I'd like to dig more into less-"proper" dialects of the time, and, if possible, the less-proper Philly accent. For shits and giggles, here's what I suspect is a dramatization of a modern-day Philly accent:

And then a very similar, a very real Baltimore Baldmer accent:

Honestly? Hearing both of these warms the cockles of my heart, because my late grandparents (especially grandma. *Especially* grandma) spoke with a Baltimore accent, which has similarities with the Philly accent. My aunts and uncles all speak it; its been normalized and blended with a virginia rural accent in mine (I say wadder, my grandma said wooder. I say toosdaye, my grandma said toosdee. I say ahn, grandma said ooowan. I say y'all, grandma said all youse/all you. I say "d'jeet," she said d'jeet, and you can pull d'jeet from my cold dead hands.)

In addition, you have the modern-day "High Tide" dialect of Okracoke, the Carolina Brogue.

trouble with Carolina Brouge, which is disappearing, is that its got too much modern-day southeastern drawl to really use as a basis for an 18th century Philly boy. Though it does seem like drawing out the "A" in water into wooder/woader is a commonality.

Anyway. That's been my infodump. I spent too long on this!

[claudia1829things]

"EMILY" (2022) Review

"EMILY" (2022) Review

I have been aware of only four productions that served as biopics for the Brontë family. I have seen only three of these productions, one of them being a recent movie released in theaters last year. This latest movie, the first to be written and directed by actress Frances O'Connor, is a biopic about Emily Brontë titled "EMILY".

This 2022 movie began with a question. While Emily Brontë laid dying from tuberculosis, her older sister Charlotte asks what had inspired her to write the 1847 novel, "Wuthering Heights". The story flashed back to 1839, when Charlotte returned home to the Haworth parish in West Yorkshire to visit before her graduation from school. Emily attempts to re-connect with the older sister about her fictional works, but Charlotte merely dismisses her creations as juvenile activities. Around the same time, their father Patrick, the parish's perpetual curate receives a new curate name William Weightman. While Charlotte, younger sister Anne and several young women seem enamored of the handsome newcomer, only Emily is dismissive of him. Emily accompanies Charlotte to the latter's school to learn to become a teacher and their brother Bramwell goes to study at the Royal Academy of Arts. Both Emily and Branwell return shortly to Haworth after as failures. When Branwell manages to find a job as a tutor, the Reverend Brontë charges William to provide French lessons to Emily. What began as lessons in French and religious philosophy lessons, eventually evolves into a romantic entanglement between the pair.

"EMILY" managed to garner a good deal of critical acclaim upon its release in theaters, including four nominations from the British Independent Film Awards. It also won three awards at the Dinard British Film Festival: Golden Hitchcock, Best Performance Award for leading actress Emma Mackey and the Audience Award. I have no idea how much "EMILY" had earned at the U.K. box office. But in North America (the U.S. and Canada), it earned nearly four million dollars. Regardless of this . . . did I believe "EMILY" was a good movie? Did it deserved the accolades it had received not only from film critics, but also many moviegoers?

I cannot deny that the production values for "EMILY" struck me as first-rate. I believe Steve Summersgill did a first-rate job as the film's production designer. I thought he had ably re-created Britain's West Yorkshire region during the early 1840s with contributions from Jono Moles' art direction, Cathy Featerstone's set decorations and the film's art direction. Nanu Segal's photography of the Yorkshire locations created a great deal of atmosphere with moody colors that managed to remain sharp. I found myself very impressed with Michael O'Connor's costume designs. I thought he did an excellent job in not only re-creating fashions from the end of the 1830s to the late 1840s, he also ensured that the costumes worn by the cast perfectly adhered to their professions and their class, as shown below:

However, according to a relative of mine, Emily Brontë's fashion sense had remained stuck in the mid-to-late 1830s, something that the 2016 movie, "TO WALK INVISIBLE" had reflected. On the other hand, "EMILY" had the famous author wearing up-to-date fashion for someone of her class:

And I must admit that I found those moments featuring actress Emma Mackay wearing her hair down . . . in an era in which Western women did no such thing . . . very annoying. Otherwise, I certainly had no problems with the movie's production values. The movie also included a fascinating scene in which Emily had donned a mask and pretended to be the ghost of the Brontës' late mother during a social gathering. The scene reeked with atmosphere, emotion and good acting from the cast. I also found the scene well shot by O'Connor, who was only a first-time director.

"EMILY" also featured a first-rate cast. The movie featured solid performances from the likes of Amelia Gething as Anne Brontë, Adrian Dunbar as Patrick Brontë, Gemma Jones as the siblings' Aunt Branwell, Sacha Parkinson, Philip Desmeules, Veronica Roberts and other supporting cast member. I cannot recall a bad performance from any of them. The movie also featured some truly excellent performances. One came from Fionn Whitehead, who gave an emotional performance as the Brontë family's black sheep, who seemed overwhelmed by family pressure to succeed in a profession or the arts. Alexandra Dowling gave a subtle, yet charged performance as Charlotte Brontë, the family's oldest sibling (at the moment). Dowling did an excellent job of conveying Charlotte's perceived sense of superiority and emotional suppression. I wonder if the role of William Weightman, Reverend Brontë's curate, had been a difficult one for actor Oliver Jackson-Cohen. I could not help but notice that the role struck me as very complicated - moral, charming, intelligent, passionate and at times, hypocritical. Not only that, I believe Jackson-Cohen did an excellent job of conveying the different facets of Weightman's character. The actor also managed to create a dynamic screen chemistry with the movie's leading lady, Emma Mackey. I discovered that the actress had received a Best Actress nomination from the British Independent Film Awards and won the BAFTA Rising Star Award. If I must be honest, I believe she earned those accolades. She gave a brilliant performance as the enigmatic and emotional Emily, who struggled to maintain her sense of individuality and express her artistry, despite the lack of support from most of her family.

"EMILY" had a great deal to admire - an excellent cast led by the talented Emma Mackey, first-rate production designs, and costumes that beautifully reflected the film's setting. So . . . do I believe it still deserved the acclaim that it had received? Hmmm . . . NO. No, not really. There were two aspects of "EMILY" that led me to regard it in a lesser light. I thought it it was a piss poor biopic of Emily Brontë. I also found the nature of the whole romance between the author and William Weightman not only unoriginal, but also unnecessary. Let me explain.

As far as anyone knows, there had been no romance - sexual or otherwise - between Emily Brontë and William Weightman. There has never been any evidence that the two were ever attracted to each other, or one attracted to the other. Many have discovered that the youngest Brontë sister, Anne, had been attracted to Weightman. In fact, she had based her leading male character from her 1947 novel, "Agnes Grey", on the curate. There have been reports that Charlotte had found him attractive. But there has been no sign of any kind of connection between him and Emily. Why did Frances O'Connor conjure up this obviously fictional romance between the movie's main character and Weightman. What was the point? Did the actress-turned-writer/director found it difficult to believe that a virginal woman in her late 20s had created "Wuthering Heighs"? Did O'Connor find it difficult to accept that Emily's creation of the 1847 novel had nothing to do with a doomed romance the author may have experienced?

Despite Mackey's excellent performance, I found the portrayal of Emily Brontë exaggerated at times and almost bizarre. In this case, I have to blame O'Connor, who had not only directed this film, but wrote the screenplay. For some reason, O'Connor believed the only way to depict Brontë's free spirited nature was to have the character engage in behavior such as alcohol and opium consumption, frolicking on the moors, have the words "Freedom in thought" tattooed on one of her arms - like brother Branwell, and scaring a local family by staring into their window at night - again, with brother Branwell. This is freedom? These were signs of being a "free spirit"? Frankly, I found such activities either immature or destructive. Worse, they seemed to smack of old tropes used in old romance novels or costume melodramas. In fact, watching Emily partake both alcohol and opium reminded me of a scene in which Kate Winslet's character had lit up a cigarette in 1997's "TITANIC", in order to convey some kind of feminist sensibility. Good grief.

What made O'Connor's movie even worse was her portrayal of the rest of the Brontë family. As far as anyone knows, Reverend Brontë had never a cold parent to his children, including Emily. Emily had not only been close to Branwell, but also to Anne. And Branwell was also close to Charlotte. All three sisters had openly and closely supported each other's artistic work. Why did O'Connor villainize Charlotte, by transforming her into this cold, prissy woman barely capable of any kind of artistic expression? Why have Charlotte be inspired to write her most successful novel, "Jane Eyre", following the "success" of "Wuthering Heights", when her novel had been published two months before Emily's? Why did she reduce Anne into the family's nobody? Was it really necessary for O'Connor to drag Charlotte's character through the mud and ignore Anne, because Emily was her main protagonist? What was the damn point of this movie? Granted, there have been plenty of biopics and historical dramas that occasionally play fast and loose with the facts. But O'Connor had more or less re-wrote Emily Brontë's life into a "re-imagining" in order to . . . what? Suggest a more romantic inspiration for the creation of "Wuthering Heights"?

I have another issue with "EMILY". Namely, the so-called "romance" between Brontë and Weightman. Or the illicit nature of their romance. Why did O'Connor portray this "romance" as forbidden? A secret? I mean . . . why bother? What was it about the pair that made an open romance impossible for them? Both Brontë and Weightman came from the same class - more or less. Weightman had been in the same profession as her father. And both had been college educated. Neither Emily or Weightman had been romantically involved in or engaged to someone else. In other words, both had been free to pursue an open relationship. Both were equally intelligent. If the Weightman character had truly been in love with Emily, why not have him request permission from Reverend Brontë to court her or propose marriage to Emily? Surely as part of the cleric, he would have considered such a thing, instead of fall into a secretive and sexual relationship with her. It just seemed so unnecessary for the pair to engage in a "forbidden" or secret romance. Come to think of it, whether the film had been an Emily Brontë biopic or simply a Victorian melodrama with fictional characters, the forbidden aspect of the two leads' romance struck me as simply unnecessary.

What else can I say about "EMILY"? A rich atmosphere filled the movie. The latter featured atmospheric and beautiful images of West Yorkshire, thanks to cinematographer Nanu Segal. It possessed a first-class production design, excellent costumes that reflected the movie's 1840s setting and superb performances from a cast led by the talented Emma Mackey. I could have fully admired this film if it were not for two aspects. One, I thought it was a shoddy take on a biopic for author Emily Brontë that featured one falsehood too many. And two, I found the secretive and "forbidden" nature of Brontë's false romance with the William Weightman character very unnecessary. Pity.

[dogcoding]

rush hour train. american canadian or possibly british guy in front of you reeking of axe body spray and refusing to move to let people off around you. the hood of his north face jacket is smothering you. this is your hell on earth

[deathcupcake]

In my job, I often need to consult/use controlled vocabularies. While vocabularies like the Library of Congress Subject Headings are very slow to update, thus frustratingly behind the times and in need of serious reparative work, the entries don't usually have descriptions.

Usually, I don't even look at the descriptions unless I need to disambiguate similar terms. I'm just looking to make sure that the correct term/place/event/etc. is referenced.

But this week, while checking Honolulu, I saw the following description.

Tourist destination and important transport point for north Pacifc ports, including San Francisco, Panama and Sydney; missed by Captain Cook, harbor was entered by Captain William Brown in 1794; occupied by Russians, British and French in the 19th century; has many institutes for Hawaiian culture.

This description so clearly reeks of colonialist attitudes.

The Honolulu area and Hawaii in general has a history that predates any white contact, and was its own kingdom, rudely overthrown by the U.S. It should not be characterized by its importance to other countries (notice no mention of the U.S. hahaha). Plus, the last bit seems like an afterthought.

My colleague thinks the description may be coming from the Encyclopedia Britannica and he may be correct. Which makes it no less insulting. Maybe more so.

I consulted Wikipedia, which seems fairly accurate about current Honolulu, and it doesn't describe the city in such a weird way, even though it clearly adheres to a non-native standard.

Since the TGN is managed by the Getty, I don't expect that group to rush to make reparative modifications, and this makes me both angry and sad. I may drop them an email anyway.

Also note that Pacific is spelled incorrectly.

[mangotortoise]

God this last bit is going to be such a slog

Spoilers and incoherent thoughts under the cut

I think I'm not the biggest fan of this genre. It requires too much suspension of disbelief on a large scale that to me doesn't feel particularly realistic (namely how quickly attitudes change among the older generations), while also understanding that this is not the point. The point is to argue against the annoying rhetoric you'll see where it's "Well if society was run by a woman it would be better" which is very untrue. And the violence here isn't sensational (as i saw someone on goodreads argue), it's not man-hating, it feels grounded in what it's trying to say.

But I feel like with all these characters the message is getting fumbled a bit? Idk. It reeks of "a white British lady probably white femnist" wrote this (and I say this as a white American lady.)

Idk the specific scene that annoyed me was when Tunde discovered that Nina basically wrote his book and gave him no credit and we as an audience were probably supposed to feel shocked or be like, "yup this is just what happens to women flipped on it's head." But all I saw was, "Wow a woman from the global north is taming advantage of a man from the historic global south. Shocking."

Ugh idk. I'm only reading this for a boom club and I hope I can find a review or something that captures the ick I'm feeling better than I can write it out.

(At least Margo and Roxie are interesting.)

[givemearmstopraywith]

Re: n****l horoscopes: I unfollowed them a long while ago citing Inexplicable Bad Vibes, so I am feeling very vindicated rn... down with misinformation!

don't reblog or you'll get blocked / (telling this story bc i had a couple of people ask what i meant when i referred nh being xenophobic) i followed and unfollowed off and on for years but what got me was a couple of years ago they used the term wop pejoratively towards italians- i think started because it was columbus day? which like. go the fuck ahead, im not someone who sits around acting like italians are poc or something but my actual grandfather, who left italy in the 1950s because the economy was destroyed after mussolini and emigrated to a very small, very white town in canada, was harassed both in and out of the workplace by white anglos and the term "wop" was what he was called. i have family members who were physically assaulted in xeonophobic attacks specifically because they were italian immigrants in the 70s/80s and "wop" is the term that was used to describe them. the term refers to, and i am not making this up, the sound of two pieces of shit being slapped together. that's the etymology, at least in terms of the crackers who threw it around forty years ago were using it. am i gonna sit here and say i experience racism on account of being italian? no, of course not, but you have be genuinely stupid not to recognize that xenophobia against europeans, especially towards italians, continues to be fucking rampant, especially in extremely anglo (british) communities.

at the time i sent nh an ask politely asking them not to use that term, and they were completely belligerent and unapologetic. i'm not saying people should be offended by this at all, it was a personal offence because that term has a personal history in my family, which is almost entirely comprised of first generation immigrants, but it just. reeked. that side of the family is also where my jewish and romani ancestry comes from, i'm extremely protective of it because i still live around the people who were beating the shit out of my mom and uncle as kids for not being white enough, and that, for me, was where i finally gave up on trying to see the good in nh's blog (there isn't any). like i said, im not going to sit here and say cancel nh for using the term wop, its entirely relative in north america because italians do not face oppression here, but on the whole i'm pretty nh is not as smart or knowledgable as they pretend they are. scratch the surface of 90% of what they post and its either nonsense or something you can find on wikipedia.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Canadians sit at the top half of North America and look south with moral superiority. We compare ourselves with that cesspool to the south and maintain that we are better.

This week, that moral superiority was on full display across Canada. Quebec Premier François Legault stated that there was no systemic discrimination in Quebec and only a “very, very small minority of the people that are doing this discrimination.”

Over in Ontario, Premier Doug Ford commented, “Thank God we’re different than the U.S. and we don’t have the systemic, deep roots they’ve had for years.”

Later, Stockwell Day, a former cabinet minister in the Harper government, in giving a commentary on CBC Newsworld, stated, “There’s a few idiot racists hanging around, but Canada is not a racist country and most Canadians are not racist. And our system … is not systemically racist.” He went on to compare the mocking he received as a child who wore glasses with racial discrimination.

These three examples come from high-profile individuals whose comments are influential and very public. I wonder, on the other hand, how many people in politics or corporate boardrooms share their point of view. Fortunately, Premier Scott Moe didn’t deny racism; otherwise, he would have had the Gerald Stanley case thrust in his face.

Canadians have a collective naivety that we are free from the sin of racism. The bad examples of the United States and South Africa are tossed around as examples of extremism that doesn’t exist in Canada.

But as people of colour, we have grown up in a country that has both a history and a present that reeks of racism. Slavery existed in Canada under both French and British rule. We learned in school that Canada was the terminus of the underground railway, giving sanctuary to runaway slaves from the United States. What we didn’t learn was that their descendants were segregated and ghettoized. Chinese labourers built the railway in British Columbia, but a head tax kept them separated from their families.

The story of the Indigenous people is one of neglect and genocide. If we didn’t sign treaty and take reserve land, we were starved into submission. The government wanted to settle the West and we were considered an impediment to settlement. We were colonized by the churches and the federal government. Colonialism is also racism.

The racism and repression continue to the present. Last November, the Globe and Mail obtained a document from the RCMP that stated that from 2007 to 2017 the RCMP fatally shot 61 individuals, and one third of them were Indigenous people. This winter, the Winnipeg police killed three Indigenous people within the span of 10 days, causing the Indigenous Bar Association to call for an inquiry.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada @abpoli @torontopoli

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

Encrusted With Iron

(Against the Negative Force of Stupid People)

Stephen Jay Morris

2/25/2022

©Scientific Morality

Yesterday’s news mirrored the way it was in America, in 1939, when the Nazis invaded Poland. The newspapers shouted out headlines while radio broadcasts featured BBC correspondents reporting with the sound of gunfire in the background. The British reporter sounded like a schoolmaster, pronouncing each syllable perfectly under fear of the “Nazi grammar police,” holding him in the crosshairs of a government-issued rifle. His voice reeked of both condescension and broadcaster professionalism. American radio broadcasters, like Edward R. Murrow, are an endangered species, so the BBC’s reporters deliver the world news.

The sky was gray as my doctor told Pamela and I that a big snow storm was imminent that night. About eight inches, he said. As I type this, I look out my window to see what looks like dandruff falling from the sky. Most countries other than the USA plan their military invasions to take place in the winter. Napoleon tried that in the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. He lost.

American conservatives boast of America as being the best country in the world. Actually, when it comes to conservatism, we are the worst! We are also the worst Leftist country in the whole fucking universe! Like the person who suffers from narcissist personality disorder, they spout delusional bragging. Whenever a narcissist references the USA, he says, “My country!” However, a sensible person will declare, “Our country!” How many times must I repeat this objective truth?

At this point, Right Wing Conservatives are in a political dilemma. They always enter into wars with some Authoritarian leftist country and, as such, America is a force for good. However, what happens when they engage in war with a White country, run by nationalist Fascists? It’s a bad look. Russia’s Putin is no different from American Conservatives. They both want the same thing: a prosperous Ruling Class and a docile peasantry who are behaved and fearful of the Corporate Government. Don’t fuck with Putin’s government! Go pray to your Jesus because the Ruling Class wants Mo’ money!

American Conservatives have no criticism of Putin. This same schmuck was a hardcore Communist Tankie who ran the fucking KGB! They imitated the tactics of the CIA: torturing leftists and imprisoning government critics. Then, in 1990, Putin suddenly embraced Nationalism, and all was forgiven.

Russia has always had a hard-on for Ukraine. Look at how Stalin assassinated the Jewish Marxist, Leon Trotsky, who was born in Bereslavka, Ukraine.

America is having a gang fight with Russia. Putin wants Ukraine’s oil, but America wants it, too. In the late 1960s and early 70s, the New Left got a lot of shit for supporting North Vietnam; we were labeled “traitors.” Conservatives said we should be put in detainment camps. Now it’s the Right’s turn. America is openly opposing a country with whom the Right has no quarrel. The once self-styled “patriots” are now traitors! Hey, Chuds! You are stuck in the mud. Let’s see if you could talk your way out of this one!

P.S. Putin hates Jews.

[serialreblogger]

You want to talk more about the bigotry in Harry Potter? Go ahead! I've actually heard stuff like that before, but have yet to do much research on it personally and it's been a while since I read it, so I'm interested.

WELL

Before we begin I should start with a disclaimer: this analysis will be dedicated to examining as many bigoted aspects of Harry Potter’s writing as I can think of, so--while I personally am more or less comfortable balancing critical evaluation with enjoyment of a piece, and strongly advocate developing your own abilities to do the same--I know not everyone is comfortable reading/enjoying a story once they realize its flaws, and again, while I think it’s very important to acknowledge the flaws in culturally impactful stories like Harry Potter, I also know for some people the series is really really important for personal reasons and whatnot. 

So! If you’re one of those people, and you have trouble balancing critical engagement with enjoyment, please feel free to skip this analysis (at least for the time being). Self-care is important, and it’s okay to find your own balance between educating yourself and protecting yourself.

On another note, this is gonna be limited strictly to morally squicky things to do with Rowling’s writing and the narrative itself. Bad stuff characters do won’t be talked about unless it’s affirmed by the narrative (held up as morally justified), and plot holes, unrealistic social structures, etc. will not be addressed (it is, after all, a kid’s series, especially in the first few books. Quidditch doesn’t have to make sense). This is strictly about how Rowling’s personal biases and bigotry impacted the story and writing of Harry Potter.

Sketch Thing #1: Quirrell! I don’t see a lot of people talking about Quirrell and racism, but I feel like it’s a definite thing? Quirinus Quirrell is a white man who wears a turban, gifted to him by an “African prince” (what country? where? I couldn’t find a plausible specific when I was researching it for a fic. If there’s a country which has current/recent royalty that might benevolently interact with someone, and also a current/recent culture where turbans of the appropriate style are common, I couldn’t find it). Of course, it wasn’t actually given to him by an African prince in canon, but it’s still an unfortunate explanation.

More importantly, ALL the latent Islamophobia/xenophobia in the significance of the turban. Like, look at it.

“Man wears turban, smells like weird spices, turns out to be concealing an evil second face under the turban” really sounds like something A Bit Not Good, you know? If you wanted to stoke the flames of fear about foreignness, it would be hard to do it better than to tell children about a strange man who’s hiding something horrible underneath a turban.

Also, Quirrell’s stutter being faked to make you think he was trustworthy is a very ableist trope, and an unfortunately common one. “Disability isn’t actually real, just a trick to make you accommodate and trust them” is not a great message, and it’s delivered way too often by mass media. (Check out season 1 of the Flash for another popular example.)

Sketch Thing #2: The goblins. Much more commonly talked about, in my experience, which is good! The more awareness we have about the messages we’re getting from our popular media, the better, in my view. 

For those who haven’t encountered this bit of analysis before: the goblins in Harry Potter reek of antisemitic stereotypes. Large ears, small eyes, crooked noses, green/gray skin, lust for money, control of the banks, and a resentful desire to overthrow the Good British Government? Very reminiscent of wwii propaganda posters, and in general the hateful rhetoric directed towards Jewish people by other European groups from time immemorial. 

I’m also extremely uncomfortable with how goblin culture is handled by Rowling in general. Like, the goblins were a people that were capable of using magic, but prohibited by the British government from owning wands. That was never addressed. They also had a different culture around ownership, which is why Griphook claimed that the sword of Gryffindor belonged rightfully to the goblins--a gift isn’t passed down to descendants upon death, but instead reverts to the maker. This cultural miscommunication is glossed over, despite the fact that it sounds like Griphook’s voicing a very real, legitimate grievance.

To be honest, apart from the antisemitism, the way Goblin culture is treated by the narrative in Harry Potter is very uncomfortably reminiscent to me of how First Nations were treated by English settlers in North America, before the genocide really got started. The Goblins even have a history of “rebellions,” which both raises the question of why another species is ruling them to begin with, and more significantly, is eerily reminiscent of the Red River Rebellion in Canada (which, for the record, wasn’t actually a rebellion--it was Metis people fighting against the Canadian government when it tried to claim the land that legally, rightfully belonged to the Metis. But that’s another story)

In sum: I Don’t Like the implications of how Rowling treats the goblins.

Sketch Thing #3: Muggles. Ok because we’re all “muggles” (presumably) and because I’m white, talking about this might rapidly degenerate into thinly-veiled “reverse racism” discourse, so please y’all correct me if I stray into that kind of colossal stupidity. However, I am not comfortable with the way non-magical humans are treated by Rowling’s narrative.

The whole premise of Harry Potter is that Evil Wizards Want To Hurt The Muggles, right? Except that it’s not. Voldemort’s goal is to subjugate the inferior humans, rule over non-magical people as the rightful overlords, but that’s hardly mentioned by the narrative. Instead, it focuses on the (also egregious and uncomfortably metaphorical) “blood purism” of wizarding culture, and how wizards would be persecuted for their heritage.

But muggles, actual muggles, are arguably the ones who stand to lose the most to Voldemort, and they’re never notified of their danger. We, the muggles reading it, don’t even really register that we’re the collateral damage in this narrative. Because throughout the series, muggles are set up as laughingstocks. Even the kindest, most muggle-friendly wizards are more obsessed with non-magical people as a curiosity than actually able to relate to them as people. 

I dunno, friends, I’m just uncomfortable with the level of dehumanization that’s assigned to non-magical humans. (Like, there’s not even a non-offensive term for them in canon. There’s “muggle,” which is humorously indulgent at best and actively insulting at worst, and there’s “squib,” which is literally the word for a firework that fails to spark.) It’s not like “muggles” are actually a real people group that can be oppressed, and like I said this kind of analysis sounds a bit like the whining of “reverse racism” advocates where the powerful majority complains about being insulted, but... it kind of also reeks of ableism. People that are not able to do a certain cool, useful thing (use magic) are inherently inferior, funny at best and disposable at worst. They suffer and die every day from things that can easily be cured with magic, but magic-users don’t bother to help them, and even when they’re actively attacked the tragedy of hundreds dying is barely mourned by the narrative. 

It gives me bad vibes. I don’t Love It. It sounds uncomfortably like Rowling’s saying “people that are unable to access this common skill are inherently inferior,” and that really does sound like ableism to me. 

Either way, there’s something icky about consigning an entire group of people to the role of “funny clumsy stupid,” regardless of any real-world connections there may or may not be to that people group. Don’t teach children that a single genetic characteristic can impact someone’s personhood, or make them inherently less worthy of being taken seriously. Just, like... don’t do that.

Sketch Thing #4: The house elves. Everyone knows about the house elves, I think. The implications of “they’re slaves but they like it” and the only person who sees it as an issue having her campaign turned into a joke by the narrative (“S.P.E.W.”? Really? It might as well stand for “Stupidly Pleading for Expendable Workers”) are pretty clear.

Sketch Thing #5: Azkaban. Are we gonna talk about how wizarding prison involves literal psychological torture, to the point where prisoners (who are at least sometimes there wrongly, hence the plot of book 3) almost universally go “insane”? This is sort of touched on by the narrative--“dementors are bad and we shouldn’t be using them” was a strongly delivered message, but it was less “because torturing people, even bad people, is not a great policy” and more “because dementors are by their natures monstrous and impossible to fully control.” 

“This humanoid species is monstrous and impossible to control” is, once again, a very concerning message to deliver, and it doesn’t actually address the real issue of “prison torture is bad, actually.” Please, let’s not normalize the idea that prison is inherently horrific. Of course, prison as it exists in North America and Britain is, indeed, inherently horrific and often involves torture (solitary confinement, anyone?), but like--that’s a bad thing, y’all, it’s deeply dysfunctional and fundamentally unjust. Don’t normalize it.

Sketch Thing #6: Werewolves. Because Rowling explicitly stated that lycanthropy in her series is a metaphor for “blood-borne diseases like HIV/AIDS”. The linked article says it better than I could:

Rowling lumps HIV and AIDS in with other blood-borne illnesses, which ignores their uniquely devastating history. And Lupin’s story is by no stretch a thorough or helpful examination of the illness. Nor is its translation as an allegory easily understood, beyond the serious stigma that Rowling mentioned.

That Lupin is a danger to others could not more clearly support an attitude of justifiable fear toward him, one that is an abject disservice to those actually struggling with a disease that does not make them feral with rage.

This definitely ties into homophobia, given how deeply the queer community has been affected by HIV/AIDS. Saying a character with a condition that makes him an active threat to those around him is “a metaphor for AIDS” is deeply, deeply distressing, both for its implications about queer people and their safety for the general population, and for the way it specifically perpetuates the false belief that having HIV/AIDS makes a person dangerous.

Sketch Thing #7: Blood Ties. This isn’t, like, inherently sketch, but (especially for those of us with complicated relationships to our birth families) it can rub a lot of people the wrong way. Rowling talks a big talk about the folly of “blood purism,” but she also upholds the idea that blood and blood relations are magically significant. 

Personally, I’m very uncomfortable with the fact that Harry was left with an abusive family for his entire childhood, and it was justified because they were his “blood relatives.” I’ve had this argument with ultra-conservative family friends who genuinely believe it’s a parent’s right to abuse their child, and while I don’t think that’s what Rowling is saying, I do feel uncomfortable with the degree of importance she places on blood family. I’m uncomfortable with the narrative’s confirmation that it is acceptable (even necessary) to compromise on boundaries and allow the continuation of abuse because “it’s better for a child to be raised by their Real Family” than it is to risk them to the care of an unrelated parent.

Genetic relations aren’t half as important as Rowling tells us. For people with a bad birth family, this can be a damaging message to internalize, so I’ll reiterate: it’s a pretty thought, the love in blood, but it’s ultimately false. The family you build is more real, more powerful and more valid than any family you were assigned to by an accident of genes.

I can think of one or two more things, but they’re all a lot more debatable than what I have here--as it is, you might not agree with everything I’ve said. That’s cool! I’m certainly not trying to start a fight. We all have the right to read and interpret things for ourselves, and to disagree with each other. And again, I’m not trying to ruin Harry Potter. It’s honestly, as a series, not worse in terms of latent bigotry than most other books of its time, and better than many. It’s just more popular, with a much bigger impact and many more people analyzing it. I do think it’s important to critically evaluate the media that shapes one’s culture, and to acknowledge its shortcomings (and the ways it can be genuinely harmful to people, especially when it’s as culturally powerful as Harry Potter). But that doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t enjoy it for what it was meant to be: a fun, creative, engaging story, with amazing characters, complex plots, heroism and inspiration for more than one generation of people. 

Enjoy Harry Potter. It is, in my opinion, a good series, worth reading and re-reading for enjoyment, even for nourishment. It’s also flawed. These things can both be true.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Cutting Room Floor- 1

You leaned forward off the wall and pulled your jacket a little closer. It had been a slow day and the fog rolling in brought a chill with it... And chased away potential customers. And that was a problem because it had been a slow day. A really slow day and you didn’t have enough money yet to buy a place to stay for the night. 

You knew that you could talk into any police station, give your name and tell then that you were a run away. They’d book you and take you to a Juvie. Which. Was at least warm. And the foam mats were marginally more comfortable than some cardboard and concrete. 

There are some things you could do. You could pick a pocket or two, pray someone had some cash on them. The rest of it you could just drop in a mailbox. Minimizing Karmic damage, you supposed. Like stealing from big box stores instead of the mom and pop ones. And only taking from people that had wrist watches the cost at least a few hundred. Sure. People got gifts but not generally expensive watches. At least you figured. Why would they? Not when a phone did so much more. Still, you weren’t quite ready to pack it in. Thieving was dangerous. And picking the wrong pocket could be a one way ticket to a Oak Lawn across town. It was a last resort. 

You looked up towards the sky and sighed. It was overcast. And it had been for days. All you wanted was some sun. Some warmth. You’d been shipped to California, made your way to Houston, New Orleans, Alabama. Anywhere warm. Anywhere you could find some sun. A new temporary home. Something... Just something. Anything to fill the hole you felt in your chest. The ache that never really left no matter how high you got. But maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was time for you to move along and find some greener pastures. And a job. A real job. Not just posing for perverts or smuggling to get a fix. But then, moving on cost money too. The last thing you needed was to end up on a government watch list. It was bad enough that your step dad’s fucking cultists were still looking for you.

When the rain started to fall you sighed. It was a sign. Definitely a sign. And you weren’t thrilled at the thought of having to sleep in this never ending drizzle. And in the cold. It was all you really needed to tell Karma to fuck off for the night. And, as you looked around, just up the street, there was the perfect mark. 

An unassuming guy in a dark suit. Light brown hair in a professional cut. Slightly receded hairline. His watch and shoes were expensive. And he was helping an elderly woman. She was dressed expensively enough. Maybe his mother. Or a doting aunt. Possibly even a grandmother. But it didn’t matter. As he half turned to help her, you could see the outline of a wallet and your stomach growled encouragement, prompting you forward. It had been a while since you’d had a hot meal. The mission was full of weenie waggers and you were tired of getting hit on by toothless old men and women who reeked of old sweat and cheap cigarettes. Tired enough to throw karma to the side. And as you reached forward, reaching for the wallet that might buy you a night out of the cold, you didn’t expect the middle aged looking guy to throw you head first into a van that was screaming to a halt. 

__________

“Ah, fuck,” you groan. The light above your head was bright. Too bright and your head was pounding. 

“Language,” a cultured British voice scolded. 

“Sorry,” you apologize without thinking about it. Too confused and disoriented to tell her to fuck off. You hear the sound of liquid being poured into a cup and it makes you pick your head up, cringing at the light.

The woman, the same elderly woman you had seen early gives you something like a sympathetic look and slides a mug across the table. “I suppose,” she said, “That you were desperate.”

You shrug and glance suspiciously at the mug, “You ever slept under a bridge?” you ask.

The woman gave you a level look and shook her head, “No,” she admitted.

“Look, I won’t do it again,” you say quietly, “I’m just trying to get out of town.”

“And go where?” she asked. 

“Just... somewhere,” you answer, “Maybe back north. Get some work.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Whatever pays,” you say shrugging. The woman frowns, the wrinkles around her mouth deepening and you get the distinct impression that she’s looking through you. Searching for something. But you already know she’s going to find you wanting. Everyone does. 

“Sounds dangerous,” she said.

“So’s picking pockets but... that guy. His watch cost a couple grand. And his shoes. Italian Leather. New. I figured he might have some cash to spare,” you explain. They have you dead to rights. You may as well be honest.

“To spare?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Why would I take from someone as bad off as I am? Or make someone as bad off as me?” you murmur, glancing away. 

For a long moment, there’s no sound but the woman stirring sugar into her tea. Looking away, looking towards the glass you’re pretty sure is a two way mirror, what you don’t see is that she’s smiling. But, when she clears her throat and you look up, she looks serious.

“I’ll level with you,” she said, sipping her tea, “We’ve been watching you. We know you... And we’ve got a job for you. If you’re willing.”

“And If I’m not?” you counter. 

“Cops will be her in 6 minutes and you’ll do at least 10 years with all the stuff we can give them on you.”

You hang your head slowly and exhale. 

“What do I have to do?” you ask quietly. 

[siliquasquama]

Step back from the beach a moment

I don't celebrate on Memorial Day.

Remember, yes -- that is the point.

Commemorate, if you prefer, though that implies some manner of ritual, or some form of public ceremony, held at a slight remove from emotion, as the crowd along a parade route is both at a remove from the parade and part of it.

But to celebrate, to call it a day of relaxation or take it as a day of revelry --

I stopped doing that after I heard a particular song, in a particular movie. The movie itself is The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Wherein the effort to find a Union soldier's grave, supposedly full of gold, is shown to be rather petty in comparison to the war itself -- which is presented primarily as a tragedy. A useless battle over a little bridge in a bleak corner of the West; a field of shallow graves marked by crude crosses; a stockade for prisoners of war, where weeping men are made to kneel in the dirt and sing a pretty song to drown out the cries from men being tortured --

You would think that the officer who chose the song would pick something less critical of the war, but who knows what he was thinking? As for the director, one might say he chose the song to distill the movie's message. As the final verse goes:

Count all the crosses, and count all the tears -- These are the losses, and sad souvenirs. This devestation once was a nation -- So fall the dice. How high is the price we pay?

After I heard that song my Memorial Days became rather grim.

I am always a little conflicted about the song. I know the political tendency of Americans -- especially white Americans -- is to elide the cause of our civil war, and elude the full implications. The decades after the war would not be the last time that reconciling white Americans meant leaving black Americans out in the cold, open and vulnerable to the people who would never stop trying to subjugate them.

Tempting to say both sides were right, and both sides were wrong, so as to bury the hatchet --

And yet: those who would subjugate black Americans dig the hatchet up whenever they think any government is trying to stop them. Be it in the decades after our civil war, or the decades after the second World War, or the decades after the country chose a black man to lead us towards a gentler peace and greater justice -- they do not forgive any movement towards the true power and freedom of black Americans, except by the acquiscence of the country to their predation, for any move towards freedom is a move away from what they have built, and threatens their coffers. As their coffers were filled by slavery, so they seek to maintain it, in one form or another.

Thus the old song from slaves long ago remains relevant, and its hope is ever present:

Oh Mary, don't you weep, don't you mourn, Oh Mary, don't you weep, don't you mourn. Pharaoh's army got drownded. Oh, Mary, don't you weep.

Did they?


I do not know.

So, when I hear the soldier's lament, I wonder if it was made to elude that question. Perhaps it is that the director, being Italian, at a far remove from this continent and its ways, only saw the war as it was described to him, and thus saw it as the hatchet-burying narrative would have it, and so in his movie made no judgment nor mention of why the war began, nor what cause stood at its center by the end.

Or it could be that the lyricist, being not Ennio Morricone but a white American man, may have written the lyrics to paper over that question, and the compoaser and director alike looked at it without considering it too thoroughly.

Which would assume signores Leone and Morricone would ever dare do sloppy work.

Most likely it is that, if the movie is presented as tragedy, Leone couldn't introduce any of the concepts that have led Americans to call the American Civil War a glorious struggle of freedom. No John Brown's Body nor grapes of wrath for him. In the battle for the bridge, Captain Clinton sees his job as pointless, and that's the story the movie tells. No sense muddling the message by talking about glory. Even if the southwest did have its own battles for freedom, separate from the question of slavery, which could have been shown in the background.

For, if I speak of freedom only in terms of black Americans, I forget the peoples who were also targeted for predation by white Americans, whose resistance to them began long before slavery was planted here, whose story always complicates the simple narrative of White versus Black  --

And as I speak of many peoples to think of them as a whole is complicated, if not impossible, for one tribe does not speak for another nor decide the same as the other. Over the centuries of struggle each tribe had interests separate from and sometimes against their neighbors, such as the people of pale faces could exploit to divide and conquer them.

In the case of the Civil War there were more such tribes who allied with the Confederate forces than with the Union. As it was in the rebellion that established the United States, as it was in the War of 1812, which was, in North America, sought by paleface warhawks as a battle against Indians -- in each such war that threatens the existence of the Federal Government of the United States, the victory and continued survival of that government has been the loss of many tribes and the deaths of their people.

I wish they had not sided with the British Empire, nor with the Confederate slave-holders, yet I understand why they did, for so many of the people we call American heroes were also villainous towards native tribes -- George Washington and Abraham Lincoln alike. The hope of those tribes was the scattering of the forces set against them and in the Revolutionary War, at least, it was not a hopeless effort, nor would it have looked hopeless to them in 1812 nor 1860. For the sake of those people I will not sing patriotic songs, nor wave the flag, nor call the American Revolution nor the American Civil War an untarnished good.

Nor any war. Hard to see blood spilled out on the ground, be it for the best of causes. Blood spilled and bone scattered. Young rascals and old coots alike left as shells, empty as the casings spilled about them, and these days we send mostly the bright young ones to that end. Lao Tzu said a general must mourn their victories.

And there are many of us come from overseas who have seen their loved ones die before them, seen bodies scattered amid the rubble of what they thought would stand, as so many wars these days are civil wars fought in and over civil settings, thereby to flatten those settings -- how could I celebrate any war, in the face of such people? How could I say any war was for a good cause?

And yet -- Pharaoh's army got drownded. Hard to ignore that point.

And for the folks who fought for the life of their people against the federal government, and lost, I wonder if I would dare tell them that war could have no noble cause.

So if I consider Memorial Day as anything, it is a day to mourn victory. Never to forget its price nor what it purchased. Never to speak of that purchase as if it were for the petty game of nations. It is not for for them. It is for the living and the dead. One life given for another, or for many. Perhaps given freely. Perhaps a trade made by someone else far away. Therein lies the tragedy.

For his part, Sergio Leone did not let his movie side with the Union's political cause. If he sided with anyone, it was with the soldiers. The song is called "Story of a Soldier" and it shows the battles through a soldier's eyes. Smoke, cannons, flags in the distance too ruined to read, crosses and tears counted one by one.

The movie's main battle is, as I said, useless. Not from the perspective of whoever gave the orders, but certainly from the perspective of Captain Clinton. His men have to take the Branstone Bridge. If the Confederate forces also want it, then might as well blow the damn thing and leave, and he's desperate to try. But orders are to take the bridge. Maybe as a political favor, maybe to achieve a larger strategic goal. Either way thousands of people will die. That's why Captain Clinton reeks of alcohol. He couldn't handle the job any other way. So when two scruffy and disobedient recruits go and destroy the bridge after all, though it be for a selfish and petty goal, Captain Clinton's dying words are in gratitude. Thousands of people will live. That's what he cares about.

You would think the larger scale of taking that bridge would be more important! Politically, strategically, maybe. But for the life of each man involved -- not so much. They can't see that far. To them the small scale is what they know. And maybe it's more important anyway. The song is called "The Story of a Soldier." Maybe that's what the movie is actually about. And the two bandits are just a way of bringing us to the place where we see what became of him. Which one he is among thousands, that's harder to say. There's an Arch Stanton on one grave marker and 'unknown' on the other. We don't know anything about either man. The lives of both men were on the small scale, not big enough for anyone outside their little worlds to care.

But someone living on the big scale got a lot of people into a big mess, and war means spending a lot of the small scale for the sake of the big scale. Basically shovelling your world into the furnace bit by bit to keep the engine running. Sometimes it means you lose your peach orchard; sometimes it means the army needs your 500-year-old church bell for scrap metal. Hard to tell if it's worth it at the time. Or when you're laying flowers on a grave later.

But when you lay flowers on a grave, are you saying the war was worth it? Or is it an apology for letting a bad situation get out of hand? If you're going to lay your flower on the grave and say the war was worth it you had better include an apology because that's a hell of a lot smaller price to pay than what you're looking at.

Now as for why I post this today and not the 25th -- as I said, I don't celebrate on Memorial Day, and I don't much like the fact that it was moved from the 30th of May to the last monday in May to give people a 3-day weekend. That all feels a bit crass. Seems like it made it easy to forget why this holiday exists. Everyone takes a trip to funtown for the day.

Well, fine. I can't blame people for doing that if they don't remember why the holiday exists. We don't much emphasize the Civil War part of it anyway. Easy enough to forget when you turn a day of memory into a day for parades.

I'm not trying to spoil the day for you when you were looking for a rare chance to relax. Go and have fun.

Just let me stay here with the graves.

[kinghoranshit]

Middle of the Night (1D) Ch 1

Word Count: 1,665

I couldn’t fathom why I decided to go along with the boys on their latest tour. When Niall asked if I’d join the North American leg, I should’ve said no. Simple as that. As one of their best friends, and freelance graphic designers, I wasn’t obligated to go. It was easier to hide who I truly was when I wasn’t surrounded by them 24/7, or in the limelight. I could back out still, but then that’d also look suspicious to everyone involved, and that included the fans who viewed the tour from an outside perspective. 

There were some of our kind who managed to have successful “famous” careers and then dip out on a mysterious misfortune with no public eye on them. I never wanted that for myself. I’d been careful about it. Then I met this boy band through my latest work at Modest! Management, and it turned out, they became grossly huge and they wanted me to be their best friend. 

I took a deep breath to try to calm myself down as I packed. I knew that getting all worked up wouldn’t help, especially since I needed to get on the road soon. I had to meet them at the show in Chicago. It was only a four hour drive from where I lived, so my father said he would take me there. From there, the tour bus would be how I traveled with the boys. 

I stuffed various pairs of jeans, pixie pants, blouses, shirts, and cardigans into my duffel. I also chucked my Gucci mules into it; I wore a pair of all white Nikes with black straight jeans, a white tank I cropped myself, and a pistachio green cardigan. It was the end of summer, going to fall in a couple weeks, but with who I was, having the least amount of sun hit my skin was for the better. I grabbed my backpack next to put my laptop into it, along with chargers, airpods, and sketch pad.

I strapped my duffel and computer bag on my shoulder and walked out to the kitchen and living room area. My dad sat at the table, working away on his laptop; he came in last night so we could leave by ten this morning.  

I reached out for an apple from the wooden bowl in the middle of the island and took a bite out of it. Being who I was, I didn’t have taste buds for human food. I’ve never understood when the boys got excited about food. I haven’t had real taste buds for centuries, so I’ve forgotten. It was like those memories were instantly erased after I was turned. 

“Hey Izzie, when was the last time you fed?” my dad asked suddenly.

He wasn’t my actual biological dad. Our kind couldn’t reproduce- well the human way anyways. My biological parents were long dead and I was a Lady on her own deathbed when my father bit me. He did it to save me. I had been a miracle and wedded to a duke, then shunned when I could not bear a child; that was more than right with me. Now I literally lived forever, and it would take nearly so much for me to be on a deathbed again. I hoped that would never happen. As long we kept ourselves underground, there would never be an uprising of hell. 

I thought for a second. “Uhm… A month ago. Why?”

We had to feed every month or so, or our bodies would weaken, our eyes would turn fiery red, our fangs would automatically lengthen, and we could end up lashing out on an innocent person. But when we were fully fed, we stayed strong and could control ourselves a lot easier. 

My father cleared his throat and circled his face. “Your eyes.”

I raised my eyebrows and hurried into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror to see my eyes were dark red, almost to the point of being black. This wasn’t great. Not by a long shot. I did not need this right now. It was the last issue I needed to have. I knew I should’ve made my trip to feed last weekend. 

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. 

I grabbed a pack of grey contacts out of the cabinet and put in a set. When they weren’t fiery red, they were grey. They used to be a kelly green, I knew that much. When the venom took over my genetics, they matched my dad’s. The only sort of resemblance we had. 

I went back to the kitchen and tossed my contacts into my backpack. I ran a hand through my bleach blonde hair, letting out a deep breath. “I guess I’ll have to go out tonight.”

We could maybe stop somewhere on the way. That would be risky since it would still be daylight and the passerbyers would be high. My dad and I, we didn’t feed on humans; we fed on animals. In the utmost rare cases, and the person was willing, we’d feed on a human. 

“Do you have any contacts for the meantime?”

I rolled my eyes with a nod. “Yes, they’re already in. This isn’t my first, you know that.”

He chuckled. “I can’t help it. You’re still my little girl.”

Yes, his little girl that was over 200 years old. I wasn’t so little anymore time wise. Age wise I was still considered a young adult for life. It wasn’t the worst possible situation to be in. I could hold steady jobs without the question of education, and I could drink legally anywhere in the world. I also had the face where I could pass from the ages of 22-34 without any burning questions. Any age after that was risking it, so I’d have to make my next move and identity change.

I smirked. “Right. Well, we should get on the road. The guys are expecting me around lunch time.”

“Right then, let’s go,” he slipped into a british accent, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, I didn't mean to do that.” 

We were both of british heritage, which I guess gave us another talking point to how we were supposedly related. With having to change our identities every century or so, we had to adapt new accents sometimes. This time we were American. It was something to be more or less proud of.

Thankfully the boys were all from the UK and Ireland, so if I slipped I could blame it on as an impression. Despite forgetting particular senses, I could remember my original accent like it was yesterday. It wouldn’t be hard to fall back if I ever wanted to be the old me in that aspect. 

I knew I should’ve said no to this.  

***

As predicted, there was nowhere safe to stop and feed. It was all wide open plains until the suburbs. I wasn’t feeling antsy or any less of my sane self. Not yet. I hadn’t reached this point in over two centuries, so it was going to be hard to gauge how long it would be. It was only mere days for sure though. 

We did not want to reach that point. 

“Remember to feed tonight or tomorrow. We know how hard the repercussions were last time.” 

I licked my lips, feeling my leg shake at my anticipation of being around the guys 24/7 for two months now. It was going to be… difficult. The gamble was up for sure. And if that wasn’t enough, there were those who hunted us for a living to look out for. If I happened to lash out, it would be all over the news and it would be like lighting up my destination. 

I cleared my throat. “I know dad. And you’ll know if I’ve gone. It won’t go unnoticed this time.”

“That it won’t,” he remarked, reaching over to encase my hand. “It will be okay.”

“Sure.” I nodded. “I better go. I’ll call you every week, as always.” 

He leaned over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Of course, darling. I will speak to you soon.” 

I took one last deep breath before I stepped out of the vehicle, then grabbed my bags and headed inside. It was a fairly large stadium, and I had to hold up my backstage pass in order to get in one of the back doors. I used scents to track down where the guys were; dress rehearsal. 

As Liam went in for a chest voice note, I noticed a delectable vein pop on his neck. I forced myself to look away; I hadn’t said that about a human in centuries. I must need not to. I mustn’t let myself get wrapped in those hellish ways. I… really needed to feed. I had thoughts in my old tongue. 

“Izzie!” Niall cheered, handing his gear off to two different people, and ran down to embrace me in a hug. 

“It me.” I laughed, returning his hug. “Are you guys done for today?” 

“We are, love,” Harry answered with a smile. 

The rest came down the ramps and dogpiled on us. I was surrounded by a bunch of flesh and felt the opposite of thrilled; I was suffocating. Without making it seem like too much of a harsh rush, I squeezed myself out of the middle. Now my brain couldn’t stop the racing thoughts of how I could easily tear their hearts out and have a magnificent feast. 

“How about we go eat?” I suggested. “Pizza?” 

As long as they ate and reeked of that greezy trash, I would be less appealed. It would shut me down for now. 

“That sounds like a grand idea!” Louis agreed and picked up my duffel.

Niall tried to take my hand in his to pull me forward, but I played it off as running ahead of him. “Beat you to the bus!” 

His laugh was boisterous, as all were the rest. “Yeah, right!”

Next: Ch 2

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