#very polarising take of mine but I stand by it

[charles-and-camilla-fanfictions]

All the Time in the World - Chapter 2

Birkhall, January 2020

Pacing down the corridor to get to him, I make no attempt to plan what I’m going to say. The years spent together have taught me that listening to him is the best tonic to his rage and numbs some of his pain. I am usually the person who calms him down, who makes him see the grey in the problem, who pushes him for greater cohesion in the family, but the entitlement of his youngest son, to the detriment of all his loved ones, rankles. With Harry, it’s difficult to sympathise with the lost little boy inside of him when he’s a fully grown man throwing stones at the people in his privileged life. 

Charles’s anger is cold and resentful by the time I reach him but he smiles as I walk in, like always, and greets me with a kiss before launching into a tirade.

“Financially independent? The last phone call I had with Harry was him begging for money.”

“Did you give it to him?” “I’m not a bank!”

“I thought he wanted to be able to support himself like a grown man, rather than relying on his Papa for handouts?”

“Handouts? It’s millions of pounds. ‘We need security. Megan isn’t safe’…” Taking a breath, I swallow my anger and try to rationalise his son’s behaviour. “This isn’t about money. It’s about Megan. He wants her to be the star. All eyes on her, all attention on her. It’s like he’s projecting his mother upon her.”

“He feels like everyone is conspiring against her.”

“He hasn’t exactly helped her…”

“It’s not even true!” 

The words are shouted and his sudden outburst startles me. I can see his cheeks colouring red, matching the tip of his nose. 

“If he wants to know what real conspiratorial aggression from the firm and the press is like, he should perhaps reflect on what it was like for you!”

“I know…” It’s too close to a nerve that has been exposed for far too long. I watch the vein on his forehead pulsing with the strain of controlling his temper and take his hand into mine. Anything that insults me sends him flying into a hot rage but he is all talk and no action. He takes Harry’s assertion that Megan deserves to be protected from the press as a personal affront because it scratches at his guilt for never really protecting me. To Harry, the world is the enemy which he must fight to avenge his wife. Like his father, he has that same fixation on the negative, that feeling that everyone is out to get him, is against him, coupled with a burning desire to protect the woman he loves. The difference between him and his father is the delivery instrument of change. Harry wishes to blow the world order to pieces and start again. Every slight he encounters must be avenged and every person who stands in his way must be toppled. There’s no middle ground. We either support him or oppose him and any criticism is received like we are throwing knives. He and Megan have created their polarising position but wish for annihilation of the opposing side rather than acceptance. War, not peace. I bow my head to kiss the white tips of Charles’s knuckles and smile as his finger flicks up to stroke my cheek. “We don’t wage all out war in the press. You’ve tried that. You can’t win.”

“She doesn’t understand her role as his wife. She’s meant to be the supportive role, not the lead.”

“She’s a modern woman… Her expectations are very different. Harry’s are too.”

“Then don’t marry a Prince. You can’t change the institution to suit yourself.”

“We did…”

“Not like this, we didn’t.”

“No…” I know my role as a wife. I know we’re not equal in status but we are a partnership. It’s my job to let him shine. One of the most surprising moments in our marriage was when I realised that he wanted me to shine too. Harry is so like his father, desperate to show the world the woman he loves, needing the world to love her too. But there’s no temperance. Where Charles agonises over every decision, determined to make the best one, Harry assumes his feelings are the only correct viewpoint and attacks whomever varies from that perspective. That, he learnt from his mother. I sigh, pulling away from the loop of my thoughts. “I am worried for Harry, though. This has manipulation wrapped all around it. He’s determined to subjugate himself to the stronger woman in his life. It’s never been any different.”

“It’s the hypocrisy which bites…”

“Yes…”

“...nothing is ever good enough for him…”

“No…”

“...the unfairness of the entire situation is infuriating…”

“I know, Darling…” I catch his eyes and tell him I understand. How can I not? I know what it is like to be a social ​​pariah, an actual persona non grata in his family’s eyes, and universally hated. There’s no debate about my treatment by the world, but we worked very slowly, very carefully to bring me to social acceptance. We have fought our own path, but we crafted our image carefully, knowing time was on our side. It might have been unfair, but that’s life. Change has never had a reputation for being quick.

“I’m never going to see my grandchild…”

That makes my heart pang. His tone may be self pitying but this is different. I feel the pain in his words. “Oh, Darling, I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“Of course it will. He’s going to use his child as emotional leverage. He learnt from the best.”

There’s nothing I can say to that. I just stroke his hand and try to convey as much love as possible into those sad grey eyes. 

Harry saw marriage as the cure to the consuming loneliness this life entails. He’s seen our happiness and both resented it and wanted to emulate it simultaneously. However, by the time Charles married me, he was ready to heal, to put the past behind him. I don’t truly understand Harry’s agenda, acting out his personal pain on the international stage. I think it’s just destruction. A child acting out in pain.

“It’s just so sad…”

“Yes… Yes, Darling it is.”

“I’m so sad for him, and I’m so sad for me.”

“I know.”

He sighs and rests his head on my shoulder, my cue to wrap my arms around him, to pull him tightly against me as if I can protect him from everything that hurts him through the ferocity of my love for him.

1990, Middlewick House

“She won’t let me come.” 

My stomach sinks into a pit at the sound of his voice. He is so unsure of himself. I uncoil the telephone wire from around my finger and reach for my cigarette. “Darling, he is your son. You don’t need her permission.”

“She’ll cause a scene.”

“He’s your little boy and he needs you. Go.”

“Darling, don’t… I’m just going to make everything worse. I’m dreadful in situations like these.”

“Who are you making it worse for?”

“Diana?”

“Why do you care?” I take a deep inhale of my cigarette and listen to him spluttering to try to rationalise his declaration. “Listen… If it were my son, if it were Tom, I wouldn’t even think about it, I would be there.”

“But you’re his mother. That’s different.”

“And you’re his father. So stop arguing with me and just bloody go.” I hate it when he does this. He’s not a child and Diana’s his wife, not his mother. Nobody should be in charge of what he’s allowed to do in regards to his own children. Incessant, she pulls on any thread she can to anger him and hurt him but he still defends her. The problems with his wife are exacerbated by the way he backs away from her attacks of rage, giving her her own way, letting her control him. Nothing is ever enough for her because she demands that he worships her and he doesn’t have the capacity to pretend. 

“I’ll just ring the consultant and check that he is alright. It’ll be better that way.”

“William will not forgive you for not being there. You know that. You know better than this.” Charles never stands his ground with Diana. He screams at her and says the most awful things but when it comes down to it, he has no bite.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You rang me.”

“Yes, but not to be dictated to.”

“Well bloody well hang up, then.”

“Don’t be like this.”

“Well don’t act so bloody stupid.”

“My mother said to leave it to Diana.”

“Your mother has no maternal instincts in her entire being. Ring your Grandmother, perhaps she’ll say something less idiotic.” I also loath Diana’s martyrdom of motherhood, her insistence that only she can love her sons, that Charles is a terrible father. Smothering her children and then blaming their father for everything wrong, manipulating them, telling them they’re not allowed to hug him, not allowed to kiss him, only her; it shouldn’t be celebrated and I want to punch him when he starts claiming what a wonderful mother she is.

“She’s going to start an argument and scream at me in front of William and in front of everyone.”

“Darling, just go. No announcement. No more calls to her. No arguments. Go. Sweep into the room. Talk to your son. Ignore her. If she starts anything, leave. But then you’ve been and he’ll know you care about him.”

“Of course I care about him!”

“But he needs to know that. He’s only a little boy. Love to him is being there for him.”

“I wish you were coming with me.”

“Darling, if I could, I would. I’d walk you all the way to his room and then push you inside to be his Papa.”

“Thank you, Darling.”

“I love you.”

“Talk later.”

“Later, Darling.”

“Are you sure…”

“Positive. Go…”

“How was he?”

“Well, considering he has a deep gash across the top of his head and concussion, not too bad… Who knew golf clubs could be so destructive in the hands of another child?”

“It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, of course. Not that you’d think that, the way Diana was going on about it…”

“Did you manage to stay for long?”

“No.”

“Oh, Darling, are you okay?” I inhale deeply, feeling the rush of nicotine swill through me, calming me.

“I don’t think he wanted me to be there.”

“Of course he did. You’re projecting your own fears onto him.”

“No. He didn’t want me there because Diana made it very obvious she didn’t want me there. Harry was clinging to her like a limpet, a scared little boy, whimpering. William just looked embarrassed. ‘It’s alright, Papa, I’m fine. You can go to work.’ I can’t do anything now. She’s there sitting almost on top of him. She won’t let me anywhere near him.”

I loathe the woman with all my heart but even so I can’t imagine ever hating her so much, I feel that it’s justified to damage my own children in order to hurt her or win a cheap score over her. My heart aches for him. “It’s okay. You’ve been to see him. He’ll remember that. He needed you and you were there.”

“It’s all such a bloody mess.”

“It really is…”

“Yes it is. Yes it is. Why aren’t you here with me? I need you.”

“I believe you have plans I’m not invited to.”

“It’s just beastly not having you here. I’ve got this God-awful opera to go to.”

“I think it’ll be good for you. Take your mind off everything.”

“I don’t want my mind taken off it. I want to be with my son. Or, at the very least, available in case something happens.”

“You have a mobile phone. Take that.”

“I’m not going to enjoy it, sitting there, worrying about him, trying to be jolly with the people I’m with. With you I don’t have to be jolly. Oh Darling, I want to be with you. And I know that if I do go, everyone is going to be saying what a dreadful parent I am.”

“Darling, it’s not a social event, it’s business. Let the papers say what they want. Go if you feel up for it. No one will blame you if you don’t.”

“They’ll be disappointed.”

“Yes… But that’s not really your problem.”

“But it is though…”

“If you feel you should go, then go. Take your mobile phone and then you can keep in touch with Great Ormond Street. If you think you’re too upset, then don’t go.”

“Do you think I should go?”

“Honestly, I think going to the opera is going to stop you worrying for an hour or so.”

“I want you.”

“You always want me.”

“No, I need you. Please come up to London.”

“And do what?”

“Well by the time you get here, climb straight into bed and read a book or something until I get back.”

“So you want me to drive how many hours to London to bed me?”

“No, I want you to drive to London so I can fall asleep in your arms and so tomorrow morning, when I wake up, I will have you with me. I need you, Darling, please come.”

“I’ve got the most awful backache…”

“...Oh, Darling, I’m sorry. If you’re not feeling up for it…”

“Let me finish… but, if you promise to get your staff to run me a hot bath and supply me with a hot water bottle when I arrive, I will gladly spend the night wrapped up with you. And a glass of wine! I think we both need a good Burgundy.”

“I’ll ensure that there’s wine and a hot bath…”

“And a hot water bottle…”

“I’ll be your hot water bottle.” 

“I’m your support blanket.”

“Sounds about right. Darling, I can’t wait to see you. Thank you. I love you so much. Everything is so much more manageable when you are here.”

1970, London

Leaning across the table, I reach for his drink and take a sip. He stares at me in disbelief, as though no one has ever had the cheek to do this before and then his eyes slip back to his ongoing battle with himself. I can see the effort required to look at my face rather than my cleavage and it makes me laugh. We’ve spent the majority of the time tonight on the dance floor, elbowing for space and letting him twirl me about. I’m not sure I can say we were coordinated but he was certainly enthusiastic and the complete opposite of what I had expected him to be like. His hands felt good on my waist. His face beaming down at mine was just that little too close.

“Miss Gladys?”

I return from my thoughts and smile at him. “My name is Gladys Clutt.”

“There is no cure…” His mimicry makes me giggle and he looks very pleased with himself. “Spelt with a Masculine G as in Gee Whizz…” How can he quote every line from that show?

“Call me Milla.”

“Milla…” He tests out the name and I can feel his voice reaching inside me. “You’re too far away. I can’t hear you properly.”

I smile, standing up, and hold my hand out to him. The room is darker than before and the music louder. As he takes my hand, I turn and walk into the melé of dancing, the contact with his hand both reassuring and exciting. It’s the time of night where the music slows but so does the world as he reaches his arm around my waist and pulls my back against his chest. I can feel his breath against my neck.

“Here is fine.”

It takes a few breaths to reply, savouring the feel of being wrapped in his arms, controlling the rush it sends through me. “I barely know you.”

“Do you want me to let you go?” He releases me but I don’t move and his hands rest against my hips gently as I allow myself to lean back against him. We sway slightly to the music and I ignore the way my heart is banging against my chest. I want him to kiss my neck. I stretch my head back to give him access but although I feel the tip of his nose brush against my skin, he whispers in my ear instead and I’m left feeling both relieved and slightly disappointed. At some point, he turns me around to face him and then we’re both suddenly far too close. One hand pushes into the small of my back so I’m pressing against him and although I arch my back to try to keep some distance, each time we laugh and joke, I find myself edging closer to him. When the lights flood on at the end of the night, we’re still dancing together and I don’t want to pull apart, wishing the time would stop marching away with itself.

We laugh all the way back to my flat and I fling the door wide open and drag him inside with me by the hand. I see him eyeing the decor. Or my version of decor, which is to drop everything on the floor and fight my way through. I do that with my coat now and notice him removing his, folding it and looking for a clear space to put it. Or perhaps a clean space to put it. My poor, suffering flatmate has actually partially tidied up but I still see that the mess shocks him. That makes me giggle.

“I think you need to sack the maid.”

“I consider myself in too high esteem to fire me.”

“Well you require a cleaner, at the very least. Then you won’t get sick.”

“It’s not that bad!” His face tells me otherwise but I ignore him, opening the lid of the record player. “What do you like to dance to?”

“Anything.”

“Helpful.” I flick through my records and laugh as I pull out ‘Je T'aime...Moi Non Plus’.

“What are you laughing about?”

“You’ll see…” I carefully place the needle on the record and turn to face him, resuming the position we have spent all night in, back in his arms. Looking up at his face, I smile as he recognises the track.

“Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“No. I’m not trying.”

“So you are flirting with me?”

“Evidently.”

He nods, looking pleased and I smile up at him, watching his ears turn pink as we listen to the words of the song. 

“I’ve no idea what they’re saying.”

“I’ll translate it to you.”

“I speak French.”

“Je parle mieux Français que toi.”

“You see, I’m watching your lips move and I’m hearing no words.”

“Oh, my love… Like the undecided wave… I’m going, I’m going and I’m coming… Inside you.”

He makes a strange sort of gasp and I see the tips of his ears turn pink. His hands clasp onto me tighter and his eyes are looking at me intensely.

“Entre mes reins… Et je me retiens.” I whisper the words to him, my lips almost on his.

“Don’t.”

“Tu ne veux pas que je me retienne?”

He kisses me rather than answering and I smile at the excitement rushing through my body, but I don’t think he knows what to do with me. He keeps on pulling away to catch his breath and he’s so gentle, I let him control the pace, not wanting to scare him. I was expecting to seduce him, make love to him, but I realise that won’t be happening tonight so instead I relax, allowing myself to enjoy the sensations. He holds me in a tight embrace and I feel like I’m floating with his kisses which wrap around me and flow through me.

“Stay with me.” I feel the panic in his body before he says a word and I’m filled with a need to protect him that surprises me, “I want to kiss you all night. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I’d like that.”

“I want to curl up with you and kiss you until I fall asleep.” 

“I want time to slow so this lasts longer.”

“We have hours until morning, Darling.”

[loving-n0t-heyting]

pretty sure that post about people being better off if they choose to be gay is missing the part where you factor in that, even assuming that straight dating norms are way worse than gay ones to the point it outweighs all of homophobia (which seems absurd to me but whatever), just by the sheer numbers of things. you are more likely to find someone you want to date. when you are straight. than when you are gay. like having a good relationship relies on you and someone else having compatibility on many levels, but most fundamentally you have to both be able to be into each other. and the sheer numbers of things is that when you're gay, like 99% of the people you want to date lack even the capacity to want to date you, even before you screen for compatibility. this is a fundamental non-issue for straight dating. you can at least assume pretty reasonably that someone you're interested in would be able to like you back.

Well first 99% of yr romantic interests will be non-samesexattracted only if yr crushes are inversely correlated with orientational conpatibility

But anyway this neglects that what is ultimately significant is not the absolute number of available partners but the ratio of [ppl you are compatible with] to [ppl (including you) that they are compatible with], and the fact that gay ppl of a gender all are in one another’s pool of orientationally compatible partners means the ratio should be closer to even for gays than straights (like I pointed out to trivially in the notes)

Also the modality “able to be” in play here is weird. If you’re a straight woman and the man you’re into just can’t stand the sound of yr voice, in what important sense “could” he be into you? Orientational requirement is just one more form of dealbreaker, and since what matters ultimately is whether people actually reciprocate your interest (nobody dates counterfactual girls/boys/etc), elevating this particular variety of incompatibility to this exalted plane seems like just so much mysticism. Obviously it can serve an important function psychologically by stopping you from relenting on this dealbreaker when you might compromise on others, but the solution here is to respect your romantic standards generally more and not to pick and choose some of them about which to wax poetic and modal

ETA: also ofc most of these concerns disappear if you are also attracted to some ppl of your own sex and choose to live as bi rather than restricting yourself to living as mono gay

[formerlyrunephoenix6769]

I was asked and ask, and in my flu causing feverish state, I deleted it. So if you’re out there and recognize this question (and I’m paraphrasing) please reblog and @ me. 

So If i remember, the question was along the lines of 

“Why isnt there huge amounts of stuff, for shows like She -Ra and TDP, are they not as popular?” 

Lets go for a ride...

I think the reason why we dont get the same amount of content generated for shows such as The Dragon Prince and She-ra, say in comparison to shows like RWBY. 

And by content, I mean, theories, memes, art and in depth analysis, boils down to 3 things.

1) Time to Generate.

Both The Dragon Prince and She-Ra have only recently dropped their first season. Now both have their second season coming rather swiftly, esp in the case of The Dragon Prince. Season 2 is dropping tomorrow: Feb 15 2019 over on Netflix. 

She-Ra’s is set to be released April 26th 2019, again on Netflix. 

The Dragon Prince S1 was released on Sept 14th 2018, and She-Ra: Princesses of Power, Nov, 13th 2018. 

In TDP case, that is a 5 month and 1 day turn around and SPOP, 5 months and 13 days turn around. 

It is rather unheard of for an animation to have their Second season be ready in under 6 months. Usually it is anywhere from 10 months minimum to a year or in some cases, even longer. 

I put this down to the success of the two series and how the audience received them, and Netflix wishing to capitalize on it, and the hype generated. 

Lets just hope that the both properties dont feel rushed as a result. 

So with such little time, and a very short hiatus in terms of tv shows, (which is when most of fandom generated content tends to be created), that gives very little time for their respective fandoms to leave their senses and devolve into some sort of animeesque Lord of the Flies in a matter of weeks, in a bid to cope.

(RWBY FNDM, I’m looking at you with your ‘Beehaw’s’ and YORSE, and ‘Scheehaw’s’. I still cant believe you made Arryn read that with her own eyes!!) 

(You can tumblr search Yorse yourself, I aint making anyone look at that cursed image without their consent. You’ve been warned! ;p @hammertime-rwby  i shake my head in your general direction... ;D ) 

Time to generate can also be reflected in how long a show has been on air, thereby garnering a wider and much larger fanbase with a broader set of creative skills, which in turn results in more fandom content generated, esp if there is the potential of shipping. 

And bloody hell does SPOP have some crazy potential on the shipping front, 

2) Time to Mature and Fandom Engagement. 

As a show matures and the audience leans learn more about the characters and the world that they inhabit, the nature of fandom created content evolves. It also depends on the verve of the show itself. 

The way in which a show is presented, the topics and themes they cover, the way the characters and the world are presented, can vicariously dictate how the fandom engages with the property, go forth and multiply.

For example:

Sherlock is very meme worthy and that tends to be reflected in the content that is generated by the Sherlockians. 

RWBY has been out for 6 volumes and has a very dedicated and passionate FNDM, but it is also broad, large and incredibly diverse.

 It is also rather vocal and has very strong differing opinions from one end of the spectrum to the other, which in turn creates YT reviews, reactions and rebuttals and heated retorts. 

These polarising pov’s can then go on to permeate to other branches of social media, such as twitter, tumblr, discord etc etc 

Same with fandom accepted headcanons and lore... 

(I’m still on the fence about you Renora Rodeo Round up... You’re on thin ice! ;p ) 

But it has taken a number of years to cultivate. 

Neither The Dragon Prince or She-Ra has had the time to do that, yet! 

But I’m certain that will change in the coming future. 

 She-Ra has already generated quite the buzz on both the positive and negative sides, due to being based on a much loved, older, property, ‘She-Ra 1985′, but that is a mine field which I covered on my previous blog before some asshat decided to axe it. 

Also, the themes that Netflix She-Ra seems to be covering, which helped generate a lot of the negative backlash towards the show, will most definitely continue to be polarizing... So I would keep an eye out if YT and people picking stuff apart is your jam. 

On the other side, what SPOP seems to be trying to deliver will also generate lots of awesome content. Just look at how this took off,

“Hey Adora” 

And this cinnamon roll’s preoccupation with ‘force captain orientation’,

The Dragon Prince strikes me as a show that would generate deep reflective analysis of world and characters as well as theories, much like its older cousin, Avatar Last Airbender, once there is more to comb over and speculate on.

These two shows are presented differently and they way they are tackling certain themes in their respective narratives are also vastly different, which could also have a lot to do with their respective target audience and intended demographic,  so it stands to reason that the results of fandom generated content would be different. 

3) Platform and Format. 

This I believe is one of the most important aspects which ties the previous points above.

If a property is delivered week by week, such as RWBY, there is time, for the FNDM, after they make amazing screen shots and insta analysis and excited speculations, to go over it again and allow the episode to sink in. 

(which both TDP and SPOP could do, as they have episodic episodes but that is an entirely different post)

There is time for the fans to go sit back and react to what they have seen, whether that is creating beautiful fan art, crafting in depth theories, character analysis, extrapolate potential world building. 

A week by week delivery culminates in an emotional impact that is allowed to foster and grow, thereby gives space and time for the individual to go off and create content for their respective fandom. 

Fanart takes time, fics take time. 

The not knowing what could happen next opens up the avenues of thought out speculations. 

Having a week to go over everything to that point and process new info. Being able to take your time to research and prep before you put it out there, results in good, in depth analysis and well crafted work. 

Time gives breeding ground.

(Some wait years for lore.. Overwatch fandom, I dont know how we do it! But we all cant be Tracer!) 

Because, we are so salivating at the the mouth for insta gratification and ‘binge’ culture has become so prevalent where media is concerned. 

When a property is delivered all at once, it gives no breathing space for speculation and wild theories.

For a particular scene or interaction between characters to have an emotional impact and thereby create emotionally significant fan art, that is reblogged and shared in that moment, give it time to resonate with its respective fandoms.

And there for have time for other members of the fandom to be inspired to go off and create their own stuff in what ever medium is their forte. 

Because we are on this fast paced ride, not only from the start of the chapter 1 to end of the first ‘book’, so to speak, but also the social media need to be the first to create the content for the fandom, the type of content generated, how and why, is hugely different and may not at first glance look like it is forth coming.. 

It just takes time to sink in.. To go back through and re-evaluate. 

Being inspired by a particular interaction between two characters , or a certain facet of the world that an fan may have noticed and wishes to expand on, art wise, fic wish or theroise, loses its validity when you know that the next episode could answer your burning questions in less than 5 seconds. 

And so you stave off for the dreaded nine episode when your eye balls are nearly gumming together and you know you have work in 4 hours but you need answers to the burning questions.. 

and so results.

This is not the content creators fault, in anyway. This is quite literally the way in which it is delivered. 

Its is pretty much, 

II) However, in Conclusion 

The perceived lack of fandom interaction/generated content, in the social media platforms that a fan chooses to  consume, or is available to them, does not mean that a show isn't popular. 

The ties to previous projects, such as SPOP to She-Ra 1985  and The Dragon Prince to Avatar Last Airbender are vastly different. 

Expectations are vastly different.

 Fandom interaction and generation of fandom content, is not a measure made of how popular a show is.  

Also, politely, remember the demographic of which these shows are aimed at. 

Be respectful of the show creators, the property, the characters and the narrative that the show creators have painstakingly crafted and put out into the world. 

The story that they want to tell. 

Again, 

 a reminder, 

Tomorrow, 15th Feb 2019 , Season 2 of The Dragon Prince. 

(im gonna go back into my fluey coma now)

[dyingunknown-blog]

BEGINNINGS + GENDER

As said in the introduction: this is a selfish blog where I rant about myself and my feelings. Here goes my first ramble. Within this ramble contains bits of: gender, femininity,  sexuality and eating disorders. Y’know, the usual mix of edgy Tumblr content. I am posting this in celebration of Pride Month (!!! YAY!!! I HONESTLY LOVE PRIDE MONTH) but also because I’ve had this build up in my heart for too long. 

A NOTE BEFORE I BEGIN...

I know you (reader) cannot hear me doing this, so imagine me (author) taking a deep breath, filling my semi spacious lungs, and releasing all that pent up air with a heavy sigh. 

Here we fucking go. Here’s to tip of the iceberg, from 4 years of pent up gay shit to recent moments of gentle gender dysmorphia. Do not expect my writing to be fully coherent, nor written in the best grammar. I am writing for my own therapeutic needs, because I gotta get some of this energy released and I have nowhere else to dump this. This piece is a full on rant, as in I literally wrote this angrily tapping away at 2-4 am. However, I’d like to mention that I mean no offence to any parties, and simply want to vent out some of the deep thoughts I’ve been pacing around for the past few years. Feel free to send me a message regarding your personal feelings, or to just chat. I’m always here as a friend and listener <3 

WHERE IT ALL BEGAN...

I think I owe myself and you (reader) an explanation on where things began to really start. The main “spark” that got me going and prompted me to start this blog was when I found myself unable to stop playing songs by Dorian Electra. Actually-- to be honest-- it was the music videos that really got me going. The glorious explosion of just “QUEER” screaming and banging its head at my 13 inch Mac Book Pro got me extremely inspired to actually do something about the gross reactions of confusion that were occurring in my brain and body. As Dorian Electra put it, “You know I’m not straight, but I’m gonna give it straight to you.” So here’s my best shot at “giving it straight.” 

By the way... I’m from a fairly traditional family with high hopes for me, so the most freedom I can really grasp onto is starting an anonymous Tumblr blog at 2 am laying naked with just my underwear on. 

PERSONAL TOPIC 1: GENDER...

So here’s the thing, I stick to my biological birth gender like it’s my lifeline-- my comfort zone-- I guess, if anything. I personally feel like gender and sexuality have their own little symbiotic (or perhaps parasitic???) relationship, where one’s gender impacts their sexuality-- but I can also accept that my understanding is probably not politically correct. I can say, however, with a heavy heart: 

I am utterly fucked when I think about my gender and sexuality. 

I’ll take it easy first and rope down my feelings towards my gender and its definition. I jokingly scream in the halls that gender is a social construct, but let’s be honest-- is it not?  Other than our dongle-longs and hoochie-has, what makes a woman different from a man? I mean maybe it is just the sausage and the grapefruit, but I’d like to argue that... Just kidding, the more I think about it the more I fall into a rabbit hole where I can’t figure out what a male is and what a female is. I mean what are they? Is it based off of the definition I provide for myself, or what society conveniently slams into my face? Is the LGBTQ+ community the people who get to decide or is it the Westboro Baptist Church??? 

Note: these are not a rhetorical question, please answer this to your opinion because I’m in desperate need of some kind of direction beyond biology. I accept all ideologies and concepts. I’m just hella confused. 

Ehem.

Anyways, my own battle with gender goes beyond not knowing where the “line” is, or if it even exists (again, I’m still not sure if this is a personal question or something based on society...) It also goes into where I stand on this polarised scale. See-- I have a bean, a hole, and melons. Alas, in slightly more proper terms, I have a clitoris, vagina and breasts. So what does that mean for me? Am I automatically a woman? For the first 17 years of my life, I would respond to that question with a VERY confident nod. Pink was once my favourite colour, I like boys, dresses, cute animals and romcoms. My physical body only went to assure what I already knew. Now? I’m not so sure. As it is more acceptable nowadays to be “queer,” I’ve slid into the an identity crisis where I realise I’ve never revelled in the fact that I had tiddies, nor felt comfortable about having a coochie. I used to blame my confusion regarding my comfort in my biological gender on the growing queer influences in my life-- after all, everyone wants to be special and sometimes being apart of the LGBTQ+ community is the best way to stand out, especially when it’s being shoved in your face with media. Everyone who comes out of the closet is faced with incredible amounts of love and attention, and my younger self thought “maybe I should get on the boat” hence, labelling myself as bisexual for the longest time without truly feeling like I am (until in recent years.)  I blamed my confusion in identity and sexuality on the attention whore who lived inside of my heart. My feelings were only justified as true this year, when I found myself staring at myself in the mirror and couldn’t help but to feel unhappy with what I presented myself with. Undies clad with a slightly cropped black muscle tank, I could see the linings of a “V” line on my lower abdomen and felt kinda hot about it. I did the annoying fuckboy pose (you know, the one where the guy is biting his shirt to reveal his oh-so-humble six pack) and found it... kinda fun? I did have a 36D underboob flail around, but my focus was more on my bottom half, with my Victoria Secret blue lace underwear and masculine illusion.  It wasn’t like a grand glorious moment, nor was it like I was the tomboy of the house and everyone just “knew” and I only had to convince myself. Instead, it was an anti-climatic moment where I realised “fuck, I have another problem on my hands that I can’t ignore anymore.” 

I don’t know if I truly identify as female or male. Honestly, I don’t really think I need to identify myself, but that’s the 30% of my consciousness who is super queer, chill and cool. See, the other 70% of my mind is going in a frenzy screaming, because I just lost one of my key defining attributes. Think that episode of Spongebob, where Spongebob’s brain cells are screaming and throwing papers around the office setting of his brain.

Another question has also become increasingly relevant in my journey of finding my “true inner zen self.” 

Who am I choosing my gender for?

In 2018, and most of the years before, I adored being loved by boys and having guys waggle their dicks like dog tails for my tits and ass, but in 2019, I randomly figured out that I never liked my boobs for anything but that. I mean having an hourglass figure was always (and still is) a goal of mine, but I question for what reason. I’d like to say it’s for personal aesthetic appeal, but it wouldn’t be surprising to me if I just do it so people will like me more. In fact, I battled with bulimia for the very reason of: I don’t know what the fuck I want or like, but  the crowd likes “skinny thick” girls so lets do that by purging. Am I currently wearing a waist trainer and corset on top of each other because I like the outcome, or because the people around me like me more for it? I’m trying really hard not to segue into the alluring topic of toxic femininity, because I can rant for HOURS AND PAGES about that, so I’ll just say: I don’t know if I’m being a girl for myself or because I’ll be more liked for it. 

In all honesty, the truth regarding my gender became clearer the more I self conscious I became. In 2018, I fell into the trap of sending boys nudes (apologies for the TMI and sorry family if you somehow came across my blog and are currently reading this.)  I liked it for a millisecond. Why? Because it felt good to have someone desperate for me. That millisecond died off real fast. My own thoughts pooped my nude Alpha Female party with insecurity and fear of how my body compares to other girls my age. Three days after the first nude I sent I realised I hate my body. I felt empowered in the moment (honestly I do love the feeling of tease. I still do send ohohoho raunchy pics for the pure euphoria of just having someone crave me) but overall just left the experience with lingering guilt and self hatred. I wasn’t sure if I was doing this to please myself or others. I also abhor taking nudes, because I do not think I embody femininity and dislike my body for that very reason. Identifying as male makes me far more comfortable than as identifying as a female. I might have tits, I might have soft facial features, but I just don’t like how I mentally feel like I can’t compare to the unrealistic standard of femininity that women uphold. I spent my whole life trying to  tick the boxes under “female,” but always felt like I was just doing the bare minimum... Hence my past is full of desperation, the need to show skin for the sake of proving I’m “sexy” and being perfectly fine with getting mislabeled as a slut at school. Nowadays, I show skin because I’m comfortable and am learning to love my body. I am not okay with slut shaming in general, but I am most definitely not okay with being called a slut either because I’m still a fucking virgin. So hun, I really do wish I could call myself a slut and have that much game, but I’m very far from that.

Anyways, uh more on my gender crisis:  I’ve also always adored mens fashion and absolutely revel the aura of being the “alpha.” Ever since my middle school days, I’d secretly snoop around and envy the men’s section of Barney’s and Saks, because it just looks so damn cool. Excuse my lack of “high quality language,” I can hear my English teacher sighing about my lack of “professional” or “appropriate” language, but I really can’t express my feelings regarding mens fashion other than it’s fucking cool. I must say though, my style of clothing and expression of self doesn’t stop itself at mens fashion. In fact, I enjoy dressing to exhort a more dominant presence, whether it’s with a short denim skirt and tight crop top or a loose fitting silk blouse and skinny jeans with a belt. So I guess in a way, my fashion and what I feel comfortable in explains my gender for me. A little bit of both and a little bit of neither. Although the next step would definitely be playing around with my hair and piercing, but I think my traditional family would whoop my ass to the moon if I do it now, and I can’t say I’m not scared of regrets. I just want to discover myself a little more this year...

Regardless, I just wanna further clarify that I don’t feel comfortable being put as female, male or hell-- even androgynous.

And I gotta say, after holding this in and denying it for 4 years, it feels damn good to type it out and admit it.

 In deciding to be a “gender”, there are standards. Deciding to be anything comes with the price of standards. I just can’t personally handle not being able to fit into the standards there are for them... Especially now since people are so bothered on being politically correct, so if I’m “not being properly androgynous” or “not properly female,” I’ll get shit on, and if I’m not accepted by the mass majority, I’ll feel societal hate mixed with self hatred. 

I also want to say that sometimes I don’t feel like I have the right to be confused or declare a gender because I’ve been on the judgemental side before. 

In middle school one of my close friends moved away, and soon later began to label themselves as gender fluid. It was such a new concept that I initially thought that they were doing it as a publicity stunt, but slowly realised that it is indeed who they are. I wasn’t hateful, but I can’t say I’m innocent, even if it was when I was far younger and less understanding. I remember when they first started using their current pronouns, I was confused on how to utilise them and initially disregarded them. Today, I regret my ignorance. Misgendering can always be a mistake, but it can also be extremely spoiled, belittling and condescending. So even though I know someone that probably went through a similar journey as I am today, I feel guilty asking them about it because of the shit I gave them when I was 14.

 Additionally, I’m scared of being wrong about myself. I can’t describe it too well, but I’m just scared that I’ll slip up a wrong opinion and then be automatically thrown into the can of “special snowflake wannabe LGBTQ+” when in reality: I truly feel like I’m not of “cisgender” or anything normal. I don’t want to dip too deep into my history with crippling anxiety and experiences with depression, but I will say that I can’t help but to hate myself for being queer too.. Alas, I’ll have to learn how to get over that and continue loving myself, but what the hell am I going to do now? 2k words later and things aren’t exactly clearer, but I can (somewhat) confidently say that I know what I’ll do (for now.) 

As of today, June 17, 2019, I have decided to not give a fuck and to simply just identify with the LGBTQ+ community. I don’t feel comfortable identifying as male, female, neither, both, gender fluid, or anything else. I will simply put off gender and let people call me by whatever pronoun they want.

I just wanna be me. 

Until I find out something else, or become more comfortable with myself, or gather the confidence to “come out of the closet” and stop being so selfish and finally decide what the hell I am, it’ll probably just be like this for awhile.

And honestly? I think I’m okay with that.

[graesays]

Grae Reviews: Frank Turner - Be More Kind

It’s been a while since I reviewed some music, and that’s mostly because I review stuff that I like. That’s a problem when a lot of modern music is (to be as charitable as possible) utter horse shit. Thankfully the folk rock scene has provided a lot of gold over the last few years so it would have taken a lot for me to not like new music from one of the genre’s best, Frank Turner. That being said, I wasn’t expecting to be hit so strongly in the feels by such a politically charged work.

Frank Turner is obviously no stranger to the political tune. This year is the 10th anniversary of his album Love, Ire & Song. The title track of which is very overtly political (as is it’s re-releases 2nd disk track called ‘Thatcher Fucked The Kids’). This new album however manages to simultaneously step it up a notch and mellow the message out. Adopting a more “mainstream” sound that may well be too much for those who think Frank peaked with England Keep My Bones. Like I said in the sub-title though, this album struck a chord with me, and that is probably just a personal reaction but hey, this blog is all about my personal reaction to things, so lets run down the album track by track.

Don’t Worry - Mental health is a running theme of this album. Frank has said in interviews that he drew on his experiences undergoing CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) in his songwriting and this song does a good job of conveying this overarching state of mind. That said, it’s not the best example, we’ll get there in a bit.

1933 - This is the obligatory return to the Frank Turner that fans of his earlier work will be most satisfied with. If you’re gonna discuss politics in 2018 there’s two topics that are gonna dominate any writings, Brexit & Trump. This is the Brexit rant, comparing the closing of borders with the rise of fascism in the build up to World War II, and a very well done one at that with some top notch lyric writing (“well I don’t know, what’s going on anymore, the world outside is burning with a brand new light but it isn’t one that makes me feel warm”).

Little Changes - THIS is the best ode to mental health treatment on this album, and the most overt references to the methods behind CBT (“the big things stay the same until we make little changes”). I love this song in particular because it’s so upbeat, which fits well with a topic that unintentionally frightens so many people because of the stigma attached.

Be More Kind - The title of the album (and obviously this track) is based on a Clive James poem that Frank read in US magazine 'The New Yorker’ “I should have been more kind. It is my fate. To find this out, but find it out too late” Another overarching theme of this album is the idea that empathy and compassion is dying in the face of the dark turn our politics is taking lately and that rather than engaging in tribalism, we should be setting an example to be better to others. It’s not often that I describe a song as beautiful, but this one more than deserves that label, and is by far and away my favourite song on the album.

Make America Great Again - So we’re talking politics again and this English americophile is giving probably the friendliest Fuck Donald Trump message ever committed to tape. This is a serious topic executed in a very tongue in cheek manner, as the lifted Ramones chord progression ('Bonzo Goes to Bitburg’ if you were wondering) and the ironically un-ironic ending chorus key change (the scourge of the indie folk rock scene!). A good natured, playful fuck off is the best kind of fuck off though and I do have a big soft spot for this song, even if it has caught the ire of some old school Frank Turner fans.

Going Nowhere - Well someone got a girlfriend between records didn’t they? I joke, this could easily be a song about platonic friendship, and that is a sentiment that I can completely sympathise with in fairness. This one is pretty much a collection of cliches to describe how he’s got his friends backs. The most prominent of which is best described by Frank’s labelmate (and another favourite musician of mine) Beans on Toast “any song that has the line 'in there like swimwear’ in it deserves to be number 1!”.

Brave Face - No album of this genre is complete without a stadium singalong anthem, and this is the song that fills that quota. That joke I made earlier about Going Nowhere being a romantic song is probably best applied to this song in fairness. Best demonstrated with the chorus “Make me a promise, That when the world ends, You’ll kiss me, And you’ll hold my hand, And then we’ll get through this, Whatever happens, One look at your brave face, Makes me a braver man”.

There She Is - Frank teamed up with Charlie Hugall, a collaborator with Florence & The Machine in the making of this record, and this song is probably the most striking example of his influence. Plus it’s the third track in a row that’s about a girl, and while that theme would probably get repetitive by now in the hands of a lesser artist, Frank manages to pull it off though and while it’s probably one of the less memorable songs on the album, it’s by no means bad.

21st Century Survival Blues - Hey old school Frank Turner fans? Feeling isolated with the change in direction? Well I’ve got some good news, here’s something that would actually fit in well on 'Sleep is for the Weak’! Following on a similar theme to Brave Face, how the narrator and his partner will be fine in the middle of the apocalypse as long as they have each other, the new theme is blended well with some old school Frank Turner & The Sleeping Souls musicianship and is another standout from the 2nd half of the album.

Blackout - This was the first single from the album and don’t get me wrong, I like it, but it fails to live up to the hype (solely in this authors opinion). It’s a lament about Frank himself stepping away from political themes after his interviews about his personal political beliefs got him death threats, and how he should step out of his comfort zone. Which he has done with this record in more ways than one. As said, it’s not the best on the album, but by no means does that suggest that I think the song is in any way bad.

Common Ground - The theme of this one is pretty much explained in full by it’s title, that we should look more for what we have in common, rather than what separates us. specifically that we should build bridges. Frank’s music has a knack for forcing the audience to think for a minute and this one definitely manages that. The latter songs on this album lack the catchiness of the earlier stuff, but if you’re after the introspection that you’ve come to expect from Franks last few records, this is where you’ll find it.

The Lifeboat - Just when you think the upbeat tone of the album takes a backseat for a moment in the penultimate track, which describes a sick world and a sick society that should be left behind. You get hit with a 180 degree turn to describe the leaving behind and defeat of a toxic world. Another chance for a slow introspection as we start to wrap up the album.

Get it Right - This song tackles a matter that actually means a lot but never gets mentioned in polarising times, it’s ok to admit you’ve changed your mind on something, and holding your hands up is preferable to continuing down a dangerous path just for the sake of saving face. Frank delivers most of this one standing alone with his acoustic guitar, a one on one conversation with the listener until we hit the end and a bit of a stadium singalong to sign off on.

This might just be me, but the topics Frank touched on in this album seriously hit home, and did so to the point where I might actually consider this my favourite of his albums. I’ve always been a fan of about 3 or 4 songs off previous albums so to have 9 or 10 songs I love on one album is incredible in my mind. Is that because he went 'mainstream’? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I’m letting my own circumstances dictate how I digest this music, but isn’t that what you’re meant to do? To be honest, I’m probably putting too much effort into justifying why I love an album by one of my favourite artists in a genre I’ve grown to love over the last few years (and not just because it’s one I’m active in, honest!). All I need to say is that I love it, and I hope if you decide to check it out that you do too.

[dailynewswebsite]

Three scientists on what we learned from the Arecibo radio telescope

Massive radio telescope dish in Arecibo nationwide observatory. Shutterstock/photospirit

Astronomers are mourning the lack of the world’s second largest radio telescope in Puerto Rico. The US Nationwide Science Basis stated the Arecibo telescope’s 900-tonne instrument platform fell onto a reflector dish some 450ft (137 metres) beneath – simply weeks after it was introduced that the telescope can be dismantled as a result of security fears.

It was a tragic and dramatic finish for this magnificent telescope (as soon as famously scaled by James Bond) which was the most important on this planet till 2019. It has given a lot to humanity from the beginning of its observations in 1963 and all of us have causes to be grateful and to have a good time.

We’re three scientists from completely different fields. However all of us had the great fortune of working with Arecibo in a method or one other. Listed here are our private views and a quick listing of a few of its most vital discoveries.

Philippe Blondel – ‘the message’ and Venus

Stunning as it might appear, I found Arecibo due to a French journal for curious youngsters. In a 1974 challenge of Okapi, it was defined how radio telescopes had been used to take heed to stars, to picture planets and even to ship interstellar radio messages. It was the yr the Arecibo message was broadcast into area.

The message was made up of fundamental numbers, chemistry, biology and the Earth’s location in 1,679 bits (lower than a tweet). It can attain its goal star system in 25,000 years – proving, if proof had been wanted, that Arecibo’s work will stay on lengthy after its bodily demise.

Arecibo was additionally the telescope that gave us the primary high-resolution radar pictures of Venus. It managed to pierce by the heavy clouds that had all the time restricted the view of conventional optical telescopes. In 1970, it took footage of the extremely reflective Alpha and Beta areas and big Maxwell Montes mountain chains, 11km excessive. Then in 1988, by measuring gentle throughout a number of polarisations, Arecibo confirmed how advanced the floor of Earth’s “evil twin” (nearly the identical measurement however plagued with a toxic environment of carbon dioxide and a sweltering 470ºC floor) actually was. The completely different terrains had been seen in superb element and helped put together and lengthen the outcomes of the Magellan mission.

Radar picture of Venus taken by Arecibo. Many options, together with mountain ranges, volcanic domes and craters could be seen. Campbell et al., (NRAO/AUI/NSF); NAIC, CC BY

Arecibo revealed how the intricate patterns of geological buildings criss-cross to type tesserae (which look much like parquet flooring) which might be distinctive to Venus and will not be seen anyplace else within the photo voltaic system.

Karen Masters – hydrogen

A brand new, state-of-the-art seven pixel digital camera was put in at Arecibo in 2004 whereas I used to be finishing my PhD in extragalactic radio astronomy. Radio pixels are very large and that digital camera is the dimensions of a big fridge (it positively gained’t slot in your pocket). It was used to, amongst different issues, detect hydrogen. Hydrogen is essentially the most considerable factor within the universe and it emits a attribute radio sign, often called the “21cm line”.

Karen Masters together with her child daughter on the Arecibo radio telescope in 2008. Karen Masters, Creator offered

Many galaxies have greater than sufficient hydrogen to be detected this manner. And a detection means we are able to additionally measure how briskly these galaxies are rotating and the way distant they’re. Arecibo’s observations of galaxies within the Pisces-Perseus supercluster gained Martha Haynes and Riccardo Giovanelli the 1989 Henry Draper medal for the primary three dimensional map of this large string like construction of galaxies.

As a result of Arecibo was so large it might detect the faintest traces of hydrogen in galaxies – the file for essentially the most distant detections was damaged by Arecibo and the Arecibo digital camera was used to finish a survey which found quite a few, tiny hydrogen-rich galaxies. These discoveries challenged our understanding of how galaxies type.

Carole Mundell – The dynamic universe

Though I started my profession as a radio astronomer mapping hydrogen in close by galaxies, my analysis pursuits now give attention to excessive power, time-variable and transient phenomena within the dynamic universe. For me, Arecibo will stay a pioneering and enduring icon in time-domain astrophysics (the research of how astronomical objects change with time).

From its early work on pulsars to current breakthroughs within the research of mysterious radio flashes, the telescope has probed basic legal guidelines of physics and motivated new discoveries with different services all over the world.

A composite picture of the Crab Nebula displaying the X-ray (blue) and optical (crimson) pictures superimposed. NASA/CXC/ASU/J. Hester et al

Highlights embrace the 1968 discovery of clear proof of a pulsar with a rotation interval of 33 milliseconds within the Crab Nebula (this confirmed earlier solutions by pulsar pioneer Joceyln Bell Burnell that the nebula seemed to be flashing). And the 1974 discovery of the primary binary pulsar (pulsars locked in orbit round a standard centre of mass).

The measurements, taken by Russell Hulse and Joseph Taylor, confirmed the lack of power as a result of gravitational radiation predicted in Einstein’s Normal Idea of Relativity. They’d used the telescope to discover a new kind of pulsar which opened up new potentialities for the research of gravitation and led to their 1993 Nobel Prize in Physics.

A long time of Arecibo pulsar monitoring knowledge proceed to be mined by astronomers and in 1992 the primary exoplanet was found round a pulsar.

In 2016, Arecibo found the primary repeating Quick Radio Burst (very short-lived flashes of intense cosmic radio waves). The origin of those bursts continues to be unknown however is probably going lie at cosmic distances past our Milky Means galaxy. The Arecibo discovery heralded a brand new worldwide race to unravel this thriller.

At the moment, generations of astronomers all over the world are grateful to the engineers who realised the dream of the world’s largest radio telescope and ensured it remained a world-leading facility. Arecibo’s discoveries nonetheless stand out and its lengthy scientific legacy is safe.

Karen Masters is a member of the Committee on Radio Frequencies of the Nationwide Academy of Sciences, and on the advisory board for the Inexperienced Financial institution Radio Observatory.

Carole Mundell et Philippe Blondel ne travaillent pas, ne conseillent pas, ne possèdent pas de components, ne reçoivent pas de fonds d'une organisation qui pourrait tirer revenue de cet article, et n'ont déclaré aucune autre affiliation que leur poste universitaire.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/three-scientists-on-what-we-learned-from-the-arecibo-radio-telescope/ via https://growthnews.in

[battle-scarred-raven]

Fanfic: Change Isn’t Easy (Part 3)

Title: Change Isn’t Easy

Part: 3

Fandom: Halo/RvB

Pairings: Past California/Carolina (mentioned), Past Yorkalina (mentioned), CarWash, California/Kesan (@k-dradom‘s Sangheili character)

Summary: Carolina, Wash and the Reds and Blues travel to Sanghelios. The Freelancers run into an old friend who has moved on with her life. Meanwhile, California nervously awaits seeing her friends again, knowing she didn’t part with them last in the best way and a lot has happened since…

As they say, change isn’t easy. Takes place after Season 15 of RvB. Probably going to end up canon divergent.

Warnings: Canon typical language in both English and Sangheili.

Notes: Translations for Sangheili throughout this fanfic are provided via hyperlink (hover over linked text to see the translation. Some phrases are not exact.)

It had been a while since the Freelancers had been in a city on a planet. The last had been Armonia, well over a year ago now, back on Chorus, and they had been forced to destroy that. As impressive as the Chorusan capital had been to Carolina, though, it paled in comparison to... what had Tucker called it?

Vadam, that was it.

The keep itself was built into a mountain, much of its structure and the surrounding city even running inside the mountain itself, and overlooked the entire territory surrounding it. Fal had mentioned in passing ever since the House of Vadam had officially claimed the site as their own, no other clan or military force had been able to seize it. Carolina was inclined to believe him, in all honesty. It certainly looked impenetrable. She wondered if Wash was thinking the same thing, before the walls of the mountain closed in on them as Fal led them yet further in.

Expecting a large cave, Carolina was stunned to find a sprawling and rather advanced metropolis far below them of ancient and modern structures, and a myriad of Sangheili just going about their daily lives. Somewhere far below them, she could hear the sound of a river. The sight was enough to make her pause and out of the corner of her green eyes, she could see Wash doing the same, too.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Fal stopped beside them, also admiring the view. “Vadam is one of the younger city-states on Sanghelios, relatively speaking, yet it is among the most impressive.

Despite her unease about being around Sangheili, Carolina couldn’t help but agree. “It’s beautiful. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.”

“Hmm.” Fal hummed, before gesturing for the two Freelancers to follow. “It isn’t much farther.”

As he stepped out onto one of the natural stone bridges that lined the cavern with its very lethal looking drop on either side of it, Carolina cringed and turned to Wash. Judging by how stiff the other soldier was standing, she guessed he was about as horrified as she was at the narrow rocky path.

“Come!” Fal called a little ways ahead of them, “It is perfectly safe. There are barriers installed to stop a fall. Observe...” and to demonstrate, he threw a small rock towards the ravine floor, only for it to bounce off some kind of blue forcefield back into his hand.

“Yeeeah, maybe after you, Carolina?” Wash told her after watching the demonstration, still not entirely convinced.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.” She admonished him.

He snorted at her in return. “Like you weren’t afraid either.”

“Just... shut up and start walking, Wash.”

Despite everything, they both ended up catching up with the old Sangheili warrior at the same time. They were taking across to a large platform built into the inner cliff of the mountain, where a large temple like structure had been hewn directly from the rock. It looked at least a thousand years old, judging by the heavy weathering and more recent looking battle damage.

“Was Vadam attacked recently?” Wash couldn’t help but ask in spite of himself.

“Yes.” Fal’s voice was solemn. “The Blooding Years, the Sangheili Civil War. The Neru ‘Pe Odosima – the Servants of the Abiding Truth in your language – struck out at Vadam lands. Vadam Keep was heavily damaged during this time, including the temple to our old gods here. The last such Temple in Vadam. I think Kaidon ‘Vadam keeps it as a reminder of what our species was once reduced to – great, yet foolish warriors blinded by lies and faith and willing to die for what turned to be a pointless, non-existent cause. There was no honour in what we did, what some still continue to pursue, and there never will be.”

“Is that why the Sangheili are fighting one another?” Carolina asked, her voice a whisper.

“Indeed. Or... rather, one of many reasons, I suppose.” The old Sangheili nodded, his expression a little grave. “It is true; some of us are still blinded by our faith. Others feel that Kaidon ‘Vadam is false, that he should have died as the Gods and his position of Arbiter decreed in the name of the Great Journey. Others still find it unacceptable to ally with your kind, saying humans are too dangerous or that the Sangheili are strong enough to stand alone and being allies with humanity only weakens us. This is why we need people like Lavernius, his son and T’las. To help keep the peace. To prove that we need each other. Those short-sighted fools that, whatever their reasoning, conspire against the notion of peace would doom us all without second thought.”

“Speaking of... why does T’las want to see us, specifically?” Wash piped up after Fal had finished talking. “Does she... think we can help her out, or something? Because Tucker would be better at that, in all honesty-”

He was cut off by Fal laughing suddenly.

“Do not presume I know the Swordmaster’s mind, Eenngahnehenn.” He interrupted in an amused tone, like the idea was absurd and, truth be told, it probably was. “T’las’ business with you is not mine to know unless she wishes to share it with me. Wort. She awaits you inside.”

Under her helmet, Carolina raised an eyebrow. “And what about you?”

“I will await your return out here.”

The cyan Freelancer once more looked at Wash, then to the darkened entrance of the temple, then back to her fellow Freelancer, who gave her a shrug. What did they have to lose? Taking a breath, she walked inside, Wash following shortly thereafter.

Inside, the temple betrayed its true size, and it was massive. Littered around its derelict hall were ancient alien artifacts, some obviously Sangheili, but most reminded Carolina of the relics on Chorus. She wondered if perhaps they, too, belonged to Santa’s long-dead, mortal masters. Similarly, Wash was in awe beside her, looking around him, and for the second time that day, both Freelancers were stunned for a moment.

After a while, they proceeded further inside the main hall of the temple, past many statues of Sangheili, before coming to an open space dominated by a giant statue of a being that looked like a human, except it had six digits per hand, was wearing highly advanced looking armour and its facial structure was somewhat different, sporting no visible ears, more fur like hair and two slits for a nose. At the base of the vast statue, obscured by shadows, was an armoured and cloaked humanoid figure waiting for them, back facing towards them.

Was this her? Both Freelancers looked at each other once again, confused. Both had been expecting another Sangheili, not... a human?

“No, you aren’t hallucinating.” The figure addressed them in a familiar voice, turning to face them as she answered the question they were both dying to ask. Her dark steel and blood red armour, the Helioskrill variant, made her look remarkably like a Sangheili, to the point where the boots were split in two in mimicry of Sangheili toes. Even the helmet was remarkably similar to Fal’s, except with a golden, polarised visor.

“T’las?” Carolina frowned deeply under her helmet.

The other soldier waved a dismissive hand. “Please. That’s just what the Sangheili call me because most have difficulty pronouncing my actual name. That, or out of respect for Thel inviting me to his clan. Or both. You, however, know me better than that.”

The figure wasn’t wrong. Carolina did know her better than that, or at least she thought she had. Memories unbidden came rushing to the surface, causing the cyan Freelancer to clench her fists in anger.

“California?” She forced out, struggling to keep the anger from her voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Keeping the peace.” The new Freelancer answered her calmly. Then as if sensing Carolina’s underlying rage, she turned her head to Wash. “Hey Wash, sorry for you to be dragged up here, but we can catch up later, alright?”

The steel and yellow Freelancer looked between the two women, but it didn’t take long for him to understand. “Yeah. I’ll be outside with Fal, then. It’s good to see you again, Cali.”

“Likewise.”

Silence followed as Washington turned to leave. Only after she was sure he was gone completely, did California remove her helmet with a hiss of air that reverberated from the temple walls, revealing her battle-scarred and tattooed face as if Carolina needed any more confirmation it truly was her. Her expression was remorseful, guilt dancing in her only working eye.

“Carolina...” She began after another silence.

“Don’t you dare ‘Carolina’ me!” The barely suppressed fury from before suddenly burst free. “You-you let me believe I had a future again! That there was more to life than fighting wars! And then you just... you just left, without so much as a goodbye! No looking back, no message left, nothing!”

Didn’t you do something similar, from what I heard? California wanted to say, but suppressed the urge, knowing it would only make thing worse. Instead, she apologised, “I’m sorry, Carolina.”

“Sorry? Sorry?! You left me hanging for months!” Carolina gestured angrily at her. “Not to mention, right after Epsilon as well! Right when I needed you most! And all you have to say is, sorry?! Why, damn it?! If you had wanted to run off and play diplomat so badly, why couldn’t you just say so?!”

California waited until her resentful echoes died down before quietly uttering her softly spoken sentence. “I... I wasn’t sure I was ready.”

It was enough to deflate Carolina for a good minute, mouth agape as her next accusation died on her tongue. “I... I’m-what?”

“I wasn’t ready.” California repeated, a sigh escaping her lips and her whole body slumped a little like the action physically deflated her, not unlike a puncture in a Warthog tyre. “Or, at least I didn’t think I was at the time. I wasn’t sure I was ready to commit to you, to us, because of my past. So I ran away and left you, like I left Wash when the Project came crashing down and I didn’t know what to do. I guess some things don’t change, huh?”

Carolina remained silent, trying to process what California was saying to her. She left because she was... afraid? It contrasted starkly with the image of her fellow Freelancer that she was used to seeing, but then even she herself had fears, she supposed, even when putting on a front.

“I should have left some sort of message though.” California continued, heedless of whether Carolina wanted to interject or not. “I’m sorry for that. It’s ironic, my reasons for leaving, considering what’s happened since, but it’s not an excuse. I should have explained myself, not left you hanging blindly in the dark like that. You deserve so much better than me, especially after the shit you’ve been through.”

Not just me, the cyan armoured Freelancer almost stated in newfound sympathy, until her processing mind caught up with the rest of her and realised just what the other woman had said, which left her somewhat confused. “Wait, what do you mean? Why is it ironic?”

No sooner had she posed the question, the answer presented itself when footsteps echoed from even further inside the temple, eventually revealing their owner to be a huge Sangheili that dwarfed California by a good head and shoulders amount.

“I heard shouting. Is everything alright, Dallas?”

Even as the Sangheili spoke, Carolina had already whipped her Battle Rifle out on anger filled instinct. Her next few sentences rolled out almost all as one. “What the hell?! I thought this was a private conversation! Who the hell is he?! Has been here the whole time?! How the hell does he know your actual name?!”

California was quick to shift, getting between the pair of them. “Carolina, calm down! It’s alright. Just... lower your rifle. You’re going to frighten Thaea.”

The cyan soldier’s grip on her rifle loosened and her head cocked slightly, obviously puzzled until she saw the small bundle in the Sangheili’s arms. She uneasily lowered her weapon, a question on her lips, but not one she got to ask out loud.

“This is my husband, Kesan, and our daughter, Thaea.” The other woman introduced her, and Carolina went entirely numb, heart shattering as the implications of California’s prior statement were fully realised.

“You...-Your husband? And... daughter?” Carolina eventually stammered out as she struggled to think. “As... as in... you... you’re married? You... you adopted a kid?”

“Had, actually.” California rubbed the back of her head uneasily, tousling her black hair a little. “But... yeah. Took a few goes, but-”

In the space of a second, there was a whirring sound followed by a sickening crunching sound as Carolina utilised her Speed Unit to rocket a punch straight into California’s jaw, both cutting off the other woman and sending her to the floor from the impact and pain. Kesan moved to shield his wife from further harm, but with a kid in his arms, there was little else he could do to help, and before he could stop her, Carolina was already leaving the temple without so much as a glance back to see the consequences of her actions. Not long after that, the steel and yellow form of Wash came running in to see what the commotion was about.

“What the heck, I leave you two for five minutes and then Carolina comes storming out and-oh, shit.” He stopped himself short, both physically and in a speaking sense, before running over to kneel by California’s side. “What the hell did you say to her? Did she punch you?”

“Yes, she did.” It was Kesan who answered him in place of California, who was too busy clutching her jaw in pain. It was enough to send Wash reeling back in surprise. “It is alright, Washington. I mean no harm.”

“No offense, but the last time I saw a Sangheili before today, they insulted me, and the time before that, they nearly killed my whole platoon.” Wash offered as way of explanation, barely relaxing. “So you’ll forgive me if you and your people put me on edge.”

“Understandable.” The Sangheili’s green eyes held deep sympathy in them as he looked first at the Freelancer, before shifting his gaze to Thaea and cooing her, keeping her calm despite his own alarm. “Do you have any biofoam?”

“Only for personal use.” Wash’s frown was almost audible in his tone. “I have a Healing Unit in my armour that might help, but...”

“I’m fine.” California moved her hand from her jaw, revealing a sizeable bruise already forming, before spitting out a little blood, a few flecks of which landed on Washington’s armour. “I’ll be fine.”

“Carolina isn’t known for light jabs when she hits someone.” Wash shook his head. “You know when she punches you, she means to do damage. What if your jaw is broken?”

“He has a point, monerasha.” Kesan agreed, shifting a little uncomfortably. “You even told me as much before we traveled down here.”

“Listen, both of you, I’ll be fine. If my jaw was broken, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” California spoke between gritted teeth. “It’s just a bad bruise. Dias – Digamma - even said as much.”

Wash was silent for a moment, surprised California still even had her AI after all this time, but made no comment on the matter as he offered a hand to help her up. “Alright, but at least have someone have a look at it properly, just to be sure.”

She accepted his hand gratefully, allowed herself to be pulled up. “Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I didn’t deserve it though.”

“Do I want to know?” Wash asked, then changed his mind. “Actually, probably not. Do you want me to go talk to her?”

“I doubt it’ll do much good, but knock yourself out.” There was a beat, before California added, “Pun not intended, by the way.”

“Good, because that would be a terrible joke to make right after you just got punched by Carolina.”

With that, Wash left, leaving California alone with their husband and their daughter, who was now fussing a little in Kesan’s arms. He offered her one of his long, slender fingers to play with as way of distraction, before he spoke.

“You didn’t deserve that.” He rumbled at his wife, brows furrowing.

“Oh, believe me when I say I did.” California answered, before whirling around to face her Sangheili husband. “Fruqo’t cha, Kesan, I left her without so much as a word! Right when she was hurting the most! What kind of person does that to someone they care about?”

There was a long silence as Kesan regarded California carefully with his green eyes.

“You two were close.” He inferred, though whether it was a statement or a question, only he knew.

“I...” California realised her blunder then. Her relationship with Carolina wasn’t one she’d ever disclosed with her husband, not out of shame, but because she truly thought it would never come up and be an issue. Still, she felt somewhat guilty. “Shit, I’m sorry. I should have told you. I didn’t think...”

“What you did in your past isn’t any of my business unless you wish to tell me.” Kesan sighed quietly, and California got a vague sense of déjà vu. It was a conversation they’d had a few times before.

“Still, I should have told you this, at least. If I had, things might have gone differently. I could have come to you for advice, or something.” California echoed his sigh, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Now all I have is a giant headache, a severely bruised jaw and an ex-girlfriend who’ll probably never forgive me.”

“Even if you had told me, that still might be the case. No-one can predict the future.” Kesan shook his head. “Did you at least tell Carolina why you did what you did?”

California slumped even more. “I tried and... well, you saw the result of that.”

“Then perhaps you should give her time.” Her husband offered lightly. “At any rate, we should head back to where we are staying in the main keep. Thaea is fussing, so she is likely either tired or hungry again. Perhaps both. And you need to see a medic about your jaw, still.”

“Yeah, alright. Probably for the best.” California slid her helmet back on, clicking the seals into place, before walking with her husband out of the temple and back to the main keep.

[moleofmetal]

Gig Reviews:  Slayer at The SSE Hydro in Glasgow

https://www.facebook.com/events/1019532071549468/

So earlier this year thrash metal legends and personal favourite band of mine Slayer have announced their farewell and final tour, with the last UK date of the tour falling on Scottish soil. I had to get my thrashing arse to this to pay my respects to these titans, who are first of the big 4 to call it quits (if you ignore Megadeth's brief split in 2002-04, that is). Few bands have had as deep an impact on my music taste than Slayer so this was going to be a bittersweet night of top-tier metal! 

Let's get right stuck into how it went: Playing as the first ever true Death metal band to rock the SSE Hydro, is the mighty Obituary are the first band on in this enormous venue. Starting with “Redneck Stomp” instrumental kicking of the death metal effectively like a grand hype track. Now being the disorganised-self I got my tickets late, so had a seated ticket. This gave me quite a distant view! Being row 3 from the back of the top tier of the Hydro. Feeling miles back and disconnected from the action somewhat while sipping the very expensive pints, it was a hard sell to get me fully invested. But when John Tardy appeared dragging the mic-stand like a heavy axe or hammer, and his distinct vocal growls travelled far and wide in the semi-gloom, it lifted my mood enormously. Before I knew it I was sit-moshing and headbanging as if pulled closer by the sound.

Obituary is a top level act and is certainly no slouches when it comes to hitting the correct death metal sensory areas in my brain. Although they did get little blurry as the set went on, with a mashed set of old classics and new material that had the right amount of fast thrashers and slow brooding moments in a Death metal fog, that made for some wicked listening. [8/10]

Up next and coming from the bottom end of the “big 4 of thrash metal” was Anthrax, playing as the kings among the living in Glasgow. The got a great response from the old and new tracks they played. They obviously love it in Glasgow, and Glasgow loved them back. A bold performance and form they got the whole hall in great spirits, with songs like “Antisocial” and “Indians” real highlights, but what most boosted my night was being able to get much more stuck in! As during the gaps between the bands I was able to score a reasonable priced standing ticket from some super awesome bloke outside the gig, and leaping at this chance it kicked forth into Anthrax head first, abandoning my perched seats above for the rest of the night.

The presence onstage and energy from the crowd was something approaching magical with pretty much everyone moving to their beat, or at least on their feet even at the back (where my seat was) for their show. With experienced and battle-hardened veteran status, there is very little to criticise here in this performance, that was a blast of fun thrash that left us less in want.[8/10]

Probably the most polarising (in some circles anyway) band on the bill groove metalcore icons Lamb Of God was up next on a stage that looked like a huge set of stairs. Not sure what the stage designer was thinking there. Now Lamb Of God to me is a band that sits firmly in “meh” section of my brain, I don't mind them, and they do have some wicked set pieces, but have never done anything for me bar being an average to “good” heavy band to kill a bit of time with. Being a fan of both hardcore bands as well as the metal and having a “mixed” background in heavy music, I definitely not offended by their sound as some, but It was going to be an uphill battle for Randy Blythe and Co to keep my focus for their entire set.

They did a tooth smashing job though! Their energy was at a new level for the night. Their extremely mosh-friendly breakdowns and groove stirred my soul effortlessly and it was hard not to feel something in the madness. Indeed their tunes were enough to get any blood hungry pit troll fired up and ready to burst some bastard.  Myself they certainly boosted my flagging energy levels a bit, with the chunkiness of pit happy number live “Walk with me in hell” inspiring a humongous circle pit! This was enough to get edging in towards the pit without meaning to. A lot of fun and functional metal to be had here that I feel kind of bad for not getting stuck in a bit earlier. [8/10]

Epic and random loud shouts of “SSSSSSSLLLLLLAAAAAYYYYEEERRRR!!!” were the mantra of the crowd for the whole night, but the time was almost upon us. Now for the main event, the monsters Slayer take the stage! A band that needs no introduction but gave us one anyway, in the first track “Delusions of Saviour”  breaking into “Repentless” thunderously. Below the pit immediately erupted without delay, and was a meat-grinder massacre of bloodshed with a tightly packed crowd in no time. The movement became quickly limited as the mist of sweat and blood filled the air, left most to just stand and headbang!

All the classics played from “Dead Skin mask” (the first slayer track I ever heard by the way) to “Hell Awaits” ripped forth complete with chaotic solos and neck breaking metal! Playing something from almost all their albums (Diablos in musica album excluded), Undisputed attitude was skipped too but the punk air  and speed of “Dittohead” did more than a cheap cover track could ever do. Quickly fired out songs left little room between one to next keep the thrash non-stop, even putting out the more violent songs like “Payback” that must of gotten at least someone hurt with its fury. Neck breaking stuff! 

A great stage show was all around featuring long flames spat out into inverted crossed and pentagrams, while on stage, the imagery we all know was there too. Metal pentagram eagles, swords and all the imperialistic regalia was present and looking fucking awesome! Who ever designed the set deserves a medal for their work. Fantastic job!

The upfront line-up (l to r) Gary Holt, Tom Araya,& Kerry King, did not really move too much or switch sides for the most part. So not the most energetic of stage presences, But this is Fucking SLAYER! the musics energy is for one direction only! Forwards to the crowd! Tom Araya’s the happiest man in metal (or thrash metals Santa) vocals at times missed a few bits in the lyrics, getting absorbed by the moment or catching breath, letting the crowd or the strong reverb fill in the gaps at times. This bothered no one however though as caught up in a sea of bodies and thrashing heads.

Before we all knew it was time for “Angel of Death” and the end of the show. With an air of heaviness in the heart as we all sang out and rejoiced for what many of us knew was going to be the last feasible time.

Now I'm definitely a cynic when it comes to bands doing any kind of farewell or “final” tour as a cheap way of boosting sales, but if this is the true the end of Slayer as a live act in this setting (a festival tour is to follow into 2019), this is the best way to sign off! An amazing gig for everyone to remember them by. They will surely be missed by a lot of people.  Although the only, i mean “only” way they could have made it better is if this with the true Classic Line-up: if the amazing Dave Lambardo was back behind the kit for old time sake, and they managed to somehow managed to resurrect the awesome Jeff Hanneman. That being not possible in this reality we got the best we could! What a fucking Show!  [9/10]

I find it almost impossible to get my feeling truly across of what Slayer has meant to me in my life. They are probably the reason I love metal so much, they were one of the first bands I properly got into and has a led my music life further down the path of extreme metal than any other. I am grateful to my toes for all that is Slayer and will forever be glad I got to see them live this one last time.  

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Harass me in real life: Don’t!

[carafox01-blog]

NCFE LEVEL 2 PHOTOGRAPHY – Assignment 2 & 3, Unit 2, Task 1&2,  1.1, 1.2, 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 2.4

RESEARCH

In the past month and a half, I have been lucky enough to attend two fantastic exhibitions, and to exhibit in one 🙂

PHOTO LONDON, SOMERSET HOUSE –  17- 20 May 2018

Photo London. Somerset Ho. f7.1 1/640s 18mm ISO100

After making our way into London, I have to admit, I was struggling to cope physically pretty quickly, and I don’t think I saw nearly as much as I would have wanted to, but for my first ever photographic exhibition, it was a bit of a show-stopper!  Not strictly speaking an exhibition, it’s billed as an Art Fair, and was jammed with Literati and the glitterati too! Heart-stoppingly beautiful works and some eye-wateringly expensive prices.

Whilst it was amazing to see some of the iconic 50’s & 60’s fashion shots, especially those of John French (personal favourite of mine) to Terence Donovan and Bailey, I really did love seeing candid shots of Marilyn Monroe and Sophia Loren.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

f7.1 1/160 28mm ISO640

f7.1 1/500s 34mm ISO640

f7.1 1/200s 18mm ISO640

  Some of the images I liked best were not simply photographs. A lot of them incorporated a range of materials and techniques; from paint to paper cutting & paper pricking, aluminium printed images, concept works such as video and kinetic light images. I am inspired to try out a few of these new-to-me techniques. I really loved these images. Sadly, I cannot tell you who made them, because I can’t stand for too long in one place, and it quite often involved standing waiting for a long time to read what the tiny piece of labelling said… sorry. 😦

f7.1 1/200s 14mm ISO640

f4.9 1/500s 25mm ISO1.2KB

f4.7 1/100 23mm ISO1.2KB

f5.6 1/500 45mm ISO1.2KB

I suppose in my own small way I have been making images along these lines for a long time, drawing and machine embroidering onto some of my own photo’s as part of my journalling.

I really was inspired though by the beautiful craft orientated images like that of  Maurizio Anzeri, a ‘photo sculptor’. If you are a regular reader of my blog you may remember my blog piece on this form of artwork. Anzeri takes vintage photographs and embroiders onto them with such precision and skill. Whilst the photograph remains a photographic image, it takes on another life as a sculpture. These beautifully executed, hypnotic works are mezmerising to look at. I am absolutely inspired and thrilled that I have actually seen some of these works. 🙂

f5.4 1/160s 33mm ISO 1.2KB

f5.4 1/160s 33mm ISO 1.2KB

  I also loved this stunning image of Frida Kahlo (another heroine of mine) .. now having been a photography student for sometime now, you’d think I’d have taken a polarising filter with me to reduce the reflections on the glass wouldn’t you? Still…. it’s given me a chance to play with the image at home… lol.

Frida f1.9 1/200s 43mm ISO400

image manipulated on snapseed Galaxy s6

Sadly we had to leave fairly quickly, because I was in pain….but it has made me want to go out and see more of what this talented World of Photography has to offer. It’s too difficult for me to choose any one image that I would have liked to have on my wall.. maybe it’s a bit like when there are too many options on a menu, you just can’t choose!?

TTFN

…. observations

Pout. f5.6 1’640s 38MM ISO200

Lost in you. f5.2 1/160s 29mm ISO200

Sitting pretty. f5.2 1/320s 29mm ISOISO200

    LONDON NIGHTS, THE MUSEUM OF LONDON 11 May – 11 November 2018

We took a class outing to see this brilliant exhibition.  Portraits, documentary, conceptual and photographic film, over 200 stunning  exhibits showing nocturnal London, in all it’s colourful, vibrant, dramatic glory!

Whilst photographs are not permitted in the exhibition itself, I have managed to find a few of these images by internet search.

Bob Collins -West End at Night –

Buckingham Palace

Bob Collins – Picadilly Circus

Buckingham Palace and Picadilly circus by night. Bob Collins

These stunning images of St.Pauls after the blitz, 29 December 1940 taken by Daily Mail photographer, Herbert Mason. No camera trickery or Photoshop here.

Historically, I’m a lifelong retro fan, but this exhibition had me thinking in some new directions.

I particularly enjoyed, this vibrant shot by Nick Turpin, of a lost in thought night-bus passenger.

I was blown away by this image from Rut Blees Luxemberg

This silver gelatin print on aluminium by Anthony Cairns would definitely take pride of place in my home!

    This exhibition is definitely worth a visit and continues until mid November. There can surely be no other city quite like London? I think it’s at it’s best at night.

If you have spare time afterwards.. the museum itself is fascinating! Go!

The Rotunda outside the Museum also has it’s own exhibition featuring work from students in the local area.

All images taken on Samsung S6

All images taken on Samsung S6

All images taken on Samsung S6

All images taken on Samsung S6

All images taken on Samsung S6

All images taken on Samsung S6

ps. Many Thanks Toby for seeing me safely there, and home again. You are a star!

  RICHMOND SCHOOL OF ART – June 2018

And then, even more excitingly,  to top it all off, we had our own exhibition here at Richmond Art College. It was well represented by all three levels of NCFE Phtography.

  Armed with a hammer and panel pins, I set off… on a very sunny mid morning to put up my chosen images…. still at this point a little undecided as to which would be going up after all!

Some from our Postcode Project

Fountain at Kew OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

CHild running in Kew Gardens f6.3 1/1250s 42mm ISO1250OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Brentford Dock Decay f9 1/100s 23mm ISO640

Brentford Buses f10 1/6-s 18mm ISO400

The Hive, Kew f6.3 1/160s 20mm ISO200

Syon Conservatory OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The Palm House Kew Gardens

Teasels, Brentford Dock OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Barbed wire, Brentford Dock OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

and then the two ‘Product Shoot’ studio images

Ahhhharrr! Pirate’s treasure? OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Cropped right hand edge of image to lose some of the background. Soft shadows, nice highlights. Background is not so distracting. OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Flower shoes

  There isn’t a huge amount of room on the boards, once you take into account the number of students, and the standard of work is pretty awesome across all three groups.

All images taken on my mobile phone

All images taken on my mobile phone

All images taken on my mobile phone

It was lovely to get to meet our fellow students and compare notes, also to get feedback from our peers.

Such a busy month! I consider myself a true Culture Vulture now…..

TTFN

research images,  my own and found on Google

    EXHIBITIONS NCFE LEVEL 2 PHOTOGRAPHY - Assignment 2 & 3, Unit 2, Task 1&2,  1.1, 1.2, 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 2.4…

[wionews]

Protecting cows, ignoring women

If you spot a guy clicking pictures of women wearing a cow head mask, stop and look. There is a very powerful message behind this exercise.    Sujatro, an independent artist from Calcutta in India is photographing women with these head masks as a form of protest against women abuse and harassment. Speaking to WION about his photography series, he says, “I am very concerned about the current political dilemma in our country. Incidents of rising number of crimes against women are dangerously high. I have always spoken against whatever wrong I saw. Physically fighting with the situation was never an option so I planned to take the help of art and came up with this.”   Within a week of thinking of the idea, Sujatro took out his camera kit and started asking female friends for help. “The idea was lingering for a month but I was confused for its execution. I was divided between a studio portrait series vs a street series”, he says.    Why are these women wearing cow masks, I ask?

He answers, “I wish to send a strong message across with this fictional photo story of mine. Obviously, all of us are aware of the incidents revolving around cows, from Dadri to Madras. These days, the right-wing extremists have been making an effort to protect the cow who they consider as our mother. On the other hand, we don't care about the ever increasing crime rates and incidents of rape and molestation of women. That is why I am photographing women wearing cow masks.”

A woman wearing a cow head mask poses in front of India Gate in New Delhi (Source: Sujatro Ghosh) (Others)

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A woman with a cow head mask (Source: Sujatro Ghosh) (Others)

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Sujatro hails from Kolkata and shifted to Delhi a couple of years back. He calls this a “paradigm shift”. He says, “In Kolkata, I was exposed to a liberal upbringing and had never experienced polarisation or extremism on the basis of religion. The incidents in Dadri and other cow slaughtering incidents made me ponder about what I could do to stand up for it. I took the support of art and took the protest a step forward through social media to make myself heard.    “Delhi is the heart of politics with the highest number of crimes against women and unwanted incidents of religious extremism. So Delhi was obviously the first choice to start the protest. I started with photographing in two of the most iconic locations in Delhi, India Gate and the President's House.”   He describes this protest as a “political discourse” which “doesn’t have a name yet”.    He narrates, “When I started with the first shoot, people didn’t know how to react. They had no idea what I was doing and just laughed. They thought it was funny and it actually helped make the subject at ease.”    “Post production for the project was tough, many of my friends and acquaintances rejected the offer and told me they won't be okay with showing their body in such a way. There were others who agreed on being photographed but were not ready to expose their identity. I am happy that now people are enquiring about my project, I have been getting messages from all over the country”, he adds.    Sujatro emphasises that the location of the shoot and identities of the women is not at all important. He says, “It’s the message that needs to be spread across.” 

A woman with a cow head mask (Source: Sujatro Ghosh) (Others)

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A woman wearing a cow head mask as part of a campaign against women abuse (Source: Sujatro Ghosh) (Others)

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He shared his first photograph on Instagram where he enjoys a huge fan following. He says, “Social media helps you connect with the masses. My Instagram has a refined following even though my profile on Instagram is public. After that, I posted some on Facebook and made this public.”    What if the campaign backfires, are you scared?

He says, “I am ready for any situation. I am truthful to myself, I know what I am doing. My intention is never to make fun of the cow. I respect the Hindu religion, and that cows are protected by them. But I want these same people who treat cows as mothers and protect them to also have the same sense of protection for girls. Here I tag these girls as who are the mothers to the future generations. By way of my photo series I want to question as to why they don’t protect their women in the society with equal fervour?”   On whether this could become ugly, he says, “I am not really sure what it could start. I am optimistic and hopeful about something pleasant. I know this can take an ugly turn but I am not really worried about that now, as I know I am doing something for the greater good and I am surely not doing something wrong.”   The artist describes himself as a feminist artist on Instagram who is motivated to bring a change with his skills. “I wish to see this project become a collaborative movement where people join hands to educate the masses. I want to start a debate where masses contribute to the change by inviting discussions and convincing people by making them understand what is right and what is wrong.”   At the end of the interview, when I ask where he got the mask from, he gleefully adds that “it’s from New York".   *Disclaimer: The photographs shared through this project are exclusively owned by the artist. The sole aspiration of the creator of this work is to raise awareness regarding important social issues. It is to be noted that the artist does not intend to hurt the religious/political/ spiritual belief of any individual, community, sect or religion. The artist does not intend to defame any individual, organisation, community or disregard any individual’s choice or opinion.    (WION)    

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[storyunrelated]

Immovable Object

I am aware of the importance of advertising, but I find a lot of the ways it is inflicted upon us to be obnoxious.

Just tell me what your product is. If you take longer than three seconds I don't fucking care.

[How best to get your message to the consumer?]

The Researcher stood before the board, a projector humming to itself as it stood ready to plaster facts, figures and findings onto the waiting screen. In the Researcher’s hand was clutched the cutting-edge in pointing stick technology, the Pointing Stick Five-Thousand. They were poised to use this brilliant stick to draw attention to particularly important nuggets of information. It would be the first time such a pointing stick had ever been used outside of the lab. There was a reasonable and polite level of hubbub as the last members of the board shuffled in.

“Gentlemen,” the Researcher said once the last member had seated themselves. All board members were male, as the one time they had allowed a woman entry they’d all had super-spooky nightmares for a week and it really just wasn’t worth it. “Our multi-billion pound, ten-year research project has finally concluded and all of our worst fears have come true - the general public is, at best, ambivalent about advertising.”

The result of this pronouncement was immediate, primal uproar.

Several of the board members present immediately took their own lives before their retainers could stop them, and many more would have followed suit had their chairs not automatically detected their distress and flooded their bodies with huge doses of opiates and soothing, muscle-seizing electric current.

Thus sedated and relaxed, their faces went slack and though in some part of their sluggish minds panic still reigned, they simply couldn’t scrape enough thoughts or energy together to do anything about it. A few dribbled, but not all. This was well within acceptable parameters.

Once certain the disruption was over the Researcher continued, clearing their throat and starting to cycle through projected slides showing the hard data behind their opening statement. The numbers were hard to refute, harder still to actually understand. It had been decided that showing the board the full statistics with the complete context would have been inhumane, so they were presented with no labels or explanation. Numbers and graphs free of meaning, floating in a vacuum and signifying nothing. This the board appreciated.

“Look at this,” the Researcher said, using their pointing stick to circle an area on a meaningless pie chart. The board groaned in dismay. It must have been bad. The Researcher kept on clicking through, their expression dour.

“Truly it defies what expectations we had going in. We lost a lot of good minds working on this project - they simply couldn’t take what it was we discovered. But these are the facts.”

This was true. When the project had first been announced most involved had found it a bit pointless. After all, people loved advertising. This was well known. Why else would those with tat to sell spend so much money on it? People needed to know about products to be able to buy them, people liked buying things, so people must love being shown five-minute epics that barely hinted at the product until the very end. This was a little something those in the industry liked to call ‘logic’, and it was like an inescapable iron cage. Or so they’d thought.

“Online is far worse, as you can see here,” the Researcher said, pointing to the middle of an empty, unlabelled graph. This news was so horrendous the board started to rouse again, even through the druggy haze suffusing their minds.

“But we made those ads unskippable! They have to pay attention, don’t they?” Slurred one board member, utterly unable to imagine a world wherein which this brilliant move had not been met with one-hundred percent success. The Researcher regarded them with pitying eyes, switching slides and swishing about their pointing stick some more. The Pointing Stick Five-Thousand had been specifically designed with swishing (and swooshing) in mind.

“Our research indicates that in many cases they turn away from the screen at that point, and do something else. Sometimes they’ve even been known to tut impatiently at the screen and react with dismay when they see how much time is left to go,” the Researcher said.

“My God, they’re monsters…”

“Yes. Yes they are,” The Researcher agreed. The research, after all, had shown this to be the case. They’d checked and double-checked the stats but the results had been pretty clear: monsters, the lot of them. Those were just the facts. Couldn’t argue with facts.

“But what can we do? What can we do?! We’re only human! We’ve done all we can do, surely!” Warbled another board member, overcoming the therapeutic electric current surging through his body long enough to stand and gesticulate wildly. He then collapsed again, spittle frothing in the corner of his mouth.

“While I agree that things do look completely and utterly hopeless, we have actually been working on a solution to this problem and we’re rather proud of the results,” the Researcher said, skipping ahead through a few more slides of doom, gloom and meaningless statistics before arriving at the sunnier portion of the presentation.

No-one present understood what the slide was showing them, but they knew in their bones it was something worth their time. Something they would happily sink millions of pounds into without a second thought.

What the slide was actually showing was a fairly simple modification of the stalwart old Lean Mean Meme Beam of the sort that used to be used for punching ideas into the heads of people from fifty paces, at least before it was made illegal. An important step in the Researcher’s plan was making it legal again or - failing that - changing it enough so that it technically was no longer illegal. But all things in time.

“Our proposal is this: unskippable advertisements, inserted directly into the brains of the customer.”

There was hubbub as the idea was passed around the table. None present saw any ethical issue with it as they’d all long-since forgotten how human beings were supposed to work. They rather liked the idea, in fact. It seemed efficient. You couldn’t turn your head away from your own thoughts!

“How soon can this wonderful idea be put into practise?” Someone asked, their erection upsetting the table. The Researcher was pleased by this positive reaction.

“We have a prototype version ready right now, and a willing customer to test it on, in fact!” They said, frantically beckoning for their assistants to bring in the modified Meme Beam and wheel in the Volunteer, strapped to the volunteer restraint.

Practical demonstration were always fun.

“Of course we’ll be working on methods of applying this technology across existing platforms - this is just a proof of concept,” the Researcher said while things were set up beside them. What they’d said made a kind of sense but left a lot of questions hanging in the air. Not that the board knew this. They just nodded to one another as though they knew what was happening

“What’s happening? Is this the questionnaire? Why can’t I move?” The Volunteer asked, blinking and squinting about the room. The last time they’d agreed to filling out a questionnaire they’d been free squash involved. This didn’t look like this was going to happen this time.

“Just hold still,” the Researcher said, flicking down the lenses on a pair of polarised safety goggles and settling in behind the Meme Beam controls. They were an old hand at this - having been deployed countless times to blast new ideas into stubborn heads. They worked the console like a maestro, taking the modifications in stride.

“Why is that thing pointed at me?” The Volunteer asked, their vision now a little clearer. The Meme Beam didn’t look overtly threatening from the outside but it was still disconcerting to regain consciousness and find something so large and so riddled with power-cables pointing straight at your face.

“It’s perfectly safe, I assure you,” the Researcher said as they coaxed the Meme Beam into firing.

The beam itself was invisible and the machine gave no outward sign that it was even operating, but the Researcher knew what they’d done. The look of worried confusion on the face of the Volunteer twitched, shifted, and then vanished entirely to be replaced with utter incomprehension.

“I - what - in my head? Why can’t I - what is this? What is this?!” The Volunteer screeched, trying and failing to escape from their bonds. Their efforts increased and became more and more frantic by the second and the assistants had to rush in to keep the volunteer restraint from toppling over.

“Why can’t I make it go away? Why can’t I make it go away! This isn’t mine! This isn’t mine! I don’t want this! I’m not going to buy this! Make it go away!”

At this point the Volunteer’s orifices started bleeding and a round of spontaneous applause broke out from the board. The Researcher took a bow. That couldn’t have gone any better if they’d planned it. Anyone in such obvious discomfort was clearly watching the advert.

Later, Meme Beams were integrated into anything and everything that might have been available so as to extract maximum possible advertising revenue. A lot of people who were very concerned about The Numbers saw that The Numbers went up as a result of this, and so they were very happy and deemed this course of action to have been a Good Thing.

Later, those people exposed to the advertising lost their minds. Widespread reports of self-inflicted head trauma and a massive surge in home trepanation kits acquired to ‘make it go away’ are considered coincidental and unrelated.

END