#videotape distortion

[nikas--art]

teevee

[ranans-art]

.I'm on a search

PLAYER belongs to @greenkitten-chan

Link to the Artfight version: https://artfight.net/attack/4091266.im-on-a-search

[aetherrx]

Goo Kim x Reader | The Forgotten

Disclaimer | fem!reader | Angst | Lots of Angst | Death wc|1.2k Note: I did not expect that I'd be gone for so long so sorry lmao. I don't know if this is a come back, but if I have the time to write I will :)

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I'd say 14+ as death and kind of torture...| •─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You weren’t a hateful person. You’d like to think you were the type of person who’d give anybody the benefit of the doubt.

That was the reason you didn’t mind Ria at first. She was smart, headstrong; something Goo’s group of misfits lacked. Even if she hung at his every word, every move. Even when the sparkling look in her eye became something deeper than just simple admiration for a leader.

You would have liked to think the reason Goo kept you around was because of the contrast between your characters. You were silent, but not shy, strong but not boastful. You’d fed into the delusion of him seeing his long-lost friend, Gun, inside of you.

That must have been the reason he’d forgotten about you, the reason she became the apple of his eye. You’d simply become too complacent, too boring. He bored of your attitude, your exciting spark dwindling behind hers, until it’d been completely snuffed out, outshined in its dull glow.

You wouldn’t deny your feelings for Goo, your utmost admiration for the strongest man you knew. You knew you’d be able to support him from the back, from the sidelines, even if he relied more on her strategies, her ideas and her warnings.

Even when it started to hurt, when your days distorted into one blurry glow of nothingness, passing by like a muffled videotape.  Only then, when your days became bleak and rainy, even when the starry sun shone in the sky, did you truly look at yourself.

Your gaunt face, sunken eyes, brittle bones; you were nothing but a corpse, waiting for one final push before you tripped and fell off that sparkly, golden bridge. It was no wonder he couldn’t bare to look at you.

You were no longer perfect, no longer strong.

You were a miserable, conniving beast; rotting from the inside as your organs decayed alongside your worthless heart. You’d be happy to be rid of the useless, betraying organ.

You’d have escaped this predicament if you’d been smarter, stronger. Like Ria.

Though, it seemed she wasn’t very smart after all.

She’d gotten herself caught, before you, nonetheless.

You’d have laughed if you weren’t nailed to the wall by chains. Though, it wasn’t really a wall, no, it was the mesh of a rickety plane, gliding a couple one-hundred feet over the ocean.

Ria wasn’t in any better state, purple and blue bruises marring her prefect skin. Though, you supposed, she didn’t have little chains shoved through the holes in her wrists. You flinched, shoving the thought of the dagger digging between your wrists, the harsh, grisly slide of metal heaving through your insides.

“Quiet, you shit,” one of the males snarled down at Ria, who’d been sobbing uncontrollably on the floor. You’d miscalculated her personality, it seemed. She was a weak bitch. A little punch and she’d started screaming her head off.

You’d barely made a wince when the daggers had pierced your veins, not making a sound as you felt the blood trickle down your palms, your life force along with it.

You could feel your consciousness fading with the lack of blood. Funnily enough, the chains shoved through your wounds were the only things currently stopping you from completely bleeding to death.

“Goo’s here,” one of the goons snickered, clutching his Glock like he would his shrivelled cock, which you’d make sure to rip off before you got out of here.

Unless the blood loss kicked in first.

Only someone like Goo would be able to infiltrate an aircraft hundreds of feet above ground with little detection. We all know he’s not here for you.

Of course he wasn’t here for you. He was here for his Ria, his light, his entertainment. As long as he got you out of the plane, you didn’t care what he did.

This was the final, pivotal moment, you told yourself to get over him. After this, you’d move on from him completely, find your own way in the world. You’d squash those feelings into oblivion and never think of them again.

“You know,” a snarky voice crooned from the side entrance of the plane. “I really hate it when lackeys touch my property.” His lips screwed into that familiar smirk as he looked over the masked men surrounding you and Ria.

That final look, now only a shard of a mirror of memories entwined like the ribbons of fate, was when you knew.

You knew it would come eventually, knowing Goo’s personality.

He glanced at your mauled wrists for barely a moment, no wince, not even pity or anger crossed his gaze. His eyes flickered to Ria’s bruised skin, and that when you knew.

He didn’t just find her entertaining. He loved her. The unemotional, murdering weapons genius was in love with Ria. Not as a fleeting, amusing conquest, he actually loved her.

He never even liked you, don’t be so naïve.

You watched in silence as one of the Goon’s snatched open the hatch of the back of the planes opening. You watched in silence as Goo jumped at Ria, wrapping her protectively in his arms without a second thought, not even throwing you a single glance.

You’d laugh if you had the energy for it, laugh at your heart being your own demise.

Your body scraped across the harsh metal floor, chains clanking against the ground, every nick and crack catching and grating against your wrists’ insides, carving away at the bone. You slid against the suction of air, it’s current pushing you closer and closer to the gaping opening, miles of blue sea expanding as far as your eye’s could see.

You glanced over shoulder, peering as far as your vision enabled. A deep, crooked part of you wished you’d never bothered to look.

In Goo’s strong, warm arms, Ria was wrapped in a safe cocoon, passed out in a heavenly embrace while her very own guardian angel peered over her with adoring eyes. He didn’t shed a single glance towards you, as you slid further and further away from them, shackles scraping like knives on a chalkboard.

Further and further, you slid away from the only man you’d ever… loved.

That man would never love you.

That man would never think of you.

That man would never spare you even a first glance.

And, predictably, you slid over the edge, body flailing about as the wind ruffled and ripped at your hair. Your body spun and spun, twirling lovingly with the punishing breeze as you hurtled closer and closer into the punishing blue.

As your body slammed into the unbreaking waves, neck snapping at the force of your unwanted body; your dying eyes gazed up at the cloudless sky; the grey that’d been clouding you dispersed into an array of azure blues.

Birds flittered and wound around each other, dancing and singing in harmony. A single, browning plane tittered into the distance, leaving not even a trace of its existence.

Maybe dying isn’t so bad after all.

But, as you slipped lower and lower into the depths of the blue sea, the new colour vanished, turning black before your body drummed across the seabed.

Your body floated aimlessly along the sand as your empty soul withered into nothingness, and before long, creatures and critters tore at your flesh as you decayed, rotting into nothing, as you had been when you were alive.

Forgotten.

[posttexasstressdisorder]

Time is a mind fuck. When we were kids in the definitely modern '60s, "Thirty Years Ago" was the 1930s...the depression and old-timey music and "hot jazz" were happening.

Here we are now, 2024, and "Thirty Years Ago" was the '90s, and 30 years was not quite the same expanse of time as it was in the '60s.

The differences became exponential.

The '80s were 40 years ago.

The '70s were 50 years ago.

The '60s were 60 years ago.

The '50s were 70 years ago.

The '40s were 80 years ago.

The '30s were 90 years ago.

And "The Roaring '20s" were 100 years ago.

Time has changed.

I remember pondering the fact that Sgt. Pepper had come out TEN WHOLE YEARS BEFORE my senior year in high school, and how much a part of history it had beome in that VAST expanse of time.

And now I need to be reminded that not just one, but several decades have passed since this or that happened.

And I've been in a time-distortion bubble since roommate moved out, and my anxieties have shot back through the roof. Yes, my shit is being taken care of, and I am eternally grateful for that, but the anxiety of poverty doesn't just go away.

And it warps time. It dilates it. It expands and drags it.

And it accelerates so quickly at times it feels like huge chunks of time are lost. Like someone is using the jog-wheel on an old videotape editor. A flick of a wrist and it's four hours later and you're wondering what the fuck happened.

Time. We have four days until this election is "traditionally done". We have, hopefully, all girded our loins for the fallout to go on until it's officially over.

You babies aren't as well acquainted with time as us old farts are. There has never been a point like this IN our "time" as we know it. Nothing really to compare it to, other than Germany 90 years ago.

Can't just say "the '30s" anymore. You have to add the 90 years ago to it. Because to some of us, the '30s are still just 30 years ago.

[demonvampire180writes]

Groundhog Day Chapter 4

BuckTommy Fix-it Fic Rated: T

4,415 Words

No editor/editing

On Ao3

Chapter 1 on Tumblr

Chapter 3 on Tumblr

Tommy boy is gonna hurt in this one... 👀👀👀

Two more chapters to go! ❤️ Thanks for all your support.

Oh, and Merry Christmas 🎄 🎅 🧑‍🎄 to those who celebrate, and Happy Holidays to those of you who don't!

Lashes fluttering, he blinks his eyes open. The room is bathed in late morning sun, beams of light passing through what Tommy thinks are useless sun filtering sheer white curtains. Groaning, he lifts his arms to stretch out in front of him, lacing his fingers as his palms face upwards; his shoulders pop in protest and he grunts, wiggling at the discomfort old age is bringing him. When he’s done, he lets them fall heavily back onto the comforter, laying like a good little soldier as he stares at the ceiling, the sun making shapes dance across it as it moves along the horizon. He has no idea what time it is, but he scents something sweet in the air and his stomach growls. Grumbling, he turns onto his side in the fetal position, hoping for maybe just another hour or so of sleep but his stomach growls, much louder, this time. Huffing, he throws his legs over the edge of the bed and drags himself into a seated position. For a long moment he stares off into space, hands grasping the edge of the bed, but then he gives his head a good shake and stands.

Yawning, he pads over to the walk-in closet in just the dark navy trunks he’s wearing to grab clothes for the day. As he steps in he pauses; there’s something strange about the space. Narrowing his eyes, he searches the darkness when pain slams into his brain, winding him. Exhaling sharply he sinks into a crouch and grabs at his head, teeth bared in a snarl as the intensity grows.

Through the pain, he thinks he hears someone calling for him, but where is it coming from?

Tommy. C’mon, you have to come back. Please.

He cries out and drops from a crouch to a kneeling position, rocking back on his heels as the drill digs deeper into his consciousness. He digs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets as he tries to draw breath, chest heaving with every intense burst of agony that walks through his skull like it's going for a Sunday stroll.

You can’t do this to me, Tommy.

A sob crawls its way out and he lets it, teeth clenched so hard he just knows one is going to chip. So caught up he doesn’t notice someone entering the room until there’s a hand on his shoulder attempting to drag his hands from his face. “Tommy. Tommy. TOMMY!” The voice sounds so familiar and gets more and more panicked with each echo of his name. “Oh my God, Tommy. What’s wrong? Should I call Chimney? Hen? Fuck.” He’s pulled sideways into a warm embrace, a comforting hand brushing up and down the length of his back, lips pressing into his curls. But it’s not helping.

Pulling his eyelids open, Tommy searches the room, trying to find the source. That’s when it comes into clarity - the paused videotape-esque distortion that sits at the back of the closet. But it’s more like when you would turn to the right channel for the VHS player, the colors flickering and fuzzy as it moves along the discolored lines. Another strong exhale and he really can’t breathe; he scratches at the arm that’s around his shoulders, legs kicking as he gasps for air, chest constricting like he’s caught pneumonia.

“Dammit, Tommy. I’m calling Chim.” The body behind him shifts, likely reaching for a phone buried in a pocket but Tommy can’t focus on it. His vision is dimming, the edges going grey and then black.

This is it. This is how it all ends. He just has to accept it.

As soon as he thinks that, he lets his eyes fall closed, legs stilling. He’s not really ready for it all to end, but he can’t fight something he doesn’t understand.

Fuck! Tommy! No, no, no, no, no. Fuck! Nurse! Fucking I need a nurse in here, now!

He hears that voice again as he’s fading. It sounds like… The person behind him. B… No. Evan. That’s who’s here. Evan is holding onto him. And just like that he’s breathing again, air filling his lungs so fast he gasps as he hunches over and begins coughing like he’s throwing up water. After a long minute, he wretches as he’s dry heaving, eyes watering with the effort. He’s half contorted, legs kicked out while his top half twists to the side, head hanging with sweat beading at his hairline.

A different voice whispers, soft and tiny… And terrified. “Daddy?” Lifting his head, he opens his eyes, the headache a distant throb, shifting from the back of the closet which looks as normal as ever, before drifting over to where his daughter stands at the door, eyes as big as dinner plates as she clings to the doorframe. Her bottom lips quivers, her glacial blue eyes wet as the ocean. Another, nearly identical, face pokes from over her shoulder looking just as distraught.

“Pipa. Jonah.” He wheezes. His throat aches from coughing, like he’s swallowed sandpaper, so he clears it and tries again, sitting up. Holding his arms out wide, he beckons them over with a flick of his hands. “C’mere guys. I’m okay, I promise. C’mere.” They look at one another for a moment before rushing him, nearly knocking him over as they wrap themselves around him like miniature monkeys. They’re openly crying, their hot tears tracking down Tommy’s skin. He soothes them as best as he can, hugging their heads tight to his chest, pressing reassuring kisses to their hair as he whispers quietly to them.

Evan seems to have stood, realizing the situation is resolved, but Tommy hears him on the phone, talking in hushed tones with someone about coming over and taking a look at Tommy. The older man frowns a bit, but says nothing. He doesn’t exactly disagree with Evan that something is going on, but he also really doesn’t want to waste their friends' time by coming over and seeing that Tommy is just fine. It was clearly just a strange episode. Nothing more.

Eventually the twins settle down, looking up at him with red rimmed eyes, sniffling. “Are you gonna die, daddy?” Jonah whimpers, hands curled into fists on Tommy’s chest.

“Of course not, Jonah.” Tommy ruffles his hair.

“But you were all curled up on the ground and weren’t breathing.” He continues, big eyes glassy with worry. They’re slightly more blue-green than Pipa’s but still definitely Evan’s. “I saw on TV that when people die they would act like you were.” Tommy mouth drops into an O, brows scrunching, aghast. What the hell are they allowing these two six year olds to watch? He and Evan are going to rectify that. Immediately.

Pipa pipes up. “Yeah, when we went to the hospital to visit papa once there were people on these weird machines that helped them breathe. Papa said so. He said if they came off those machines they might not be able to breathe anymore. Are you going to have to go on one of those machines?” Her voice reaches near hysterical levels the more she speaks. Tommy hugs her tightly, shushing her.

“No, honey, I’m not going to have to go on a ventilator. I must have just been having a bad dream I wasn’t waking up from. I’m all fine now, right?” He manages to bring his face back into neutrality, with difficulty. Both kids stare long and hard at him, scrutinizing every single thing their young minds can comprehend before reluctantly nodding. To mollify their concerns, he takes a huge breath, expanding his chest like Popeye until they can barely hold on and begin giggling. He lets it out and flexes his biceps. “See. All fine. I’m sorry for worrying you.” They glomp onto him and squeeze until he hugs them back.

“Papa made waffles!” Jonah says, sitting back, grinning at him with a gap tooth smile.

“They’re really tasty.” Pipa nods excitedly, bouncing a bit.

“Well then, I should get up and get dressed so that we can eat, huh? I don’t want any little monsters to eat them all before I get a taste.” Tommy dislodges them and gets to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that comes from the total frontal assault of the headache he’s just gone through. He puts a hand to his temple, playing it off by giving his head a good rub and running his hand through his hair. Then he puts his hands on his hips and quirks an eyebrow, trying to take back his sass. “If you don’t scoot your butts you’re gonna see something I don’t think you wanna.” They tilt their heads to the side in unison. Grinning, Tommy reaches behind him and pulls Evan into his side with his right arm and purses his lips, inching closer as he speaks, words garbled through the duck lips, “I’m gonna smooch papa so long and hard he’ll go to heaven.” He quickly pecks Evan on the cheek and the kids squeal like it’s the most horrifying thing they’ve ever seen. He feels Evan’s eyes on him, amused, bemused, and exasperated all at once. “Next time it’s gonna be on the lips~” He singsongs, wrapping up the other man even tighter, using his freehand to turn Evan’s face to him.

The kids squeal and turn on their heels to dash out of the door, crying their distaste all the way down the stairs, their little feet pounding on the hardwood floor. As soon as they’re out of sight, Tommy closes the distance and kisses his man anyway, hard, tongue reaching out to brush along Evan’s bottom lip until he opens and meets him with his own. The kiss doesn’t last very long because Evan pulls away, making a face, tongue dangling from his mouth as he says, “Fucking ew, Tommy. What the hell? You were just wretching all over the place and you haven’t even brushed your teeth.” He makes a few dramatic “pitooey” sounds, faking spitting the taste out of his mouth.

Laughing, Tommy prowls towards him and Evan steps back, hands held up in a warding off gesture, large crooked grin on his lips. “C’mon Evan, kisses make me feel better. You were so worried, don’t you want to help?” It’s the wrong thing to say. The playfulness drains from his husband's expression and is replaced with the less than unwarranted concern. He grabs Tommy’s wrists and pulls him in until he can wrap his arms around Tommy’s neck, and rest his head against his shoulder. There’s a slight hitch in his breath.

“Are you really okay?” He asks, looking up after a second, blue eyes searching Tommy’s face, lips drawn thin with worry.

Sighing, Tommy grabs Evan’s hips and pulls him in until they’re flush with each other. Flattening his affect, he assures him, “I’m fine, Evan. Whatever it was, was just a freak occurrence. Maybe I was sleepwalking and having a nightmare or something. It’s not unheard of.”

They continue to stare at each other for another minute before Evan sighs, conceding. “Well, if you start feeling weird or anything you tell me immediately. I’m not fucking around.” He leans in for a very soft kiss, hardly a brush of the lips before stepping back, breaking out of Tommy’s hold. “Hurry up and get dressed. We’ll be lucky if the kids haven’t fed half the waffles to the animals and eaten a quarter of the other half.” Tommy snorts and nods, swatting Evan’s butt as he passes.

By the time they get downstairs, the kids are in the process of feeding Rain - their fat, black tomcat - pieces of cooled waffle. Rory - their elderly basset hound - sits at their feet, looking up at them with mournful bloodshot eyes, whining quietly as he lifts his paw to paw at the air in askance. Jonah attempts to sneak him a piece when Tommy clears his throat. Everyone, people and animals, jump and then turn to him with sheepish looks on their faces. Except Rain. Rain starts, then begins cleaning his paw as though he has done absolutely nothing wrong, ignoring everyone.

“You know, I think papa made breakfast for us, not the animals.” He places his hands on his hip, leans slightly forward and begins tapping his foot. His nose scrunches in a mock glare.

“But they’re family, too!” Pipa replies, primly, flipping her curls behind her shoulder. They immediately fall back. “And look how hungry they are.” Rory cants his head to the side, shooting his human parents a baleful look, whimpering. From her legs tucked under her position, Pipa contorts herself so she’s reaching down to stroke his knobby head, shooting Tommy nearly the same expression. Jonah strokes Rain’s fur absently, saying nothing.

Evan has made his way to the stove where a plastic container filled with viscous liquid sits by the open waffle maker. As he pours in more batter, he says coolly, “They are family, but as their family, we need to look out for them. Feeding them too much people food can make their tummies upset and give them diseases. We can feed them treats once in awhile, but let's not make a habit of it.” Surprisingly, both kids nod, looking defeated. “So, since they’ve had enough, why don’t we eat breakfast now? Together.” Their little faces light up and they nod fervently.

Smiling, Tommy goes and stands shoulder to shoulder with Evan, taking each plate as the waffles finish. He brings them over to the island, cutting the first one in half for the kids to split, helping them decorate to their own tastes. Pipa’s is covered in strawberry slices and vanilla whipped cream with sprinkles. Jonah’s has a slab of butter with some chocolate chips thrown over top and a generous dousing of blueberry syrup. He asks for some blueberries on the side which Tommy happily gives him. “What do you want on yours?” He asks Evan as he’s handed another.

“Don’t worry, I got it. Eat that one.”

“No way. You deserve to eat first. You got the kids up and ready by yourself, and then had to come deal with my crap. Let me fix it up for you.”

He sighs as dramatically as possible. “Fine~” He turns his head just the barest amount to smile at Tommy and Tommy simply melts. He can’t help leaning in and kissing Evan on his cute little nose. He scrunches it in distaste before saying, “Just some butter and syrup for me.” He pauses. “Actually, I want some sliced banana.”

“Sure thing.” Tommy grabs a banana from the basket on the counter and skillfully peels it open so it’s ready to be sliced as soon as Evan hands him the plate. Carefully, he uses a paring knife to slice about half of the fruit onto the waffle. He’ll cut the other half onto his own. “Maple syrup?” He asks, holding up the bottle in question. His husband hums in answer so Tommy drizzles it in artful zigzags across it before reaching for the whipped cream. Evan didn’t ask for it, but Tommy knows that he’s secretly a sweet tooth but cares too much about his figure to indulge, but since it’s homemade, it’s not overly sweet. A little won’t kill him.

Evan frowns at him, knowingly, but snorts and turns back to the waffle iron. Tommy’s not having it and hip checks him out of the way while handing him his plate. Giving him the smallest smile known to man, Evan takes the plate, almost shyly, and goes to sit with the kids. Two minutes later Tommy is standing on the other side of the kitchen island with a banana and chocolate chip pancake covered in syrup, whipped cream, more chocolate chips, and a side of blueberries. Tommy will never deny that sweets are basically his love language. He doesn’t work out to keep fit. He works out so that he can eat his favorite things and still pass the physical tests at work.

The four of them eat at a mostly leisurely pace, the kitchen filling with the sound of joyous laughter and the occasional parental chastisement. The distress Tommy caused earlier becomes a not so distant memory. Afterwards, as soon as Jonah and Pipa clear the table, helping to load the dishwasher, Evan claps his hands and says, “Alright guys. Who’s ready to go to Harbor and see daddy’s old work place?” The kids cheer and jump, pumping their fists in the air, grabbing on Tommy and pulling at him while he grins down so wide at them his cheeks and eyes crinkle at the corners. All the while, the pain from before is worming its way back in, slowly. What does Evan mean, his previous work place? Tommy is still a pilot. He’s got a shift… tomorrow… doesn’t he?

Tommy.

A voice that seems familiar cuts through his consciousness and can’t help the wince as he gropes at his head.

Get back here. You can’t leave like this.

Holy crap, there’s so much hurt. So much anguish. Why do they sound like that?

I’m waiting for you. I don’t care how long it takes.

The voice breaks and when he focuses back on reality, there’s a number of distortions around him, crackling like portals to Hell. He forces back a cry. He doesn’t want Evan to see. Evan. No. Buck. That’s Buck's voice. Something in the back of his mind screams.

Off.

Off.

Off.

OFF.

Something isn’t right.

In the distance he hears Evan… Buck.. herding the kids towards the garage, still as cheerful as the brightest day in summer. Tommy thanks whatever God is willing to listen that his husband… No. Not his husband… Doesn’t notice his distress. Or, at the very least, chooses not to acknowledge it. Squeezing his eyes tight, he counts to ten and opens them but the distortions remain, and the pain in his skull has gone from a one to a three, and is climbing very quickly towards a five. He senses that it won’t take long for it to reach a ten, and he’s not sure what he’ll do, or be able to do, when that time comes.

For now, all he can do is follow Buck’s voice to the garage, where the kids are buckled into their booster seats, and plaster a smile on his lips before crawling into the driver’s seat. As soon as they pull out onto the street, Tommy instinctively reaches across the console for his husband’s.. No… Buck’s… hand. But that isn’t right. Why doesn’t this feel right? They… They broke up. Right?

Another teeth grinding, searing bolt of pain lances through his temple. The dull throb in them pulsing even deeper inside, reaching his subconscious.

When they reach Harbor, Tommy’s not entirely sure how he gets them there without causing an accident, he pulls into the employee parking area. Evan… NO… BUCK… laughs at him, rubbing his shoulder as he says, “Old habits die hard, huh babe?” It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to chuckle back, grinning as he corrects his error and drives them around to the front of the building where the bay doors are all open wide, a few birds out on the tarmac for maintenance.

The kids scurry out of their seats, flinging the backdoors of his four-door open, and rushing over to the nearest pilot. Evan hurries after them, hardly having time to get his seatbelt off before the kids are all up in one of LAFD’s finest faces. Tommy wants to follow, but he can’t breathe. His entire sightline looks like the TV screen from The Ring. No matter what direction he looks the world fuzzes in and out of focus. The faces of the pilots look like a child has taken a white crayon and scribbled them all out and then an animator took the liberty of putting the scribbling motion into motion. Their heads move like white clouds as they shift, Tommy never able to see their features.

The pain inside his head is screaming. He’s on the edge of vomiting and it takes every ounce of willpower he has to stay standing. Having not moved from the truck, he leans into the hood in what he hopes is a casual way and closes his eyes, taking deep inhales through his nose. Inside his front pockets, his hands are closed so tightly into fists he can feel his blunt nails breaking skin, tiny drops of blood rolling down through his fingers.

Through the pain he hears a steady beeping - like the sound of a heart monitor - and the rasp of labored breathing being helped along by what can only be a ventilator. Even with his eyes closed, blinding light filters through his eyelids, which doesn’t make sense because, while it’s sunny, there’s a plethora of clouds floating across the sky. It shouldn’t be this bright. He bites his bottom lip until tasting copper. The world in front of him rushes back. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he doesn’t see Buck or the kids. Groaning with relief, he slinks along the front of the car to the passenger side and pulls himself inside, making himself as small as he possibly can in the bucket seat, pressing his head into the cool glass of the door.

An undetermined amount of time later, the back doors swing open, and the cab fills once more with the excited chatter of two elementary school aged kids. It drills the ice picks in his head even deeper, but he doesn’t have the energy to ask them to quiet down. He doesn’t have the energy for anything, matter of fact. He feels Buck’s eyes on him from outside the door; can feel the way he’s frowning in concern. Tommy doesn’t move. A moment later, the driver side door opens and closes, and then there’s a warm hand pressed to his cheek. He moans, but doesn’t open his eyes. “Tommy. Hon. Are you okay? You never came inside. You look horrible.”

“‘M fine.” He mumbles, though it hurts. His throat feels dry. So dry. It hurts. He curls up even further. The kids have quieted, Buck’s concern making its way to them. Little hands paw at his arm and they’re asking him things but his brain can’t process their mumblings. “Le’s go h’me.” He breathes, wrapping the jacket he’d found in the footwell tighter around him. It smells like Buck, which should be comforting, but it seems to be making things worse. Not only that, but the voice he keeps hearing is getting louder. More frequent. More clear.

Something is wrong.

“Sure. Um. Home.” The heat of his gaze is nothing by comparison.

The ride home is made in silence. Even the kids seem to have gotten the hint that daddy isn’t feeling well. Every so often one of them makes a sad, whimpering sound, and paws at him, but when he doesn't reply, they would let go and sit back. Tommy’s eyes stay closed for the entire ride, only opening once the car has pulled into the garage, and the door is closed. Before anyone can do, or say, anything, Tommy slips from the truck, and drags himself through the door. The steps are a monumental task, and each one has him feeling like an elephant as he gulps in breaths of air. He tries to keep his eyes closed, the world around him getting worse by the second, the roiling nausea heightening. Finally, the landing. Stumbling, he falls into the wall, and using his hand, guides himself to their.. To Buck’s… bedroom. Without a moment’s hesitation, he falls straight onto the bed, not willing, or able, to remove even a single article of clothing.

The sheets are cool but it does nothing to quell the anger inside his skull. Since Harbor, the pain hasn’t ceased for even a moment; Tommy hasn’t gotten a reprieve in what’s probably hours. Even the strongest person in the world can only take so much torture before they break, and Tommy feels like he’s on the brink of insanity. Holding back tears, he claws at the sheets and squeezes his eyes shut even tighter.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Buck enters the room - quiet as a mouse but sounding like thunder in Tommy’s ears and he groans. The younger man doesn’t say a word. He moves about the space, pulling blackout currents shut, and turning off any and all lights in the room. When he approaches Tommy’s prone form, he brushes his fingers along his calf to let Tommy know he’s there, before gently removing each shoe, and then his socks. As soon as he’s done, he pulls the comforter back. “Hey, lay on your back. Let me take your jeans off.” God, he’s so gentle. This man is literally made to be a first responder.

“Buck.” Tommy whimpers, curling in on himself, rather than doing as he’s told. Buck says nothing about Tommy calling him that, instead grabbing his hips and rotating them enough that he can pop the button and zipper before shimmying them down his legs, leaving them exposed to the cool early evening air. “Hurts.”

“I know, Tommy. I’ve got some water and meds for you.” Tommy vehemently shakes his head, knowing he can’t keep anything down; not the way the back of his throat is convulsing at just the thought of it. “Here, scoot up. Put your head on the pillow. That’s it. Now bring your legs over. Good.” Tommy lets out a pained sigh as the blanket is laid over him tucked up over his shoulder. A pair of soft, yet chapped, lips, presses to his temple, the gentle pressure of Buck’s hand on his side for only a moment. “Rest up. I’ve got the kids. If you’re feeling better when you wake up, I’ll make you some soup, or toast, or something easy to eat. Okay?” Tommy doesn’t even nod, his head too heavy. That same hand brushes sweaty curls from his forehead. When did he begin to sweat?

Moments later there’s the soft snick of the door latching, and the room is bathed in complete darkness. As he lays there, chest on fire, he hears the steady beeping of a heart monitor again; Evan’s voice arguing; the drip of an IV. Soon, he’s drifting off, not sure where reality ends and the dreams begin.

[unwelcome-ozian]

Do you know anything about the Watchtower society (Jehovah's Witnesses). Do you know what kind of programming they would use.

Jehovah’s Witnesses are considered a cult and use cult/high control abuse/methods with their indoctrination.

Some methods used in cults/high control groups are:

Behavior Control

1. Regulate individual’s physical reality 2. Dictate where, how, and with whom the member lives and associates or isolates 3. When, how and with whom the member has sex 4. Control types of clothing and hairstyles 5. Regulate diet - food and drink, hunger and/or fasting 6. Manipulation and deprivation of sleep 7. Financial exploitation, manipulation or dependence 8. Restrict leisure, entertainment, vacation time 9. Major time spent with group indoctrination and rituals and/or self indoctrination including the Internet 10. Permission required for major decisions 11. Thoughts, feelings, and activities (of self and others) reported to superiors 12. Rewards and punishments used to modify behaviours, both positive and negative 13. Discourage individualism, encourage group-think 14. Impose rigid rules and regulations 15. Instil dependency and obedience 16. Threaten harm to family and friends 17. Force individual to rape or be raped 18. Instil dependency and obedience 19. Encourage and engage in corporal punishment

Information Control/Deception:

 a. Deliberately withhold information

 b. Distort information to make it more acceptable

 c. Systematically lie to the cult member

2. Minimise or discourage access to non-cult sources of information, including:

 a. Internet, TV, radio, books, articles, newspapers, magazines, other media

 b.Critical information

 c. Former members

 d. Keep members busy so they don’t have time to think and investigate

 e. Control through cell phone with texting, calls, internet tracking

3. Compartmentalize information into Outsider vs. Insider doctrines

 a. Ensure that information is not freely accessible

 b.Control information at different levels and missions within group

 c. Allow only leadership to decide who needs to know what and when

4. Encourage spying on other members

 a. Impose a buddy system to monitor and control member

 b.Report deviant thoughts, feelings and actions to leadership

 c. Ensure that individual behaviour is monitored by group

5. Extensive use of cult-generated information and propaganda, including:

 a. Newsletters, magazines, journals, audiotapes, videotapes, YouTube, movies and other media

 b.Misquoting statements or using them out of context from non-cult sources

6. Unethical use of confession

 a. Information about sins used to disrupt and/or dissolve identity boundaries

 b. Withholding forgiveness or absolution

 c. Manipulation of memory, possible false memories

Thought Control. Require members to internalise the group’s doctrine as truth

 a. Adopting the group’s ���map of reality’ as reality

 b. Instil black and white thinking

 c. Decide between good vs. evil

 d. Organise people into us vs. them (insiders vs. outsiders)

2.Change person’s name and identity

3. Use of loaded language and clichés which constrict knowledge, stop critical thoughts and reduce complexities into platitudinous buzz words

4. Encourage only ‘good and proper’ thoughts

5. Hypnotic techniques are used to alter mental states, undermine critical thinking and even to age regress the member

6. Memories are manipulated and false memories are created

7. Teaching thought-stopping techniques which shut down reality testing by stopping negative thoughts and allowing only positive thoughts, including:

 a. Denial, rationalisation, justification, wishful thinking

 b. Chanting

 c. Meditating

 d. Praying

 e. Speaking in tongues

 f. Singing or humming

8. Rejection of rational analysis, critical thinking, constructive criticism

9. Forbid critical questions about leader, doctrine, or policy allowed

10. Labelling alternative belief systems as illegitimate, evil, or not useful

Emotional Control. Manipulate and narrow the range of feelings – some emotions and/or needs are deemed as evil, wrong or selfish

2. Teach emotion-stopping techniques to block feelings of homesickness, anger, doubt

3. Make the person feel that problems are always their own fault, never the leader’s or the group’s fault

4. Promote feelings of guilt or unworthiness, such as

 a. Identity guilt

 b. You are not living up to your potential

 c. Your family is deficient

 d. Your past is suspect

 e. Your affiliations are unwise

 f. Your thoughts, feelings, actions are irrelevant or selfish

 g. Social guilt

 h. Historical guilt

5. Instil fear, such as fear of:

 a. Thinking independently

 b. The outside world

 c. Enemies

 d. Losing one’s salvation

 e. Leaving or being shunned by the group

 f. Other’s disapproval

6. Extremes of emotional highs and lows – love bombing and praise one moment and then declaring you are horrible sinner

7. Ritualistic and sometimes public confession of sins

8. Phobia indoctrination: inculcating irrational fears about leaving the group or questioning the leader’s authority

 a. No happiness or fulfilment possible outside of the group

 b. Terrible consequences if you leave: hell, demon possession, incurable diseases, accidents, suicide, insanity, 10,000 reincarnations, etc.

 c. Shunning of those who leave; fear of being rejected by friends, peers, and family

 d. Never a legitimate reason to leave; those who leave are weak, undisciplined, unspiritual, worldly, brainwashed by family or counsellor, or seduced by money, sex, or rock and roll

 e. Threats of harm to ex-member and family

Oz

[chasingrabbits-art]

DannyMay2023 day 26: art/fic switch

Title: Now what do we have over here?

I don't actually share many of my fanfics... So this is a bit strange for me. I hope you enjoy!

Summary:

Wes is a bit dejected after another fail at exposing Phantom to the world. But friendly internet stranger might be able to help

Another day, another disappointment.

Wes was sure he had gotten video of Danny transforming from Fenton into Phantom this time! Everything seemed fine while taping! Even through the playbacks, there was only a small hum and minimal graininess.

The major problem was exporting it. Any kind of modern tech always seems to shut down at this step.

Only the most archaic forms of videotaping can stand a chance against the weird distorting qualities of Amity Park’s atmosphere. So AVC to computer adapter it was! But it seemed even ol’ reliable would fail him too.

“Damnit!” He didn't understand what could've gone wrong. “How come this stupid old junk record everything fine but can't transfer to digital to save its life?!”

Working backwards everything was fine. Tape, intact. Camcorder, unscathed. AVC and adapter, plugged. It had to be something with the desktop. The tape played back fine. Everything on the grainy little screen played back fine, but on the computer…

Through the chromatic aberration and distortion, the tape was still legible. It's only when Fenton's transformation rings should appear, the video starts severely deteriorating. The grainy quality of the picture breaks into full undistinguishable noise. The light hum grows and becomes an oppressive static.

Wes angrily shoves the camcorder, still doing his best to be careful with the technology. Even through his rage he knows the worth of analog media in this town. Wes huffs out a breath and collapses on his desk. If he was more hopeful, he'd try recording the camcorder’s screen with his phone again, but he just wants to wallow for a moment.

A ping rings out from the desktop notifications, getting Wes’ attention. Clicking on it took him to his favorite conspiracy theory reddit. Some poor guy’s getting dragged. Breathing in, Wes sits up and pulls his keyboard closer. He musters as much of his optimism and attempts to string together a half-assed peptalk. Hopefully it'll help whoever's on the other end, keep them going a little longer in their search for the truth.

Incredibly, they respond almost immediately. A simple thank you and asking if they have any experience sleuthing. Wes sighs, he could write a whole essay on how to fail at sleuthing.

He smiles at the sympathetic response from the stranger, but something piques his interest and he quickly direct messages the user.

—new conversation started—

ConspiracyK1ng:

Did you just say you make your own tech?

CyberSlueth:

Yes.

And it's pretty impressive if I do say so myself

You interested?

ConspiracyK1ng:

Kind of…

Do you know anything about analog media?

CyberSlueth:

LOL sorry no

Why are you messin with those fossils?

ConspiracyK1ng:

Sadly it's the only thing that works in these…extenuating circumstances.

Anything else stops working when I try capturing what's happening in my town.

Old camcorders and cameras are the most reliable here.

CyberSlueth:

Well thats weird.

Are you sure there isn't anything else that could work recording video?

ConspiracyK1ng:

Not with the weird radiation in my town.

The only things that seem to work are from these scientists.

And they're even bigger nutjobs than me.

CyberSlueth:

…hmmm…

Maybe I could help with that.

Do you have any of their tech?

-

Now that really, really got Wes’ attention. That's two really’s.

Maybe he should continue talking with this guy…

[yuyu-kg]

Do you have any content of the Wubbian or Colli dubs of the show with the green puppet girl? I don't know the Colli or Wubbian titles but us Real Worlders call it "Nanalan"

Nanaran was super short lived. I may have an airing somewhere in my huge collection. Plus they are pretty snowy (Satebon/Parabon’s video quality is very snowy and lower resolution compared to the 1 kanoumu/year MeruUzune, and Abarunu was only exclusive to Satebon/Parabon up until 2013, plus the proprietary videotape used to record Satebon/Parabon isnt archival quality - the players’ soundchips break often too and make it really really distorted).

MANY complaints about young baby blobs being deathly scared of the series - so it was replaced with another round of Duderu in the morning blocks.

[krispyweiss]

Drug-free Flashback Ensues as Amateur Video of Grateful Dead Performing “Bertha” in 1993 Surfaces

Somewhere, in some construction and demolition debris landfill in the Northeastern United States, lay the remnants of Richfield Coliseum. And somewhere amid those remnants are scattered some of Sound Bites’ brain cells.

The Vince Welnick-era Grateful Dead made its debut at the suburban Cleveland arena in the fall of 1990 and played there regularly through the end of its career. Sound Bites was at most - probably all - of those gigs, but he’s not exactly certain because of the brain-cell issue mentioned above.

What the blog does know was that he was in the house Sept. 10, 1993, when the Dead wrapped the first set with an unusually placed “Bertha.” Someone captured it on single-camera video and it recently made its way to YouTube via Less than Face Productions.

What such recordings lack in audio quality, they make up for with the weird reality of approximating the view one has from the stands. Sure, the field of vision is smaller, but the tiny guys on stage do resemble the tiny guys on stage we watched and listened to in real - albeit distorted - time, lo those many year ago.

It’s like a flashback minus the LSD.

And it’s a reminder to thank a videotaper every day.

8/1/24

[horrorvillaintourney]

Round Two, Match Sixteen: Samara Morgan (The Ring) vs. Hill House (The Haunting of Hill House)

PROPAGANDA FOR SAMARA:

"The Ring is such an awesome horror movie that I think goes so far beyond the usual expectations of a regional remake. It’s a master class in adapting a story for a new audience, while also going to show how universal the urban legend in Ringu is. Samara (and Sadako before her) is one of the most recognizable villains in 21st century horror so far, and all the imagery associated with her - TV static, ominous phone calls, little ghost girls with long dark hair, haunted wells, urban legends coming true - have become cultural touchstones among younger horror fans. She’s made late ‘90s/early ‘00s kids just as scared of answering the phone as Ghostface did for the generation prior, and it’s awesome! Plus her design is visually fantastic; the whole film’s color palette is gorgeous and her black hair pops so well with the light blues & greens around her. Her crawling out of the TV is a scene that’s definitely gonna stay iconic and memorable for years, and I’ve always been amazed at how they used VFX to make her look 2D, staticky, and flickery while standing in the real world without making her feel too fake or superimposed into the scene. The distorted faces on her victims are memorably horrifying, the videotape is full of super eerie imagery that has inspired countless analog & lo-fi horror projects since, and yet even with all of that scariness she still manages to make the audience pity her with her absolutely heartbreaking backstory. Samara is an all-around iconic character who’s managed to make a huge name for herself despite being a relatively recent addition to horror canon - I might be a little bit biased because The Ring was my first big boy horror movie and made me fall in love with the genre, but every time I’ve come back to it I’ve been pleasantly surprised with how well it holds up and how creepy Samara still is."

"A young girl cast first into a well, and then into a VHS tape. The original chain message."

PROPAGANDA FOR HILL HOUSE:

"Is it really house horror if the house itself isn’t killing you? Is it really house horror if the house doesn’t love you, in its own bizarre and twisted way? Is it really house horror if the house doesn’t love you enough to kill you? And is it really house horror if it doesn’t succeed?"

[eventuallyaugust]

profiles. the chaos within

THE CHAOS WITHIN (@/thchswthn) | account status: inactive, seoul high's iconic band from batch '16 that consists of famous former troublemakers from five classes of year 9, formed by the teachers to compete with other schools as a punishment for them, the members start to enjoy it after winning a local competition, the band went through disbandment after the members graduated

"do you see now? i always win at the end. what jae wants, jae gets. i'm not scared of them, they're scared of me."

AHN HYUNJAE (@/ahnyj & @/lvngwithu) | '00 liner; she gets chosen to join the band because of her "ultimate" scheme: videotaped a teacher who was grooming a first year (whose face was blurred and voice distorted for privacy); the teacher got fired, got his teaching license revoked, and humiliated to the whole campus; she gets the position of the band's lead vocalist because all the other position was already taken (she just joined for the fun of it, not because she's scared of getting expelled or suspended), her answer when gets asked why she "humiliated a teacher (who was loved by many)": "i just did what was right and i'm always right."; the other band members expected her to become a teacher knowing how good she led the group the moment they met each other

"i bet you bitches didn't see that coming. next time, don't you ever come for lily again or else i may not be so nice for the second time."

OH HAEWON (@/lifesizeteddy) | '00 liner; she gets chosen to join the band because she punched the bully of her gf lily whose lunch money was getting stolen and getting shoved against the lockers; the bully faced a month of community service and detention; chose the bassist and vocalist position since she knows how a bass guitar works thanks to her older brother who plays one and can sing very well according to her gf (she joined the band because lily asked her to do it); her response when the principal asked her why she did it: "i've had enough."; surprised everyone by becoming a doctor

"you guys started this and i just finished it. if i were you, i would be scared right now."

BAE JINSOL (@/baejibae) | '00 liner; she gets chosen to join the band because she beat a group of students up who were bullying the school librarian; the librarian was the sweetest people she knows in the campus; chose the lead guitarist position because she grew up playing an electric guitar (she joined the band to avoid getting expelled and not get her girlfriend sullyoon worried); her response when the principal interrogated her why she punched the bully: "you cannot blame me for your actions. my hands just moved on their own."; the others don't know how she became a chef when she was banned in the kitchen after that one time in seonghwa's apartment.

"other people's lack of common sense makes me stop and think for a moment. i can't believe people like them exist."

JUNG WOOYOUNG (@/wowyng) | '99 liner, he gets chosen to join the band after he leaked mr. kim's flirty and provocative messages with another teacher from other school when he's married, the teacher got fired along with his mistress as wooyoung apologized to the wife who surprised him by thanking him for freeing her from her now abusive ex-husband, chose the position as the lead guitarist because he looks good while playing an electric guitar (he joined the band to avoid getting his mother worried about him), his response when mr. kim interrogated him why he leaked the messages: "bro, that's your wife. why would it be my fault that you cheated on her? the fuck?"; his quick thinking skills and memorization skills make him a great lawyer and thus, why he chose to be one

"don't ever show your face to me again, or you'll end up visiting the hospital for the second time."

PARK SEONGHWA (@/hwow) | '99 liner, he gets chosen after beating a group of bullies up with a bat for threatening the elderlies living near the campus, the students got expelled and tarnished their parents' reputation while he walks out of the principal's office with a smirk, chose the position as the band's drummer because he knows how to play the instrument and certainly not because he likes to hit something (he joined the band as per the elderlies' requests), his response after the parents of battered students asked him why he did it: "let me guess, they didn't tell you what they did? ...oh? then let me be the one to tell."; engineering isn't exactly a foreign profession to work in, but for seonghwa? who likes to destroy something? it sure does.

taglist (open!): @awkwardtoafault ,

disclaimer: i DO NOT ENCOURAGE the violent acts they do even they are right and i changed some of the birth years to fit the scenario

spawns of satan | masterlist | the flowers in the meadow

[nikas--art]

melancholy

Commissions: https://ko-fi.com/greenkittenchan/commissions

[moondragon618]

Moondra, I have a little c!Prime thought, and I thought I'd share it, if that's okay. You know those scary broadcast interruptions that consist of white noise, glitching effects, loud distorted noises, reversed barely discernible audio recordings, unnerving text like “wake up”, “look behind”, “you're asleep” and rapidly changing terrifying photos or clips (often distorted faces)? c!Tommy absolutely hates those, since glitching and static effects make him uncomfortable, and he might associate them with the torture mixtape. I think it'd be interesting if c!Dream made a videotape inspired by those as a gift for c!Tommy. He could explore even more of c!Tommy's triggers by using both audio and visual elements. For example, ambience sounds that remind c!Tommy of exile, prison or the chase in Logsted; c!Wilbur's departure (I hc that c!Tommy keeps returning to Logsted because he misses c!Wilbur and it's a reminder of the beach party they had. But he doesn't know he's not alone there; c!Dream has been there to watch him since the very first day. So, I guess he could've recorded the last words c!Wilbur said to c!Tommy and c!Tommy's cries then- imagine if c!Dream mixed up the happy lines with the sad ones, and then there'd be a smooth transition to the exile lines); glitching or static effects; a video clip of a gradually shrinking room; distorted images of c!Dream's face, and pictures of c!Tommy sleeping peacefully in his bed with a caption like “This boy misses his owner, if found, please return him to Dream.”

Ohhhh I love this. c!Prime psychological horror my beloved <3

I'd throw in that moment when c!Tommy attacked c!Wilbur in desperation while Wilbur was begging him to stop :) c!Dream would have loved that too much to leave it out lol. Just a little reminder of how alike the two of them are :)

[grace-kloeckl]

Discussion Leader Presentation

SABOTAGE - BEASTIE BOYS (JAN 1994)

The Beastie Boys song Sabotage and music video was released in 1994. It was filmed throughout L.A. in Los Feliz, Echo Park, Silverlake, Hollywood, and Downtown Los Angeles. The message of this song is considered to be “anti-authority”. Although not revealed until 2020 in their documentary, the inspiration behind Sabotage was their former producer whom they felt was constantly "sabotaging" them. This song and music video has been reproduced in many formats. Different versions have been made, it has been featured in TV shows and movies (such as Futurama and an advertisement for Minions: the Rise of Gru), and performed on Saturday Night Live. In 2020, it was used as background music for a Biden campaign ad, criticising Trump's COVID response and featuring Biden wearing black shades jogging up into a plane.

Our readings have introduced different perspectives on mass culture: the disappearance of the aura in Walter Benjamin's essay, how the culture industry functions within existing power structures in Horkheimer and Adorno’s essay, and how messages are created and received in Hall’s essay.

Considering these perspectives, the mass production and popularity of the music video for Sabotage by Beastie Boys reveals how the culture industry elevates and thrives off pieces which have vague and digestible meanings.

Sabotage in particular demonstrates the lack of autonomy a piece has after becoming a part of culture. Rather than having a clear intention or message, this song and music video seems to use vague emotional appeals, humour, and action to catch people's attention. The storyline is hard to follow, but it is reminiscent of crime dramas, except there's no distinction between "good" guys or "bad" guys. It shows authority figures causing chaos rather than fulfilling their supposed role. The appearance and behaviour of the policemen characters are exaggerated and silly. They're wearing fake moustaches, fake mullets, and sunglasses and are shown doing ridiculous and unnecessary things like jumping from building to building, spontaneously somersaulting, and eating donuts. This has the effect of making fun of policemen.

I wonder if there's a connection between the "anti-authority" interpretation and the L.A. Riots following the videotaped beating of Rodney King. Despite the proximity, the video doesn't seem to directly address this.

Regardless, the way it was received by the audience as “anti-authority” doesn’t take precedence over the way the culture industry functions, which is to produce copies and further profit off of the popularity of the song and music video. Through this process, the piece’s supposed “anti-authority” message gets distorted and weakened.

Taking from Walter Benjamin, its video format “substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence” (1236). The audience is separated from the context in which it was filmed. Taken out of context, the purposiveness of the piece is lost as it occupies new settings and may be interpreted completely differently. Because it is produced with this intention of mass consumption, which thrives off emotional appeal and relatability, the purpose or message gets somewhat diluted. According to Walter Benjamin, "it begins to be based on another practice - politics” (1237). This brings me back to the Biden campaign ad which uses this song with a supposed "anti-authority" reputation to criticise Trump (linked below 0:07 - 1:07).

According to Horkheimer and Adorno, the logic of a work is congruous with that of the social system (1242). In this case, while the Sabotage video might be considered anti-authority for its utter chaos and destruction, it doesn't specifically critique authority or demand an action. Rather, it seems like a crime drama parody, and it affirms what we already think. The theme of “anti-authority” may make people feel empowered, but this is similar to the aestheticization of war. It glorifies this catharsis of emotion that justifies the social system and power structures in place.

“The greater the decrease in the social significance of an art form, the sharper the distinction between criticism and enjoyment by the public. The conventional is uncritically enjoyed, and the truly new is criticized with aversion.” (Horkheimer and Adorno 1237)

FEEL GOOD - GORILLAZ (MAY 2005)

This is a very popular song by the Gorillaz, and it offers a critique of culture by depicting how consumers are numbed out on "good" emotions and trapped inside this system that exists to profit off of musicians and consumers. Ironically, this song also hit No. 2 in the U.K. and No. 14 in the U.S., so its success depends very system that it criticises.

Above is a moving image of the character 2D, using a megaphone to try to get people to listen. He says,

City's breaking down on a camel's back They just have to go, 'cause they don't know wack So while you fill the streets, it's appealing to see You won't get out the county, 'cause you're bad and free

You got a new horizon, it's ephemeral style A melancholy town where we never smile And all I wanna hear is the message beep My dreams, they got a kissing 'Cause I don't get sleep, no

The lyrics are hard to understand on their own, but paired with the visual of 2D walking over all these people lying on the ground, not paying attention to him, it becomes clear that he's trying to get a message out, but no one is listening. The words he speaks into the microphone become thin air, and everyone is too numb to hear him.

He then looks out the window and sees Noodle floating on an island peacefully playing music. Birds are chirping in the background, and during this part of the song, the sound and voice changes creating a more peaceful and faraway feeling. However, in the video, you can see that there are helicopters chasing Noodle down, suggesting that she will inevitably get trapped in the culture industry. This reminds me of a quote from Horkheimer and Adorno: "Talented performers belong to the industry long before it displays them; otherwise they would not be so eager to fit in" (1243).

The reading and the music video suggest the inevitability that the forces of the culture industry are too strong to be resisted, and any talent will be pulled into its orbit and pushed through its system to the masses.

Throughout the music video 2D seems stuck and anxious to find a way to escape and get other people to hear what he's saying. When De La Soul comes on speaking on the big screens, 2D looks up frightened and seems to feel cornered into becoming part of the system although he doesn't want to. There's a lyric sung by De La Soul that goes,

Gon' bite the dust, can't fight with us With yo' sound, you kill the Inc

So don't stop, get it, get it (get it) Until you're cheddar headed

It demonstrates the feeling of pressure on 2D to keep going, and De La Soul is convincing him that his song with this message can "kill the Inc".

What I find interesting about this song is that while it is a critique of the music industry and mass culture, because it functions within that very system, its message may be overlooked. Horkheimer and Adorno say that culture has an "economic mechanism of selection... there is the agreement - or at least the determination - of all executive authorities not to produce or sanction anything that in any way differs from their own rules, their own ideas about consumers, or above all themselves" (1244). Despite its critique of the system, this song still abides to the rules of the culture industry, in the way that it has been produced and received by the public. Producers are aware of this, so producing a song that critiques the music industry doesn't worry them because it doesn't change the power structures. In this instance, the song became very popular. This reminds me of a quote from Walter Benjamin:

"Its self-alienation has reached such a degree that it can experience its own destruction as an aesthetic pleasure of the first order." (1210)

This song is a good example of this because it was created with a message that reflects a feeling of alienation, yet it is an upbeat song meant to make us "feel good" and succeeds at that. Without analysing it, the meaning can go completely overlooked. Like Hall says, "if the meaning is not articulated in practice, it has no effect" (508).

Questions for analysis:

How does the transferability of media to different platforms and contexts enhance or dilute the meaningfulness/impact of a piece?

In both music videos, to what extent does the author's intention have authority over the meaning and significance of the piece?

Do you think the culture industry is always self-reinforcing, or are there areas of contradiction where multiple forces are at play? How do these potential areas of contradiction shape or change the way the culture industry functions? 

[dawnedon]

What Dawn’s bond with Giratina entails:

Dawn is better protected than most people who enter the Distortion World. Most people cannot mentally stand to be there for lengthy periods of time, but being Giratina’s champion acts as an extra safeguard. With that, and the Lake Trio’s power protecting her, she came out better than most would, especially at her age.

Ghosts love her. Whether it’s ghost-type pokemon, or actual ghosts/departed spirits. It’s not one-hundred percent, but a majority of them are relaxed and chill around her. She can bond with ghost-type pokemon quickly, and they’re drawn to her presence. She’s essentially like a walking haunted house - ghosts are just magnetized to her because of her aura resembling the ghost queen’s herself.

Dawn can both see and talk to ghosts/spirits. This is something she has dealt with for as long as she can remember, with the first time she talked to a spirit happening when she was six. If Dawn uses a oujia board, or any sort of way to connect with the deceased/departed, chances are it will really, actually work.

Dragon-types, to a lesser extent, are also easy for her to bond with, and generally get along with her. This isn’t as strong as her affinity for ghosts, but it’s there. The same could be said for dark-types, though it’s even more faint, given Giratina was one a dark-type before her death.

Dawn has a lot of cryptid-like qualities. She cannot be clearly photographed OR videotaped against her will, and all photos of her come out blurry, dark, and she has glowing red eyes. Something about her doesn’t seem right either, like she’s just human enough to avoid people’s suspicions, but something is clearly off if you really stare at her for a while.

She can safely get through Sendoff Spring, where most would get lost in the dense fog, collapse, and wake up at the entrance, Dawn can hear the whispers of the disembodied voices and follow them to the lake.

Dawn can feel distortional anomalies, points where the barrier between the universe and the Distortion World are weak, and knows where they are and where to avoid them, to avoid falling through to the parallel realm. 

She can feel Giratina’s emotions, and vice versa, also connecting to her directly through her thoughts to talk to her. Dawn knows where Giratina is, even when she leaves the dimension entirely. She also shares in Giratina’s pain, which... can be a bit rough sometimes.

In rare moments of intense emotion, unbeknownst to her (as she's never seen it happen), her eye color can match Giratina's. There are also instances in which multiple eyes can appear on her skin, usually when Giratina wants to 'see' through Dawn.

[peanuts-stafford]

Radiohead - In Rainbows (2009) Album Review

This is a great album. I've listened to this, OK Computer, and Kid A, and I don't know which one's my favorite. In my next Radiohead review, I'll probably let you know. I'll also definitely have to make a top 10 albums list, and I'll make sure to post that on my blog. These three albums are definitely all in my top 10. What can I say, I love Radiohead. Now for the review.

To start, "15 Step" is an amazing opener. It gets your attention with how upbeat it is and its solo electronic drumbeat. If you've ever looked at Charlie Thompson's graph of how sad each Radiohead song is (https://www.rcharlie.com/images/blog/fitter-happier/album_chart.html), you'll know "15 Step" is considered the happiest, with a 100 on the "gloom index," the happiest possible score. The next song, "Bodysnatchers," starts and ends chaotically. It begins with this crazy distorted sound. The body of the song sounds pretty structured, but switches to chaos again while Yorke yells "I've seem it coming!" Next is "Nude," a much slower and sadder song. The instrumentation is beautiful, as well as the lyrics.

"Weird Fishes/Arpeggi" is a more upbeat song, but still very beautiful. The lyricism is great. I really enjoy the ending of this song, as Yorke is singing some low notes and I find that beautiful and very cool. "All I Need" continues the trend of beautiful songs. It features a low, droning electronic bass. "Faust Arp" is pretty lowkey instrument-wise, but Yorke's vocals make up for that. The lyrics are just one after another. It's almost like he's singing his every thought, if Yorke thinks in song lyrics. (I would not be surprised if he did.)

Speaking of nice vocal performances, "Reckoner" is no exception. It features many different percussive instruments and some epic strings. Thom's voice is VERY beautiful in this one, as he sings some long high notes. "House Of Cards" is my least favorite track (it's just not that catchy) but it excellently builds up to "Jigsaw Falling Into Place," my favorite track on the record. Starting off with an amazing acoustic guitar riff, the track builds up for 57 seconds until Thom starts singing. The lyrics give me chills every time. "The walls are bending shape, they've got a cheshire cat grin, all blurring into one, this place is on a mission." Shortly after this the first section ends, and after a quick instrumental interlude, the second section begins. Thom sings "Before you run away from me, before you're lost between the notes, the beat goes round and round, the beat goes round and round." The second time he sings "the beat goes round and round," it is an octave above the first time. Thom continues to sing like this for the rest of the section. It builds up to the outro, and it's absolutely stunning. The lyrics are amazing. Everthing about this song is amazing. This whole song gives me chills.

Next is the closer, "Videotape," and I would agree with Thompson's sadness graph that this is the saddest song on the album. Piano is at the forefront of this song along with Thom's beautiful but melancholy vocals. Towards the second half of the song, some experimental percussion kicks in, and I love it. The last third of the song is a beautiful instrumental, and eventually, the song fades out, a perfect ending to the album.

I cannot express how much I love this album. The instruments are great, as are Thom's vocals, the flow is flawless, but the lyrics have to be my favorite part. They are intricate, compelling, and beautifully written. They stand out. Lyrics usually don't do that for me. Most of the songs are very sad ("15 Step" being the exception.) I will be listening to this album until I'm dead. It is absolutely transcendent to me.

Rating: 10/10