#and the book itself doesnt have numbers on any page

[why-its-kai]

Front and back cover of the Trigun Anime Manga "Wolfwood" one-shot comic book, released by Dark Horse in February 2005.

This comic book is an abridged adaption of episode 9 of the anime, "MURDER MACHINE", made using episode screenshots and (not quite accurately) transcribed dialogue from the English dub. It is 24 pages long (26 including the advertisement pages at the end) and reads right-to-left. Dark Horse released two trade paperback volumes of the Trigun Anime Manga, with the second volume sharing this one-shot's subtitle of "Wolfwood" as well as its cover image.

The back cover has advertisements for Trigun, mainly focusing on Dark Horse's manga releases available at the time and several shirts (all of which are still listed on their website, but not available to purchase). The two Trigun Anime Manga releases are promoted here as well. Interestingly, just like the Dark Horse webpage for volume 1 of Trigun Maximum, this advertisement incorrectly has the volume's subtitle as "The Hero Returns" instead of "Hero Returns" (as it is in the original Japanese release and printed on the English release of the book itself).

Scanned by me.

[bridgyrose]

Ruby lost herself in thought as she started looking through a few pages of her textbook to attempt to study. However, her mind kept wandering through the memories that Salem had shown her. Watching the man she loved die over and over again, that same man betraying her, the way the gods had toyed with her…

“Ruby? Ruby!” 

Ruby fell out of her chair, rubbing the back of her head as she looked up to see Weiss standing behind her. “O-oh, hey Weissy.” 

Weiss sighed and rolled her eyes and she helped Ruby up. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for nearly ten minutes now.” 

“S-sorry, I guess I didnt hear you.” Ruby closed her book and sighed. “Guess I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

“Is that why you’re spacing out all the time?” 

“I havent been spacing out *that* much.” 

Weiss scoffed and pulled out her own notes to study. “Right, of course not. That’s why you ended up with detention for ignoring Doctor Oobleck. And Professor Goodwitch. And you didnt fall asleep in Professor Port’s class, or doodle-” 

“Alright, alright, I get it. I… just havent been feeling myself lately.” 

Weiss paused for a moment before looking at the younger girl, almost not recognizing her for a moment. “You’re not getting sick, are you?” 

“No, its not that.” Ruby sat down, hesitating for a moment as she tried to put her thoughts into words. She knew she was about to sound crazy and Weiss probably wasnt going to believe her, but she wasnt sure who else to try to talk to right now. “I’ve… been hearing a voice in my head.” 

“A voice?” 

“Yes, a voice. A… woman’s voice. She calls herself Salem and she… showed me things.” 

“And what sort of things did this “voice” show you?” asked Weiss, making air quotes with her fingers as she talked. 

“She uh… she showed me a man dying. Over and over and over again. And then the same man with a different face betrays her. I watched humanity be destroyed and rebuild itself.” 

“Are you sure you just werent imagining things? Or maybe daydreaming?” 

“It felt real!” Ruby’s hands started to shake a bit as she remembered the pain she felt through Salem’s memories. The way the flames around the castle burned her skin, the way her heart skipped a beat as she watched Ozma die in front of her, the anger building inside of her from the secrets that Ozma kept… 

Weiss hesitated for a moment as she watched her partner start to go pale, shaking hard. “You’re serious, arent you?” 

Ruby slowly nodded, her breath starting to feel shaky. “I know, you think I’m crazy-” 

“I think you need to go to the infirmary,” replied Weiss. She quickly took Ruby’s hand, slowly pulling her out of the dorm and down the hall. “We can figure out what’s going on with your head in a bit, but right now, you’re not looking so great and I refuse to let you hold me back.” 

Ruby felt her stomach start to tie up in knots as she listened to Weiss, not quite sure if she could trust Weiss’s words. For the last few weeks, all she had seen was the heiress trying to get her to drop out, or pressing her to leave. This was the first time there had ever been a hint of worry in her voice, and it was still backed by a threat of not holding her back. “I’ll be fine.” 

“And we’re going to make sure you’re fine.” 

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

The nurse checked the thermometer in Ruby’s mouth, noting down the numbers before taking it out. “I cant seem to find what’s wrong with you. Blood pressure is fine, your temperature is normal, you’re still just as healthy as your first day.” 

Ruby sighed and laid back on the bed. “Told you I’d be fine, Weiss.” 

Weiss rolled her eyes. “And you were paler than I was when I brought you here.” 

The nurse got up to look at a few other students. “My recommendation is to get some rest. Probably should head back to the dorm and take the next couple days off. I’ll make sure the professors know what’s going on.” 

Weiss offered a hand to Ruby. “Come on, lets get you back to the dorm.” 

“I’ll make my way there in a bit.” Ruby stood up and started walking out of the infirmary. “I just… need to be alone for a moment.” 

“You heard the nurse, you need your rest-” 

“And I’ll get it.” Ruby paused for a moment when she realized her tone sounded angrier than she was. “I… just need some fresh air.” 

Weiss sighed as she watched Ruby walk off. “Why is my partner such a dolt?” 

Ruby slowly walked through the hallways, trying to clear her head to think. She was starting to think that Salem was right, that people would only say what others wanted to hear to use them. That the only way to make it in this world was to use others-

“I’m glad you’re finally starting to see things my way.” Salem’s voice started echoing in Ruby’s mind again. “And your partner isnt the only one who’s lying to you.” 

“Weiss… isnt lying to me. I know she doesnt like me-” 

“Is it not lying that she pretends to care about you when it suits her needs? You heard her yourself. She wont let you “hold her back.” You know she only sees you as dead weight and any attempts she makes to say otherwise is just her telling you exactly what you want to hear, what you need to hear. Besides, your sister’s partner is hiding who she is herself. Or have you not noticed the way that bow twitches?" 

Ruby stopped mid step, her thoughts starting to wander to each time she spoke to Blake, the bow on her head twitching ever so slightly, easily missable if you didnt know what to look for. “I.. what does that have to do with Weiss lying?” 

“Maybe it has nothing to do with it, or maybe she’s just planning on using you the same way Weiss is. Either way, you cannot trust your team. Not your partner, not your sister, and definitely not Blake.” 

Ruby sighed and started walking outside to the courtyard, finding a secluded spot to sit down and take a few deep breaths. “Okay, so dont trust anyone and then what? I still need to graduate as a huntress and that’s not something I can do on my own. I still need my team for that.” 

“Then play their game. If they want to use you, use them back.” 

[ask-mortarion-the-death-lord]

Some other interesting things to note in the old rogue trader 1st edition 40k book

The book itself has a fascinating structure to it because its actually frontloaded with the game rules, equipment and the like first [including a mutants table] and backloaded with the 40k setting details. Partly because unlike the modern 40k which is about playing games within the setting, the old rules seem more so geared towards creating rules to play a game of your choice. That is, well im not sure how well it would actually work the book does seem to encourage you to make shit up or even use a completely different setting like star wars instead.

some space marine chapter symbols on one of the opening pages. you can see chapter symbols for 7 of the modern big 9 of the loyalist chapters [blood angels, imperial fists, iron hands, space wolves, ultramarines, white scars] but they seem to be placed alongside the blood drinkers, flesh eaters, flesh tearers, and the... i think the rainbow warriors and silver skulls chapter symbols as well. Best guess is that they were originally suppose to be a lot more important then they ended up being. Also interesting to note but of the 7 of the big 9 here, only the iron hands symbol seems to get any major modification later on [if it is the iron hands anyways]. the early dark angels symbol has a thin in the middle fat on the end shaped sword in early versions and the space wolves symbol gets more bestial in modern versions, but the iron hands logo in modern 40k is flipped with pointier finger tips compared to here.

an interesting note here, since the modern 40k setting has a tendency to make the imperium seem and feel so monolithic and all encompassing on the galactic stage. Here its more so emphasized that even with the imperium being fairly large its only a blip in terms of the actual galactic scale of things. Something i wish was more carried through into modern 40k.

a little blurb on how warp space/travel worked in 1st edition. You could arguably still apply this to modern 40k too, that in terms of practical application its like using river systems to travel rather then going by sea

the section on warp drives and how they work, im not sure how accurate or effecctive 1-4 light years per jump is but it is the most detailed explanation ive seen as to how it actually works [as opposed to warp travel being random as fuck]. i also rather like the explanation as to why you can’t exit out of warp space right next to suns [and likely planets as well though thats conjuncture on my part] as youll just fuck up your ship if you do. On a side note, it says navigational drive instead of machine spirit/servitor or the like here cause 1st edition 40k imperium utilized robots instead [im guessing the men of iron and their rebellion wasn’t a thing yet].

Warp gates were also a thing and seemed to be implied as a common method of warp travel, and likely the main method of going long distance in a practical length of time.

they were aliens alll alonnnng! kidding aside, i like the idea that the dangers of the warp was more so psychic predatory alien species just chillin there rather then it just being a one to one copy of fantasy battles chaos gods. gives the setting a more unique flavour ya know.

some early info on warp storms with a 10% stastic of all solar systems cut off by warp storms to highlight the frequency of them.

early navigator info, seems their appearance was a lot less strictly defined and the third eye doesnt seem to be a thing yet. some info that explains why their so useful as well to keeping the imperium together despite it being “so thinly spread” compared to other space empires.

early figures on the astronomicans range. it not covering the eastern fringe at all i find fairly interesting cause ultramar in modern 40k is positioned firmly in the eastern fringe of the galaxy. 

for reference, heres what i assume is a map showing the effective range of the astronomican

nothing particularly notable outside of the weird implication that the emperor was far less of a vegtable here then he is now.

seems the imperium was far less monotheistic then as it is in modern 40k. Makes me wonder what other gods an imperial pantheon might have.

1st edition emperor was far less of a punk then modern emperor it seems, since it doesnt look like he needed 1000 psykers a day just to keep him goin. 1st edition emperor kept himself alive through sheer force of will. Also the ecchlisiarch didn’t exist back then and instead seemed to function in place of what the high lords do now. Though arguably a lot more effectively since they also seem to cover the ecchlisiarchs duties as well.

the direct subdivisions of the adeptus terra, which in this context gives a much more religious connotations to their jobs. Early custodes were just warrior priests i guess? and the arbites were priest judges? maintaining the astronomica also seems to have originally been a more voluntary effort then the other 1000 psykers sacrificed a day to keep the thing running it is in modern 40k.

the administratum also falls under the direct control of the adeptus terra.

the inquisition is basically the same then as it is now though it seems master of the inquisiton used to be a much more desirable job then it is now.

imperial governers were also basically the same despite in 1st edition being appointed by a religious priesthood administratum.

the adeptus astartes originally called legiones astartes cause space rome. Note the effective origin of the continuing space marine problem of scale of numbers cause this effectively means that in 1st edition 40k there are only one million marines in total spread out across the entire imperium. Though the imperium is also implied to be smaller then it is in modern 40k that still seems... insufficient for fighting across an entire galaxy. Also chapter masters were commanders back in the day and like governors not strictly speaking religious just taking orders from the priesthood.

even back then these guys got no respect. Though from the sounds of it the imperial army was closer to the pdf back then well the imperial fleet and space marines were more so responsible for the conquering.

we need more rogue traders with space marine squads under their command in modern 40k, cause that sounds a lot more interesting then deathwatch.

the officio assassinorum was a lot smaller back in the day that they didnt even deserve a proper mention it seems.

some classic imperial infighting here, with people willing to kill each other over grain quotas. Which sounds like a hell of a basis to make a scenario around let me tell you

civilized worlds, aka hive worlds light/modern earth transplantations are the most common planet type here. I do like the note however of imperial citizens being the usual imperial citizens.

feral worlds are basically the same though i find the early setting pieces on the legion astartes and the imperial commanders fascinating for all the implications it provides.

some hive world stuff, most notable is the implication of routine purges to maintain manageable population levels. Which is something you dont surprisingly see very often in modern 40k [usually its just rebellions that have to be put down that call for ‘purges’] and also implies that despite the misery of living in overcrowded hive cities people are still banging like crazy.

as i said, robots were much more of a thing for the imperium then as opposed to now.

apparently grabbing medieval peasants, stuffing them in space suits and telling them to go murder jibbering orks with hand cannons was considered a worse idea then grabbing a caveman to do the same thing? Guess you could consider a medieval world a developmental stage before reaching civilized status.

paradise worlds were space marines do tai chi and yoga i guess and research stations, aka what can we exploit out of this planet.

cappin it there for now, let me know if ya wanna see some more stuff from this fascinating book.

[speyeraling]

right!! so!!! here is the book that was initially meant to be for notes during my tma relisten. i decided shortly after finishing it that i wanted to use a different notebook for it (which i also made a new cover for), so the fate of this one is now... unclear. ill use it for something, im sure.

(........or itll just go in the pile with all my other unused notebooks. both possibilities are equally likely.)

that said, i did promise a process post, and at this point even though its use will most likely not be tma related, this is where ive been posting about it previously, so it is where i will continue to do so. but thats unimportant!! this post is meant to show my process of creating the book cover, not... whatever this is. again, i did not make the entire book, only the cover. i also genuinely had no idea what i was doing and just made it up as i went along. if youre looking for a post about actual bookbinding, youre probably better off looking elsewhere.

this is already getting long and will only get longer, and will also have several progress pictures, so ill put the rest under a cut!!

(please excuse the mess in these progress photos; i was in the middle of cleaning when i decided Hey Lets Drop Everything And Make A Book Cover Instead.)

so here is the initial book i started with!! it looks pretty normal, right? pretty standard soft cover book.

no.

for reasons i will likely never understand, the cover actually works like... this. the back cover is ridiculously long, folds back over on itself and all the way around to the front where it has a flap that rests behind the actual front cover. i would love to know who came up with this and why because it confuses me greatly.

so the first step was to cut that off.

well that still looks weird, doesnt it. and yet!! it was exactly what i needed. this was always the plan for this notebook, in fact. i bought it months ago with the intention of making a new cover for it. i will admit that it did get a bit out of hand though...

so onto actually making the thing. i didnt have any cardboard thick enough for the cover, but i did have several sheets of thin cardboard, and a can of spray glue.

(spray glue, by the way, is incredibly useful but also incredibly frustrating, and also probably not the best glue to use for the majority of this project, especially with how many places i had to mask and then remove the masks from to actually attach pieces. alas.)

so i glued those sheets together, cut them to size, and i had a base for each side of the book cover. you can see i also cut out a piece for the spine. i realized later that was entirely unnecessary. had i attached that piece, the spine would not have been flexible enough to allow the book to open fully. it was promptly tossed out.

next was making the inner spine of the cover. measured the spine onto a sheet of paper, added some extra space on each side to attach to the paper. there is a bit of a gap between the spine and where the covers attach – this is intentional and gives the book a bit more flexibility when opening. this is also something i had to look at an actual book to figure out, because my initial attempts were not working. this piece was attached to the inside of each cover to better fit around the edges of the book. i also added another strip of paper to the outside of the spine for reinforcement, which you can see in the first and second images.

and in the third image, you can see Spray Glue Mishap Number One.

after that was dry, it was time to cover the.. cover. my paper wasnt long enough to do a full wrap, which meant i had to do two separate pieces, which also meant i had to do a third piece for the outside of the spine. measure, cut, glue, fold the flaps down, glue those. while i used spray glue for the majority of this, i did have enough sense to use a glue roller for the flaps.

and again, measure/cut/glue with the outside of the spine. for this part i did fold the edges under themselves and glue those in place (with a glue roller) before actually attaching the piece to the cover (with spray glue) to give it a nicer, more defined edge, although i didnt take any photos of that part.

see also: Spray Glue Mishap Number Two. i tried to wipe it off with a tissue. i dont know why. it obviously did not work.

at this point the cover itself was finished, and all i had to do was attach it to the book. this was far more terrifying than it had any reason to be. 

more masking, more spray glue, and so much more anxiety later, i had attached the original covers of the book to the inside of the new cover, and i was done! the book was finished. thank god.

(as a quick note, the first page being attached to the inner cover was not a mistake on my part; that was how the book itself was made. unfortunately i couldnt really think of a good way to detach it so i just left it as-is.)

in the end i did it all over again with a second notebook, with a few modifications. since the new book itself was thinner and more flexible, i only used a single sheet of cardboard for the cover. i also did not reinforce the spine but rather just glued it directly to the spine of the actual book. i probably couldve done the same with the first book, but it wouldnt have looked as nice. the second book was much more suited to an attached spine. here are a couple phots of the one ill be using instead, as well as a comparison between the two:

at this point i have no idea how im going to decorate them. im not too worried about it – theyre functional as-is, so theres no need to make them look fancy before i start using them. ill figure something out during the course of my relisten, im sure. still, any suggestions are welcome!!

[an-umbra]

You put a smile on my face. [Joker X Reader | One shot]

SHORT SUMMARY

Becoming a comedian. That's your dream. You have the opportunity to prove yourself because you have a guest appearance on a Murray Franklin Show. But it will be anything but amusing. While you hope for a successful evening, Murray amuses himself with Arthur's clip. Instead of bursting out in laughing you defend the man on the screen. Without knowing that the Joker has kept an eye on you now ...

AUTHORS NOTE

This is my first post on Tumblr, I am kinda nervous! Since English isnt my first language I apologise for any mistakes in the story, I tried my best though, haha-

Also, I didnt write anything for ages, so I am very thankful for any feedback on this! 🖤

Last but not least; Thank you to anyone who is taking her/his time to read the story. 🖤

CONTAINS

- The images/gifs used are from the Joker played by Joaquin Phoenix. Also, the story is based on events that happened in the movie. Still, you can imagine this with any version of the Joker you want to ~

- No real sexual content, but a bit of tension and touching 

- Word count: 1440

STORY

Faster, faster and faster your heart beats, until it feels like it could jump out of your chest at any moment. You could just turn around. It wasnt too late. Your eyes turned to the mirror where you saw your fear-distorted face. The wobbling of your legs - that was one of your habits when you got nervous - made your reflection shake up and down. "Just be yourself" you gave your image as advice and pressed the muscles of the corner of your mouth up, but you could not stop them from trembling. Nervousness was a feeding sensation. You just wanted to disappear, maybe back into your protective four walls, without spectators, without any human soul.

"Are you ready?"  a voice asked coming from the direction of the door. Am I ready? You repeatedly thought to yourself. You pressed your fingertips against your palm and exhaled one last time for the jump in the icy water. "For sure!" came back in response from you.

You stood up and let your hands slide over your dress. Every single fiber tickled your skin. One last look in the mirror; you at least should look good if everything went wrong. A pair of pants would have been more comfortable than this tight dress. You sighed and started questioning everything again. "(Y / N) please stand behind the curtain!" Your body jerks briefly before your feet carry you towards the curtain. While you stood in front of the curtain, you would have liked to disappear - whoosh - just gone like you've never been here. "Please welcome our next guest, (Y / N)!" Tap. Tap. Every single step echoed through the great hall. The clapping of the audience boomed in your ears and the spotlight fell on your pale skin. Swallow. Breathe. Everything would be fine, that was your first appearance. You gave the audience a short smile and raised your hands in the air to greet everybody. "Thank you so much for having me here today" you squeezed out of you as Murray reaches out to you. Next to him, you looked like a trembling puppy taking his first steps. Would you ever achieve this professionalism?

When you sat down on the sofa, Murray asked for an applause again, after all, it was your first time on a big stage. An audience like this and thousands of people watching you in front of the TV, it felt good. It felt really good. As if you could finally be heard. As if that was the beginning of your long-awaited dream as a comedian.

But Murray did not ask you for a joke. Not for a single one. "Today we want to take a look at the something" he told the audience. Alright. Maybe you could do a number afterwards. A clip appeared on the studio screen. It was a man. He held a kind of notebook in his hands. He flipped through the pages until he folded the book and began to speak: "It's funny, when I was a little boy, and told people I was going to be a comedian, everyone laughed at me. Well, no one's laughing now." The uncertainty in his voice promised that this guy was probably just as insecure as you were. You could understand him though. "Youre dead right!" Murray exclaimed with a puffed-up laugh. The audience laughed in rows. "What do you think of our encouraging beginning (Y / N)?" He turned to you and smiled at you. Put on and experienced. That's exactly what his smile looked like. "Are you serious now?" You put back as a question. You did not dare to blink, you even stopped the breath of air that you just took. What did you just say? Why were you so angry? It doesnt matter. It was too late to change what you just said. The moderator's smile slid down his face. The eyebrows snuggled closer to his eyes, which he squashed. He probably did not believe what he had heard himself. "Well" he began unaware, "dont you think that's funny?" Funny? You did not know what was funny about it. This man wanted to make people laugh. But they robbed him of this attempt. "I found the gentlemen you just demonstrated here funny" swallowing, you pressed your fingertips even harder in your hand until it almost hurt. "I do not want to be part of this show anymore." Now or never. You got up and looked into the audience. Disappointed faces. Whispering heads, which leaned towards their counterpart. Everyone was as horrified as Murray. Then you turned to the camera. "I apologize to you on behalf of this show ... keep trying to make people laugh. You already made me laugh." You tried to cheer up the man who had probably just watched this series with great anticipation and was now the victim of a corrosive society.

                               Tonight was your last performance on TV.

TWO WEEKS LATER

You sat in the train. The usual everyday life, working, eating and sleeping. Itwas sad, but it was paying off your bills. You had pressed your bag against your chest, because today the train was overcrowded again. Breathing was hardly possible, it felt like breathing in dust. Not long ago a movement had started in Gotham. Many people disguised themselves as clowns and protested. Triggered by a clown who shot and killed three employees of Wayne Enterprises in the subway. The tense situation in the city did not surprise you. Dissatisfaction. Poverty. Everything carried the city into the abyss. The train jerked your body back and forth, while your eyes remained fixed on the ground. Which station were you at? You looked up - boom - he had met you, the look you would never forget. First ice cold. Rigid. But when he noticed that you returned the intense eye contact, his expression changed. 

He puts a smile on his face, at the same time his right brow made a small jump. Left. Right. Your eyes looked around hastily. Nothing. He actually looked at you. You were overwhelmed. What should you say? Should you even say something? How did this guy know you? Thousand of questions. No Answer. He was different from the rest of the protesters, his face was full of make-up, it was no mask. Somehow it fascinated you. Was that weird? You saw the passion with which he had applied the mak -up. "City Hall" an artificial voice finally said. All clowns gathered before exiting. The squares emptied rapidly. Suddenly, a large hand placed itself on your thigh. The fingers slide into the inner side of your leg and gently pressed themselves into your flesh. "Thank you, beautiful" the deep voice whispered softly in your ear. Goosebumps appeared over your entire body and you released a pleasant sigh. Your ear became so hot that it was barely noticeable. The red lips of the clown easily brushed your ear and made you stare. "You turned my negative thoughts into some .. lets see how I should put it .. pretty" amusing "ones .." You could feel him grinning on your ear and starting to laugh softly. You recognized the laughter, even if it was only short. It was the laugh from Murray's show. The laughter of the man you were protecting. But this laugh, which now escaped his lips, reflected the madness of his soul. You liked it, you liked it a weird way, very much. He removed his face from your ear and looked you in the eyes for a few seconds. You could feel his hot breath on your lips. You may have been apart at one fingertip. His eyes fixed on your lips. Slowly you lowered your eyelids, so that they were only half open. It felt like an eternity until it happened, but finally he put his lips on yours. Nothing. There was nothing more than the overwhelming feeling in you. And the desire not to stop. But after your lips were touched briefly, the artificial voices made another announcement: "Step away, the doors are closing." He looked back hastily, took a few steps back and left the wagon. "Dont miss me too much (Y/N)" He licked his lips briefly and laughed a little louder. Him knowing your name made your heart skip a beat. But it also gave you the most sincere smile since a long time. 

When the train left the weird feeling remained in your entire body. Your eyes followed him until the last moment. "Too late .." you gave back as a late reply.

                 One little taste already made you went crazy for him

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[leninova1997]

Please, dont listen to this post, its actually utter garbage (holy shit, what an absolute joke). “Art” doesnt start when characters stopped talking or end when the exposition pours in or something. Art itself exists as A WHOLE, where parts have their own qualities, reasonable perfections and flaws (not every word, following or change can be considered the same, but the level of closeness is always important + objectivity). Also, some people are better at writing dialogs, some people are for details etc.. People have the absolute right to create in any ways they wish to since its after all literature, there are NO ACTUAL BOUNDARIES TO FOLLOW FROM RULE TO RULE to word to word. You wanna have a dialog full story? Alright, go for it. Wanna have a novel where nobody talks and only action matters? Sure, why not. Would you like to have both? OF COURSE YOU CAN HAVE IT!

Actually, it is very snobbish (and “posing”) to state, its only the certain type of writing that matters all the time and nothing else. No, this is absolutely wrong! This not only shows, he doesnt really read many books or even if he does, cannot get his own head out of his ass (or both to be fair). I have consumed many books that contained a lot of dialog, yet the story was fantastic. The current “victim” i have on my self is Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. Its not only an amazingly written masterpiece but has one of the best dialogs i have seen by an american author. So by this logic, it means, Catch 22 sucks and should be burnt to cinder? Or i could bring up one of my favorites, Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. People talk in it, like a lot, but never seemed like it screwed up the actual story, the pacing or the worldbuilding. Should it be thrown out to the garbage with this logic? Because somebody doesnt have the actual capacity to understand basic properties such as liberty,choice and creativity? 

Speaking of lack of dialog, i have read many books that contained only a few conversations yet couldnt amaze me or genuinely made me hate it (and my life). Régimódi történet (dunno how to translate: maybe, “Old tale?”, LOL) is a Hungarian novel that truly stands out to me to this day. It was such a pretentious, pathetic attempt through 400 pages to have the author (Magda Szabó) hyper herself up for being born in “such an amazing and influential family” in the city of Debrecen (its the city i was born too) and how i should blow my mind over it and herself too. Nobody actually spoke a word in it in a classical manner, yet every sentence was frustrating to get through. It was truly terrible, and i still cannot stand Magda Szabó’s style to this day. 

Other book that wasnt really shinning during the dialogs (and in numbers) yet happened to be even worse between those was the Handmaid’s tale by a technophobe feminist. I read it in original, it was truly awful. The characters were papercuts, the story was boring, the “worldbuilding” was once of the most laughable attempts i have ever seen in sci-fi (if i can even call it one) and the writing was extremely generic. Its one of those cases when hype overtakes everything and everyone. It made me wish many times, i got dialogs to read instead of...everything else....so i could finish it much sooner (or get something “entertaining” for a brief moment but that was too much to ask for). Please dont read it, its a waste of time.

So, the conclusion is: it doesnt matter which way you would like to write, how many dialogs it has or lacks, what things you explain pages after pages or dont. Its the talent and passion that matters at the end. Please, again, dont listen to these passive-agressive “expert” wannabe lowlife nobodies who clearly dont know anything about actual literature and art. They shouldnt have a word in these at all. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScyTKNuyVsw

If it makes you comfortable to write more dialog, sure, do it, its perfectly fine! 💗 Nobody will judge you because of it or determine the overall quality of the writing. Dialog is a simple tool to express your feelings and imaginations. Not some kind of “lazy attempt” to “cut corners”. This is such a pathetic point of view. Yes, there are writers who prefer to use less dialogs (like me), but that doesnt mean it will automatically boost up the value of the creation. 

I hope this simple essay can help a bit, haha

[wizardlyghost]

holy shit yall i just had a homestuck inspiration

so about two years ago i got thinking about the significance of complacency of the learned. we only get brief descriptions of the books, but we know some plot points. its pretty explicitely implied that theres a relationship between the villain calmasis and cal(iborn)(liope), but then i started to think maybe it was significant beyond that. we know that there were twelve members of the complacency, hunted down and killed one by one by calmasis, and this is often taken to be symbolic of the twelve trolls, but this never added up to me; lord english doesnt have any direct interaction with the troll session, as well as the fact that by the official end of homestuck there were still seven trolls standing. so given that numbers in this saga are always significant, who else could it refer to? perhaps the twelve players to claim the ultimate reward; eight human kids, three trolls, and a revived cherub (dont fuckin @ me vr*ska took off before the final battle even started and g*mzee was locked in the damn fridge).

this makes things interesting because it implies that the story doesnt start until the epilogues, and i guess that makes sense, because after defeating the game they have become complacent, and they are the literal masters of their world; parallels between them and the wizards are apparent. twelve powerful beings, presumably each with a counterpart.

zazzerpan, i think, is dirk, or at least meat epilogue dirk. a master chess player who has never lost a match even to gods is certainly a description that fits. taking into account his unexplained power over the narrative, we can also safely call him the most powerful of the complacency. however, this brings to the table an interesting twist; meat dirks nemesis is dead calliope, which throws into question the assumption that calmasis is the counterpart of lord english. in fact, with the last page of the meat epilogue taken into consideration, calmasis could be considered to be the united adult versions of calliope and caliborn.

this would mean that the chess match played beyond the death of the king was homestuck itself; the king was lord english, the objective of the game his demise, and his defeat unexpectedly not as final as hoped

[coffeetoxication]

the link to ch 9 of without hesitation doesnt work :( btw love your fanfic so far!! i adore the characterization that youve put in

OH shoot sorry about that!! Here let me give it to you here as I’m currently trying to gather up the chapters so I can submit them to Archive of Our Own soon and AHHHH Thank you so muchhh oh my goodness ;v; <3 It’s not over yet and there will be plenty of more chapters to go~ 

With the witching hour rolling in and Ren being wide awake due to the number of naps that he’s had today, he was playing around on his phone while Stimpy is fast asleep. After their little fun that they’ve had in the bath including having a long make out session in the shower, Ren couldn’t really get Johnathan out of his mind. He hasn’t really texted him ever since this morning and he was starting to worry if he was making Johnathan feel left out. With a sigh, he got out from the bed quietly as he could and went downstairs towards the kitchen. He was debating if he should make some coffee or not. Though he didn’t want to be too wired, he pulls out his messages to see if Johnathan messaged him yet.

Of course, nothing.

Putting his phone down on the kitchen counter, he peeked through the blinds of the window to look to see if there was anything going on. To his surprise, nothing. However, he did notice …. something just across the street. No, it was someone. Someone leaning against their car with what seems to be a cigarette in his hand. Considering that the guy was right under the street light, his hat had completely overshadowed his face. This was creepy beyond Ren’s comfort levels. The fact that this guy was just …. standing there and possibly staring right at him made his skin crawl. The guy probably knew that he was in there. Ren thanked himself that he didn’t turn on the living room lamp on. Though making sure that all windows and doors are locked is a must.

“Creepy fucker.” Ren mumbled to himself as he quickly went to make sure that all doors and windows were absolutely shut and locked.

God only knows of what this guy wants. Frankly, Ren didn’t WANT to know.

Kitchen, bathroom, living room, guest room, … everything seemed locked and untouched from the first floor. Now, the last room to check was upstairs bedroom and bathroom. Looking up, he suddenly hated on how the stairs looked. Dark and ominous. Letting his imagination get the best of him like a scared child. Thinking such irrational silly things like hands coming out of the walls and underneath the stairs and drag him away.

“ … run up the stairs you fuckin’ pussy …” Ren tells himself, taking a deep breath and closes his eyes tightly.

Just like that, Ren ran up as quickly as he could, almost tripping a couple of times.

Reaching upstairs, Ren felt the relief overcome him. Knowing that Stimpy was in the bedroom practically snoring made him feel calm for once. Tip-toeing around the remaining rooms, Ren felt something that was rather … off. He really couldn’t put his finger on it, but it felt as if he was being watched. He didn’t dare to think that there were more of them out there. God, he had hoped and prayed that the one by the street light is just the one.

Making sure, and very much sure that he was going to regret it, he goes by the bedroom blinds and goes to check outside carefully. The worst part of it was that it was completely dark. Not even the street lights were bright enough to pierce the darkness of their backyard. In a way, it kind of relieved him. If it was too dark to see outside, it would be too dark for anybody to see anything from the inside. It was possibly his own paranoia that was making him feel this way. He was contemplating about calling the cops, but the guy would’ve been far from gone by the time they get here. What would he tell them? That some creepy fuck was outside his house and he had no idea of what he looked like? Yeah. Sure.

With an exhausted sigh, he got into bed slowly and crawled inside the covers. It was hard to believe, but Ren was scared. Very scared to the point where he began to shiver.

Feeling Stimpy’s warmth radiating from him, Ren scooted himself closer to him. Even tightly wrapping both of his arms around Stimpy’s. Closing his eyes tightly. Ears picking up the clanks and creaks of the house resting making him think it was someone lurking around.

“S-stimpy …?” Ren whimpered, “S …… stimpy?”

With a few shakes and even a good harsh nudges with his knees, he finally got him to wake up and to cease his obnoxious snoring.

“Mmmmm, hmmm?” Stimpy groaned, one eye peeking at Ren.

“I … I can’t sleep …….” Ren whispered.

“Oh? …..” Stimpy rubs his eyes, almost on the verge of falling asleep again. “How come?”

Ren wanted to tell Stimpy about the man he had seen. However, it would probably turn out to be one of those cliche scenes where he would say something and then the man would be long gone by now. Ren didn’t really know of what to say. He was conflicted if he should tell another lie or tell Stimpy of what’s really going on for a change. Did he really need to worry about it? Would he really understand? Probably not.

“N-Nevermind, … I’ll tell ya in the mornin’.” Ren mumbled, pulling the covers over him.

“Mmmm, …. okaaayyy …” Stimpy yawns as he wraps an arm around him.

From there, Ren felt an immediate sense of security. Stimpy pulling him into a sleepy embrace made him feel so stupidly warm and fluttery inside. Letting Stimpy do whatever he wants, he closes his eyes to drift into a calm sleep.

*~*~*~*~

With the remaining hours left before sunrise, Johnathan remained awake in the home of Mr. Horse. The environment around him was … overwhelming. He wasn’t used to being in homes that were filled with expensive furniture, antiques, and bookcases larger than himself. All he’s ever known was cheap hotels, trailer parks, and beat down apartments. Everything was a struggle. To do what he had to do to keep a roof over himself along with his father, it didn’t matter how filth-ridden the place was, it was home.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t envious. To be in a high-class house like this, it was like a dream. A dream that was his a long time ago back in college. How all of his hard work studying and working long-shifts would pay off. How life would owe him in the end.

But life has it’s own set of rules. How cruel and unfair it can be. Johnathan understood that reality. If only his father would. If he knew then of what he knows now, none of this would’ve happened.

However, …. there’s no point dwelling on it now. Johnathan was far too tired to really cause his body anymore stress. He didn’t want to bother to look at his phone either.

Maybe a book would help. It’s been a while since he’s really picked up a book. Not that he wanted to. Just never found the time.

Getting up from his bed in the guest room, he makes his way towards the living room as he turns a lamp on. The hardwood floor cold beneath his feet, it was oddly comforting. The room itself had a cozy atmosphere. An unlit fireplace with a widescreen t.v above it, two leather reading chairs, a couch that looks to be soft to the touch, a mahogany book case that was filled with a variety of books it seems, and finally … a simple rug in the middle of the room. Letting out a content sigh, Johnathan begins to scan through the book case with the tip of his index finger. Psychology, sociology, psychopathology, neuropsychology, philosophy, some written by independent authors about their experiences as therapists, and … even some poetry. H.P Lovecraft, Tennessee Williams, Sylvia Plath, and even Edgar Allan Poe. Haven’t heard that name since high school, he thought. Feeling nostalgic, he pulled out the book of which contained all of Poe’s notorious writings and poems.  

Johnathan remembered how he had to do a report about Poe and what writing of his influenced him the most while Ren had Emily Dickinson. The echoing voice of Ren’s complaining ringed in his ears.

“Seriously, how am I supposed to understand this poetic shit? If I really wanted to be THIS depressed I would’ve gone through my ol’ man’s ‘secret’ stash.”

“The whole point of understanding these poets, Ren, is that they’ve used this type of writing to expel their anguishes even if may seem out of the norm. Not a lot of people back in those times really understood depression or how to properly deal with it.”

“Okay there, Mr. Analysis, no need to go all out on me. Ya might choke. Who you workin’ on?”

“Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Hmm, never heard of ‘im. Is he just as depressing as dickson or whatever the fuck her name is?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but he has a unique style of writing. He kind of adds a little bit of horror in his works which gives it an extra edge to it, but I guess if I had to pick any of his works that I can relate to in a sense, is ‘Alone’.”

Alone.

Flipping the pages of the book, Johnathan had found it.

From childhood’s hour I have not beenAs others were–I have not seenAs others saw–I could not bringMy passions from a common spring–From the same source I have not takenMy sorrow–I could not awakenMy heart to joy at the same tone–And all I lov’d–I lov’d alone–

“And all I loved … I loved alone …” Johnathan whispered to himself, frowning as he did.

The nostalgia he felt now were tugged heart strings. Feeling the repressed pain that he had felt all those years were now swarming like a dropped wasps nest. This was not how he wanted to spend the rest of the night. Being all melancholy in a home that wasn’t his.

Deciding to put the book away, he started to look for something less depressing.  

While searching, his ear caught the sound of the floor creaking only to realize that someone was stepping inside of the living room. It startled him as he swiftly turned his head to find Mr. Horse by the entrance way. With his heart racing he stepped back from the bookcase as if to say “I wasn’t touching anything!”. However, seeing a small smile on Mr. Horse’s face made him relax.

“I see that you have taking a liking to my collection here …” He said, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up.

“Y-Yeah, … I c-couldn’t really sleep, so I thought that reading would help. I … didn’t wake you up, did I?” Johnathan looked down, rubbing his arm in embarrassment.

“Of course not. I suppose you can call it an intuition. I always know when one is restless, so my body acts accordingly.” Mr. Horse shakes his had, placing a hand on Johnathan’s shoulder.

Johnathan can’t really have himself to forget on how gentle Mr. Horse with. The way he talks, how soft his touch is, and the welcoming aura around him makes Johnathan wish that he knew more people like him.  

“So, … may I ask of what is troubling you?” Mr. Horse took a seat on the couch, patting the spot right next to him.

With a deep sigh, Johnathan sat right next to him as he drooped his head. Elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers holding his chin, he wasn’t sure on where to start.

“Just …. everything. Me questioning of my own sanity, my … fucking dad, the thought of the mafia looking to serve my ol’ mans head on a silver platter to the head honcho, and ya know … asking myself of what the fuck I’m doing here.” Johnathan said, “Why ….. did I have to come here ….?”

Lowering his head even more, Johnathan felt as if he was tearing apart inside. He felt so lost into everything that it was hard to really try to tackle all of these problems at once. Johnathan had always had this sense of pride that he could try to outcome any situation even if it meant life and death. However, one could only handle the same situation multiple times to where they have come to the end of their rope. Johnathan, … was very much at the end of his …

“My dear boy, ….” Mr. Horse starts, “It doesn’t take a therapist to know on how much you’re currently going through. How emotionally and mentally straining everything is on you.”

Johnathan could only scoff at the obvious, not that Mr. Horse was wrong but just how true his words are.

“If I may be so bold as to give you suggestions to make it easier not only for you, but for your father as well. In return, you have to do something for me.”

“ …. Suggestions?”

“Yes. Now, listen carefully …”

[qqpiner]

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[joehas]

Q&A with John O´Loughlin.

A BIT ABOUT YOU

Q1 Who are you and what do you do?

I am Joe Haslam and I´m the Executive Director of the Owners Scaleup Program and a Professor at IE Business School in Madrid. At IE, I teach classes on scaling and scaleups to University level students, to MBAs and to Senior Executives.  

I´m also a director a number of companies, mainly scaleups or startups started by serial entrepreneurs. I do a lot of speaking at conferences (now mostly virtual) as well as writing and podcasting.

To quote Peter Drucker “Entrepreneurship is risky mainly because so few of the so-called entrepreneurs know what they are doing” Having spoken to maybe 500 founders in the last ten years, I´ve a fair idea what you should not do to scale a business. I put the emphasis on not making known mistakes so that you give yourself the best chance to figure out what it is you need to do.

Q2.      What is your background?

After graduation from UCC, I went to London to work for Perot Systems as a Consultant. That was a great status job but it was no way to live so I came back to Ireland.

A group of us left consulting to set up a company called Marrakech during the dot com era. We raised over seventy million dollars and grew to over 250 people. This is where my interest in scaling up comes from.

After four years, I moved to Madrid to do an MBA at IE Business School. The first weekend, I met this girl and we are still together. In terms of lifestyle, I think that Madrid and Berlin are the two best cities to live in Europe.

Q3. Favourite business news resource?

CB Insights is a wonderful resource. It tells you, often on one page, who the cool companies are in each sector. My students absolute love this visual storytelling.    

I used to read The Economist every Saturday morning when it arrived on paper but I got out of the habit of doing this when i subscribed online instead. This makes no sense, I know, but habits are powerful.

My news now comes from links I find on Twitter. I think it´s a wonderful resource and it allows me to keep in touch with the news from places i previously lived in. You don´t have to live in Silicon Valley anymore to keep in touch with what is going on there.  

Q4. If I was to ask for a business book recommendation?

Trillion Dollar Coach: The Leadership Playbook of Silicon Valley's Bill Campbell is a great way to understand the importance of coaching. Coaching is much misunderstood. It´s not about telling someone what to do but to help them to find the answers themselves. Business should be like sport where everyone has a coach.

I think every man should read The Female Eunuch by Germaine Greer. It has helped me a lot to understand how women feel in certain circumstances. Some men think they are helping but they are doing exactly the wrong thing.

Scaleup books are many. The best is Scaling Up by Verne Harnish. High Growth Handbook by Elad Gil is very Silicon Valley but also very well structured. Blitzscaling by Reid Hoffman is a strategy I disagree with but you have to read it anyway. Scaling by Roland Siebelink makes the really important points in a way that you cant miss them. Growth and Scaleup Enablers for SMEs by Veijo Komulainen is deceptively useful.

Q5. Are you listening to any good business podcasts at the moment?

Like a lot of people, I listen to Kara Swisher and Scott Galloway twice a week. I can see why it annoys people but its makes business fun and that is welcome. In contrast the a16z podcasts are much richer in content but you do have to force yourself to listen to the end.

In terms of scaleup resources, we are very well served. There is Scaleup Valley by Mike Dias, Masters of Scale by Reid Hoffman, Notion Capital´s “Pain of Scale” and The Scaling Startups Podcast by Ross Sheil.

While listening in the car or walking to work is better than nothing, I also recommend that you group listen. By this I mean to schedule a meeting with the management team. Listen to it together and then discuss immediately.

Q6. What’s your best bit of business advice?

I have got loads of this.

Find out what you are good at and get even better at it. Find out what you are bad at and get other people to do it.

Getting a “No” only means “no” today. Failure is part of the process of growing, so don´t take it personally. If you are shooting for big things then you should expect to fail.

Follow up. I see this all the time. Someone makes an intro, you have a meeting but you move onto another meeting before mining the first one fully.

Vulnerability is a super power. Ask for help. People are mostly good and will help if you are open about asking for it.

Q7. What do you do to wind down/relax?

I run 5km, 5 times a week. I also swim 1,000 meters twice a week. I hate bicycles though so I am not a Mamil.

As you get older, if you don´t do physical exercise then everything falls apart. Also it´s a time to think. And thinking cannot be done in short batches. I can think of many problems where the solution only came after thinking uninterrupted about it for more than half an hour.

Stress is a real issue so i try to have one entire day every week when i have no meetings or deadlines. This takes the pressure off and lets me go into random areas as opposed to the here and now. We have really only four productive hours a day, so I try to block off those and then do other not so intellectual tasks the rest of the time.    

ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS

Q8. Why are you in the news?

I´m never not in the news. It´s part of my job to be in the news! Last week it was Saudi Arabia, the week before India, the week before that South Korea.  

Engaging with people is how you learn. I´m really hard on my students who come to class just to listen. E.M. Forster's quote “How do I know what I think until I see what I say” captures this exactly.  

To quote a friend of mine from a private conversation “clear, strong writing was now a differentiator in the tech industry in the same way design had been in the early 2000s, when Apple schooled everyone on what actually created value.  Tech companies had spent ten years catching up on design, investing in talent and buying up studios—but they didn’t yet correctly value written communication. Internally, to customers, or to the public”

Q9. What is your biggest business challenge at present?

I have never had any expectation of stability so the Coronavirus disease (COVID-19) is just what it is this year.  There are always challenges, they just have different names.  

It is now more difficult to travel to Madrid for the Owners Scaleup Program, particularly from Latin America. A good Professor can creates an atmosphere in a classroom that is hard to match online. They also miss out on the social part of the program. Eating Cachopo and drinking Mencia in Restaurante Asturiano Carlos Tartiere is an important part of the Program.

I used to travel 20 weeks a year to promote IE Business School so that doesnt happen either anymore. Nothing beats going to a country to get to know something about the people in your classroom. In February, I did a six city tour of Mexico (Monterrey, Guadalajara, Mérida, León, Querétaro, CDMX). I haven´t left Spain since.    

Q10. What are you doing to address this?

We have moved online. But not online just in the sense of recording a video but my classes are now live. Death by Powerpoint is now gone as everyone is much more comfortable contributing from their happy place. On video, everyone is equal.  

I was also very lucky in that three years ago, I agreed to shoot something called a High Impact Online Program (HiOP) which is series of short videos and readings which is more like a Netflix series than a class. We .. ahem ... scaled up the course on Scaleup.

IE invested a lot of money in a production team to create this, especially as everything was new so we didn´t really know what we were doing. I am also using something called the WOW Room a lot more for classes. This has 48 screens shaped in the form of a “U” and with up to 200 degree vision. The reality now is that Professors are turning into TV Presenters.  

Q11. In terms of your scaling journey, why have you picked the UK?

In most countries in the world where I visit, the term scaleup is unknown. The exception is the UK where because of the work of the ScaleUp Institute, I´m usually not starting at zero.    

Going back to about 2014, a series of reports were done by organisations such as Deloitte and PWC as well as institutions such as the LSE highlighting the importance of SMEs to the UK economy and what could be done to scale them up.

While the situation since then has not got noticeably better, the UK has managed to put  place a lot more of what SMEs need to scaleup than other countries have. As an example the Enterprise Investment Scheme (EIS), the Seed Enterprise Investment Scheme (SEIS) and the Social Investment Tax Relief (SITR).

Q12. Where are the biggest opportunities in your sector over the next 3 years?

If there is a case for Brexit at all it is based on the idea that convergence and cooperation has dampened animal spirits of UK Entrepreneurs. Now that Brexit has happened, there is an element that average is over and that it´s get big or die.

One student of mine compares it to Russia's Shock Therapy is the aftermath of the dissolution of the USSR. It is likely that some people who have always had the ambition and the capability will use Brexit as the trigger to make aggressive bets and to double down on a new business model to catch an exponential wave.

While this is easier said than done, I think every SME needs to take a hard look at itself and redefine challenges as opportunities to grow.  There is help out there and people who want to see you succeed.

Joe Haslam 1 December 2020

[arcanakrp-blog]

JUNG KANGWOO – THE STAR. AGENT 17.

                                                    [ FILE TYPE: CLASSIFIED ]

//: LOADING PROFILE: JUNG KANGWOO …

international age: 21 birthplace: yeonmu-dong, jangan-gu, suwon, south korea. arcana: the star team number: 7

//: LOADING MUTATION: DREAM MANIPULATION …

application one: dream walking — the ability of walking into ones dream, without any physical consequences. it is deeply related to dream communication. each mind and thus each dream is different and kangwoo has to adjust himself to each mind, which is difficult to do. although dream walking is easy to do as he only has to understand the surroundings of the dream, it does not mean he actually takes part of it. he is little more than a tiny glitch in the dream that the owner does not notice, nor does kangwoo have any effect on the dream.he has no qualms of entering one’s dream but he is not curious to what the details entail, unless important information is needed, and is easier to acquire through dreams than through direct hacking or stealing.

application two: dream communication — the act of sending messages whether its visual, written or “verbal” through dreams. in this case, kangwoo has to be relevant and be part of a dream to be able to communicate with the owner of the dream. kangwoo finds this the most useful side of his ability, especially in his own case. as he finds it extremely hard to socialize in reality (although one cant deny he is trying his very best to communicate). another side of this particular application is giving tiny notions towards a certain individual to act a certain way and it works exceptionally well with superstitious people.

application three: dream world manipulation — the most complex and difficult of the three, which involves more effort than the other two. it often surrounds the unwanted change of the dreamscape of the owner. however, it is not possible to just change the entire concept at will. often it involves soft unnoticeable pushing of the manipulator onto the dreamer. however kangwoo can change aspects of the dream to what he wants–as long it is relatable to the concept. the reason he has to keep the concept in general is that sudden changes in dreams can cause the individual wake up.

overall strengths and weaknesses:

– the brain is a curious thing, and such are the memories and dreams as well. dreams are the collecting and sorting part of your brain and is essential for your memories. thus it forms one of the cores of a healthy mind and the deepest part of yourself. entering a dream is an easy thing, but being relevant for a dream is difficult. he has to build himself entirely into the pool of memories each person has. it gets easier the lower your EQ is however. one gets less personal with each piece of memory and it makes it easier to choose select imageries to build yourself in and erase yourself out. – kangwoo cannot stay long outside the individual dreamscape. the information base is quite large and although a human brain can store an infinite amount of information, it cannot do at the same time, causing an intense headache. – he cannot stay in the dreamscape of an individual when the individual is waking. his own psyche is still connected with the other mind, and tearing away from it can cause extreme pains, not physically but mentally. – he cannot have dreamless nights unless he ingests sleeping pills which causes sleep without dreams. the pills are not used to sleep, but to sleep without dreams, as “dreaming” in itself is in fact wearing kangwoo out. because when he dreams, his consciousness is still awake, and he still does not know how to shut himself off from the information given. – kangwoo’s low emotional intelligence makes it easier for himself to simply invade ones deepest intimate places, and not be distracted or overwhelmed by ones feelings in a dream.

//: LOADING HISTORY ..

PRE-MUTATION

tw: severe bullying

the first mother always told him that his father died before he was born. but he knows she’s lying but he doesn’t pry. what he doesn’t know is that when his mother held him, coated in a crimson layer in her porcelain arms and shedding watery pearls on him, his father was sentenced for eighteen years for a manslaughter he didn’t commit.

he knows she’s lying but he doesn’t pry.

the second it takes her two years to realize that there is something wrong with kangwoo. whenever she calls him, he never reacts. whenever she coos to him, he never understands. he never shows interest in conversations between other children. and he never said one word.kangwoo’s grandparents keep pushing her to bring him to the doctor, but she keeps refusing. her son is perfect, there’s nothing wrong with him. she keeps telling herself, but she knows she’s lying to herself.  in the end her parents bring their grandson to the doctor, and the lady clad in white tells the elders that kangwoo was born without sound. he lives in complete silence and he doesn’t know any better.  hawon doesnt want to believe but she was forced to accept it. but she didn’t want her son to live in absolute silence. she didn’t want her son to be different from the others, just like his father. and she applies him to a program to have him receive a cochlear implant.

the third the screeching sound scares him. he keeps throwing the extern part of the implant away, away from the sound, but his mother puts it back every time with patience. and he throws it away again.  but mother doesn’t want a child different from others. in time he gets used to the sound, and learns to differ it. the warmth of his mothers voice, the colors of his own voice. the crisp rustling of leaves and the light songs of birds.

the fourth primary school isn’t nice to him. whereas kindergarten was a paradise of playing, primary was harsher. not in terms of knowledge, no. classmates his age avoid him, for his strange voice and incapability of hearing properly. it doesn’t take long before some boys have the notion to humiliate him.     turnpoint one:

each table has a storage space under the desk where students stuff their books whether its organized or not. it’s also an easy way to let someone know you’re unwanted. kangwoo, instead of feeling the hard cover of books and rustling of pages, feels something soft. he quickly pulls out his hand, revealing several dead rats.  and all he does is screaming.

    turnpoint two:

sometimes he has to take off his cochlear implant. always when they go swimming. sometimes he returns, to find his implant gone and it’s always found back in the pool. kangwoo always tells his mom that it accidentally slipped out of his hands each time.

    turnpoint three:

once, out of a joke from their viewpoint his classmates destroyed the extern part of his ci. they were curious how it works and despite kangwoo’s protesting they simply broke it open.  he had to lie to his mother that it fell.

the fifth middle school wasn’t easy either, as well as high school. they are both located in the village and it isn’t like his tormentors are going to move to another school. but he did expect the bullying become worser but he doesn’t to what extent. he just knew they wouldn’t leave him alone.      instance one:

it was rather big news in the village, where nothing happened at all. it spread like wildfire from mouth to mouth, from one serpentine tongue to another forked tongue. the only thing kangwoo remembers is the white ceiling of the hospital, his head and arm wrapped in bandages, and several fractured ribs. his mother sitting next to him teary eyed, telling him he got into a car accident. that kangwoo stumbled forward, colliding in a car. a gnawing sense on kangwoo’s heart tells him otherwise.

    instance two:

they forced him to drink gas oil. naturally kangwoo refused, terrified for the consequences of ingesting oil. instead they threaten to burn him, with the cigarettes they have. up until now they still haven’t healed, and won’t ever heal.

the sixth he barely made it into college in seoul. all he wanted was to get away from the tiny village leaving behind the horrible memories and humiliation.  (but of course memories never leave) he wasn’t nice or good, but he wasn’t bad or awful either. simply emotionless. he didn’t know how to deal with social relationships and rather wanted to avoid interaction, in fear the whole history would happen again.  but there are always people trying to connect with everyone.      a scene:

there’s a huge canteen in that college which always delivers high quality drinks and food for an acceptable price and many students come there to hang out and eat. kangwoo usually eats alone, a instant lunchbox from the convenience store. sometimes someone comes to sit with him, but this one man lately always came to sit with him, trying to strike a conversation and he slowly learns how to talk with kangwoo. and he starts to treat lunch with kangwoo and always refuses to let kangwoo pay for it.

thanks to that one person, kangwoo’s circle slowly grows bigger, and his world slowly expands. yet there’s always that one single dark fear growing in the back of his mind, although he loves his friends, he can’t trust them, doesn’t dare to be close.  its only when his very first friend tells him that he needs help, that kangwoo realizes that he has festering wounds inside his soul.

the seventh

it was one of the prettier nights he’d seen. well so far seouls skyline allowed him to see the falling stars in the sky.

POST-MUTATION

the first

the dreams were real, lucid, terrifying. located in a forest he didn’t know. and he was pushed towards a location he wasn’t supposed to know but somehow knew and he came across a meteorite.  the nights after was a kaleidoscope of too many impressions, too many scapes too much information and he always woke up screaming, fingers clutching at his head, trying to tear out his hair in an attempt to lessen the pain in his head.

the second he only realized that he could stop the pain by anchoring himself to one single image. a month passed, until he discovered. rather oblivious to what happened he started to explore the image.

“who are you?” a tiny voice arose from behind him, making kangwoo yelp in surprise, causing a sudden tear in the fabric, as the one who dreamed woke up from the sudden change in her dream. it caused another shearing pain in kangwoo’s mind.

the third half a year later, he understood the basics around his strange dream affliction, but he didn’t know what it meant until he accidentally anchored himself into his friend’s… wet dream. let’s not repeat the story here. it made him realize he was going through dreams of others, and not his own. around that time, he suddenly received the notice that his psychologist had changed.

the last it wasn’t just a psychologist. the man in front of him asked him strange questions. “are you having strange dreams?” “are you seeing dreams that you never would have?” “are you in full control of yourself in your dreams?” "are you having extreme headaches whenever you wake up?” not knowing how to answer, kangwoo simply said yes to questions like these.

it turned out to be the ar collective.  he simply asked him if he wanted to join, to have him practice and train his in dream habits, reducing the splitting headache to something more comfortable. it suprised kangwoo himself that he agreed onto it.

once again it was a world he wasn’t used to. people seemed closer, more similar to him than those in college. his dreamwalking was very effective for information collecting. he never exactly asked for what they were, nor were he interested.

however, for the first time in his life he felt useful. … lately there are many good first times.

[writingguide003-blog]

The Raised Eyebrow Is the Lazy Writers Favorite Cliche

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The Raised Eyebrow Is the Lazy Writers Favorite Cliche

I have developed a severe allergy to hyperactive eyebrows in fiction. They have become writers go-to lazy shorthand for pretty much any emotion. In novels, eyebrows do all kinds of things. Most commonly they rise. Sometimes a single eyebrow rises all by itself, but often both eyebrows rise in unison. Slightly more creative writers make the eyebrows knit or furrow or hike or tighten or pinch or wiggleor any other verb that might describe a mobile eyebrow (or two).

I like to read fantasy and science fiction novels. Unfortunately, its hard to find quality writing in these genres. But this might be short-sightedness on my part. As the American science fiction writer and critic Theodore Sturgeon pointed out, Ninety percent of everything is crap. The statement is so indisputable that it has come to be known as Sturgeons Law. Regardless of the actual universal crap ratio, Im reading too many crappy books with too many moving eyebrows.

For instance, the last book I tried to read was The Black Witch by Laurie Forest. It got stellar reviews, and yet eyebrows get a workout in the very first chapter, including: My eyebrows flew up at this. Rafe raises his eyebrows. Tristan cocks an eyebrow in surprise. Rafe turns to me, raises his eyebrows and grins.

With an e-reader, one can X-ray a book. I typed in the word eyebrow and counted the use of eyebrows 40 times in that 608-page book, which averages out to one eyebrow movement every 15.2 pages.

Next I read The City of Brass by S. A. Chakraborty, a novel that also came highly recommended. This 544-pager contained 18 raised eyebrows, plus six lifted eyebrows, plus five arched eyebrows. Thats an average of one eyebrow movement every 18.75 pages, a slight improvement over The Black Witch but still enough to make me wonder if these characters arent suffering from some kind of Tourettes syndrome of the eyebrow. And it was enough to make me want to throw the book at the wall, which would have been unwise because I read on an iPad. Why cant these writers find something else to harp on? How about, just for a little variety, some grinding teeth? Or maybe some eyes that widen in astonishment or narrow skepticallywithout any eyebrow movement?

Maybe Im being a little unfair because eyebrows are on the move even in decorated novels I enjoyed. For instance, the Booker Prize-winning novel The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton features 22 eyebrow calisthenics, 17 of which are a single raised eyebrow. As the Writers Helping Writers website points out, the lone raised eyebrow is the number one clich all writers should avoid.

These hyperkinetic literary eyebrows were starting to raise my own metaphorical eyebrows up to my hairline. I used the X-ray function in my e-reader on some of my favorite writers. Here are a few of the results:

David Mitchells The Bone Clocks: zero, not even one moving eyebrow in 641 pages

David Mitchells Cloud Atlas: one raised eyebrow in 530 pages

N.K. Jemisins The Stone Sky (from the Broken Earth Trilogy): one raised eyebrow in 464 pages

Neal Stephensons The Rise and Fall of D.O.D.O.: three raised eyebrows in 768 pages

The result is so clear that it has led me to formulate my own law: The crappier the writing, the more raised eyebrows it contains. If all writers would use the eyebrow as sparingly as my favorite writers do, this affliction never would have caught my attention.

I have also come across some eyebrows I didnt understand. In Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn writes that with a wry eyebrow, he even produces the chili-cheese Fritos I know what chili-cheese Fritos look like, but I cannot picture what a wry eyebrow might look like. I can imagine a wry facial expression or a wry comment, but not a wry eyebrow. Stand in front of a mirror and try to make a wry eyebrow.

I did find one amusing use of the eyebrow: I could almost hear the lifted eyebrow.

Michael Chabon gets positively erudite about moving eyebrows in his Pulitzer Prize-winning novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay. After 10 raised, four arched, two lifted, two knit, two shot up, and two wiggled eyebrows, he writes of a slow agglomeration of a characters eyebrows. Literature is not always an easy read. First, one has to look up the word in the dictionary, and then one needs to think for several minutes what agglomerated eyebrows might look like. Its probably supposed to mean that two eyebrows ever so slowly form a unibrow, an acrobatic facial movement that strikes me as humanly impossible. Also, dont you need more than two eyebrows for an agglomeration?

To be fair, I should mention that I did find one amusing use of the eyebrow: I could almost hear the lifted eyebrow. Now thats pretty good, and its not from a literary genius. Its from the bestselling author Tad Williams in The Dirty Streets of Heaven.

Empirical evidence was needed to prove that raised eyebrows are not only lazy, clichd writing, but that they almost never occur in real life. I started to study my friends and co-workers eyebrows. The result: In real life, nobody raises an eyebrow, and its not because of Botox. People move their faces in all sorts of ways, which might or might not affect their eyebrows. They might scrunch up their forehead in concentration; they might open their eyes wide in astonishment, thus moving their eyebrows, but only ever so slightly. In several weeks of close scrutiny, I never observed a single raised eyebrow.

The next step in my evidence gathering was to watch peoples faces in movies. Same story: no raised eyebrows, zip and zero. Of course, there is that exception who proves the rule, the infamous eyebrow-raiser Roger Moore. Mercifully, the cartoonish Roger Moore school of acting has survived only where it belongs, in animated movies.

There is also the Colbert emoji with one raised eyebrow, named after the TV comedian Stephen Colbert. Since Colbert got his very own one-raised-eyebrow emoji, one would expect that he raises an eyebrow quite often. He does not. I have watched many Colbert shows while paying special attention to his eyebrows, and while he does have expressive facial movements, he never raised an eyebrow in any show I watched.

The raised eyebrow is nothing more than a metaphor to describe surprise, disapproval, or superiority. For instance, CNN writes, There were some real eyebrow raisers when President Trump talked to the press corps while visiting Vietnam. One could write such a sentence about our president every day, but that doesnt mean that any real-life eyebrows in the press corps actually moved.

Its hard to say precisely when the literary eyebrow movement went pandemic, but it appears to be a recent plague. Henry James used one lifted and two raised eyebrows in his 1881 novel, The Portrait of a Lady. They are rare or completely absent in other classics as well. As far as I know, Shakespeare ignored eyebrows altogether.

Try to imagine a utopia where writers ignore eyebrows altogether and find more original ways to express emotions. The worlds over-supply of crappy books would magically shrink. With luck, Sturgeons Law would have to be revised to proclaim this major change: Today, thanks to the immobilization of the eyebrow, a mere 87 percent of the worlds literature is crap.

Read more: https://www.thedailybeast.com

[onthehill]

putting the text here because I don’t trust Medium won’t die and I want to keep this text.

Member Feature Story How London Became a Playground for the Rich London is often hailed as globalism’s great success story. So why does it feel like it’s falling apart?

Henry Wismayer

Nov 28

When I think about that morning last summer, when London awoke to television images of a West Kensington tower-block engulfed in flames, there’s one interview I can’t get out of my mind. A young man told the BBC that the fire felt like a predictable moment: the culmination of years of being made to feel like the city wanted them gone.

“[They] put them shoddy plastic things on there that set alight because they want more reasons to knock these blocks down… I’m not even so sure that was totally an accident,” he raged, as if some cabal of corrupt councillors and property developers had thrown a lit rag through the letter box. It was a crazy notion, issued in the heat of fury and grief. However, in the days that followed, as we began to learn about the truth of the fire last June — about the inferno that fed on cheap flammable cladding and about the confluence of municipal neglect, outsourcing, and value-engineering that permitted 72 people to die in their homes — it was easy to feel sympathy for the man’s sense of victimhood. For the outside world, the Grenfell Tower fire was a horrifying tragedy and a blight on the conscience of those who let it happen. But for many Londoners, it exposed something rotten in the marrow of London itself. For us, the fire was an instant and terrible symbol of a city in a tight spiral of dysfunction, where the ideas that once sustained it are breaking down beyond repair. It is no longer possible for a lifelong London resident like me to pretend that the city is a united, happy, and enviable place. In the 18 months since disaster befell the Lancaster West Estate, the condition of the British capital has seldom been out of the national conversation.

As with most topics of commentary in deeply divided post-Brexit Britain, London tends to be presented in binary terms — either paradise or hellhole, depending on your point of view. To idealistic liberals, it remains a cradle of tolerant coexistence, the place where multiculturalism works. The rainbow city that would have given Donald Trump hell had he dared to show his face here. To hysterical conservatives, by contrast, the city is “Londonistan” with a Muslim mayor, benighted by terror-attacks, no-go zones, and spiralling crime. In April, when the press marked 50 years since the Tory firebrand Enoch Powell made his infamous “Rivers of Blood” speech on the apocalyptic dangers of multiculturalism, there were many who pointed to this year’s escalating murder-rate as evidence of Powell’s prophecy come to pass. The truth, of course, is somewhere in between. London is not a Powellian Gomorrah. But it is no longer possible for a lifelong London resident like me to pretend that the city is a united, happy, and enviable place, either. The questions that surfaced in the aftermath of Grenfell haven’t gone away: Why did this tragedy hold such terrible resonance? Why, for millions of us, did anger about the circumstances surrounding the fire transcend its immediate context, feeding a growing sense that London no longer functions for the good of the people who live here due to forces far beyond its citizens’ ken and control? The young man’s rage was for the victims still burning behind him, but it was a rage of which many of us shared a fragment.

For decades, London’s rare achievement was its mixed-income communities. These came into being thanks to a post-war history of town planning, which set out to ensure that no area of affluence could become an island, aloof from the hoi polloi. Some of the resulting mix was deliberately engineered, and some of it was accidental. In recent years, however, it has been plain to see that this covenant — which envisioned people of different means and walks of life living in the same communities as neighbors — has started to crumble. In my other life, I do occasional work as a landscape gardener, tending the lawns and flower beds of south London’s more affluent inner suburbs. Last month, a neighbor wandered up to me to bitch about the homogenization of her neighborhood. Next door to where I was working, a newcomer to the street had commissioned an overhaul of their recently acquired semi, and the excavation conveyors were churning all day long, puking up London clay to make space for a new basement. “When we moved here 40 years ago, I was a junior legal researcher, my husband was an assistant lecturer,” the neighbour said, over the din of the machinery. “This road was all teachers and police officers. Public servants. Now it’s just bankers, bankers, bankers. What the hell’s happened?”

Ask any cynical long-term Londoner, and they’ll likely offer up any number of answers to this question. The erosion of London’s social-housing stock, which once inoculated the city against the creation of rich and poor ghettoes, is certainly one. The increasingly globe-trotting tendencies of the super-rich is another. Disproportionate city incomes have furnished a portion of residents with the financial leverage to re-fashion an area overnight if a neighbourhood happens to become popular with a certain well-monied milieu. Meanwhile, the suburban dream, which only 20 years ago still lured people out of the inner city, has long since expired. Together, these processes have combined with London’s chronic housing shortage to transform vast swathes of the inner city over the past decade.

To walk through certain parts of London today is to enter an eerie dystopia of late capitalism run amok. All over town, from Battersea to Stratford, vast welters of towers are in the throes of construction, invariably encircled by billboards depicting attractive white people at rest and play. But longtime Londoners know from experience that these towers are not really homes to be lived in but bricks-and-mortar commodities, investment opportunities that until recently were seen as safer than any government bond. If you ever find yourself walking through developments that have been recently finished and sold, you’ll discover street-level plazas devoid of people or even much evidence that many people are ever here. Meanwhile, in the golden postcodes of Westminster, Chelsea, and Kensington, the streets of old money have become a magnet for global capital of dubious origins. A government report published in May said the city was awash with “dirty money.”

In her 2017 book Big Capital, Anna Minton described this scramble for prime London real estate as the catalyst of a “domino effect,” whose effects ripple outwards across the capital and beyond. “The super-prime market displaces established communities to new areas, driving up property and rental prices elsewhere,” she writes. “And as current policies are geared to attracting foreign investment and building luxurious apartments rather than affordable homes, there is nothing to act as a counterweight.”

When a city changes this fast and on such an inhuman scale, it is impossible to live here without feeling unmoored. The sense of apartness precipitated by these developments is in large part architectural. London used to be a low-slung city, but many of these luxury towers are vertiginous and imposing, dwarfing the besieged remnants of what came before. But arguably more significant than this aesthetic discordance is the social upheaval it augurs. As more and more towers have gone up, so too have socio-demographic lines that once felt blurred become abrupt and partite, as the runaway cost of housing manoeuvres people into economic enclaves, and poverty is pushed outwards into peripheries and ghettoes of disadvantage. Traditional places of commonality, where shoulders rubbed, have been replaced by pockets of consumption. High-streets that once displayed a multifarious range of shopfronts and establishments have evolved to reflect more stratified times: the poorer areas with their betting shops and pawnsters, the wealthier ones lined with estate agents, restaurants, and prim cafes. Our civic spaces and landmarks have been commodified as cash-strapped councils look to make up budget shortfalls by monetizing their assets or repurposing public libraries into private gyms.

Boundaries, both physical and social, have started to rise across the city. Now, the streets feel more fractious as established communities dissipate. People in their 30s, unable to afford the cost of raising a family here, are starting to leave in droves. And we who remain are left with a curious sense that we are an inconvenient vestige of a city that no longer exists, like obdurate stone buildings amidst gleaming pavilions of glass and steel. Today’s London remains successful in many ways: as a summer playground for the super-rich; as a giant laundromat for the global kleptocracy; as an iconographic background for tourist photos and the glossy pages of a Hong Kong realtor’s brochure. But as a constellation of neighborhoods? No longer. Certainly not so much as before. Quickly — almost too quickly to track — London’s covenant is coming undone.

The trauma this has imposed in the places where the last dominoes tumble is all too easy to ignore. The most obvious victims of rising housing costs and hollowed-out communities — the minimum-wage workers trundling in from distant outskirts to service the offices, the growing number of homeless in doorways, the social-housing tenants relocated into cramped temporary accommodation when the bulldozers move in — remain largely voiceless. Their abasement, like so much of that which afflicts the London underclass, is hidden away in the backwaters, in food banks concealed behind council estates or displaced out of town. But to focus exclusively on these ostensive miseries is to miss a wider, more inchoate, malaise — a sense of a city adrift, changing in ways its residents don’t condone and feel powerless to prevent. We have become a paradox: the progressive city nostalgic for the past. This more universal condition can be best described not as displacement but dislocation. It’s the feeling of being abruptly estranged, be it emotionally or physically, from your existing state or place. Cities are always transitory, prone to endless flux, but when a city changes this fast and on such an inhuman scale, it is impossible to live here without feeling unmoored.

Yet for all that the anger that this transformation of London has surely engendered, protest remains in short supply. For the majority, it seems, vast, anonymous cities can seem governed by an irresistible determinism, as though their evolution were ordained by Newtonian law. This sense of fatalism does not tend to energize vigorous resistance. In addition, so much of our yearning for the London we’ve lost seems ostensibly counterintuitive. The city I grew up in was hardly an urban paradise. Many of my most vivid memories are recalled with a maternal hand at my back, ushering me past scenes of a recessional metropolis, rendered in grey. London then was a place where cardboard shanties still proliferated beneath the Southbank undercrofts, and grifters peddled ersatz perfume from splayed suitcases in the West End. The air was tubercular, the Thames flowed an effluent brown, and every road seemed strewn with litter, chewing-gum, and dog shit in varying stages of putrefaction. But still I yearn for that time before the city was cleaned-up and prettified, before the pigeon-feed sellers had been turfed from Trafalgar Square. The other day I saw a car with a bumper sticker that read “Make Peckham Shit Again,” and I couldn’t help but smile. We have become a paradox: the progressive city nostalgic for the past.

Meanwhile, apologists for the turbo-charged gentrification of inner London exonerate its degradations with mealy mouthed bromides about “market forces” — just another ineluctable reality of late capitalism, like sweatshop labour and high-street homogenisation. Things we grumble about on social media but, for the most part, can’t bring ourselves to protest over because to protest would be like screaming at the tide. Our sense of disquiet at the changing cityscape fades imperceptibly into London’s background ennui, lumped in with tube strikes and traffic jams and all the other unavoidable exigencies of urban life. However, when you consider that millions of Londoners have profited from those “market forces,” what is happening in London start to feel less like a cosmic inevitability and more like a deliberate and concerted human effort. As the tsunami of foreign property investment has increased demand for a stagnating supply, those of us who own homes have seen their value rocket. In recent decades, owning a London home has become the U.K.’s easiest path to fast cash. This is London’s guilty secret: that so many of us have suckled on this indemnity that we cannot admit its inherent madness, that it is a time-bomb that must explode, taking with it a million shattered dreams.

The 2016 Brexit vote has exposed the intractability of these hypocrisies, as the predominantly left-leaning city finds itself in a Faustian pact, at once lamenting the financial sector’s malign influence but terrified at the implications of its potential evacuation. As Britain’s appeal to investors continues to be undermined by a lack of post-Brexit certainty, recent reports indicate that luxury properties are struggling to sell. Suddenly, an economy predicated on casino banking and rentier capitalism feels frail and dysfunctional, one fiscal paroxysm from catastrophe. “It is strange, the bustle,” wrote Sarah Lyall in a New York Times article on post-Brexit London last April. “Construction crews are still putting up buildings, monuments to London’s future, as if nothing has changed. But you can hear faint footsteps, too. Banks, investment firms and other companies are making contingency plans to move elsewhere, if necessary. What then?”

Against the backdrop of atomisation and uncertainty, it’s perhaps little wonder that these anxieties have begun to manifest in the city’s darkening mood. Londoners used to laugh about the inaccuracy of our irascible reputation — of London as a snarky town where dour commuters wouldn’t stop to help a lost tourist. This wasn’t true, not really. But now the streets feel angrier, more riven. A city of blithe coexistence has become a city of sneers. Are we really surprised? Looking on, as your home gets taken away from you by forces you don’t really understand and that you feel powerless to resist, there is a point at which dislocation transmutes into nihilism and rage. Suddenly, each new skyscraper feels like an act of violence; each house renovation in the stomping-grounds of our youth becomes a desecration. Wealthy newcomers appear not as new neighbors, but as colonizers; hipster beards and vintage shops become hallmarks of an enemy within. Each appropriative bar or café, simulacrums of the melting pots they supplanted, becomes a reminder that London’s hallowed diversity, to many of the city’s residents, is merely ornamental — a desirable backdrop so long as it doesn’t press too close.

Often, when I feel this resentment brewing, I remind myself that I am getting older, and that chagrin over rapid change is perhaps as much a product of sentimentalism as it is legitimate dismay at social dysfunction. Until an inferno in a north London tower-block shakes you from the stupor, reminding you that the cost, for some, is all too real.

On the road in south London where I grew up, from the top of its steepening hill, you can see one of the broadest views of the British capital for miles around. On clear days, it presents a crenelated horizon of the whole city: from Wembley’s arch in the far northwest, past the stretched pyramid of The Shard and the jumbled towers of the Square Mile, to the more angular ones of Canary Wharf, looming over the estuarial Thames. London looks extraordinary from up here, immortal in its way, a proving-ground for the western dream of unending growth. Every time I look at the view from the upstairs window of my mum’s hillside house, I spot some unforeseen concrete core, the spinal column of a future tower, inching into the sky horizon. Yet this scene that once evoked wonder now elicits bitterness and foreboding about the future. If I pick up some binoculars, I can see Grenfell Tower far to the north: that burnt-out sepulchre where so many died in their homes, gasping for air. And when people ask me why their pyre became such an emblem of modern London, I just say, “Look around.”

We live in a place that knows only the price of bricks and has forgotten the people who give them value. This fucking city has betrayed us all.

written by Henry Wismayer Essays, features and assorted ramblings for over 70 publications, inc. NYT, WSJ, WaPo, Nat Geo, Vice, Vox and TIME: www.henry-wismayer.com.

[professionalpaperwriters-us-blog]

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[nothingman]

A few days ago a discussion and subsequent interview with David Gabriel, Marvel Comics’ Senior VP of Sales and Marketing, at their retailer summit began making the rounds, but not for the reasons the publisher was hoping. Marvel has every reason to be concerned, as their share of the market has shrunk dramatically in the last few months. Figuring out the cause of that decrease is vital for Marvel’s survival—yet the answer they’ve come to isn’t just inaccurate, it’s also offensive.

Later, Gabriel gave another interview that, in part, rehashed that hoary old proverb that diversity doesn’t sell: “What we heard was that people didn’t want any more diversity. They didn’t want female characters out there. That’s what we heard, whether we believe that or not. I don’t know that that’s really true, but that’s what we saw in sales. We saw the sales of any character that was diverse, any character that was new, our female characters, anything that was not a core Marvel character, people were turning their nose up against.” And with that, comics Twitter was all a-tizzy.

The stated goal of the summit was “to hear directly from [retailers] on what they are encountering within the industry and how Marvel can work with them to make sure they know that we hear them.” This summit was only open to cherry-picked retailers and Marvel offered no means of communication to those not attending, all of which puts the whole event—and the assumptions being made as a result—into question. Although the conclusions drawn by the summit can’t be totally dismissed, they also shouldn’t be used as the foundation of a whole new business model, either. Unfortunately, though, Marvel doesn’t seem to agree.

Disregarding the sugarcoated PR update Marvel made praising diverse fan favorites, Gabriel’s comments are so patently false that, without even thinking about it, I could name a dozen current titles across mediums that instantly disprove his reasoning. With its $150 million and counting in domestic earnings, Get Out is now the highest grossing original screenplay by a debut writer/director in history; meanwhile, The Great Wall, Ghost in the Shell, Gods of Egypt, and nearly every other recent whitewashed Hollywood blockbuster has tanked. Even sticking strictly to comics, Black Panther #1 was Marvel’s highest selling solo comic of 2016. Before Civil War II, Marvel held seven of the top ten bestselling titles, three of which (Gwenpool, Black Panther, and Poe Dameron) were “diverse.” Take that, diversity naysayers.

No, the crux of the problem with Marvel’s sales isn’t diversity; the problem is Marvel itself.

  Old Guard versus the New Wave

Comic book fans generally come in two flavors: the old school and the new. The hardcore traditionalist dudes (and they’re almost always white cishet men) are whinging in comic shops saying things like, “I don’t want you guys doing that stuff…One of my customers even said…he wants to get stories and doesn’t mind a message, but he doesn’t want to be beaten over the head with these things.” Then there are the modern geeks, the ones happy to take the classics alongside the contemporary and ready to welcome newbies into the fold. I’ve walked out of at least a dozen shops run by guys like that gatekeeping retailer, and yet I regularly commute across two counties just to spend my money at a shop that treats me like a person instead of a unicorn or fake geek girl (Hera help me, I hate that term). I should also point out that these old school fans aren’t even all that old school: until about the 1960s, when comics moved into specialty shops, women read comics as voraciously as men. Tradition has a very short term memory, it seems.

This gets to the point made by a woman retailer at the summit: “I think the mega question is, what customer do you want. Because your customer may be very different from my customer, and that’s the biggest problem in the industry is getting the balance of keeping the people who’ve been there for 40 years, and then getting new people in who have completely different ideas.” I’d argue there’s a customer between those extremes, one who follows beloved writers and artists across series and publishers and who places as much worth on who is telling the story as who the story is about. This is where I live, and there are plenty of other people here with me.

Blaming readers for not buying diverse comics despite the clamor for more is a false narrative. Many of the fans attracted to “diverse” titles are newbies and engage in comics very differently from longtime fans. For a variety of reasons, they tend to wait for the trades or buy digital issues rather than print. The latter is especially true for young adults who generally share digital (and yes, often pirated) issues. Yet the comics industry derives all of its value from how many print issues Diamond Distributors shipped to stores, not from how many issues, trades, or digital copies were actually purchased by readers. Every comics publisher is struggling to walk that customer-centric tightrope, but only Marvel is dumb enough to shoot themselves in the foot, then blame the rope for their fall.

  Stifling the Talent

As mentioned earlier, it’s not just the characters comics fans follow around, but writers and artists, as well. Marvel doesn’t seem to think readers care all that much about artists versus writers, but I’ve picked up a ton of titles based on artwork alone that I wouldn’t normally read. Likewise, I’ve dropped or rejected series based on whether or not I like an artist. Even with the lure of Saladin Ahmed as writer, my interest in Black Bolt was strictly trade. The main reason I switched to wanting print issues? Christian Ward. Veronica Fish single-handedly kept me on issues after Fiona Staples left Archie, and her leaving is the main reason why I dropped down to trades. I’ll follow Brittney L. Williams wherever she goes, regardless of series or publisher.

So why then does Marvel think that “it’s harder to pop artists these days”? A lot of it has to do with the dearth of decent advertising (especially outside comics shops) and a lack of institutional support for those artists. Also, scattering artists from book to book before they can establish a presence on a title, turning creative feats into flashbang one-offs with little continuity, is a grave Marvel has dug for itself.

But we also have to talk about how publishers don’t let their artists talk freely about their projects. Social media contracts often make it impossible for creators to address audience concerns, as Gail Simone points out, and change the way they interact with their fans. The more the Big Two seek to control expression and discussion, both on the page and online, the more they drive creators to small presses, indie publishers, and self/web publishing. A tangential arm of this conversation is how craptacular the pay is for freelance comics creators and how publishers should be utterly ashamed of themselves. But that’s a topic for another day.

  Oversaturation

There’s soooo much stuff. If longtime fans are drowning in options, think how newbies must feel staring at shelf after shelf after shelf of titles. CBR crunched the numbers and found that in a 16-month window from late 2015 to early 2017, Marvel launched 104 new superhero series. A quarter didn’t make it out of their second arc. How can anyone, especially new and/or broke readers, be expected to keep up with that? Moreover, with that many options on the table, it’s no wonder Marvel can’t establish a tentpole. They’ve diluted their own market.

At first blush, giving everyone what they want sounds good, but in practice it simply overwhelms. Right now there are two separate Captain America titles, one where Steve Rogers is a Hydra Nazi and one where Sam Wilson is an anti-SJW jerkwad. There are also two Spider-Mans, two Thors, and two Wolverines, one each for longtime fans and one for newer/diverse/casual fans. And the list goes on.

Adding a steady stream of events and crossovers isn’t helping matters. Event fatigue is a genuine problem, yet Marvel has two of ‘em lined up for 2017. Given the sales for Civil War II, I acknowledge that I’m in the smaller camp here, but I stopped buying all but my hardcore faves during that crossover event and will do the same again through Secret Empire and Generations, assuming they don’t get cancelled and relaunched. I’m not going to follow characters across half a dozen titles I don’t want to read when all I want is a good, self-contained story told by talented creators. Events often end up relaunching already strong-selling titles, sometimes with the previous team but oftentimes not, which forces the reader to decide whether to drop or keep. Given Marvel’s numbers, looks like most fans are opting to drop, and I can’t blame them.

  Diversity versus Reality

When you look at the sales figures, the only way to claim diversity doesn’t sell is to have a skewed interpretation of “diversity.” Out of Marvel’s current twenty female-led series, four series—America, Ms. Marvel, Silk, and Moon Girl—star women of color, and only America has an openly queer lead character. Only America, Gamora, Hawkeye, Hulk, Ms. Marvel, and Patsy Walker, A.K.A. Hellcat! (cancelled), are written by women. That’s not exactly a bountiful harvest of diversity. Plenty of comics starring or written by cishet white men get the axe over low sales, but when diversity titles are cancelled people come crawling out of the woodwork to blame diverse readers for not buying a million issues. First, we are buying titles, just usually not by the issue. Second, why should we bear the full responsibility for keeping diverse titles afloat? Non-diverse/old school fans could stand to look up from their longboxes of straight white male superheroes and subscribe to Moon Girl. Allyship is meaningless without action.

“Diversity” as a concept is a useful tool, but it can’t be the goal or the final product. It assumes whiteness (and/or maleness and/or heteronormitivity) as the default and everything else as a deviation from that. This is why diversity initiatives so often end up being quantitative—focused on the number of “diverse” individuals—rather than qualitative, committed to positive representation and active inclusion in all levels of creation and production. This kind of in-name-only diversity thinking is why Mayonnaise McWhitefeminism got cast as Major Motoko Kusanagi while actual Japanese person Rila Fukushima was used as nothing but a face mold for robot geishas.

Rather than getting hung up on diversity as a numbers game, we should be working toward inclusion and representation both on and off the page. True diversity is letting minority creators tell their own stories instead of having non-minorities creating a couple of minority characters to sprinkle in the background. It’s telling a story with characters that reflect the world. It’s accommodating for diverse backgrounds without reducing characters to stereotypes or tokens. It’s more than just acknowledging diversity in terms of race and gender/sexual identities but also disabilities, mental health, religion, and body shapes as well. It’s about building structures behind the scenes to make room for diverse creators. G. Willow Wilson said it best: “Diversity as a form of performative guilt doesn’t work. Let’s scrap the word diversity entirely and replace it with authenticity and realism. This is not a new world. This is *the world.*…It’s not “diversity” that draws those elusive untapped audiences, it’s *particularity.* This is a vital distinction nobody seems to make. This goes back to authenticity and realism.”

Alex Brown is a teen librarian, writer, geeknerdloserweirdo, and all-around pop culture obsessive who watches entirely too much TV. Keep up with her every move on Twitter and Instagram, or get lost in the rabbit warren of ships and fandoms on her Tumblr.

via Tor.com

[thespearnews-blog]

Nambooze exposes why Mao, Mbidde and DP NEC are fighting the Buganda conference

New Post has been published on http://thespearnews.com/2017/03/28/nambooze-exposes-mao-mbidde-dp-nec-fighting-buganda-conference/

Nambooze exposes why Mao, Mbidde and DP NEC are fighting the Buganda conference

Buganda region DP vice president and DP reform activist Nambooze Yesterday exposed three major reasons why DP-NEC is fighting the Buganda leaders conference scheduled 31st march at Nsambya.  

The exposure came through during a political talk show program, Akambinkano last night on which she was hosted with DP national deputy publicity Alex Mufumbira

Nambooze started off by blaming Mao for mis-representing outcomes of his Sunday impromptu visit to her home in which she told him frankly that  “I expects no debate on 31st conference and the meeting must go on”  She said “A liar is not even afraid of coming to your home and tell lies about you from your own compound?” Nambooze told public about this visit immedietely on her face book page

Read: Mao makes Impromptu ceasefire visit to Nambooze’s home

When the modulator asked under what law from the DP constitution is NEC attempting to stop the Buganda conference, Mufumbira  quoted rule 27 which he says vests power into the president to determine anything in the party “DP has a policy and Mao the president is party policy” Mufumbira said.

Nambooze challenged him on this saying the quoted rule only gives the president powers to guide the regional leader such that they sit their meeting within the party constitution. She asked him to quote any law she as regional president breaks by calling such a meeting within her constituency which he failed

She further educated the spokesman who is also personal assistant to NRM’s minister Kibuule Ronald that the constitution he is referring to was amended in the 2015 National Delegates Conference at Katoomi and powers of the president he quotes in article 27 were reduced  and shared among vice presidents which is supposed to be ratified by national Council.

She said this is the number one reason why they are deliberately refusing to call NC and resisting any form of meeting so as to maintain a dictatorship within the party.

She accused NEC of deceiving members that they had bought a party printing Press at 300m which never was otherwise the new party constitutions would have been printed to avoid all this

She asked him why NEC doesn’t fulfill its constitutional mandate of holding annual Dp National conference and other meetings yet they stop meetings organized by members?

In response Mufimbira said DP national council can’t sit because the party has no money but insisted the Buganda Conference should also wait for this council sitting naively adding that “its duty of the president yet he has no money”

Nambooze asked why NEC doesn’t use part of the 400m it got from government in January to organize National council and other mandatory DP meetings.

She pointed out that we need legalize DP leadership by filling NEC itself as Chairman Kezaala, late Nsubuga and Namaganda died and NEC has no regional representative for western and eastern

To this Mufumbira stammered about the construction of party house in Rubaga. Nambooze asked him “besides the paper plan drawn during Ssemwogere era you show to press what has the current regime done to that project when it doesn’t even slash around the plot” to which he didn’t answer.

Nambooze said she doesnt want to go into financial debate as it will make her demand for reforms appear as if its financially driven. But said the second reason Mao fears any DP members meeting is that they have failed to account for party funds which the NC will demand and press them for accountability. 

Mufumbira who constantly referred to Nambooze’s sickness and absence said NEC will give accountability to press and accused her of not submitting her regional work plan as other regions.

Nambooze asked whether other regions “made work plans to sleep the party or awaken it?” and requested to be informed of any DP activity done in any other region or within NEC itself. She said as MP she is capable and ready to sponsor her meeting

She asked Mufumbira to look straight into the Tv Camera and tell Ugandans how much money the party has received from govt and give a simple accountability of atleast the 400m received in January before saying they have no funds to call mandatory meetings

Mufumbira went native on this and burst out in the studio shouting: ”The party organized burials of Mr Nsubuga, went through  hard  period of Kezaala and Nakiwala crossing to NRM, the president attended last funeral rite of late Namaganda in Bukomansimbi, they are planning to build DP house and they are currently in a bi-election in Aruu county! “The party is not sleeping” He ranted

Surprised by this “joke” of party activities Nambooze expressed her disappointment in Mr Mufumbira and the entire NEC she said

“Me and DP viewers feel ashamed of having leaders who speak like Mufumbira. You are a shame to DP party stature. You make the party lose trust among people who ask if you cant account for just 1bn how can you handle national budget”

She added that “I’m more inspired to lead and I call upon people to come join me we fight for people power from the hands of these selfish leaders”

To this call Mufumbira burst out and in “good” DP tradition started attacking Nambooze’s personal character saying she refused going to Mbaale and never supported Mbabazi during the 2016 election so she has no moral authority to call their NEC selfish”

Charles Serugga Matovu at this level to calm down the tempers posed a different question “The president said by 2021 there will be no opposition can these disagreements lead to this?

Nambooze said Mbidde Mao Mufumbira and the like are working towards fulfilling Museveni’s dreams of killing all party’s by 2021.

This is why they are bent on killing all party branch activities at regional, district, Sub County and village levels when the structures die the party automatically will die.

“This is the third reason behind stopping this conference. where police used to fight to stop opposition rallies now they use “good” party leaders to fight Musevenis’s opposition battles”  She said “We shall not accept this” She vowed

In conclusion Nambooze called on Ugandans that “we shouldn’t be threatened by these regime opportunists set out to kill our party by its organs, join me on 31st at Nsambya we start off a fight to MAKE DP GREAT AGAIN

Related:

Hon Lubega Sseggona joins drive to demand for DP reforms

Stop panicking; MP Mpuuga tells Norbert Mao

Battle lines drawn; MAO Vs NAMBOOZE as Nsambya DP conference takes shape

D.P Kampala branch denounce Mao, demand his resignation

Conspiracy: NRM bankrolls “Good DP” for a smear campaign against Buganda figures opposed to…