#its the same thing as how i thought id never understand programming languages and yet i stuck with python

[gaast]

I can't draw (or rather, I'm not willing to put in the effort it would require to learn how to draw, and I am concerned that my physical health would make traditional art prohibitively painful for me) but I really want to make visual depictions of my OCs, so, as something with really no visual-spatial reasoning skills at all, I have decided to try to learn how to make 3D models.

[writefightandflightclub]

Halt and catch fire (Nathan Bateman x reader)

Summary: you have an... arrangement, to spend the summer with Nathan at his house. Sounds simple, yes? Nope. It’s not. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Author’s note: FIRST NATHAN FIC! I wrote this all in one go, which I never do. It came to me like lightning. Just remember that Nathan’s a bit of a dick, a’ight? Still would though.

Word count: 4k (ish).

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Explicit smut. Angst. Some dark elements. Hints of coercive control / gaslighting in parts. Swearing. Rough sex. One daddy kink moment. Dirty talk, inc. derogatory sexual language. Mild alcohol abuse. Typos.

Tagging: @dameronsgalaxygal​ @geo-winchester​ @xxidontwikeitxx​ @neverlandlibrarian​ @jennibradley​ @itsamedeemoney​ @bioticgoddess​ @spider-starry​ @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ @a-killvr-queen​ @porgiez​ @beyoncesdragon​ @damerondjarin​ @iamthe-shadow-on-the-wall​

Song mood: Pixies, Where is My Mind.

(GIF by @pariztexas)

Nathan ticks his eyes up at you, clicking on you like a cursor. You suddenly animate, placing your book down on the coffee table as you watch him dexterously unwind his hand wraps, veins and muscles standing out in relief as he does so.

You would have to work fast, you knew, while you had his fleeting attention. The gears in his brain shifted too quickly to covet his focus for long. You’d learned that it was always best to catch him in-between tasks. In fact, you can already see him start to open up multiple tabs inside his head even as he shifts from his workout space and into the kitchen, the interior / exterior perimeter almost acting as a delineating line of code, shifting his function between mind and body.

He looks good after a workout, his vest showcasing his taut, sheening muscles. Sweat pools at his chest and the damp fabric clings to his torso, highlighting the silhouette of him, sturdy and hard and strong enough to take control of you. You like to see him pumped-up and gleaming like this. It makes you think about getting his dick pumped-up and gleaming underneath you, wetness pooling everywhere. What really gets you though, is that positively primal look in his eyes which follows a bout with his punchbag. When he looks at you like you have captured his id and separated it from the rest of his consciousness, isolated his base desires.

Once, when you’d worked out together, he had pinned you while sparring, peeled your leggings down from your sweat-soaked thighs and rutted into you right there on the decking. Something in the pit of you stirs and awakens with the memory, clenching like your walls had around him as he had spilled his seed into you. He has good instincts when he’s not subject to logic and bogged down by programming.

Still, as he moves into the kitchen his eyes cool far too quickly, becoming calculating; detached again. All the same, your own body responds obediently to his entrance. You wonder, as you react, if Nathan sees the world as an interface, things only springing to life at his command. You are reticent to be so dreadfully accommodating, but the truth is  -aside from the fact you don’t have a lot else to do around here- you enjoy accommodating him.

You especially enjoy him after a workout, when he’s still in his body and not in his head. After all, he might be a genius, but you’d nominate him for the body-based equivalent of a McArthur Genius Grant, if such a thing existed. Especially those genius fingers. Those fingers, which you’ve had to watch skim deftly over his keyboard instead of over your body for far too long now, as Nathan insisted -time and time again- that he was on the brink of yet another major breakthrough.

“Baby?”, you coo at him, and his eyes land on you with casual interest as he finishes blending an iced coffee, pouring it from its jug into a tall glass set atop the kitchen counter.

You’re good for him. With you here he doesn’t need to drink all night, just to shut his mind off. Not that he finds your company mind-numbing... It’s just that you find other, mutually beneficial ways to keep him out of his head. Sometimes, you even convince him to get some sleep.

He takes a long swig of his drink before placing it down and reaching for his glasses. He slips them on to peer up at you, brow furrowed with a question, broad hands settled on his sturdy hips. That look ends you every time. “What, baby?”, he asks, the term of endearment managing to sound a little sleazy on this arrogant fucker’s lips. You’ve noticed him sweetening though, over the summer, whether he’s realised it himself or not.

Nathan looks at you sometimes as if you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him- the only person he can’t figure out and manipulate within five minutes of meeting them. You don’t know why, because your call and response is fairly predictable, as if he has you programmed like everything else around him. You see him? Then you want him. There’s not a lot else to this... arrangement. At least, that’s how it had begun. There’s not anything deeper; not that he’ll admit to. Not yet.

Speaking of wanting him, your eyes wander lazily over his torso and the beading sweat on his skin, his arms defined and pumped through exertion. He looks like a machine and, yeah, you want him this minute. Nothing else will do.

“Shower. Now, strong man”, you command, with a come-hither finger.  

His espresso brown eyes harden with a quiet, lust-ridden stare as he idly strolls over the floor toward you, slinging a towel around his neck.

You always feel like he’s studying you, sometimes to the point of discomfort, and yet you can never look away from him when he does it. 

“Since when did you start tellin’ me what to do?”, he delivers in his soft Bronx-twang, his tone dark. His sweaty hand comes to grab you -securely, not harshly- by the chin. His eyes flash with challenge, which you return with equal fervour.

“Sorry, Daddy, I forgot my place.”, you purr obediently, knowing from the way his eyes blacken with lust that your words alone will have his dick half-hard for you.

“You’re learning.”, he praises, his voice honey over sandpaper, and you deliver him a wicked smile, your thighs pressing together in desperation already as you look over his bare shoulders and chest as if you’re famished.

But, contrary to your wishes, he releases your chin and you can see he’s already following some half-formed thought down a rabbit hole. “What are you reading?”, he asks, his eyes hovering over to the hardcover strewn on the table. “What made you choose that one?” Oh no he doesn’t.

“Nathan.”, you redirect, your voice throaty and brazen. “It’s nice that you’re interested in how I occupy myself, but I’m not here for Book Club.”

“That’s almost funny, sweetness.”, he chides, towelling the sweat from the back of his neck. Patronising fuck. His amused eyes meet yours, and when he finds them humourless in return, he presses on tiredly with a question. “Do I really have to ask? I know you’re about to tell me exactly why you’re here.”

Sometimes, you can understand his impatience. It must be frustrating for him to be one step ahead of everyone around him.

“To be your fuck-toy for the summer, right? That means you actually have to fuck me.”.

You wind your arms around his neck, arching your body into his, breasts pushing unsubtly up against him. “I need this. I’ve sat patiently while you worked and worked-out. It gets me hot for you. So, now that you’ve adequately displayed your prowess, I need you to fill me up, baby. And I’m not past begging.”

You watch his eyes shine with pride at your words before burying your lips into his neck. You trail your hot, wet tongue and mouth over his salty skin, your words muffling into him. “You should relax, baby. Just let me take care of you. Remember, how much you like it when I take care of you?” The contact must finally tap into something more primal and less cerebral, as he responds by circling his muscled arms around your waist and sinking his lips to yours in a crush. His prominent, wiry beard is abrasive over your skin as he opens you up, his supple tongue delving deep into the cave of your mouth.

Nathan is all or nothing. He lives by extremes. In binary. As the kiss skyrockets in intensity, his hands dragging up your back and winding into your hair, you know he’s going to give it all to you. No holds barred. He tugs on your hair, sparks like static needling over your scalp as he demonstrates his dominance. His power over you. He likes control. He requires it. And that suits you just fine.

You whimper into his mouth, the sound feeble; all of you feeling feeble against his crushing, passionate embrace. You’ve gladly gotten used to the sheer intensity of him, when his focus does land on you. But this time it feels… different. There’s a hint of desperation in it. Like he’s coming undone for you, not fully in control of himself. He breaks from you, ragged breaths heaving in the space between you. Yanking your hair back so he can look you in the eyes. But when you look at him you find him distressed; discombobulated. The way he gets when something defies explanation, when some mystery or formula or person fails to yield to him in the way he’s become accustomed to. His eyes are shadowed beneath his brows and that tell-tale vein is popping on his forehead. Something is troubling him. If you’re not wrong, that something is you.

“It shouldn’t be possible.”, he breathes, sounding uncharacteristically weak. “It shouldn’t be possible for kissin’ you to make me feel this good.”

You moan into the air for him, his sugared praise and the brokenness of his voice elevating you to another level. “Nathan Bateman, you sound weak for me.”, you tease, delighting in your newfound power, sounding almost as cocky as him. 

Turns out, that was the wrong thing to say to a man with a superiority complex. To a man on the verge of full-blown narcissism. And yet, it was the best thing to say to him, because now he feels the need to reassert himself... and, oh boy, do you like it when he does that.

“Weak for you?”, he seethes, his mouth pressing right up against your cheek, hot lips skimming your skin as he enunciates his words. He tugs hard enough on your hair that tears begin to spike at the corner of your eyes. “Weak for you? I’m gonna fucking tear you up, you hear me? I’m gonna take you apart until you can’t even remember your own name.”

“Is that what you want?”, he growls, pressing his clothed erection against your hip. “Want me to break you, fuck-toy?”

“Yes. Yes please. Fuck, Nathan.” His words crawl inside the cavern of you, filtering like lines of code to your centre. You respond to his command instantly, and you feel arousal coiling in your body.

His chest heaving, his mouth a snarl, he releases your hair and then both his hands are on the collar of your oversized shirt. He grabs and tears it away from you abruptly, and you squeal as buttons pop their way on to the hard floor, leaving your lingerie exposed to him. Clearly, Nathan wasn’t expecting that to be revealed beneath, as the sight of your body covered in this skimpy, delicate lace garment has him practically falling to his knees for you. “The fuck is this?, he asks, and you’ve never seen anyone look so annoyed whilst captivated.

“I thought I’d surprise you.”, you coo, looking up at him with doe eyes.

“Surprise me? I didn’t know you had it in you.”, he growls, still looking over you with a hunger that makes your whole body quiver. But he doesn’t have his hands on you.And you need his hands on you. Those genius fingers.

“Please. Nathan. Touch, don’t look.”, you plead, eyes roving over him and landing on the tent in his shorts.

You snake your hands out towards his waistband but he grabs your wrists firmly, preventing you. “Uh uh. Naughty naughty.”, he scolds, eyes dark like a destroyer of worlds. “The next time I touch you is gonna be in the shower, and it’s gonna be my dick in your tight cunt, understand?”

You nod in earnest, the look in his eyes demolishing you. Your thighs writhe against each other, aching for some kind of pressure at your core.

“Yes, sir.”, you comply, your voice a husk.

His eyes glow with a self-satisfied, almost cruel glint. You know it’s because you’re the broken, weak one now. You also know that he’s just getting started. Smugly, he releases your wrists, your skin still burning where his fingers dug into you. Then, Nathan inches as close as he can get to you without actually touching, whispering right up against the shell of your ear.

“Turn on the water. Take everything off that hot fuckin’ body of yours. Then face the wall, spread your palms and your legs for me, and wait there until I come and fill you. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”, you tremble, throbbing for him.

His eyes glint with promise as you sweep out, hurriedly, Nathan landing a smack to your ass as your quaking legs carry you toward the shower room. All you can think about is his promise. But you focus on his instructions, and you follow them to the letter. You know he’ll be watching you on the monitor, and if you put a foot wrong, he’ll make you pay for it.

First of all, you pad over and fiddle with the various nozzles, until warm water is cascading from various jets above your head. You let it sluice over you, soak through what remains of your shirt and your lingerie, before wiggling the sodden, torn garment off your shoulders first. As it drops onto the floor with a wet slap, you stand there in nothing but the delicate red lace coiling closely around the contours of you, a little like wires. 

You feel exposed as you think of Nathan watching you through the cameras, seeing the water slipping over the contours of you until you’re gleaming for him. You think of him palming his hardened length through his shorts as you peel away the delicate fabric from your shoulders, thumbs hooking under the straps. For his benefit, you peel it away slowly, inch-by-inch, cups popping away from your breasts, your exposed nipples pebbling under the water. You think about his eagerness growing as he watches, his thick cock twitching, the head beading with slick as the garment peels away from your stomach, clinging to the wetness of your body.

Finally, you fold it away from your hips and your buttocks. It clings to your thighs, material coiling in on itself like the knot forming at the core of you, and your fingers work it down your body until it finally drops onto the shower floor below you. You step delicately out of it, entirely exposed now, and feeling that way. Next, as instructed, you carefully shuffle your feet apart until your legs are spread for him, you palms flush against the wall in front of you. You know he wants to see your hands so he knows you’re not touching yourself. He was quite clear about what the next thing touching you would be, and you don’t think you have it in you to refuse his command. 

The waiting drives you crazy, and you slip your palms further down the wall, arching your spine to push your ass out, further up into the air, writhing it against nothing, but imagining Nathan’s substantial length sliding home into your heat. Imagining his strong arms wrapping around the front of you and dragging you into his slick chest as he pounds you.

Nathan keeps you waiting to the point of irritation. The ache in-between your legs becoming discomfort. Your body stiff from holding its position. You are so eager to press your parted legs against each other. To just reach down with your hand or a shower head and relieve yourself. But you don’t, because you know what’s coming is much too sweet to forgo. You moan on nothing but the thought of him.

When he finally enters you are so desperate, so frustrated, that tears are mingling with the rivulets of water over your face. You hear him pad in and almost turn to look at him before you hear a firm “no” in those deep, rich tones of his. You screw your eyes tightly shut so you won’t be tempted. By this point, your legs are quivering with need, your slick dripping from you. You need his touch inside of you. You bite your lip as you imagine you hear the sound of his clothes being dropped to the floor.

Nathan makes you wait a moment more for any contact, and it feels like the longest moment of your life. He’s made you think about him. Made you focus everything in your mind and your body on exactly where he’s going to touch you.

With a groan, Nathan pushes the head of his cock against your folds. Even the blunt pressure has you mewling for him, and you practically collapse up against the shower wall, wavering with need. Finally, with one swift thrust he slides all the way inside of you, as deep into you as he can possibly go, the base of him settling against you with a smack.

“Holy shit, Nathan.”, you sob, as he fits inside of you, stretching you, the size of him straining your walls, his broad hands clamping down over yours on the tiles. All of your focus is entirely on the ridges and veins and girth of him buried up in your cunt. It feels so good. He feels so fucking good.

He stills in you, simply to tease you more - to demonstrate his power. But you need him to move. You need motion. Need his friction.

“I told you I’d fucking split you open.”, Nathan growls. You try to writhe against him but he’s not allowing it. Not yet. His hands come to clamp hard on your hips. “You said you weren’t past begging, baby. Do it then. Beg me to rail you.”

Your words are sugared pleas into the air which dissolve into the water, making everything around you sweet as Nathan finally begins his ruthless thrusts. He buries himself in you over and over and over as one hand comes to your head, pressing your cheek against the cold tiled wall and pinning you in place as the other grasps the meat of your hip. “I’m gonna take you apart. I’m gonna fucking unmake you, baby.”

You believe him. You believe you are going to come apart for him. You could do so already. Could do it on command, you’re sure of it. With the number of times he’s made you come undone, you have no doubt in the sensations he’s capable of delivering.

Indeed, the way his cock slams into your heat, your walls snug around him, is like an electric current jolting through your body, sending shocks of pleasure with every drag of his contours over your sweet spot. Every time he resheaths himself in your tight cunt. His body fits you so perfectly it’s as if he’s made for you, the way he fills you is like nothing else you’ve ever had.

“Nathan.”, you plead, clutching for him, desperate for more contact. “Nathan, please. Hold me. I need you to hold me.”

There is something so soft in the way he wraps his arm around you and nestles his head over your shoulder, his chest pressing up against you. Even as he pounds into you, his pace relentless - his force punishing. Water sluices between your bodies as his wet skin slaps against yours, your moans surrounding him from all directions in the echoey room. You don’t know how it’s possible for something to feel this harsh and this soft all at once, but you guess the real world doesn’t run on binary. Not everything is an absolute.

Nathan’s groans and grunts billow over your ear as he crushes you to him, ensuring you have no escape from the brutality of his thrusts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him so vocal. The sound of him, all his anger and arrogance humbled in the place of pleasure – all for you- has your release spilling over, that impossible knot tightening in the pit of you and flooding you with warmth.

Your proclamation comes as a silent plea into the air first of all, followed by a low, guttural moan which blooms from your chest. The sensation overcomes you, wipes everything else from your mind for a moment, as if you are a system rebooting. Feeling fresh. Remade.

“Fuck, Nathan. You make me feel so good.”, you praise into the air, and his hand digs even more harshly into the meat of your hip to pull you down on his length as he drives his own hips up in return. Your words tipping him over the edge, he shoots his seed deep into you in thick, warm ropes of cum as he finds his end too. He sounds wrecked with pleasure as he coats your walls with his release, aftershocks spasming through the both of you as his taut body presses against your back. He is perfectly, uncannily contoured to you.

For a moment then, Nathan doesn’t move. He simply holds you. It is the most still you’ve ever seen him, ever felt him. His mind and his body are always -usually- in perpetual motion. But he just stays there, holding you tight for a second as his cock softens inside you, the only sound the patterns of water slipping off your bodies, and his steady, jagged breathing against the back of your neck. The frenzied patter of your heart as you come down from your high, whole body buzzed.

Eventually, Nathan pulls out and you feel his cum slip out too, down your thighs. You feel satisfaction at having made him feel so good. He directs the shower head to clean himself and then you off, laughing half-cruelly as the water pressure finds your sensitive clit, causing you to shudder.

After a deep, gathering breath you turn to face him with a steady, even grin, and you find the hardness in Nathan’s eyes is entirely gone. Wordlessly, you bat your eyes at him and take the shower head from his grasp, reaching for some soap and, with a soft smile, lathering it over his tired muscles - all over his body. He lets you, closing his eyes against it and humming gently when your hand reaches his chest.

When he opens his eyes, he is looking at you again like you’re an algorithm he can’t solve, an intricate web of code which makes no sense to him. He’s developing a habit of this, the more time he spends with you. You counter his stare curiously, and his eyes narrow in return.

Nathan’s not usually very tactile outside of sex, and so when he reaches his hand out to caress your face you flinch away at first, merely from the shock of it. But, gently, he smooths his palm over your face, his eyes reassuring and like cups of warm, morning coffees on yours.

“How do you do it?”, he asks, his voice faltering. “What makes you different from all the others? Why does it feel so much better with you?”

Your eyes glow with a cautious pride. “Maybe you’re getting soft on me, genius.”

“It’s not possible. What I’m feeling for you... it can’t be real.”

You scoff. You knew the softness had to end sometime. There’s his arrogance again. Nathan Bateman. He thinks himself above most things. Of course he thinks himself above love. Or whatever this is.

“Why not?”, you probe, hiding a slight edge in your tone. “I... I feel it too, you know.”, you admit, but he recoils from you at that moment, snatching his hand away. Looking pained. Looking... pissed off.

“Don’t. You don’t know what you’re saying.”, he dismisses, vein popping in his forehead.

You roll your eyes at him indignantly, flipping off the water and reaching for a towel, which you tuck under your armpits and knot at your chest. You pass Nathan a bath sheet too and he towels himself off before wrapping it around his waist. “So, what? I don’t know my own mind now?”

Nathan replaces his glasses, retrieving them from the washroom counter. He furrows his brow as he looks at you from beneath his mildly steamed up lenses, hands on hips again.

“Do you think you do? Know your own mind?”

This look usually ends you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you in this moment that you don’t like; like he’s studying you all over again. For some reason his question and his manner cause an unease to bloom in the pit of you and you’re not sure why.

“I mean it.”, he continues, oblivious to your discomfort. “Could you prove that you’re conscious?”

You towel off your hair, dismissing his question. “Don’t start this again, Nathan. I’m not in the mood for philosophy.”. Your voice comes out weaker than you intended it. Unsure. The room suddenly feels hot and airless, but as you turn to leave it, Nathan grabs you sharply by the wrist.

“Could you?”, Nathan continues, an intensity in his eyes that you shrink back from, his voice broken all over again. “’Cause… Please.”, he grimaces. “I need to know how these feelings could seem so real when you’re....”

A dread you can’t explain is flooding you now, your bottom lip trembling. He cuts himself off, leaving you feeling as if you’re hanging over an abyss.

“When I’m what?”, you press, eyes interrogating his. “When I’m what, Nathan?”. There is a rising panic in your tone which you can’t quell. 

Something like fear passes over Nathan’s eyes then and he shakes his head dismissively, trying to backpedal. “Never mind. Never mind, baby. I’m sorry. Just forget it. I’ve had too much coffee. Or not enough.” His voice is sweet. Sickly sweet. Manipulative. But when he speaks that term of endearment it sounds entirely sincere.

He tries to shush you, to soothe you, dragging you in towards him in a surrounding embrace. You don’t resist it, at first. You fit against him as if he was made for you.

Or you were made for him.

A feeling like bile rises up in your stomach as your next thought arises.

As if you were made by him.

“No.”, you say, feeling suddenly ill with understanding. “No, no, no!”.

You beat and thrash your arms against his chest but he tries to pin you close to him; ineffectually tries to calm you. You become a mess of arms, like sparring, as he begins grabbing at your wrists and pleading with you from beneath his glasses, chin dipped low like a boxer. 

Your revelation doesn’t seem possible, And yet you instantly know there is truth in it. When you try to think beyond Nathan? You can’t. You were made here. You’ve never left. You are his. His fuck-toy.

“Baby. Baby, I’m so sorry.”, Nathan begs, looking distraught, undone. More vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him. But you don’t care. You don’t care.This is about you. If there is a “you” at all.

Regardless, you struggle against his attempts to subdue you, but he built you weaker than him. There’s something sinister about that. Though why would a god create someone in his own image when he could create them weaker? If he couldn’t prove himself more powerful, would he even be a god at all?

You sob and sob as the truth of things dawns on you. The scope of this truth feels like it’s frying and warping your brain. You feel like you can’t possibly process all of this. It feels like violence, that he created you at all.

“Baby. Shush.”, Nathan reassures, still trying to capture your flailing arms and to contain you. Control you. “You’ll hurt yourself, please. Please stop.”

He does it with reluctance, at least. When your reactions become increasingly violent, Nathan has no choice but to power you down, for your own safety. For his. He whispers apologies into the steamy air. Claws at his buzzed head in distress. As you fall limply to the shower room floor the sight of you there, like that, makes him hurl abruptly into the nearby sink. His hands shake and tears spill from him as he pushes your damp hair back from your face and carries you down to the lab.

He lays you out on the workbench in front of him, alongside the parts and components and faces of other dismantled flings. For once, he doesn’t have any of the answers. None of the others were quite like you, and he still can’t explain it.

Usually, when he lost control of a test subject, he had one alternative; to delete. To take them apart. To start again. But he’d never lost control of himself; his feelings. Not like this. And even if he deleted you, and all of your memories, he couldn’t scrub you from his own brain.

Could he?

Becoming increasingly volatile with emotion, tears streaming down his cheeks, Nathan yells his stream of consciousness into the air, before fishing a bottle of vodka out of his desk drawer and tipping it to his lips as he takes several generous swigs at once. There are some methods humans can use to forget, he supposes.

Then, his eyes cool slightly, his manner becoming slightly more detached. Detached enough to open you up. To slip red wires inside each of your ports with his genius fingers, connecting you to his system. The wires coil around your body, reminiscent of that red, lace lingerie.

“You’re not real, right?”, he asks softly, over your still, beautiful form, his hands running again over his buzzed head as he leans over you. “You’re not fucking real. Just wires. So, if I just wipe you... doesn’t matter? Right? Doesn’t fucking matter?”

Hands trembling, he boots up your code on his monitor. Frenzied, his eyes move at light-speed over the commands and sequences before his eyes. Looking for some explanation. Some evidence. Something he can point to as proof. Proof of you.

But he finds nothing. He can’t prove it. How can you prove consciousness? So, finding nothing to validate this thoroughly illogical adoration that he feels in the pit of him, he taps hurriedly at the keys and generates a command, his index finger hovering over the button as he tries to psych himself up to “execute”.

Execute. Now there’s a choice word.

Maybe there’s another way. Some other way to deal with this. But gods tend to deal in absolutes, not “if” statements. Nathan tended to deal in absolutes.

If you’re real, he loves you, absolutely.

If you’re not, then he’s not a god. He’s nothing more than a fool.

It all comes down to what Nathan is more willing to risk, in the end. Would he dare risk it for love? Would Nathan ever risk appearing a fool?

His index finger hovers over the key, shaking, like the hand of God.

Creator and destroyer of worlds.

He whispers under his breath.

“I am become death.”

THE END

(PLEASE DON’T SPOIL THE TWIST FOR OTHER READERS? TIA!)

Like this? Please consider reblogging, commenting and giving feedback in an ask! It genuinely makes my day! ILY.

Want more? I mainly write for Poe Dameron (and recently Santiago Pope Garcia). This is my first Nathan fic! You can check out my masterlist in my bio to read more of my works. It’s always kept updated there. And let me know if you want more Nathan! :D

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[readingaccountability]

snow crash - neal stephenson

my playlist (because of The Way That I Am)

final thoughts:

okay, im going to be honest right out of the gate- i cant decide whether this is a book id recommend or not. it was really fun for the most part, but personally there was a lot more exposition than id like. the early portions of the novel have exposition which feels completely fair, mostly things relating to worldbuilding. stephenson creates his own vision of future america, and some places online referred to it as cyberpunk, and some as post-cyberpunk. id be more in the latter camp, mostly due to the way he plays with tropes, leaving the reader unsure of which will be subverted and which wont.

the use of language was really fun, and i enjoyed the worldbuilding a lot. his vision of a futuristic capitalistic earth feels surreal in its immediacy and recognizability. the back jacket blurb ends with "a future america so bizarre, so outrageous, you'll recognize it immediately." which, yeah. a texan info-tech magnate? two competing corporations owning the highway system? suburban city-states? this was another enjoyable thing- everything was colorfully named, and names treated totally normally, which kind of poked fun at how we have everyday things named very ludicrously and for the most part we are totally blind to it.

one aspect i really enjoyed was that the author often doesn't make certain things clear to the audience, until he does, and then it becomes necessary to reassess the entire story and setting. this goes to underscore the theme of the importance of information and the ways we take it in and perceive the world based upon it. for example, we don't learn that y.t. is fifteen until maybe 75 pages in, at which point a lot makes sense in retrospect. the same thing occurs in the worldbuilding, as suddenly a detail is given in passing and the reader must incorporate it into the setting, which by default we assume to be similar in many ways to our idea of america. it keeps the reader on their toes as well as furthering the worldbuilding. for the most part, the tech stuff didnt feel outdated to me, despite being a future projected out from '92.

however, aspects of the book are definitely very 1992. id put these into two camps: the first, being that the book does at different times use slurs. the main character is black and asian, the n word is used a few times by racist side-character/antagonist types, as are a few other racial slurs. there was also the occasional usage of the r slur, within the narrative prose itself, rather than usage as an insult within dialogue.

the protagonist, who is named, unfortunately, hiro protagonist, is a great character and felt very fleshed out to me, though at times he reminded me more of dirk strider than normally would be ideal. (its obvious that stephenson and andrew hussie are of a similar type of writer, and play with similar tropes, lmao.) hiro is a man of many worlds. he seems to shift between them easily, though never fully existing in any of them. this is reflected in his background, both in his biracial identity and in having been raised on a myriad of army bases. this is layered further in his fluidity in interacting with both reality and the metaverse, yet remaining slightly, consistently aloof. fascinatingly the first moment i sensed this drop was when we meet juanita- aka where his real and meta realities coincide. the description of them as the adam and eve of the metaverse is both insanely romantic and thematically key (good god i wish we had more than like, two conversations between them). juanita designed the facial component to metaverse avatars, doing the majority of this work when the two were together, and hiro can see echoes of both their facial tics in the face of every avatar in the metaverse. in a way, by having done this work juanita is positioned by the narrative as one of the gods of this digital realm. she is also hiro's call to action, being aware of the coming trouble and alerting him to it, as well as connecting him to the informational database he needs to prepare.

y.t., the secondary protagonist, fucking ruled. i loved that she was just a fifteen year old punkass kid whose mom doesnt know how crazy this part time job is. y.t. being worried about her mom was a great thread throughout, and a really good balance to how obviously independent y.t. is. i do wish there had been a chance to explain more about her background (she has a dad who left who is mentioned in a throwaway sentence, and a boyfriend who is mentioned near the beginning but never again.) i really enjoyed how obviously hyperaware y.t. was at all times about her own place within the insanities of the setting, while also consistently writing her as a teen maybe in way too deep who thinks about things in typically teenage ways. but like, that wasn't ever held against her? the narrative meets her where she is. it was honestly awesome. HOWEVER,

i absolutely hated the raven and y.t. scenes. how creepy!!! he basically statutory rapes her!!! we know hes at least late 20s early 30s, because hes the same age as hiro. if this sort of content is upsetting to read for you, i definitely do NOT recommend this book. (if you want to avoid reading these bits: ch 47 y.t. meets raven, ch 50 they are in a bar eating, ch 52 things happen that result in y.t.'s anti-assault device activating- she did not activate it on purpose, but forgot it was there- and raven is knocked out.)

please PLEASE dont take any of the following analysis as like, trying to be apologetic towards this scenes. because again they were awful and hard to get through and really gross. but im also cognizant that the author was obviously trying to convey something by making the choice, like the way it was written is obviously not condoning this sort of thing.

i think maybe what stephenson was trying to get at with that, was that we see hiro internally negate any potential for anything untoward with y.t. basically immediately, since he kind of senses that she might have a small crush on him (though this doesnt last more than a fleeting moment, especially from her perspective). vs raven, whose 'poor impulse control' warning tattoo eventually elicits a sarcastic remark from hiro after he finds out raven and y.t. were "a thing". i really dont think hiro knew how far it went? like it was just suuuper weird, but i figured it was meant narratively to 1. execute the chekovs gun of y.t.'s anti-assault device, 2. contrast hiro and raven (especially considering the bike-racing argument where theyre telling the story together, which is supposed to parallel them, while contrasting the differences in how they ended up?), and 3. just to get raven unconscious, i guess. but good god it was weird and i hated every second of it, why couldnt the device have like, activated way earlier?? gah. fucking upsetting. moving past that!

honestly i was really frustrated by how little screentime juanita got, because the way she was introduced was so fucking interesting and then shes mostly off doing her own thing. the bits of explanation she gives at the end about what she was up to on the raft are so sparse and im like damn, can we get a little bit of her pov in here? please? that would have ruled. additionally, shes supposed to be hiros love interest, but we see so little of them interacting outside her intro scenes. a huge portion of why hiro is getting into the sumerian mythology is literally framed as something that will help him understand juanita, but we dont get to see him talk to her about it barely at all.

the supporting characters were quite fun, i particularly liked the librarian. big surprise, i liked the overly literal ai information-dispensor, lmfao. watching him and hiro interact reminded me SO hard of geordi laforge having honest to god conversations with the computer where he tries to coax information out of it, aka one of my favorite little aspects of tng.

and lastly, the major plot themes themselves. i adore the way stephenson approached action, it was very entertaining. usually i cant really visualize action scenes written out, but his use of language was really really effective and engaging. the plot itself was absolutely fascinating, though i found the premise pretty contrived. which isnt bad in itself, i was fully suspending my disbelief until the last hundred pages or so. which for a 550+ page book, isnt too bad.

i did like the approach of linking the ancient to the modern, that is always really neat. and i think ultimately stephenson did it in an interesting way, not how i would have done it, but definitely interesting! creating these ideas about information infrastructures, and there being words that can access those and be used to control people, was wild. not sure if i agree about the equating of religion to a virus, though he did specifically establish that it was more the approach to religion, than religion itself. (maybe if juanita had been more goddamn present in the narrative that could have been elaborated on a little more. literally her perspective would have been perfect in balancing that out!!)

ultimately what did me in was the very very very long winded MONOLOGUE where hiro re-explained the whole premise, in ways that didnt really neatly organize into a cohesive argument. a lot of the scenes where hiro talks to the librarian, which are interspersed throughout the book, are really exposition heavy, because stephenson is rooting his ideas in historical concepts that need to be explained to both hiro and the audience. and i thought all that was fine, because it was a conversation where hiro was grappling with the information, and he was figuring it out along with the reader, and most importantly it was a conversation between him and the librarian computer program.

howeverrr later on we get a full rehash of all that, where hiro makes clear some stuff that was just implied for the reader, and hes literally just telling these important men whats up in this big long monologue. utterly worthless. i kept reading it and going YEAH, we KNOW, we know this we know this. and the important men barely interjected. it added basically nothing to our understanding of the situation, other than reframing it. but everything added was already an implicit thing, and didnt really need to be said again.

the resolution to the book was stellar, the last 30-40 pages, once hiro is onto the raft, were great. ultimately after reading and giving some time to digest it, i think it was a solidly great book with a few big drawbacks near the end, but which dont carry through and sully the ending.

[herotheshiro]

so i reread all of behind the desks today lol bc i was thinking abt it last night as i was going to sleep, and also fully read through the epilogue chapters which i don’t think i had done before. which means i read through all of the plot points all at once this time around. i think my thoughts for this readthrough might end up being the length of a regular post so i’m just writing up a new post instead of reblogging my old review of this manhwa. obviously spoilers for the story below the cut

again i like this manhwa mainly bc of 2 things:

i like the juxtaposition of young’s obviously manipulative language with taesung’s innocent language that also sounds suspiciously the same. obviously you know taesung has positive intentions and isn’t a controlling freak like young but it’s such an interesting way to depict the aftermath of an abusive relationship and the difference in intentions despite the same words even though in retrospect that probably wasn’t what the author was trying to do. unless... ?

sunny seo as a character!! on the surface he definitely seems to fall under the standard BL uke tropes of being clumsy and looking pretty and stuck in a love triangle as the shared obj of affection but from the very beginning you already know he’s not a pushover but he just seems like that bc he doesn’t really have or express strong opinions. a lot of BLs tend to have the shared obj of affection be like oh nooo i can’t pick bw the 2 of them... but i mean from the start sunny doesn’t want to be w young and his fear of backlash and change is what motivates his secret-keeping from taesung... also throughout the story they imply that he’s a good match for taesung who canonly likes action stuff by being someone who actually likes high-energy activities/vibes. tl;dr sunny is generally a good character who also has a lot of foreshadowing done for him to reveal aspects of his personality that contribute to the story

anyway onto my thoughts that i had during this specific readthrough

jaeyoon. anyone who read my prev review for this manhwa knows that i had beef w how they used him during the conclusion to young and sunny’s relationship. i now realize that maybe they DID actually give him a face reveal during his wedding when young and sunny split off to chat with a friend each and the friend who spoke to sunny was actually jaeyoon himself... BUT YOU GOTTA FUCKING SAY THAT!! i suspected they were the same guy bc of the hair color and them always hiding jaeyoon’s face until that “random” moment where they give this character who looks like him a face but like i was never sure... no offense to the author or anything but i think you have to put in-text that it’s jaeyoon and not assume readers will know based on your art that it’s him... there are too many side characters who show up so it’s not like we’ve ONLY seen taesung/sunny/young so far so now this 4th person who shows up has to be jaeyoon... i mean maybe other readers ID-ed it as him w no issue esp since he shows up being like ‘dude...’ when that other friend is like ‘well jaeyoon was in rehab and stuff’ but i personally think it should’ve been mentioned in-text esp since that face reveal wasn’t nearly dramatic enough to 100% capture readers’ attentions.

otherwise i think the fact that jaeyoon and taesung are similar is a great plot point. jaeyoon was clearly the only friend in that group who saw young and sunny’s relationship accurately so i’m glad sunny had at least one GOOD friend then. jaeyoon is implied to be someone who takes care of others similar to taesung (even if it’s only sunny he dotes over the most) too. other than young’s general possessiveness of sunny, them being similar also explains why young saw jaeyoon as such a threat. but yeah unfortunately i still don’t think it was handled as well as it could have been.

young’s explanation for his behavior towards sunny... i hesitate to say it was the standard “villain redemption” but tbf i think it was a good explanation for his actions even if it felt a little too clean of a conclusion (young letting go of sunny so easily and also apparently realizing and accepting how damaging he was to him). i say it’s partially redeeming bc it shows that young was kind of trapped in such a specific and damaging way of thinking abt life that it affected how he treated sunny but it’s also not really redeeming him bc like. be normal man lol you don’t have to be like that to others.

separate but related note but young’s mindgaming of taesung... when he was like oh everything abt sunny seo you like is bc of me... like DAMN that’s evil and good (writing-wise). although the thing is that young and sunny also haven’t interacted apparently for 5 years so i mean you do have to realize that by the time taesung reunites w him, sunny has developed enough of an individual personality so it’s not ALL young’s shit. 

in my last review i said i felt like i wanted more of young and sunny’s history... tbh i think they gave us enough actually. all we really need to know is that they’ve known each other for a very long time and that young manipulated sunny enough during an impressionable time (young age, college. ppl know how college can be lol) that sunny felt that young was the only one for him. i was actually surprised jaeyoon’s story/details came up so quick in the story (i think it showed up in the 1st half of the manhwa) but i think it was a good point bc the story had to move on to the middle/2nd half of sunny and taesung trying to get their relationship to work. past me was also apparently looking for this scene in the bar apparently where young explains his “reasons” to taesung lol

not really much to say this time abt the hosung x young endgame. still don’t think they should’ve done it or had hosung have unrequited feelings but whatever i guess. tbh i didn’t really realize/connect until this time around that hosung actually was in freelancing art/publishing which was why taesung had him look at sunny’s work lol... i think last time that part in the epilogue hadn’t been translated yet so i just didn’t have the room to make the connection maybs

the epilogue ending... so i actually never read the epilogue ending or at least its eng translation, and i was like hell yea at the full circle shit w sunny being like ‘oh the cherry blossom petals are falling just like when i first met taesung in the infirmary’ but then the ch kept going w taesung and sunny on the beach... idk i think ending it literally at sunny being like ‘w you i feel alive’ was such an abrupt ending... like maybe if they added another panel of them smiling at each other it could’ve been fine but if the author was running low on time i honestly think they could’ve ended it at the scene of sunny accepting his contest award

also when sunny was like ‘yeah lol all my classmates at the children’s book program also get sick all the time’.... i was like bruh this author is prob speaking from actual experience lmao

the other thing abt the ending that was a little random was the quick aside abt taesung’s mom being against their relationship... i mean it was a reference to the mom wanting taesung to get married in the main story but then they dropped it and then suddenly brought it back up again... randomly adding that taesung had a sister who was his contact w their mom... like i get it, it wraps up the loose end of his mom but wow i was uh ok random ch abt potential family conflicts. also where are sunny’s parents lol but that would’ve been too much to get into too regardless of homophobia or not lol

overall it’s still a pretty solid manhwa. stuff proceeds at a good pace and the conflicts/misunderstandings make sense. i said before it’s kinda like a love triangle but it’s really not which works w me bc i don’t like love triangles that much (they stress me out lol); it’s also good bc young is clearly toxic for sunny and it’s good that sunny knows that rather than sunny being like “oh i know he’s bad but also... hmm maybe i can overlook it”. the manhwa’s not perfect -- i still get the sense the writing could be better even if i can’t really enunciate why -- but enough details are tied together that there’s nothing major i have to extrapolate bw (like i can overlook the jooyeon mishap even though it legit threw me off the 1st time i read through). also yes i know the manhwa is based off of a game w characters essentially already established but my understanding is that the author/artist essentially had to write up a lot of the actual story themselves even if they had a general plotline provided to follow

also the final author’s note abt the author personally preferring fucked up stories... when i started rereading i was like wait isn’t this the same artist for that one manhwa where the characters look like the k!lling st@lking? mains and even if i didn’t remember i would’ve realized w that author’s note lol. i think fortunately for them that sunny isn’t an entirely “pure” character so they had enough room to make him a little more twisted.

[marylovettpostgradblog]

1. IS IT BECAUSE I AM A GIRL?

Too Few Women in Audio 

My work to date has been weighted more towards working with people in a therapeutic way rather than music technology. I have a ”Freelance portfolio career” which loosely translated means juggling different projects simultaneously to pay the rent. Most of which have been in community music and theatre. The work consists of, performance, commissions for music for immersive site specific theatre and directing community choirs.

My rationale for choosing to study Creative Music Production is to develop the technical skills be able to produce my own music to an industry standard. (whatever that means) To to accurately translate compositional ideas and in turn do justice to them. Despite having used Logic as my preferred DAW for over twelve years, I still feel like I have only just dipped my toe into the program, and its capabilities.  I enjoy working in my own small home studio and the security it provides.  I am currently confronting my feelings of overwhelm with the studio desk at the University.

During my experience of music technology education over the last 16 years, women have definitely been in the minority.  Reflecting on my own feelings embarking on Masters study, I really notice how a lack of self confidence rises within me particularly around technology.

For years I have been more interested in the process of composition rather than  mixing and production. Preferring to leave this to other more technically skilled people.  This has often resulted in being unsatisfied with the end result. 

I thought that being able to speak the language of the studio and understanding what things did would help in communicating ideas about the mix. While this certainly helps, I have come to the conclusion that there is no substitute for learning to do this my self. Having to overcome this reluctance was something I wanted to investigate.  Why the reluctance? What is the difficulty? Surely it's not because I am a girl?

fig 1: Leslie Gaston-Bird

I began to look at texts about women in the music industry and in particular production and engineering. My interest was piqued when looking into gender within the music industry as a whole and examining the technical roles of women. Exploring this opens a whole world of historical, sociological, systemic, and complex reasons as to why this has been the case and remains present today.  

Women in Early Audio

Fig 2: Ada Lovelace 1840

Ada’s place in history was not only for her outstanding work but also assisted by her lineage. Her Father being Lord Byron, the famous poet and politician and her Mother, Annabella Milbanke, ensuring that she was tutored in Mathematics, logic and science. She worked alongside Charles Babbage who was developing a machine called the “Analytical Engine.” James Essinger in his book “Ada’s Algorithm” says that  “With her definition of the word “operation,” she is giving birth to the science of computing and computer programming and is in fact now regarded to be the inventor of computer programming. (Gaston Bird 2020)

In relation to music Ada wrote, “Supposing, for instance, that the fundamental relations of pitched sounds in the science of harmony and of musical composition were susceptible of such expression and adaptations, the engine might compose elaborate and scientific pieces of music of any degree of complexity or extent” (Essinger, 2014).

Sophie Germain a French Mathematician. Answering an “open call” call in 1808 from the Academy of Science for Mathematicians, (A place where girls were not allowed to study) to build on the work of Ernest Chladni. He had described the resonant frequencies of vibration with the patterns made from sand on a metal plate. Germain’s work was to develop the formulae to mathematically predict what the resonances would be. This was not acknowledged at the time. Even when she had won the grand prize at the Institute of Science in France (on her third attempt.) She was not invited to the Grand Prix ceremony and not allowed to publish her work. She self-published in 1821. 

Fig 3: Patterns of sand on a metal plate with the vibration from a violin bow

Historically Women’s achievements in STEM subjects (Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics) have been hampered by not being able to access this type of education.  Those that have broken through are have been uncredited and their work not recognised, or excluded. Sophie Germain's formula was used in architecture to measure that stresses on metal. This contributed to the building of the Eiffel Tower. “However, you will not find Germain’s name on any of the four sides of the Tower, which was built between 1887 and 1889 and upon which are inscribed the names of 72 scientists who contributed their intellect to its construction.” (Mozans 1913)

Woman were actively excluded from education and  professions deemed (by men) to be unfit for Women. Today, the door is not so blatantly closed as it was for Sophie Germain back in 1802.  

Perhaps more subtle barriers are at play? Audio Engineering is a profession open to all genders, yet we never hear the term “Male audio engineer.” When women in the same profession, they are described with her gender as the prefix. 

“Gender-based designations such as these have been the case throughout history; perhaps more so in science, technology, engineering, and math, where women are underrepresented. In contemporary discussions in the media, we hear the phrases “women in medicine” or “women in physics.”(Gaston-Bird 2020)

 The ratio of male to female producers is estimated to be 47-1 (Smith et al 2020) 

The question of why this might be continues to be asked. Singer songwriter and producer Rosina Ncube says that her experience at school could be described as “character building”, being the only female in the music technology class.  Not being chosen to collaborate in group work, and having to speak louder to be heard. She also recollects, being crowded away from the mixing desk whenever there was a demonstration. “Suggesting an idea, having it rejected, then when a guy suggests exactly the same thing 20 minutes later, everyone loves it. Frustrating? You bet, and it's just one in a string of similar experiences that I have had as a woman starting out in the world of music production.” (Ncube R 2013)

fig 4: Rosina Ncube 

The comedy sketch from the “Fast Show”posted beautifully illustrates what Rosina Ncube was saying. See fig 9 below

In 2004 I accidentally discovered Imogen Heap when she was playing solo supporting Rufus Wainwright. This was inspiring and influential to me to have a female role model using tech and playing live. She wrote, recorded and engineered her music. Winning a Grammy for best Engineered non classical album in 2009. What is it that young women and girls need to be encouraged into audio? Female role models to aspire to? Women teaching and leading workshops in music technology in schools and colleges? Programs specifically for girls and women? I began to look at how these questions are being addressed. 

Organisations across the world have developed specifically to encourage women into the industry. The Yorkshire Sound Women Network is one of these, founded in 2015 by Dr Liz Dobson. 

“We have to be in an environment which is lower risk, which – in this case – means not being the only woman in a world which associates masculinity and technology; to remove that risk to be in a community of peers; and to have a chance to put your hands on and use equipment. To make mistakes and learn from that” (Dobson 2019).

fig 5 Yorkshire Sound Women Network

fig 6 Yorkshire Sound Women Network Workshop Video 

Thoughts and Musings:

Digging in to gender disparity has the potential to enrage, dishearten and become a cul-de-sac that could distract from my main objective of being better at production! Heartening though, are initiatives like the YSWN. Watching the video and seeing the excitement and enthusiasm of the girls taking part in the workshop was an absolute joy. It seems that throughout my studies gender and audio are intrinsically entwined. This topic once explored, impossible to ignore and yet I’d like to be able to ignore it and get on with being a creative music producer. Much like Leslie Gaston Bird would rather just be called an audio engineer, but that’s not how she is represented.

“I am not a woman in audio. I am an audio engineer. Nor am I a “Black woman audio engineer.” I am an audio engineer who happens to be a Black woman.” (Gaston-Bird 2019)

fig 7 The Incredible Invisible woman

References:

https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/herts/detail.action?docID=5988228

https://www.soundonsound.com/people/sounding-why-so-few-women-audio

https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/herts/detail.action?docID=5988228

http://researchonline.rcm.ac.uk/id/eprint/334/1/SaltMusic-Research-Report.pdf 

Images: 

Fig1: https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/herts/detail.action?docID=5988228

Fig 2:https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/herts/detail.action?docID=5988228

Fig 3:https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/herts/detail.action?docID=5988228

Fig 4:www.soundonsound.com/people/sounding-why-so-few-women-audio 

Fig 5: https://yorkshiresoundwomen.com/

Fig 6: https://yorkshiresoundwomen.com/

Fig 7:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DE3r_CgScms&ab_channel=Lizallinos

[crstapor]

Why I am so Cynical

“I say unto you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”  - Zarathustra

Part 3

Let me stop shouting - sometimes I get carried away. Because it needs be clearly stated that my perspective on the matter at hand is not based solely on 'personal' experience (of course one can never deny the importance such datum possess!) but also 'phenomenological' experience, which is, clearly, a different animal altogether. That this menagerie has informed my thought will surprise no-one who's ever tried it; thinking, I mean. How else, if one is being as honest as possible, can one arrive at any conclusions whatsoever? While the first part of this essay waxed rather subjectively poetic, allow me to offer this third as a sort of empirical respite. Facts, good reader, let me proffer facts to further found my cynicism most severe.

But let me first define the scope these facts will express. The working title for this missive to minds who want to think was 'A Polemic against American Modernity'. Allowing that my interests, here, lie not north to Canada or south of Texas, the parameters of this diatribe should be well understood by all with even meager cartographic skill.  

Superficial perhaps I've structured these facts into three distinct phenomena; the surface, the self, and the symbol. I do so not to make any sweeping ontologic distinctions or assertions, rather, to help me think through them. System-building is not my purpose here - system-analysis is. The facets of modern America culture were well in place before I came along, and, unless I'm completely mistaken, I've done little to add to or enhance any of them. Apart from the clear truth of my having lived with and through them the vast majority of my mortal years. This 'truth', my citizenship and biography, allow me credence to present what follows as 'fact'; though of course it's still just one man's opinion!

Knowledge!

The Surface

Politics. Democracy. American Exceptionalism. Yeah right. So, help me out here, we have a great democracy because we vote for other people to get to vote on who actually becomes leader? Unless of course nine robes get that special privilege - based off of their admitted political preferences naturally! - like back in 2000. How the legislature is just a club for the privileged, connected, and the rich (which is almost redundant). How once 'money' became speech only those with 'money' had speech. The Founders are grave-rolling and Mussolini's having a laugh - fascism much? Let's remember Benito's definition of the term; which is when State and corporate interests converge (more or less). And we find that just about everywhere we look up in DC these days. Apparently we have the 'political will' to help banks, big oil, agribusiness, gun manufacturers, and all the other consolidated purveyors of terror, hate or control (sure, tobacco had to be sacrificed - occasionally you must throw the peasants a bone to keep the lie alive) but can't find the time to help out 'we the people': see continuing cuts to social programs; see the limp-dick governmental response to the housing/mortgage crisis of 2008 - ?; see the student loan pyramid scheme; see a 'minimum' wage that consistently fails to keep up with inflation; see a 'healthcare' plan that mandates private citizens purchase a product from non-governmental, for-profit companies - and taxes them if they don't; see how prohibition (here considered against natural, earth-born narcotics) continues to fuel a for-profit prison system and further erodes race relations; see how the gravest existential threat to the species (climate change, for realz) is perpetually laughed off and ignored; see how we lecture others on human rights while keeping Gitmo open and denying homosexuals equal protection under the law; see how NASA's (quite possibly, from a historical perspective, the greatest achievement of our modern society) budget keeps getting gutted while their priorities are schizophrenically re-ordered with each administration; see how children keep slaughtering children with weapons of war and no one can even attempt to do anything about it; see how voter ID laws are passed like Jim Crow; see how the innate sovereignty of the nation has been torn asunder now that private corporations can be 'to big to fail'; see an ever increasingly militarized police force; see the constitutional absurdity of 'free speech zones'; see democratic campaigns where one guy runs but once elected that guy's nowhere to be found and in his place is a carbon copy of the last guy who held the office ... See how our 'political parties' are two sides of the same coin ... But let's stop here and consider that last point in greater depth, as it is so vital to any understanding of 'democracy' in America ... Republicans, Democrats; Jefferson has been famously remembered, quoted, as saying once our (more properly his) democracy devolved into a two party system it would be a democracy no more. And I've certainly been a witness to that in my life. Sure, America isn't a dictatorship, but it sure as hell isn't the country Jefferson helped forge. And the main reason for that, to my eyes, seems to be the consolidation of power in the hands of politicians with more in common with each other than their constituents. R or D you can bet they're there for Wall Street or the military-information-industrial complex. Anyone else? Good luck with that citizen ... And while they're both complicit in gutting the middle class, let's take a moment to reflect, ethically, on that matter ... You can't blame the snake for its venom, but you can sure as hell blame the snake-oil salesman for shilling his bullshit wares. In case that metaphor wasn't clear enough allow me to decode it for you:

R = snake. D = snake-oil salesman.

Switching gears - though not by much! - let's shift to the state of modern American entertainment. To the uninitiated possibly a trite transition, any who've watched politics lately will surely see the connection. And just as our politics smell rotten, the main complaint with what passes as entertainment these days is how bad it tastes. Yes, it's a question of taste, as it seems most Americans have none. From 'reality TV' (which is surely anything but - though let's not forget Barnum's maxim!), to a pop-music ecosystem that's cannibalized itself to the point of parody, a movie industry that can seemingly fill ten months of releases with one script, the apotheosis of sport, the devolution of literature into a hobby for diarists, the way the performing arts are continually hoarded into smaller and smaller urban green zones, well, it's just hard to swallow most of that without gagging. Or throwing up. Yet a more concerted analysis along these lines is not called for here - we have much too much ground yet to cover.

Speaking of ground and covering it why not mention war? That old playground of glory now some video game where you might win many things; though honor's not among them. The full transition here is yet to occur, but we're definitely in the middle of it. Drones, air strikes, GPS targeting and bombs dropped from orbit (sure, not yet - wait for it!). The complete impersonalization of the other; that total objectification of the enemy (you better believe the pornographers have drone-envy). Let's not equivocate; it's one thing to look someone in the eye and take their life - quite another to push a button sixteen time-zones away and watch an image of indiscriminate carnage. How long will it be before we don't even let a homo sapien sapien push that button? How long before the machines are killing us on their own .?. Nothing to be cynical about here!

And if killing our 'enemies' has/is becoming so much more impersonal healing our 'own' has a fortiori. I'm not even going to start bandying about statistics but it's well known that of the 'first-world', 'post-industrialized' countries we're the only one that still considers healthcare a cash-grab instead of a human-right. And to what wonderful affect! Go ahead and try to ignore all the horror stories of your fellow Americans who lost it all because they couldn't pay their medical bills, or because they did. Pay no attention to record profit margins at insurance companies while the poor forgo all but emergency treatment and the wealth of the middle class is bled out and transferred to HMO executives. Sure, Uncle Tom tried to change all that - by passing a Republican plan even though the Ds had two branches of the federal government! - but when I tried to sign up for 'Obamacare' I still couldn't afford it even though I had $200 in the bank, no assets, and had been unemployed for over two years. If I lived in any other country where English is the primary language I'd be covered without paying a dime. My solution? To use the actual Republican plan - don't get sick!

But that should be easy since we all know of the three pillars of good health (diet, exercise, genetics) eating right is the easiest of all ... Hell. No, sorry, I was about to go all sarcastic and make it seem America knows nothing about sugar overload, HFCS, preservatives, the increasingly and horrifying inability of urbanites to access fresh foods (specifically the poor ones!), pesticides, pink slime, corn or corn or more corn or when will there ever be enough corn already, price gouging on foods that were produced the way they've been produced for centuries (read: organic, grass-fed, free-range), trans-fats, GMO proliferation in our breadbasket without an honest debate on the merits or looking at the science past what some corporation's panel has assured us is true, sodas, the food-gap, throwing away enough food daily to feed the world's hungry cuz it wouldn't make a dime, slaughterhouses like Auschwitz or Dachau ... That Quite Barbarism ... But that would be foolish - America knows all about that ... Why shouldn't it? America invented most of it …

And we invented the largest consumer-driven transportation system the world has ever seen to move all that food around. Sure, China will catch up with us eventually (if not already), but for the better part of three generations the US led the world in road-building and car-buying. Quite apart from the environmental effects this produced there was a profound psychological positive feed-back loop involved as well: one justifying the pre-dominate narrative of our consumer culture. Choice is sacred; you are special and unique and can reflect that through choice; so choose this product or this other one and express your uniqueness through possessing any one of these infinitely similar products; the choice is yours. Perhaps nowhere else in the market was this ‘story’ sold as diligently and aggressively than in the automobile industry. While it is true the US is, spatially speaking, a very large country, it is not true that every adult American needed or needs their own set of wheels to connect it. There are other options, other technologies that could’ve been employed to bring the masses together with more energy efficiency and communal cohesion. I admit it’s no Copernican Revolution, but the thought that Americans are so stubbornly self-interested and quick to discriminate opposed many of their European or native counterparts can not be divorced from the fact we all love to be in the driver’s seat. That commodified ‘freedom’ we are told awaits us on an open road with our very own internal combustion engine humming along in front of our feet; a freedom trains, buses, or carpooling can never provide. Again, notwithstanding the ecological impact of all this, the psychological dimension is impossible to ignore: even if we all owned Tesla��s that were powered by clean fusion charging stations it would still be me, me, me … which is quite naturally a completely uncynical disposition from which to hold a society together …

American’s fascination with their own value and freedom has of course been a dominate theme in the grand narrative of the country for some time; and while cars and roads were the major technological expression of that for much of the twentieth century, we have turned the corner here, in this regard, finding ourselves lost amid tiny little shiny screens that put the whole world inches from our eyes. With the advent of mobile computing the freedom so many seek isn’t conceived any longer by MPG rather MPBS. The new speed of information, and the promise of perpetual access, have enchanted the newer generations in much the same way vehicles did their antecedents. The technology is different while the story remains the same. It is still a self-centered freedom underlying the need, desire, to own the newest, quickest, coolest gadget. A freedom of information surely, yet one closely connected with the freedom cars brought their older relatives; it is as much economic as it is self-satisfying. The internet changed the game, naturally - and hail and well met etc. etc.! - but a claustrophobic observation remains … for a technology that has brought so many people together - and it has - it sure as hell does an awful good job sundering them as well … for you can’t find a public space anymore where a near-majority of your fellow citizens aren’t more interested in their precious little screens than those flesh and blood humans nearby. Perhaps this is just the necessary evolution of the social fabric - perhaps resistance is futile - though a social contract that has more to do with Facebook’s TOS opposed a Bill of Rights just (and forgive me for being so cynical) doesn’t seem like much of a society worth bothering with to this writer. Certainly not one worth the name.

Speaking of the modern technology we all now can’t live without, it seems to me a funny thing happened on the way to Google’s homepage … we now have access to all the information we can consume, on any topic, just a keystroke away, and look what we’re doing with it … I’m not just talking about social media or pornography, I mean the fundamental epistemological conundrum of an allegedly intelligent species that now has post-scarcity style access to information yet we’ve made of the web one colossal echo-chamber where the tribes huddle together in aggrieved resentment or ignorant bliss of the ‘others’ … look at it like this: in a day and age when the work of science (you know, that thing that made all this ((by which I mean ‘Modernity’ and all its toys)) possible) is more evenly, widely, and objectively disseminated than at any other time in history the public’s grasp and understanding of science and its work is at an all-time low. Basic data are disputed; empirical findings are called into question by anyone with a laptop, forget about a degree in the subject: what used to be considered non-issues, resolved subjects, are now argued over as if the Earth might actually be flat … all of which might just be good for a laugh if there weren’t actual existential threats to the species that only science can solve; yet we can’t even begin that discussion because some car salesman googled Glenn Beck and now we have legislatures that don’t think climate change is real; or they say the data doesn’t support an anthropogenic cause even though they never took a serious science course in their life; or that can’t be right because it doesn’t fit into our time-warp economy and a dollar today is obviously more important than our children’s future; or anyway shut-up idiot scientists just because you actually studied something other than law or business doesn’t mean you know any more than me because I have a high speed internet connection and I bookmarked the Drudge Report … how is it, philosophically speaking, tenable that the more information you have the stupider you become? I don’t know, but if you want a good example of the principle in action take a look at America today. Or just Google it …

Of course there is one thread that ties all these elements of ‘the surface’ together and that thread is consumerism as expressed by our current form of capitalism. The ascendancy of the dollar over all else (sorry God!). The desire to possess, acquire, consume. We are material creatures, we humans, and thus must consume to survive; fine: but do we have to do so in the manner we seem set on here and now? No, not at all, even suggesting that our’s is the only system, the only way to satiate the human hunger is absurd on its face as well as betraying an amnesiac’s conception of history. No, there are other paths, yet we have chosen this one, this ‘capitalism’ that mimics the terrors and rigors of the jungle at every turn. In the act of deifying money (more on that later) we have dehumanized ourselves. For the most part we are simple cogs in a vast machine that cares little or nothing for us; and so we care only for ourselves. The inherent egoism of the modern American psyche is spectacular to behold, certainly, in its primal vanity; at the same time giving the lie to any ethical system we still tenuously cling to as reminder of simpler days (sorry Christianity!). So we are, as a culture, no better than spoiled children grasping for another slice of pie. And while that’s certainly comical, it is also tragic, since such a system is not sustainable whatsoever (there is never enough pie). Neither history or science can provide any examples of such a system expanding into perpetuity (literature has given us a few but they are either satire or utopias ((same thing really))), and yet a sincere, concerted discussion on this issue has yet to percolate through the public sphere, or if so, only in the usual places and thus not given the sort of urgency it requires. But to have this conversation we all have to be ready to listen; it is not enough for the cynics and naysayers to keep shouting into the wild or the web: there has to be an audience, a receptive ear. Which brings us to our next section.

The Self

The problems elucidated in ‘The Surface’ are, to a great extent, symptoms of our sense of self, or, as is more often (if paradoxically) the case, our lack of one. While I am specifically referring to the modern American ‘self’, I’m going to be doing so with large brushstrokes; forming great swathes of colored splotches closer in kind to a rorscharch test than a pointilistic canvass. You may not see a reflection here so much as a sense of remembrance, or deja vu. That’s fine. I can’t be alone in thinking our lifespeeds have altered, and it’s just that alteration I want to discuss.

Lifespeed. Right. Let’s define that quickly so we can move on. By lifespeed I mean that facile quality of Being that tethers us to the ‘now’. Perceptually, our lives happen at a specific point in time, and I’ve conceived the word lifespeed to represent this point, as well as our conscious reaction to it. It’s just a word. Other than this meager definition it means nothing; has no other value. Right.

We were talking about choice earlier and there’s a clear connection between the act of choosing and the extant phenomena adjoining it. Just the relationship that lifespeed is meant to express. On its face, choice is neutral. Neither positive or negative, good or bad. The ‘designed’ choice of our consumer-driven society I find abhorrent, though not from some reactionary impulse, but a genuine longing for what it’s replaced. By making choices we define ourselves and I fear many of us are accepting a story that tells us we can only make this or that choice opposed to this that or the other. That we are told certain stories so many times we think we have no choice how they end; or wether to listen to them at all. In this way our lifespeeds have been damaged; like a bonsai pruned too severely.

Perhaps many are content defining themselves through ‘designed’ choice, or who ‘designed’ it anyway? Yes … there will always be sheep and lemmings in human form, and if that’s your angle you have my pity but nothing else. On the other hand, if you genuinely desire a leveling-up on the self-awareness front but have found this difficult to achieve thus far, you must realize two hard truths; the first that it is your business alone, none others - and the second, that it will be incredibly difficult to achieve because our society was not constructed to assist in this goal - quite the contrary! - it was designed to prevent it, at almost every turn. Here we return to the ‘designed’ component of American choice. Since the beginning the tiny tribes watching the throne have conspired to affect a marked class distinction in the land of the ‘free’. From the original agricultural workers of the new world, to the industrial workers who built a modern nation, to the current service sector workers slipping into poverty those with the firmest grip on the levers of power have continually strived to erect massive obstacles between those that labor for a living and those that live off that labor. Nor are these obstacles simply economic or aspirational in nature, no, due their pervasiveness through the generations they have percolated down into the most subterranean reaches of the mass conscious; into the very stories we use to define ourselves. Egads! a polite-hyper-modern-liberal-minded-triangulator might reply, don’t you know everyone has a TV! A refrigerator! Cheapest food ever! Why yes of course, there is an exception to every rule. While, for about thirty years in the middle of the last century, it seemed America was finally delivering on its promise, just look how long it took for us to devolve into another gilded age (the apparent default position of American society). It is foolish to define a thing based off aberrations, opposed its consistencies. In this way we clearly see the US for what it is … the second most successful marketing scheme in human history (naturally one must award Christianity top honors on that mark) … in the same way tobacco used to be good for you, that sodas were harmless, or how fast food is every bit nutritious as home-made, America cries ‘freedom’ when in so many ways the reverse is clearly the case. From ‘power’s’ perspective it’s nihilistically brilliant sure - give the people a semblance of freedom (in our case economic choice) and they’ll extrapolate that into a veritable cosmos of self-authorized-self-actualization - and you bet the monarchists, dictators, or petty politburos are jealous as hell at the level of control the political classes of America have been able to sustain generation after generation. A state of affairs that continues for no other reason than that an over-whelming majority of Americans keep believing the lies. We are forced to ask: why do they?

Let’s speculate wildly! Is it possible there exists some globe-spanning underground tributary of Lethe that constantly replenishes all the aquifers in the land? Or perhaps when we, on average a truly vain people, look into a mirror our historical consciousness is reset to zero? Or maybe we’ve all become so addicted to the stories we repeat about American Exceptionalism even the most destitute are content to sacrifice any chance they might have of another, better life, so as the stories can keep being told .?. the gyre is constricting at every turn, just like water flowing down the drain we’re becoming closer and closer to ourselves and ours; we’re losing a visceral sense of community and common cause through the ‘designed’ choices of a consumerist economy and specifically the newer technologies of self-absorption. So many of us don’t seem able to see past our own reflections, our problems, that even beginning to consider the larger problems facing our country seems as pointless as sending a manned mission to Mars.

The latent greed of the species is given free reign in America and this greed is destroying us. Making us sick. Stunted, withered, cloying little souls blighted with giga-myopia and eterno-amnesia. Greed. Most cultures have oft thought it a base emotion, one needing constant oversight - not the good ’ole US of A! We saw right through that ethical clap-trap - we saw that by harnessing the simmering greed of a people and putting them to work fulfilling that greed great things could happen … just absolutely amazing things … and we have accomplished quite a bit worth being proud over, and we sure have shown all those historical moralists just how wrong they were about the most solipsistic emotion … but this is a strange greed, our American one, one many may not even be aware of, so deep do its roots dive; a conniving greed that wraps in upon itself like a fresh burrito from Chipotle or those roller coasters you remember from Disneyland or Six-Flags … a greed that we have to learn to turn off, ignore, or quit seeing as so basic and benign in all our lives that there’s nothing you can do about it anyway - because it isn’t benign, it reacts to us and the environment as surely as we do it, and lately it’s been acting badly … yes, there are historical elements to this greed, there is also the question of personal responsibility, mutual complicity, systems of control and power as well - so many factors … I guess I’m nostalgic for another type of human being, one not fueled by avarice or beholden to the choices of others … qualities most seem to have lost somewhere on the way to Walmart … a human being that might never have existed except in a dream …

The Symbol

Human beings have long used symbols to represent value. Symbols are convenient, easy, and incredibly mutable. They can be transferred or translated almost infinitely. With a symbol ideas that might take an incredible amount of energy to explain or describe can be conveyed almost instantaneously. Logic and mathematics could likely not exist without them, nor, indeed, any language. And like any good thing, as is so often the case with any wonderfully useful thing, we humans have become dependent on them. Created for ourselves a world where we can not live without them. We are, in many ways, addicted to their utility. On its face there is nothing ethically challenging about this. Language and math are boons to humanity, practically describing our modern conception of ourselves. Symbols are naturally value neutral, like any high-level epistemological building block. And yet, we modern Americans have found ourselves in a tricky spot. We have crafted a society where one symbol is supreme. Where one symbol, and one symbol alone, holds all the power. A symbol that, if you find yourself without it, without access to it, without a stock-pile of it hiding somewhere, essentially makes you a non-entity. No longer part of the culture, the game. For it is certainly true that the only game in modern America is money. That collecting dollars has superseded all other activities; has supplanted any other endeavor as the only one with value. This state of affairs is the genesis of our cultural decline; of the death of the ideals that the Founders (who themselves were already playing the only game) attempted to instill in the New World: will in the end be understood by future historians as the single greatest crime of our time.

I say crime and I mean it. Don’t use the word for shock or awe. Nor do I want to dwell on this particular subject (not being the place for an extended analysis of this issue I will allow such a discussion its own essay, its own space, a place where it can be a bit more academic and dry, not so emotive or cynical) though we do have to mention a few more things before moving on. Crime. Yes. What was this crime? In short order here we go … it used to be the case that money was a symbol that referred to labor, actual work performed by one human that held value for another. So far as that is all money is, there is nothing ethically suspect about it. Then, at some point in the past, a few cunning paradigm-shifters saw an opportunity and changed the rules regarding what money was; they removed the labor as referent of value, replacing it with rare objects (typically gold) that few among any populace would ever see in their lives. Well, since the promise of alchemy was a lie, and the philosopher’s stone was never discovered, at least this money still referred to something real, something that couldn’t just be made up on the spot. Ah ha! the sons of the sneaky paradigm-shifters thought, that would just be the icing on the cake! Let’s remove the rare objects as value referent as well - let’s go all in on a communal mass delusion and see if anyone believes it … let’s just have money valued at whatever we say it’s valued at. Let’s create a massive shell game that only a very few will ever truly know the rules to, though the outcome, the results, will effect everyone … yes … let’s create the only game worth playing, and let’s give every live birth a turn … which leaves us with a system that, no matter how hard you work, no matter how industrious you are, if you don’t know the rules of the game (in modern America we can think of the Federal Reserve, Wall Street bankers, old money, select members of the Treasury Department etc. as the holders of the rule book) you will not win at it. You will play and play and play and keep losing and losing and losing all the while the rule keepers keep winning and winning and winning because for most players in this game the tokens of victory they collect (dollars) are bought at the hard price of actual labor, as if they never heard about how money grew up - no, they slave and slave for pennies without any chance of leveling up in this game and getting to that haughty echelon where money is no longer about work but having money make money off of someone else’s work … this little narrative I just outlined is a crime because there are clear stealers and victims (of course there are exceptions to every rule, but for every Bill Gates or Steve Jobs, there are a hundred and fifty million working at Walmart for a slave-wage). You see, the architects of the monetary symbol’s paradigm shift knew that by removing any referent to an actual act (labor) or object (gold) they were essentially hollowing out the natural relationship between the symbol and the symbolized, and in that empty space they would find their own El Dorado; their own little universe where they called the shots and none other. They essentially re-wrote the rules of symbolism, and clearly in their favor. And while symbols shift meaning all the time, especially in religious or political environments, these shifts are fundamentally harmless as neither religion or political discourse ever directly affects the physical well being of a human being as does their ability to acquire food, or energy, or health care, or shelter (I understand that by including ‘politics’ in this sense I might seem to be advocating a ‘post-history’ perspective; one where capitalistic-liberalism has won over all other political narratives, and while I hope that isn’t so, at the moment, and especially as an American author, one would be hard pressed to argue the point otherwise). To be clear, I’m not suggesting there was some shadowy cabal that gathered and planned out this great hollowing out of the monetary symbol; as is often the case it happened by fits and starts, here and there, as history would have it, propelled by the innate greed of the least amongst us. And yet they have scored a grand victory, these acolytes of avarice. Have pulled the proverbial wool over so many eyes - and in the process redefined a country that promised freedom into a vassal state completely enthralled to an ugly little strip of green denim that truly means nothing at all …

Of course this transformation did not just occur on American soil. But we sure as hell took the ball and ran it home. More than any other modern nation we are more readily defined by the empty symbology of the dollar than any others. This is not just an American problem; but we must be the first to address it …

America’s enslavement to the dollar is the singular cause of all the problems I put forth in ‘The Surface’, and, in many ways, ‘The Self’. We are a nation of suckers, rats, blind idealists, idiot sensualists, blatant thieves and the occasional dreamer … and knowing that, seeing my country in this way does nothing to alleviate my pathological cynicism … but allow me a query - do you still ask me why I am so cynical .?.  

[rebeccahpedersen]

Has The “Bully Offer” Ever Been More Confusing?

TorontoRealtyBlog

Because it shouldn’t be!

It’s not a new concept, and yet at each and every turn, I’m seeing crazy things happening in the world of bully offers.

Let me describe a few interactions I had over the past two weeks with agents who wanted to submit bully offers on my listings, and explain why I think the bar among agents has seriously never been lower…

“I feel bad for these people.”

That’s what I told a colleague last week, in response to some of the terrible offers I’ve seen on my listings, in competiton.

You have a listing at $600,000, that sells for $700,000 with a dozen offers.

Who is the buyer submitting a conditional offer, with no deposit cheque, for $600,000?

Sure, the buyer might be clueless.  But it’s the buyer agent that has to bear the responsibilty for the cluelessness.

There are 50,000 licensed Realtors in the GTA, and many of them have absolutely no idea what they’re doing.  And what’s worse, is that they get hired!  These agents have clients!  And these clients put their trust and their faith in their agent to help guide them through the biggest purchase decision they’ll ever make, when all the while, the agent has no idea what he or she is doing.

When it comes to multiple offer situations, I’m seeing crazy things.

But when it comes to bully offers, it’s even worse.

Last week, and agent called me about making a bully offer on one of my listings, and I told her what I tell every agent who asks that question:

“Our intention is to wait until our scheduled offer date, but I can’t stop a buyer-agent from sending a bully offer.”

It’s honest, and to the point.  And it’s accurate.  Nobody can stop a buyer agent from drafting a bully offer and sending it over, so I’m just providing the most basic explanation possible.

I can’t answer whether or not my sellers would accept a bully offer, or what price they’d accept.

But it doesn’t stop agents from calling and asking!

So we received the “bully” offer, which wasn’t really a bully.

There’s this saying with bully offers, “To be a bully, you need to punch, not push.”  So when I get a bully offer for 4% over the list price, it’s barely a nudge.

I told the buyer agent that we were flattered by the offer, and we were grateful, but that we were going to wait until our scheduled offer date.

That’s when something odd happened.  She replied, “Okay, but you’re doing offers any time now, correct?”

It made no sense.

I said, “No, we’re doing offers next Thursday at 7:00pm, as per the listing.”

She said, “Yes, that was the case before.  But we made our offer and you turned it down.  So now the door is open for offers, I take it?”

It made absolutely, positively no sense.

And this wasn’t the case of a language barrier, as is so often the case.  This was just somebody who didn’t understand the terminology, and who didn’t understand the process.

She further explained, “If we make our offer and you look at it, then you don’t have an offer date anymore.  That’s out the window.”

It was like the jury leading the cross-examination, of the judge.  It was just non-sensical.

Not really understanding any of what she meant, I just sort of trailed off, and tried to end the call.  I never heard back from her.

Later in the week, I got a call from a young agent who started the conversation by saying, “I’m new to the business,” which is probably the single-worst thing you could say to a competing agent.

He then said, “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” and I realized that is actually the single-worst thing you can say to a competing agent, and “I’m new to the business” is a distant second.

After explaining that his client saw the property and really liked it, he asked me, verbatim, “How do I do a bully?”

And this was around the same time that this was happening:

Tell me you saw this!

I’m straying way off topic here, but I spent all week laughing at these Zuckerberg/Congress memes.

I’d lay in bed at night reading them on my phone, laughing so hard I woke up my wife.

The idea that these old men who probably have a computer password that’s “1234” or “password” are grilling one of the foremost Internet experts in the world, is hilarious.

Again, very off topic here, but let me share my other favourites, and then I’ll get back on point…

–

Okay, okay, I know I have to stop or I’ll do this all day.

But honestly, wasn’t that a riot?

Back to the agent who asked me, “How do I do a bully,” and let be honest and say that part of me thought he was kidding.  Except since he opened with “I’m new,” and “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” it was obvious that he really was asking me how to do his job, and guaranteeing his place on my blog in the process.

I told him, “You’d put an offer together, and send it over,” very simply.

He asked, “What would that offer look like?”

I said, “That’s up to you and your buyer.”

“Right,” he said.  “So I’d probably have to chat with him first.”

Just, wow.  I could feel the wheel spinning in his head.

He then asked, “Do you mind if I ask you to speak to your seller first?”  I asked him, “About what?” and he said, “About the price.  What price your seller would accept, so then I could tell my buyer, and he could decide whether to do the bully.”

I told him, “That’s not really how it works,” and he just said, “Oh, oh….okay.   I got it.”

I actually felt kind of bad.

“So maybe then, maybe I’ll just talk to him, and see what he wants to do?  Like what price, and what closing, and what conditions and that sort of thing?”

I didn’t stop him here, by the way.  About the “conditions,” that is.  Although we would never accept a conditional offer, especially not with a bully offer, it’s not my job to tell him how to do his.  It’s not my place to tell him, “We wouldn’t accept a conditional offer,” because at the end of the day, we’ll be happy to review as many offers as are registered, and theoretically the more that are registered, the higher the sale price.

I know many of you hate that, and I’d feel the same way in your position.  But what am I supposed to do here?  Should I educate this young, naive, inexperienced agent, and cost my seller money in the process?  Or maybe that agent should have signed on with a full-service brokerage that runs a training course for new agents?

Anyways…

The next interaction I had with a bully-agent was the strangest.

This agent called me no less than seven times betwen 8pm and 10pm, each time asking me a question she should know the answer to.

The worst question an agent can ask: “What is your email address?”

It drives me nuts.

It’s on the goddam listing.  Every listing.  Every time.

But more to the point, she asked me about the closing date (on the listing), what’s included in the sale (on the listing), whether she needs a Form 801 (all offers need this), etc.  And every question was in a subsequent phone call.

She called me at 10:25pm and said, “We need your sellers to look at this tonight.”

I simply told her, “It’s 10:25pm.”

She said, “Yes.”

There was a language barrier, to be fair.  But time comes in only one language.  When she said, “We have an 11pm irrevocable,” I simply said, “I’m going to bed in ten minutes.”

I wasn’t going to bed, for what it’s worth.  But I wanted her to realize that providing an offer with a 35-minute irrevocable, after 10pm, wasn’t reasonable.

She said, “Okay, okay.  One more question: the offer – can it be the listing price?”

I just about lost my mind.

I asked her what I thought was a rhetorical question: “Do you think that my sellers, after having 20-plus showings booked in the first two days of the listing, will forego the rest of the week’s showings, the weekend open house, and the scheduled offer night, to accept an offer of the list price?”

She simply said, “Yes, the list price.”

Again, language barrier and all, but come on, folks.  How in the world do these people have clients?

The next morning, I woke up to her email from about 12:15am, with a 28 MB file.  She had taken photographs of each page of the offer and somehow put them together in a PDF.  That was only half the offer, however.  The second half came in another 25 MB file.

The offer was just over the list price, and once again, I thanked her for her time and told her we’d be waiting until our scheduled offer night.

Last but not least, I received another bully offer from an agent who, after I told him we’d be waiting until our offer night, said, “Why don’t you get me a sign-back?”

A sign-back?

What did he think?  That we were going to start negotiating?

Forget about the fact that in order to work with a bully offer, I’d have to call every agent who booked a showing on the property to tell them there was an offer, that we would be working with it, and when the offer would expire (or at what time we’d be looking at the offer).

Surely this agent knew that: a) It’s a seller’s market here (for a downtown condo) b) Ten offers are better than one, ie. his c) We had all the leverage

Kudos to him for trying, but I don’t think this was some sort of evil genius, trying to get us into a sign-back-and-forth.  I think he just didn’t know how bully offers work, like everybody else from today’s story.

You don’t sign back a bully offer.  You could, theoretically.  But again, if you’re doing things right – you’re calling ALL the agents who have shown the property to let them know.  If you sign back that offer, and it’s accepted, you’ve broken the rules, and those other agents who you didn’t call will have your blood.

Last week’s bully offer experiences weren’t all bad, however.

On Friday night, I received a bully offer in the way that it’s supposed to be done: sneak attack.

At 6:30pm, I recieved an email with a bully offer at a very good price, from an agent who didn’t call me in advance to ask me if he could send it.  He just drafted it, had it signed, and sent it.

That is how a bully offer should be sent.

Don’t call the listing agent and ask for permission!  The whole purpose of a bully is to back somebody into a corner.  If you ask the listing agent “Can I send you a bully offer?” he can say “No.”  Then what do you do?

If you’re going to do it, the best way is to just do it.

In this case, once again, we elected to wait until the offer night.  So far this year, and this is probably another blog topic, all of the bully offers my sellers have turned down have been beaten on offer night.  In fact, the more I read through this post, the more I realize that this topic of bully offers is something we’ll come back to later this week, or the next.

So what’s the conclusion to today’s blog?

That I’m rude to other agents?

That I’m calling out the poor behaviour of my industry “colleagues” once again?

I’m not sure, you’re free to opine as you see fit.

But as I said at the onset, I feel bad for a lot of these buyers who get absolutely awful advice and representation.

I actually thought about writing a blog called, “The Bar Has Never Been Lower,” and just hammering away on this topic, but I don’t know where that gets us.  I’ve just never seen this level of cluelessness among buyer agents, and every time my phone rang, or my email buzzed last week, it was another agent with idea what he or she was doing.

This epidemic plays out in its worst form on “offer night,” when there is competition, and by association, during the attempts at making bully offers…

The post Has The “Bully Offer” Ever Been More Confusing? appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

Originated from https://ift.tt/2JOD42J

[philosophicalplantboy-blog]

Nature and The Divine

Of the many great minds to discuss differences between humans and animals, there are Rene Descartes and Pythagorus. Both men surprisingly have strong similarities with how they understand the human form, yet stray away from one another when discussing how that form is different from those of other living beings. Descartes argues that animals are merely machines while Pythagorus seems to believe all living things are on the same playing field. While Descartes’ beliefs are younger, I find myself agreeing with the beliefs of Pythagorus much more.

Rene Descartes discusses how the body, something he perceives to be a machine, contains a spirit within itself. Even after the point of death, an animal body will continue to “move and bite the earth” as quoted in his text Animals are Machines. He compares the elaborate and complex design of the body to man’s own advances and abilities in technology, then regarding the human body as a machine made by the hands of God, making it incomparable in its superior and more admirable arrangement. Descartes goes on to highlight the two tests one ought to perform if there were ever to be a case test he discusses is the ability to articulate feelings or thoughts. The next point he makes to test is that where machines may out perform humans in certain scenarios, they will always underperform substantially in things that they have not been programed to do outside of their biological makeup. He uses these examples to propel a point that animals, while existing as living beings, lack the rational soul of humans, rendering them more in line with machines that only fulfill their biological desires. He acknowledges that animals can overpower and be more cunning than humans, but says these are isolated situations based on circumstance and not comparable to reason.

Where I begin to disagree with Descartes is in his definition of machine and the actions of the machine. While it seems as though his two tests may have worked at a time where we were not so advanced in technology, to say that a machine would never be able to articulate its experiences in the form of speech today is merely false. The same can go for underperforming in things it does not know, seeing as how today we have machines that are capable of learning past the point of programming. To amend Descartes’ point, I will change his definition of the machine to being something without any sort of sentient-esc capabilities. Descartes’ machine would operate essentially on human instinct or ID but have no ego or superconscious; essentially only operating to fulfill biological needs. If we refer to his point made earlier about how the body can respond to physical stimuli after the point where a spirit has left it in death, this becomes something at the very least plausible. I also believe he is referring more to unprovoked thought. For in comparing human speech to animal speech, such as that or a parrot, he says that parrots are not really speaking. However, even with these amendments, I have to fundamentally disagree with Descartes’ overall point, which is that animals are consistent with machines in that they lack thought and reason.

First off, animals do possess reason. If you look towards species processing higher cognitive abilities such as primates this becomes easy to spot. Gorillas can learn how to paint, and then go on to develop passion for it. They communicate with sign language, which directly disproves the original statement made by Descartes that animals cannot communicate and how a mute person still can through sign language, proving human superiority. What troubles me about Descartes’ incorrect assumptions is that even today, where we have proof of animal reasoning, we still chose to ignore it to propel human desire to control all living things without consideration for how this impacts other naturally rational creatures. Descartes says humans should not have an empire over nature, but with his perspective of the world, we would undoubtedly strive for it as we have.

Descartes’ mentions a disagreement with the likes of Pythagorean perspective on animals, deeming it too superstitious. It is here that I switch focus to that allegedly archaic point of view to show how religious perspective of animals are actually more logical than they at first may seem. J. Donald Hughes writes in The Environmental Ethics of Pythagoreans on the philosopher’s environmental world view, which is both religious and far more environmentally conscious than the likes of many today. He explains on page 198, “The Pythagorean cosmology, which emphasized the organic unity of the world and at the same time stressed the cyclical interplay and balance of the elements and creatures within it, is a strikingly ecological conception. Empedocles conceived the universe as an endless recycling of elements.” Pythagorus himself states that “There is no birth in mortal things, and no end in ruinous death. There is only mingling and interchange of parts, and it is this we call ‘nature’.” Pythagorus’ worldview seems to correlate with a non anthropocentric worldview where all biological things are in a constant system of transfer and change. This stems from his belief in the universe having complete harmony which he describes as “a unity of mixed elements that are various, and an agreement of elements that disagree”. Through understanding of these harmonies one would be able to mathematically calculate different “recipes” for flesh, bodies and natural order. In a sense, this actually seems more rational than Descartes’ belief of the human body as a machine, because it takes it a step further. The human body is indeed mathematically mapped to have a certain amount of different elements, the same as all other existing things on the earth outside of ideas. Pythagorus would argue it is not a machine though since it is all organic. His reasoning for what makes us human also includes that we have a soul, but allows for all living things to have a harmonious soul similar to that of a human’s.

Part of the reason I agree so much more with Pythagorus’ environmental ethic is that even though it stems from an era where we cannot explain many of the fundamental reasons for certain things, his religious perspective makes up for it in a conscious and inclusive manner, Hughes states that if Pythagorus were to be miraculously resurrected today, he would be a practicing ecologist. I would go further to argue he would be a deep ecologist with respect for all living things just as his philosophy demonstrates. Deep ecology allows for killing if necessary for survival so long as it correlates with the natural order of the world. Pythagorus does not agree with this, since he argues against killing anything, yet because both seek to explain for harmony, one can overlook this to see the larger similarities between his beliefs and that of deep ecology. He argues that all plants have souls just as humans and animals, which should provide a fair enough reason to preserve them. While deep ecology does not argue for literal souls within plants, their necessity in contributing to the diversity of our planet and being a vital part of our massive organism agrees with the need for their existence for the harmony of the universe that Pythagorus argues for. Pollution is also discussed as it harms the sanctity of the earth just as deep ecology understands how it harms the environment of other species including our own.

While both Pythagorus and Descartes both argue that the body and soul are two separate entities, both go about their perspective of the mind and soul differently. Descartes argues against the older belief of Pythagorus, seeing only humans as being rational and superior. Yet when examining which belief seems more inclusive and rationally arguable today, one could agree with Pythagorus. Perhaps the general beliefs in souls of all living things can be disputed, but we cannot argue that there is a harmony that is preserved when humans allow nature to run its course without our meddling.

Word Count: 1,340

[rebeccahpedersen]

Has The “Bully Offer” Ever Been More Confusing?

TorontoRealtyBlog

Because it shouldn’t be!

It’s not a new concept, and yet at each and every turn, I’m seeing crazy things happening in the world of bully offers.

Let me describe a few interactions I had over the past two weeks with agents who wanted to submit bully offers on my listings, and explain why I think the bar among agents has seriously never been lower…

“I feel bad for these people.”

That’s what I told a colleague last week, in response to some of the terrible offers I’ve seen on my listings, in competiton.

You have a listing at $600,000, that sells for $700,000 with a dozen offers.

Who is the buyer submitting a conditional offer, with no deposit cheque, for $600,000?

Sure, the buyer might be clueless.  But it’s the buyer agent that has to bear the responsibilty for the cluelessness.

There are 50,000 licensed Realtors in the GTA, and many of them have absolutely no idea what they’re doing.  And what’s worse, is that they get hired!  These agents have clients!  And these clients put their trust and their faith in their agent to help guide them through the biggest purchase decision they’ll ever make, when all the while, the agent has no idea what he or she is doing.

When it comes to multiple offer situations, I’m seeing crazy things.

But when it comes to bully offers, it’s even worse.

Last week, and agent called me about making a bully offer on one of my listings, and I told her what I tell every agent who asks that question:

“Our intention is to wait until our scheduled offer date, but I can’t stop a buyer-agent from sending a bully offer.”

It’s honest, and to the point.  And it’s accurate.  Nobody can stop a buyer agent from drafting a bully offer and sending it over, so I’m just providing the most basic explanation possible.

I can’t answer whether or not my sellers would accept a bully offer, or what price they’d accept.

But it doesn’t stop agents from calling and asking!

So we received the “bully” offer, which wasn’t really a bully.

There’s this saying with bully offers, “To be a bully, you need to punch, not push.”  So when I get a bully offer for 4% over the list price, it’s barely a nudge.

I told the buyer agent that we were flattered by the offer, and we were grateful, but that we were going to wait until our scheduled offer date.

That’s when something odd happened.  She replied, “Okay, but you’re doing offers any time now, correct?”

It made no sense.

I said, “No, we’re doing offers next Thursday at 7:00pm, as per the listing.”

She said, “Yes, that was the case before.  But we made our offer and you turned it down.  So now the door is open for offers, I take it?”

It made absolutely, positively no sense.

And this wasn’t the case of a language barrier, as is so often the case.  This was just somebody who didn’t understand the terminology, and who didn’t understand the process.

She further explained, “If we make our offer and you look at it, then you don’t have an offer date anymore.  That’s out the window.”

It was like the jury leading the cross-examination, of the judge.  It was just non-sensical.

Not really understanding any of what she meant, I just sort of trailed off, and tried to end the call.  I never heard back from her.

Later in the week, I got a call from a young agent who started the conversation by saying, “I’m new to the business,” which is probably the single-worst thing you could say to a competing agent.

He then said, “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” and I realized that is actually the single-worst thing you can say to a competing agent, and “I’m new to the business” is a distant second.

After explaining that his client saw the property and really liked it, he asked me, verbatim, “How do I do a bully?”

And this was around the same time that this was happening:

Tell me you saw this!

I’m straying way off topic here, but I spent all week laughing at these Zuckerberg/Congress memes.

I’d lay in bed at night reading them on my phone, laughing so hard I woke up my wife.

The idea that these old men who probably have a computer password that’s “1234” or “password” are grilling one of the foremost Internet experts in the world, is hilarious.

Again, very off topic here, but let me share my other favourites, and then I’ll get back on point…

–

Okay, okay, I know I have to stop or I’ll do this all day.

But honestly, wasn’t that a riot?

Back to the agent who asked me, “How do I do a bully,” and let be honest and say that part of me thought he was kidding.  Except since he opened with “I’m new,” and “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” it was obvious that he really was asking me how to do his job, and guaranteeing his place on my blog in the process.

I told him, “You’d put an offer together, and send it over,” very simply.

He asked, “What would that offer look like?”

I said, “That’s up to you and your buyer.”

“Right,” he said.  “So I’d probably have to chat with him first.”

Just, wow.  I could feel the wheel spinning in his head.

He then asked, “Do you mind if I ask you to speak to your seller first?”  I asked him, “About what?” and he said, “About the price.  What price your seller would accept, so then I could tell my buyer, and he could decide whether to do the bully.”

I told him, “That’s not really how it works,” and he just said, “Oh, oh….okay.   I got it.”

I actually felt kind of bad.

“So maybe then, maybe I’ll just talk to him, and see what he wants to do?  Like what price, and what closing, and what conditions and that sort of thing?”

I didn’t stop him here, by the way.  About the “conditions,” that is.  Although we would never accept a conditional offer, especially not with a bully offer, it’s not my job to tell him how to do his.  It’s not my place to tell him, “We wouldn’t accept a conditional offer,” because at the end of the day, we’ll be happy to review as many offers as are registered, and theoretically the more that are registered, the higher the sale price.

I know many of you hate that, and I’d feel the same way in your position.  But what am I supposed to do here?  Should I educate this young, naive, inexperienced agent, and cost my seller money in the process?  Or maybe that agent should have signed on with a full-service brokerage that runs a training course for new agents?

Anyways…

The next interaction I had with a bully-agent was the strangest.

This agent called me no less than seven times betwen 8pm and 10pm, each time asking me a question she should know the answer to.

The worst question an agent can ask: “What is your email address?”

It drives me nuts.

It’s on the goddam listing.  Every listing.  Every time.

But more to the point, she asked me about the closing date (on the listing), what’s included in the sale (on the listing), whether she needs a Form 801 (all offers need this), etc.  And every question was in a subsequent phone call.

She called me at 10:25pm and said, “We need your sellers to look at this tonight.”

I simply told her, “It’s 10:25pm.”

She said, “Yes.”

There was a language barrier, to be fair.  But time comes in only one language.  When she said, “We have an 11pm irrevocable,” I simply said, “I’m going to bed in ten minutes.”

I wasn’t going to bed, for what it’s worth.  But I wanted her to realize that providing an offer with a 35-minute irrevocable, after 10pm, wasn’t reasonable.

She said, “Okay, okay.  One more question: the offer – can it be the listing price?”

I just about lost my mind.

I asked her what I thought was a rhetorical question: “Do you think that my sellers, after having 20-plus showings booked in the first two days of the listing, will forego the rest of the week’s showings, the weekend open house, and the scheduled offer night, to accept an offer of the list price?”

She simply said, “Yes, the list price.”

Again, language barrier and all, but come on, folks.  How in the world do these people have clients?

The next morning, I woke up to her email from about 12:15am, with a 28 MB file.  She had taken photographs of each page of the offer and somehow put them together in a PDF.  That was only half the offer, however.  The second half came in another 25 MB file.

The offer was just over the list price, and once again, I thanked her for her time and told her we’d be waiting until our scheduled offer night.

Last but not least, I received another bully offer from an agent who, after I told him we’d be waiting until our offer night, said, “Why don’t you get me a sign-back?”

A sign-back?

What did he think?  That we were going to start negotiating?

Forget about the fact that in order to work with a bully offer, I’d have to call every agent who booked a showing on the property to tell them there was an offer, that we would be working with it, and when the offer would expire (or at what time we’d be looking at the offer).

Surely this agent knew that: a) It’s a seller’s market here (for a downtown condo) b) Ten offers are better than one, ie. his c) We had all the leverage

Kudos to him for trying, but I don’t think this was some sort of evil genius, trying to get us into a sign-back-and-forth.  I think he just didn’t know how bully offers work, like everybody else from today’s story.

You don’t sign back a bully offer.  You could, theoretically.  But again, if you’re doing things right – you’re calling ALL the agents who have shown the property to let them know.  If you sign back that offer, and it’s accepted, you’ve broken the rules, and those other agents who you didn’t call will have your blood.

Last week’s bully offer experiences weren’t all bad, however.

On Friday night, I received a bully offer in the way that it’s supposed to be done: sneak attack.

At 6:30pm, I recieved an email with a bully offer at a very good price, from an agent who didn’t call me in advance to ask me if he could send it.  He just drafted it, had it signed, and sent it.

That is how a bully offer should be sent.

Don’t call the listing agent and ask for permission!  The whole purpose of a bully is to back somebody into a corner.  If you ask the listing agent “Can I send you a bully offer?” he can say “No.”  Then what do you do?

If you’re going to do it, the best way is to just do it.

In this case, once again, we elected to wait until the offer night.  So far this year, and this is probably another blog topic, all of the bully offers my sellers have turned down have been beaten on offer night.  In fact, the more I read through this post, the more I realize that this topic of bully offers is something we’ll come back to later this week, or the next.

So what’s the conclusion to today’s blog?

That I’m rude to other agents?

That I’m calling out the poor behaviour of my industry “colleagues” once again?

I’m not sure, you’re free to opine as you see fit.

But as I said at the onset, I feel bad for a lot of these buyers who get absolutely awful advice and representation.

I actually thought about writing a blog called, “The Bar Has Never Been Lower,” and just hammering away on this topic, but I don’t know where that gets us.  I’ve just never seen this level of cluelessness among buyer agents, and every time my phone rang, or my email buzzed last week, it was another agent with idea what he or she was doing.

This epidemic plays out in its worst form on “offer night,” when there is competition, and by association, during the attempts at making bully offers…

The post Has The “Bully Offer” Ever Been More Confusing? appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

Originated from https://ift.tt/2JOD42J