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spectrumed · 4 years ago

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8. book

I decided to start writing a book. A novel, it’s going to be fiction. It’s a big project. I dread big projects. I don’t feel as if I am ever able to complete them. It’s going to be left unfinished, why do I even bother? So many projects that I’ve started and never finished. I get an idea, then I can’t make myself do the actual work to make it a reality. Why do I think I can write a book when I can barely read books without becoming distracted and doing something else instead? I give up too easily. But, then again, do I really have it in me to produce something that is good? That people would want to read? Insecurity creeps in, telling me that I will fail. I fear failure. Of course I do, who doesn’t? Whenever people say that their greatest fear is failure, all I wonder is who out there is not afraid of failure? Is there someone out there with so much confidence that they absolutely do not in any way fear failure? Even narcissists technically fear failure, it is what leads them to such ridiculous overcompensation, putting on the facade of bravado to mask their actual dire sense of insecurity. Do not fall for the scams, no person is truly without self-doubt. (Well, I guess maybe psychopaths, but there’s a whole lot of things amiss with them.)

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve entertained myself by coming up with stories, fictional universes that I would populate with characters of my own invention. When I was a kid, what I really wanted was to become a comic book writer and artist. Well, in between other gigs I imagined would suit me, including at one point wanting to be a “singing farmer,” as I put it. Still, I’ve always returned to fiction and storytelling. There’s something about creating a world that lets you so fully distract yourself from all the stressful daily hullabaloo that goes on around you. Escapism, it’s fun, it’s therapeutic, I think. There’s a reason why humans have been telling each other stories for millennia, since even before we lived in houses. Back when we were all huddled around the fire, wearing our best comfortable animal furs, sharing tales of the hunt. Your uncle who once took part in killing a mammoth, the impressive beast nearly gorging him with its big tusks. How clever he was when he noticed that the mammoth had one leg weaker than the others, and used that to his advantage. How the entire hunting party banded together to bring the behemoth down, getting all that meat to feed their families with for months! Stories make you feel good. Like as if you have something to celebrate, even when you might be starving due to the more recent hunts not having gone as well. Damn that saber-tooth tiger that killed your uncle…

Storytelling is linked to acting. Both with acting and with storytelling you have to commit. Whatever you are doing, whatever role you are performing, you have to sell it. You may be on stage talking about that time you went scuba diving with your future wife, and how you encountered an oyster with the most magnificent pearl inside, and how you made a ring for the pearl and used it when you proposed to her. You have to sell it. You have to get the audience laughing, gasping, crying, going “aww,” feeling as if they were there with you that day. Of course, they don’t know it is all just lies. You made it up. It’s all fiction. But you committed, so they won’t ever know. Storytelling is a gift to others, people will appreciate you if you tell good stories, but you’re also kinda deviant. Even if it’s technically based on a true story, you’ve certainly added your embellishments. You’re a trickster, a devious individual. No wonder actors have historically been seen as dubious folks. They come into town, romances all the young women and men, telling them big tales of their lives on the road, and they can’t possibly know if you are telling the truth or not. You may just be lying. You probably are lying. Let’s be honest, you’ve probably not told a single true thing in your life.

I am bad at the hustle. No, I can talk quite well, and I can keep people’s attention for a long while. But I can’t be a huckster. Going out there, putting myself on the line hoping people will swallow my bullshit. I can’t really avoid speaking from my heart when I do speak. Or when I write, as I happen to be doing now. This blog has so far been thoroughly candid in places, in such a way I may come across like I’m at a confessional. Not that I have much evil to confess, but I can’t help but be transparent. I can’t flip into different kinds of personalities, each with its own schemes and plots, being some master manipulator, someone who you can never figure out what they're truly up to, or what they truly want. No, what I am is clearly written on my face. I’ve got one self, and it is the one before you. He’s hairy, and tall, and a bit of a dork. I am happy to talk to you, to engage with you, but I won’t be anyone but myself. I am me. I hope that’ll do.

Of course you are familiar with all those pick-up artists that plagues the internet. Or well, not just the internet. Go into any old-fashioned bookstore (where they store books on paper, not in digital code,) and you are bound to find some sleazy book written by a sleazy guy about how to sleazily seduce women. Those books don’t want you acting like me. According to them, seduction is all about manipulation. To figure out the very right thing to say to get women to fawn all over you. They don’t want you to be sincere, telling the truth as you see it. Nah, you gotta keep that stuff bottled up, deep down inside your soul, because most likely, your true self is ugly. It’s interesting how you can get little details from these pick-up artists depending on the sort of things they say, the tips they provide. The fact that all of them seem to harbour this festering misogyny is no big surprise, but every so often, you get these little glimpses of these people’s true worldview, one where power is everything, true love is a fallacy, and happiness is a lie manufactured by Hollywood to make us all into docile consumers. No wonder the “red-pill” so often leads to people taking the “black-pill.” First hucksters will lure you in, telling you that they’ve got the secret as to how to be a success, then when they’ve got you isolated, they reveal to you how truly misanthropic and bleak their actual beliefs are.

I am fascinated with cults, for much of the same reason why I am fascinated with storytelling. What is a cult leader if not just a great storyteller? They’re something like the modern day shaman, capable of spellbinding people with their weird idiosyncratic way of speaking. High-functioning people with autism are often said to have an idiosyncratic way of speaking. No, I am not suggesting that cult leaders are all somewhere on the spectrum, though it wouldn’t surprise me if some famous cult leaders did turn out to have been on the spectrum. However, for an autistic person to become a cult leader, I think they would have to be a true believer, and not some fraud just looking to scam others. Ultimately, no autistic person would want to surround themselves with people unless they truly do believe it is essential, to like, save mankind from damnation or something. It’s the difference between sincerity and insincerity. It is difficult for autistic people to be insincere, as insincerity requires a lot of social skills that autistic people struggle with. Having to juggle all these balls in the air, making sure you keep the big lie going, that you remember to change your behaviour depending on who you are speaking to in order to keep them from figuring out that you’re a bullshitter. Hollow people are great at being insincere. People like L. Ron Hubbard, the founder of the highly profitable cult that is Scientology, was at his core a hollow individual. He had no problems twisting the minds of the people around him, because he never felt a need to be sincere. If an autistic person were to become a cult leader, I can guarantee you that it wouldn’t be a profitable cult. Nah, autistic people aren’t in it for the money, we’re all about keeping it real.

Being a sincere person, surely I should be able to write a novel and make it feel earnest. Like it was delivered with passion, because I wouldn’t be able to write anything that wasn’t true to myself. Well, I do hope so. Having something I’ve made be referred to as genuine is something I see as a great compliment. I’m a student of art history, I’ve made some “serious” art before, I know how terrible art can be when it is not delivered with good faith. Sure, some art is cynical, or ironic, but even then, it tends to come from a real place. Good artists, even when they’re fully armed with the dada mindset, must believe in what they are doing. Whether they are doing it for a laugh or not, that’s irrelevant. Even if all you wish is to be silly and make something that is comical, you have to believe in what you are creating. Or else people won’t bother engaging with it. Why look at a painting by someone who is just interested in making money? Insincere artists do exist, and they can end up becoming quite successful, but ultimately, history won’t be kind to them. Damien Hirst comes to mind, heard he's into NFTs now.

Sure, I don’t like insincere people. Does that make me a bigot? Like, it’s not as if they can help themselves. It’s just who they are, spineless maggots with no soul. It doesn’t mean we have to hate them. No, no, no... I am just generalising. Don’t go thinking there’s just two kinds of people in the world, the sincere and the insincere. It’s not a binary. Most people are both, just like with introverts and extroverts, humans are complex. But there are definitely those that decide to feed into their insincere side, realising that it is often the key to success. Through insincerity, you learn to let go of self-doubt, you stop worrying so much about what others think of you, because you are never truly yourself. If they hate you, then so what? They don’t actually hate you, they just hate a role that you are playing. So what if you seduced that woman, made her feel as if you were the perfect match, then you ghosted her and completely forgot about her? It’s her fault for falling for your tricks. You were clearly just playing the game, being a super-seducer, she should have known better. By embracing insincerity, it’s like gaining a superpower. No longer do you have to care about the impact you have on others, no longer do you have to worry about what it means to be a social human being making choices that affect the others around you. Because you’re not the person they think you are. Actually, you’re not quite sure you’re the person you think you are… Who are you?

I’ve got the plot all laid out in my head for the novel. It’s going to be based in the fantasy world that I’ve been working on for the last few years. I’ve been working on this world for almost half a decade now, come to think of it. Why do I keep feeling as if I am never able to keep to a project, when I’ve clearly been working on a massive project all this time? Sure, it’s all just in my head, but it’s not as if most people have the kind of patience to keep going back to a single big project, even if it is just in their head. Not once, while thinking about my fantasy world have I been distracted and started thinking about cute puppies, instead. And you know how difficult that is. Maybe I am too hard on myself. Maybe I will finish this book, and maybe people will want to read it. Maybe it will even get a minimal number of angry reviews, like, I may get a book published without some folks trying to harass me into committing suicide for daring to think I can write. Some people may even be enthusiastic, blowing up my ego with great praise. Maybe someone will come along and tell me that they want to buy the rights to make my book into a movie or a television series. Maybe I will get rich? Maybe I will get famous! Woo! Success here I come!

Well, no, here I go being insincere. That’s not what it’s about. I should be writing this book because I want to write it. Because I want to prove to myself that I am able to write it. Sure, it’s not as if there’s not a little brain goblin inside my mind whispering sweet nothings about how one day I might turn out a real respected author. One with real fans that gets to do big book tours talking about how brilliant I am, how brilliant my work is, and how brilliant things are going for me. I am not going to pretend I don’t have the same aspirations for success that others have. Inside of me you will find the same greedy piglet of an ego hungry for more adoration and more validation that you will find in any person. Humans don’t know when to quit, we always want more. But I am at least safe knowing that I will never debase myself, descending to the same depths as those inhabited by soulless grifters who go through life abusing the trust of others in order to get by. I’m sincere, in the end. I always turn out sincere, in the end. I am a good boy.

And I am also really sexy. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before on this blog, but I am really, REALLY, sexy. Like, you wouldn’t believe it. Oh, I am so hot. And if you follow and subscribe and hit that bell, I will teach you how you can be just as sexy as I am! And buy my book! And my merch! And my new single! And of course, my new cryptocurrency, by the name of “autism-coin.” It’s going to be a real success on 4chan, let me tell ya!

#neurodivergent #neurodiversity #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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betterdaysareatoenailaway · 4 years ago

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Random Review #3: Sleepwalkers (1992) and “Sleep Walk” (1959)

I. Sleepwalkers (1992) I couldn’t sleep last night so I started watching a trashy B-movie penned by Stephen King specifically for the screen called Sleepwalkers (1992). Simply put, the film is an unmitigated disaster. A piece of shit. But it didn’t need to be. That’s what’s so annoying about it. By 1992 King was a grizzled veteran of the silver screen, with more adaptations under his belt than any other author of his cohort. Puzo had the Godfather films (1972 and 1974, respectively), sure, but nothing else. Leonard Gardner had Fat City (1972), a movie I love, but Gardner got sucked into the Hollywood scene of cocaine and hot tub parties and never published another novel, focusing instead on screenplays for shitty TV shows like NYPD Blue. After Demon Seed (1977), a movie I have seen and disliked, nobody would touch Dean Koontz’s stuff with a ten foot pole, which is too bad because The Voice of the Night, a 1980 novel about two young pals, one of whom is a psychopath trying to convince the other to help him commit murder, would make a terrific movie. But Koontz’s adaptations have been uniformly awful. The made-for-TV film starring John C McGinley, 1997′s Intensity, is especially bad. There are exceptions, but Stephen King has been lucky enough to avoid the fate of his peers. Big name directors have tackled his work, from Stanley Kubrick to Brian De Palma. King even does a decent job of acting in Pet Semetary (1989), in his own Maximum Overdrive (1986) and in George Romero’s Creepshow (1982), where he plays a yokel named Jordy Verril who gets infected by a meteorite that causes green weeds to grow all over his body. Many have criticized King’s over-the-top performance in that flick, but for me King perfectly nails the campy and comical tone that Romero was going for. The dissolves in Creepshow literally come right off the pages of comics, so people expecting a subtle Ordinary People-style turn from King had clearly walked into the wrong theatre. Undoubtedly Creepshow succeeds at what it set out to do. I’m not sure Sleepwalkers succeeds though, unless the film’s goal was to get me to like cats even more than I already do. But I already love cats a great deal. Here’s my cat Cookie watching me edit this very blog post.

And here’s one of my other cats, Church, named after the cat that reanimates and creeps out Louis and Ellie in Pet Sematary. Photo by @ScareAlex.

SPOILER ALERT: Do not keep reading if you plan on watching Sleepwalkers and want to find out for yourself what happens.

Stephen King saw many of his novels get adapted in the late 1970s and 80s: Carrie, The Shining, Firestarter, Christine, Cujo, and the movie that spawned the 1950s nostalgia industrial complex, Stand By Me, but Sleepwalkers was the first time he wrote a script specifically for the screen rather than adapting a novel that already existed. Maybe that’s why it’s so fucking bad. Stephen King is a novelist, gifted with a novelist’s rich imagination. He’s prone to giving backstories to even the most peripheral characters - think of Joe Chamber’s alcoholic neighbour Gary Pervier in the novel Cujo, who King follows for an unbelievable number of pages as the man stumbles drunkenly around his house spouting his catch phrase “I don’t give a shit,” drills a hole through his phone book so he can hang it from a string beside his phone, complains about his hemorrhoids getting “as big as golfballs” (I’m not joking), and just generally acts like an asshole until a rabid Cujo bounds over, rips his throat out, and he bleeds to death. In the novel Pervier’s death takes more than a few pages, but it makes for fun reading. You hate the man so fucking much that watching him die feels oddly satisfying. In the movie, though, his death occurs pretty quickly, and in a darkened hallway, so it’s hard to see what’s going on aside from Gary’s foot trembling. And Pervier’s “I don’t give a shit” makes sense when he’s drilling a hole in the phone book, not when he’s about to be savagely attacked by a rabid St Bernard. There’s just less room for back story in movies. In a medium that demands pruning and chiseling and the “less is more” dictum, King’s writing takes a marked turn for the worse. King is a prose maximalist, who freely admits to “writing to outrageous lengths” in his novels, listing It, The Stand, and The Tommyknockers as particularly egregious examples of literary logorrhea. He is not especially equipped to write concisely. This weakness is most apparent in Sleepwalkers’ dialogue, which sounds like it was supposed to be snappy and smart, like something Aaron Sorkin would write, but instead comes off like an even worse Tango & Cash, all bad jokes and shitty puns. More on those bad jokes later. First, the plot.

Sleepwalkers is about a boy named Charles and his mother Mary who travel around the United States killing and feeding off the lifeforce of various unfortunate people (if this sounds a little like The True Knot in Doctor Sleep, you’re not wrong. But self-plagiarism is not a crime). Charles and Mary are shapeshifting werewolf-type creatures called werecats, a species with its very own Wikipedia page. Wikipedia confers legitimacy dont’cha know, so lets assume werecats are real beings. According to said page, a werecat, “also written in a hyphenated form as were-cat) is an analogy to ‘werewolf’ for a feline therianthropic creature.” I’m gonna spell it with the hyphen from now on because “werecats” just looks like a typo. Okay? Okay.

Oddly enough, the were-cats in Sleepwalkers are terrified of cats. Actual cats. For the were-cats, cute kittens = kryptonite. When they see a cat or cats plural, this happens to them:

^ That is literally a scene from the movie. Charles is speeding when a cop pulls alongside him and bellows at him to pull over. Ever the rebel, Charles flips the cop the finger. But the cop has a cat named Clovis in his car, and when the cat pops up to have a look at the kid (see below), Charles shapeshifts first into a younger boy, then into whatever the fuck that is in the above screenshot.

Now, the were-cats aversion to normal cats is confusing because one would assume a were-cat to be a more evolved (or perhaps devolved?) version of the typical house kitty. The fact that these were-cats are bipedal alone suggests an advantage over our furry four-legged friends, no? Kinda like if humans were afraid of fucking gorillas. Wait...we are scared of gorillas. And chimpanzees. And all apes really. Okay, maybe the conceit of the film isn’t so silly after all. The film itself, however, is about as silly as a bad horror movie can get. When the policeman gets back to precinct and describes the incident above (”his face turned into a blur”) he is roundly ridiculed because in movies involving the supernatural nobody believes in the supernatural until it confronts them. It’s the law, sorry. Things don’t end well for the cop. Or for the guy who gets murdered when the mom stabs him with...an ear of corn. Yes, an ear of corn. Somehow, the mother is able to jam corn on the cob through a man’s body, without crushing the vegetable or turning it into yellow mash. It’s pretty amazing. Here is a sample of dialog from that scene: Cop About To Die On The Phone to Precinct: There’s blood everywhere! *STAB* Murderous Mother: No vegetables, no dessert. That is actually a line in the movie. “No vegetables, no dessert.” It’s no “let off some steam, Bennett” but it’s close. Told ya I’d get back to the bad jokes. See, Mary and Charles are new in town and therefore seeking to ingratiate themselves by killing everyone who suspects them of being weird, all while avoiding cats as best they can. At one point Charles yanks a man’s hand off and tells him to "keep [his] hands to [him]self," giving the man back his severed bloody hand. Later on Charles starts dating a girl who will gradually - and I do mean gradually - come to realize her boyfriend is not a real person but in fact a were-cat. Eventually our spunky young protagonist - Madchen Amick, who fans of Twin Peaks will recognize as Shelly - and a team of cats led by the adorable Clovis- kill the were-cat shapeshifting things and the sleepy small town (which is named Travis for some reason) goes back to normal, albeit with a slightly diminished population. For those keeping score, that’s Human/Cat Alliance 1, Shapeshifting Were-cats 0. It is clear triumph for the felis catus/people team! Unless we’re going by kill count, in which case it is closer to Human/Cat Alliance 2, Were-cats 26. I arrived at this figure through my own notes but also through a helpful video that takes a comprehensive and complete “carnage count” of all kills in Sleepwalkers: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmt-DroK6uA

II. Santo & Johnny “Sleep Walk” (1959) Because Sleepwalkers is decidedly not known for its good acting or its well-written screenplay, it is perhaps best known for its liberal and sometimes contrapuntal use of Santo & Johnny’s classic steel guitar song “Sleep Walk,” possibly the most famous (and therefore best) instrumental of the 20th century. Some might say “Sleep Walk” is tied for the #1 spot with “Green Onions” by Booker T & the M.G.’s and/or “Wipe Out” by The Surfaris, but I disagree. The Santo & Johnny song is #1 because of its incalculable influence on all subsequent popular music.

I’m not saying “Wipe Out” didn't inspire a million imitators, both contemporaneously and even decades later…for example here’s a surf rock instrumental from 1999 called “Giant Cow" by a Toronto band called The Urban Surf Kings. The video was one of the first to be animated using Flash (and it shows):

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So there are no shortage of surf rock bands, even now, decades after its emergence from the shores of California to the jukeboxes of Middle America. My old band Sleep for the Nightlife used to regularly play Rancho Relaxo with a surf rock band called the Dildonics, who I liked a great deal. There's even a Danish surf rock band called Baby Woodrose, whose debut album is a favourite of mine. They apparently compete for the title of Denmark’s biggest surf pop band with a group called The Setting Son. When a country that has no surfing culture and no beaches has multiple surf rock bands, it is safe to say the genre has attained international reach. As far as I can tell, there aren’t many bands out there playing Booker T & the M.G.’s inspired instrumental rock. Link Wray’s “Rumble” was released four years before “Green Onions.” But the influence of Santo and Johnny’s “Sleep Walk” is so ubiquitous as to be almost immeasurable. The reason for this is the sheer popularity of the song’s chord progression. If Santo and Johnny hadn’t written it first, somebody else would have, simply because the progression is so beautiful and easy on the ears and resolvable in a satisfying way. Have a listen to “Sleep Walk” first and then let’s check out some songs it directly inspired.

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The chords are C, A minor, F and G. Minor variations sometimes reverse the last two chords, but if it begins with C to A minor, you can bet it’s following the “Sleep Walk” formula, almost as if musicians influenced by the song are in the titular trance. When it comes to playing guitar, Tom Waits once said “your hands are like dogs, going to the same places they’ve been. You have to be careful when playing is no longer in the mind but in the fingers, going to happy places. You have to break them of their habits or you don’t explore; you only play what is confident and pleasing.” Not only is it comforting to play and/or hear what we already know, studies have shown that our brains actively resist new music, because it takes work to understand the new information and assimilate it into a pattern we are cogent of. It isn’t until the brain recognizes the pattern that it gives us a dopamine rush. I’m not much for Pitchfork anymore, but a recent article they posted does a fine job of discussing this phenomenon in greater detail.

Led Zeppelin’s “D’Yer Maker” uses the “Sleep Walk” riff prominently, anchored by John Bonham and John Paul Jones’ white-boy reggae beat:

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Here it is again with Del Shannon’s classic “Little Town Flirt.” I love Shannon’s falsetto at the end when he goes “you better run and hide now bo-o-oy.”

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The Beatles “Happiness is a Warm Gun” uses the Sleep Walk progression, though not for the whole song. It goes into the progression at the bridge at 1:34:

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Tumblr won’t let me embed any more videos, so you’ll to travel to another tab to hear these songs, but Neil Young gets in on the act with his overlooked classic “Winterlong:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RV6r66n3TFI On their 1996 EP Interstate 8 Modest Mouse pay direct homage by singing over their own rendition of the original Santo & Johnny version, right down to the weeping steel guitar part: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VT_PwXjCqqs The vocals are typical wispy whispered indie rock vocals, but I think they work, particularly the two different voices. They titled their version “Sleepwalking (Couples Only Dance Prom Night).”

Dwight Yoakam’s “Thousand Miles From Nowhere” makes cinematic use of it. This song plays over the credits of one of my all-time favourite movies, 1993′s Red Rock West feat. Nicolas Cage, Lara Flynn Boyle, Dennis Hopper, and J.T. Walsh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tu3ypuKq8WE

“39″ is my favourite Queen song. I guess now I know why. It uses my fav chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE8kGMfXaFU

Blink 182 scored their first hit “Dammit” with a minor variation on the Sleep Walk chord progression: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sT0g16_LQaQ

Midwest beer drinkin bar rockers Connections scored a shoulda-been-a-hit with the fist-pumping “Beat the Sky:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSNRq0n_WYA You’d be hard pressed to find a weaker lead singer than this guy (save for me, natch), but they make it work. This one’s an anthem.

Spoon, who have made a career out of deconstructing rock n’ roll, so that their songs sometimes sound needlessly sparse (especially “The Ghost of You Lingers,” which takes minimalism to its most extreme...just a piano being bashed on staccato-style for four minutes), so it should surprise nobody that they re-arrange the Sleep Walk chords on their classic from Gimme Fiction, “I Summon You:” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=teXA8N3aF9M I love that opening line: remember the weight of the world was a sound that we used to buy? I think songwriter Britt Daniel is talking about buying albums from the likes of Pearl Jam or Smashing Pumpkins, any of those grunge bands with pessimistic worldviews. There are a million more examples. I remember seeing some YouTube video where a trio of gross douchebros keep playing the same progression while singing a bunch of hits over it. I don’t like the smarmy way they do it, making it seem like artists are lazy and deliberately stealing. I don’t think it’s plagiarism to use this progression. And furthermore, tempo and production make all the difference. Take “This Magic Moment” for example. There's a version by Jay & the Americans and one by Ben E King & the Drifters. I’ve never been a fan of those shrieking violins or fiddles that open the latter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bacBKKgc4Uo The Jay & the Americans version puts the guitar riff way in the forefront, which I like a lot more. The guitar plays the entire progression once before the singing starts and the band joins in: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pKfASw6qoag

Each version has its own distinctive feel. They are pretty much two different songs. Perhaps the most famous use of the Sleep Walk progression is “Unchained Melody” by the Righteous Brothers, which is one of my favourite songs ever. The guy who chose to let Bobby Hatfield sing this one by himself must have kicked himself afterwards when it became a hit, much bigger than "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling."https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiiyq2xrSI0

What can you say about “Unchained Melody” that hasn’t already been said? God, that miraculously strong vocal, the way the strings (and later on, brass horns) are panned way over to the furthest reaches the left speaker while the drums and guitar are way over in the right, with the singing smack dab in the middle creates a kind of distance and sharp clarity that has never been reproduced in popular music, like seeing the skyscrapers of some distant city after an endless stretch of highway. After listening to “Unchained Melody,” one has to wonder: can that progression ever be improved upon? Can any artist write something more haunting, more beautiful, more uplifting than that? The “need your love” crescendo hits so fucking hard, as both the emotional and the sonic climax of the song, which of course is no accident...the strings descending and crashing like a waterfall of sound, it gets me every fucking time. Legend has it that King George II was so moved by the “Hallelujah” section of Handel’s “Messiah” that he stood up, he couldn't help himself, couldn't believe what he was hearing. I get that feeling with all my favourite songs. "1979." "Unchained Melody." "In The Still of the Night." "Digital Bath." "Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?" "Interstate." "Liar's Tale." “Gimme Shelter.” The list goes on and on. Music is supposed to move us.

King George II stood because he was moved to do so. Music may be our creation, but it isn't our subordinate. All those sci-fi stories warning about technology growing beyond our control aren’t that far-fetched. Music is our creation but its power lies beyond our control. We are subordinate to music, helpless against its power and might, its urgency and vitality and beauty. There have been many times in my life when I have been so obsessed with a particular song that I pretty much want to live inside of it forever. A house of sound. I remember detoxing from heroin and listening to Grimes “Realiti” on repeat for twelve hours. Detoxing from OxyContin and listening to The Beach Boys “Dont Worry Baby” over and over. Or just being young and listening to “Tonight Tonight” over and over and over, tears streaming from my eyes in that way you cry when you’re a kid because you just feel so much and you don’t know what to do with the intensity of those feelings. It is precisely because we are so moved by music that we keep creating it. And in the act of that creation we are free. There are no limits to that freedom, which is why bands time and time again return to the well-worn Sleep Walk chord progression and try to make something new from it. Back in 2006, soon after buying what was then the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, I found myself playing the album’s closing track over and over. I loved the chorus and I loved the way it collapses into a lo-fi demo at the very end, stripping away the studio sheen and...not to be too punny, showing its bones (the album title is Show Your Bones). Later on I would realize that the song, called “Turn Into,” uses the Sleep Walk chord progression. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=exqCFoPiwpk

It’s just like, what Waits said, our hands goes to where we are familiar. And so do our ears, which is why jazz often sounds so unpleasant to us upon first listen. Or Captain Beefheart. But it’s worth the effort to discover new stuff, just as it’s worth the effort to try and write it. I recently lamented on this blog that music to me now is more about remembrance than discovery, but I’m still only 35 years old. I’m middle-aged right now (I don’t expect to live past 70, not with the lifestyle I’ve been living). There’s still a whole other half life to find new music and love and leave it for still newer stuff. It’s worth the challenge, that moment of inner resistance we feel when confronted with something new and challenging and strange sounding. The austere demands of adult life, rent and routine, take so much of our time. I still make time for creative pursuits, but I don’t really have much time for discovery, for seeking out new music. But I’ve resolved to start making more time. A few years ago I tried to listen to and like Trout Mask Replica but I couldn’t. I just didn’t get what was going on. It sounded like a bunch of mistakes piled on top of each other. But then a few days ago I was writing while listening to music, as I always do, and YouTube somehow landed on Lick My Decals Off, Baby. I didn’t love what I was hearing but I was intrigued enough to keep going. And now I really like this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMnd9dvb3sA&pbjreload=101 Another example I’ll give is the rare Robert Pollard gem “Prom Is Coming.” The first time I heard this song, it sounded like someone who can’t play guitar messing around, but the more I heard it the more I realized there’s a song there. It’s weird and strange, but it’s there. The lyrics are classic Pollard: Disregard injury and race madly out of the universe by sundown. Pollard obviously has a special place in his heart for this track. He named one of his many record labels Prom Is Coming Records and he titled the Boston Spaceships best-of collection Out of the Universe By Sundown. I don’t know if I’ll ever become a Captain Beefheart megafan but I can hear that the man was doing something very strange and, at times, beautiful. And anyway, why should everything be easy? Aren’t some challenges worth meeting for the experience waiting on the other side of comprehension or acceptance? I try to remember this now whenever I’m first confronted with new music, instead of vetoing it right away. Most of my favourite bands I was initially resistant to when I first heard them. Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Guided by Voices, Spoon, Heavy Times. All bands I didn’t like at first. I don’t wanna sleepwalk through life, surrounding myself only with things I have already experienced. I need to stay awake. Because soon enough I’ll be asleep forever. We need to try everything we can before the Big Sleep comes to take us back to the great blankness, the terrible question mark that bookends our lives.

#sleep walk #santo & johnny #neil young #queen #dwight yoakam #led zeppelin #the beatles #betterdaysareatoenailaway

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 6 years ago

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Psycho Analysis: Ego

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

Years ago, comic book movies were absolutely, totally afraid to be even a little weird. Raimi carried the weirdness torch for a while thanks to the success of the Spider-Man trilogy, but for some reason he was the only person unafraid to be goofy; even Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer, a movie about one of the more fun and campy classical hero teams, was completely and utterly afraid to show a big man in purple armor who eats planets and so instead opted to show us an intergalactic fart cloud. The precedent set by franchises like Blade, X-Men, and Nolan’s Batman films lingered for a long time.

Then along came James Gunn.

Gunn is a man unafraid to be weird, and Guardians of the Galaxy really changed the game in 2014. There’s a gun-toting raccoon, a talking tree, a bald blue cyborg woman, and an alcoholic duck, and the movie is a smash hit critically and financially; there is now no excuse not to put the wierdest stuff from the comics faithfully into film. And for the sequel, Gunn apparently saw fit to bring in one of Marvel’s most bonkers bad guys: Ego, the Living Planet.

Ego is the perfect example of how to adapt something utterly bizarre from the comics, changing some major elements while still staying true to the nature of the character himself. Ego here is Peter Quill’s father, something that isn’t true in the comics, as well as a Celestial, something also not true in the comics… but he is still a sentient planet, and he is still completely and utterly evil.

Actor: Kurt Russell, 80s superstar and the reason Solid Snake exists, plays Ego to perfection. Ego is a character with, well, an ego; he’s selfish, self-centered, and lacking in empathy, but he also needs to come off as charming and friendly or we the audience would see through him immediately. Russell is the exact perfect man for that job; this is a guy who managed to play a character who was mildly transphobic and still have them come off as likable. Russell is also able to switch from affable and charming to scary and furious with ease, which is a big help after the reveal when Ego drops all pretense. Russell just kills it, there’s no other way to put it.

Motivation/Goals: Ego has an almost sympathetic goal, one that, from a certain point of view, makes him come off as a bit sympathetic. The guy was drifting alone in the void for eons and had to piece himself together, so is it any wonder he was horrifically lonely when he was finally able to set out to find life? Of course, that loneliness and isolation led to him developing some really nasty personality traits, and so he decided the best course of action after finding out other intelligent life was “boring” was to plant seeds on every planet, sire a child with powers just like him, and then wipe out all life and turn all the planets in the universe into extensions of himself. It is a plan truly befitting a character with the name “Ego,” and while it is true his motivation is at least a little deserving of sympathy, his goals and how he goes about trying to ameliorate his pain is what makes Ego an irredeemable monster.

Personality: Ego is perhaps one of the most aptly named characters in all of fiction, and he’s also one of the few characters one could make the honest claim that his ego is literally the size of a planet. Ego puts forth this identity of a charming, fatherly figure, happy, affable, jokey… just really sweet and charming. But much like the avatar he uses, it’s all just a mask.

Look at how he talks about what he did to Peter’s mom; he says it with such a wistful, resigned melancholy flavored with this “I did what I had to do” smugness that is a twisted reflection of how one might recall their first date, and then follows it up with a horrifically callous response of “I know that sounds bad.” Ego is such a monstrous, unrepentant sociopath with so little regard for life that is beneath his lofty stature that I just don’t think he really comprehends things like empathy. He is the ultimate psychopathic manchild, an arrogant egotist who hides behind this friendly veneer until the moment things don’t go the way he wants, at which point he starts screaming, ranting, and raving. The fact he is completely and utterly taken aback that Peter would unload multiple shots into him after being told Ego gave his mother a brain tumor is really telling of just what kind of person he really is.

Final Fate: The bomb Groot planted on Ego’s brain goes off, and Ego’s avatar crumbles to dust as the planet begins to blow up, seeing as its brain just got obliterated. The beautiful karma of this moment makes it extra delicious; after putting that tumor on Meredith Quill’s brain, is it not fitting he die after having something planted on his brain?

Best Scene: Ego just really dominates every scene he’s in, but I think the big reveal, where he shows just what a sick and depraved villain with a lack of care for life as he reveals what he did to Meredith Quill, is one of the MCU’s finest scenes.

Best Quote: It took only one single line to cement Ego as the most horrible, evil, disgusting monster in the MCU: “It broke my heart to put that tumor in her head.”

Final Thoughts & Score: Ego is fantastic on so many levels, but one level I think should not be overlooked is on a meta level. As I mentioned, for the longest time silliness and weird concepts were out the door when it came to superhero films. One needs only look at the X-Men franchise to see how dour things were, with their dull black costumes and overwhelmingly miserable and unfun atmospheres. More lighthearted or sillier fare did not go over well, as Iron Man 2 and Green Lantern can attest, and magic was totally absent for a while in the MCU probably because of fears audiences wouldn’t take it seriously. But James Gunn changed all that, and I think Ego definitely played a huge role in cementing that audiences will embrace and love in the weirdest stuff out of comics. Thanks to Ego, I think a lot of other creators became unafraid to let that freak flag fly and put things in movies they might have been too worried to put in before, with the ultimate and best example being Mister Mind joining the DCEU in the end of Shazam! It gives me hope that Tawky Tawny might show up there in a sequel.

On a character level, Ego is without a doubt the most punchable scumbag in the entire MCU, with only Mysterio coming close. The fact he casually admits to killing Peter’s mother and expects him to be okay with it… Can you really blame Peter for immediately unloading his guns into his father? I mean, when faced with a man who is utterly unrepentant in killing a loved one that they also claimed they loved and says they had to do it to further their goals, would you not also have a knee-jerk reaction like that? Yes, I am getting at this being a canon moment that shows Peter’s reaction to Thanos in Infinity War was not a stupid moment, it was a moment that was built up by what he did to Ego. And I think that just adds to Ego even more, because he helped cement a character trait of Peter’s that would lead to one of the most horrific gut punches in cinematic history.

Ego is an easy 10/10, and is one of the MCU’s greatest villains. He’s a perfect “love to hate” character, and he’s also a perfect villain for a story about family. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 has family as a focal point of the story, with the arcs of every single character revolving around the idea that family doesn’t have to be blood ties, it can be with the people who love you and who you’ve bonded with the most. Yondu’s line of “He may’ve been your father, boy, but he wasn’t your daddy” is what really sells it, honestly; Ego is Peter’s biological father, yes, but Yondu raised him and even if he didn’t always do right by him, in the end he showed himself to be a better man and better dad than Ego ever could have hoped to be. I suppose that’s a bit off topic from Ego himself, but I feel like it’s important to note just how deeply thematic he is as a villain, tying into the core message of the story while also letting loose in utter sociopathic villainy.

I think there is a great irony in Ego’s ultimate plan; for all his claims of being lonely and desiring others like him, what exactly does he think would happen if the entire universe was nothing but himself? Would he truly have been satisfied? Perhaps; he was a narcissistic to the highest degree for sure. But I like that there is some ambiguity to things about Ego, I like how there are some things to think about, I like how a villain who has a plan that is not clearly thought out by them yet that they believe is the proper course of action is something of a setup for what Thanos would be.

And really, out of every other villain in the MCU, Ego is most like Thanos. The obvious part is the plan, though only Endgame Thanos really wanted to reshape the universe in his image; still, as I mentioned, their plans are both something they believe is the true and righteous course of action, though Thanos is far more sympathetic in this regard. They also both felt the need to sacrifice loved ones in pursuit of their goals, and they both have incredibly poor relationships with some of their kids. I think the main difference is that Thanos, for all his faults, does have some empathy, he does have some sympathetic traits even if they don’t redeem how much of an awful person he was. Ego has none of that. Ego squanders any sympathy he could have gained by being utterly unrepentant and casual about his misdeeds, which include slaughtering his other children and killing Peter’s mother despite claiming to have loved her dearly. At least Thanos openly wept at what he did to Gamora, at least he felt sadness, guilt, and regret. Ego just doesn’t care. He did it because whatever he really felt for Meredith, there was only one person he could ever truly love: Himself.

In short, Yondu was right: that guy was a jackass.

#Psycho Analysis #Ego #Guardians of the Galaxy #Marvel #MCU

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britesparc · 6 years ago

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Weekend Top Ten #369

Top Ten Favourite Things About Teen Titans Go!

One of the funny things about life is observing elements of circularity. For instance, nearly twenty years ago, my younger brother really got into the original Teen Titans cartoon, and I sort of got into it with him (having a brother ten years younger than yourself is very good for keeping your oar in with kids’ content when you’re supposed to be too old for that sort of thing; as a result, I got to thoroughly enjoy Justice League, Samurai Jack, Harry Potter and lots more stuff that may have otherwise passed me by). I knew who the Titans were but hadn’t read a lot of their comics; the cartoon was my introduction to most of those characters. It was really good, benefited from a tremendous theme tune, and – for its time – quietly revolutionary in how it incorporated anime aesthetics into a western cartoon. Plus it had a cracking voice cast, which – not that I knew it at the time – would become as synonymous with those characters as Peter Cullen, Frank Welker, and Kevin Conroy had done with cartoons I’d watched as a child.

(that’s Optimus, Megatron, and Batman, in case you’re wondering)

Anyway, here we are, eighteen-or-so years later, and Teen Titans is just a beloved long-gone cult classic but bizarre comedic spin-off Teen Titans Go! is a minor phenomenon. The same characters, the same actors, but wilder, weirder, funnier, crazier, way more violent, and – bizarrely – far more integrated into the wider DC Universe. And my kids – especially my eldest daughter – bloody love the show. It is huge in our house. We’ve seen the film, we listen to the songs, they draw their own comics, they roleplay the characters; we have a home-made Raven costume, for god’s sake. I have a six-year-old who knows who Tara Strong is. This is incredible.

As a result, I’ve seen an awful lot (not quite every episode) of Teen Titans Go!. It’s fortunate, then, that it’s fantastic, easily one of the best comic-book cartoon adaptations ever made. It’s not just how funny it is; it’s madcap and self-referential and full of many (many) MANY DC comics references. And great, great songs. And – like I said before – tremendous performances. Teen Titans Go! To the Movies is a great, great movie with great, great songs and many great, great gags, and it’s a mixed blessing that it ended up being released in what may well be Annus Mirabilis for superhero movies: it’s great that it’s mixing it up with Infinity War, Black Panther, and Spider-Verse, but I feel it got overshadowed a bit. Say what you will for the slightly more “serious” original Teen Titans series, but it was the barmy chibi-inspired stepchild that got a movie.

So this week, I’m celebrating what has become my second-favourite superhero cartoon of all time (after Batman: The Animated Series, natch). My ten favourite things about Teen Titans Go!. Enjoy!

The Songs: I tried to pick a song, or some reference or line or scene, but really it’s impossible. The songs are sublime. So great, in fact, that I’ll probably do another Top Ten at some point listing my favourite TTG songs. Really catchy, great lyrics, supremely diverse, and full of references not just to DC but to, well, everything. There’s a song about America that includes the line “Samuel L. Jackson on the stamp”, which makes no sense as far as I can figure, but is just wonderful.

Deep, Deep (DEEP) Cut DC References: it started with the Darkseid doll. A little plush Darkseid doll that’s always leaning against the couch. How cute, how funny; Darkseid, the literal embodiment of evil, but as an adorable snuggly. And then it got deeper, and weirder, and more wild. B’wana Beast. Alternate universe Robins. “That movie where their moms are both called Martha”. The Haunted Tank. The Haunted Tank! What kind of kids’ show references The Haunted Tank?! And then there’s the fact that The Comedian’s blood-stained smiley face badge is on display in the Batcave. Let’s go back over that one: there are Watchmen references in this cartoon for six-year-olds.

Batman and Gordon: the original Teen Titans cartoon pretty much never mentioned any aspect of the universe outside of the five characters, barring one fleeting visual reference to the Batcave and the episode where you meet the Doom Patrol. TTG has no qualms about explaining that, yes, Robin is Batman’s sidekick. So we see the Batcave, and Wayne Manor, and Alfred. But it’s Batman’s relationship with Gordon that’s golden. Not just stoic men’s men who diligently work alongside one another, never questioning, never needing to; no, they’re best mates, giggling schoolkids who want to shirk off all work and just sit in their PJs watching crap on the telly. Like a superheroic version of Beavis and Butt-Head, they’re often there, in the background, goofing off, playing games, undercutting the narrative. It’s such a perfect inversion of Batman’s usual persona and a great way of referencing – in supremely silly terms – the deep bond of affection between the two men in most Batman fiction. I especially like when Superman gives Gordon to Batman as a birthday present.

The Night Begins to Shine: I know I said I wouldn’t single out one song, but we do need to talk about The Night Begins to Shine. More than just a cool song in one episode, it blossomed into a whole weird parallel universe filled with bizarre references to ‘80s heavy metal and, well, Heavy Metal. Almost coming off like a primary school version of Mandy, the multi-part epic about Cyborg fighting a giant dragon in the “Night” universe, complete with cameos from people like CeeLo Green and Fall Out Boy (as Transformers!), is just a thing of absolute beauty. Truly, the level of reference and artistry on display in terms of writing, composition, and animation won’t be understood by the kids watching now until they’re quite a bit older. They’ll come back to this in ten, fifteen, twenty years and think “wow, now I see what they were doing; that’s so, so weird”.

The Holiday Mascots: belligerent Santa is the king (“you garbage kids!”), a fat psychopath trying to take over every other holiday, but let’s spare a thought for the other representations of holidays, too. The creepy Tooth Fairy, who eats teeth. The turkey from Thanksgiving who is horribly mutilated. Uncle Sam. And the Easter Bunny. Oh my god, the Easter Bunny. Genuinely unsettling. Words can’t describe. Seriously, check it out, it’s some Babadook-level freaky shit.

Raven’s Legs: a little bit worrying when you’ve got two kids under seven watching it, but the fact that Raven is not just hiding very, very sexy legs underneath her cloak, but is also capable of becoming an entirely other superhero who uses her legs as weapons, is very, very funny. Watching Beast Boy go full Tex Avery when he sees Raven’s legs is one of those gags that, I guess, works on different levels if you’re a child or an adult. Regardless, turning snarky sourpuss Raven into golden-costumed Lady Legasus is a nice move.

Breaking the Fourth Wall: they only really do this explicitly once or twice, I think, but overall the show is incredibly self-referential. From Control Freak trying to get them rebooted or cancelled, to jokes about the animation or the writing, it’s beautifully self-deprecating. This reaches its apex in the 200th episode specials, when the Titans journey into “our” world. It’s hilarious to see them interact with their own voice actors, but for me it’s the note-perfect representation of directing voice actors that’s really funny, almost as good as Toast of London in its depiction. Plus the gag about everyone who works on the show being ultimately replaceable. A scathing indictment of the animation industry, wrapped up in an animation; like The Simpsons in its heyday.

Genuinely Quite Upsetting Violence: I don’t think I’d ever seen a cartoon for small children before that quite regularly featured its main characters having their bones visibly broken. And by “visibly” I mean “cutting to an X-ray of their limb to show the bone shearing in half or crumpling to dust”. It’s almost rare for an episode to go by without one or more of the Titans experiencing life-altering injuries. I’m honestly not sure how they get away with it. but it is funny. Apex moment? Oh, undoubtedly them beating the shit out of Shia LaBeouf in the movie.

Real-World References: clearly the people who make Teen Titans Go! are in their late thirties or early forties; people who grew up in the ‘80s and absorbed ‘80s culture. People who liked Transformers and Star Wars and Back to the Future, who listened to rock music, who liked toys and videogames. They probably grew into teenagers who were fans of obscure animations, cult movies, sci-fi, fantasy, horror. They are, basically, me. I think I would get on quite well with the creators of TTG, based on the things they reference. But beyond cultural appropriation, it’s the references to daylight saving’s time, “shareconomics”, American politics and history, “The Man”, and more, that is so wild and weird to see in a cartoon for young kids. They handle these topics beautifully (I’m honestly not sure if my kids think the things the Titans are talking about are real or not), but as a grown-up it’s really funny to see these gags in a kids’ cartoon. I mean, the Titans fight the Illuminati in one episode. They reference “lizard men in Congress”. It’s bonkers.

Nicolas Cage: in Teen Titans Go! To the Movies, Nicolas Cage plays Superman. That’s it. I mean, what more do you want? The guy whose whole career almost seems to have hinged on playing Superman finally gets to be Superman. The guy who was nearly – oh so nearly – Superman for Tim Burton is now, at last, Superman. The guy who named his kid Kal-El is now Superman. The guy who was namechecked in The Ultimates about eighteen years ago (“this guy wants to be a superhero almost as much as Nicolas Cage”) is now Superman. It’s such a meta-gag, such a high-level gag. Stunt casting taken to its nth degree. It’s even funnier than Billy Dee Williams playing Two-Face in LEGO Batman. And it got better – this part, I concede, beyond the purview of the TTG creators – because the same year he played Superman, Nicolas Cage also played (an alternate universe version of) Spider-Man in Into the Spider-Verse. And, as I alluded to above, starred in his own version of The Night Begins to Shine when he made Mandy. It all links!

There we go. my favourite things. This was tough, I had to leave a lot out. I’m particularly saddened by not finding room for Cyborg’s tiny body made up of wires whenever he removes his head. And The Jeff; gutted I missed The Jeff. Or the episode that references all the movie incarnations of Batman, including a dumpster full of Batman Forever and Batman & Robin stuff (I’ll save my argument that TTG serves as an even better comic analysis and deconstruction of the meta-character of Batman, and of Robin, than the much-ballyhooed LEGO incarnations for another day). It’s really a great show. I love it to bits. Go watch it.

#top ten #teen titans #teen titans go #teen titans go to the movies #cartoons #dc #comics #robin #starfire #raven #beast boy #cyborg

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silent-pirate-hunter · 7 years ago

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I had a prompt, if you wanna do it? Maybe Bim Trimmer doesn't really feel like part of the egos and like they don't like him, or at least some don't? And, like, it ends with the others finding out and fluff because they don't hate him like he thinks they do? Or, if you don't wanna do that, maybe some Bim and Bing bro fluff, they seem like they'd be close? Sorry for bothering you, but thanks for listening!

So I was planning on getting this out sooner, but life and the fact I wasn’t planning on writing nearly 3000 words for it got in the way. I loved the Bim whump idea! I don’t know if it’s quite what you were looking for, but I had a lot of fun writing it, so enjoy!

“Where is he?” Dark growled glancing around the room. The monthly meeting was meant to start nearly half an hour ago, but Dark knew that was too much to ask for. The egos were poor at stopping their own projects for anything, but even Wilford and the Author had pulled themselves into the conference room by now.

Wilford glanced up from where he was cleaning his nails with his knife and gave a shrug, “Don’t give me that look, Darkie. He didn’t come to the studio this morning,”

“He wasn’t at breakfast either,” Doc piped in, looking over his clipboard, “Which is odd since he usually tries to help cook,”

Author snorted and continued “Don’t look at me I kick the little sunshine ray out of my cabin every time he shows up,”

“Security cameras show he’s in his room,” Google reported, glancing up at Dark, “Would you like me to go retrieve him for you?”

“No need, bluebell,” Wilford cut in before Dark could answer him, clapping his hands. A puff of pink smoke engulfed the empty chair before fading revealing a figure they almost didn’t recognize.

“Bim?” Wilford asked mustache twitching. The ego squinted up at him, glasses missing. Gone was his suit jacket and his dress shirt was unbuttoned revealing his undershirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair hung limp in a tangled mess around his face.

“What?” He slurred, rubbing “Need me to clean up another body again Warfstache? Or did you just run out of coffee again?”

“Look around Trimmer,” Dark’s voice made Bim jump magic crackling around him, turning the walls fuschia.

“Wooo….” he said, eyes widening almost comical as he saw all of them, “Wasn’t expecting the whole group to be here? Did we have a meeting or something?”

“What’s gotten into you?” The author asked with a chuckle, “You’re not acting like your usual sunshine and rainbow self.” Bim snorted.

“I decided if none of you guys give a fuck about me,” As he raised the amber bottle they had missed in his hand in a salute, they all stiffened eyes going wide, “I’m just gonna numb the pain for awhile and forget I exist,”

“Is that alcohol?” Dr. Iplier snapped, jumping to his feet as color drained from his face. Bim raised an eyebrow before taking a deep swig.

“Yuppers!” He giggled slightly, “It’s good whiskey. I could summon you a bottle if you want,”

“Bim!” The doctor cried again, “Mark is missing a key enzyme in the breakdown of alcohol, That means all of us share his allergy. We could die from consuming alcohol, yourself included!”

They all expected him to drop the bottle. They all expected him to panic and rush the Doctor pleading to be saved. They all expected for him to snap back to the sweet innocent person they had interacted with in the last month.

They did not expect for him to laugh bitterly and chug the rest of the bottle down.

“Bim!” Wilford yelped eyes wide, “What are you doing??”

“Oh shut it, you cotton candy dick,” Bim’s words were getting more slurred as Wilford’s jaw snapped shut in shock, “Don’t act like you’d actually care about me dying. Just let me return to oblivion so I can be out of your guys’ hair.”

Google was on his feet, “You’ve stopped making sense Trimmer,”

Bim rolled his eyes summoning another bottle with a wave of his hand, “Oh come on!” He whined, unfocused gaze sweeping over all of them, “You can’t honestly think I’m so dense I didn’t notice that none of you like me. I’m not wanted, unneeded, worthless to this group. So why stick around?” Wilford made to grab the bottle out of his hand only for him to dodge out of the way sharply.

“Bim, you’re delusional,” Dark said, “Just put down the bottle and go to the clinic before you keel over,”

“Not going to be your puppet, Mr. Demon Emo,” Bim said, dodging as Wilford once again lunged at him“And I’m not delusional. You’ve all made it pretty clear that I’m not welcome here so why don’t you just let me sink to the bottom of this bottle,”

Wilford growled, magic snapping out at the game show host only for it to be deflected by a bright purple forcefield.

“What on earth are you talking about, Chap?”

Bim stopped laughing, face falling into a scowl, “You can’t be serious Warfstache?”

He glanced around at the group, eyes hard as he took in their features, “Wow maybe it’s just you guys that are dense as bricks,”

“Explain Trimmer,” Dark finally barked, as the other ego hummed to himself, sipping the poison in his hands.

“Have any of you guys been to the studio for more than five seconds?” He asked, “Like actually paid attention to how Wilford treats me there?”

They all turn to Wilford to who simply furrowed his brows. Bim growled, pacing around the room as he began his rant.

“He works me like an intern, no worse like a dog. I’m expected to do everything he tells me to, get coffee, clean up the dead bodies from when he accidentally shoots another contestant or interviewee, clean up and set up all of the segments, do most of the editing, and whatever else he doesn’t feel like doing,” He anger was making him slur more as he glared from behind his bangs at Wilford, “You do realize I was supposed to take over the game shows right? That was the sole reason I was created. I’m a game show host, meant to perform, and yet you haven’t let me see the front of a camera since I came to life because you’re so far up your own ass. How would you like it if you were told you couldn’t report but had to work 16 hour days anyway?”

“Wilford….” Dark said, the unasked question hanging in the air heavily. The man in question twirled a nervous finger through his mustache.

“You never complained before,” He offered weakly making Bim roll his eyes.

“Yes let me just complain to the psychopath that I’ve seen routinely shoot people and forget that stabbing can do bodily harm that I think he’s an egotistical moron that has his head so far up his ass he could lick the inside of his ribcage. I’m sure that would go over well,” He lifted the bottle to his lips again, dodging once more as Doc tried to snatch the bottle out of his hands, “I’ll go out on my own terms before I allow you to kill me.” Wilford huffed, eyes looking slightly glassy as he started firing off magic randomly at Bim. Bim didn’t even look at him as he dodged the spells way too accurately for his level of intoxication. He instead started to giggle and firing wildly with his own magic.

“Calm down Sunshine,” Author snapped, joining in the attempt to take the bottle away from the younger man, only for Bim to dive under his arm and turn his hair a vibrant red.

“Oh and the rest of you! God forbid I try and correct any of you, or even attempt to be helpful,” Bim laughed swaying slightly as he took another swig of liquor before continuing dodging “I mean not like you can make mistakes or anything.”

“Such as?” The Author asked, eyes following him with a hint of disbelief.

“Oh you’re a prime example,” Bim’s voiced grew sickly sweet as he pointed a finger at Author, changing his flannel into a pale pink flowery dress, “I mean there was no way I could have known the exact reason the scene where your main character finds the decomposing girl wasn’t working. Silly me for thinking I could help and not get a metal bat swung at my face!”

The older man cut his protest to the clothing change off, eyes widening,“You knew what was wrong?”

Bim was practically dancing around the room as Wilford gave up magic to simply try and tackle the host, “Of course I did, I love plants! I mean lovely imagery with the Lupines growing out of her chest, making her look impaled, only problem? You were in a shadowy forest with heavy foliage, Lupines need more sun then that setting should have provided. If you just changed the setting of the scene or switched to Blue Delphiniums, similar height, color, and growing pattern but Blue Delphiniums are great for shadowy areas, then it would have worked perfectly!”

The Author instantly dived for his papers, flipping through them muttering to himself in disbelief, how had he looked over something like that?

Bim ignored him, instead of swinging the bottle to point at Google as he leaped onto the table with ease he should not possess, “And you! I mean I may not be a supercomputer but I do know my way around a tv set, and I know how to fix most things in there. If you’d listen to me, you’d realized that camera you were trying to fix was an EFP Camera not quite the same as the Studio cameras and thus need different fixes when broken about two hours before you actually did.”

The android raised an eyebrow looking slightly taken aback, “That was what you were trying to say amidst your stuttering?”

“Excuse me for stuttering when Wilford was threatening me with fucking knife tickles as a robot looks like he wants nothing more than to rip out my spleen is glaring at me,”

Bi mumbled, giving a half smirk as he leaped over Wilford as the reporter dived for his feet. He stopped in front of the doctor.

“Oh and Don’t get me started on you, little mister pretend-to-be-nice but I mess up once and suddenly I might as well have killed your mother,” He whirled around to face the head of the table, “And then emo bitch over here-” A sudden red blur appeared knocking him over with a loud thump. The others blinked and saw King sitting on Bim’s stomach the bottle clutched in his hands.

“Bim?” He squeaked out, rubbing peanut butter on the label as he read it, “Why were you drinking? We can’t drink. Are you okay? Why hasn’t Doc taken you to the clinic? Doc, why didn’t you take him to the clinic?”

“Oh hiya, peanut butter face?” Bim said, smiling lightly, head rolling oddly around, “Why are you getting so fuzzy?”

“Bim!” King yelled as the ego under him went limp, head slamming into the table with a crack. He was off of him in a second, eyes flashing frantically between the others around him.

“What are you waiting for?” King snapped, an odd authority in his voice. Wilford snapped out of it first. With a snap of his fingers, Bim and the Doctor vanished from the room, no doubt reappearing in the clinic two floors below. The room was filled with an uneasy silence.

Meekly King asked, “What happened here?”

Dark let out a low chuckle, aura spasming behind him, “Wouldn’t we like to know,”

Bim hadn’t even fully regained consciousness when his head exploded in pain. White hot pokers stabbed at his brain as he struggled to either force himself into oblivion again or curl into a ball. Becoming a ball won out as he found himself with his head between his knees, taking deep breaths to stop himself from throwing up. Cool soft hands touched his face and made the pain fade down to a sharp ache. He glanced up to see Doctor Iplier stared down at him with a worried frown.

“You doing alright now, Bim?”

He gazed up at him confused, “What happened Doc?”

The older ego looked at him nervously, “You don’t remember anything?” Bim thought for a second before blushing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I- uh may have gotten a bit intoxicated last night,” He laughed not meeting the doctor’s eyes, “Sorry about that doc, I’ll get out of your hair.” He goes to stand, ignoring the protests from the Doctor only to freeze as a hard hand stiffens slightly around his wrist. He glances over only to see it connected to a slumped Google next to him, the blinking G on the android’s chest showing he was charging and ‘asleep’. Bim stared at him, jaw slack, confusion rolling off of him in waves. Google couldn’t stand him, right? So why was he slumbering next to him in an uncomfortable position, holding on to him no less?

“As I was trying to say,” The Doc broke Bim’s train of thought, “A lot more happened then you simply drinking…”

Bim sat in stun silence as the Doctor retold the events that he could not recall. Him being summoned to the meeting wasted, the allergy they all shared, him chugging the whiskey he had summoned after he learned the consequences, the bitter and unrestrained comments he had thrown around the room in his despair and pain, him dodging and weaving unafraid of the repercussions as he told each and every member in the room what he really thought, until King tackled him concerned for what was happening.

“After that, you passed out and have remained unconscious for the last 68 hours,” Doctor wrapped up, looking over Bim’s report, “You suffered a minor stroke, but since you’re not human you shouldn’t face any lasting damage, though you’ll probably feel drained and moderate aches due to your body and magic fighting the toxic buildup that forms when we try and drink alcohol, you should be back to feeling normal by the end of the week,”

BIm stared at him, biting his lip, “Doc, I’m-”

“If you’re about to say you’re sorry, then don’t,” The doctor sighed making Bim’s mouth snap shut, “Bim, you’re allowed to feel negatively about us, especially after everything that’s happened over the last month,”

Bim simply looked down at his lap, before tracing his eyes back along the metal arm attached to him to the sleeping android. A light beeping sounded and suddenly Google’s eyes started fluttering open.

“Trimmer,” He said sitting up slowly, “You’re awake,”

He blinked in confusion at the not so blank look on Google’s face, he looked almost… relieved?

“Yeah,” He reassured the bot, “I woke up a few minutes ago, Doc was just explaining what happened,”

“Good, then I’ll go retrieve the others and inform them you are conscious,” He replied, face falling back into the blank scowl he normally wore before he started out of the room, only to stop and glare over his shoulder at Bim, “Don’t you do something that stupid ever again, Trimmer,” and with that he was out of the room. Doc snorted at his bewildered facial expression.

“We may not be very good at showing our emotions, Bim,” the soft tone of the doctor was heavy and almost uncharacteristic of what Bim knew of the man, “but Dark, Google, Author, King, and Wilford all pestered me about when you would wake up and if you’d be alright,”

“But I thought,” Bim let his thought trail off.

“Dark and Google view emotion as weakness, I overwork myself too much for anyone’s liking, Author is too anxious about his writing to remember real people sometimes, and Wilford is more than a little mentally unbalanced,” The doc said heading for the door himself, “and yet I had to kick all of them out of the room the first night you were in here. They even ended up setting up shifts so you weren’t alone once while in here. The only reason Google was asleep when you woke up was that I hit the manual shut down on the back of his neck that makes him shut down and recharge until he reaches eighty percent. The fact he slept for seven hours meant he was practically running on fumes since you got here,”

With that thought, the Doctor told him he needed to check on other things, but would be back when the other five showed up to visit. As he left Bim felt the first true smile he had since his creation crawl onto his lips.

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mancitynoise · 7 years ago

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The build-up to any major tournament is a time of great uncertainty. Who will make the 23-man squad? How will England fare on the big stage? Who will they narrowly go out to on penalties in the quarter finals?

This summer, though, amidst the miasma of unknowns, there were two things so assured we could set our watches by them happening. In the immediate weeks leading up to a World Cup, The Sun would manufacture a scandal involving a member of the England squad. And their fall-guy was always going to be Raheem Sterling.

How did we know this for sure before it even came to pass? Well, the first bit required very little deduction beyond possessing a basic knowledge of the English media because this is what The Sun newspaper does; this is their M.O. Every two years without fail they feed into the excitement and anticipation of the general public and attempt to whip up a storm of indignity. Should one not immediately present itself they are more than happy to reach into the realms of the silly because they know if they shout loud enough about pretty much anything they hold sufficient sway over their readership to trigger a percentage to respond in kind.

For The Sun – and let’s be clear here that other tabloids are guilty of such nefariousness but never is Murdoch’s rag anywhere other than leading from the front – this bi-annual approach is win-win-win. The morally bankrupt institution stations itself erroneously as the nation’s moral arbitrator. They shift units. And they destabilise the national football team thus increasing the chances of failure which in turn leads to a greater capacity for sensationalistic headlines.

So we duly waited for it to come, as sure as night follows day and faux outrage feasts on something good and positive.

But why Sterling? How could we be so certain it would be the Manchester City striker targeted? That was elementary. After all, it was hardly going to be Albion’s great white hope Harry Kane was it? His persona has already been carefully defined as a clean-cut hero complete with childhood sweetheart. Should the Spurs forward stumble – as he did in Euro 2016 – that can be left to the sports guys to deal with. Should he prevail and score lots of goals, that affords the country’s second largest selling newspaper a golden opportunity to wheel out the white van icon Geoff Hurst and have the pair pictured together arm-in-arm in a front page splash for the ages. If the Sun reporter could sneak in a framed photograph of Douglas Bader on the wall behind them then all the better.

What then of Jordan Pickford’s tattoo of a dagger? Presently the disturbing increase in knife crime is a national talking point so perhaps there was a potential – and utterly ludicrous – tie-in there? Perhaps Pickford was a contender? But no: the Everton keeper looks like a lost puppy and he is young, bless him (he is one year older than Sterling). Furthermore, he is white.

It was always going to be Sterling because it always is Sterling.

There he is tired, look, because it’s the middle of the night; and driving an unwashed car because he doesn’t give a s**t; and openly mocking our cheap eating habits by scoffing a sausage roll; and openly mocking our cheap flying habits by using easyJet and then openly mocking our bank balances by taking TWO expensive holidays.

Look there he is, the unscrupulous swine, proposing like a love-rat; and showing off a sink he’s bought his mum that is better than the type us hoi polloi get from Homebase; and going to Primark while on a gazillion a week and getting his batteries from Poundland and just when you think the toe-rag couldn’t disgrace himself more, he then goes off to have some breakfast after missing out on a Young Player of the Year Award! There he is, Sterling the ‘footie idiot’ (The Sun); a ‘symbol of the amorality at the heart of the so-called Beautiful Game’ (Mail Online).

Ever since a 20-year-old Sterling had the temerity to switch from one Premier League club to another in 2015 (one of 27 players who did so that summer alone) an industry of hate has built up around a clearly decent and perfectly normal young man. It has been a relentless, obsessive and downright weird campaign, unprecedented in its voracity and designed to turn Raheem into a national bogeyman (or a ‘symbol of amorality’).

So with a scapegoat needed to undertake their traditional pre-tournament bashing of the national football team, why on earth would The Sun waste all of their hard work castigating someone entirely new? The groundwork had already been done and that’s a huge understatement, while frankly it’s barely an overstatement to claim that so poisonous has been their coverage that on Tuesday they need only have put up a large photograph of the player with his name below it. That alone would have riled up the haters no end. Look at him there, playing football. Like he thinks he’s better than us.

As it was they went with a tattoo featuring an assault rifle on the player’s calf, but let’s move past that for two interconnected reasons. Firstly, the story is ridiculous and manufactured. It’s the faux-outrage that is outrageous, not what a footballer has inked onto his body. Secondly, the non-issue has thankfully been debunked, ridiculed and levelled with reason elsewhere many times over.

Yet there is one aspect to the farrago that has not been mentioned enough in my opinion, and more so it’s an aspect that directly relates to what this article is about – which is not the witch-hunt of a player per se (a subject I have written about several times for this very site) but questioning why The Sun insists on demoralising its national team ahead of every major tournament.

Should you have picked up The Sun newspaper earlier this week and seen their hysterical coverage of the offending tattoo it would be understandable if you assumed the ink was barely dry. Perhaps Sterling had intended to premiere it at the World Cup? If it was a magic tattoo that is with the ability to radiate through his sock.

In fact a reliable report has suggested that it was done way back in late October and even if that’s not the case it was certainly done prior to City winning the league as photographs of Raheem celebrating clearly show the tattoo in evidence.

So The Sun sat on this. They waited and given they have previously screamed blue murder over the player in question eating cereal or walking alongside a female mate in Jamaica, it can be surmised that it was not a story relegated to their in-tray without good reason.

They waited for the season to finish. They waited for the excitement and anticipation of England’s participation in Russia 2018 to build up some steam. They waited for the most damaging time to mentally disrupt a key figure for Gareth Southgate’s team, a player who scored 23 times last season and was otherwise flying.

This therefore was not just an attack on Raheem Sterling. This was an attack on our national side.

Which, as previously stated, is The Sun’s M.O.

Unique to this country to attempt to destroy our players morale before a major tournament. It’s weird, unpatriotic and sad. https://t.co/vCfVTm9w0r

— Gary Lineker (@GaryLineker) May 28, 2018

“Unique to this country to attempt to destroy our player’s morale before a major tournament. It’s weird, unpatriotic and sad”. That’s how Gary Lineker this week described the newspaper’s fetish of undermining our hopes and the only criticism I have towards his response lies in the use of ‘unpatriotic’.

It should have been written out in capital letters.

So why do they do it, this comic that hilariously professes to have the country’s best interests at heart? Pure and simple it comes down to numbers and opportunity, because prior to any major sporting event a vacuum needs to be filled, a disparity that has a lot of interest from the general public but not a great deal to write about. So that’s all it is really. A business decision. A chance to shift a few extra papers even if it means shafting something that its readers hold dear.

It of course doesn’t end there, though. That’s just the start of it. This summer – just like 2016 and 2014 and 2012 and 2010 and back through time – The Sun, having given ‘our boys’ an entirely unnecessary kicking to weaken their resolve will then enact a staggering volte-face come the tournament’s kick-off.

Indeed by the middle of June this joke of a publication will turn full John Bull, plastering tub-thumping jingoism onto its front page while alluding that 11 footballers are going into battle, held strong by the ghostly spirit of the Somme. We few, we happy few. We band of brothers.

Personally I find this stage to be the most unnerving. It’s like a psychopath enquiring about the health of old Mrs Higgins down the road while cradling a puppy. It gives me the creeps if truth be told.

Then, when England exit having been defeated by a very good international rival another volte-face; another dramatic shift. They are a disgrace who should not be allowed back into the country. The manager is a vegetable. The venom returns. The fangs. The spite.

This familiar, well-worn pattern reveals highly schizophrenic tendencies but an individual can be schizophrenic not a major news organisation staffed by hundreds. So we have to ask ourselves – which is their natural state of being? Which is the real Sun and which extreme is fake?

Surely deep down even the Manchurian Candidates who swallow the newspaper’s lies and bile wholesale must know the answer to that one. Hate leaves ugly scars that are visible to even the blind.

Don’t buy the Sun. In football, as in life, they set out only to do England down for their own advancement. They are the enemy within.

They are a tattoo that we wish was temporary but which stains our very soul.

#FootballFanCast #News

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