#I am sitting with this but I think Wagner is more interested in the humanity of what is seen as 'freakshow' than say Morrison in B&R09

[zahri-melitor]

Rebirth is going okay but I’m pretty busy between uni and work right now so I’ve switched over to reading more Matt Wagner stuff and. uh. hmm.

The man is interested in the grotesque and the internal-external expression of horror. Which 100% translates to what he's worked on over the years: Batman stories about the Monster Men, about Two-Face, about Riddler. Sandman Mystery Theatre. The Demon. Madame Xanadu. Doctor Mid-Nite. House of Mystery.

(Honestly amazed he got to write a Trinity story, but the contents of that story now make more sense to me in context).

But reading it can be a bit, well, this comic story, Faces, was written in 1992, wasn’t it? (LOTDK #28-30).

It's not that it's badly told, but the themes of body horror surrounding Two-Face and that very late 80s/early 90s ugly art style aesthetic (the wider cartooning style one, not the Liefeld/Image one) are a lot to take in and it's somewhat callous in how it portrays the humanity of the Monster (TM).

I really, really disbelieve that, Wagner. My understanding is that they largely died out around the 1950s or so, and your story here is more reacting to the early 1990s revival scene and the discussion surrounding the future of circus at that time in terms of the decrease in animal acts, the increase in physical feats and the ethics of it all.

It's interesting. But the approach to the interrogation of the topic is going to catch modern readers off guard.

[a-complex-joke]

Zero to Mutant Chapter 4

MASTERLIST

Kurt POV

After getting settled into our rooms at the motel we had a team meeting

“So who was it? Tell us tell us tell us!” Jubilee pleaded

“It would seem the Mutant Prober, has identified the mutant as Emily, but we still have no idea what her ability is, and if she has any clue, either way she saw Night Crawler. We need to finish this up quickly before word gets out” Scott informed them.

“I think we should just speak with her about it, you know catch her after work and ask what she knows” Rouge suggested.” but Logan has suggested we should use my power to transfer her abilities to find out what it is”

“As much as I hate to admit it Logan has a point it would be best to know what we are dealing with and bringing her back here to question her would be safer”

“See even Laser Boy agrees with me”

So that is what we did after work Rouge and I waited by Emily’s car.

“Oh hey rouge did you need something?”

“Ah no, Suga. I was just hoping to speak with you. Just don’t panic, OK?” she rested her ungloved hand on Emily’s arm.

“Why would I panic?” her words stopped as she started to slump over.

“Ok Kurt let's put her in the back seat, I'll drive.”

“Do you feel anything different?”

“Not really, less comfortable I guess”

“Weird I feel the same, almost more than before, could her power relate to other people's feelings”

“Could be, for now, let's just focus on meeting up with the others”

*later*

I think they were a little paranoid, they tied her to the side chair.

When she woke up we stood around her

“Rouge? what. what‘s going on, why am I tied up” She struggled against the resistance

“Hi Emily, so… we’ve got some interesting news for you” Jubilee spoke up

She looked around confused, before her eyes landed on me sitting on the bed

“What's going on?” she said with a perplexed smile.

“We are all mutants, humans born with special abilities. And we believe you to be one of us” Rouge sighed

She laughed. “I'm getting punked right, tell me oh wise mutants if I'm one of you then what is my ability”

“We were hoping you could tell us” 

“Emily. My power allows me to absorb powers along with other things, when I took yours I felt nothing different, yours may be one you can’t affect, the one thing we found was we all felt more relaxed around you once your power returned”

She stared into space, releasing that this must not be a joke.

“So you're saying my power is to calm people down” 

“No. well maybe, if you come with us back to the school we can-”

“Whoa, let's not get ahead of ourselves, what school are you talking about”

“It’s a school for people like us, Professor Xavier runs it and he should be able to tell you more about your abilities” Scott answered.

“That is if you are willing to come with us” I finally spoke.

She stared at me, seeming to weigh her options, “Sure, I got nothing better going on, but I would prefer to be untied and be able to pack some things before then”

The others quickly untied her.

“Don’t worry im not gonna run or anything, I have a feeling that even if I did you’d have no trouble finding me” she joked.

After a little more chatter, the group split letting Emily go to her own devices.

She walked up to me “I believe we met slightly, a day or so ago. But it seems it was on the wrong foot. I'm Emily and you are?” she offered her hand

“Im Kurt Wagner, but the others usually call me Nightcrawler” I wasn’t quite sure what to say or do.

“Well, which would you rather I call you?” she lowered her hand.

“Oh… ether is fine”

“Well it was nice to meet you, Kurt officially I mean” and with that, she left.

[mxvladdy]

THE WAY YOU FILLED YOUR FIRST REQUEST SHOOK ME?!?!?!? YOU BLESSED US!? Would you mind also imagining how Mammon, Luci and Belphie would feel with a MC who's guarded with themselves and their feelings to avoid hurt, so they try to keep these brothers at a friendly arm's length as they don't believe the brothers don't really care about them? It would make me so happy, thank you so much!

EEEEK! Sorry for the wait. It took forever and a day to get enough time to seat uninterrupted and then try to edit ;.;

I hope you like it! Apologies if I didn’t get the prompt just right!

Mammon

He didn’t hide his disdain for his human protection duty when you first met. The fact that you kept him at an arm's length was a devil’s blessing. Good! He is a busy demon after all, he doesn’t have time for some human. At first.

Then he caught the feels and it’s all downhill for him at his ‘cool devil’ act. Not that you ever NOTICED.

He tries to flirt with you. Before you, he thought he was good at it too.

He’s never had someone so civil with his advances. You smile and laugh politely at whatever complement he throws at you. You might even give him a few back in a teasing, but clearly friendly manner.

You stress it heavily whenever he comes on too heavy with his advances. You stamp down whatever feelings he evokes and try to keep your line clean and precise in the shifting sand of your relationship.

He takes you out one evening after school, determined to get an actual answer from you over some made up snack he lied about. You don’t think anything of it, happy for an excuse to hang out. You walk and talk, not taking notice of his steadily reddening face as he keeps making swipes at your hand each time it brushes his.

You make an off-handed (get it) remark about the closeness and offer to walk behind this was bothering him.

He is miffed and throws out all semblance of “coolness”. Just flat out confess. Face flaming hot from embarrassment and sweaty palms now shoved into his jacket.

It was a blink and you’d miss it kind of moment. Mammon’s cheeks start to heat gradually. A staunch look of panic growing behind his eyes.

The words just slip off his tongue. His lips forming a sentence you were dreading. You didn’t quite catch it all; his declaration lost in the wind of the open market. You try to catch his gaze, to make him repeat himself clearly, for what purpose you didn’t know. You don't particularly want to hear it again, yet it would give you time to compose some kind of response.

He refuses to look at you. No matter which way you bob and weave beneath him, he dances around you. His face always looking in the opposite direction of yours. His gaze permanently pointing at his feet. The uneven cobblestone beneath his scuffed boots was suddenly very interesting it seemed. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that." You ask once more, grabbing on to the crook of his elbow.

He buries himself deeper into the flipped collar of his coat and whispers it again. "I-I like ya, ok? Like like like ya know?" He stumbles over his thoughts.

Now how in the hells were you supposed to dodge this? It had been easier to evade his blatant affections when even he wasn't admitting to them. "No, you don't." You step away with a dry chuckle. "Don't be silly." You back away shaking your head in denial. You were sure Mammon could feel your heart rate picking up. You need some space, more space than the street could give you. Somewhere away from your tall, sweet, white-haired problem.

"Oi!" He makes a grab for you as you turn to flee. He spins you around leaning down to meet with you face to face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We are friends Mammon," You try to wiggle out of his strong, yet gentle grip. "You're just mixing up the feelings." Bullshit. With him touching you, your joint pack acted like an amplifier. You very much felt what he thought of you. The yearning from his newfound mental clarity mixes with the panic of your rejection. It makes a bittersweet taste bloom in your mouth, so hopefully yet reserved.

He was not so lucky. Your feelings felt like ash on his tongue, a sour tang of fear and self-doubt building on his sense. You were afraid of the inevitable, or what you presumed to be the inevitable.

  You were supposed to be friends then disappear forever once the school year was up. Him, down here, and you back to being just another nameless soul in the human realm. No need to get the storyline all tangled. "Hey-hey," Mammon speaks in a rush. "It ain't like that, really." He coos shuffling you closer till you are wrapped tightly in his soft leather jacket. He pours more of himself into the pack, opening himself up in ways he never thought capable of from his demonic form.

"I'm stupid." You speak into his chest. The warm reassurance of his unspoken pledge soothing you. It lessens the tight feeling of uncertainty that you had grown accustomed to.

"Ah- now, ain't that supposed to be my job?" The taste in his mouth dissipates slightly as you let out an indignant huff. He flinches as you poke his side hard between his rib cage.

"Told you to stop talking down on yourself Mammon."

The demon hums noncommittally keeping you close. He rocks you both from side to side, oblivious to the throngs of other pedestrians forced to walk around you two. "Guess I forgot. Maybe you could remind me? O-on a date?"

He smiles down at the little sliver of your face and eyes peeking up from the darkness of his jacket. He could damn near feel the smile trying to break from your forced scowl. "Just one?"

"Heh- don't bet on it."

Lucifer

Welcome to the ultimate game of pleasantry chicken. The two of you know this dance by heart, but your footwork isn't synching up.

Lucifer is trying to keep this whole debacle as professional as possible. You are an esteemed guest and pact holder for all of his brothers and himself. This should be business as usual. He totally has his emotions and growing frustration at your lack of interest in him in check.

Yup. He's fine. He's great; glad you two have such an unspoken understanding of your standing in his company and in the house. The same book, same chapter, same bloody page.

You are a good friend. Just. A. Very. Good. Friend.

He breaks first. Not that he will admit it. But the weekly coffee breaks become a bi-daily thing as he tries to court you. He draws these evenings out now. Have you finished your schoolwork? No, allow me to tutor you. Perhaps you would like to listen to this new vinyl with me tonight? It is a complete demon rendition of Wagner's Die Meistersinger. A classic, you’ll love it.

You take it all in stride. Thanking him innocently enough and going along with it. You buffer every little turn of phrase and slightly off-color hint of what he wanted from you with grace. So tactfully done he begins to doubt himself. You couldn’t be misconstruing his intentions right? He hasn’t doubted himself like this in a long time.

Diavolo catches on quickly to the kicked puppy look Lucifer tots around in your presence. He’ll tease, but try to help. He’s a decent wingman truth be told. “How has Lucifer been treating you? I haven’t seen him this happy in ages. He is a great friend to have, yes?” Kinda backfires when you agree that he is indeed a good friend. Oops.

He’ll crack one night over a glass (or bottle) of something strong he pulled from his study. You had slipped into his room unannounced asking for a quiet place to read before bed.  The interruption to his musings leads to him running his mouth and pile driving his pride into the ground.

He can’t say no to you anymore. He really should. You were hell bent on keeping him at an arm's length, so he should too. Lucifer watches you like a hawk from behind his desk. His ungloved fingers swirling the dregs of his drink. The cognac inside of it looking up at him, his scowl reflecting in the rich red liquor. Don’t judge me. He scoffs at himself, was he that far gone that he was arguing with his glassware? Should have switched to the bottle hours ago.

“Luci?” You say again waving a hand in his face. “You forget to sleep again this week?” Your smile was warm, a little twinkle in your eye drawing a heat to his collar that had nothing to do with the spirits. You sit on the edge of his desk in your sleepwear. The baggy shirt and sweats reeked of his brothers.

“No.” He lies pushing his desk chair away. “Did you need something?”

You shrug hopping off the desk. “Not really. Wasn’t feeling movie night. You ok if I hang out here? It’s nice and quiet.” You slink off to the couch in front of the fire before he could answer.

“You could not do this in your room?” Lucifer snips. He tosses back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet. He grimaces at the burn spreading across his throat. “I’m sure it is quiet in there too.” He catches your eyes looking over the back of the lounge. While everything lower than the bridge of your nose was blocked by the black velvet he could feel the frown growing on your face.

“Well, yes. But I still want some friendly company. Just not rowdy company, I thought you wouldn’t mind...”  

Devils. There was that word again. "You assume to know me?" He cannot hide the venom lacing his words. The liquor had dulled his senses enough that he could not hide his rancor.

“I’m-” You leave the chair coming around it to give him your full attention. This wasn’t like him. Not anymore at least. But you were used to the odd mood swings that plagued your companions. "I don’t assume anything about you Luci. But if you want to talk-"

“I don’t want to have some idle friendly chit chat.” He could feel the tantrum coming. “Have I not proven myself capable of-” His jaw snaps shut with an audible click that echoes across the spacious chamber.

“Of?”

A noticeable blush grows on his pale cheeks. “More.” He sighs deeply, he feels light-headed at the admission. Whether it was from the drinks or from going against his nature and swallowing his pride he couldn’t tell. “Am I not enough to be more than a friend to you?”

That takes you by surprise. You had speculated that he harbored feelings for you. Diavolo all but cementing the idea in your mind. But, this was Lucifer. It felt like just yesterday you were at each other's throats, before he recognized you as something other than a threat to his family. You wanted to respect that little bit of trust he had given you. “It’s not like I never thought about it.”

“But?” He perks up slightly hearing the unspoken word in your inflection. He could see your apprehension yet there was a shimmer of something else underneath. Something he could work with.

“I was- I am scared.”

“Finally, a reasonable response from being around demons.” Lucifer snorts.

“Hey! You know that’s not what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.” He invades your space waiting to see what you would do. Run or stay. He would have his answer either way. You don’t move, instead, you wrap your arms around yourself. Guarding yourself yet standing firm. One of the many reasons why he admired you.

“I feel like we just became friends. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to mess this all up.” You confess. “I just thought it would be easier this way.”

Lucifer absorbs your words quietly, nodding at the logic behind them. “Messes are not something I generally like true, but," He reaches for you, careful of your defensive stature to lead you back to the couch. “If you are willing to iron out the bumps with me I’d like to see what we can make of it.”

If it meant he could have you he would take as much time as you needed.

Belphegor

It takes him the longest to notice that you were trying to keep him at arm's length emotionally. It was hard for him to see at first since you still readily accepted his invitations to snuggle and hang out.

He thought he was very blatant with his desire for you and your affections. The head pats and evening is the planetarium or his attic.

The fact that he had apologized for that little murder mishap. He thought that was a big bright neon sign. Yet you always seemed to try to invite someone else along to chill or leave quickly after an hour or so. As much as he loved his twin and tolerated his other brothers he was trying to get you ALONE.

He starts trying to see you outside the house now too. Lunch in the cafeteria? Pffft. You are going to eat and nap with him in the courtyard. After School activities? Could you help him with some council stuff instead?

Yes, he will go out of his way to do work if you are involved.

You are still too closed off though. You act around him like you do around any of the other brothers and it drives him crazy. You are just so friendly and cordial with everyone. How come he is the only one that becomes a flushing mess now?

He becomes your second shadow, almost as bad as Mammon. You start to get an inkling of his intentions when he starts wanting to sleep in your bedroom at night instead of his or the attic. You let him but offer up the couch or split the bed with a pillow.

He snoops when he gets desperate. Did you like someone else? Was that why you were constantly acting like his advances were just him being overly friendly? He doesn’t find anything, you act like this around everyone else too.

He gives up. Stops interacting with you entirely. He is 99% sure he can sleep through the next century without being bothered. Maybe he’ll get over you by then.

“Belphie? You up here?” The demon in question opens a bleary eye to his locked door. He should stay quiet, leave you hanging. Give himself some vindictive pleasure in snubbing you.

“Hai~” He rises from his nest of blankets and pillows. “Hold on.” Unlocking the door he opens it ajar. You smile around the large stack of books and binders in your arms. “What is that?” Please don’t say homework.

“Work you’ve missed sulking up here.” You confirm his worst fear. “Satan and I thought we would spot you a bit though.” Belphegor watches you struggle for a second to pull a folded piece of paper out from the middle of the stack. “We got most of the answers done for you. Now you just have to fill the worksheets in with your handwriting.” You wave the paper expectantly.

Hearing his brother’s name makes him sour immediately. How long had you been hanging out with him now? “Thanks, leave them at the door then.” He goes to shut the door and return to his dreamless slumber but it’s blocked by your foot.

“Ouch.” You wince hopping back on one foot.

“Idiot! Are you hurt?” He wrenches the door open crouching down to take a look at your sock-covered foot.

“Nothing I can’t walk off. Though my arms are getting sore- weak human muscles an’ all.” You hint wiggling the stack in your arms. He takes the work this time, still eyeing your foot. “Relax, I’ve stubbed my toe with more force than that before.” You whisk by him, using his brief moment of distraction to slip by.

“Did I invite you in?” Belphegor eyes you with a frown. He kicks his door close and dumps the pile of papers on his already over-encumbered desk. Hmm. How many days had he missed?

You ignore him plopping down on the still warm sheets. “Nope!” You pop the ‘p’ with a grin. “But that has never stopped you from sneaking into my room. So fair trade all around.” You pat at the bed, clearing inviting him to join you. “Come on. I’ll help you finish that work then we can chill.”

Oh, now you want to hang out. He felt a rush of bitterness wash over him.  “Don’t you have something better to do?” If this keeps up he’ll need another nap, alone preferably. “Doesn’t Asmo need a shopping buddy or something?”

“What’s gotten you all worked up?” You frown, hurt by his accusatory tone.

Belphie shoots you a wounded look. "We never hang out anymore." He sulks. "Alone, I mean. I'm tired of you always inviting Beel or someone else with us."

He glances over to you idly thumbing at one of the books on his desk. It's frustrating. This game of touch and go he accidentally got himself into. Ugh- why did this have to be so hard. "I want to spend more time with you. Just us, so why are you always avoiding that?" 

"I.” You look down at your feet dangling off the side of his mattress. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I just felt like- like things were going off the rails between us.” You weren't oblivious to his advances.

He cocks his head in confusion. "Mmm? What are you afraid of?" You read a flicker in his eyes, a haunting memory of cruel fingers around your neck darken his gaze. "Ah-"

"No! No that's not it!" You panic waving your hands up. Of course, he would immediately go to that. "I'm just worried. I know you like me, and-just what if things don't work out? What if you realize what a mistake this could be?"

Your admission gives him pause. So you knew this whole time? Not surprising; he wouldn't fall for someone stupid. "So, are you admitting to liking me back?" He feels giddy when you nod, covering your heating face with your hands. " Well then, what’s the problem? It’s not a mistake if we both are making it.” He grins slyly. “How can it not work out if the feelings are mutual.”

“But what if you are mistaken?” He wraps you up into his arms, flopping you both over onto his messy bed. He takes one of your hands and places it on the top of his head all while burying his nose in your neck.

“Please,” He yawns, feeling his body grow heavy. “I don’t waste my energy on ‘mistakes’.”

[aminiatureworld]

Frustration II

Characters: Albedo, Kaeya, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,820

Premise: Commissions don’t always go as planned, much to your frustration. Luckily there’s someone there to make you feel better.

Author’s Note: Okay I did not predict the first part of this becoming the most successful fic on this blog to date. The people have spoken! So I come to you with more characters, hopefully this will make up for leaving Zhongli in the dust yesterday – that and the fact that his scenario turned out to be the longest to write out of all of them. I also have a few other characters for this prompt in mind, we’ll see. Also wow I don’t know how to title sequels.

Once more my deepest thanks to the 115 people who liked, the 8 people who reblogged, and the one person who commented on the first part. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see that people are interested in what I write. It makes me so stupidly happy, so thank you so very much.

Albedo

“I understand that Forsaken Ruins are supposed to hide secrets and all, but honestly how many boxes can one put in the same area before someone tells you it’s time to stop.”

Albedo said nothing in reply, eyes focused intently upon the graduated cylinder and glass pipette in his hands. You watched as he counted the drops under his breath, nodding slightly as the clear water in the cylinder shifted to a rather unimpressive muddied brown. Regardless of the color evidently the alchemist was satisfied, for he stoppered the cylinder and returned the remaining liquid of the pipette into its original container, arranging everything on the shelves, and leaving the rest in the small sink.

“Silver nitrate.” He explained, wiping his hands on a cloth, before going towards where you were sitting cross legged on a stool near the countertop that worked as his desk. “Now tell me about why you’ve been digging up boxes near the Forsaken Ruins.”

“It’s for a commission. You know Bao’er?”

“That suspicious woman from Liyue I keep telling you is probably a bandit?”

“That one.” You nodded curtly, glancing down at your hands. “And bandit or not she keeps commissioning me, I can’t very well not accept. Anyways, she’s been looking for some sort of treasure, but no matter what I give her it’s never what she’s looking for. Do you know how irritating it is to have a passive aggressive customer angry at you about something they did? I mean really.” You huffed in frustration.

“Have you considered the fact that she might just be using you to dig up all the treasure in that area.” There was slight amusement in Albedo’s voice, and your head shot up in response.

“Well forgive me for doing my job.” You shook your head, not truly believing there was any bite behind the alchemist’s words. He was right after all, and you weren’t altogether upset to know that someone else shared your suspicions of this person who kept commissioning you with no end in sight.

“Forgive me love.” Albedo walked over and gave your slightly hunched figure a hug. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning your head into his shoulder. The position you two in wasn’t necessarily comfortable, but there was nowhere proper for you both to sit, and besides Albedo’s embrace was so warm and secure you didn’t mind craning your neck a bit.

“You’ll get there eventually.” Albedo’s voice was steady, confident, as if he’d somehow calculated the fact that eventually this mad goose chase would end, had seen it in one of his many experiments.

“How would you know?” You whispered, still feel a bit contrary, though your frustration had long ebbed away.

“I just do. You can master anything with time you know. That’s the secret of science, the secret of alchemy. In the end it cannot be done without endurance, and I know that your endurance is one to withstand any storm.”

“Only when you’re cheering me on.” You replied, hugging Albedo a bit tighter.

“Oh that’s not true.” Albedo responded in kind, running circles along your back. “You’d do just fine without me. But I’ll be here for you regardless. So don’t forget that every question can be answered and every quest completed. It just takes a little time. We’re all humans in the end, regardless of vision or power. Just humans, and to be human is to sometimes need a little time.”

You nodded, lifting your head to glance into his face, usually passive and clear as ice, now filled with warmth and fondness, smile filled with fondness and love.

“Besides.” Albedo loosened his arms around you, instead reaching to help you off from the stool, laughing slightly as you stumbled, feet having fallen asleep. “I don’t see Bao’er doing any of the digging. How about you remind her of that next time she has an ill word.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” You replied, before leaving the lab, hand pressed firmly into Albedo’s and heart much lighter than before.

 Kaeya

“My darling!” Kaeya leapt down the steps outside the Headquarters of the Knights of Favonius, feet barely seeming to touch the ground, before sweeping you up in a hug. “It’s been too long and I’ve missed you so much.” He declared, ignoring the fact that it’d only been about 8 hours, instead peppering your face with small kisses, before registering the look of frustration clearly being worn by you.

“What’s wrong?” He drew back a bit, though not much, curiosity and worry in his eyes, hands gripping yours. You smiled, shaking your head; Kaeya always seemed to be ready to worry about your happiness, not that you didn’t find that completely charming.

“It’s nothing really important.” You were looking to assure him, but instead Kaeya’s frowned deepend.

“Nonsense. Anything that’s clearly making you so unhappy is of utmost importance. I’d like to know what it is, if you don’t mind. I’d like to help.”

“You’re helpful you being here.” You smiled, giving him a belated peck on the cheek. “But if you must know I’ve got a commission that needs to be done in an hour, and I have no idea how I’m going to accomplish it. You know how there’s a large vein of Crystal in Stormterror’s Lair? Well Wagner asked me to go mine some for him, easy stuff normally. Apparently though the mouth of the vein is situated right in the path of a ruin guard, and I’ve had a terrible time trying to do battle with the thing while being bogged down by mining equipment.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I mean really this shouldn’t be that hard. Why am I struggling so much? Wagner isn’t asking that much, he’s a good person. I’m just… inept.” You finished, by then your nails had begun digging into your palms. Kaeya noticed this and brought your hands up to kiss them, smiling as you reddened slightly and shook your head, a smile nevertheless tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Well I won’t tell you that Wagner is being utterly too demanding and that you have a right to a safe work environment,” you snorted at that, as if an adventurer’s work environment was ever safe, “but I will tell you that, since the best, most handsome, most daring Knight of Favonius has fallen hopelessly in love with you, he is willing to do the mining while you use that ruin guard to blow off some steam. Does that sound like a good deal?”

“I can’t believe you’re sitting out a chance to fight and instead are becoming a miner.” You smirked, placing a kiss on Kaeya’s jaw. “But really how could I ever turn down such an offer from such a gallant knight.”

“You’d run back to Wagner and give his ears a rightful scorching I’d hope.” Kaeya replied, linking his arm in yours.

“Hmm… unlikely.” You replied, leaning into the knight. “But thank you Kaeya. Truly, thank you. I know it’s not your job to fix commissions. It means a great deal to me that you’re willing to do this.”

“Of course I’m willing.” Kaeya smiled softly. “You’ve saved me from failing my job too, in more ways than you think. And even if that weren’t true, which it is, I love you so very dearly, and this is a small way to show it.”

You nearly ran into a lamppost, your face pressed into Kaeya’s shoulder, face warm and heart full of love.

 Zhongli

You really didn’t want to tell Zhongli.

That was the thought running through your mind as you hurried up the steps to the funeral parlor. You really didn’t want to tell him.

It’d been little more than a month since he’d given up his position as god of the city, little more than a month since the citizens of Liyue had begun the arduous task of ruling their own city in earnest. And little more than a month since you and the Geo god had begun your courtship. You relationship was still new, and though you’d thankfully mostly lost the sense of smallness that had initially come with falling in love with someone so powerful and so unending as a deity, though you now longer thought the love between you was something that could shatter at any moment, you still were a bit reticent to throw all your insecurities and mundane frustrations at Zhongli’s feet.

The smell of incense hit you the moment you entered, a bit overwhelming at first, but soon comforting and familiar. You exchanged a few words with Hu Tao, before walking over to Zhongli’s office, pace speeding up despite yourself. You might not have wanted to tell Zhongli about your day, but you desperately wanted to see him, as you always did when all was said and done. There was something about his presence, comforting and sturdy, and always filled with kindness and understanding.

Understanding. Zhongli would understand, of course he would. But you still didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to see his face cloud over with worry as you knew it would. He cared so very deeply, even if he didn’t always express it he truly did. Hidden under layers of politesse, tradition, and decorum there was simply someone who cared so very deeply. And thus someone who was often and easily hurt.

“Hello darling.” You said, entering the office quietly. Zhongli had been reading a scroll, but he quickly set it down, a smile erupting across his face as he stood up and met you halfway, enveloping you in a hug, which you gladly reciprocated. “I’ve missed you.” You said, voice muffled by his chest.

“I’ve missed you too, so very much.” He replied softly, one hand running itself through your hair absentmindedly, the other wrapped around your waist. “The days are terribly slow without you. I never noticed before how an afternoon can stretch so long.”

“Well I’m here now.” You replied, leaning back and bit to cup the archon’s face in your hands. Zhongli placed one of his hands on yours, leaning into your palm, smiling contentedly.

“I’m glad of it.” He said those words often enough, but every time it made your heart speed a bit. You felt so full of happiness you could almost forget the irritation of the earlier hours.

Almost.

“How were your commissions today?” It was early evening by now, and golden light was starting to slant through the windows. Zhongli was cleaning up a bit as you watched, smiling slightly. That smile slipped however once the question was asked, not that you didn’t know it was coming, as you two often asked each other about your days, each being a bit fascinated with the other’s job in some respect.

“It was alright. Fairly ordinary.” You tried keeping your answers brief and your tone light, though you could already hear the sharpness in your voice. Irritation was difficult to hide however, and you could already see skepticism in Zhongli’s gaze as he turned to face you.

“Oh. What were the commissions, if I may ask, the regular spots?”

“Mostly. I had one where I had to deliver a message to the Inn too, and one where, well, it was less of a commission and more of… well honestly I’m not sure what to call it.” You finished, tone by now filled with a mix of irritation an cynical amusement. Zhongli stopped altogether at that and sat at his chair, facing the spot you’d taken on the desk.

“May I ask what happened.” He said once more, tone slightly worried. Shit. Wasn’t this exactly the reason you hadn’t wanted to tell him?

“Well, you see I’m not the only guild member of course. And it’s almost the end of the month. What with everything that’s happened they needed someone to ask after some of the unfinished commissions, the ones that had a time limit. I finished my work early so I went.”

“And?”

“And, well. Well some of these adventurers were honestly hopeless!” You burst out, having shed your worries in your frustration. “I mean I know they mean well, I know they’re trying. Or at least I hope they are, you can’t really tell at some points. Like this one guy, I asked about why he hadn’t done any of the food deliveries he said he would and he made some odd excuse that a coworker was supposed to take care of it while he looked for a text that someone else wanted. Okay, fine. I go to the coworker, and she says that it was a one time thing as far as she was concerned and that she didn’t go to pick up the food after. I go to the restaurants themselves and turns out half the orders never go tthere and the other half have been put on a tab that need to be paid but no one thought to pay it so I do so. That doesn’t even begin with whoever did a hack job at the Wangshu Inn, apparently the boards have caved in again. And I was going to do that, but then I got pulled into some monster hunting so that won’t be done this month and honestly, it’s all just so… so frustrating!” You felt like you were spiraling at that point, all the frustration and shame coming back to you, the feeling of having to smile at someone who you’d much rather scream at.

Your thoughts cleared as Zhongli reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder. Bringing his hand up to your face he wiped away a few tears of frustration that you’d shed. Shaking your head you took his hand in yours. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t worry you about these things. I don’t want you to think Liyue is falling apart. I mean this was a thing even before you stepped down, and I know that I’m complaining too much and it’ll be fine it’s just, it’s just a lot.”

“I know.” Zhongli smiled softly. “You shouldn’t feel like hiding these things for my sake. I appreciate the sentiment, but I’d rather truly know how you’re feeling. Just like you don’t want to place a burden on me, so do I not want to place a burden by you by making it seem as if you have to carry your cares alone.”

“But, with everything so recent… I just. I worry you’ll regret it.”

Zhongli smiled, and leaned in, kissing your forehead. He smelled of incense and glaze lilies, and you found the knot in your stomach uncoiling despite itself. Smiling you linked your fingers through his, focusing on that as Zhongli kept a hand on your cheek, grounding you.

“Thank you for worrying about me. But just as I trust you’d tell me if Liyue were truly about to burn to the ground, so do I trust that it won’t happen. You’ve taught me that you know.”

“Me? Not the Liyue Qixing or the traveler? I think they’ve done a lot more than my running around will ever do.” You smiled a self-deprecating smile, but Zhongli simply shook his head.

“You have taught me that. How you keep going, how you support those you don’t even know for the sake of your guild and your commission, even if you have a grievance. And, more than that, you’ve shown it to me, simply by letting me have a place in your heart.” He lowered his gaze, face clouding over in the way you knew it did when he was considering the past. You gave his hand a squeeze and he looked up, smiling softly.

“I used to think that humans were delicate, no matter what. That they were destined for the tragedy of death and that made them unable to be depended on, that they’d just break and break and that I’d spend my existence watching it until I couldn’t stand it anymore. But you showed me that ultimately humans are resilient, more resilient than any adepti or magical being, who cannot stand to face time or pain or hard work. You’ve taught me that, and if you’ll let me I’d like to share that with you, your burdens, your frustrations, your anxieties. I’d like to be there to support you, if I cannot fix it then I’d at least like to be there for you. So please, don’t hide your struggles from me, so I may remind you that they’re simply proof of your power.”

You didn’t really know what to say, smiling in a mix of relief, sadness, and adoration. Leaning in to kiss Zhongli you felt the word recede and grow around you. You didn’t know how he did it, how he took all your cares and worries and flaws and morphed them into something beautiful.

But that was what made Zhongli special, and you adored him for it.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Judge Dredd (1995)

With a much better adaptation of the Judge Dredd comics released in 2012, the 1995 film has been condemned to limbo. At best, the performances are at maximum cheese and offer a couple of unintentional laughs. It’s not funny, bold, interesting, or memorable. The special effects are good, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing about this movie matters.

In the future, most of Earth has become an uninhabitable wasteland. Human live in a few Megacities, where crime is rampant. Fighting an ever-lasting war against the criminal scum are the Judges – an elite force who are the police, the judicial system and the executioners in one. When Judge Dredd (Sylvester Stallone) is framed for murder, he teams up with hacker Fergee (Rob Schneider) to clear his name, uncovering a sinister plot to reshape the world in the process.

The premise makes me feel like I’m sucking on a rusty nail. Another dystopian '90s film where the totalitarian government turns out to be corrupt, where a police officer discovers a power-hungry puppet master pulling all of these strings? It was cool when Robocop did it – and believe me, this film borrows A LOT from Robocop. Here? it’s dull, dull, dull. The characters don't help. Dredd can’t even commit to his “I am the law” attitude and is quite stupid by action hero standards – frequently getting rid of his weapons and forgetting to pick them up again when a new threat emerges. Rob Schneider is once again intolerable, though to be fair, he's only 4th on the “Worst things about this movie” list. Diane Lane plays a fellow Judge who will - of course - wind up going toe-to-toe with the evil scientist lady (played by Joan Chen) because obviously, run-of-the-mill biologists are trained martial artists. Max Von Sydow plays the largely pointless fatherly Judge on the Council of Judges. When he shows up, you think “Wow, why are you wasting your time with Judge Dredd? Wait. Why am I?!”

The plot is predictable, the action scenes ridiculous, the performances from Armand Assante (as Rico) and Stallone are so hammy they’re meme-worthy. The story is full of questionable developments, and it misses every attempt to be anything but the cinematic equivalent of gruel. On the positive side, the special effects are cool. There’s a cyborg and a big combat robot that look awesome. Unfortunately, they’re servicing a worthless story. Even the setting isn’t well fleshed out. You sit back thinking “Ok… if you say so!” over and over.

On paper, Judge Dredd should be “so bad it’s good” but it isn't. The picture looks and feels even worse now that we’ve gotten a legitimately faithful, exciting and well-made adaptation of the comics by John Wagner and Carlos Ezquerra. Even if we hadn’t, this movie sucks. It’s the very worst of that period of action films where there was a lot of violence, but to make it more digestible the hero is given a (larlgely useless) comedic sidekick and at the end of the day, it had nothing to say about anything. Judge Dredd wastes the talent of its special effects people and the audience’s time. (On DVD, July 14, 2017)

[kurtty-drabbles]

I feel what you feel au (part 3)

N/A: MEh. Here we go again.

@djinmer4 @dannybagpipesarecalling @bamfoftheundead @everykurt

Using your mutation for everyday chores and moment is a luxury few mutants can truly appreciate- Kitty is now well versed in how some mutants would take anything in their possession to be human again and it makes her be thankful of her power as well mentally debate if all mutants are equal-and Karma and Kitty are one of the lucky ones right now.

They´re in Karma´s room floating through the ceiling as they´re listening to the radio-playing old songs that neither Kitty nor Karma ever heard until now- and talking about their day. Karma has great control over her own telekinesis (something Rachel is impressed as she took as her mission to train Karma. Two different styles of telekinesis) and Kitty, herself, is flying watching as her sandal did fall from her feet making a big "Blop" on the floor.

"Kitty, can I ask you something?" Karma asked once the mysterious song ends and the announcer is now speaking greatly about product placement. Karma is flipping a magazine and gesture to Kitty who still looks at her fallen sandal.

"I guess. If it is about ABBA again...no, I´d not think it would make a good movie" Kitty answers absently thinking if it would really be possible to make a movie out of each song of ABBA and she´s a huge fan of this old band.

"No, not that. Is about, well, Kurt" Karma is navigating on thin ice as Kitty is not one to talk about her own feelings. Karma would be surprised if that wasn´t the same thing Yana does in New Mutants.

Without waiting for her answer-and she has a nagging suspicion it would be just like the same evasive answer Yana likes to give when asked about her time in Limbo and is more than fair- she made her question. "You´d not like Kurt?" is a simple question but it carries more weight to Kitty. "Is he a bad man?" she concluded as she heard many things about him. Both good and bad.

Kitty is taken by surprise by such a question and shakes her head as if she was an insulting part of this question. "No, far from it. He´s a wonderful person...even after suffering what he did ...he still remains a good person at heart" she speaks now more firmly. "selfless, brave and caring. Kurt Wagner is a good man"

Karma arch one of her eyebrows at this. "But ...?" her question trails off and Kitty thinks about it. Kurt has its flaws, it has its strength. What would mean to date Kurt Wagner? That is a question she never once thought about it.

"He only thinks by his dick and It does wonder to my self-esteem," Kitty responds recalling her only relationship and how it end quickly either thanks to their own immaturity or because Kitty was too insecure about her own looks. "Guess I have my issues too. I sometimes don´t like what I see in the mirror. I ...sometimes wish to be like Meggan...or Rachel"

Karma blinks seem to understand the feeling. "Sometimes, I wish I was taller. My sister is the tallest in our family and I sort envy her for this" there are longing and sadness in her tone. She does miss her family very much and Kitty feels that (her aunt is here, but, where is her mother? The FBI didn´t give much info for their own safety) "But if Kurt changes his ways...would you accept him as his soulmate?"

Kitty bites her lips. Would she? Could he? "I suppose I´ll. Right now...we´re not right for each other. Too immature and too stuck in our own issues to work as a couple...maybe in the future" and Karma changes the subject mercifully.

Kitty forgets to take the white pill and how she forget this crucial detail is something she has yet to understand, however, she can feel what he feels and maybe a selfish part of her wants this feeling too.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

The day rises as always and Rachel is on her second mug of coffee- a mug Scott and Jean gave to Rachel. It has a Firebird draw it and she wonders who made the draw. Scott or Jean? In her timeline, her mother was a terrible artist-and is blessed by having the kitchen to herself.

Not for long, as Rhane Sinclair shows up ready to make her own breakfast and talking idly about her favorite boy band- a band Rachel never heard of it, but, then again...Rachel is not one to care for the pop culture and she only knows about Star Wars and Star Trek simply to mess with Kitty- but let Rhane speak excitedly about said boy band as everyone deserves to have their own joys in life.

"Which one of them you think is the most handsome?" Rhane asked and Rachel can only shurgs at this question and it didn´t hinder her excitement as Rhane show an image of the said boy band from her cellphone for Rachel. "Is Chad? He´s really handsome...or maybe Larry" and she looks really excited.

"Uhm, all of them look the same to me" she replies painfully aware how someone of her age (and timeline) couldn´t bond very well with the interest of 14 years old.

Rhane looks confused. "Not even Chris? Why?" she asked truly bewildered as if each member of this boy band is the reincarnation of a Greek God.

Rachel took a sip of her coffee. "They don´t have the right body parts to get my attention...plus, I never heard of them" and she rose from her chair and mess with Rhane´s hair as she leaves using her telekinesis to put the mug on the kitchen sink and wash it out.

"What?" Rhane asked herself as she hides the image of her favorite boy band and wonders if this was some sort of mistake. If Rachel is not attracted to the men (she´s aware those men in the boy band are a bit older to be called boy band) then...is Rachel attract to girls too?

This is so confusing. She thought to hold her cross the only present her father gave to her.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Kurt Wagner remembers the conversation Kitty and Karma had. Had half of his mind ready to tell her to take the pills (wasn´t that the whole point?) and maybe that´s his meaner side, however, Kurt is utterly taken back by how she defends him...how she thinks he´s a good man, yet, has no problem in pointing his flaws.

We have flaws, Katzchen...

He thought ponders about the possibility if Kitty took her pill recalling how last night she just forgets- was an honest mistake or not? and Kurt can at least reconize how Kitty cna have a meaner side too...just like him - and wonder if he should mention something...or not.

And you think I´m a good man ...

Kurt wants nothing more than just drink coffee and try to understand his own feelings and this situation. Is he upset Kitty is his soulmate? Not really, but it does show how Kurt has no real understanding about many things regarding relationships.

As he enters the kitchen, already imagining his coffee, his golden eyes witness Rhane on the verge of crying as she´s holding her cellphone as if something precious. "Rhane?" he asked and wonders if he should call Dr. Moira.

"Kurt, Am I a bad person?" she asked with a tone of desperation in her voice. Kurt can listen to her because he knows deep well how is important to rant (is a bit ironic coming from him)

"Why you ask this?" Kurt gently asked sitting next to her. His tail manages to found some napkins and offers to Rhane to clear her nose.  And once she takes a deep breath and dries some of her tears she tries again.

"I was raised by all the rules of the catholicism. You too, right?" Kurt only nods and it gives some confidence in her speech. "And the bible, as my father once told me, says that the impure will go to hell" and she looks at the open door of the kitchen. "and this is making me confusing"

Kurt frown slightly at this having a clear idea of where Rhane is referring but letting she continue.

"But...Karma is so gentle and Ray does not seem like a bad person...so, are all people like that....are all or Am I wrong?" she asked as if she´s confessing a grave sin.

"The word you´re searching is gay, Rhane" he spoke after Rhane gives her angst away to Kurt. "And I get it, some less enlight people believe God hates those who don´t think like them...Rhane, people like that don´t have God in their hearts" and this hit Rhane strongly. Can she truly think her father was a good man? Not really.

"But ...what I do with my faith?"

"Rhane...God loves us all and our sexuality means nothing to us. Would you stop being friends with Karma just because she likes girls?" Kurt asked and Rhane shakes her head.

"Would you think differently of Rachel because of her too like girls?"

Rhane denies it again.

"Then why you would stop having faith in God? The real God loves us all, gay, straight, trans or even mutant...we´re all his..." he ponders remembering Good Omens and Call of Zaorva for a moment. "or her children. So, did I help a little?"

She nods. "How you still keep your faith after all the missions? "

"Because I need to believe. Because I just have faith, Rhane...I believe in God who loves us all. Just that"

"Thank you, Kurt"

"If you have doubts about God or anything else...I´m here"

"Thank you. I have so many questions and I don´t know how to make them now"

[notbecauseofvictories]

There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less. Annie Dillard.

"No, really," the man at the bar says with second-hand pride. He gestures to the younger man beside him, who ducks his head, smiles. I have been quietly nursing the same beer for half an hour, listening to them talk to one another. They only occasionally remember that they have an audience, even more rarely that it's me. "He's a photographer, an artist. The kind that doesn't have a day job."

It's a Thursday night and the median age in the bar is somewhere in the late forties. The photographer and I make up the entire lower half of the bell-curve.

"Must be nice," interjects a third voice, from further down the bar. He's been largely quiet, his face turned away so he can watch the Phillies lose. "I'd like to be an artist."

The first man, the older man, laughs. "C'mon, we'd all like to be artists," he says with perfect sureness, as though this is a fact, immutable as gravity or the rising of the sun.

He works for the state, he told me; Department of Transportation. He works on "the turnpike." (I have only been in Philadelphia a week and a half, I don't know what he means, but I nod like I understand.) He gets good benefits, that's the thing. Otherwise he'd be an artist.

"What sort of artist?" I ask, an inconvenient reminder that I am still here, listening. Luckily, they seem to forget it again quickly; they're too busy arguing whether carpentry counts as art, and then the bartender asks if travel writing is art or journalism, is journalism an art? What is art, anyway?

I get their professions in bits and pieces: construction, plumber. An unlikely accountant, given the number of tattoos. A bartender, a host at a chain restaurant. An almost-attorney, not even through her second week.

In the end, we all agree: we would rather be artists.

.

It's instructive, moving to Philadelphia when all that waits for you there is an empty apartment and a borrowed air mattress. The bare walls force you out into the world, or at least to the nearest coffee shop with an internet connection. You spend a lot of time nursing lukewarm lattes, and googling "philly events + this weekend."

I don't remember how I found out about the Wagner Free Institute of Science. (There were a lot of recursively nested links, I clicked on all of them.) The museum itself was too far for a jaunt after work, but they were offering a free six-week class at a nearby library branch. The history of cartography: how maps evolved from second- or third-hand accounts of sundials to the real-time GPS math-sphere we know today.

It's been a few years since my last history of science class, but I have fond memories of wide-ranging, bitter arguments. The scientific method seems immutable until you realize that it was invented before modern mathematics, and produced reliable results that are laughable within the modern paradigm. An atom looks like a circle and x-y graphs are perfectly readable until you stop and consider that alchemists considered their dense, symbolic depictions legible too. The human knowledge-making endeavor is always specific to a time and place, and they shape one another.

(I love law's pragmatism, but there will always be a part of me longing for a two-hour argument about epistemology and whether we can ever really know anything.)

I decided to attend the class, thinking that it would be entertaining even if it was just me and the professor in a library conference room.

When I first walked into the conference room, I thought for a minute maybe I'd gone to the wrong library branch. There were too many people: some fifty-odd bodies, retirees and young professionals, a handful of college students. One young man in scrubs. Rows of uncomfortable metal chairs, and almost all of them were full. Shortly after I arrived, people had to be dispatched to go find more.

By the time the class started, people were leaning against the walls. I'm not sure who was more surprised, the professor or all of us.

It was one of the retirees who raised his hand first, as the professor talked about an Egyptian map of the underworld found on the bottom of a sarcophagus. "How do you know it's a map?" he asked. All I could see was his cheek, not-quite clean shaven. "How do we know it isn't art?"

Almost before he was finished speaking, three other hands went up.

By the end of the period, the professor had to gloss over Ptolemy in the last five minutes. There wasn't time for more, what with all the questions.

.

I am always a little startled when large numbers of people turn up to listen to opera.

There are a dizzying number of articles and thinkpieces about its imminent death. The pleas for donations get more and more feverish every year, even as the season is shrinking. All amid lamentations that it's a niche interest with a dwindling audience—opera is for old men and the pretentious, Harold Bloom et al. If you like singing there's musical theater and if you like drama there's the soaps; we as a culture have outgrown the need for valkyries, madwomen, and other assorted fat ladies singing.

Hence my surprise when, every year, Chicago's Lyric Opera fills Millennium Park to overflowing for their preview of the upcoming season. Families with children and dogs crowd up against retirees with bottles of wine and paper plates of fine cheese; everyone applauds. It's hard to imagine the death knell of opera on those nights, when couples bend their heads together and small children run through the crowd to the strains of "Mein lieber Hippolyte."

It's even harder to imagine when a broadcast—not even a live performance!—of "We Shall Not Be Moved" fills the mall of Independence National Historical Park.

Maybe it's the subject matter. A modern opera about racism and inequality, set in the shadows of the West Philadelphia MOVE bombings, is powerful and challenging content for an opera. "We Shall Not Be Moved" sold out during its initial run-through; in the shadow of Independence Hall, its questions about America's promise and the nature of the law took on a bitterly ironic quality. It's also a decidedly Philadelphia story, the rawness and relevancy only compounded when the National Park Supervisor introduced it by insisting her department has "a very good relationship with the Philadelphia police" alongside their commitment to supporting free speech.

Or maybe modern opera is more enticing—you have to love opera already to care about Lucia di Lammermor as the epitome of bel canto. You don't have to know anything to be intrigued by an opera about black children in Philadelphia. This is the artistic era we live in, Founding Fathers reference Biggie on Broadway, inner city kids perform chamber opera. For all I know, people turned up just to hear "girls want to get with it/North Philly slayer, player" sung in a sonorous bass-baritone.

But I think the truth is simpler: people still want to see opera, they've never stopped. They want to sit and listen to music, whisper to one another and watch. I was just behind a family of five: mother, father, and three boys, all at that age when they are mostly limbs and nervous energy. One—the oldest, a teenager, as evidenced by how hard he was trying to ignore the rest of his family—was defiantly trying to sleep, one arm thrown over his eyes. He moved only to shift to a new position, and once to pet a dog that wandered through the crowd.

An expensive ticket would have been wasted on him. But the event was free so he was there, sitting beside his brother and pretending, with all the bravura of adolescence, to be somewhere else. The light from the projector cast the rest of his family in silhouette: four faces, turned up to the screen. I wondered if all four of them would been there, if the tickets were sixty, ninety dollars each; if any of them would have come.

I'm distracted by a child, barely older than six, wandering through the audience. She stops suddenly, looking around and calling for her mother. The audience thrums like a plucked string to the sound, even in the half-dark you can see people's mouths shaping, lost, shaping, help. It only takes a few minutes for the child's brother to dart through the crowd and take her hand, whisk her away and back to their blanket. The audience settles again.

In a folding chair just a little ways away, an old woman is absently conducting, as though the musicians on screen could see her—one-two-one-two, just her hand for a baton.

[sephythespooky]

Flower Child

(bringing valentine home from Goggle’s point of view)

Floret bitty from @gaiasteapot​

Twister bitty from @selkiesbittybonanza​

mythbitties from @mythical-adoptions​

Chain lamia bitties from @vex-bittys​

Puppy papri by @nyehtish​

Sunlust lamia by @bitti-tarts

Moonjelly naga bitty from @dumplingsspookysweeties​ (aka me!) )

I liked the idea of being a helper. Not being able to see wasn’t fun, even if I only half know what that’s like. It let me bond a bit with Virgil, that first little while, both of us missing sockets.

But Valentine couldn’t see at all, so I could help them. I kept their bitty carrier secure in my coils all the way home.

“What sort of bitties are at home?” they asked as we got in the car. It took a lot of effort, at least it felt like it from the tone in their voice.

“Well, we have a lot of myth bitties at home, and quite a few snakes if you include Goggles. And then there are the puppies.” Sephy giggled about them. I knew she was in love with the big bones, and it made me happy to think about it. Made me feel more secure that our family wouldn’t fall apart.

“Puppies?” Val seemed to be confused.

“really tall skeletons with some dog features and tendencies,” I explain. the little rose leans against my scales and hums, acknowledging they heard me. “Sweet Bun is the housekeeper in the family. He’s the cook, the cleaner, and very nice. Then we have Goldie, who’s more of a lazybones, but he’s the protector kinda guy. And last is Gracey, who’s the newest pup. He’s shy and quiet, but he’s gentle to us and very enthusiastic about everybody being happy.”

Valentine seemed satisfied for a while, their fingers smoothing my scales with interest. But then they asked, “what about the myth bitties?”

“We have Dante, a Dietyrus who is very energetic but sweet,” Sephy lists off, counting on her fingers as we sit at a red light, “his Harbinger, Virgil, and their little brother, Orpheus, the Faerie. Then we have Adonis and Morpheus. Adonis is an Eastern Red, a dragon-”

“FIRE?!” Valentine yelped and crouched down in their box.

“hey, no, it’s okay,” I tried to purr to calm them. I could feel the little pings of panic from their soul, “donny never blows fire. even when he was super mad at dante once, he never used his fire. and even if he wanted to, he’d have to get through all of me first.” Poor little flower.

Sephy felt bad about it, too, I could see it in her face, “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Goggles is right, Donny’s just a lazy noodle, and he’s really sweet, especially to his brothers and mate....”

“Wh-what are they?” the stammer showed they were still scared, but Valentine at least peeked their petals over the edge of my coils again.

“Morpheus is his first brother, and he’s a Lucirazz. Then we have a Dealer, Jubilee. He’s one of the sweeter red suits, a diamond, so he’ll be nice if you ask him to. And Donny’s mate is Amethyst, a Sunlust lamia bitty.”

I purr. Amethyst has been really good for our household. He made Donny happy, he helps me and Gracey and Sephy with our anxiety, and he love love loves the fact that we all like to cuddle...except Virgil, but I’m pretty sure he’s what Sephy calls a ‘tsundere’, like those cute cactus pictures she puts on her phone.

Valentine nods, ���Anybody else?”

“Mmhm,” She’s turning into our apartment complex now, “I have a Chain lamia named Georgio, and I just found out yesterday that he and Wagner, his Vampyrus mate, are going to have a clutch of eggs soon.”

A soft gasp made me look down. Valentine looked nervous, “Babies?”

“Yes, babies.” Sephy slowly pulled into our spot at the end of the line. “And last we have Denim. He’s a Moonjelly naga, a classic sans type snake. He likes to boop people on the nose, but we told him to leave you be until you say it’s okay.”

Valentine has popped back up to full height, and I hold them tight while Sephy picks us up from the passenger seat. “Are the babies here yet?”

“not yet, rosey,” I explain. “Georgio and Wagner just barely told Sephy about it, and Georgio’s got his soul bond with Sephy. He’ll be kind of protective for a while until the babies are hatched and kinda big. So there’s no need to fret”

They ease a bit, and nodded again. “Okay. And they know I can’t see?”

“yep,” We’re going up the stairs so Sephy’s concentrating. She’s scared of twisting her ankle again like a few months ago, so I don’t blame her for being quiet. “usually when we take someone in from a center, we’ve all agreed they’d fit in well with us. only gracey and denim were surprise members of the family.”

They seem to relax for the most part, and Sephy gets them out of their carrier and opens the door.

“WELCOME HOME!” Sweet Bun’s voice greets us as always, and I feel Valentine jump at the sudden sound.

“Sweet Bun, remember-”

“Oh!” His voice is much softer now as he comes out of the laundry area and gives Sephy a hug. “Sorry, I forgot for a moment. Hello, little flower friend. It’s nice to meet you.”

Valentine reached out, and Sweet Bun put his finger into their hands. The pups were all at full height now, so he was over half a foot taller than Sephy now. It made me feel good that we had three tall guys here to help if something ever happened to Sephy. I know I couldn’t lift a whole human in my tiny arms.

“I do have to go organize the others, little friend. I’ll be back in a moment.” When he was let go, Sweet Bun zipped from room to room, gathering people as Sephy sat on the sofa after closing the door.

“Okay, Valentine. That was Sweet Bun. Are you okay so far?”

They say slowly, “I think so? It will take a little bit to get used to his big voice, but his small voice is good for now. Does anyone else have a big voice like that?”

“nope.” I don’t think so, anyway. Sweet Bun is the loudest of all of us. “Orpheus, we call him Fi for short, is a little loud and so is Morpheus, but they’re all way softer than Sweet Bun’s normal voice.”

“um?” I look down and Denim is there. He’s quiet, mostly, but he’s talking right now. And he actually wears shirts now. Sometimes.

“Valentine, Denim is here.” Sephy says, and their vines reach out.

“Hi, Denim.” Valentine is happy, so I’m happy.

Denim slithers closer and lets Valentine feel his face, “hi. i won’t boop you. um...what’s your name?” His voice is very very soft and I’m kind of surprised to hear it. He’s barely said a word to anyone since he came here.

“I’m Valentine. Thank you for not booping me, and I appreciate you talking softly.” Yes good. Everybody’s doing well so far.

Denim hums and nuzzles into Valentine’s hands, then backs away, “talk to you later,” and he’s off to wherever he likes to hide.

Amethyst slides up next, and I greet him. “hey, mey. meet valentine.”

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mey purrs and leans his face against my coil so Val can feel him.

“Oh. You smell nice.” Val mentions, and Mey starts to purr.

“Thank you. You smell and look fantastic, darling. Welcome home.” I had a feeling Mey would probably try to help Valentine out, too, and I didn’t mind.

“Goggles said that...that the dragon is your mate. He won’t burn me, right?” Aww, they were still worried about Donny hurting them. Poor Val.

“Oh no, he would never.” Amethyst cooed and gently kissed some of Val’s petals, earning a shy squeak, “Adonis is a tender soul who loves peace and family. And you are our family now, Valentine.”

“O-okay,” Val was blushing. and I knew things would be good. Mey could keep anybody calm.

Fi and Morpheus zoomed in, “I’M COMING, GOGGLES!” called Morpheus and Val shifted to face them as the two landed.

Fi squeaked and held out his hand, “HI! YOU’RE THE NEW FRIEND, RIGHT?”

By now, Sweet Bun was back and sat on the far end of the sofa, clearing his throat to announce his presence. Val reached out and found Fi’s hand, “O-oh, hi. Um, what is your name?”

“HE’S FI AND I’M MORPHEUS THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE!” Oh dear, M is being....well, himself. The more he grows up, the more (falsely) cocky he gets. I worry about him.

“Oh. Why are you terrible? Morpheus?” Val reached out their other hand and Morpheus seemed to realize his posing was useless and calmed down.

“BECAUSE I’M ME. AND BECAUSE IF I’M GREAT AND TERRIBLE I CAN PROTECT YOU AND FI.”

“AND I’M NOT TERRIBLE BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO BE SCARY.” Fi answered a question no one asked. As usual for the cutie. “WE’LL HELP RAISE THE BLINDS FOR YOU TO GET SUNSHINE.”

Sephy chuckled, “That’s very kind of you, boys.”

Val hummed as he examined the two hands he was given. Fi’s wings were fluttering, and I said softly, “hey, fi, you’re awfully breezy today.”

He puffed up his cheeks and huffed, but Morpheus growled at me. Hah, cute. I love these two kids.

“Oh?” Val turned to me. “Was that a pun?”

“yeah,” I hum, “Fi was flapping his wings to make those little gusts.”

“Wings...” Val seems pleased with the idea.

“Um, if you’re ready for the others, Valentine,” Sweet Bun says gently, “they’re here. But at your pace, of course.”

Nodding, they let go of Fi and Morpheus, “it’s nice to meet both of you.”

They giggle and fly away, off to play more games.

Dante whines and puts his head on Sephy’s knee. I realize he can’t directly communicate with Val because he can’t speak. “virgil? would you mind translating for your bro?”

“It is my solemn duty and only joy,” Virgil huffs and appears on Dante’s head. “Valentine, you are in the presence of the great diety known as Dante, and I am Virgil, translator and brother of Orpheus.”

There are several groans and coos from Dante, and he signs while he makes them, for the benefit of the rest of the family (and so they can correct Virgil if he tries to twist the words).

“My god wishes you to know he is also blind, traditionally speaking, and can only sense the world through his amazing extra senses.” Val reached out their vines and was gently analyzing Dante’s face while Virgil talked. “Welcome to our divinely cultivated family.”

Val’s vines slip over Virgil, too, who is surprisingly patient with them. “Hello, Dante, Virgil. Thank you.” When the vines withdraw, so does Dante’s head.

Sephy says softly, “Are you doing okay, Valentine?”

“Um, yes? I could use some water, though.” She sets us on the cushions and goes to get some.

Sweet Bun pushes Goldie and Gracey forward, “Valentine, these two about to give you their fingers are Goldie and Gracey. Please present yourselves to our new tiny friend!”

Goldie’s soft, warm voice is always calming. If I had to pick someone to be in charge other than Sephy, Goldie wins. He loves us and is strong enough to protect us.

“hey, valentine. i’m goldie. it’s good to have you safe at home.”

Val shook his finger, then Gracey offered his whole hand to the searching vines.

“m’gracey...you’re a nice, soft little fella...that’s good.” This made Val hum happily. They liked being praised.

A soft purr reached Valentine’s attention, and they turned their head down to it.

“Georgio~” Sephy cooed as she picked up the mini chain. Here was our brave and gentle founder. I guessed Wagner and Starlight were back in the nest boxes.

“heya. felt how happy everybody was and thought i’d join for a minute.” He sounded sleepy. He probably was, if I had to guess.

“geo,” Goldie said softly, “check out our cute new pal.”

“ooh.” He turned and Val followed his movements with their head. “hey there, flower baby. i’m georgio, sephy’s chain. i’m a lamia, so snakey sounds are gonna happen. when they wake up tonight, you can meet starlight and my mate, wagner. they’re sleeping in the closet, but uh...don’t go there.”

“i...i don’t plan to.” Val answers shyly. Georgio purred some more and flopped on Sephy’s hand as it came closer.

“valentine, we’ll set you in the sun for a while now, okay?” I ask, figuring introductions were over.

“Oh. Okay.” they cuddle up to me as I set them against my back, heading to the windowsill. I figure I’ll let them sun and take a nap myself.

All in all, a good day.

[mcmansionhell]

50 States of McMansion Hell: Kauai, Hawaii

Hello Friends! I hope you haven’t suffered too much from my absence! For all you Georgians out there, don’t worry! I’ll come back around to you - however, the schedule is cruel and I must forge on. 

Houses on islands are always interesting, because unless they’re multimillion-dollar luxury palaces, they’re usually pretty small due to the increased cost of building on an island. After all, islands are kind of cut off from everything else by oceans and stuff, which means they have to get most of their building and other materials from the mainland - making construction much more costly. Also, a lot of islands are geologically volatile, which means added costs for earthquake proofing or increased flood resistance. 

That being said, no where is safe from the big and ugly. 

(Photo by Mr.Choppers [CC-BY-SA 3.0])

This week’s house, built in 2009, features 5 bedrooms and 3.5 baths (around 3,000 square feet) and can be all yours for just under $950k!

Shall we?

Entryway/Sitting Room

I don’t understand WHY people buy furniture sets, when the act of furniture shopping is SO MUCH FUN and you can save TONS OF MONEY not buying tacky matching stuff while also satisfying that HGTV dream of finding ~the perfect piece~. 

(Okay, maybe people buy them because they just want the whole thing to be over with. That’s understandable. But ya’ll can at least buy them from Ikea.)

Suspiciously Average Kitchen

“What can one tell about one’s hopes and dreams by examining their cabinet trinkets? How can we use these seemingly arbitrary items to gain access to the greater mystery that is the human mind?” - Freud, probably

Dowdy Dining Room

That’s 4, excitedly, not 4 (factorial).

Can we have a sad laugh at millennials deciding what furniture to leave behind to their kids? Like, “Yeah, Emma you can have my ever-growing collection of LACK tables, and Noah you can take the West Elm sofa - what’s left of it.”  “What about your knock-off Eames lounger, mom?” “Let me be buried with my shame.”

SERIOUS MALE OFFICE

No disrespect, but military stuff is really boring to me unless it involves buildings. When McCarthyism comes back, I’ll be one of the first to go. 

Bedroom 1

The bed being against the window with the beautiful view I’ll take as a metaphor for America’s fractured relationship with nature and the environment as a whole. Or laziness. That works. 

Bedroom II

Bed-size calculator: enough size for me + my laptop as I fall asleep alone until the end of time. :)

Bedroom 3 [reject bedroom]

Ok, rattan, wicker, etc are def beachy and therefore included in the iconography. Also, I am skeptical of that drapery on the right window’s ability to cover said window in its entirety. 

Second Living Room

Kate Wagner: An Art Historian 

(Also I guarantee that jukebox sits unused because they didn’t think to put an AUX jack on it back in the day.)

Rec Room

Today in embarrassing collections your friend’s parents have: roosters. 

[Today in embarrassing collections I have: random stuff decorated to look like Piet Mondriaan paintings.]

You may be wondering: where are all the bathrooms? Well...

Bathrooms (that’s right: they all look exactly the same)

Yeah, “The Walmart Tiki Dimension” would be a great name for a psychedelic noise/surf-rock fusion band. 

And now, our favorite part:

The Rear Exterior

Attempts were made, which is better than most, admittedly. 

Well, that does it for Hawaii! Stay tuned for some informative cool architecture stuff on Sunday, and IDAHO next Wednesday! 

If you like this post, and want to see more like it, consider supporting me on Patreon! Not into recurring donations? Check out the McMansion Hell Store - 30% goes to charity.

Copyright Disclaimer: All photographs in this post are from real estate aggregate rightmove.co.uk and are used in this post for the purposes of education, satire, and parody, consistent with 17 USC §107. Manipulated photos are considered derivative work and are Copyright © 2017 McMansion Hell. Please email kate@mcmansionhell.com before using these images on another site. (am v chill about this)

[stylistic-techniques]

Wagner's Ring Cycle

Wagner's Ring Cycle was a big ask for a topic of study. A 15 hour marathon of an opera, in German.

I decided to ease myself into it and check a few exerts and some short story outlines. I thought I could get

away with not watching the whole thing. If I am honest I wasn't thrilled about the task ahead. I felt sure it

would be painful.

I grabbed myself a cup of tea and settled myself down to watch Das Rheingold. It was as I expected, that

'opera' singing and quite laborious script that seemed to drag and I found my mind drifting somewhat. I won't

lie, I remember very little of this first opera. I noticed recognisable themes and I had dragged myself through

it with reluctance in every bone in my body. At two and a half hours this was the shortest of the series. I

wasn't looking forward to the next three.

The next sitting was part 2, Die Walkure. Out of a sense of duty I started to watch and listen and again, found

it hard to concentrate. I had read about these so called Light Motifs and was waiting to be enticed by

character building themes that present themselves throughout the work.

I was expecting the Flight of the Walkures in this opera and I know the piece, which was starting to suggest

itself throughout the second scene. I know familiarity is an important ingredient for composition and it was

making my experience a little easier.

After applause and a moments pause, it was the start of act three. Flight of the Walkures in all it's glory. I

must admit. It is a remarkable piece of music. Something happened. I seemed to wake up. Somehow I was

gripped. I was engaged in the script, the characters, the emotions they were portraying, the dynamics

between them. I don't know how it happened, but It was like the flick on a switch and everything was starting

to make sense.

I know that this scene has always been the most popular and even in Wagner's time he was asked for it as a

stand alone performance, but in truth. I can see why. There is something quite magical.

With this alertness I started to hear the music differently. I could hear the repetitions in the music, these Light

Motifs were revealing themselves. The orchestra was creating a sense of anticipation, introducing

characters, warning of danger. A conceipt that I know from all my favourite films.

The conversations between Brunhilde and her father, Wotan were the first to really engage me emotionally

and I found myself quite moved be their relationship. I was starting to wonder what would happen next, as in

an episode of Game of Thrones.

I considered starting from the first part again, but decided that I would keep going and consider it all part of

the experience.

Part 3. Siegfried. I enjoyed this one the most. Siegfried brought with him a certain humour that lightened the

atmosphere and the composition.

I had reached a point where I was enjoying the Ring Cycle, but was able to be honestly reflective of how I

objectively viewed this monumental work. I couldn't help be think how beautifully the German language was

being showcased and how wonderfully observant Wagner had been in the complexities of relationships. How

he showed how a misunderstanding can snowball into catastrophic events. He seemed very insightful about

human behaviour. I was starting to feel a little bit frustrated, however, with the pace of script, feeling it was

unnecessarily long. Seeing as this is a 15 hour work, it seemed self indulgent to not consider the possibility

that you could bore your audience.

The over all feel of opera is too dramatic and emotions are often very hightened. It is my opinion that it does

lack balance in the calm as a true representation of life, love and tragedy.

I also concluded that if I were to write an opera, I would want the melodies to rise and fall more in harmony

with the music of natural conversation. Not so much crecendo. It is in my humble opinion that we have

accepted that that is how opera should sound and so the style is set in stone. I wont spend the next twenty

six years working on something quite so huge, but if anyone were inclined to and were interested what I

think....There it is.

The last and final part. Gotterdamerung. Another white knuckle ride full of pantomime like moments where I

want to scream 'behind you.' or 'It was Hagen'. I wanted Brunhilde to see past the deceit, Siegfried to

remember, something to make it OK, but alas. It all ends horribly.

In Conclusion. I feel I have been on a journey. A journey of learning, a discovery of opera and a new idea of

artform like I never dreamed existed.

Although I can't see myself making the annual pilgrimage to the Wagner family Opera House any time soon, I won't write it off. I will certainly watch it

again from the start and give part one the respect it no doubt deserves

[cumstricbusrie-blog]

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[dianamjackson]

Use the Force Luke (2015)

This was a piece I wrote in 2015 during one of my break-ups with visual art (specifically drawing). We got back together again after this, then broke up again. Now it looks like we regard each other as long-ago lovers might: ‘you’re beautiful and lovely but I’ve moved on, thank you.’ I always recall how Duchamp quit art and took up chess, or how Carrie Fisher’s husband left her for a man... Drawing will always be in my life, albeit in a smaller role. But this piece isn’t about drawing or art -- it’s about waking up and realising you’ve been wrong about something (or someone), even when it seemed, for all intents and purposes, so right. It’s about having the courage to accept the way things are. (Italicised text not in quotation marks constitutes my 2018 responses.) ‘Luke, you switched off your targeting computer. What's wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m all right.’

And indeed, I am all right too. Why? Because last Monday, on the 6th of July 2015, at around lunch time -- I quit art.*

There are many reasons for this and they have recently become impossible to ignore. The main one being:

“I’m just not that into you.”

Imagine your whole life you’ve been told you are straight. You acted straight, felt ‘straight enough’ and had heterosexual relationships. Sometimes you even quite liked it. Then one fine day, clear as a bell, the fantastical insight, quite without warning, alights upon your head: you’re gay.

That’s what I feel like now. I don’t know that I’m gay, but I know I’m not straight.

*Well, quit the pursuit of art as a career fine artist in the conventional sense. There are other ways of ‘being artistic’.

It was truly a lightbulb moment, just like in the movies. ‘Ah! This weight I’ve been carrying around -- I don’t have to! It was self-imposed, a chore all along. Bubbling under the surface always was I do not want to be a fine artist. I do not want to be an artist. I don’t feel like an artist. I mustn’t be an artist… These people are artists. Am I like them? In my life thus far, great things have happened when I’ve ‘let go’, when I’ve stopped trying feverishly to attain something -- particularly goals I’ve set myself. I thought that was the way to achieve things -- set goals. What I didn’t know was how powerfully something could take possession of me from the outside, without me controlling it.

Over the years I’d managed to find a peace and inspiration in visual art like a gay man can in a relationship with a woman. A disquieting pebble in my shoe whose persistent rubbing I’d gotten used to. Pride was resident in the boast “I’ve been at this for 28 years!” How can I ignore a thing with such pedigree? But The Thing isn’t about time spent; it isn’t quantitative. Say I have spent my entire life in bad habits -- is that an excuse to continue them? If I flatten a tyre do I get out and flatten the other three?

Doing art is boring. For me. Sitting in a room all day and into the night -- even if accompanied by a functional heater and Wagner -- sinking deeper into a miasma of pointless and circular introspection about my life and how it’s going, the validity of what I’m doing and my relationships with others as I laboriously render a 5cm square of paper -- let me tell you now dear reader -- the answer is a foaming, blazing, sparks-flying-out-of-my-ass No.

Yes, I draw very well. I can copy things I see because I can judge relative size and position of shapes, and relative colours and their intensities. I can draw steady lines 1/8th of a millimetre thick or less because I have SHARP PENCILS, a STEADY HAND and FINE FINE MOTOR SKILLS.

I’m an excellent copyist. I can imitate anything -- painting styles, real-life objects, your signature, your accent, your walk, even your voice. Copying has a certain thrill, for sure. “Yep, I can do that too.” A fleeting and superficial pride attends these feats. Then come the cheap requests: “Can you draw a photorealistic drawing of my dog/my girlfriend/my parents/my face?” “No.” “I’ll even pay you!” (Gee, how nice!) “No.” People ask me would I like to be an artist full-time. No! That would be horrible. Or just boring, which is a soft kind of horrible, but horrible all the same. It would be like being an invalid, or under house-arrest. No.

Aptitude is a mysterious thing. I have good taste, a fairly broad range of interests and I am curious. I like colourful and shiny things because I am human and geared to like these things. But all these, even combined with technical ability, are not sufficient. I always recall what my illustration teacher said to me when I was 14: ‘Your technical ability is at Year 12 level. Now all you need is something to say.’

Art doesn’t make sense to me and perhaps that’s what held me in its thrall -- I’m drawn to things I don’t understand because they’re a challenge. But the fact that there are no answers at the end, nothing to discover -- frustrates and depresses me. It leaves me cold. What’s the point of playing a game if there’s no consensus on what constitutes winning? It is still true that I’m drawn to things I don’t understand. However, I now disagree that there is “nothing to discover” in art. On the contrary -- it is indistinct enough to include almost any interpretation. Instead, perhaps it is its lack of precision that frustrates me -- I find writing is much better at nailing concepts. Art’s openness is hence both its strength and weakness. I was enamoured of science at the time of writing this piece; confirmation bias was certainly at work.

To Feynman, philosophy was stupid. To me, art is stupid. This is uncharitable and myopic, but in a certain sense I do believe it. Art is ‘dumb philosophy’, and philosophy is ‘dumb science.’ I’m not the first person to advance this idea. Amazingly, the hierarchy has for me flipped: at the bottom is science, which is just a procedure; then philosophy, which grapples with concepts; then art is at the top. Art’s preeminence is due to the fact that it doesn’t try to be philosophy (contra Danto; if art tries to be philosophy, it’s just philosophy). Art is its own project; it doesn’t give a fuck about anything else.

I refuse to spend my life troubling my head over something I feel obliged to do mostly because other people think I should. Did I ever stop to consider my true feelings on the matter? Curiously, no.

A trip to Europe or an art show that appeals to me usually engenders a furious period of inspired production. I want to ‘do’ the buildings and spaces that I saw -- capture them, own them, possess them. But this is the consumer’s passion, the gatherer's, not the artist’s. And I do them because I can. I don’t care about innovating in art; I just like making pretty things that soothe my eyes. I'm a jeweller; a confectioner; a traditionalist. An enthusiastic cake-decorator, a polisher and tinkerer. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve attended exhibitions in the past several years, and when I do it’s often only because a friend wants to. I am not part of any artistic community, and I hardly ever buy art books (certainly no instructional ones). Art theory I don’t mind, and generally my choices are non-fiction -- philosophy or science. Perhaps I think art can tell me nothing that I don’t already know or feel; or at least that there are other disciplines and activities far more qualified to do those things.

I spent my entire design degree trying to figure out what design was. What is this thing? Why is it? How does it fit in the disciplinary landscape? How is it possible to judge designs when the assessment criteria is so unclear? Perplexing things are like this -- they make sense to other people. My classmates seemed to melt so easily into what needed to be done. I also felt different because of the importance they placed on personal style -- I was always merely practical and thought such effort misdirected. So while they got off on paper stocks, central alignment and thick-rimmed glasses, my head spun from the Boudrillard, Barthes and Žižek that eventually led me to academic philosophy.

Little signs along the way hinted at it -- an early and enduring love of vehicles and machines, a lack of respect for the ‘anything goes’ attitude in high school studio arts, confusion in my first degree, an impatience with teaching art and much of my cohort, a frustration with the general character of my peers in experimental art and music circles, a persistent fascination with science, taking a job in dentistry, the conspicuous lack of artists among my closest friends and a preponderance of scientists, software engineers and psychologists. There aren’t even any architects among my close friends. Most conversations with 'artists' remind me of Zappa's recordings of stoned hippies talking gibberish on Lumpy Gravy.

And the boredom. Oh the boredom. Only retrospectively do I realise how deep my boredom was, and all the troublesome and potentially damaging things I did to try and alleviate or ignore it. In Hungarian there is a perfect saying -- pihent agyu -- meaning those whose minds are ‘overly rested’, which translates roughly to ‘idle hands are the devil’s plaything.’ Boredom, pride, lack of courage to assert my true inclinations and desires -- such deadly sins muddied my time.

This is one of the most significant realisations of my life, and it has taken me this obscenely long to acknowledge it in full. One can set out so obviously in a particular direction, for so long, and for all intents and purposes look set for success in it. Everything can seem perfect: the tables are laid and the ribbons hung, the champagne poured. But patterns and intuition must be heeded -- the tiny, persistent voice that tickles closest to my heart -- even if it means the whole party must be packed up. The truth is often uncomfortable, but it's true.

One needs to truly love the thing one sacrifices for -- it has to fill the spirit in a way almost nothing else can. It’s a compulsion so strong and lasting that all else is employed in its service. Then it is worth it. It has to be what one wakes up for, the thing that is so thrilling that spare moments are spent on it and one’s person is filled with an almost embarrassingly unguarded glee when the loved thing is spoken of. Did I have these for art? No. It was more that odious thing that I owe to friends and family who are so impressed by my abilities and, in the case of parents, facilitated them.

I feel empowered; awoken. I’m taking up the oars and steering across the lake, headed for the unknown. It’s been easy to be passive, letting myself be tossed this way and that by the currents of outside opinion and counsel. It’s been easy to retreat from hard work out of fear and laziness. But these will no longer do.

I wash my hands of you, flickering cave pictures. I place you in a little boat laden with flowers and candles and push you out into the blue. May you be pampered and stroked and coddled by those you truly thrill.

May this be a lesson to any person trapped in the visions -- however convincing -- that others have concocted for them.

May this be a lesson about the perils of lacking the courage to face the uncomfortable, the surprising, or the merely inconvenient, truth. © Diana Szabo 2015-18.

[netunleashed-blog]

Celebs Side with LeBron James in Disgusting Donald Trump 'Dumb' Tweet

http://www.internetunleashed.co.uk/?p=31440 Celebs Side with LeBron James in Disgusting Donald Trump 'Dumb' Tweet - http://www.internetunleashed.co.uk/?p=31440 LeBron James, Donald Trump Celebs Tell POTUS ... STFU 10:15 AM PT --  Michael Jordan just weighed in on Trump's tweet, as well, telling NBC News ... "I support LJ. He’s doing an amazing job for his community.” It's the least surprising thing this week ... that sports stars and other celebs are appalled by the President of the United States calling LeBron James dumb in a late Friday night tweet. If this were a limbo contest, Donald Trump would blow everyone away, because no one could go lower. Here's a sampling.  So let me get this straight: Flint, MI has dirty water still, but you worried about an interview about a man doing good for education and generations of kids in his hometown? Shut your damn mouth! Stop using them twitter fingers and get stuff done for our country with that pen. https://t.co/sEkX3OKaJM — Karl-Anthony Towns (@KarlTowns) August 4, 2018 NBA All-Star Karl Anthony-Towns  Sometimes I wake up and see my news updates and think this can’t be real. How on earth is a self made millionaire who just gave away a school being criticized by the president? — Elena Delle Donne (@De11eDonne) August 4, 2018 WNBA Star Elena Delle Donne A sign of an insecure human being is one who attacks others to make themselves feel better... im just sad that young kids have to see stupid tweets like these and grow up thinking it’s okay... forget everything else Donald your setting a bad example for kids😑 our future 🤡 https://t.co/eg0MECg8xC — Donovan Mitchell (@spidadmitchell) August 4, 2018 NBA Rookie Sensation Donovan Mitchell Rather than criticizing @KingJames, we should be celebrating him for his charity work and efforts to help kids. By the way, all-around he’s better than Michael Jordan. That’s a fact. — John Kasich (@JohnKasich) August 4, 2018 Ohio Gov. John Kasich This is a late night tweet from the PRESIDENT. This tweet is immature and offensive. I would like to know why he considers these two successful black men “dumb”. I know why. Some of y’all need to start believing what he is showing you. 🤷🏿‍♂️ https://t.co/iE79LtGqBz — Torrey Smith (@TorreySmithWR) August 4, 2018 NFL Player and Activist Torrey Smith  LeBron James is helping young people get an education. You are an old delusional racist who puts our country at risk. — Adam Rippon (@Adaripp) August 4, 2018 Olympic Star Adam Rippon I'd much rather live in a world reflecting the values, philanthropy, and yes intelligence of LeBron James and Don Lemon's intelligent commitment to truth and journalism than the divisive peevishness, lies, and narrow self-interest displayed by the President of the United States. — Dan Rather (@DanRather) August 4, 2018 Famed Journalist Dan Rather We got your back @KingJames 🙏🏾 Someone sure sound like they wish they was you. — Bobby Wagner (@Bwagz) August 4, 2018 NFL's Bobby Wagner It's got nothing to do with what you think about Lebron James. The President of the United States had nothing better to do late on a Friday night than grab his phone and call a private citizen "dumb" in a tweet. The leader of the free world did that.What a small man he is. — Joe Walsh (@WalshFreedom) August 4, 2018 Former Politician Joe Walsh It should be beneath the dignity of a sitting POTUS to take racist shots at D. Lemon and Lebron James. While only uttering kind words for ruthless dictators, Putin, Kim and Duterte. President Trump, we cape up for ours , “BELIEVE THAT” #KinOrSkinWeRide — shannon sharpe (@ShannonSharpe) August 4, 2018 NFL Hall of Famer Shannon Sharpe For a second I thought Trump was saying that he had just interviewed Lebron James. And who is Mike? https://t.co/f964dKN8JY — George Takei (@GeorgeTakei) August 4, 2018 Actor George Takei Dear @realdonaldtrump,You come off as racist in this. You should've run it by your good friend Frederick Douglass. https://t.co/fGTj3ENKi1 — Rick Reilly (@ReillyRick) August 4, 2018 Sports Writer Rick Reilly  LeBron is a successful businessman who is beloved all around the world. You’re a failed businessman who is despised all around the world. LeBron built an empire from nothing. You had to take “a small loan of a million dollars” from daddy. I see why you’re jealous. https://t.co/qcnrzjEoex — Donté Stallworth (@DonteStallworth) August 4, 2018 Ex-NFL Player and Activist Donte Stallworth  LeBron is a smart dude (and one of the most thoughtful athletes we have) - this is a bullshit tweet and feels more than a little racist. You’re a constant embarrassment. https://t.co/QxYpuyHsuW — Bill Simmons (@BillSimmons) August 4, 2018 NBA journalist Bill Simmons Source link

[jeninthebooks]

I was having trouble thinking of a way to start this post. The thing is, that last weekend was so, so special to me, and I didn’t want to sell it as less than it was. I guess I will start by saying that prior to going to Portland, I thought that my weekend would consist of me barely seeing my host family & taking a lot of Lifts.

That was not the case AT ALL. I began to realize that my trip was going to be different, when I was at the gate for my Southwest Airlines flight. I don’t know how familiar you are with Southwest, but I had never been on a flight with them before. The only reason I was this time, is because Emily had arranged my flight for me. Let me just say that it was life-changing.

From the minute I got to my gate, I was inspired. There was free WiFi & a stand for you to charge your phone (this helped me with my Thirteen Reasons Why binge). There were also these interesting columns, that I would come to learn were for organizing yourselves in a queue to board the plane. WHAT?? YOU DON’T HAVE TO STRUGGLE THROUGH A MASS OF PEOPLE TO BOARD?? CRAZINESS. I will say that I started to worry when I heard the announcer say that there were no assigned seats… I freaked looking at my boarding pass like something was wrong. I found articles, that basically told me that my seat, was a terrible one to have (end of the B group).

My fears were set aside, when I was able to find a seat at the front of the plane, between two women. I didn’t have to sit by a creepy dude (sorry to all the non-creepy dudes out there, but this is an actual fear I have. I am also sure there are many creepy ladies as well.), and was near the font, so I could get off the plane quickly. Also, let me just go back to the airline hosts for a second- outside of the plane (while you are waiting to board) and on the plane itself. They are amazing human beings! They are funny and put you at ease, real quick! They don’t seem to hate their jobs, and genuinely seem to like people. Even if they don’t, they are incredible actors.

I was also able to find a spot for my carry-on easily. THEN, when it came to the end of the C-group, there was a gentleman, who found a spot at the very front for his body, but didn’t see a place for his carry-on AT FIRST. Amazingly, he was able to switch some other’s bags into different containers (which nobody seemed to mind) and was able to fit his in, in three moves. No joke, EVERYBODY cheered for him. When the plane landed, he helped everyone in the vicinity, locate and hand them their bags. Way to go, stranger! Needless to say, this was an amazing experience. I really didn’t mean to write 4 paragraphs, on Southwest, and maybeeee this should have been a YELP review, but it was such a great opening to my weekend and needed to be shared. Everyone worked together and although, it was a bit of organized chaos, it was so so great to see such kind people willing to help each other out. It was like being on that plane created an instant bond-comparable to what Emily Arrow does, every time she brings people together. 

Smooth transition, am I right?? :) Emily surrounds herself with the best people. I always knew that, but somehow, it wasn’t really ingrained in my brain, as it was when I entered Zoey Abbott’s home. Let me start by saying that the only Lift I took the entire weekend was to get to Zoey’s home. For those of you who don’t know Zoey, she is a soon to be published illustrator, who also worked with Emily on Little Red Sled!

The minute I stepped into Zoey’s home, she was in host-mode. I also want to say, that i had LATE flight. I didn’t get to her house until a little after midnight. I was expecting to be shown to wherever I was sleeping and maybe see her in the morning? NO. Zoey wanted to know how my trip was, if I wanted wine (which she doesn’t even drink), water, if I wanted to look at picture books…it went on and on. She was incredibly funny and so lovely to talk to. I also probably bored her to death with my Kevin Henkes story. I am not trying to diss on LA hosts, but it was so enlightening to see how pumped Zoey was to host and how she didn’t seem to care what time it was. I don’t think that would have happened where I live and I was so grateful.

The next morning, after sleeping in my OWN ROOM, I was treated to a homemade breakfast! I got to meet her adorable and intelligent kids and their awesome dog Carrots. After, Zoey drove her daughter, illustrator Alison Farrell (look for her book, Cycle City in 2018!), her son and I to an amazing little restaurant called, Por Que No? If you need a recommendation on what to eat there, I had their fresh jamaica, and a Bryan’s Bowl with carne asada and chips. It was so delicious! I also loved that they had equality and “welcoming of all” signs posted everywhere. Furthermore, the thing that I keep telling everyone, when they ask me about my trip is that, they had an umbrella stand that said something to the beat of, “borrow an umbrella while you wait in line”. That still blows my mind. In LA, those umbrellas definitely would have been stolen. It’s a sad fact, but it’s the truth. We have a Little Free Library outside of Vroman’s and within the first couple months of it’s existence, someone had vandalized it. The umbrella stand was just something that showed me a huge contrast between Portland and home.

After getting to see Emily & her life mate, Alex (for the first time in months) and meeting all these wonderful new friends (Kate Berube, Karyn Lewis, Diane Adams & her sister, Danielle Davis & Deborah Hocking), we headed to Green Bean Books, which is a treasure in itself. Here is a photo of most of us, outside the store!

& here is a photo of some of us inside the store, with bookseller extraordinaire, Earl & author, Ashlyn Anstee!

We were tasked with the job of finding a book that best represented ourselves. I wish I could remember what everyone picked…the ones that I do remember, included: Hug Machine, The Lost House, Happy Dreamer, I Don’t Like Koala, This is Sadie, Love Is, Lyle Lyle Crocodile, and Chester’s Way.

Then we got a chance to discuss them all, in Green Bean Books’ wonderful patio. Here are some of the wonders I encountered while out there:

I just loved that everywhere you looked, there was something beautiful to behold. Also, Earl is an amazing bookseller. There were times, I felt like I was being put to shame because of all the new books he has managed to read! He definitely knows what he is talking about. If you are ever in Portland, I hope you get a chance to talk books with him!

I would also like to take a moment to mention that all of the awesome authors that joined in this weekend, all have super cool books out, or will be out shortly. Please see the following works of genius:

Kate Berube (inspired the Hannah & Sugar song)-My Little Half-Moon, out May 2nd! She also has the books, Hannah & Sugar & The Summer Nick Taught His Cats to Read

Danielle Davis-Zinnia and Bees, a middle grade novel, out August 1st!

Alison Farrell-Cycle City in 2018. It’s too early for info/art for it yet, but follow her on insta to *hopefully* see some in the future!

Ashlyn Anstee (inspired the No, No, Gnome! & Are We There, Yeti? songs)-Are We There, Yeti? and No, No, Gnome!, are available for purchase now!

Deborah Hocking-The Great Henry Hopendower, out June 6th! She also has the non fiction book, Build, Beaver, Build! available for purchase now!

Diane Adams (inspired the Two Hands to Love You, and Love Is, songs!)-Two Hands to Love You, Love Is and many more!

Zoey Abbott Wagner (inspired the Little Red Sled song)-Twindergarten, out June 20th & Oregon Reads Aloud, available now!

We also got to go to a lot of other cool food places during the weekend, including Pip’s Original Doughnuts (I would recommend their “The Dirty Wu”), Random Order Coffeehouse & Bakery (where I had the best chocolate cream pie) and Fire on the Mountain (in which I tried their El Jefe Challenge and failed miserably).

Do you see my little book and pencil, that I got from Green Bean Books in the photo above??

& NOW, ON TO THE REASON WE ALL CAME TO PORTLAND:

Emily’s Manager Oahn & Karin put together an incredible launch for her 2nd album, Storytime Singalong Vol. 2! Here they are below:

If their faces look sad, it’s because Emily is saying the most wonderful things about them on the other side of this photo!! #TeamArrow is a force to be reckoned with.

The launch was held at the Freemont Theatre and was just a perfect venue! Karin did so well with her choice! I’m going to try my best to explain, why this event meant so much to so many, including myself. Personally, I am so proud of Emily. She is only a little older than myself, and yet has created her own genre of music, her own business, is following her dreams and recently bought her own house. Seeing her perform her second album at the Freemont, was just the icing on the cake. I think everyone was a little teary at some point during the day. A lot of the authors present, had worked with Emily at some point and were hearing their songs live in front of a crazy big crowd. You can see it for yourself here:

It was so crazy, that at one point there didn’t seem to be a clear pathway. If you haven’t checked out Emily’s second album, it has some wonderful songs on it. They are:

Anything Can Be A Song

Explorers of the Wild Song

Hannah and Sugar Song

Be A Friend Song

Nana in the City Song

We Are Enough Song

No, No Gnome Song

I Love You Already Song

Don’t Hide Your Magic Song

Two Hands to Love You Song

And you can buy it now!

I know this post is incredibly LONG and that it seems like all I am saying is that PORTLAND IS AWESOME, EMILY IS AWESOME and ALL THESE AUTHORS AND PEOPLE ARE AWESOME. Let me tell you, THAT IS EXACTLY what I was trying to say. I just had so many words that I wanted to get out, in order to say exactly that. Could this have been edited? Probably. But hey, this is my blog. I want to thank you so much for reading and I hope that you get to hear these songs, read these books and visit this amazing city. I loved every second that I was there and with these people and won’t forget it or them. <3

Love,

Jen in the Bookstore

**A special shout out again to Zoey for hosting me, Oahn and Karin for arranging this whole thing, Emily for getting me there, and Zoey and Deborah for making sure I only had to take 1 Lift the entire weekend. **

Jen in the Bookstore Goes to Portland; How Southwest Airlines, an Emily Arrow Album Launch & a Bunch of Kind Portlanders Made My Weekend  I was having trouble thinking of a way to start this post. The thing is, that last weekend was so, so special to me, and I didn't want to sell it as less than it was.