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perennialessays · 3 years

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Crisis and Critique

What is critical theory, and whence the notion of critique as a practical stance towards the world? Using these questions as a point of departure, this course takes critical theory as its field of inquiry. Part of the course will be devoted to investigating what critique is, starting with the etymological and conceptual affinity it shares with crisis: since the Enlightenment, so one line of argument goes, all grounds for knowledge are subject to criticism, which is understood to generate a sense of escalating historical crisis culminating in a radical renewal of the intellectual and social order. We will explore the efficacy of modern critical thought, and the concept of critique’s efficacy, by examining a series of attempts to narrate and amplify states of crisis – and correspondingly transform key concepts such as self, will, time, and world – in order to provoke a transformation of society. The other part of the course will be oriented towards understanding current critical movements as part of the Enlightenment legacy of critique, and therefore as studies in the practical implications of critical readings. Key positions in critical discourse will be discussed with reference to the socio-political conditions of their formation and in the context of their provenance in the history of philosophy, literature, and cultural theory. Required readings will include works by Kant, Hegel, Marx, Nietzsche, Freud, Husserl, Benjamin and others, with suggested readings and references drawn from a variety of source materials ranging from literary and philosophical texts to visual images, film, and architecture. You are invited to work on your individual interests with respect to the readings.

Week 1

Critique, krinein, crisis (Koselleck, Adorno)

Required Reading

Reinhart Koselleck, “Crisis,” Journal of the History of Ideas 67.2 (2006), 357-400.

—, Chapters 7 and 8, Critique and Crisis: Enlightenment and the Pathogenesis of Modern Society. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 1988 [German original, 1959].

Adorno and Horkheimer, "The Concept of Enlightenment," in Dialectic of Enlightenment, trans. John Cumming (New York: Continuum, 1989), pp. 3-42.

Recommended Reading

Michel Foucault, “What is Enlightenment?” in The Foucault Reader. New York: Pantheon Books, 1984: 32-50.

—, The Politics of Truth. New York: Semiotext(e), 1997.

Friedrich Hölderlin, “Nature and Art or Saturn and Jupiter,” in Hyperion and Selected Poems. Ed. by Eric Santner. Translated by Michael Hamburger. New York: Continuum, 1990: 150-151.

Week 2

Judgment and Imagination (Kant)

Required Reading

Immanuel Kant, “Preface [A and B],” in Critique of Pure Reason. Translated and edited by Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998: 99-124.

—, “Preface” and “Introduction,” in Critique of Practical Reason, in Practical Philosophy, trans. Mary Gregor (Cambridge UP, 1996), pp. 139-149.

—, §§1-5, 59-60 of Critique of the Power of Judgment, trans. Paul Guyer and Eric Matthews (Cambridge UP, 2000), pp. 89-96, 225-230.

—, “Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose,” in Kant: Political Writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991 (2nd ed.): 41-53, 273.

—, “An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment? [1784],” in Practical Philosophy. Translated by Mary J. Gregor. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999: 11-22.

Recommended Reading

Immanuel Kant, "Analytic of the Sublime," in Critique of Judgment. Translated by James Creed Meredith; revised, edited, and introduced by Nicholas Walker. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007: 75-164.

Theodor Adorno, Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason (2001 [1959])

Henry Allison, Kant’s Transcendental Idealism (2004)

Hannah Arendt, Lectures on Kant’s Political Philosophy (1992)

Geoffrey Bennington, “Kant’s Open Secret”, Theory, Culture and Society 28.7-8(2011): 26-40.

J.M. Bernstein, The Fate of Art: Aesthetic Alienation from Kant to Derrida and Adorno (1992)

Graham Bird, The Revolutionary Kant (2006)

Andrew Bowie, Aesthetics and Subjectivity: from Kant to Nietzsche (1990, 2003)

Howard Caygill, The Kant Dictionary (2000)

Ernst Cassirer, Kant's Life and Thought (1981)

Gilles Deleuze, Kant's Critical Philosophy (1984)

Will Dudley and Kristina Engelhard (eds.) Immanuel Kant: Key Concepts (2010)

Paul Guyer, Kant’s Critique of the Power of Judgment: Critical Essays (2003)

Martin Heidegger, Phenomenological Interpretation of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason (1997)

Laura Hengehold, The BODY Problematic: Political Imagination in Kant and Foucault (2007)

Otfried Höffe, Immanuel Kant (1994)

Jean-François Lyotard, L’Enthousiasme: La critique kantienne de l’histoire. Paris: L’Éditions Galilée, 1986.

Rudolf Makkreel, Imagination and Interpretation in Kant: The Hermaneutic Import of the Critique of Judgment (1990)

Jean-Luc Nancy, A Finite Thinking (2003)

Andrea Rehberg and Rachel Jones (eds.), The Matter of Critique: Readings in Kant’s Philosophy (2000)

Philip Rothfield (ed.), Kant after Derrida (2003)

Rei Terada, Looking Away: Phenomenality and Dissatisfaction, Kant to Adorno (2009)

Yirmiahu Yovel, Kant and the Philosophy of History (1989)

Week 3

Recognition and the Other (Hegel)

Required Reading

G.W.F. Hegel, “The Truth of Self-Certainty” and “Lordship and Bondage,” in The Phenomenology of Spirit. Translated by Terry Pinkard. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2018: 102-116.

—, “The Art-Religion,” in The Phenomenology of Spirit. Translated by Terry Pinkard. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2018: 403-430.

Recommended Reading

G.W.F. Hegel, Introduction [§§1, 2, 3, 5, 6 and 8], in Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art. Translated by T.M. Knox. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975: 1-14; 22-55; 69-90.

Stuart Barnett (ed.), Hegel after Derrida (2001)

Frederick Beiser (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Hegel (1993)

Susan Buck-Morss, Hegel, Haiti, and Universal History (2009)

Rebecca Comay, Mourning Sickness: Hegel and the French Revolution (2011)

Rebecca Comay and John McCumber (eds.), Endings: Questions of Memory in Hegel and Heidegger (1999)

Eva Geulen, The End of Art: Readings in a Rumor after Hegel. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2006.

Werner Hamacher, “(The End of Art with the Mask),” in Stuart Barnett (ed.), Hegel after Derrida. London and New York: Routledge, 1998: 105-130.

Werner Hamacher, “The Reader’s Supper: A Piece of Hegel,” trans. Timothy Bahti, diacritics 11.2 (1981): 52-67.

H.S. Harris, Hegel: Phenomenology and System (1995)

Stephen Houlgate, An Introduction to Hegel: Freedom, Truth and History (2005)

Stephen Houlgate, Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit (2013)

Fredric Jameson, The Hegel Variations (2010)

Alexandre Kojève, Introduction to the Reading of Hegel. Lectures on the Phenomenology of Spirit. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1980.

Terry Pinkard, Hegel: A Biography (2001)

Week 4

Revolution … (Marx)

Required Reading

Karl Marx, “I: Feuerbach,” The German Ideology, in Collected Works vol. 5. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1976: 27-93.

Karl Marx, "Theses on Feuerbach," available online (http://www.marxists.org/archive/marx/works/1845/theses/theses.htm)

Week 5

... and Repetition (Marx)

Required Reading

Karl Marx, “Preface” to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy [1859], in Collected Works vol. 29. London: Lawrence and Wishart, 1976: 261-165.

—, “Postface to the Second Edition” and “Chapter 1: The Commodity,” in Capital: A Critique of Political Economy. Trans. by B. Fowkes. London: Penguin, 1990: 95-103 and 125-177.

Recommended Reading

Louis Althusser, For Marx (1969)

Hannah Arendt, “Karl Marx and the Tradition of Western Political Thought”, Social Research 69.2 (2002): 273-319.

Étienne Balibar, The Philosophy of Marx (1995, 2007)

Ernst Bloch, On Karl Marx (1971)

Andrew Chitty and Martin McIvor (eds.), Karl Marx and Contemporary Philosophy (2009)

Simon Choat, Marx Through Post-Structuralism: Lyotard, Derrida, Foucault, Deleuze (2010)

Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx: The State of the Debt, the Work of Mourning and the New International. New York and London: Routledge, 1994.

Werner Hamacher, “Lingua Amissa: The Messianism of Commodity-Language and Derrida’s Specters of Marx” (1999)

Jean Hyppolite, Studies on Marx and Hegel (1969)

Sarah Kofman, Camera Obscura: Of Ideology (1998)

Peter Singer, Marx: A Very Short Introduction (1980)

Michael Sprinker (ed.), Ghostly Demarcations: A Symposium on Jacques Derrida’s Specters of Marx (1999, 2008)

Moishe Postone, History and Heteronomy: Critical Essays (2009)

Moishe Postone, Time, Labor, and Social Domination: A Reinterpretation of Marx’s Critical Theory (1993)

Jacques Rancière, “The Concept of ‘Critique’ and the ‘Critique of Political Economy’ (from the 1844 Manuscript to Capital)”, Economy and Society 5.3 (1976): 352-376.

Tom Rockmore, Marx After Marxism: The Philosophy of Karl Marx (2002)

Gareth Stedman-Jones, Karl Marx: Greatness and Illusion (2016)

Week 6

Tutorial Week

Week 7

Will to Becoming Otherwise (Nietzsche)

Required Reading

Friedrich Nietzsche, "Preface" and "First Treatise," in On the Genealogy of Morality. Trans. by Maudemarie Clark and Alan J. Swensen. Indianopolis/Cambridge: Hackett, 1998: 1-33.

Week 8

Ascetic Ideal and Eternal Return (Nietzsche)

Required Reading

Friedrich Nietzsche, "Second Treatise" and "Third Treatise," in On the Genealogy of Morality. Trans. by Maudemarie Clark and Alan J. Swensen. Indianopolis/Cambridge: Hackett, 1998: 35-118.

Recommended Reading

Friedrich Nietzsche, §§341-342 of The Gay Science

Friedrich Nietzsche, “On Vision and Riddle” and “The Convalescent,” in Thus Spake Zarathustra III

Friedrich Nietzsche, “On Truth and Lying in a Non-Moral Sense,” in: The Birth of Tragedy and other writings. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999.

Friedrich Nietzsche, “On the Uses and Abuses of History for Life,” in: Untimely Meditations. Trans. by R.J. Hollingdale. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983.

Gilles Deleuze, Nietzsche and Philosophy. New York: Columbia University Press, 2006.

Jacques Derrida, Spurs: Nietzsche’s Styles. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1979.

Michel Foucault, "Nietzsche, Genealogy, History," in Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews. Ed. by D. F. Bouchard. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977: 139-164.

R. Kevin Hill, Nietzsche’s Critiques: The Kantian Foundations of his Thought (2003)

Luce Irigaray, Marine Lover of Friedrich Nietzsche. Trans. by Gillian C. Gill. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991.

Jean-Francois Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Trans. by Geoff Bennington and Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984.

Gianni Vattimo, The End of Modernity: Nihilism and Hermeneutics in Postmodern Culture. Trans. by Jon R. Snyder. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1988.

Alenka Zupančič, The Shortest Shadow: Nietzsche’s Philosophy of the Two (2003)

Week 9

Repetition Compulsion (Freud)

Required Reading

Sigmund Freud, “Beyond the Pleasure Principle” [excerpts], in Peter Gay (ed.), The Freud Reader. London: Vintage, 1995: 594-625.

Recommended Reading

Theodor Adorno, “Revisionist Psychoanalysis,” Philosophy and Social Criticism 40.3 (2014): 326-338.

Louis Althusser, Writings on Psychoanalysis: Freud and Lacan (1996)

Lauren Berlant, Desire/Love (2012)

Leo Bersani, The Freudian Body: Psychoanalysis and Art (1986)

Rebecca Comay, “Resistance and Repetition: Freud and Hegel,” Research in Phenomenology 45 (2015): 237-266.

Jacques Derrida, Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression (1995)

Jacques Derrida, The Post Card: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond (1987)

Mladen Dolar, “Freud and the Political,” Unbound 4.15 (2008): 15-29.

Sarah Kofman, Freud and Fiction (1991)

Jacques Lacan, “The Agency of the Letter in the Unconscious; or Reason after Freud”, in Écrits: A Selection. Trans. by A. Sheridan. New York: Norton, 1977: 146-175.

Catherine Malabou, “Plasticity and Elasticity in Freud’s Beyond the Pleasure Principle.” Diacritics 37.4 (2007): 78-85.

Jean-Luc Nancy, "System of (Kantian) Pleasure (With a Freudian Postscript)," in Kant after Derrida. Ed. by Phil Rothfield. Manchester: Clinamen Press, 2003: 127-141.

Angus Nicholls and Martin Liebscher (eds.), Thinking the Unconscious: Nineteenth-Century German Thought (2010)

Charles Sheperdson, Vital Signs: Nature, Culture, Psychoanalysis (2000)

Samuel Weber, The Legend of Freud. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000.

Alenka Zupančič, Ethics of the Real: Kant and Lacan. London: Verso, 2012 [reprint].

Week 10

Crisis of European Humankind (Husserl)

Required Reading

Edmund Husserl, §§1-7 and §§10-21, The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology. Trans. by David Carr. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1970: 2-18; 60-84.

Recommended Reading

Edmund Husserl, “Philosophy and the Crisis of European Humanity [Vienna Lecture],” in The Crisis of European Sciences and Transcendental Phenomenology. Trans. by David Carr. Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1970: 269-299.

Jacques Derrida, The Other Heading: Reflections on Today’s Europe. Trans. by Pascale Anne Brault and Michael B. Naas. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992: 4-83.

Paul de Man, “Criticism and Crisis,” in Blindness and Insight: Essays in the Rhetoric of Contemporary Criticism. New York: Oxford University Press, 1971: 3-19.

James Dodd, Crisis and Reflection: An Essay on Husserl’s Crisis of the European Sciences (2004)

Burt C. Hopkins, The Philosophy of Husserl (2011)

David Hyder and Hans-Jörg Rheinberger, Science and the Life-World: Essays on Husserl’s Crisis of European Sciences (2010)

Leonard Lawlor, Derrida and Husserl: The Basic Problem of Phenomenology (2002)

Dermot Moran, The Husserl Dictionary (2012)

Paul Valéry, "Notes on the Greatness and Decline of Europe” and “The European,” in History and Politics. Trans. Denise Folliot and Jackson Matthews. New York: Bollingen, 1962: 228; 311-12.

David Woodruff Smith, Husserl (2007)

Barry Smith and David Woodruff Smith (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to Husserl (1995)

Week 11

Crisis-Proof Experience (Benjamin)

Required Reading

Walter Benjamin, “On Some Motifs in Baudelaire,” in Selected Writings vol. 4. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 2003: 313-355.

Recommended Reading

Walter Benjamin, "Experience and Poverty"

—, "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproducibility”

—, “Theses on the Concept of History”

—, “Epistemo-Critical Prologue,” in The Origin of German Tragic Drama. Trans. by John Osborne. London and New York: Verso, 2003: 27-56.

—, “Convolute J,” The Arcades Project

—, The Writer of Modern Life: Essays on Charles Baudelaire (2006)

Benjamin and Theodor Adorno, “Exchange with Theodor W. Adorno on ‘The Paris of the Second Empire in Baudelaire,” in Benjamin, Selected Writings vol. 4 (1999).

Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil; The Painter of Modern Life

Ian Balfour, “Reversal, Quotation (Benjamin’s History)”, Modern Language Notes 106.3 (1991): 622-647.

Eduardo Cadava, Words of Light: Theses on the Photography of History (1997)

Tom Gunning, “The Exterior as Intérieur: Benjamin’s Optical Detective,” boundary 2 30.1 (2003).

Werner Hamacher, “Now: Benjamin on Historical Time” (2001; 2005)

General Background

Julian Wolfreys (ed.), Modern European Criticism and Theory: A Critical Guide (2006) Simon Critchley, Continental Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction (2001) Terry Pinkard, German Philosophy 1760-1860: The Legacy of Idealism (2002)

Andrew Bowie, Introduction to German Philosophy: From Kant to Habermas (2003)

Kai Hammermeister, The German Aesthetic Tradition (2002) Gary Gutting, French Philosophy in the Twentieth Century (2001)

Eric Matthews, Twentieth-Century French Philosophy (1996)

Jonathan Simons (ed.), From Kant to Lévi-Strauss: The Background to Contemporary Critical Theory (2002)

Learning Outcomes

- You will have a grasp of the broad trends in the development of critical theory.

- You will have a good understanding of how different modern philosophical traditions from German Idealism to Phenomenology inform the different strains of critical theory.

- You will be able to expound and analyse the ways in which a range of different writers and tendencies in the history of modern thought conceive of the specificity of critique.

- You will have a sound grasp of the primary and secondary literatures in critical theory, both on general issues and specific thinkers or schools.

- You will be able to use the ideas and texts explored in the module to inform your readings in critical theoretical texts.

Assessment Criteria

- Students should show a clear command of how their chosen thinker(s) and texts relate to the broader trajectories of critical theory.

- Students should show a detailed critical knowledge of at least two of the module’s key thinkers or theoretical tendencies.

- Students should show a knowledge and capacity to use a good range of secondary literature on both general issues in the field and on the specific thinkers and texts they address.

- Students should be able to read the relevant texts from both critical and genealogical perspectives.

- Students should demonstrate their capacity to develop a distinctive and coherent interpretative and analytical perspective on their chosen subject.

#goldsmiths #crisis and critique

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philosophyquotes · 4 years

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“The greatest problem for the human race, to the solution of which Nature drives man, is the achievement of a universal civic society which administers law among men.” - Immanuel Kant, Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose

#philosophy #wisdom #quotes #philosophers #words #text

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legobiwan · 4 years

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could you do 18 and 100 for the trope mash up thing? (And if you want two characters, Obi-wan and Hondo?- I got a little confused with your added instructions to the trope mashup)

Circus AU / Accidentally Saving the Day (Hondo & Obi-wan)

Anon, I had to WORK for this one and even did a little research into circus history since I am woefully undereducated about the topic. I think I’ve found an interesting way of weaving these all together and giving a little bonus at the end. Stick with me here, I need to do a bit of an introduction to get this whole idea going.

For the purposes of this AU, please assume that the Clone War and all the events surrounding it happened directly after Naboo, meaning everyone is about 10 years younger than they are in canon. Also assume that Qui-gon was not killed on Naboo, although that has little bearing on this particular story.

THIS GOT OUT OF CONTROL. I was expecting to write a fun little 1,000 word thing, not a whole AU concept. But here we are, so….uh…

We’ll see what everyone thinks? Enjoy. And good luck :D

—-

“How are they doing?” Szimon Tesdak asked, thin, long mustache bobbing up and down at the ends.

The other man patted the Pamaradian prancer’s neck, running his fingers through the thick mane of her hair. The prancer shivered, eyes darting back and forth, hooves tapping nervously on the durasteel floor. The man known as Whisp spoke softly in the creature’s ear, the words foreign to even Szimon’s cosmopolitan ears. A few moments later, the prancer settled, nuzzling her snout into Whisp’s shoulder.

Whisp turned to face Szimon. “They’re restless,” he said. “Fourteen hours in a cruiser is a bit much for anyone to take.”

Szimon waved the veiled criticism away with a flick of his wrist. Yes, it had been a long journey, but the payoff would - hopefully - be worth it. And they needed the credits - or whatever these people were going to pay.

“An hour more and we’ll be there,” Szimon said with false confidence.

Whisp stood, crossing his arms tight against his chest, the black-and-crimson fabric of his worn travel tunic wrinkling with the gesture. There was a hint of beard on the young man’s chin, something that, when it grew in, would likely age him a good ten years. The man peered at Szimon with grey-blue eyes like he was trying to ace one of those vision tests at a local spaceport agency. Always looking for hidden meaning, he is.

And sometimes he finds it.

At least with the creatures, that had been the case. Two years Whisp had been working for Szimon and never had the older circus master figured out the man’s trick. Szimon had spent his life in the circus, from his childhood on Thybaar right up the grand days of the bright Coruscant lights to his now-ramshackle operation held together by thread, petty theft, and the occasional cashing in on favors owed.

Szimon had seen it all - and more, but nothing like Whisp and his ability to communicate with the creatures, like he was reading their minds. “The Whisperer,” the other members had taken to calling him. The moniker had stuck, albeit in shortened form, Whisp’s real name - whatever it had been - long forgotten.

“Remind me again why we’re flying out to the Outer Rim for a show? Seems a bit of an expense when we could just as easily round up a few smaller venues for far less hassle,” Whisp said.

“Ah, Whisp, ever the cynic,” Szimon clapped a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t think of it as a hassle,” he waved a dramatic hand, as if unveiling something from a behind a curtain. “But as an expansion of our operations.”

Whisp cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly difficult seeing as our operations comprised of three planets the past month, two of which we never actually got to land on.”

Szimon snorted. Well, yes, business had been down because of the war. Szimon himself cared little for the politics of the Republic or the Separatists. A government was a government, with all its little games and corruptions, mazes of betrayal, and endless mountains of datawork. No, Szimon Tesdak would never be chained behind one of those desks.

But many others were, shackled to unfulfilling jobs and lives, stuck in a desert of mediocrity and boredom. That was where Szimon came in. Unhappy citizens tended to breed unhappy revolts. But give them a nice circus, something to laugh at, a little magic that was absent from their day-to-day existence?

It didn’t really matter who was in power. The problems, the outcomes -they were always the same in the end.

Still, the war had been disruptive to his business and over the past few months, the “Great Thybaarian Traveling Show” had been forced into semi-refugee status as planet after planet was devastated by the conflict between a mechanical and clone army. Circuses were part of avoiding war, not conducting it.

Szimon shook off the dark thoughts with a wide smile. “Come on now, Whisp. We’re going to make great friends on the Outer Rim. My benefactor has promised a large sum, maybe even a sponsorship if we play our cards right.”

“I thought they were pirates,” Whisp retorted, half-smile playing on his face.

Szimon made an airy gesture, chuckling. “Pirates, embezzlers, Hutts. As long as we get paid, I’ll work for the Sith themselves.”

Whisp tightened under Szimon’s arm, which was wrapped around the thin man’s shoulders. Some unreadable emotion passed over his face, a premonition of a storm. After a moment, he spoke, hesitant.

“I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Szimon exclaimed, shaking Whisp. “Come on, we have to make preparations for landing and I’m not letting Battlebuzz near those controls again.“

—–

“That was a very impressive show, my friend,” the pirate known as Hondo Ohnaka sidled up to Whisp, unceremoniously dropping into the seat next to him, tankard full of green ale.

Whisp looked up from his own mug, half-consumed, eyeing the pirate warily. “Thank you,” he replied, adding, “I think,” after a moment’s hesitation. It never hurt to be too cautious around pirates.

“All those acrobats, all the flips and whooshes.” Hondo made an extravagant gesture with his arm, nearly taking Whisp’s head off. “And the beautiful women dancing to such music, it shouldn’t be allowed!” he grinned, giving Whisp a knowing look. ”My men, they enjoy that - some of my women, too!” Hondo cackled, downing the entirety of his pint in one go, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But you, my friend - with the creatures.” The pirate’s voice turned a shade serious and several parsecs more calculating. Whisp bit his lip, steeling himself to steer another drunken conversation away from this dangerous territory. “Yes, the creatures,” Hondo continued, nearly singing. “Now that was something I’ve never seen before. Most beast tamers use weapons.” The pirate made a few motions mimicking a whip. “They use fear and intimidation but you!” He pointed a finger that almost went up Whisp’s nose. “Ah, it was almost like you talked to them with your mind.”

Whisp gave a forced shrug, his pulse starting to race. He needed to stay calm. Needed to focus on the present, not his anxieties. He laughed to himself, bitter, wholly aware of the gross irony of that statement. “Just an ability I’ve had since my youth,” he said, voice flat. “Better me in the circus than those brutish weapons-wielding tamers you mentioned.” Whisp scowled. That much was the truth. Whisp couldn’t abide by their methods, couldn’t stand the way the pain and fear radiated from the abused creatures. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but if he could give a second chance to even a single Borcatu, if he could find a home for those who had been cast out -

Anger trilled at the back Whisp’s brain, a sensuous, lush melody more tempting than any of the ribald pirate ballads in the background.

Hondo beckoned at another Weequay, grabbing two pints from a serving tray, setting one in front of Whisp in an unspoken command. “Yes, your youth. Tell me about that. Your accent is polished, very posh, very Core World.” Very monied. If only, Whisp rued.

It had been too much effort to try and tame his accent, which stood out amongst Szimon’s motley crew of performers like a neon bell weed in the desert.

Whisp took a long sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. The new alcohol was a step higher in quality than the dredge he had been drinking before. He peered to Ohnaka on his right, wondering if he was about to be drugged, kidnapped, or worse. Oh well, he thought, drinking some more of the beverage. Might as well enjoy while I can.

“I was brought up in the Core,” Whisp recited, setting his glass down, not even needing to think about the words he had said them so many times. “My family, unfortunately, abandoned me, so I took to farming in the Mid-Rim as a means of sustaining myself. It was there I discovered I had an affinity for creatures and then did some work in healing clinics before the war broke out. The Republic Army took over all the planetary clinics so I was forced into finding…” Whisp bobbed his head, “more creative ways to apply my talents.”

“Interesting,” Hondo noted, his gaze greedy as he looked Whisp up and down. Whisp’s other hand moved to his waist. So much for enjoying. He fingered the blaster he had hidden under his red and silver vest, neatly tucked away in a shoulder holster.

Hondo held out a hand. “I don’t mean to cause you alarm, my young friend,” he said with a laugh, sitting back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table. “You can put your blaster away, I only want to talk business.”

Whisp’s hand tightened for a moment before he raised an open palm in a universal gesture of surrender, his brow furrowed.

“What type of business?”

“What type indeed?” Hondo hummed, rocking his feet back and forth in time to the bawdy, clangorous music. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Tergallian and Lopisa had gotten into a knife-throwing contest with some of the pirates. Whisp had a feeling the Weequay had bet on it and that the pirates were about to lose their shirts, pants, shoes, and who knew what else in the deal. Might have to make a quick getaway if there’s enough of a ruckus, Whisp thought, eyeing the locations of the exits and the best strategies to get there without being shot.

Again, he winced.

“Oh, you won’t make it out, I promise” Hondo commented, his expression still jovial. “All the exits are under full guard and I guarantee there’s no other way out unless it’s by my command.” He pressed a finger into the table, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Unless,” he began after a moment, “you are a Jedi.”

Whisp was off his stool in an instant, blaster in hand. Not wanting a direct confrontation, he pointed it towards the ground, the table hiding the weapon from the view of most of the other pirates and circus members. Off in the corner, Szimon’s eyes grew wide as he made a series of furious movements in Whisp’s driection.

“I’m fine,” Whisp signed back in the strange language of gestures known only to those in this particular circus, an easy way to communicate on stage while looking artistic and also a not bad method of either avoiding trouble or sometimes finding it - if their pockets and stomachs were empty enough.

Hondo clasped his hands behind his head, looking unconcerned. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, lips quirking upwards as if he had just figured out some baffling puzzle. “Only warn you about my security system. But let us not talk of such things, as they disturb you and as my dear mother always said - “ Hondo raised a finger. “Son! You catch more apidactyls with honey. And if that doesn’t work, you can still catch them with a blaster.”

Not worth the fight. Not even sure I’d win this fight, Whisp sighed inwardly. Knowing when he was outmatched, or at least when to choose his battles, Whisp retook his seat with a muttered curse.

“Fine, then. What do you want from me?”

Hondo smiled. “Ah, now we talk business,” he shrugged. “Nothing much, my friend. And nothing - mostly - to do with your little traveling show. But the circus isn’t going to pay you forever and a man of your many talents - ” Hondo leaned forward, putting both forearms on the table. “Could fetch a pretty hefty payday if he found himself aligned with the right people.”

Whisp’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering me a job?”

Hondo raised both arms. “Maybe, if you are willing to - “

“Hondo!” A large, burly man came barreling into the room. At once, the music stopped with a zippered rip of a holodisc jarred from its needle, pirates and circus members alike turning to the wide-eyed, heaving pirate.

“We got trouble out there!”

Immediately, Hondo came to his feet, blaster in hand. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think it’s the Republic! Looks like them, at least. They’re tryin’ a fall back to our compound!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hondo growled, raising his weapon. “No one takes over Hondo Ohnaka’s compound without my permission!”

—-

Blaster fire rang out from all sides, a multicolored lattice of deadly energy. To Whisp’s surprise, Hondo was near the vanguard of the pirates, shooting at the incoming wave of bright, white uniforms with terrifying precision. The pirates were good, Whisp had to give them that, the transition from unruly drunkards to semi-disciplined guerrilla fighters more seamless than Whisp thought possible.

“Any ideas?” Szimon asked next to him, the pair huddled behind a large boulder, just out of range of the real fighting. Whisp knew Szimon didn’t care one way or another about who won this particular battle - one of thousands Szimon had witnessed over the years. But their ship - their livelihood and home, not to mention only asset - lay just beyond the front line of what Whisp was pretty sure were the infamous clones. If their ship was damaged, or, even worse, destroyed - they were all done for.

Whisp took in the scene, applying his natural affinity for tactics that had been first discovered early in his tenure with Szimon, an awkward encounter with the Ruuthian mafia, a highly successful performance, and a jar of…requisitioned heeble eggs belonging to Ruuthian mob boss. It had been his quick thinking that had gotten them out of that mess, a plan so crazy it couldn’t do anything but work. From that point on, Whisp had earned the nickname, “The General,” much to his dismay.

Carefully, Whisp extended his senses, not only his eyes and ears but his other senses, the ones he kept locked away from everyone else - everyone else except his creatures. The creatures didn’t care what his status or title was, if he had succeeded or not, if he occasionally broke some moral law that had been branded into his mind as a child. The creatures didn’t judge - they had never judged and found him wanting.

It wasn’t good. For all of Hondo’s firepower, they were still in the bottom of a cereal bowl in the sandy crevasse, the clone troopers above holding higher ground as they advanced on the compound. It didn’t escape Whisp’s notice that the troopers’ blaster bolts were consistently going wide, aimed to injure or impede, but not kill. Some strange long-buried instinct rose in Whisp’s chest as he watched the men, sensing their similarities, down to a genetic level. Was he was supposed to be on their side? Supposed to be fighting with them, supposed to -

An explosion rocked the compound, bringing down metal, stone, and all kinds of debris on the pirates. Hondo barked out more orders, a line of men running to set up what looked like a short-range missile while the rest of the pirates resumed their firefight.

I’m supposed to be getting us out alive, Whisp fumed at himself. No more distractions. Szimon’s face was covered in dust and sand and for a moment Whisp almost laughed. The circus master looked the spitting image of the Great Lady Devonna in her full makeup.

“Are you alright, Szimon?” Whisp asked, helping the other man to a seat.

“I’ve seen worse,” he growled, swiping debris from tassled gold epaulettes perched on bright red shoulders like two Felucian retrine sparrows. “Just do something, Whisp, I’m not getting any younger here.”

Right. Whisp looked again at the fight, the positioning of the men, their ship. The pirates weren’t going to win an all-out firefight, not like this and Whisp had to assume there would be reinforcements coming sooner than later. It was now or…

Whisp frowned. They could wait for the clones to take over the compound and beg for lenience. But knowing the Republic, they’d probably confiscate the ship. And send them to prison. Besides, Whisp’s own presence might raise too many uncomfortable questions, ones he had no desire whatsoever to revisit.

So much for that idea, he rued, while surveying the scene. The clones were all faced towards the fighting, Hondo’s forces feisty enough to keep them fully engaged. There weren’t that many of them, not a full battalion, for certain, which meant it was likely Szimon’s ship was wholly unguarded and not even considered a threat, as it had no visible weaponry. If he could just…

Whisp closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar energies, the outlines of the creatures he cared for, from the smallest snitmouse to the largest morak. Yes, he thought, connecting his mind with the stampede creatures. They would never see it coming.

A moment later the earth rumbled, the fighting slowing to a small drizzle of blaster fire as the line of clones turned to the oncoming dust storm that hid the three moraks, now prodded on by Whisp, feeding off of his repressed frustration and anger with the representatives of the institution that had driven him to this life in the first place. Of the people who were trying, again, to deprive him of a home, of a place where he belonged.

Unaware the opaque cloud hid anything living, no less animals whose shells repelled most blaster fire - a well-kept secret known not even in the fancy universities on Coruscant - the clones fired to no avail as the moraks descended, sending bodies flying in every direction with desperate shrieks, the remainder of the forces too startled to return fire efficiently. Three bloody minutes later, the remaining clones ran, retreating, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades as the only evidence of the failed ambush.

Cheers rose the pirates as they lifted their weapons in glee, somehow manifesting mugs of ale in their hands only a scant minute after they had been involved in a full-bore battle. Whisp slowly climbed from behind the rock, pulling Szimon up with him. The Thybaarian looked at Whisp as if it was the first time he had ever seen him.

“Was that you?” he asked, eyes trying to pierce through years of layers, of hidden secrets that were the only true skin of the man known as Whisp.

Whisp laughed, uncomfortable. “What? No, I mean - “

Szimon shook his head, still dazed. “I always had my suspicions, you know. Not just the creatures, although I’ll grant you that’s one hell of a trick.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I figured there was some reason you weren’t up with them in that fancy tower, figured it was none of my business, but now - “ Szimon’s eyes turned calculating. “This isn’t just some parlor trick, is it, it’s - “

Whisp backed away, palms splayed in front of him, as if trying to stop the words from entering his space. “No, I’m not. I - “ he looked around, wild, feeling just like one of his creatures, feral and trapped. He was going to lose his home again, once they found out, it was all going to be over. “I never - “ Something snapped, then crackled with inside of Whisp, like the breaking of an invisible, electric bone, sparking flying everywhere.

“I never was one, okay!” he yelled, stomping his foot. “Never was, never will be! That man - that child - died over ten years ago. This -” Whisp gestured angrily at himself. “Is what I am. Nothing. More.”

They had been certain leave Whisp with that message. Nothing more. Just nothing.

“A fascinating story, my young friend,” a low, baritone voice intoned from behind them. “I would be curious to hear more of it.”

Whisp spun around. The man was - there was no other word for it - regal, imperious, commanding the attention of every being in the valley, as he moved towards Whisp and Szimon, long brown cape billowing in the wind, deep violet outfit a perfect fit on his broad chest. Hondo’s troops paused mid-swig, ale running down their necks, and even Hondo himself craned his head forward to get a better look at the newcomer.

Fifty blaster rifles rose at once.

The man stopped, surveying the ends of the weapons pointed at him with a disaffected gaze. The compound held its breath, sinews tightening around triggers as an unworldly clarity came over the canyon, as if each atom, each sound wave could be made manifest as a physical, tangible reality. And then the man smirked, wholly unconcerned with his vast disadvantage in the situation as the world returned to its customary blur. Whisp and the others exhaled, noisy phlegm crackling up their lungs, dust tingling in their throats.

The stranger took an unhurried step forward raising one hand.

“You may lower your weapons,” he addressed the pirates, voice betraying nothing but absolute confidence. It occurred to Whisp then that the man had never been at any disadvantage at all. “I intend no harm,” he added in his deep, patrician voice.

Hondo took an equal, ambling step forward, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the newcomer, a hound sniffing for possible quarry, gazing him up and down, as if he were a incoming shipment of contraband. Then, after a moment, Hondo gave a nod, and the blasters summarily disappeared.

“My, my we are popular today,” the pirate began amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…” Hondo gestured at the other man in question.

“I am here for three reasons,” the stranger announced, ignoring Hondo’s unspoken inquiry. “The first was unwelcome, but unsurprising. My ships were caught unaware, en route from a trade post in the Outer Rim to Jybosti. I carry the identification cards and manifest if you desire proof of my claim. The Republic forced our hand, causing us to land here and engage in an unwanted ground battle which regrettably involved your forces.” The man turned to Hondo, giving an apologetic gesture. Hondo answered with cool regard, his skepticism echoing through the enclosure. Whisp had to agree. No one just happened to go by a place like Florrum without reason. Especially someone like this.

Still, it wasn’t the stranger that had been one shooting at them. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.

“Secondly,” the man continued, opening his arms, “I would like to thank you all for, how shall I say - “ He paused for dramatic effect, lifting his chin slightly. Whoever this man was, he knew how to hold a crowd, perhaps even better than Szimon. “Saving the day, however unexpected your heroics may have been.”

“Yeah, heroes!” One of the pirates bellowed, raising both his blaster and ale mug, several others echoing his enthusiasm with chants of “Heroes!” which quickly devolved into far less elevated rhetoric.

“And thirdly?” Hondo asked, after the raucous had died down.

“Thirdly,” the man drawled, turning his full attention on Whisp. “I would like to know further details regarding this young man’s story.”

Whisp’s eyes went wide as he took an involuntary step back. “There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. The words were automatic, a defense mechanism so perfectly tuned, it was nearly instinct. But the strange pressure that had been growing at the back of Whisp’s brain spiked with the lie, leaving a dark, velvet shadow in its wake, something immensely powerful yet a balm to his frayed emotions. It was something…

Whisp gasped, eyes locking with the other man.

It was something familiar.

The stranger smiled, all edges as he clasped his hands behind his back, addressing Szimon. “This young man is in your employ?” he asked, brusque, nodding towards Whisp.

Szimon straightened his jacket and his posture, already sensing a deal in the making as he slipped into tell-tale ringmaster persona. “Yes, sir, best creature tamer I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting,” the man commented, drawing out the word. “And if he were to leave your employ, how would that affect your operations?”

“Well, I daresay it would be quite the inconvenience,” Szimon began, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar patter of a sales pitch. Whisp barely heard the words, disbelief rising like an angry, red ocean. Would Szimon really do this to him? Now? After everything?

“…so you see, unless I would be suitably compensated for my losses…”

The grey-haired man leaned forward and whispered something in Szimon’s ear. Szimon’s eyes went moon-wide, his mouth dropping open, words tripping from his mouth.

“I trust that would be satisfactory?” the man asked.

“I - ah - “ Szimon sent a half-apologetic glance over to Whisp, eyes gleaming with barely-contained avarice. “I think that would be more than fair.”

“Excellent,” the man articulated, ignoring Szimon’s half-gasped ‘thank yous,’ now directing his full attention back to Whisp, drawing himself up to full height. “And you, who are about to enter my employ. What is your name?”

So that was it. No offer, not even a perfunctory question, Whisp’s future once again dictated by the whims of others. Whisp clenched his teeth agains the injustice of his very existence. “Whisp,” he answered, barely keeping the venom from his voice, fists tightening into balls, nails digging into his palms.

“Your real name,” the man growled. Behind him, Szimon gaped, now looking on with unabashed curiosity, a faint patina of guilt oozing from his sweat-beaded forehead.

Long-buried memories, banished ghosts relegated to an afterlife he had not yet experienced rose in Whisp. He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of emotions, of the sharp knives of betrayal, the deep pools of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. Had it been so long since he had uttered his own name?

Forcing a noisy breath between his teeth, he steeled himself, meeting the icy gaze of the other man, who considered him with keen, intense interest.

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi.”

For a brief second, the Force surged in a strange, dark elation as the stranger’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

“And I am Yan Dooku of Serenno. Come, Obi-wan,” he said, putting an arm around Whisp’s shoulders, leading him away from the confused and quiet scene of pirates, of the doe-eyed stares of what had - for a brief, happy moment - been his family.

From one family to the next, always a visitor. First the Jedi and Qui-gon Jinn, then Bandomeer. Then clinics, then circuses, and now this.

With Dooku.

Something settled in Obi-wan’s gut, not unpleasant. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to open to the Force, wholly and without constraint. This felt right, more right than anything else had in Obi-wan’s life.

“Come,” Dooku repeated, voice warming ever so slightly. “We have much to do.”

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deepdreamerdetective · 3 years

Text

How the elites are screwing over the oppressed

The HBO series Succession depicts the dynastic dramas of a family-controlled media company, headed by patriarch Logan Roy in a spirit of vigorous tyranny. This clan is ultra-rich and totally amoral. One of the sons, the dissolute and aptly named Roman (played by Kieran Culkin) is gleefully immoral, skewering the petty decencies of “normal people” with lines that make you wince and laugh out loud at the same time. It is a delicious depiction of aristocratic license that would be recognisable to observers of the senatorial class in late-empire Rome, or the court of Louis XVI. To watch the show is to take an hour-long break from the relentless moralism of contemporary life and watch power operate with bald-faced corruption, rather than self-righteous bullshit. It’s refreshing that way.

The Roy family occupies the most rarefied level of globe-trotting oligarchs. Dropping down a rung or two on the pyramid of power, consider the moral ecology inhabited by the broader gentility: the salaried decision-makers and ideas-managers who service the global arrangement from various departments of the ideological apparatus. They may work in NGOs, the governing bodies of the EU, corporate journalism, HR departments, the celebrity-industrial complex, the universities, Big Tech, etc. They, too, enjoy a kind of freedom, but it is decidedly not that of the high-spirited criminals depicted in Succession. So far from living “beyond good and evil”, this broader class of cosmopolitans asserts its freedom through its moralism, precisely. In particular, they have broken free of the claims of allegiance made upon them by the particular communities they emerge from.

How does this work, psychologically? The idea of a common good has given way to a partition of citizens along the lines of a moral hierarchy – one that just happens to mirror their material fortunes (as in Calvinism). Instead of feeling bound up in a shared fate with one’s countrymen, one develops an alternate solidarity that is placeless. The relatability across national borders that the gentlefolk feel in one another’s company — the gracious ease and trust, the shared points of reference in high-prestige opinion — has something to do with their uniformly high standing in the moral hierarchy that divides citizen from citizen within their own nations. The decision-making class has discovered that it enjoys the mandate of heaven, and with this comes certain permissions; certain exemptions from democratic scruple.

The permission structure is built around grievance politics. Very simply: if the nation is fundamentally racist, sexist and homophobic, I owe it nothing. More than that, conscience demands that I repudiate it. Hannah Arendt spelled out this logic of high-minded withdrawal from the claims of community in the essays she wrote in response to the

protest movements of the 1960s. Conscience “trembles for the individual self and its integrity,” appealing over the head of the community to a higher morality. The latter is discerned in a highly subjective, personal way. The heroic pose struck by Thoreau in Civil Disobedience is the model for this kind of moralistic anti-politics of conscience, in which the good man may be quite opposed to the one called a good citizen.

In The Revolt of the Elites, Christopher Lasch spelled out in greater detail the role that claims of racial and sexual oppression play in securing release from allegiance to the nation — not just for those who identify as its victims, but for those with the moral sensitivity to see victimisation where it may not be apparent, and who make this capacity a touchstone of their identity. It becomes a token of moral elevation by which we recognise one another, and distinguish ourselves from the broader run of citizens. Both Lasch and Arendt argue that black Americans serve a crucial function for the white bourgeoisie. As the emblem and proof of America’s illegitimacy, they anchor a politics of repudiation in which the idea of a common good has little purchase.

This illegitimacy transcends any particular historical facts about slavery and segregation. Indeed it transcends America, as one can surmise by the ease with which American grievance politics has been exported throughout the Western world. In this we sometimes see the use of American historical references that have been weirdly transposed, as when a house once lived in by Rosa Parks was relocated from Detroit to Berlin, the financial seat of the European Union. (Under the empire of Christendom, the market for material relics from the Passion of Christ was similarly global; they left the holy land and ended up in various seats of earthly power.) Most recently, the transatlantic festival of George Floyd attests to the fact that it isn’t simply America that stands accused.

The social order is corrupt, then. The labour movement once had an alternative order to offer in its stead, drawing on the socialist tradition. It was one that included African-Americans – not as African-Americans but as workers. And this movement was fairly successful. The pressures that organised labour brought to bear on business and the state helped to secure America’s brief period of shared prosperity, lasting roughly from the end of WWII to the 1970s.

What happened then? The new prominence of the term “repressed” in the 1960s is significant, and marks a shift into a new terrain of psychologised politics. The object of attack for the “new Left” was no longer laissez-faire capitalism but “society”, the Freudian superego more or less, with its insistence on standards of behaviour that are binding on all. Arendt and Lasch both identify this attack on shared standards as the decisive inflection point in our turn away from a politics of the common good. Society is taken to be inherently oppressive, and discredited in the name of liberation.

One can find such an idea in a selective reading of Freud, for whom there is an inherent conflict between self and society. But for Freud, reconciling oneself to this conflict and entering into the world of shared meaning and exchange, indeed identifying with it, is how one becomes an adult. The world does not love you simply for being you, as your mommy does. One holds oneself accountable to prevailing norms, or else remains trapped in infantile narcissism.

The Left’s posture of liberationism provided an interpretive frame in which the deadly riots and wider explosion of urban crime in the 1960s was to be understood as political rather than criminal. This interpretation played a key role in the wider inversion: it is “society” that is revealed to be criminal. The utility of urban rioting for the new Left lay in the fact that it was thought to carry an insight into the illegitimacy of even our most minimum standards of behaviour. The moral authority of the black person, as victim, gave the bourgeoisie permission to withdraw its allegiance from the social order, just as black people were gaining fuller admittance to it.

Consider the images that had so impressed the nation in the 1950s and lead to the passage of civil rights legislation: marchers demanding equal treatment, and being willing to go to jail as a demonstration of this allegiance to the rule of law, impartially applied. The civil rights movement began as an attack on the injustice of double standards; it was a patriotic appeal to the common birthright of citizenship, as against the local sham democracy of the South. Notably, the civil rights activists of this time wore suits and ties, the costume of adult obligations and standards of comportment. But in a stunning reversal achieved by the new Left working in concert with the Black Power movement, Lasch points out, “the idea of a single standard was itself attacked as the crowning example of ‘institutional racism’.” Such standards were said to have no other purpose than keeping black people in their place. This shift was fundamental, for shared standards are what make for a democratic social order, as against the ancien régime of special privileges and exemptions.

For the new Left, then, it was not capitalism but the democratic social order altogether that was the source of oppression — not just of black people, or of workers, but of us, the college bourgeoisie. The civil rights movement of black Americans became the template for subsequent claims by women, gays and transgender persons, each based on a further discovery of moral failing buried deep in the heart of America. Hence a further license, indeed mandate, granted to individual conscience, as against the claims of the nation.

But the black experience retains a special role as the template that must be preserved. The black man is specially tuned by history to pick up the force field of oppression, which may be hard to discern in the more derivative cases that are built by analogy with his. Therefore, his condition serves a wider diagnostic and justificatory function. If it were to improve, denunciation of “society” would be awkward to maintain and, crucially, my own conscience would lose its self-certifying independence from the community. My wish to be free of the demands of society would look like mere selfishness.

The white bourgeoisie became invested in a political drama in which their own moral standing depends on black people remaining permanently aggrieved. Unless their special status as ur-victim is maintained, African-Americans cannot serve as patrons for the wider project of liberation. If you question this victimisation, you are questioning the rottenness of America. And if you do that, you are threatening the social order, strangely enough. For it is now an order governed by the freelance moralists of the cosmopolitan consensus. Somehow these free agents, ostensibly guided by individual conscience, have coalesced into something resembling a tribe, one that is greatly angered by rejection of its moral expertise.

The notion of expertise is important. There appears to be a circle of mutual support between political correctness, technocratic administration, and the bloated educational machinery. Because smartness (as indicated by educational credentials) confers title to rule in a technocratic regime, the ruling class adopts a distinctly cognitivist view: virtue does not consist of anything you do or don’t do, it consists of having the correct opinions. This is attractive, as one may then exempt oneself from the high-minded policies one inflicts upon everyone else. For example, the state schools are turned into laboratories of grievance-based social engineering, with generally disastrous effects, but you send your own children to expensive private schools. You can de-legitimise the police out of a professed concern for black people, and the explosion of murder will be confined to black parts of the city you never see, and journalists are not interested in. In this way, you can be magnanimous while avoiding the moral pollution and that comes from noticing reality.

With this clerisy’s systemic lack of “skin in the game”, the idea of a common good becomes a weak abstraction. Maintaining one’s own purity of opinion, on the other hand, has real psychic consequence, as it is the basis for one’s feeling of belonging — not to the community one happens to reside in, but to the tribe of the elect.

If the ideal of a de-moralised public sphere was a signature aspiration of liberal secularism, it seems we have entered a post-secular age. Populism happened because it became widely noticed that we have transitioned from a liberal society to something that more closely resembles a corrupt theocracy.

#anti-capitalism #elites

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philosophybits · 6 months

Quote

Reason itself does not work instinctively, but requires trial, practice, and instruction in order gradually to progress from one level of insight to another.

Immanuel Kant, Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose

#philosophy #quotes #Immanuel Kant #Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Purpose #reason #rationality #practice #learning #education #growth

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quote-diaries · 4 years

Text

#quotes #people #wisdom #life #sayings #words #text

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years

Text

The Bindings Of Time - Chapter 4. To Throw Off The Sands Of Time And Education - PhannieMay - Day 23 Graduation and Day 22 Memories

Summary: Graduates got to have a bit of fun

(Multi-chapter fic, each chapter falls under the Memories prompt as well as another day’s prompt)

Danny yawns as he wakes up, it’s definitely strange having his body sleep while his minds doing time shit. But while his body needs the rest he can’t just check out from time for hours on end. Rubbing his ring and patting at the chessboard before heading down for food. It’s quite impressive the amount of introspection and problem solving one can do while sitting at a simple chess board. Well, ok, his chessboard wasn’t exactly simple but whatever.

Smiling at his mom softly as he walks into the kitchen. Knowing she’s still not too pleased with his job and feeling rather uncomfortable with all his changes, “mornin’, making eggs?”. She nods but frowns a little, “I’m sure you already knew that”. Danny sighs as he takes his seat, “don’t do that. I don’t know everything while human and even when I do know, I still want to hear about it and ask. Holding contempt or resentment over my powers isn’t good”. “Are you just saying that for the timeline?”, Danny can practically feel the displeasure in her voice. While he gets that his powers might be confusing and even downright frustrating for others, he would like those close to him to at least be ok with them. He can’t help but glare a little at the back of her head, “it’s rare I’d have to do anything specifically for time. I’m being genuine, my title and powers are part of me. Having disdain for part of me or any of my powers would and will never have been or be good, for any of us. Jazz would say it’s not healthy or whatever mental psychobabble”. Danny makes a point of not schooling his expression as she turns around and reads his face, letting her see that he’s not really pleased with her displeasure. She hands him his food after a beat and sighs, “sorry sweetie, it’s just really strange and it’s changed you. Which I know you understand and are ok with, but I think it’s fair to say everyone else doesn’t really get it”. “Of course, I expected no different, even before getting time powers. I figured adjusting would be difficult for everyone, what I hadn’t expected was that it would come easy to me. One thing ClockWork’s not good for is warnings”, chucking faintly as he continues, “the very first thing I even said was “fuck ClockWork, better warning needed”. And yeah I know, swearing, but I think swearing was pretty suiting at that moment”. Though she looks a bit unimpressed it’s clear she agrees, “if you ask me, you should have had full warnings beforehand”. Danny finishes off his mouthful before responding, air-quoting “Sometimes warnings are non-necessities and only serve to discourage us from doing what we must” end air-quoting. Shuffling a bit, “having forewarning isn’t always that helpful and while yes I had a choice in all of this, there was no other who could do the job. But ClockWork wouldn’t have faded unless the universe itself knew I was ready and willing. Plus, I don’t always heed warnings, even ClockWork’s”. Putting away his dishes as he looks at the time, it’s always been a bit odd going to school with no one even having a clue who or what exactly his classmates were going to school with or his teachers teaching. Now it’ll be even more odd, before he was just the overpowered ghostly town hero. Now he was more or less a god, though he didn't exactly care to be referred to as one. Just a powerful halfa with lots of responsibilities, some just happened to be outside of other people’s understanding. Though the omniscience and omnipresence made it kind of hard to deny the god title. Chuckling, “I am probably going to freak Mr. Lancer, and every other teacher, out for the remainder of school”. This actually gets his mom to snort, amused, “school literally has no purpose to you, does it? You could probably teach the teachers”. She’s not wrong, heck he could make corrections to the history books. That would be a really dumb idea though. Smiling at her as he grabs his backpack, “the teaching never really did, I was always fated for this. But school carries socialisation and the creation of support networks. That’s one area where me and ClockWork differ, I don’t thrive under solitude. Fostering connections and all my bonds with people, good and bad, make me well. School does that, so there is still a purpose; it’s just a bit different”, smirking, “like everything else about me. Utterly unique and wholly different”. Catching her mutter as he walks out the door, “a little too unique and why couldn’t you just say it’s nice having friends and hanging out?”.

Danny high fives Tucker as they sit down in class, “dude, if you don’t confused the shit out of every teacher I will hate you. Specially since school’s almost out”. Danny rolls his eyes and mouths “duh” while sitting down. And he can’t help a mischievous smirk as Mr. Trent walks in. Though he knows this teacher won’t even care, pretty well numb to the antics of the weirdo trio. By fourth Danny’s pretty well amused with himself, sure he’s had to check in with time a bit excessively to make sure his fucking around was all well and good. But making Ms. Jetsin snort her tea out her nose was very very worth it. Smiling as his homeroom and English teacher, Mr. Lancer, comes in. He really does like the man, he’s both eccentric and wise, plus he knows how to work people. If he wasn’t so strict and pushy, they’d probably get along great. Though he does get along with him pretty well nowadays, even if Mr. Lancer did get on his ass about stuff an awful lot. That was another thing that caught him off guard, finding out just how much Mr. Lancer actually cared, especially about him. He’d have figured all the teachers would have given up on him by now, but no. Danny can tell that Mr. Lancer knows he’s going to be trouble today, purely by the face he pulls. “Now I know I’ll be seeing you all on you’re way soon but there are still things this old man can teach you about the real world. So do try to pay some attention”, Danny will give him props for trying but no one really cares anymore; and Danny hardly cared to begin with. And now there’s really nothing he can learn, experiences is all he’s got to gain. Danny pretends to be having a nap while Mr. Lancer goes on about philosophy essays. Hearing how people interpret things that don’t have solid answers was much more amusing now, since it was actually possible for someone to come up with something he hasn’t heard before. While human anyway, otherwise he’d know their opinion before they even thought it. Unlike biology or history, all that stuff was old news to him. Heck, he knew it before it even became human knowledge or happened. Smirking slightly as Mr. Lancer finally calls on him, “since you seem to find this tiring, Mr. Fenton, care to provide an interesting take on belonging to the world rather than a country and living without excess?”. Danny can’t help but snort, kind of ironic to ask that of the guy who couldn’t have loyalties to a specific country. “I can’t claim to ascribe to stoic cosmopolitanism personally, but viewing humanity as one central state to belong to is quite logical, if a bit obvious. Of course all humans ought to feel endearment towards humanity as a whole, otherwise humanity would be much more actively self-destructive”, really the only reasons Danny doesn’t view himself as in the community of humanity is the whole halfa thing and his job. That kind of required viewing himself as outside of every community, making himself in community with only himself. Though free to mingle with others. Lifting his head up and lazily resting it on his palm as he continues, while half the class looks completely lost and are actually paying attention to him purely out of mild shock. Most having never heard him give more than couple word answers or just not having an answer at all, “and the idea of excess is so beyond relative that it’s almost not worth pondering, but Diogenes’s idea of excess is quite extreme. While sure using your hands to drink water instead of a bowl and forgoing shoes, can make you feel connected with nature; intentional inconvenience for the sake of minimalism is, in and of itself, excess in a way”, twirling his hand in the air, “further, ascribing meaning and values to things is innate in the behaviour of nearly all sentient beings. So to live with nothing would be rather unhealthy, unless you make that nothing your everything. Which I’m sure is what he did, having nothing was his niche. So his opinion was not exactly objective”. Smirking slightly as he decides he’s just going to keep rambling until someone speaks up, “don’t say I blame him for picking a staff and cloak of all things to keep and be attached to. It’s very easy to be pragmatic with such tools”. Continuing to speak over Tucker’s snort, “though living with excess of material goods is definitely debilitating and reduces the worth and attachments you can have drastically. In the same way as things gain value in rarity so too does the personal value of what you have grow with scarcity. But going so scarce as to live in pottery instead of owning a home is just plain absurd, if a bit amusing”. Tapping at his chin, “Diogenes was an all-around absurdist really, too bad none of his work survived; I’m certain it would have been highly entertaining for you all. Well, for people who care for unusual eccentrics anyway. People are far more content to write down all their weird musings than actually act on them, so imagine the utter abnormality of the writing from a guy who peed on people, plucked a chicken for a joke and walked backwards just to confuse people? He may have been against excess and belonging to a group of one or a small community, but his personality was his excess and being that odd makes you one against all”. Chuckling, “definitely not a good portrayal of humanity, quite misleading actually. You’d think ascribing to and pretty well creating the idea of humans all belonging to humanity, would make someone more, well, average”. Danny leans back and yawns as he can tell Mr. Lancer’s going to speak up now, “well Mr. Fenton, you clearly saved your most baffling behaviour till the end. As half of that even I did not quite get. However, I’m inclined to agree. Humans are materialistic by nature and I doubt we are that way for no reason”. Danny can’t help but laugh into his hand as Mr. Lancer addresses the rest of the class, “after that I think it might actually be embarrassing to call on anyone else, so we’ll move on”. Mr. Lancer drones on about linguistics and symbolism’s, while Star kicks Danny’s seat. Talking to him as he turns to her, “who are you and where’s the out of the loop oddball that only gets called on to embarrass?”. Smirking slightly at her, “he’s a little extra dead and flaunting it. I’m weirder than you all know, but there’s no point in not being so in our final few days of school”. Catching Mr. Lancer point at him from the corner of his eye, looking both slightly excited and scared, “Mr. Fenton, since you seem to be actually talkative today. What do you think of the difficulties of learning a new language but how it makes it so people more readily spot symbolism in their lives?” Tilting his head a bit before deciding he’s going to build up to being utterly baffling, “well besides the obvious of it getting harder with age. Aged brains just simply don’t pick up as easily and your first is always the easiest. Besides we’re all surrounded by our mother tongues, not the case with a second language. Though the idea of universal grammar in human DNA is a pretty darn absurd take on the ease with which we learn our first language”, shrugging loosely, “but speaking multiple languages improves nearly every aspect of the brain, so it’s expected that someone would recognise symbolism more effectively and have greater appreciation for it”. Flicking his finger at the abstract painting of an Arbutus tree and Ash tree, “you could argue, someone frequently using and recognising symbolism is enough of precursor for being bilingual. And yes it is a bit on the nose to have the image of an Arbutus tree, for depth or knowledge, and Ash tree, for mental growth and connection; inside a classroom”. Sure him guessing at Mr. Lancer knowing multiple languages isn’t really a guess, as he knows that man speaks four. Smiling slowly Danny speaks in a language he knows Mr. Lancer knows and then repeats himself in ghost speak just to confuse, “obwohl die symbolik ziemlich amüsant ist. Æłthœügh thę ßÿmbõłįßm įß qūïtę åmüßįñg”. Mr. Lancer coughs, effectively caught off guard, but has a playful glint in his eyes, “wo hast du überhaupt deutsch gelernt? Das wird hier nicht gelehrt. Ich bin mit der anderen Sprache, die Sie verwendet haben, nicht vertraut”. Smirking back at his teacher, “expected, helping my parents build a translator for ghost speak rather required learning their language. And you’d be surprised the things you pick up when traveling, see I’m a rather memorious or you could say semi-eidetic memory”. Shrugging at his unimpressed teacher while Dash speaks up, “so you’re even more of a freak?”. Danny can’t help but be amused at how right Dash is but he doesn’t even get a chance to respond as Star turns to him, “what even is eyedeckit”. Smiling softly at her, “I learn fast and have nearly flawless memory. I just don’t really focus effort on schooling so it doesn’t show”. Technically he’s not even lying, he’s always had a quick learning ability. Just now it was universal and instantaneous knowledge instead but he couldn’t exactly say that. And going with photographic memory would be a little too suspicious, heck no one’s even really been confirmed to even have that. Mr. Lancer looks even more unimpressed but doesn’t get to comment on that, as the bell goes off. He does, however, ask Danny to stay. Rubbing his neck awkwardly, “yeah I know, I should care more about my schooling. Things happen and not everyone’s priorities rest in the same vein. Furthered education really isn’t in my playbooks, so just enough to graduate is where my caring ends”. Mr. Lancer sighs, “you’re barely managing that, when it’s apparent you could easily be near or even surpass your sister. I hope whatever you are focused on is worth the intellect but I still think you should strive for more”. Danny does wish he had more time in the past to actually study and learn. He’s not exactly proud of the poor grades, but his place as protector and, now, job as Overseer of the timestream, took precedence. Smirking slightly as he rubs his ring, “my new job requires it actually and yes it’s very much worth both the intellect and the brutalised academic standing”. Danny makes sure his pride is clearly palpable which Mr. Lancer responds to positively, “then I’m glad, a student filling into a satisfactory and fulfilling life is the best a teacher could ever wish for. I guess my worry over you has been rather misplaced, but for that I am proud”. “You’re worries been highly appreciated, the concern and meddlings of others in my life has been and is justified, not to mention gratifying. How else would I have been aware of available support networks?”, Danny can’t help but smile as Mr. Lancer nods fondly at him before shooing him off to lunch. Danny really does like the guy and making Mr. Lancer feel like he did some good and affected Danny positively, was more than pleasing to Danny; and he knew Mr. Lancer would sleep very well tonight.

Tucker slaps Danny on the back as he sits down for lunch, “dude that was great, no damn clue what you were talking about but oh my god”. Danny smirks, “just a guy with a minimalism kink who doesn’t believe in people calling themselves Americans or Canadians. That, and knowing many languages makes you smarter”. Sam smirks, “well, we all know at least two so yay for our brains”. Tucker pokes at Danny, “dude, you talked for a solid ten minutes and just summed it all up in, maybe, two sentences. Your mind is officially terrifying”. Danny shrugs playfully, he’s not exactly wrong.

Danny’s in the middle of going on about half-angle trigonometry, which wasn’t even how he was supposed to solve this equation, when his ghost sense goes off, “can’t really say how doing it this way would ever be useful though. Anyway, I’ll be back or more than likely not”. The one good thing about this going on for four years is that practically none of the teachers cared or were surprised anymore. Stretching lazily as he gets up, speed walking to the bathroom. Pulling off his white belt before transforming, forgoing the cloak and staff, then putting the belt back on to cover his clocks, before flying through the ceiling. He could throw on white gloves to cover his hourglasses but he’s got a joke to make and Skulker is the perfect target. Floating over to Skulker with his hands behind his head and smiling devilishly, “can’t say I’m surprised you’re the first one to officially get back to business”. “Always whelp! I’ve got a pelt to pouch”, Danny easily avoids the harpoon as he changes to his ghostly tail. Skulker clearly notices his far more erratically and energetically pulsating tail; looking more like glitching static rather than loose waving. “You are in good health and power it would seem, makes for a finer pelt!”, Danny can easily read the genuine concern there, even if Skulker voices his worry about his well-being rather oddly. Suitable behaviour for a ghost though, if he got that from a human he might actually be concerned. “Oh you have no idea, all’s well with time”, Danny fully knows Skulkers frowning because you’re not really supposed to make references to faded ghosts so blatantly so soon and he knows the triple meaning was majorly lost, he doesn’t really care though. Avoiding another shoot from Skulker as he slinks up behind him, punching him clean in the gut, sending him into a wall. Chuckling, “you’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, the smooth sands of time”. Danny can’t help but laugh exaggeratedly at Skulker incredulously sticking his arms out and pointing at his hands, “you’re pelts changed?! And not in a Phantom way!”. Wiping at his eyes, “time always makes its modifications! But it is so very Phantom, the Phantom of times future”. Now Skulker is crossing his arms, “okay what’s going on here? You’re never this bad”. Waving Skulker off, “I’ve been saving them up, built quite the repertoire. And really, how could I not? But hey, you get to be the first one I hit with the unyielding stick of time”. Skulker just throws his hands up before going after Danny again. Danny let’s Skulker get his blade less than a centimetre in front of his face before teleporting, with the usual hands of time portal, behind him. Skulker spins around to face the cockily grinning Danny, “did you just teleport? And in that manner?”. Danny grins wider, “and I’d say I timed it pretty well, though I planned that out days ago. But don’t worry, it’s not that you’re predictable, more that surprising time is rather impossible”. Spotting Skulker’s slightly wary stance, Danny decides now’s the time to really shock him. Phasing off the belt seconds before letting the purple transformation rings spring out to form his cloak and staff, grinning wide, “it’s both impressive and a little sad that none of you realised I was times apprentice. Time’s my bitch now”. Danny takes Skulker’s stunned shock to quickly fly up and full force slam him on the side of the head with his staff. Chuckling as he floats down to the decapitated helmet, “in time, time beats them all”. Picking Skulker up by one of his tiny green legs, while Skulker gapes, “I could have kept going and you would have figured it out, in time. But this was more fun, so in case this isn’t obvious”, Danny shakes his time staff which Skulker glances at, “I'm the new Master Of Time, always was going to be. But well, only time knew that. Oh and don’t worry, all my little scuffles will continue to be more or less fair. I’m just flaunting now as a more humorous way to reveal my graduation from apprentice to master”. Skulker’s high pitched voice is clearly more than just startled, “so that, that’s what that Observant wanted with you. I’ll still have your pelt whelp, but take the advice; you’re not him so don't try to be. Time Master or not”. Danny has no intention of copying his faded Master but he knows no one really knew just how alike they were. Smiling loosely, “I don’t have to try, we’re birds of a feather; scarily similar actually. I’m just not so solitary and slightly more of a joke. In regards to the outfit, he made both himself”. Danny knows full well what Skulker’s about to say but there’s no way he can’t laugh his ass off as Skulker speaks, “he was no jokester ghostchild! Handled everything with serious composure”. Putting Skulker down on a rooftop as he bends over wheezing, “he was a good seventy percent jokes! We had prank wars! Got him drunk off of chess! Half the reason he was so confusing was because he found it insanely funny!”. Whipping at his eyes and bending down to be more on level with the tiny ghost, “his name, like mine, was a literal pun, dude. He fought with a scythe purely to be extra and used symbolism out the wazoo. He was a massive jokester, just a sneaky one”. Pulling out and shaking the thermos, “now hold your tongue so I can have my, it’s the Time Master bitch!, moment”, smirking, “and the Observants were right, I am going to be just as insufferable to them as he was”. He can tell Skulker’s confused but he doesn’t really care, as he sucks him in.

The rest of the school day goes more or less the same as the morning. Danny isn’t surprised no other ghosties showed but could anyone really blame him for hoping? Yawning and stretching lazily while a good portion of the school gawks at him as he heads home. Walking inside and poking his head into the kitchen; while knowing full well that Skulker won’t hold his tongue for more than a day and was having a mild freakout, “you probably shouldn’t hold supper for me, it’s time for the new Master Of Time to be known. Could go long, could go short; see how I feel like playing it”. Clearly his mom’s feeling better as she reaches up to ruffle his hair some, “Ghost Zone I’m assuming? And anyone would know I’d prefer you make it short”. “Of course mom, on both accounts. But I’ll see. Taking things fast usually isn’t the best option when dealing with startling things or talking to large crowds”, her sigh makes it clear she understands and agrees. “Oh, and school was very amusing, for me anyway, bemusing for everyone else though. Well, Mr. Lancer was tickled pink actually, but he’s weird”. Maddie snorts, “I’m glad you impressed your teacher, especially that one; he genuinely cares about you”. Danny smiles warmly as he heads out the kitchen, confusing his mom unintentionally, “uh, I thought you were heading out right off the bat?”. Summoning out his staff and responding only slightly confused, “yup, why?”. She sticks her head out and glares a little but relents at his raised eyebrow, “did I actually confuse you? Wow okay. It’s just that the labs down the other way”. Danny chuckles as he facepalms, dragging his hand down his face and letting it fall to the side before responding, “I’m just going to make my own portal. That’ll get me where and when I need to be. And yes I can still get confused or miss stuff, at least while I’m human. I’m only omniscient and omnipresent when I’m in ghost form. My awareness and knowledge is optional while human, well, sort of. It’s complicated”. Now his mom actually looks intrigued and excited, smirking at her, “yeah you can watch”. Danny knows the staff spinning is really not necessary but it’s very extra and thus worth it. Tapping his staff on the ground to bring a little more attention to it before rather dramatically swirling it, catching his mother say, “more clock imagery?”.

Smiling at the mirror in his clocktowers bedroom after pulling down his hood and ruffling his hair. Tilting his head back to look out one of the windows, “getting a lair as a graduation gift is a bit extra but it is nice to have a true home here”, before it had just been sort of a home, like being a permanently invited guest; now it was his. Floating out into the main room, it’s probably a little odd he hasn’t been back since getting his new role and powers. All the gears and swinging clock bits are a pretty heavy reminder and he fully intends to leave ClockWork’s scythe exactly where it is, Danny does have some shame after all. Using a scythe is too on the nose even for him and that was all ClockWork’s thing, while Danny’s got his thermos. Plus, unlike ClockWork, Danny has real offensive powers. Heck, his clawed gloves were probably as sharp as the scythe. Sighing before turning to the screens, making them display different sections of the zone. Chucking hollowly at Skulker debating with himself over whether it was even a sane idea to try and skin the guy who controls and protects time. Danny thinks it’s a pretty sane thing for a ghost to do, because really he was just even more of a prize now; and Skulker’s got an obsession to follow. Besides, it’s not like Danny really minds anymore, the witty banter and sparing is his bread and butter. Skulker’s one of the best to trade blows with, even if it will all be less exciting now. Chuckling more genuinely now as he sends a little paper airplane note through the viewing screen turned portal. Watching as Skulker yelps and reads out loud, “don’t fret about it, tinman. It’s all in good fun, for me anyway. Hover about the Gathers Colosseum if you wanna watch me freak some ghosts out”. Smirking at Skulker looking around incredulously before flying out his clocktower.

Pulling up his hood all the way and closing the cloak before becoming visible while sitting on one of the damaged pillars. Only smiling as a couple ghosts around jerk in surprise at his sudden return to visibility. Following Johnny’s bike with his eyes as it jerks to a stop, Danny knows the cloak plus gear clasp will instantly make pretty well everyone think ClockWork for a second before realising the colour’s wrong. And that’ll be enough for them to make the connection that this black cloaked figure is the new Master Of Time; seeing as time couldn’t exactly go without a master. They’ll assume he’s a brand new ghost or someone who was in the clocktower but never left. Sure, quite a few had seen his cloak at the afterdeath ceremony but his hood was down, effectively covering the gear clasp, and his hood was rounded and snug before; now it was long, pointy and zig-zagged. Plus, no one was exactly focused on his clothing that day. Smiling softly under his hood as an older ghost, Brextik, is the first to approach him, “so you finally make your presence known, young Time Master”. Chuckling faintly, “I’ve been around. Pestering occasionally and basking in the afternoon sun”. Brextik only looks confused for a second before smiling warmly, “well, you are certainly he. May we know your name?”, at this point there’s a fair amount of ghosts around but not quite enough. He’s aiming to tell practically everyone in one fell swoop, “oooo, antsy are we? Just wait out the clock sometime. But”, Danny pauses just to be a bit of an ass, “there is one who already knows here. They’ll hold their tongue though, not that that’s going to discourage you”. Unsurprisingly, that effectively gets most of the gathered ghosts to start pestering each other and Danny can see Skulker groan as he hides away from everyone. Of course, the commotion draws in more ghosts, all having varying degrees of reactions to his presence. Some excited, some cautious, some even look insulted or angry, the ones that draw his attention most of the ones that glare disapprovingly and turn their backs to him. A clear show of how Danny’s not going to take ClockWork’s place, which Danny doesn’t aim to. That’s why he couldn’t become The Master Of Time right away, he had his own ghostly shoes to fill. Had to establish himself outside of the shadow of ClockWork, else he’d never stand on his own and would have busied himself with the impossible task of filling ClockWork’s shoes. Trying to be just like him and fulfil the same role in everyone’s (after)lives that he did. Not to mention, filling the role of protector amongst humans is what moulded him into being so selfless. Plus, also forged a close bond and connection with humanity, so he would be equally tied to both worlds and species. Smiling as Ember finally arrives and eyes Walker accusingly, before even looking to the black cloaked figure. He finds it amusing that Walker’s one of the ones to turn his back to him. Especially knowing why, smirking as he floats lazily in-front of the white-suited ghost; who promptly turns the other direction. The two go back and forth like this for a bit, with Danny floating in front of Walker and Walker turning away, before Walker glares at him as he floats in front of him again, “Phantom better be the one who knows who you are, those two were close and I have nothing but respect for how he acted those days ago. The least you could do, newcomer, is honour that respect and behaviour. Even if it’s not a rule”. Danny chuckles lightly, be pretty sad if he hadn’t been the first non-omnipresent ghost to know. Sighing faintly, “he knew when you saw him last, walking tall and proud with a makeshift funerary flag in his hands and a time medallion in his pocket”. Walker eyes him suspiciously but Danny doesn’t give him much of a chance to ponder as he teleports back to his broken pillar. Curling his energetic tail around the pillar, peeking the bottom of his staff out the side of his cloak and letting it hang there for a bit before pulling the whole thing out, with his hand coming into view to everyone in the process. Swinging it down to bop a younger ghost, who’s a little too handsy, on the head. He’ll give Brextik props for being so pushy, guy really wants to be the first to get a good look at the new Time Master. Danny elects to satisfy him in a way, lifting his other hand out of his cloak to flick time sand out his pointer finger at the old ghosts ghostly tail, which promptly freezes in time. Brextik clearly is impressed and shocked but is trying to not show it. And Danny forces himself not to laugh as he overhears a couple ghosts muttering about how he’s got more powers and thus, obviously more powerful. Danny discretely calls “time out”, as he catches Ember giving the, now found, Skulker a disbelieving but knowing look. While Skulker just looks apologetic and startled. Floating over to stick his head between theirs, “time in”, smirking as both of them jump. He knows that pretty well every ghost knows that him “teleporting” without a teleportation portal meant he had fiddled with time. Chuckling lightly as Ember pokes at, but doesn’t dare move, his hood, “it’s been a few days but I’m certain your fashion-forward mindset won’t hold the initial reactions of disapproval towards a change in forms”. Now Skulker looks even more embarrassed while Ember just looks impressed, “of course it would be you, you over-sized weirdo”. Danny smirks, muttering just to them “well, duh”, before flying upside down and flipping to land on the back seat of Johnny’s bike. Johnny gapes from the drivers seat and Kitty from the handlebars, it was nice to see they were in a good mood towards each other; actually behaving like the lovebirds they are. Danny switches to his legs and crosses them, the whites of his boots visible under the bottom of the cloak. “I’d say sounding alike is quite expected. Knowledge begets wise words and truly understanding what confuses others make someone rather confusing themselves. Oh, and by the way, it was time for the true Master Of Time so the guider and keeper of the role had to take his leave. Somethings and beings exist to mould and maintain till the rightful owner comes along”, he knows even the Observants didn’t properly understand just what ClockWork’s role had been, and it’s unlikely anyone other than the two beings of time ever could. Johnny stammers a bit, “so you’re, saying, the oddball we’ve all been picking fights with, was the true Overseer of time?”. “A responsibility to watch over time of both worlds could only be fulfilled by a being of both worlds. A title that requires self-sacrifice and attentiveness, falls in line with the very nature of any who truly take up the mantle of hero and protector. And I’ve always been protecting both”, Danny takes this as the time to push back his hood by running his right hand through his hair. Ears flicking out as the hood rests in its natural spot just behind his ears, while he smirks playfully at the couple. Turning his head to the crowd at hearing their gasps, pushing down a laugh at the mutterings of how they wouldn’t believe this if they hadn’t just seen him use his time powers. Which is precisely why he hid who he was and he can tell Skulker realises that’s the main reason he was told to hold his tongue. Smiling softly, “I’m still to go by Phantom but yes, I’m the new Master Of Time. I’ve been times apprentice for years, I’ve simply self-actualised into my rightful place now”. Switching to his tail and floating back to the broken pillar, smirking with a playful glint in his eyes, “the clocktower is my lair now, I will know, of course, if any of you show up there for whatever reasons you may have. I expect that the same formalities will still apply to only paying visit to there in times of requirement, so I will show if you arrive at my door”. Danny continues after nearly everyone nods very noticeably and at spotting most of those who’ve picked fights with him looking guilty and like they’re about to get scolded, “oh and for those of you who’ve made an opponent of me, don’t waste effort on worrying about anything to do with that. It helped me to become who I needed to be and it is thoroughly enjoyable. I’ll continue to be relatively fair in future skirmishes. Besides, even before you could never have really won or destroyed me”. With a massive toothy grin, “I’ve been immortal for nearly all of my existence as a halfa”. Danny grins a bit wider at the shock on basically everyone and Skulker throws his hands up dramatically. Which Danny is thoroughly amused by, since getting his pelt would require Skulker actually killing him. Thus Skulker pretty well just found out his efforts had been in vain. Though Danny knows the guy does actually enjoy the sparring, so he’ll keep showing up to fight. He spends well over an hour getting peppered with questions before most ghosts leave. Johnny, Kitty and Walker stick around, with Johnny walking up to, the still perched, Danny, “well man, you being a confusing mess from the get-go makes way more sense now”. Kitty nods, “yeah, Plasmius always made sense even if he’s more of a human. You’re a ball of odd that just got odder”. She smiles softly before continuing and Danny matches that smile, “but if anyone should do this job, you do make the most sense for it. Calling you selfless might be an understatement, even your selfish actions aren’t really selfish. Same goes for protective”. Danny only nods as of course she’s right. Before turning his head to Walker, encouraging him to speak what he knows the man wants to, “the rules really don’t apply to you, so it would seem, we have no quarrel now. You rank above me anyway”. Danny chuckles a little, “my very existence defied the laws of reality from the start. Now there isn’t one natural law that can even be considered to apply to me. There was never really any jail that could hold me, not even the confines of time and the supposed inevitability of mortality”. Johnny groans a bit and points at him, “you talking like that is still creepy”. Sticking his tongue out at the biker, “you try having all of time inside you and not sound like an eccentric compilation of insight and knowledge”. Kitty shrugs loosely, “no one really gives any thought to time powers, Phantom”. Which Danny knows is honestly for the best, dealing with a couple humans trying to wrap their heads around it was hassle enough. Switching to his legs and hoping off the pillar, sending away his staff and crossing his arms lightly, “best keep it that way, you can’t understand it. But, bless their hearts, some humans are trying”. Sighing, “well anyway, I’ve got supper to eat since someone didn’t take my advice on not saving me some”. All three of them snicker, before Kitty hops back on Johnny’s bike and they speed off, Johnny two-finger waving as they go. Danny turns to Walker, “once what you’re about to do would have very much confused me, so I guess take some amusement in that”. Walker sighs but he does smile, which pleases Danny, before handing Danny three gold rifle shell casings each engraved with gears and cypress flowers, filled with purple liquid gold. Danny honestly likes that it’s not perfect and all the little crinkles in the gold, plus he will admit to being impressed with Walker over the symbolism. Smiling as he rolls the shell casings in his fingers, “the meanings here would have been lost on me before and I never did peg you for a military man before. Seems obvious now”. Danny knows Walker actually researched symbolism rather than knowing this beforehand, excluding the three-volley shell casings anyway. He can read the slight and heavily veiled embarrassment on Walkers' face, “he was a man of meanings so meanings were required. You shocked me back then and such a behaviour is done by two people not one, so consider me an honour guard for that”. Danny nods respectfully and he knows that Walker’s aware that the meaning doesn’t need to be explained. But Danny does startle the man by teleporting home directly in front of him.

Appearing back in his human bedroom, sighing at the shell casings. The gears meaning would be obvious to literally everyone, same with the purple. Gold for wisdom and a strong bond, with the cypress flowers for death. Plus, Danny likes to think the crinkled look of the purple gold represented how time doesn’t exist or flow smoothly for a Master Of Time. Putting the casings on the prior fabric and patting them before heading down to eat. He doesn’t really blame his parents for wanting to stay up, blatantly curious about how things went, since what he did was pretty well like a graduation ceremony; just for one and done oddly. Wearing a body covering gown, cloak in his case, talk some to a crowd and throw off your hat, hood in his case. Ending everything of with mingling and congratulations. Sticking his head into the kitchen, “I’m back and yes things went smoothly. Also yes, caused mass confusion and shock”. Both them nod at him while Maddie heats his food back up, Jack pats his shoulder as he sits down, “well, you were already well known as Phantom so that’s expected. But are you going to make this job of yours public to the town too?”. While the reaction would be humorous, that would be a bad idea. A large portion of humanity already disliked how powerful they believed ghosts to be, him especially, making the overwhelming power ghosts were capable of really known was bad. Currently, there’s no chance of humanity even remotely accepting one ghost having the power he did. A god sure, but they wouldn’t see him as a god and he didn’t want them to; that would also be bad. Humanity still needed major work on accepting ghosts before they should be allowed to even slightly grasp how ghosts really are. Shaking his head at his dad, “no, the only humans to know are the ones who already do. Well, for now”. Maddie raises her eyebrow at the last bit as Danny starts mixing his food up, “so like being a halfa this is a secret too. Well, can you at least tell us when it’s going to become public knowledge?”. Danny frowns and sighs, “it’s a very long time away”. Just judging by how she frowns, she understands that he means they’ll be long gone before then, as she quietly mutters, “oh”.

The next few days are relatively normal, Danny being a startlingly intelligent and all-knowing bastard at school, occasional ghost fights where his opponents get confused by his lack of using his time powers, and both intentionally and unintentionally confusing the people close to him. Danny smirks down at his red grad gown, flicking at the black tassel. He’s come to see both red and blue as representing his human half, with green for his ghost half, so it’s hard to not find the red amusing. “What you looking like that for, Fentit? Stunned stupid the local freak actually graduated?”, Danny honestly was, sort of, he kind of hadn’t expected to since he was fifteen. Way too much time taken up by ghost stuff, wasn’t quite so bad for his friends; even if their grades had suffered some too. Least they never failed shit. Rolling his eyes at Dash, “that never even mattered, Dash. Red’s just an interesting colour”, Danny grins devilishly which promptly makes the jock scurry off, looking to avoid Danny assaulting his ears. The guy really wasn’t much of a bully to him anymore, which shocked no one really with Danny being taller than his dad and rather muscular. Being mentally hard to handle just deterred the man even more. Though Danny does feel a little bad that Dash was right about life being kind of a let down for him once Highschool was over. Highschool really was Dash’s golden years. Even if there was so many ways that guy’s future could go. Turning around to smirk at Tucker, who looks even more scrawny and short in the large gown and Sam, who’s gown barely fits over her eccentric, and extremely expensive, dress. Funny enough, all of them had expensive clothing, far more expensive than even what Paulina wore; which she was both confused and annoyed by. Tilting his head back to wear all their parents were before looking at Sam, “I’m still amazed your parents actually paid for all this shit”. “They just wanted you all to make me look good, some bullshit about the people around me needing to be in the finest else it’ll tarnish me”, Sam rolls her eyes exaggeratedly and Danny’s glad they’ve all gotten over pointing out or being bugged by him knowing everything already. He did actually prefer to just be told, a little bit of normalcy was nice. The ceremony is, expectedly, boring; but Danny smiles as it’s his turn on stage. The principal clearly still hates him as she just glares while shaking his hand, but Mr. Lancer is straight up beaming, “never thought I’d get to do this young man, but I’m glad I can”. Danny nods with a mischievous smile, as they shake hands, “and I knew you would, you’ll never have another quite like me though”. Sitting back down, he can’t help but smile proudly when Valerie gets her diploma as well, he was a bit worried about her actually graduating. Her grades got nearly as brutalised as his did, and they were very much friends. It was a bit sad to him that she could never know about who he really was or that Phantom had time powers. He’d honestly always hoped to tell her eventually, but that was one dream he had to give up. That’s the thing with graduating, while you move on and grow into bigger roles, you have to leave somethings behind. Sometimes it’s experiences you’ll never get to have at all or again, sometimes it’s friends and lovers, sometimes it’s hopes and dreams, and other times it’s all the possible futures that might have just been better. But no one could ever really know if they were living one of the better futures for sure, except The Master Of Time. And he knew there could never been anything better or more wonderous for him, than the existence he’s graduated into. End.

#Danny Phantom #phandom phight club #Phanniemay #phanniemay19 #graduation #memories #danny fenton #sam manson #Tucker Foley #jack fenton #Maddie Fenton #clockwork #star #dash baxter #mr. lancer #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick #Valerie gray

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keremulusoy · 4 years

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With her soft voice and a contemporary interpretation, Asena Akan is considered one of the important representators of jazz music. Since her early childhood, Asena Akan has always been a music enthusiast as she started her musical education at the age of 5 in violin section of Istanbul Municipal Conservatoire. She was also trained part-time in Opera Section of State Conservatoire of Istanbul University. Apart from her passion for music, Akan was also interested in human behaviour so she did her undergraduate and graduate studies in this area in Psychological Counselling Department at Istanbul University. Asena Akan who has been integrating the healing/transforming power of music with her life has been continuing her musical journey with the music band “İstanbul’dan (from Istanbul)” by doing jazz vocals, composing music and executing stage performances after releasing two albums named “İstanbul’un İzleri” (Traces of Istanbul) and “Golden Heart”

Can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers? Who is Asena Akan? I have been describing myself as a person who is trying to make a sound since I was five. And I still miss who I was at that age and I feel the need of those natural sounds in my music workshops. My passion for music started when I started to repeat all the sounds at the age of five and my family was confused to whether to send me to a doctor or to a conservatory. I got training at the Violin Department of Istanbul Municipality Conservatory. The instructors there deemed the violin was fit for me but I could not get used to the violin no matter what I did. For five years, I have tried to get into the violin but it never happened. At heart, I liked the piano. I left the conservatory after having difficulties but I have not given up on music. Since I was a child, I have been on the watch for the bass and the drums when listening to music. I even love instrumental music. I bought a bass guitar fifteen years ago. Five years ago, I accelerated my communication with my instrument by saying, ‘I will play it now”. In short, I’m an Istanbul lover who was born and raised in Istanbul and who cannot part with music. Music, Istanbul and I complete each other.

BEING A SOUND

You decided to focus on your passion for music rather than your academic career. Yet, you organized a workshop named “Being a sound” which combines both of your experiences. Yes, all my works support each other. Because going to the different corners of Istanbul or visiting different places in Turkey are things that foster each other. Touching people, learning from their lives, exchanging ideas and emotions are very inspiring. Doing this through music is very nice, on the other hand, like I mentioned before, I organize workshops making use of what I have learned during my studies in psychological counselling. In the past, I organized some seminars and did one-on-one psychological counselling. I said to myself “Why am I not doing all these through music?” and now I organize music workshops, which are called “Being a Sound” where we focus on expressing ourselves, transforming emotions and on concepts such as creativity and inspiration with different groups. The development of the philosophy of “Being a Sound” is a whole another story. I think everyone is born into the world as a different instrument, and how you use these potentials makes you unique. That is why I put great importance on communication. The same thing goes for performing at a concert or a workshop. I have noticed this in every aspect of life. Are you angry? How does your mood reflect on your spouse, child, significant other, friends or other people? Making these contacts between the music and those processes in life strengthens the works. Since every individual is a different instrument, there are different workshops, no workshop is alike.

So, what kind of impact did Istanbul which you can’t stop talking about have in your music life? All my works are influenced by Istanbul. There are parts of the city I can identify myself with. I believe everyone is born with a golden heart. There may be some corruptions afterwards due to the experiences which I call “being out of tune”. We resist, change, learn and go on in one way or the other. We witness that Istanbul is also beaten and broken. Then suddenly you see Galata Tower from a corner, you hear the sound of the sea. This gives me joy in life. So actually, there is such a thing as “my Istanbul” because I am no stranger to the other side of Istanbul. I am a person who also has a history of being a psychological counsellor apart from being a musician. I majored in psychological counselling at the university and being an academician was my first profession. That is why my social works side is strong. So, Istanbul is not just limited to where I live. I visit many other places. With music and workshops I do, I can reach other places and people not only in Istanbul but throughout Turkey.

What can be done for the children to love and know Istanbul that we can barely protect? Have you thought about it? Children are very instructive. For those who want to learn, anything can be some kind of an Instruction tool. I have a daughter too, her name is Sofya. I have learned so much from Sofya. We have discovered many things together. We walked together to the places I enjoy in Istanbul and went exploring together. First, she adapted to me, my life, my walking. Then, she started picking the places we would go and I followed. At some point, we even thought: “Why are we not going to a mall?” because I wanted to introduce my daughter to the real Istanbul. Even if I had been born in a different city, I could have fallen in love with that city. The city phenomenon is a very different concept. There is an energy in which people come together and do things or miss each other in a cosmopolitan city like Istanbul. I am very much in love with Istanbul but it is not that hard for me to adapt myself to wherever I go. It is about exploration and the sense of wonder. We must teach our children the pleasure of discovering hidden values and preserving them, but of course, they should want it too.

“JAZZ IS A DEMOCRATIC MUSIC”

Back to your music career, what would you like to say about jazz? What impresses me the most about jazz is that it is a democratic music. It involves different sounds and colours. That every instrument expresses itself through role changes such as being a leader or being an accompanist accordingly. These impress me. I find it very similar to my philosophy in life. Since my childhood, I have been very sensitive about discrimination. Jazz is helping me find my way during this soul searching. There are lives I try to touch and I have shown this to them as a role model. Jazz is an incredible instructor for me. Singing is inspiring and keeps one young and dynamic. Being involved with music, in general, makes me experience those feelings. With music, we are at places both of learning and teaching. I am very happy that music is accompanying my life and I think it should accompany everyone in their lives in some way. My album Istanbul’un İzleri (Traces of Istanbul) is the apple of my eye. It was born after three years of work. Very valuable musicians contributed to this album. Golden Heart came together after English compositions were made. Afterwards, an EP called “Parçalar” where I interpreted some of the songs in this album in Turkish and a single called “Suya Yazdım” which I composed with mixed emotions were published. Nowadays we have a band called “Istanbul’dan” to which I enjoy belonging.

Asena Akan

İstanbul’dan müzik grubu

Grupta piyanoyu Ayca Daştan, davul ve perküsif enstrümanlarını Nihal Saruhanlı çalıyor. Vokalde ve basta ise Asena Akan hünerlerini sergiliyor.

How was the band “İstanbul’dan” born? The mastermind behind the “İstanbul’dan” in which we interpreted the folk songs of Anatolian culture in our language to understand and touch the lands we live on is Ayca Daştan. We had a musical collaboration with Ayca for many years. When she explained this beautiful project three or four years ago to me, I got involved. Folk song arrangements in the project are done by her. In the band, Ayca Daştan plays the piano and the lovely Nihal Saruhanlı who joined the band later plays the drums and the percussions. I do the vocals and play the bass. As in all other fields, it is necessary to spend a lot of time and effort to produce something good in music. We have worked on “Istanbul’dan” very seriously and in a very disciplined way. At first, we did not plan it to be a “women’s project” but it happened that way.

It’s a project where I enjoy being a musician. The sincerity of “Istanbul’dan” is what impresses me the most. We did not start off with the aim “We grew up here, we learned about Western music, let’s create something by mixing these two up.” It would not have affected me so much if we had. An organic process developed where emotions were heavily involved. At first, the stories of the folk songs affected us, then they got integrated with our own stories. We re-internalize folk songs with Ayça’s arrangements then we re-interpret them on the stage improvising, depending on our mood. That is what deems this project original for me. The album has been released recently. It is also on digital platforms. Our purpose is to bring music, its stories and the people of this period together and to present it with our energy and emotions. I have never felt the need to constantly “shine through” in music. Rather, I need to be a part of the democratic music where instruments rise and fall in harmony, where sometimes some instruments express themselves by becoming more prominent, where everyone’s voice and tone colour are respected and where everyone creates a dialog. There is a brave, curious and noteworthy audience in our country who wants to hear new things and is open to different voices. My first album “İstanbul’un İzleri” brought me together with these beautiful hearts although I didn’t do any promotional work.

We talked about the healing power of music, but music has also a uniting power. What would you like to say about the effect of music in this sense considering that people in the world are separated and cannot express their feelings clearly and uncensored? The concept of “IKIGAI”, which is the subject of a book I have read recently and is calledthe secret of Japanese long and happy life, questions “What is the purpose of your life that makes you get out of bed in the morning?” What motivates me to wake up is to make as many and different people, including me, benefit from the uniting and healing power of music. That is why I organize the workshops named “Being a Voice” I am also a part of the “We Care Association”, which develops products and services for children to achieve their fundamental rights. We developed a “Mother-Child Development Guidance Program” for mothers with children in penal institutions. Besides, we organize trainer training for employees. And we all benefit from the healing power of music together. It is important for somebody or some people that you make him/them understood and that you connect with him/them. Even the smallest things you do mean something for them and benefit them. But of all methods, I think music is the fastest, most direct and most effective. In fact, it provides a positive environment that also removes people with its non-judgmental and embracing nature. Music is a tool that has been used as a therapy method for the treatment of diseases for centuries with scientific and evidence-based principles. This is not something newly discovered, we just have to open ourselves up to it. As Sufi Inayat Khan expressed in a statement I like; “Music is the most effective means and the shortest way to integrate man with himself, then with other people, and then with the universe.”

NOTES

About Asena Akan Born in Istanbul, Asena Akan started her musical education at the age of five with classical violin at Istanbul Municipal Conservatory, then received part time training in the Opera Department at the Istanbul State Conservatory and graduated in 1998. Akan also plays bass guitar and continues her musical journey by doing jazz vocals, making musical compositions and stage performances.

Sunset Concerts The concert took place at sunset in the Istanbul Bookstore at Kadıköy Pier. I sang songs from my album İstanbu’un İzleri. It was a very enjoyable performance with the interactive participation of the audience. I was more than happy to have a public concert.

Albums: ‘İstanbul’un İzleri’ (2013) written and composed by her, released by Z/Kalan; ‘Golden Heart’(2016); ‘Parçalar’ (EP-2017); ‘Suya Yazdım’ (Single-2019)

Songs Performed By Them: Kerpiç Kerpiç Üstüne, Yağmur Yağar Taş Üstüne, Gelevera Deresi, Yemen Türküsü

İstanbul’dan Asena Akan: Vocal&bass Ayca Daştan: Piano Nihal Saruhanlı: Drum&percussions

It consists of three female musicians from Istanbul who interpret folk songs of Anatolian culture in their language to understand and touch the lands they live on. Improvisations, another important element that the band is nurtured of, create the artists’own stories. The concert, which is shaped by improvisations that transfer the loop between past, present, and future and is changing every time, turns into a new experience for those who love and know folk songs as well as first-time listeners.

The Progressive and Innovative Nature Of Jazz I do not believe in the viewpoint that jazz belongsto a certain culture and must be performed within a certain framework. On the contrary, I think that its nature operates in the cycle and balance of breaking the existing rules, building new ones, and then breaking them. More generally, I associate the progressive and innovative nature of jazz with the values of being a self-improving person. That is why I am confident that in Anatolia, which has been home to so many innovative and valuable musicians, there is an audience who will listen to new kinds of music and open their hearts to it.

By: Hatice Çetinlerden & Dilara Gülşah Azaplar Photos: Yağızkan Karahan *This article was published in the November-December issue of Marmara Life.

SOUND OF ISTANBUL With her soft voice and a contemporary interpretation, Asena Akan is considered one of the important representators of jazz music.

#asena #jazz #Music #sound #İstanbul

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