#also anything about the wars with Carthage

[voluptuarian]

One thing I'm enjoying about Barbarians that has nothing to do with the quality is just that I know nothing about the Germanian campaigns, so it's all a surprise for me-- I didn't even know Arminius was a real person, I'd never heard of him. Meanwhile if it had been about the Gaulic Wars or something I would have already known most the twists and who won and who died-- much as I like knowing All The Things sometimes not knowing is more fun.

[inevitableisopod]

Rome the unconquerable (pt3)

the good thing about this series is that it offers me near limitless content! the bad thing is that we're 3 parts deep and im only just now getting to talk about anything interesting!

a brief note before i begin about swords, yes they used the xiphos until around the second Punic war so imagine the bloody xiphos in this part, and probably the next. the gladius was created in response to Iberian (spanish) swordsmanship to be a replacement for the xiphos.

up until this part of our story (280BCE) the romans had been fighting mostly hill tribes that were formidable, yes, and tough enough to move away from the phalanx that Alexander used to conquer pretty much everything to the more flexible and just as indomitable maniple, but they were nothing in comparison to what they were about to face, which was the might of Alexander's shadow, a great king forged by the wars in the wake of Alexander's death by the name of Pyrrhus. when Pyrrhus, with a friend, arrived at the site of a Roman army he also got a surprise. he was expecting hordes of barbarians which was the norm for the Latins at the time, he was instead met by a camp of earthworks and wooden palisades, set out in such away each entrance had no clear line of site into the camp but was still watched by towers with archers, and patrolled by armed hastati. he remarked that these were different to the usual Latins they fought, that these were well trained, organised and armed. his friend said they will break upon the phalanx like all barbarians do, and Pyrrhus responded simply with "they do not look like barbarians to me. we'll see what they can do in the morning."

the next morning led to the Romans first battle against a real opponent, which they promptly lost. it is here that the real thing that made the Romans what they were is brought to the fore, and that is sheer grit, a complete unwillingness to except reality and surrender in the face of unfathomably poor odds; when anyone else civilised would have given up long ago, the romans simply locked shield, and advanced. the romans after having lost the battle, promptly raised more legions and prepared for the next battle, which they usually lost. during this war, Pyrrhus won nearly every battle but the romans kept replacing troops, and engaging him in battle. Pyrrhus actually even sent peace terms to the romans, which they rejected. after one of his many victories he was congratulated by an aide and responded "If we are victorious in one more battle with the Romans, we shall be utterly ruined." Pyrrhus actually ended up losing the war, because every victory he had, the Romans made him pay such a cost in blood and metal that he simply couldn't continue, it is from this that we get the term Pyrrhic victory, or a victory won at an unsustainable cost.

after this, the romans lived in fear for many years of the Greek City states, and the world conquering phalanx, but slowly, they began realising what they had done. to the romans they were given the world to rule by the gods, and if there was a single event that could be identified as causing this (at least to me), it would be their victory over Pyrrhus, as this put into their minds the possibility of actually defeating the great powers of the Mediterranean, and they promptly raised more legions, and set to work conquering the rest of the Italian peninsula, along with Corsica, Sardinia and Sicily. unfortunately, there was a problem, and it's name was Carthage.

We'll pick up the story next time at the dawn of the first Punic war and talk about a young man who would become known as the conqueror of Africa.

May your swords stay sharp and your points true!

Roma Invicta!

[thetldrplace]

SPQR- Mary Beard; Ch 5

5 A Wider World  Roman literature and roman territorial expansion went hand in hand. Rome had used writing for basic communication since its inception. But with its increasing interaction, particularly with Greece, it began to attempt its own literature. At first it was aping Greek literature.  

Polybius was one of the first to ask philosophical questions about what made Rome so successful.  

In 280 BC, Pyrrhus came from northern Greece to aid Tarentum against Rome. He won, but at such a cost that he remarked "He could not afford any more such victories." From that time to 146 BC when the Romans finally destroyed Carthage, there was nearly continuous warfare. 

The first Punic (Carthaginian) war lasted from 264 – 241 BC. It was fought largely in Sicily and ended in Roman control of the island.  

The second Punic war was fought between 218 – 201 BC. It started in Spain, but ended with Carthage recalling Hannibal back home as they were increasingly uneasy about the odds. Hannibal had enlisted the Macedonian king Perseus in the fight, but his defeat meant Roman control over Greece in 168 BC. 

The Romans also had to engage the Gauls in the 220's, and Antiochus of Syria in 190 BC.  

Military campaigning was a way of life for Romans. And one of the consequences of military success overseas was that the profits of warfare made Rome the richest people known in the world. Thousands of captives poured in and became the slave labor that worked Roman fields, mines, and mills. Roman reconstruction and new construction took off, and for a while, Rome's coffers overflowed so that Rome became a tax free zone. 

But these changes destabilized the culture too. So much wealth and luxury had an effect on Rome. The expansion of power raised debates and paradoxes about Rome's place in the world, and what counted as "Roman" when so much of the Mediterranean was under Roman control.  Winning brought its own problems.  

Cannae and the elusive face of battle  Hannibal had crossed the Alps and won a decisive battle at Cannae. Romans were in a panic about his eventual invasion of the city. But for some unknown reason, Hannibal stopped and gave the Romans time to recover. Quintus Fabius took command after Cannae and avoided direct confrontation with Hannibal. He waited, and he combined guerilla tactics with a scorched earth policy to wear down the enemy. Scipio Africanus was the more dashing leader and wanted a more direct confrontation.  

Perhaps more than anything else, it was Rome's commitment to continue the fight, at any cost, that eventually won the war. Hannibal himself maybe understood that Rome's manpower was due to their relations with those allied to them, and he tried to win them over to his own side. But he never managed it successfully enough to undermine the Romans. Polybius himself goes into this at length, describing the strength and stability of Rome's political structures. 

Polybius on the politics of Rome  Polybius was a Greek from the Peloponnese that was captured when Perseus lost to Rome. Perseus was an educated writer and as such was placed higher than many slaves. He noted that Romans were afraid of the gods, but that they also were systematically efficient in organization.  

The stories of Roman valor, heroism, and self-sacrifice were told to the young to inspire them to endure all for the common good. But Polybius noted within the Roman state structure itself, that there was a mixed constitution that pulled the best aspects of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. The consuls were the monarchical element. The senate was the aristocratic element, and the people were the democratic element. There was a set of checks and balances on each so that none could entirely prevail. In fact, speaking of democracy is a bit misleading, because we tend to see it in our modern terms. Democracy at root means mob rule. Romans fought for liberty, not democracy.  

Even though the plebs had won the right to participate, office was still only available to both wealthy plebs and wealthy patricians. But that didn't mean the poor were ignored. In fact, there support was sought after by those in office.  Since the rich were rarely united on issues, those that did campaign sought to convince the poor public that their policies were the best. The rich had to learn the lesson that they depended on the people as a whole.  

An empire of obedience  The Romans didn't start out bent on vast conquest or in the belief of some manifest destiny. They had a thirst for glory and economic profits, but so did their neighbors. They were not the only agents in the process and they didn't march across peace-loving people who were just minding their own business until the thuggish Romans came along. The Mediterranean was a vast area of shifting alliances and continuous brutal violence. The more powerful Rome was perceived to be, the more these warring parties sought to enlist the Romans as allies in their own power struggles. Of course as Rome gained control over these areas they did impose their will to greater or lesser degrees.   

The impact of empire  As conquered peoples were brought to Rome, Romans traveled to far flung corners of the empire too. By the mid second century BC, probably over half the adult male citizens of Rome would have seen something of the world abroad, leaving children where they went. The Roman population had become the most traveled of any state ever in the Mediterranean.  

How to be Roman  This wider view of the world also allowed the Romans to be more realistic about themselves. Their sculpture, realistic in the capture of flaws, expressed a willingness to see themselves accurately, and often call out their society for its lack of living up to its own standards. 

[lvicevlk]

the thing with jfm, aside from his many and severe failures as a father, is that he had ample warning the wens were coming between the burning of cloud recesses and the kids coming back after the Summer Camp From Hell. and yet the jiangs got steamrolled. objectively terrible. wei wuxian mentions later that jiang cheng beefs up security by a lot.

One of JFM's chief issues, in fact I would argue is the root of just about all his other issues, is that he doesn't want to have to deal with the hard or messy bits of, well...anything, really. He doesn't want to have responsibility, he's laid back to the point of near total passivity, he wants things to just sort themselves out on their own without him having to put any effort into them and he runs away whenever someone tries to make him so much as face let alone actually do anything about any of the myriad of things that have gone wrong in his life, both professionally and personally.

The Wens and his reaction, more specifically his lack of reaction, to the threat they presented is one example. He doesn't want to admit that things are as bad as they are and look to be escalating fast because then he'd have to start making the kinds of hard decisions that he really doesn't want to be making. And I do sympathize somewhat with that particular situation because prior to WC rolling up and going Rome-on-Carthage on YMJ, the two choices appear to be "try to ride it out and hope they leave you alone" or "commit your people to a war you cannot possibly win" and those are shit choices and he ended up sort of choosing Option A by default. Realistically the Wen were never going to leave anyone alone yet even Madame Yu, who is a lot more decisive and a much better strategic thinker than her husband, yields to the Wen and tries to placate them when they first show up. This is not a fight where the odds are in YMJ's favor and so it wasn't one she took until it became unavoidably obvious that the Wen's had come for a personal grudge and they weren't going to take anything less than YMJ's life's blood as payment and by then it was honestly too late.

Were there things that JFM should have done prior to the Wen attack? Yes, absolutely. Were there things that JFM could have done prior to the Wen attack? Also yes. But it would have required that he knuckle down and not only make a difficult decision but thereafter do the work to carry it through to the end and he wasn't willing to do that. He kept putting it off and waiting for someone else to make the hard decisions so he wouldn't have to until they just ran out of time.

And JC, for better or for worse, tried desperately to not repeat his parents mistakes (or what he perceived as their mistakes) and that included rebuilding YMJ into a Sect that no one would ever be able to attack ever again. And whatever else is true about him, JC is willing to show up and do the work that needs doing, no matter how hard or messy it is, and see it through.

[honeyblockm]

Hi! My name is Yen! [pronouns: he/it/any] Sometimes i am also other names in other reaches of the internet.

↳ this is a sideblog, I follow and interact from @spiritunwilling

↳ ao3: cryptofhoney

↳ my DSMP playlists

↳ I don't rlly tag consistently for anything so like, be forewarned.

↳ art I draw is tagged with #my art; writing I do is tagged #my writing; all asks are tagged #asks; and I'm not great at keeping up with it but non-reblogs/original posts should be under #yens

↳ lore main! Assume everything I talk about is about the characters unless otherwise specified

↳ be decent. Be kind. For the love of god don't victim blame or harass people

↳ for clarity: I don't support cc!Dream or cc!Wilbur and am not comfortable engaging with blogs about either content creator, or having blogs that support those two interact with my work. I don't go through the blogs of everyone that interacts with me bc I have a life but I will block if I do find out.

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here are some of the things i have made:

Silver Dollar: President Schlatt is dead, murdered. It's up to you to find his killer.

A murder mystery game created in Twine, set during the Manberg era. Chapter 1 out of 4 has been posted.

Journeying Into the Center of the Earth to Retrieve Your Dead Ex-Boyfriend: Quackity goes to Hell.

Post Canon-Divergence c!Quacknap AU where Quackity does the classic Descent into the Underworld to Save a Loved One™

BED [DIS]ASSEMBLY: A STURDY BED FRAME WITH SOFT, PROFILE EDGES AND HIGH LEGS. A CLASSIC SHAPE THAT WILL LAST FOR MANY YEARS. THIS CLASSIC BED FRAME WILL LOOK GREAT WITH YOUR CHOICE OF TEXTILES AND BEDROOM FURNITURE.

c!Sapnap-centric creative writing piece, in the format of an edited IKEA manual

KILL YOUR PAST SELF: YOU WILL KNOW WHEN THE TIME HAS COME

c!Quackity-centric infographic(?) about ego death and metaphorically killing your previous iteration because it can no longer sustain itself. Or you.

WE ALL THINK YOU'RE A GRAND GIRL: NIHACHU Well they’re gone now I guess you all saw it. Schlatt chased them out not in this great clashing of blades and war they just had to run

c!Niki-centric oneshot, about her arc during the Manberg-Pogtopia war. Based on the style and themes of Anne Carson's Antigonick.

with the measure that you used / so shall it be measured to you: Sapnap, post-Dream.

Post-canon fic where Sapnap kills Dream and keeps on living. Written in the format of several interviews with SMP newspapers over 2-3 decades.

The Death Poem: What is known about dying on the server.

A poem for every canon death on the server (in some cases of group deaths they are combined, like FCR.)

Carthage may rise again someday

collection of what should be all of the dsmp poems I've written, most of which are also posted here. There's poems about everyone from Philza to Wilbur to Fundy to Wilbur again to Quackity to Wilbur again! to Sapnap to Quackity-

before we cut to Alexandria: Between you is a desk and, an hour later, a wall, and your brother- let’s call him your brother, because you do not have to like your brothers, but you have to have them. And he is here, your brother.

c!cabinetduo (Manberg era) poem that warrants its own post. Might be the longest poem I've ever written and I have no idea how that happened even. Also on ao3.

you don't have to love it: Turning heel; or, deciding not to die.

c!Quackity-centric professional wrestling au. Kind of a character study. Kind of a love letter to how compelling getting beat up and beating people up can be ^_^ and also kayfabe and heel turns and losing

12x100s: the loneliest people in the whole wide world - Fundy and Quackity; where the high wires drop (where the fat crows fly) - Sam and Ponk

12x100s are a format by Lewis Attilio. Series' of twelve 100-word snapshots. Pretty great for character studies. The fics aren't related to one another, they're just both 12x100s.

Left Pining for Transience: Quackity Snowfall is a perfect machine, capable of assisting Senator Schlatt however he needs. Theirs is a relationship of mutual benefit--he helps Schlatt stay in power and Schlatt keeps him out of the grasp of the omnipresent megacorporation REDSTONE. Quackity has nothing else to turn to, no reason to stray from his position until he meets Karl, a rogue neural net touting what appears to be sentience.

c!Karlnapity cyberpunk AU where Karl lives inside Quackity's head. Written in two months for AUFEST 2023. It is my first go at a completed longfic. I wish it could be better but that's okay. We're learning.

Various AU series: The Paltry Few-Harbinger AU (supernatural/monster hunting); no don't tell me the odds (blaseball);

I have other standalone fics that take place in alternate universes, but these are the ones that actually have multiple works in the series.

november 16

webweave about fallen cities and dreams that could only be a whisper.

your death and mine

c!sandduo webweave about the act of killing your son.

WE ARE NOT TRAITORS BUT THE LIGHTS GO OUT

c!dreamnap webweave about loving your best friend, who is, in some sense or another, dead.

LONGING BECOMES ITS OWN OBJECT

c!karlnapity webweave about an absence and tidal wave of love both.

CUT ME DOWN WHERE THE WATER MEETS THE SEA

c!Fundy webweave about fathers

Relief Pitcher: so send me up, so sound the alarm

Niche but I love this so it makes the list. c!Quackity webweave based on the song Relief Pitcher by the Garages.

but once upon it / the yellow bonnet

This is a drawing of karlnapity getting married and tbh it fucks. That's all.

Bad Blood

@/anonymous-dentist wrote a comic that I illustrated for @/dsmpherozine! It's about vigilante!Karl breaking into Las Nevadas.

other art of mine that I think is cool: Kiss of Judas - Eretbur; Independence or Death - L'Manberg zine; DEICIDE - Dreamnap; Karlnapity sleeping sketch; more karlnapity; c!Quackity magdalen with the smoking flame study; slasher wedding concept; karlnapity become triangle; Honq cozies; you guessed it it's more karlnapity; 3 guys 1 bed - Kinoko; Karlnapity painting based off a poem; Devil and Fallen Angel - Tinarose;

Poster redraws: communist gay eggpire, SUPPORT UNIONS FOOLISH GAMERS SAYS TO SUPPORT UNIONS

hey man sometimes the urge overtakes me

Various comics: dream & divinity; skephalo & healing; tntduo & mutual destruction; devil town chapter 11 by hooray; sapnap and homemaking; tommyinnit & persevering; karlnapity & a complete list of fears; ponk & a broken relationship; wilbur & the final control room; awesamdude & the warden; fundy & routine; karl & love

like 5 of these are lyric comics and 3 are specifically using songs from the mountain goats. good lord

[awed-frog]

Things I learned from WW84:

If you take off your glasses and your skirt and walk around half-blind in your undies, you’ll become beautiful

But you shouldn’t wish to be beautiful, or liked: that’s bad, and you will be punished for it

Remember: only Special People, who were born Like That, can be beautiful and liked

It’s okay to sleep with a possessed body if you’re a woman

One (1) subtextual reminder your main character is bi are enough

Women whose first love dies should never sleep with anyone else

Ever again

Your dead boyfriend of two weeks will say otherwise because he’s Good and Kind, but deep down you know you’ll never have sex again

If you’re not the main character, you can expect to randomly die and be replaced by Chris Pine

No one will miss you

Junk food that comes in a box is amazing and people from the past never knew food could be this good

But this isn’t product placement: [unnamed eldritch abomination] is genuinely good & worth your purchase  

(Please buy it)

Taking over the title of an anti-capitalistic novel for your money-making, pro-imperialistic box office extravaganza is okay & desirable

(There was literally no reason to set this in 1984, was there?)

There is no good way of writing a romance between an immortal character and someone who’s 9000 years younger

Especially if the mortal person is portrayed as a wide-eyed ‘virgin’ who doesn’t know anything about the world

Yeah, even if ‘not knowing anything about the world’ has an actual plot-relevant explanation

Still creepy af

Probably a me problem, but I can’t tell Kristen Wiig and Emily Blunt apart

Literally the same face

Every man in the world is an untrustworthy creep

Except for Chris Pine and that one homeless guy who stops righteous feminist rage from turning into murder

That could happen to anyone, people

One man catcalls you and you’re ready to kill

Women, amirite?

The missile thing is as bad as you’d expect

Unclear who [Middle Eastern kinglet living in the 1500s] was suposed to be, but if you want your land back, it will inevitably cause pain and misery for thousands of vulnerable people

So don’t

Also it will make Mubarak sad

And Mubarak is our friend

The Roman empire ‘collapsed catastrophically’ and ‘without a trace as to why’

So did Carthage

And the Mayans

Iraq only wanted to ‘defend itself’ during the war it started against Iran

Male Villain motivation: to overcome the trauma of an abusive childhood by making enough to provide for the son he adores 

Female Villain motivation: “Men don’t look at me and I can’t walk in high heels”

Male Villain arc end: “I’ll drop everything if it means my son is safe”

Female Villain arc end: “I have now turned into a BEAST because my demented desire to be walk through a park at night without being harassed turned my brain to jelly, but I won’t go back to the husk of a person I was before - a top scientist employed by the Smithsonian with a lovely apartment - even if it kills me + everybody else”

“The world is a beautiful place just as it is”

I mean, you could have a world where you’re not frightened and poor and oppressed, but what will that cost you?

Nuclear war, that’s what a

And everyone dying

You selfish commie

It’s normal & good for a President to wish for more nuclear weapons

The real villain is the immigrant kid who wanted to be like everybody else

And: homelessness is not that bad when it’s Christmas!

Bonus:

This “We had sex with you while you were in a coma and you don’t remember it but I know what your special meat stick looks like” smile.

[thoodleoo]

okay okay what's your take on the Underworld book with 1) aeneas not getting the golden bough on his first try and/or 2) aeneas leaving through the gate of false dreams, every time I reread book six i go nuts about this

ah yes book 6 of the aeneid.....a book that transforms me into a wild animal every time....a book that is innovative, provocative...dare i say sexy.........

i’m gonna start with the gate of false dreams because honestly what can i even SAY like. there’s SO much i wish i could ask vergil about this scene. like of course it’s based off of the conversation that penelope has with odysseus in book 19 but the thing is like. penelope is literally talking about a dream she had and says that she fears her dream was a false on BUT THIS IS NO DREAM! IT’S AENEAS HIMSELF PASSING THROUGH THE GATE! VERGIL WHAT IS THE DREAM!!! is vergil saying the empire that augustus was trying to create is nothing but a false dream? or is the story aeneas coming to italy a dream and augustus’s lineage a falsehood? is this to say that aeneas’s hopes are nothing but useless false dreams? or is the very establishment of rome nothing but a dream? is the rest of the poem a dream? DOES ANYTHING PAST BOOK 6 EVEN HAPPEN OR DOES AENEAS NEVER MAKE IT OUT OF THE UNDERWORLD???

okay now that that’s out of my system im gonna talk about the golden bough because HOLY SHIT YALL

i mean the golden bough episode really is effectively just a giant summary of aeneas’s heroic journey. we’re presented at the beginning of the aeneid with a man who is effectively a failure. he’s a failed hero! he can’t be odysseus because odysseus has a home to go back to and aeneas does not. he can’t be achilles because the foes that attacked his home left as victors. he can’t even seem to make it to this crummy new land he’s supposed to and he doesn’t even want to be there! he wants to be dead!

and every single thing that we see aeneas do after this point is met with some sort of failure or disaster. he lands at carthage and is given a warm welcome; he leaves as dido curses his name and all his descendants. he lands at sicily to honor his father and nearly loses his ships to mutiny. he lands at italy and is welcomed as a king only to then face yet another bloody war on top of all of his other hardships.

and i think that’s ultimately why he fails to pull the bough out on the first try, because the bough represents aeneas’s journey and it represents aeneas himself! he both reaches for the destiny he has been burdened with and shies away from the horrors he knows that he must face. he tries and tries and tries and in the end he WILL succeed but it will not come easy and by GOD he’s gonna have to work for it even if he doesn’t want to and he IS the bough!!! aeneas pulls the bough but he also is the bough and he’s fulfilling his fate and resisting it and GOD! IM GONNA HOLLER!!!!!

[strength-to-try]

Hannibal Costumes in the Musical

I've received a couple of anonymous asks regarding the costuming in Hannibal, in response to one of the aims of this initiative being to determine how to make sure they're removed from the production.

The questions are:

a) Which costumes in Hannibal are problematic/offensive, and b) Are the costumes still being used?

Which costumes?

There are three costumes I would identify as problematic. The first, and most discussed one, is the costume usually worn by the one or two actors who bring in the elephant at the climax of the Hannibal rehearsal. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to identify the costume and role as the 'Elephant Handler', as the commonly used and credited name of the role has been used as a slur before. In the 25th anniversary at the RAH recording, the elephant is omitted but several actors in the costume still make an appearance near the end.

The Elephant Handler actors wear a brown or dark coloured baclava, and dark, sometimes skintight clothing sometimes matching the colour of the baclava on their arms. The rest of the costume sometimes involves 'fur skins' or animal print, and layered colourful scraps of cloth. They are somewhat hard to see, usually standing upstage (near the back), and one's eyes usually are drawn to the main cast, or, you know, the elephant being brought in. Recordings often do not focus on the back, and can be blurry as well, which may explain how the actors could be easily missed.

In short, the Elephant Handler costume is blackface, and a racist caricature. Why does it exist? People often speculate that it's used as a commentary and/or parody of racist productions that occurred in the 19th century. A more cynical assumption might also be that it was to portray such questionably 'accurate' productions of the time, without the intent to lampoon. Any commentary intended is not exactly obvious.

Hopefully, the description of the costume is on its face enough for the average person to conclude that it should be removed from the musical. It's essentially a variation of Poe's law at work (i.e. "without a clear indicator of [...] intent, it is impossible to create a parody of extreme views so obviously exaggerated that it cannot be mistaken by some [...] for a sincere expression of the views being parodied." It is perpetuating racist imagery, and for what reason?

The sight of the costumes may be enough to harm viewers/audience members on their own. It also likely has the distinct effect of making actors of colour feel unwelcome, which then creates a further vicious feedback loop of actors of colour not being cast. It certainly angers and shames me, and makes me hesitate to share the show with others.

The other two costumes, perhaps less overt, are commonly referred/credited as the Lion Man and the Wild Woman. The former is usually an actor in 'fur skins' or animal print who is often crouching/groveling and striking grimaces. The latter are actors wearing wigs of textured hair. There are usually several of each in the Hannibal rehearsal. Again, it's impossible to confirm intention, but I would hazard that it's to connote the 'barbaric' and 'exotic' nature of Carthage, common inaccurate tropes of the city and Phoenician civilization.

Are the costumes still being used?

Yes, the costumes are still used in all replica productions, including on Broadway and the West End. I haven't seen the production in person for a while, so this is based on combing through some recordings made within the last five years.

Copenhagen (2019)'s Elephant Handlers don't appear to be wearing balaclavas; the Brazil revival (also 2019) do. Notably, the Elephant Handler costume is not in the restaged production (nor is the elephant). The Lion Man and Wild Women still make appearances, however.

  Should all these costumes be changed/be removed?

I would say so. Definitely the Elephant Handler, I hope you'd agree. It would take very little to revise the other two as well. Certainly, there have already been many interesting non-replica alternatives used in lieu of each. Or, they could draw from historical accounts of Carthaginian dress as well. The sky's the limit here.

Is it blackface if they're wearing balaclavas and not painting their faces?

Yes. It continues to be derogatory and a racist caricature.

Do we have a hope of a chance in getting this changed even though Cameron Mackintosh doesn't seem to care about fan outcry?

Given that the issue is not "fans are dissatisfied" but "this is racist and offensive," yes. Specifically, I would wager that it would generate more public outrage and therefore spur change. It's somewhat surprising that the costumes and the musical at large hasn't been blasted publicly for this already.

And cynically, this doesn't cost Mackintosh much of anything, so I can see it just making financial sense to him as well.

Regardless of success, that an initiative to bring about positive change might not work doesn't mean that it's not worth it to try. That, too, I hope you'd agree.

  Links

I'm not an academic and the degree and depth of research many phans conduct are seriously quite impressive and beyond my skills. These links are definitely not that; they were articles I found interesting and/or feel like may be helpful as a springboard. Vox, writer Jenée Desmond-Harris on the offensive nature of blackface NPR, a short podcast clip featuring Gene Demby, with transcription, about blackface and intent

World History Encyclopedia article on Phoenicia (ancient Carthage was a city/settlement of) World History Encyclopedia article on Hannibal’s struggles during the Second Punic War (which the POTO play within a play is about)

Phoenicia.org article on Phoenician Dress (and the most 90s design for a website that I've seen in a while)

[enemyofrome]

dear yuletide author

Hello, Yuletide Author!

Thank you so much for writing for me! I hope you have fun with this, and I’m already super excited to read whatever you come up with! :D

Things I like: enemies-to-lovers, enemies-as-lovers, subtle humour, competence kink, characters who appear imperturbable or flippant but are riddled with painful vulnerabilities, and the reluctant showing of that vulnerability. I’ll read anything from plotty intrigue to plotless fluff. Also 1000000% here for AUs (modern, ancient, coffee shop, soulmate, whatever) and crossovers between any or all of my requested fandoms. Historical accuracy appreciated; historical liberties welcome.

Things I’d rather not read: original characters in a major role, genderbends unless specified, A/B/O, conflicts based on misunderstandings or romantic jealousy.

Things I don’t want to read: “period-typical” misogyny/homophobia, graphic violence or torture, erasure of canonical disabilities, animal death, incest, rape, abusive relationships. Toxic family dynamics are a particular trigger and I’d rather a fic not focus on them too much, even if it’s canon. I read all ratings, but I tend to skim sex scenes unless they do something for plot and characterisation.

Past letters: 2020 | 2019 | 2017 

Requests:

1. Punic Wars RPF (Hannibal Barca)

I love that Hannibal was not only good at War Things but extremely well-read and erudite; he spoke multiple languages, wrote treatises in Greek, enjoyed wordplay and snark, etc, and was a grumpy introvert who disliked posturing and had to be wheedled away from his work to go to banquets and such.

Competence kink is what I’m saying. Competence kink.

(I love all of the Barcids, and would happily read anything about any of them, so don’t feel like you have to focus exclusively on the Hannibabe himself!)

Ideas:

I ship Hannibal and Scipio to hell and back but would also enjoy them as best friends/frenemies with benefits/partners-in-crime etc, though I would rather you not pair them with anyone else but each other. (That being said, Scipio is optional. Rome is optional. War is optional. If you wanted to write a fic that focused exclusively on Hannibal and his family, I’d be so down.)

This is a fandom where I’d particularly appreciate light-heartedness, not least because Hannibal was a historically attested Little Shit with a wicked sense of humour. Sibling bonding! Cracky extended family gatherings! Giving Romans aneurysms! Giving his allies aneurysms!

Honest efforts at historical accuracy will be very, very appreciated, but I would also enjoy alternate universes of any sort. Modern AU! Space AU! Carthage Wins AU! Etc. (Just no The Barcids As Romans AUs, please.)

If you're looking for more inspiration, or just eye candy, here's a docudrama starring Alexander Siddig as Hannibal. There's also Extra History for a quick and humorous if not wholly accurate crash course on the First and Second Punic Wars, featuring some adorable stick figures. And here’s my Punic Wars tag on tumblr, where I yell often and copiously.

(Don’t erase Hannibal’s canonical disability, please! See above for more detailed DNWs.)

2. Howl Series - Diana Wynne Jones (Howl Pendragon)

Ideas:

A pre-canon fic set in Wales would be amazing. What was Howl like in university? We know from DWJ that he majored in philosophy—why? Did he ever finish writing his dissertation on spells? When did he first know he was a wizard? How, exactly, did he find the door to Ingary? Was he telling the truth when he said he never met Suliman in Wales? (My ship of choice is Howl x Ben Suliman—my take on it here and here—and I would literally liquefy if you wrote this for me, but you don't have to.)

Howl's early years in Ingary are also really interesting to me. Like, it can't have been easy setting up a life in an entirely new world where he had no money and didn't know anyone. How did he get by? Why on earth did he catch Calcifer? Did he have to use Sophie's cayenne pepper trick a lot when he was first "starting out in a small way"? How did he meet Mrs. Pentstemmon? How many aunts brained him with their frying pans for seducing their niblings?

Or something that fills in the gaps in HMC. Sophie is a really unreliable narrator at the best of times, which is one of the most intriguing and frustrating things about the book, because there's so much we just don't know. What was Howl doing behind the scenes to try and save Suliman and Justin? Where did he really go when he was supposedly out courting? What were his first impressions of Sophie (besides DEATH BY CLEANING)? When did he fall in love with her?

(My HMC tag is here!)

3. Lymond Chronicles - Dorothy Dunnett (Francis Crawford of Lymond)

Ideas:

Injury! Sickfic! Huddling for warmth with a person of your choice! In a series that is about 99 parts hurt to one part comfort, I will take all of the hurt/comfort tropes, romantic or platonic. (The scene in Game of Kings where Richard nurses Lymond back to health is one of my most favourites --  it’s quite possibly the point where I was like, oh no, this series is going to be ingrained in my brain forever.)

Any sort of AU where Lymond and Marthe grow up together/are raised as siblings, and get up to all kinds of shenanigans. (Unpopular opinion: Marthe is one of my favourite characters, and while you don’t need to include her at all, I’d love it if you did!)

An exploration of the many, many people who had fleeting (or not-so-fleeting) crushes on Lymond, and perhaps even his perspective on said crushes -- I’m talking Will, Jerott, Mariotta, Mikal, etc.

Something stupidly, unapologetically cracky, that makes it impossible to take Lymond seriously. Because let’s face it, we deserve it. A wild sheep chase? Some ridiculous harebrained plan to accomplish some impossibly obscure objective? Lymond accidentally discovering the one thing on earth he’s not good at? Bonus points if Philippa has to rescue him, and someone ends up under the table laughing.

(Dorothy Dunnett tag here and here!)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Long Walk

(We have a lot to celebrate this month: 30 years from the publication of Good Omens, one year since the series came out. I, myself, have some big milestones: 666 followers, 200k+ on AO3, and 30 fics posted! And I’m about to hit 4,000 Tumblr posts. Naturally, I choose to celebrate with something VERY melancholy

(This fic was inspired by my prompt for @itsthearoway - milestones of Crowley and Aziraphale through history - but was written right after I went into self-isolation. It’s a bit of a reflection on death, life, and hope. I’m not tagging it for death because technically there are no on-screen deaths, but if you are avoiding fic that make you think about mortality DO NOT READ THIS. It’s hopeful, but also very angst.

(Thank you all! I’m working on a longer light-hearted fic about the early days of the arrangement for @itsthearoway that I hope to have the first chapter ready for in a couple of days. Here’s to another 200k!)

--

The Long Walk - A short saga of the world, two observers, and the question: what is it all for? (1697 words)

Also on AO3

The sands stretch away from the Walls of Eden, eternally in either direction. Endless empty wasteland. Unrelenting heat fills the air, beaming down from the sun, up from the dunes. The kind of heat that nothing can live in.

Through the endless empty wasteland walk an angel and a demon, side-by-side.

“Seems an awful waste,” says the demon. “Build a whole world with nothing in it. If the Almighty is so powerful, why not make everywhere like Eden?”

“Eden was special,” says the angel, sadly. He hasn’t been cast out, not in the way the humans and the demon have. But the Garden’s time is over, and he can move on, or fade with it. “Eden was perfect.”

“Yeah, a perfect prison.” The demon rolls his eyes. “Too perfect for the likes of me.”

“No, not perfect like that. Perfectly balanced.” The angel holds out a hand, tipping it side to side. “The weather, the animals, all life, everything hung perfectly from the slightest thread. The was no…no room for deviation, you might say. No room for evil, yes, but also for good. For knowledge. For choice or free will. Once the humans had that, they had to leave. Even if they stayed, it all would have fallen apart.”

The demon considers as they walked. “That’s your ‘ineffable’ explanation?”

A shrug. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Not really.” The demon looks at their surroundings. “And it still seems an awful waste. Sending the humans out here to die.”

“Oh, I don’t think it will come to that. They may yet find something outside the Garden. Look.”

Ahead of them, a shape bursts from the shade of a dune, a small lizard, mottled brown, running for all it's worth to cower in the next shadow. “There’s still life,” says the angel. “Still a chance.”

A thousand years.

Frozen winters.

Drought-filled summers.

A Flood covers the land, and recedes.

Through lands scoured clear of any trace of life walk an angel and a demon, side-by-side.

“Not much of a chance, if our sides keep interfering,” the demon says, watching the brown river rush past between barren banks.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” the angel chides.

A snort. “You’d say the same if it were my side that did this.” Silence, apart from footfalls in the mud. “Well, go on. Tell me it’s all part of the Plan. I can practically hear you thinking it.”

“Well it is. I might not understand it, but it must be.”

“Some Plan. A thousand years of struggle and toil, for what? Just to be destroyed like that.”

“Nonsense.” The angel points overhead at a flitting dove. The first bird either of them has seen since the rains began. “It isn’t over yet. And we can’t know until it’s over.”

Two thousand more years.

Cities rise.

Cities fall.

Sodom.

Thera.

Troy.

They walk together through the empty streets of what had once been the world’s greatest city, past shattered walls and burned out homes and the remains of a wooden horse.

“They’ve learned from you,” the angel says, an edge of bitterness.

“They’ve learned from us,” the demon corrects, but without rancor.

The angel pauses to study the remains of a temple, altar within shattered, blood spattered across the floor from more than sacrificial animals. “Either way, they surpassed their teachers.”

“They did.” In the distance, past once-impregnable gates that will never close again, high-masted ships depart. Not the attackers, returning victorious to kingdoms that have been destroyed in other ways; these are the survivors, in search of a new home. “Do you suppose they’ll do any better the next time?”

“We must hope,” said the angel, looking where white flowers grow through the cracks in the path. “We must always hope.”

Phoenicia.

Persia.

Carthage.

Rome.

Empires grow.

Empires topple.

They walk, tracing the path of an aqueduct, still valiantly carrying water to an empty city, miles away.

“You know, I really thought they had something this time,” sighs the angel, watching the rodents burrow beneath the monumental stones.

The demon tosses his head, looking at the endless span of arch on arch, crossing a continent. “They did.”

“Next time,” the angel says, with confidence he doesn’t feel. “Next time they’ll get it right.”

“They will. For a time.”

“Oh, there is no need for you to be…pessimistic,” the angel snaps.

“It’s not pessimism, it’s – oh, never mind.” The demon saunters a little faster. “I think I see a village up ahead. Probably have something to drink there.”

Wars rage, brought by raiders or kings or desperate humans.

Famine crawls from town to town, spurred on by locusts, by ice storms, by greed.

Pestilence crosses the world again and again.

Death. Death. Death.

An angel kneels in the street, holding a human’s hand. The human isn’t moving.

A demon materializes from the shadows behind him. “Give it a rest. You can’t do anything for him now.”

“I know.” He stands up. “But I had to try.”

All around them, the city stands silent. Not empty. Humans locked in their homes, afraid to go out, afraid to be too close, afraid the plague may catch them, too.

“He should have fled,” the angel says sadly. “Left the city while he still had a chance.”

“Not everyone can run,” the demon points out.

“I know.” After a time, he walks again, the demon beside him. Past empty fountains, abandoned marketplaces, homes boarded shut. “The city has changed so much. Do you remember that lovely restaurant we used to visit?”

“Burned down. Almost a thousand years ago.” The demon shrugs. “Vandals. Or Goths, maybe.”

“Ah. Pity.”

From a nearby alley, the stench of death. The demon tries to look away, only to find himself meeting the angel’s eyes.

“You won’t find anyone in there.”

“I know. But I have to try.”

The demon sighs, but follows him in. “I hate this century.”

“You always say that, dear.”

New continents.

New art styles.

New wars.

New technologies.

Until one afternoon the world ends – and is made anew.

And only one small group of humans will ever know – and an angel and a demon, stepping off a bus together at three in the morning. The city isn’t empty, merely asleep.

Not ready to go inside just yet, they walk around the block, listening to foxes rummage through rubbish bins, watching lights flick on, here and there, where another insomniac has risen from bed.

“What do you suppose comes next?” the angel wonders, when the silence becomes too much. “For the humans.”

“Dunno.” The demon tosses his head, hands stuck in his pockets. “More of the same, I would guess. Life, death, love, hate, good, bad. Human stuff.”

“But something has to change,” the angel insists. “The world nearly ended for…for Heaven’s sake,” he finishes, voice full of irony. “But if it was the Plan, it must mean something. What’s it all leading to?”

“We might find out. Depends what comes next. For us.”

“Ah.” The angel slows. Stops. “Do you…do you suppose they’re very angry?”

The demon turns to face him with a snort. “What do you think?”

“I think…I think…” His hands straighten his waistcoat, smooth his tie. “I think that whatever comes next, however much time we have…I should like to carry on as we always have.” His tone is light, his eyes searching.

A slow nod. “Yeah.” The demon reaches out, gently squeezes the angel’s shoulder. “Yeah. Me too.”

When they start walking again it is, as always, side-by-side.

“And, you know, I would like to see how it all turns out.”

“You and me both, Angel.”

More time passes.

The world grows old. Ancient.

Another war. The Really Big One. Bigger than any seen on Earth or in Heaven.

Everybody fights.

Everybody loses.

When it is over – when all things are over – there is nothing left.

No world, no Paradise, no eternal torment. No Hosts of Heaven, no Legions of Hell.

No humans, no Satan, no God.

Just an endless, eternal expanse of nothing and, somewhere in the featureless plane, an angel in white, kneeling, alone.

Slowly, the darkness around him resolves into another shape. The demon steps forward, fighting back a smile. “There you are. You survived.” As if he hasn’t been frantically searching. “Thought as much. You’re very hard to kill.”

The angel doesn’t respond.

“It sure was a mess, though, wasn’t it?” The demon shakes his head ruefully. “Should have expected it, really, but right at the end when –”

“I was wrong.” The angel hasn’t moved, eyes still locked on the endless Nothing. “Thousands of years, millions of sunrises, and for what? There was never any point.”

“No, Angel.” The demon kneels beside him, rests a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, yeah, you were wrong. Because the ending was never the point. It was the journey – all those millions of days, filled with love and hate and smiling children and fighting with friends and favorite foods and annoying songs and struggles and choices and…and life. Everything they never would have had if they’d stayed in the Garden. That was the point. That was always the point.”

“Perhaps,” the angel tries to smile. “It was lovely, wasn’t it? While it lasted?”

“Yeah. It really was.” The demon helps him to his feet. “And, you know, it’s not completely gone.”

He waves a hand, long fingers trailing through the void as they had at the beginning of time, helping to shape the stars. He gathers together every atom, every wisp of matter, closer, closer, into a ball. The angel presses his hands into it, and together they compress it, tighter, denser, until –

A spark. From neither. From both.

BANG.

The void fills once more.

With chaos.

With potential.

With light.

The demon looks around, nodding with approval. “What do you think, Angel? Time for another walk?”

He gazes out at the disks of galaxies forming in the expanding cloud of debris. “Do you…do you think things will be different this time?”

A shrug. “Only one way to find out.”

Through the glowing crucible of a newborn universe walk an angel and a demon, side-by-side.

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #29: A Day at the Beachside Ruins

“Get that oversized rat away from me!”

“Konnie, come on! He’s been here two weeks! He’s practically family!”

“No! It is a wild animal, with claws and teeth and it eats garbage!”

“So are we, Sister! You can’t hide from it forever!”

Bradford sighed, sipping his coffee loudly as the clunking of angry combat boots filled the ship. He wished for the love of any god out there, that Kon-Mai would just pet the damn possum so Gur-Rai would shut the hell up. Unfortunately Kon-Mai’s fear of koalas seemed to spread to other marsupials as well, and she all but demanded that the thing be put outside. To be honest, Bradford couldn’t really blame her. Having a live animal (and a wild animal at that) was probably a bad idea, but of course Senuna had seen the damn thing and immediately fallen in love with it, so now there was no chance of it going anywhere. 

And thus, poor Bradford walked over to the sink, dumped his coffee and crossed his arms. “Children, I can barely hear myself think over that noise you’re making.”

“Tell him to leave me be, then!” Kon-Mai jabbed her thumb at her brother as he followed her into the common area. She was still favoring her previously broken leg, but Tygan had at least given the okay for the metal splint to come off for short periods.

“Tell her to just pet the damn possum!” Gur-Rai held up Pangu, who was hanging from his grip like a floppy rug.

“Leave your sister alone, Darkstrider.” Bradford said. “Don’t you have a robot to build and supplies to destroy?”

“Soft animals are relaxing, Bradford.” He held Pangu close to Bradford’s face. “Come on~”

Bradford shook his head. “Put him back in his pen.”

“Aw come on.”

“That’s an order, Darkstrider. That or I’ll have Tygan put him in the maze again.”

Gur-Rai gasped dramatically and hugged his possum close. “You monster.” He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Fine. Konnie, don’t go anywhere, I’ll be back.”

As soon as he left, Kon-Mai turned to Bradford. “He is gone, let’s pack up and abandon ship.”

Bradford chuckled. “Come on, he’s your brother.”

“Yes.” She raised a brow and chuckled. “It’s what you were thinking, Central.”

“Got me there.” He stood up. “Need anything? Besides to get away from your siblings?”

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Itching for a mission already?” He set his dirty cup on the console. “The Commander is stopping by Carthage. Geist wants to renegotiate the terms of our alliance. Again.”

Kon-Mai raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean renegotiate?”

Bradford ran a hand over his wrinkled face. “Geist and the Commander don’t like each other all that much. Nonetheless, both of them realize they need each other to achieve their goal of killing the Elders. Unfortunately, that also means that they keep trying to stab each other under the table.”

Kon-Mai seemed to bristle at that. “The Commander goes behind the back of her own allies?”

“Not if she can help it. But Geist is crafty, and it’s a tough job keeping all the Templars in line.” He admitted. “As it stands, he’s upset because we’ve been diverting extra training to our own Psi Soldiers, like Princess, rather than his Templar warriors. We have limited space for both so the Commander needs to hash out a deal with him, one that ends in this alliance staying together.”

Kon-Mai avoided Bradford’s gaze and crossed her arms. “I don’t see why this needs doing. Should one side not just capitulate for the sake of the war?”

“Which side?” Bradford asked. “That’s the problem, Shrinemaiden. We can’t favor the Templars at the expense of our own soldiers, especially when the Reapers and Skirmishers already don’t like them. Doing that would put more out of balance than would be worth it.”

“Perhaps I am not suited for politics.” Kon-Mai admitted.

“You’re one of our best assets on the battlefield.” Bradford assured her. “Don’t worry about the Templars. You three keep doing your jobs, and we still have an amazing edge on the Elders.”

Kon-Mai nodded and smiled. “I am thankful, Central.”

“Oh I am too. Believe me.”

.

.

“You are tense this morning.” Dhar-Mon’s voice cut into the depths of Malinalli’s mind. It was futile to ignore when they were bonded like this.

She opened her eyes briefly, then closed them again as the bright fluorescent light of his bedroom stung her cornea. “Just thinking about the other soldiers.” She said softly.

“What about them?” And with that, she felt him tense up as well. It made her giggle.

“Getting jealous?” She cooed. “A lot of them have been suffering from psychological ailments, stuff I’m not qualified to treat.”

The anxiety faded from Dhar-Mon’s mind, replaced with a curious twinge of blue.

“We’ve been having a lot more deaths, too.” She added. “I think it’s starting to wear on people but I don’t know how to help.”

“You are a kind and genuine person.” He assured her. “You do not simply wish to better your own life but the lives of others. That is something I have rarely seen.”

“Thank you.” She sighed. “But how do I help them?”

Her connection to Dhar-Mon faded as he let go of her hands, and she opened her eyes. She was once again aware of her surroundings, like the softness of the bed they sat on, and how very warm it was.

He was silent for a moment. “To say I know how to help these poor souls would be to lie.” He admitted. “But there is a way. Perhaps it is for you to find. Perhaps not. In either case, I have full faith in you.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Master~”

He blushed, and she giggled, declaring that a victory.

The ship shuttered just a bit, and they felt the gentle thunk as they touched down on land. Malinalli stood up and stretched. “We’re here!”

“And where is here?” Dhar-Mon asked her.

“Dunno.” She held out her hand. “Wanna come see?”

.

.

The sun was high in the sky, covering everything in a blanket of warmth. The sky was such a bright blue, and the way it reflected in the ocean blurred the horizon line and made it seem as though everything was merged together. Truly, as Dhar-Mon looked out over the ocean, the smell of the salty air took him back to his stronghold, and he breathed in deeply, the tranquility consuming him.

For a moment.

Something slapped him in the back of the head, and as he bristled and turned around, he saw Gur-Rai laughing with Shen as the two of them raced down the platform of the Avenger and onto the sand. 

Kon-Mai and Verge were not far behind, emerging slowly from the Avenger dock, both decidedly curious at the sight before them. Kon-Mai seemed to twist her leg a bit inside the splint, and it held.

Dhar-Mon opted to turn back to his brother. “What have you done to me?”

“I just flicked you. You weren’t paying attention.” Gur-Rai raced up the dock again and took Dhar-Mon’s hand. “Come on, come on, I wanna go swimming!”

“Swimming? We are here on a mission!”

“Bradford gave us the okay as long as we keep our radios on!” Shen called out. “Do you know how to swim, Hieromonk?”

Dhar-Mon scoffed. “Dr. Shen, I am surprised at you. My stronghold was in the center of Italy, and I patrolled the coastal towns on the regular! Of course I know how to swim!” He raised a brow. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” She came up behind Gur-Rai. “And how to surf~”

“Oh, we should do that!” Gur-Rai looked to the two behind his brother. “How bout it you two?”

Kon-Mai sighed. “We are working, Gur-Rai, this is not a vacation.”

“Sure it is.” He smiled. “I bet you just know I can outswim you, Little Sister.”

“Oh?” She raised a brow and smirked. “You are quite mistaken, Brother.”

“Prove it.”

“I do not have swimwear.” She protested. “And if you think I am going to strip to my undergarments, you are sorely mistaken.”

On cue, footsteps came up behind them, and as Kon-Mai turned, Senuna stood there, beaming. She was flanked by Malinalli, Bradford, and Jane, the latter of whom was carrying a stack of clothing in her hands.

“Commander.” Kon-Mai and Dhar-Mon both bowed respectfully, and Verge saluted her. But she seemed to ignore them all.

“The ocean is so beautiful today…” Senuna sighed, her green eyes as wistful as the air. “Reminds me...well.” The Commander looked forward, finally facing her soldiers. “I have gifts for all of you!” She gestured Jane forward, and it was then they saw the officer was holding a few articles of clothing.

“What is this?” Kon-Mai asked. Jane went to her first, pointedly holding up what almost looked like a dress, though it was short enough to be a shirt. With it was a pair of small trunks, both dyed a dark pink, nearly purple color.

“We had your measurements from making your armor.” Jane said. “I...hope you don’t mind, I took some liberties. Seemed like something you would like…” If she was blushing, Kon-Mai couldn’t tell in the sunlight.

“If it fits me, then it is a masterpiece.” Kon-Mai smiled at her. Jane avoided her gaze and kept distributing the articles of clothing.

“Are you guys gonna join us?” Shen asked.

Bradford shook his head. “Unfortunately we have to meet with Geist.” He sighed. “God I wish I could join you guys. Been too long since I’ve been to the beach.”

“You kids have fun for me!” Senuna winked. “There are some wood panels in the garage that would make excellent surfboards~”

.

.

Senuna had to admit, as much as she hated Geist, she loved Carthage and really admired what he had done with the place. The ancient metropolis had found new life with the Templars, who made their way lazily along stone streets, practicing fighting techniques in open arenas, trading goods and services among themselves in front of the stores they had set up. While some of the ancient walls still lay in ruin, they had repaired what they could and replaced even more, and Senuna could feel some of that mysterious, ancient energy returning to the site.

“Commander.” A familiar voice said. “Geist is this way.”

She and her officers turned to glance at the dark-skinned woman behind them, her blue uniform all too familiar.

“Iabet. Good to see you! How’s the wife?” Senuna cried.

Iabet seemed surprised before she smiled warmly. “Tornike is well. And little Siv too, they have recovered from their injuries. Siv is looking at a promotion soon...”

“Oh that’s wonderful!” She clapped.

“Commander, I understand you and Geist do not get along. But he is waiting.” Iabet chuckled.

“Yes, I know. But I’ve waited a thousand years before and it did me so much good!” Senuna laughed as though everyone else was in on the joke, when in reality Bradford was facepalming and Iabet stood there in confusion.

“...I do have one question.” Iabet admitted. “The Warlock…”

“What about him?” Senuna asked. “He goes by the Hieromonk now, by the way, and I think it fits him so well! I couldn’t be more proud of the little-”

“He’s alive?” Iabet gasped. “...I’m sorry, last I saw him he was bleeding out, when they took him away.”

“He’s alive.” Jane cut in. “He made a full recovery too. Can fight again and everything.”

Iabet’s face relaxed significantly. “I’m glad...none of us knew what happened. Geist never told us.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Senuna growled. “Come on then. It’s time I spoke to him.”

.

.

It had been so long since Kon-Mai had been in the water. Well, water that wasn’t from a shower or bath. She had been trained to swim by her priests in her first year, but even that was almost a decade ago. Since those lessons, she’d been confined to the shore for her work, focusing most her efforts around inland China, being ferried by helicarrier when she had to cross the open sea.

Kon-Mai took a breath, remembering the old words Bhandasura used to speak to her. You must be calm, like water. Water does not hurt, it waits, trickles patiently. And that is who you are, how you love. But this? This was different. The ocean was so raw and unhinged, so gentle and forthcoming. It did not hold back; it did not need to. The waves crashed against the shore with a fury so foreign yet so familiar to her, and yet the way the lazy foam hugged the sand was warm and comforting.

She took a step forward into the wet sand. Her long hair was out of it’s unusual braids and hung loose down her back, baby hairs flying wayward in the sea breeze. The water ashed up around her feet and she gasped at the cold. She had removed her splint to keep it from being damaged, and saw yet another badge of honor graced her leg: an angry white mark where her bone cut her skin.

“Heads up, Konnie!” Gur-Rai called from where he was as he smacked the water. Even from his position deep in the water, waves up to his chest, he still managed to splash her all the way on shore. “Come on! Quit stalling and get in!”

“Brother!” She growled. “Stop that!”

Gur-Rai smirked and smacked an oncoming wave again, this time showering his sister with droplets of foam.

She hissed. “You will suffer for that!”

“Make me~” He stuck his tongue out.

“Dude, she’s gonna do it!” Shen cried, backing up away from the  ballistic missile she knew was coming.

“You are right.” Kon-Mai took several steps back, took a breath and dashed forward, launching herself into the waves. For a moment, the sand blinded her, but then the water cleared and she could see where Gur-Rai (or at least his feet) were.

With the grace of a dolphin, she swam along the shallow bottom, keeping low until she was directly behind him, at which point she curled up, tightening her body like a coil, and sprung.

Gur-Rai let out a yelp as his sister grabbed him around the shoulders and pulled him down into the water with her. Shen burst out laughing at the sight, while Gur-Rai struggled to get back to his feet.

“Kon-Mai! Stop! Lemme go! I can’t swim, you bitch!”

“That is a lie!” Kon-Mai popped up once again. “You are Chosen! We can all swim!”

“Can you?” Malinalli asked as she came up beside Shen. Her hair had fallen from it’s bun, and the water had plastered her curls nearly flat, making her hair resemble dark locks of seaweed..

“Of course.” Warlock was wading over through the waves, although he was so tall that they barely came up to his knees. “We have trained for years in many survival skills. Swimming is important in a world that is mostly covered in water.”

“At least the Elders made sure you all could do that.” Malinalli looked over to Verge, who was sitting cross legged on the sand. “Come on Verge! The water is warm!”

He hesitated. “I am fine, Molly! Don’t worry about me!”

“Unfortunately, Sectoids did not get the same treatment we Chosen did.” Dhar-Mon sighed. “Verge, if you wish, I will teach you to at least survive in the water.”

“I am fine here…” Verge seemed to hesitate as he said that, and it prompted Warlock to sigh.

“Are you sure?” Gur-Rai called out when he finally broke free from Kon-Mai’s grasp. “Come on Verge! You can stay in the shallows for now!”

Verge looked hesitant.

Kon-Mai emerged from the depths, wringing out her long, white hair. “Verge, come join us, please.” She flashed him a smile similar to her brother’s when he wanted to be charming. “I promise you, you shall not drown when I am here.”

While Verge did not seem to be swayed by her, he did look longingly out at the waves, and slowly stood. His swimsuit looked like it had come straight from the 60’s, and was more like a full body wetsuit if not for the fact that it stopped at his elbows and knees. He took a few steps into the water.

“Malinalli, you have lied to me.” He said. “This water is frigid.”

She laughed and, like a mermaid, dove back into the water.

.

.

“Commander.”

“Geist.”

The two examined each other in the low light. Seated on opposite sides of the table, a chessboard sat between them, Senuna in white and Geist in black. His robes matched his pieces perfectly, in stark contrast with the Commander.

“We should switch.” She said. “Black isn’t your color.”

“I know.” He said. “I am in mourning.”

“For who?” Senuna leaned forward and plucked her queen piece from the board.

“Three more of my Templars have fallen.” He spat. “One on a mission you sent him on.”

“I’m sorry.” Senuna sighed. “I remember Hassan. They were facing off against a Berserker. He died defending his friends.”

“He is still dead.” Geist stared her down. “Senuna. You have been reckless with the agents I give you.”

“Your agents are some of the best.” She said. “I would never give them a challenge they couldn’t handle.”

“But you did, and now Hassan Apoorva is dead.” 

Senuna looked up, her eyes surprisingly blank and dead. “We are fighting a war, Geist. Remember?”

He glared at her, his eyes glowing purple in the dim light of the room. Any light that leaked inside had to cut through thick curtains and stone walls. Still, a bit of yellow sunshine tickled the edge of the room.

Senuna met Geist’s gaze and did not flinch. He was powerful, but she was even moreso. He was still a baby in terms of his power. He would be no danger to her, even if he tried.

But she took a breath even so, calming herself. “Geist, it makes me sad to see your soldiers die, as sad as it makes me to lose my own.” She tried to assure him. “I never sent Hassan in with the thought that he would die. But deaths do happen. I have lost at least 50 good people in the last six months.”

“To be honest, Senuna.” Geist crossed his arms. “I feel like you don’t take this seriously.” He leaned forward. “You need us. It’s why you’re here.”

“That is true. I do need you.” She stood slowly, her cape flourishing around her in a way so elegant, it would make any Templar jealous. “But let's not forget, Geist, how much work you all put into getting me out. Whatever was the point of that, hm?” She smiled, her teeth glowing white as she circled around the table.

Geist began to lean away, but Senuna’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the arm, her long nails digging into his sleeve. “No, no, no. Don’t go running off.” 

“Let go.” He tried to rip his arm away, but her grip was like steel, and when he looked up, her eyes glowed like blue coals in the hottest fire. Her expression, though blank, held the faintest smile.

“You have no idea what I’ve seen, Geist.” She hissed. “What I can do.”

“You’re no more powerful than I.” His own eyes burned with purple light, and the room was growing hot.

“I wouldn’t place your bets on that.” She giggled. “I don’t want a fight, Geist.”

“Why not? Afraid to lose?”

“No. I’d just hate to accidentally kill you.” She let go of him. “I am not your enemy.”

“You are making a terrible case for yourself.” He muttered, rubbing his arm.

She sat across from him again. “...This world is my home too.” She said softly. “Just like it is yours.”

“Then act like it.” He said. “I want my soldiers to be given better equipment. Better training. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“I don’t have anything better than what you already have.” Senuna sighed. “You want me to keep your soldiers from death and that’s not something I can do.”

Geist glared at the chessboard, and Senuna reached out.

“I can’t give your soldiers priority.” She said. “But if, hypothetically, they wanted to join in the Reapers and Skirmishers training, that is a possibility.”

Geist thought for a moment. “More training with guns? ...That is something we need.”

“I have some basic ammunition in the stores as well. I can set up the Carthage militia with some extra equipment.”

Geist nodded. “That’s not what I had hoped for. But it will do.” He picked up his own queen and tossed it aside. “I suppose you’ve beaten me at this game.”

“I don’t even know how to play chess.” Senuna grinned.

.

.

Verge let his head dip below the water, only long enough that the salty wave crashed over his head. The force would have been enough to send his scrawny body flying, had Dhar-Mon not been holding his arms.

“Calm yourself, I have you.” His strong voice reverberated through the water and made Verge feel safe once again. “Kick your legs, Verge.”

Verge tried to say something, but as he opened his mouth he just breathed in a bunch of water accidentally. Jumping up and hacking, he stood there in chest deep water as Dhar-Mon patted his back.

“I’m sorry...” Verge gagged out between hacking coughs.

“Do not worry.” The Chosen chuckled. “It was a mistake.” He looked out into the waves. “It appears the tide is coming in. The waves are growing.”

“Perfect surfin’ weather!” Gur-Rai called. He and Shen had managed to sand down some of the boards into functioning surfboards. While they weren’t completely aerodynamic, they could support their weight in the water. Shen was straddling one while Gur-Rai stood beside another, waving to Dhar-Mon and Verge.

“You wanna join us?” Shen called.

“I shall observe for now.” Dhar-Mon answered. “Come, Verge, let us find a calmer spot.”

“Where is Kon-Mai?” She and Malinalli had gone walking along the beach somewhere, and they hadn’t seen them for a while. As the waves picked up, he heard Gur-Rai let out a holler.

“I am wondering the same thing.” Dhar-Mon looked vaguely worried. ‘And Malinalli, I had thought they would have reappeared by now…”

“I can always practice swimming later.” Verge insisted. “Let’s go-”

“Dhar-Mon!” Malinalli’s voice echoed across the channel. 

“Malinalli?” He called out, his booming voice overpowering the sound of the waves. Verge could not see them, but he could hear.

“Dhar-Mon! Get the others!”

“Molly?!” He cried. “She must be hurt.” He waved to his brother and Shen. “COME! WE ARE NEEDED!”

Verge saw Gur-Rai jump off his board into an oncoming wave and begin paddling over to them, followed closely by Shen. As he looked, he realized that Malinalli’s voice was coming from a sea cave that was a good way into the ocean, along the jutting cliff face. He’d have to swim to get there.

Dhar-Mon had no trouble with that prospect. He dove into the water with the speed and grace of a dolphin, as though he was born in the water. Verge saw him come up for air, and then stared at the Hieromonk as he began to swim, the toned muscles on his back rippling as he did. The water and sunlight made his blue skin glisten…

He looked up as Gur-Rai emerged from under the water too, and Shen followed, dragging her board. “Here.” Gur-Rai pulled it over to him. “Get on this, I’ll pull you over.”

“I’ll just stay here.” Verge insisted.

“I’m not leaving you alone out here.” Gur-Rai gave him a smile that was almost comforting. “It’s okay. Come with me.”

Verge sighed, and Lily held the board steady as he hopped up. It wobbled a bit in the waves, but Gur-Rai was holding it, and Verge knew he would not fall.

They waded out into deeper water, and soon Gur-Rai began a frog stroke, keeping hea head above the water and one hand on the board Verge sat on. Lily swam beside them, doing more of a floppy doggy paddle.

Verge opted to watch Gur-Rai. Every so often he would duck under the water, then come back up, the blue of his skin mixing with the blue of the ocean. He looked and moved like he belonged in the water, his lithe body cutting through the waves like a fish would. Verge could see Gur-Rai’s own muscles as he swam and, while they were nowhere near as impressive as Dhar-Mon’s, his skinny frame paired with the sharp tendons made him look incredibly powerful.

Gur-Rai came up and called out “Dhar-Mon! What’s the-” He broke off with a slew of curse words, practically jumping out of the water and almost knocking Verge off the board. “FUCKFUCKFUCK SOMETHING TOUCHED MY LEG!”

There was a bubbling sound, then a splash, and Verge heard laughing as Kon-Mai came up, struggling to tread water when she was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

“You bitch!” Gur-Rai slapped the water, splashing her in the face. “I thought you and Molly were dying!”

“Nope!” Verge turned at the sound of Malinalli’s voice and found that she was now piggy-backing on Dhar-Mon, who was miraculously staying afloat under their combined weight. “We just found a cool cave and wanted to show you.”

“I apologize, Brother.” Dhar-Mon chuckled. “Scaring you was my suggestion.”

“The whole world is against me.” Gur-Rai put a hand to his head and pretended to faint into the water.

“I am not against you.” Verge assured him. “In fact while I cannot swim, I can climb. Somewhat.”

Gur-Rai grinned. “Race you guys up that cliff!” He took hold of Verge and began to paddle.

“Gur-Rai, you are going to get hurt!” Kon-Mai shook her head. “Is there any real point in stopping him?”

“None that I see.” Dhar-Mon held out his hand. “Come on, Sister, we cannot simply let him win~”

.

.

“I’d say that went well.” Senuna mused as she scratched Pangu behind the ears. The possum was nibbling on a piece of jerky Bradford had given him, and her Central Officer was now laid back on the couch. “Bradford, there is still daylight left if you’d like to swim~”

“Nah.” He chuckled. “Doubt I remember how. When you grow up in rural Kansas it’s an awful long walk to the beach.”

“Well, I could always teach you.” She mused, looking out the window as the sun cut across the glassy waves. She saw the Chosen, the children, returning to the shore, playfully splashing and shoving each other into the waves, laughing like there was nothing wrong with the world.

.

.

.

.

.

(Another short one today, but after this, we’ll be getting into some pretty intense stuff, so I wanted one more chapter where all seems to be well in the world!)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

[kunsthalextracity]

The History of Queer Nightlife in Antwerp: Self-Interview in a Convex Mirror

In the framework of the group exhibition ‘Daily Nightshift’, Kunsthal Extra City collaborated with the Urban Studies Institute of the University of Antwerp on a lecture series. Due to COVID-19 we unfortunately couldn’t allow these lectures to take place at our premises.

To replace his lecture, professor Bart Eeckhout wrote an interview with himself.

In his text Eeckhout, board member of the Urban Studies Institute at the University of Antwerp, researches the history of queer nightlife in Antwerp and the spatial shifts that have occurred along the way. Where in the city were sexual minorities able to make contact? In what kind of places of entertainment? How did these change in shape and location? Which material traces of this nightlife remain?

Text & images: Bart Eeckhout

The History of Queer Nightlife in Antwerp: Self-Interview in a Convex Mirror

Q. So, professor, before Covid-19 changed everyone’s plans, you were going to give a lecture about the history of queer nightlife in Antwerp as part of the public program for the exhibition?

A. Well, not quite a lecture.

Q. But you were going to entertain our audience with lots of slides and flashy pictures?

A. Not really. As a matter of fact, I was wondering how to turn the presentation into something more than the delivery of an academic text, something that could satisfy an audience that is drowning in audiovisual information. The thing is that I saw myself forced to talk about a topic that is hard to illustrate, and to do so moreover as an amateur historian.

Q. How do you mean?

A. I actually teach English and American literature. But I happen to be the only board member of the Urban Studies Institute at the University of Antwerp who is simultaneously on the board of A*, the network of colleagues who specialize in gender and sexuality studies. There I have a reputation for being into queer studies and for stimulating the collaboration between queer academics and activists, since I consider myself to be both.

Q. And so the organizers came knocking on your door to ask if you could speak to the topic of queer nightlife in Antwerp?

A. Yes. And I accepted to do so because I have coincidentally been acquiring some expertise on the topic. Last year a colleague with whom I love to collaborate at the university, the media scholar Alexander Dhoest, got an invitation to contribute a chapter on Antwerp for an international book on gay neighborhoods in cities around the world – what used to be called “gay ghettoes.” We remembered that a PhD student of ours, the musicologist Rob Herreman, had spent a lot of time in archives to find out more about the recent history of LGBTQs in Antwerp in relation to music. Though we were hesitant to venture into terrain that should ideally be explored by skilled historians, we’re not aware of any Flemish colleagues doing academic research into recent LGBTQ history, certainly not with a specific focus on Antwerp. In addition, the book for which we were invited was being put together by architects and would thus probably cut us some slack. So we realized that the case of Antwerp would get attention in the collection only if we were willing to undertake the job ourselves.

Accepting to write the chapter has meant that we were forced to immerse ourselves quickly in the materials and sources we had at our disposal so as to develop a critical narrative that would meet the minimum requirements of academic scholarship. We were primarily interested in all the things we might learn from the exercise.

Q. And did you learn a few things?

A. I certainly hope so! One thing we hypothesized from the start is that the Anglo-American way of understanding gay neighborhoods would be only partially applicable to Antwerp, at best. And that is also what we argued at the more theoretical level. If you want to look for queer forms of geographic clustering in a Flemish city such as Antwerp, you should omit a lot of the social functions you find historically in the gay neighborhoods of New York or San Francisco. The “reverse diaspora” of sexual minorities from the countryside to the city that underpinned these metropolitan neighborhoods in the US never took place to the same extent, or in the same manner, in Flanders or Belgium. 

In addition, a historic city such as Antwerp is relatively small by international standards. Getting around, even on foot or by bicycle, is easy, so that there’s no urgent need to choose particular residential areas if you happen to be queer. For these and several other reasons, the first thing to note about gay neighborhoods in Antwerp is that there was never anything more than some spatially clustered nightlife.

Q. Let’s talk for a moment about that nightlife then. How easy was it to go back in time to undertake your investigation?

A. That was one of the difficulties. It’s not as if you can simply fall back on standard published histories of queer life in Belgium or Flanders, let alone histories that deal specifically with Antwerp. The larger context isn’t so hard to sketch, but the specifics are a bit of a problem. When you research the history of public sex in Antwerp – by which in this case I mean the institutional environment for nondomestic sexual interactions among citizens – it isn’t hard to figure out how the first red-light district emerged during the city’s historic heyday in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. As this red-light district catered primarily to sailors, it was understandably located close to the river, in the narrow streets just north of the City Hall that came to be known as the Schipperskwartier or Skippers Quarter.

This much is standard knowledge. But how did same-sex interactions ever figure into that lusting, lawless, lowlife milieu? What might possibly be the historic sources in which you might find reliable evidence for same-sex intercourse taking place in this environment? There isn’t much you can go by. You must hope that somewhere a slight flicker will flare up to evoke a fleeting image of what might have been going on. Let me illustrate this by showing the invisibility of our topic at its most palpable. Here’s the picture of a street in the former Skippers Quarter. Do you recognize it?

Q. Not immediately.

A. Don’t blame yourself. Though I personally love to roam through all the little streets of Antwerp’s historic center, I must confess I had never bothered to walk through this one before my research took me there. It’s called the Gorter Street and it’s a very short, narrow, one-way street that is about as bland and uninteresting as you can imagine. Do you see the red-brick house in the middle of the image? That wasn’t always there, of course. If we can trust the history of house numbers, it stands where previously the Crystal Palace was to be found, a gay bar whose building collapsed, literally, sometime in the 1960s. But before the Crystal Palace was a gay bar, it was a luxury brothel, as far back as the turn of the twentieth century and even earlier. And that’s where we were able to locate our first piece of not entirely reliable evidence for same-sex goings-on – not entirely reliable because it requires a detour via the fictive world of novels and a willingness to fill in the blanks. What do you remember about the Flemish writer Georges Eekhoud?

Q. Not much.

A. He was our own Oscar Wilde, if you like – the first famous gay writer in Flanders who, like Wilde, had to defend himself in court. Unfortunately, he wrote in French, which means we’ve forgotten him even more efficiently than if he’d written in Dutch. Anyway, he published a novel in 1888, La nouvelle Carthage, in which he appears to evoke this particular brothel in great detail as a cave full of mirrors in which “all stages of debauchery” took place. Given his own sexual orientation, it’s very easy to imagine that these must have included same-sex interactions, but in his description Eekhoud preferred to remain coy about the sexual acts, so that it’s really for our own 21st-century imaginations to flesh out the specifics.

Q. So for what period did you find the first evidence of same-sex activities in the Skippers Quarter that didn’t take the form of literary fiction but of nonfictional testimony?

A. We had to jump to the first half of the twentieth century for that. Mainly, what we then find is people testifying to drag performances taking place in the Skippers Quarter. Our favorite example is that of Danny’s Bar, a notorious bar for sailors where both the owner and his male staff were dressed as women and the sailors were being tempted into maximum binging.

On an online forum for retired sailors, we found some very juicy recollections of the kind of ritual that typically went on in this bar – how young sailors were being lured in as a sort of prank by older sailors, how these youngsters tended to be awestruck by the Hollywood-star prettiness of the women, and how they would be made to drink so much (and sometimes be drugged as well) until they woke up in bed upstairs only to find they had been sleeping with a man. It’s fair to speculate that some of the visiting sailors must have known they were going to be able to sleep with a man at Danny’s Bar and must have returned to the place to experiment with sexual desires and gender identities that fell outside the mainstream norms of their day and age.

Q. Are there any signs left of Danny’s Bar?

A. Not unless you have x-ray vision. The street is now almost entirely residential, though there is a modern-day “brasserie” in the house where the bar used to be. If walls could talk!

Q. These recollections of Danny’s Bar take us automatically into the second half of the twentieth century, I guess?

A. Yes they do. On the eve of the Second World War, we know that the Skippers Quarter had acquired a gay connotation to those in the know. Yet it didn’t stick to that area. After the war, its gay nightlife started to spread beyond the city’s traditional red-light district. A few of these new bars were still nearby, in the area around the Cathedral and the City Hall, but the majority sprang up close to the Central Station. This is also when we’re beginning to see some diversification. The Shakespeare, for instance, was a bar in the historic center. On the one hand, it was still occasionally visited by sailors and sex workers. On the other, and more importantly, it had a female bartender and gradually came to attract a female crowd – a niche for which there hadn’t been a market yet in the Skippers Quarter. 

Meanwhile, in the working-class streets leading toward the Central Station, a number of bars were opening that were all operated by men and served a male clientele – places like Fortunia, Week-End (later known as La Vie en Rose), and La Ronde. These were generally small operations. One of the streets, the Van Schoonhovenstraat, would go on to sport more than twenty such gay bars. In this picture I recently took, you get a sense of what this may have been like when you look at the structure of the street front, for instance the houses in the middle painted in blue and mauve (one of them surviving as a sex shop):

But the Van Schoonhovenstraat wasn’t the only street. Even if nearly all of the area’s gay bars have in turn disappeared, you might still recognize this iconic place, the one with the greatest staying power and cult status: 

Q. Ah yes, Café Strange! It’s in the Dambruggestraat, right?

A. Yes, and it still allows you to step into a time machine and take a trip down memory lane. We used it as our prime architectural case study, because its history shows you a lot about such gay bars in the second half of the twentieth century. A few facts and details hopefully help bring this history to life.

Café Strange was started by a gay couple as a gay-friendly “brasserie” back in 1955. The name, “Strange,” was meant to be suggestive without being explicit. In those years, the curtains behind the windows were still systematically drawn so that no passerby could look inside. You couldn’t just step inside either, but had to knock or ring a bell and wait for someone to let you in. To expedite this process, a small porch was constructed so that you could first step into the anonymous porch, close the door behind you and then open the door to the actual café – all with an eye to being as discrete as possible. 

Over the years, the bar became so successful that its interior had to be reorganized and expanded so that it could accommodate not only a buffet at the back but also make some space for a dance floor. The café had a good reputation for many years until one of the owners died in the mid-seventies and his remaining partner got into various kinds of trouble that ended dramatically with his getting killed. It was then that a new gay couple, Armand and Roger, took over – you probably know Armand as the remaining owner. This was in 1980, in the era of early emancipation, and so they decided to be less discrete by painting the building’s façade in a sort of pink and adding a drawing of a sexy sailor on the outside. Inside, pictures of semi-naked and naked men were hung on the walls. The buffet was moved to the front of the room and a professional DJ was hired to turn the place into a small part-time disco. For a while, the owners even produced their own little magazine to inform gay patrons about leisure opportunities – remember that this was before the internet made looking up such information a piece of cake. 

The first decades under the new owners went well: the place had the reputation of being at the same time modern, unpretentious, and laid back. There were a lot of flamboyant theme parties in which patrons could win grand prizes such as a flight to Athens or a weekend in Amsterdam or Paris. What’s interesting to observe also about the history of Café Strange is the shift in demographic over the years: while in the 1980s you could find a mix of gays, lesbians, and bisexuals from a wide range of ages and social classes in the bar, this narrowed down in the 1990s to mostly gay men, and then by the new millennium morphed again into a mix of gay and gay-friendly visitors. Indeed, by the nineties, these smaller gay bars in especially the area close to the station were increasingly being pushed out of business by a new type of venue, such as The Hessenhuis. 

A building with a totally different allure, of course. It’s originally from 1564 and part of the city’s historical patrimony. After undergoing renovation in 1975, it reopened as a temporary exhibition space, and then in 1993 a gay-friendly bar opened that doubled at night as a club for mainly gay youngsters. Soon, the Hessenhuis became one of their two favorite commercial nightlife venues, together with the Red & Blue. This new generation of larger, trendier, more spectacular, and essentially self-contained clubs gradually drove the small gay bars out of the market, and thus also put an end to the sense of a particular neighborhood or area in which many such bars were clustered.

Today, much of the city’s history of gay and lesbian nighttime entertainment has evaporated and become materially invisible in the streetscape. There was a time, during the second half of the twentieth century, that Antwerp contained literally dozens of gay and lesbian bars, but almost none of these survive now. Unfortunately, I’m not aware that anyone is actively trying to honor this material history by installing commemorative plaques or making exhibitions about it. It survives mostly in the memory of an aging cohort of participants, hence my insistence at the outset about the relative difficulty of bringing my topic to life to a younger generation raised on a constant stream of immersive images. But perhaps now that Alexander, Rob, and I have made our first archeological efforts and undertaken a basic form of mental mapping, a curious young historian will come along to flesh out our very schematic findings and dig up all the beautiful, funny, and naughty traces of queer nightlife that may still be hiding in public and private archives. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

[sunboundprometheu]

Hello, @wastelandhistorian, I am your @langblrsecretsanta this year! You said you’re interested in “any ancient language” and in history, so I constructed your gift around two passages about deserts from ancient historians. One passage is from the Roman historian Sallust’s monograph Bellum Jugurthinum (The Jugurthine War), which describes a war between Rome and King Jugurtha of Numidia in North Africa; the other is from the Greek historian Herodotus and describes implausibly large ants in the north of India. I’ve translated each passage and then made a short vocabulary list with desert-related terms. I hope you enjoy this gift!

Sed quoniam in eas regiones per Leptitanorum negotia venimus, non indignum videtur egregium atque mirabile facinus duorum Carthaginiensium memorare; eam rem nos locus admonuit. Qua tempestate Carthaginienses pleraque Africa imperitabant, Cyrenenses quoque magni atque opulenti fuere. Ager in medio harenosus, una specie; neque flumen neque mons erat, qui finis eorum discerneret. Quae res eos in magno diuturnoque bello inter se habuit. Postquam utrimque legiones, item classes saepe fusae fugataeque et alteri alteros aliquantum attriueret. veriti, ne mox victos victoresque defessos alius aggrederetur, per indutias sponsionem faciunt, uti certo die legati domo proficiscerentur: quo in loco inter se obvii fuissent, is communis utriusque populi finis haberetur. Igitur Carthagine duo fratres missi, quibus nomen Philaenis erat, maturauere iter pergere, Cyrenenses tardius iere. Id socordiane an casu acciderit, parum cognovi. Ceterum solet in illis locis tempestas haud secus atque in mari retinere. Nam ubi per loca aequalia et nuda gignentium ventus coortus harenam humo excitauit, ea magna vi agitata ora oculosque implere solet: ita prospectu impedito morari iter. Postquam Cyrenenses aliquanto posteriores se esse vident et ob rem corruptam domi poenas metuont, criminari Carthaginiensis ante tempus domo digressos, conturbare rem, denique omnia malle quam victi abire. Sed cum Poeni aliam condicionem, tantummodo aequam, peterent, Graeci optionem Carthaginiensium faciunt, ut vel illi, quos finis populo suo peterent, ibi viui obruerentur, vel eadem condicione sese quem in locum vellent processuros. Philaeni condicione probata seque vitamque suam rei publicae condonauere: ita viui obruti. Carthaginienses in eo loco Philaenis fratribus aras consecrauere, aliique illis domi honores instituti. Nunc ad rem redeo. (Sallust, Bellum Jugurthinum 79)

--

But since I have come to talk about this region because of the affairs of the Leptitans, it does not seem inappropriate to recall a famous, incredible deed done by two Carthaginians; the place has suggested this matter to me. During the period when the Carthaginians' empire extended over most of Africa, the Cyrenians were also powerful and rich. Between them was a sandy, featureless field, with neither rivers nor mountains to demarcate their borders. This fact kept them in a great and protracted war with each other; both sides' armies and navies often conquered, often were routed, and each country had inflicted great losses on the other. Fearing that a third party would attack when the near-victors and nearly defeated were exhausted, they entered into a peace agreement stipulating that on a certain day deputies would leave home and that the place where they met would be considered the border between the two peoples. So two brothers named Philaeni were sent from Carthage and moved with haste along their way. The Cyrenians moved more slowly. Whether this happened due to laziness or chance, I don't really know. In any case, in these areas, storms not unlike those at sea tend to inhibit travel, since when wind blows throughout flat and barren places and then lifts sand from the ground, that sand, whipped up by a powerful force, tends to fill one's face and eyes: and so, with one's vision impeded, travel becomes delayed. After the Cyrenians saw that they were somewhat behind and became afraid of being punished at home for their mistake, they accused the Carthaginians of leaving early and confused the matter, preferring anything over leaving as the losers. But when the Phonecians sought another deal (as long as it would be fair), the Greeks let the Carthaginians choose between either those brothers being buried alive at the border they wanted for their people or going themselves on the same condition to whatever place they wanted. The Philaeni accepted the deal and sacrificed themselves and their lives to their country: so they were buried alive. The Carthaginians consecrated temples at that place to the brothers, and other honors were established for them at home. Now I will return to my topic.

harena, -ae, f. sand

harenosus, -a, -um sandy

ager, -gri, m. field

flumen, -inis, n. river

mons, -tis, m. mountain

tempestas, -atis, f. storm, time

aequalis, -e equal, level

nudus, -a, -um nude, barren

gignentia, -um, n. plants

ventus, -i, m. wind

humus, -i, f. ground

ἄλλοι δὲ τῶν Ἰνδῶν Κασπ��τύρῳ τε πόλι καὶ τῇ Πακτυϊκῇ χώρῃ εἰσὶ πρόσουροι, πρὸς ἄρκτου τε καὶ βορέω ἀνέμου κατοικημένοι τῶν ἄλλων Ἰνδῶν, οἳ Βακτρίοισι παραπλησίην ἔχουσι δίαιταν. οὗτοι καὶ μαχιμώτατοι εἰσὶ Ἰνδῶν καὶ οἱ ἐπὶ τὸν χρυσὸν στελλόμενοι εἰσὶ οὗτοι: κατὰ γὰρ τοῦτο ἐστὶ ἐρημίη διὰ τὴν ψάμμον. ἐν δὴ ὦν τῇ ἐρημίῃ ταύτῃ καὶ τῇ ψάμμῳ γίνονται μύρμηκες μεγάθεα ἔχοντες κυνῶν μὲν ἐλάσσονα ἀλωπέκων δὲ μέζονα: εἰσὶ γὰρ αὐτῶν καὶ παρὰ βασιλέι τῷ Περσέων ἐνθεῦτεν θηρευθέντες. οὗτοι ὦν οἱ μύρμηκες ποιεύμενοι οἴκησιν ὑπὸ γῆν ἀναφορέουσι τὴν ψάμμον κατά περ οἱ ἐν τοῖσι Ἕλλησι μύρμηκες κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον, εἰσὶ δὲ καὶ αὐτοὶ τὸ εἶδος ὁμοιότατοι: ἡ δὲ ψάμμος ἡ ἀναφερομένη ἐστὶ χρυσῖτις. ἐπὶ δὴ ταύτην τὴν ψάμμον στέλλονται ἐς τὴν ἔρημον οἱ Ἰνδοί, ζευξάμενος ἕκαστος καμήλους τρεῖς, σειρηφόρον μὲν ἑκατέρωθεν ἔρσενα παρέλκειν, θήλεαν δὲ ἐς μέσον: ἐπὶ ταύτην δὴ αὐτὸς ἀναβαίνει, ἐπιτηδεύσας ὅκως ἀπὸ τέκνων ὡς νεωτάτων ἀποσπάσας ζεύξει. αἱ γάρ σφι κάμηλοι ἵππων οὐκ ἥσσονες ἐς ταχυτῆτα εἰσί, χωρὶς δὲ ἄχθεα δυνατώτεραι πολλὸν φέρειν.

τὸ μὲν δὴ εἶδος ὁκοῖόν τι ἔχει ἡ κάμηλος, ἐπισταμένοισι τοῖσι Ἕλλησι οὐ συγγράφω: τὸ δὲ μὴ ἐπιστέαται αὐτῆς, τοῦτο φράσω: κάμηλος ἐν τοῖσι ὀπισθίοισι σκέλεσι ἔχει τέσσερας μηροὺς καὶ γούνατα τέσσερα, τά τε αἰδοῖα διὰ τῶν ὀπισθίων σκελέων πρὸς τὴν οὐρὴν τετραμμένα. οἱ δὲ δὴ Ἰνδοὶ τρόπῳ τοιούτῳ καὶ ζεύξι τοιαύτῃ χρεώμενοι ἐλαύνουσι ἐπὶ τὸν χρυσὸν λελογισμένως ὅκως καυμάτων τῶν θερμοτάτων ἐόντων ἔσονται ἐν τῇ ἁρπαγῇ: ὑπὸ γὰρ τοῦ καύματος οἱ μύρμηκες ἀφανέες γίνονται ὑπὸ γῆν. θερμότατος δὲ ἐστὶ ὁ ἥλιος τούτοισι τοῖσι ἀνθρώποισι τὸ ἑωθινόν, οὐ κατά περ τοῖσι ἄλλοισι μεσαμβρίης, ἀλλ᾽ ὑπερτείλας μέχρι οὗ ἀγορῆς διαλύσιος. τοῦτον δὲ τὸν χρόνον καίει πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἢ τῇ μεσαμβρίῃ τὴν Ἑλλάδα, οὕτω ὥστ᾽ ἐν ὕδατι λόγος αὐτούς ἐστι βρέχεσθαι τηνικαῦτα. μεσοῦσα δὲ ἡ ἡμέρη σχεδὸν παραπλησίως καίει τούς τε ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους καὶ τοὺς Ἰνδούς. ἀποκλινομένης δὲ τῆς μεσαμβρίης γίνεταί σφι ὁ ἥλιος κατά περ τοῖσι ἄλλοισι ὁ ἑωθινός, καὶ τὸ ἀπὸ τούτου ἀπιὼν ἐπὶ μᾶλλον ψύχει, ἐς ὃ ἐπὶ δυσμῇσι ἐὼν καὶ τὸ κάρτα ψύχει.

ἐπεὰν δὲ ἔλθωσι ἐς τὸν χῶρον οἱ Ἰνδοὶ ἔχοντες θυλάκια, ἐμπλήσαντες ταῦτα τῆς ψάμμου τὴν ταχίστην ἐλαύνουσι ὀπίσω: αὐτίκα γὰρ οἱ μύρμηκες ὀδμῇ, ὡς δὴ λέγεται ὑπὸ Περσέων, μαθόντες διώκουσι. εἶναι δὲ ταχυτῆτα οὐδενὶ ἑτέρῳ ὅμοιον, οὕτω ὥστε, εἰ μὴ προλαμβάνειν τοὺς Ἰνδοὺς τῆς ὁδοῦ ἐν ᾧ τοὺς μύρμηκας συλλέγεσθαι, οὐδένα ἂν σφέων ἀποσώζεσθαι. τοὺς μέν νυν ἔρσενας τῶν καμήλων, εἶναι γὰρ ἥσσονας θέειν τῶν θηλέων, παραλύεσθαι ἐπελκομένους, οὐκ ὁμοῦ ἀμφοτέρους: τὰς δὲ θηλέας ἀναμιμνησκομένας τῶν ἔλιπον τέκνων ἐνδιδόναι μαλακὸν οὐδέν. τὸν μὲν δὴ πλέω τοῦ χρυσοῦ οὕτω οἱ Ἰνδοὶ κτῶνται, ὡς Πέρσαι φασί: ἄλλος δὲ σπανιώτερος ἐστι ἐν τῇ χώρῃ ὀρυσσόμενος. (Herodotus 3.102-105)

--

Other Indians live in the city of Caspatyrus, bordering on the Pactyic country, having settled farther toward the north than the other Indians; they have a lifestyle similar to the Bactrians'. They are the most warlike Indians, and they made expeditions for gold, because this region is desolate throughout due to its sand. In this desert and its sands, there live ants smaller than dogs but larger than foxes; some of them have been hunted for the King of Persia. These ants make their shelters underground by digging up sand in the same way as ants in Greece, and they are very similar in shape to those ants: but the sand they dig up contains gold. The Indians travel to this desert precisely for that sand: each man yokes together three camels, a male on either side to draw by the trace, and a female in the middle. The female is mounted, having been deliberately separated from her offspring at the earliest time possible. These camels are no slower than horses and moreover are more capable of bearing significant burdens.

I will not describe how camels look, because Greeks already know; but I will mention this, which is not known about them: in its back legs, a camel has four thighs and three knees, and its genitals are turned toward the tail between the back legs. The Indians, in this way and with this manner of yoking, ride out to plunder the gold when, according to their calculations, the heat will be at its greatest and the ants are therefore hiding underground from the heat. (The sun is hottest in these people's land in the morning, not at midday as is the case elsewhere, but from sunrise until the markets close. At this time, it is so much hotter than at noon in Greece that supposedly people drench themselves then; at midday, the day is just about as hot in India as elsewhere; and the sun after high noon becomes like it is in the morning in other places, then becomes rather cold as it sets, until at sunset it is very cold.)

Now, when the Indians reach this region, they fill the little sacks they carry with the sand and ride back as quickly as possible, because once the ants perceive their scent, they chase the men (so the Persians say). Supposedly, the ants' speed is so singular that, unless the Indians have a headstart while the ants are gathering, none of them will escape. Then they unharness the male camels as they lag behind, because the males run more slowly than the females, one at a time; but the females, remembering the offspring they have left behind, do not give in at all. This is how the Indians acquire the majority of their gold, according to the Persians; the rest is mined in their country but is more scarce.

ψάμμος, -ου, ἡ sand

ἔρημος, -ον desolate

ἐρημία, -ας, ἡ desert, wasteland

μύρμηξ, -ηκος, ὁ ant

γῆ, γῆς, ἡ earth

κάμηλος, -ου, ὁ/ἡ camel

θερμός, -ή, -όν hot

καίω, καύσω, ἔκαυσα, κέκαυκα, κέκαυμαι, ἐκαύθην burn, kindle

καῦμα, -ατος, τό burning heat

ἥλιος, -ου, ὁ sun

Happy holidays!

[thesupergamercorpus]

07/07/2019 - Dialogue with love

A dialogue between two versions of me: Self-content me (~18 years) and hopeless lover (~15 years). It is inspired by the current book I am reading, ‘Meditations’ by Marcus Aurelius where he writes a dialogue to himself from time to time.

Self-content me: An another great deal of pain I see, but this time it is also commonly shared among the others. That of love.

Hopeless lover: Yes, love. I don’t get it.

It’s not good enough.

It’s too weak to deal with the jobs.

Why would I hopelessly try to be ‘kind’ and ‘compassionate’. To try and show others that I love them when I never get what I want anyways? It seems to be much easier to just manipulate them and stroke their ego’s, although some of them, rather, seem to require a kind of fear so they will have the feeling to prove themselves to me.

Self-content me: To weak to deal with ‘the jobs’?

Hopeless lover: Yes, too weak to make me achieve what I want. Countless times have I met girls who I tried to show ‘kind love’. It didn’t work no single time. Instead, once I began using some neat manipulation techniques, they all hella started to love me.

But my techniques weren’t based out of thin air. No, they were based on myself: how easily I could be manipulated. So I began to, thanks to my almost perfect memory, recall my past memories and analyze what attracted me to these girls. What beautiful techniques they used to lure me and all the others.

It was so simple yet so complicated: If people started to talk about you or simply just called your name out loud without you being near their presence and in a positive manner, you would automatically attract, not just the one you want to attract, but almost everyone around them too.

You should have totally seen this girl, Hera, who became instantaneously attracted to me after all of the people around me began talking positively about me! She will become the perfect girl. My perfect girl.

Self-content me: Yes, you were easily manipulable. Yes, you learned the techniques relatively easily. But no, you are far from perfect, young one. All that you do, right now, are based on mere instincts. Short-term goals that will soon fade away and make place for new upcoming anger and frustrations. You are being erratic and foolish. Sure they make you feel good, but any animal can have good feeling emotions, it is the hallmark of being human, that of rationality. And currently, your rationale is based on feeble, animalistic emotions and feelings. You are just as much in control of yourself as any animal.

Yes, you should keep trying to learn how to positively influence others around you, but do not think you are close to perfection without having mastery over yourself. If you cannot be content even in failing to positively influence others, then the path is still a long way.

And yes, of course, this girl we call Hera, you see her as the perfection you want to become. The ultimate being that can enslave and command others the way she pleases. You see her as a reflection of who you want to become. And even if she is perfection, you are nonetheless being blinded by her. By being so fixated, you are making yourself close-minded. And by being close-minded, you are making yourself more ignorant in the long run than you otherwise would be.

It is time to free yourself of hopes and fears, for every hope has a fear and every fear has a hope, the principle of opposites by Carl Jung. Start to doubt yourself more. Your beliefs and ideals. As a byproduct, it will also make you more humble. You will, however, see in the future that she is far from perfect.

Hopeless lover: Far from perfect? But look at how easily she seduces all these guys! Look at how they try to do everything just to get her attention! Even if she’s not perfect, she at least must be more perfect than these guys right?!

Self-content me: These guys you talk about are feeble-minded. They don’t know how to resist urges and neither do you. They are, what people call, doormats. You will soon learn that the average human being is far from exceptional. It is a shame that you compare perfection with these guys. It is like comparing an ant with a god instead of a human with a god.

You are being delusional by focusing on your small world: your environment. And even if you encompass the whole world, you will soon learn that that too is small, for the way you think right now is 3-dimensional. Once you begin to learn how to think multidimensional, yourself will be more than enough to encompass the whole universe. There won’t be a comparison to ‘these guys’. It will feel way too close-minded for you.

You will soon read books about real great men. Seneca, Marcus Aurelius, Diogenes, Socrates, Epictetus, etc. Soon you will compare Hera with these men of wisdom and realize how far from perfection she is and how far from perfection you are.

Tell me about her qualities, let us jot it down one by one what makes you attracted to her, and let us not compare her with these feeble-minded guys but, instead, to real godlike men.

Hopeless lover: Well, I am truly amazed by her ability to seduce all these guys for selfish purposes.

Self-content me: Yes, seduce these simpletons. Let us compare her with Hannibal Barca. This great general who crossed the Alps and losed hundreds of men in turn was capable of not only convincing his own people to fight alongside him against Rome, but also many barbarians. They all followed him until the end of the war between Carthage and Rome. They all followed him even if they saw a lot of brethren die and would prefer to die heroically too.

You think these simpletons would die for Hera? That she has seduced them enough for them to die for her? Not by a long shot!

Secondly, the difference between her and the great Hannibal Barca, is that the latter had mastery over himself. You think self-mastery is not important when it is the key ingredient to get closer to the gods themselves? To be self-content.

“It is the privilege of the gods to want nothing, and of godlike men to want little.” – Diogenes of Sinope

You will soon learn how self-mastery is one of the most powerful things you can show others and how others will respect you for it. Believe me, they will see it, unconsciously or consciously. Any other qualities to name?

Hopeless lover: Yes, I am truly in love with her ego. I love how she calls herself a goddess.

Self-content me: Why?

Hopeless lover: Because I see her as a reflection of myself.

Self-content me: I see how you see her as a prize to be won. A prize to make yourself more complete. You will learn, however, that abstaining from all these rewards is what truly will make you complete.

“A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.”

She’s not the prize to be won. No, yourself are. It is all within you, the art of abstaining from pleasures. Anything else that is important for us to note down?

Hopeless lover: I guess I really like how she feels like a second mother to me. How she listens to all my problems and wishes the best for me. She treats me different than others.

Self-content me: Of course because she’s in love with you. Everything right now, is what you soon will learn, a period of prosperity. There’s no scarcity. No need to compete for every little resource. There’s an abundance. Post-scarcity.

“The unexamined life is not worth living.” – Socrates

You will soon enter the era of trying to discover who you are and why. You will soon get to know how one of your unique abilities is to, thanks to your intelligence, adapting to your environment and people are part of that environment. She treats you like no one else not only because she’s in love with you, but also because you know how to adapt to the other. How to make the other experience comfort, safety, abundance, and group mentality rather than competition.

Yes, she treats you like no one else, but the problem is, you don’t treat yourself like no one else. You don’t value yourself enough despite your big ego, so the way she treats you will feel heavenly, but once you get to know everything I know right now, all those treats won’t feel that special.

And lastly, you will learn how the first impressions during times of prosperity are of no value compared to times of adversity.

“There is no great credit in behaving bravely in times of prosperity, when life glides easily with a favoring current, neither does a calm sea and fair wind display the art of the pilot. Some foul weather is wanted to prove his courage.” – Seneca the Younger

You won’t learn this the easy way however. You will learn this the hard way.

Hopeless lover: I also seem to love the challenge. Everything around me has become a playground especially with her on my side.

Self-content me: Who doesn’t love a challenge? The problem, however, is that yours is not aimed at Nature. It even goes contrary to Nature since you are creating a scarcity.

“For those who follow nature everything is easy and straightforward, whereas for those who fight against her life is just like rowing against the stream.” – Lucius Annaeus Seneca

So yes, aim for challenges but do not fight against Nature. Again, you will learn this the hard way. And the most disgusting idea of yours seems to be a wish for eternity. An eternity with her into the future. That too is contrary to Nature.

“This too shall pass.”

While you are enjoying the pleasures, you are not preparing for times of adversity.

“It is in times of security that the spirit should be preparing itself to deal with difficult times; while fortune is bestowing favors on it then is the time for it to be strengthened against her rebuffs.” – Seneca, Letters from a Stoic

We shall meet again when you have learned the things the hard way I am afraid.

[misscrawfords]

11, 22 and 24 for the TV show ask, please! :)

which TV show has the best musical soundtrack, in your opinion?

At the moment, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend for sure for its musical songs which are absolutely brilliant. 

Overall in terms of instrumental music, Murray Gold’s era of Doctor Who. He’s created a soundscape of some of the music haunting and recognisable music ever, filled with leitmotifs that are every bit as complex if not more so than anything John Williams did for Star Wars or Howard Shore for Lord of the Rings over ten series. One of the best living composers IMO and absolutely made DW for me.

22. if you could write your own TV show, what would it be like?

*cracks knuckles*

Where to start? 

This is my current favourite idea: for a three season run of a currently untitled epic project.

Season One: War

Two things happen at Helen’s wedding day: firstly, all her husband’s unsuccessful rivals vow to stand with him to fight for the sanctity of their marriage, one Helen herself remains ambivalent about; secondly, Helen’s tragically clever cousin Penelope meets a man capable of out-witting even her. Neither can know at this point the significance of these events. Meanwhile, far across the sea the royal house of Troy also celebrates the marriage of its crown prince Hector to the love of his life, Andromache, and far away in the depths of the Ocean, the sea-nymph Thetis learns of a prophecy that her beloved son Achilles is destined to die in war.

Season One follows Helen, Menelaus, Penelope, Odysseus, Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Achilles, Patroclus, Hector, Andromache and Paris from the joys and sorrows of domestic life to death and despair on the battlefield of Troy.

Season Two: Return

In the aftermath of the Trojan War, with Troy no more than a smoking ruin behind them, the Greek heroes set off for home only to find more trouble along the way and at home. Clytemnestra has replaced her husband with a lover and banished her son from the country. Ajax is plagued with PTSD. Menelaus cannot believe that the woman he has rescued from the burning of Troy is really his wife and pursues a phantom all the way to Egypt when the real Helen is beside him all the time. Odysseus is lost at sea in a dream/nightmare of monsters while his wife, Penelope, uses her intellect to defeat human monsters at home.

Who will adapt to life in peace time and who will be lost to the tragedy of war?

Season Three: Homecoming

Last seen, Troy was a desolate and smoking ruin at the end of Season One but out of the ashes rises a surviving prince of Troy, claiming a destiny from the gods. Gathering up the remaining Trojans to follow him, including his father and son, and his son’s friends Nisus and Euryalus, Aeneas leads them from Troy onto a thankless journey around the Mediterranean, promising them a new home in an unknown land named Hesperia. But they are not the only people’s desperate for a home in a world being forged anew with new values in the aftermath of the Trojan War. In North Africa, brave queen Dido is fleeing after the murder of her husband and establishes a new city at Carthage. Meanwhile in the land of Italy, civil war ruptures Mezentius’ kingdom and King Latinus is troubled by a prophecy that states his daughter will marry a foreigner.

Is there such a thing as a promised land? How should one treat refugees? What gives a person a right to land? Is war necessary for peace?

The show concludes after three seasons by subverting the messages of the first season as the survivors of the Trojan War are plunged into yet another war to parallel the first and it is not clear whether any lessons have been learned.

I dare you to tell me you don’t want me to write this and that you wouldn’t watch it.

24. how do you feel about bottle episodes?

I had to google what that was.

Uh, I don’t really care what the show does provided it is well-written and fits the overall arc of the series. If a main character suddenly disappears for no good reason and the plot changes and it’s boring then that’s bad but if it tells a good story and makes sense then whatever. Honestly, US shows have too many episodes per season, very often an episode will feel like filler. Why not just have fewer episodes!?

Thank you!

[thoodleoo]

Hello friend! Re: your post on the Aeneid as a refugee narrative, do you have any thoughts on how that intersects with Rome as an imperial/colonizing force both in and out of the Aeneid? Of course the Aeneid can hold both stories in tension, but I was curious and thought I’d ask. Thanks!

oh boy do i have THOTS about this

as much as we can’t claim with COMPLETE certainty that vergil intended things to be interpreted one way or another, i’ll be damned if the relationship between aeneas as refugee and aeneas as conqueror wasn’t an intentional conflict. 

it’s one of those fantastic ways that vergil plays with his relationships with the homeric texts he draws from. normally, the odyssey is the sequel to the iliad- we follow the remnants of a man after the war. but the aeneid both follows and flips that narrative. the odyssean half of the aeneid technically follows the events of the actual iliad, but within the context of the story, the odyssean half comes first. and so, what are we to make of that? the first half of the aeneid shows us a man and his people ruined by war; the second half shows us that same man bringing war upon another nation.

i think it speaks in part to the cyclical nature of war that the romans had, at this point in history, become accustomed to. augustus’s rule was the first time in many years that the romans had known some measure of peace. but at the same time, i think the aeneid is as much a story of warning as it is one of glory. perhaps, as anchises says in book 6, vergil does think that it is the romans’ duty to bring law to other nations, to spare the conquered and beat down the arrogant. yet there is a certain sense of caution to the way vergil portrays that “right.”

i mean, just think of dido and carthage, a land that was one of rome’s greatest enemies. when we see aeneas come to carthage, he is ostensibly portrayed as a refugee- but there is also a sense of colonialism to it. when aeneas shows up, he finds that troy has already taken hold of carthage, although it’s more in a cultural sense. one of the first things aeneas sees in carthage is the portrayal of the trojan war. even though he sees carthage as greater than anything he has, part of carthage’s greatness is already trojan- and thus, in a sense, roman. this is taken further when aeneas remains at carthage for far longer than he was supposed to. he may have come as a refugee, seeking shelter and comfort, but he also comes as a colonizer. and we all know how that turns out for dido

that’s why i find it so frustrating when people either completely idolize or hate aeneas- i don’t think there’s any point to treating him that way. i think we’re supposed to both sympathize with and feel wary of him. he is achilles mourning patroclus’s death and odysseus weeping at the thought of penelope all alone at ithaka, true- but he’s also achilles desecrating hector’s corpse and odysseus slaying the suitors in a fit of fury. it’s a story of a man and a war, and it’s a story of what it takes to found a nation. and i think one of the most powerful conflicts in it is not aeneas versus the latins, or aeneas versus the carthaginians, or aeneas versus any of the physical conflicts he faces. 

it’s aeneas struggling against the two sides of himself that fate has forced him to carry- the conqueror, and the conquered.