#because we NEED to talk about mental health and austerity

[notallfay]

So a little bit of a story about how the Tories are huge cunts towards disabled people.

I have a neighbour who I haven't seen in ages, she lives directly opposite me. It has been several months though. But yesterday I saw her queueing outside my local food pantry, so I got chatting to see how she was doing.

Her money has been cut, because she updated the DWP (Department of Work and Pensions) about her going blind. Her retina's are detaching. She is terrified to leave the house properly, for 2 reasons and has a friend pick her up if she needs to go out. She physically can't leave the house on her own.

She is insecure on how she looks, and is really anxious because one of her eyes has dropped down. And she is afraid of comments, whispers, and overall people being awful. She said that she only managed to talk to me, because she knows I'm safe, because she's met me before. The Tories villainise us so publicly, that this hostility has spread to be in our everyday lives. They make out that so many of us are "benefit cheats".

The other reason is that, because she's very blind, she does not feel safe wandering around, because of the added dangers of not being able to see. Which is understandable really. But hey, this person can totes work right??

This was on top of her normal disabilities, that she previously did get money for. So her getting worse warrented a money cut. Great logic. She now has to have no money until she can see a judge, which could take like 6 months. She after cancelling what bills she could has £10/month for food.

The thing is, I know her story isn't unique. Just like mine isn't unique when I have to go through this myself. It happens to disabled people constantly, to the point the trauma we go through actually gives us new mental health issues that we didn't have before.

The face to face assessment are so awful, and so much like interrogation that Scotland got rid of them for being inhumane.

With Austerity 2.0 I know full well Rishi Sunak has us on the chopping block, and more of us are going to die. The DWP will be given harsher targets to cut us off, even if we are fully genuine and in need. This is what Tory Britain is for disabled people.

[bravecrab]

In Aotearoa New Zealand, there is significant political upset, mostly on the Right Wing, against the current Labour government (centre/left) over the handling of the Covid-19 pandemic, primarily due to the lockdowns that were put in place, and the results that has had on our economy. From what I've heard, this is not unique, that a lot of countries are experiencing a lot of anger at their politicians for "mishandling the pandemic" (remove the quotation marks based on how much you agree or disagree with how your government handled the pandemic), and ruining the economy.

I've come to believe that this talking point is being spread to deflect blame away from the private corporations and billionaires that are actually to blame for the reduced standard of living, due to the current state of world economies.

Lockdowns were unpleasant, but they were necessary to reduce deaths, and other harms including Long Covid. I'm sure I'll get people telling me that that is untrue, Covid is just like the flu, but I'm not going to debate with that. Covid has left a lot of people dead or with long-term health problems, and if you don't believe that, that's on you. But in taking the action of lockdowns, we disrupted the Spinning Plates that was global supply chains and the economy.

When you have businesses relying on Global labour in countries like China and Bangladesh, because they want to use cheap, exploitative labour, closing borders is going to be a problem. When you set the wages for things like crop picking so low that it's only taken on by desperate migrant labourers, closing borders is going to be a problem. When all your products require resources mined (often by child miners) in Global South countries, because those countries have been purposely kept underdeveloped by Global North countries to make sure those resources stay cheap, closing borders is going to be a problem.

The economy that we had pre-lockdown was a house of cards, precariously stacked, because the Billionaires need to keep playing their game of Infinite Growth, where the only thing that is important is that you can tell the Shareholders that you made more money than last year, and that you can hide as much of that profit in Tax Havens as you can. And the only way to do that is by paying the least for the most they can get.

I hear folks complain about the labour shortage, that people don't want to work and just want to be on welfare. This is a dogwhistle. The "people" are specifically those on the poverty line that require welfare, due to having been failed by our communities, be it educational institutions or the medical institutions with their lack of mental health resources or harm-reduction programs for drug abuse. Those people don't want to do the menial jobs that had been allocated pre-pandemic as minimum wage or sub-minimum wage labour, and rather than change the conditions, we'll just blame those people when we don't have the fruits of their labour.

Maybe they would do that work, if it hadn't been highlighted that that work is not respected, can result in death and disability, will remove your access to welfare assistance, and there's no capacity to earn more for doing a good job. Wages do not increase, they've been stagnant for years, and if you want to unionize to attempt to have some leverage over your employer, you will have to fight and are even more likely to lose your job.

The economy is fucked up, but by taking out your frustrations at the government for stopping business as usual because not doing so would have lead to a lot more harm, it is deflecting away from the truth.

This isn't to say Governments aren't blameless, especially in countries like Aotearoa, the UK, and the US; the Governments have jumped into Neoliberal economic models with both feet, and perpetuate it with policies of austerity and tax cuts for the wealthy business owners, while accepting sizable political donations. They listen to lobbyists over the needs of their communities. Governments are part of it, but they're more like the Fuse rather than the Electrical Appliance (which is businesses). When the Appliance fucks up, the Fuse is there to burn out and get replaced.

Liz Truss is a great example of this, the UK is in turmoil and she was trying to make sure her wealthy backers stay wealthy, so she takes the blame, she shows herself as incompetent, the fuse burns out. Now she gets to live on a prime minister's pension, and will problem go work in a lucrative consulting job outside of the public eye. The state of the country is blamed on a shit prime minister and not on the business owners, and when Rishi fails, they'll blame him too.

Workers have been conditioned to believe that their access to necessities, food, housing, healthcare, etc., is all on their own shoulders, that if you want to access, you have to work. And when they can't work, because it'll cause mass harm to their communties, they lash out at the people stopping them from working, instead of those controlling and exploiting the access to the necessities they need.

Book recommendations:

"Davos Man: How Billionaires Devoured the Earth" - Peter S. Goodman

"The Establishment: And How They Get Away With It" - Owen Jones

"How Europe Underdeveloped Africa" - Walter Rodney Vincent Harding

"The Looting Machine: Warlords, Oligarchs, Corporations, Smugglers, and the Theft of Africa's Wealth" - Tom Burgis

"Dirty Work: Essential Jobs and the Hidden Toll of Inequality in America" - Eyal Press

"The Secret Life of Groceries: The Dark Miracle of the American Supermarket" - Benjamin Lorr

"Why You Won't Get Rich: How Capitalism Broke Its Contract with Hard Work" - Robert Verkaik

"Less is More: How Degrowth Will Save the World" - Jason Hickel

[aegon]

okay, I know I’ve mentioned it before that I find the criticisms of ‘joker’ very shallow and misleading - but this is the top review on rotten tomatoes...

...and I feel the need to repeat myself again. This isn’t the only one of its kind, but it’s the most popular I’ve seen. Every media outlet has written about a similar topic in some shape or form.

So I’ve read the article, hidden behind a paywall as it is, and I take serious issue with the damaging message the author took from the film. I’ve copied the article bit by bit because I’m so fucking irritated by it.

For it is essentially a depiction of what happens when white supremacy is left unchecked. It shows the delusions that many white men have about their place in society and the brutality that can result when that place is denied.

Arthur Fleck doesn’t want to be treated better because of the colour of his skin. He doesn’t ask for help because he feels he’s superior to the POC around him. He needs help because he’s ill and no one cares. The film is a criticism of austerity and classism, and the unsympathetic arrogance of those in more fortunate positions than others. It’s also, more importantly, about how all this affects a mentally ill loner with a history of childhood abuse and living in poverty.

It has nothing to do with his race. The author’s words imply that a white person in such a desperate situation is only seeking to affirm their own supremacy. That’s....so fucked up. Mental illness isn’t some tool to be used in a race war, it hurts anyone. He’s dismissing the experiences of a man who happens to be white because he can’t see beyond the colour of his skin. Doesn’t that sound like exactly the kind of thing POC have been fighting against for decades, if not centuries?

The fact that the Joker is a white man is central to the film’s plot. A black man in Gotham City (really, New York) in 1981 suffering from the same mysterious mental illnesses as Fleck would be homeless and invisible. He wouldn’t be turned into a public figure who could incite an entire city to rise up against the wealthy. Black men dealing with Fleck’s conditions are often cast aside by society, ending up on the streets or in jail, as studies have shown.

And though Fleck says he often feels invisible, had he been black, he truly would have been — except, of course, when he came into contact with the police.

Arthur is invisible. It’s painfully obvious that he is. He incites a movement because of what he symbolises and the way Thomas Wayne dismissed people like him. When he murdered the three rich boys on the subway, only his clown makeup was identified. The police weren’t looking for a man of any specific colour, they were looking for a fucking clown.

Arthur could have been black, brown, red or blue. The face behind the mask doesn’t matter, because Gotham City united behind the icon of resistance. It’s supposed to be ironic. The only way Arthur felt seen was when he was under his mask. Nobody cared about Arthur Fleck, they cared about the Joker.

So yes, had Arthur been a black man, he’d still become the symbol of resistance.

Though Fleck is pursued and investigated by Gotham’s finest, his whiteness acts as a force field, protecting him as he engages in the violent acts of the latter half of the film. Consider his appearance on the live talk show hosted by Murray Franklin (Robert De Niro). A black man acting as strangely as Fleck does would not have been allowed to go on the air. But the white Fleck is given access, and bloodshed soon follows.

I mean, in regards to how strangely he was acting, the reason they invited him to the show was because they thought he was a freak. They wanted him to make a fool of himself. Also Murray’s producer never wanted him on the air, but Murray insisted because he was more concerned with viewership. Again - that’s the fucking point. Murray was far too invested in his own self-interest to see a man dangerously close to snapping. The author completely glossed over that, and the producer who didn’t want Arthur, white skin and all.

Or look at how Fleck interacts with others. He is frequently in conversation with people who occupy a lower rung in society than he does: a state-appointed therapist he sees early on; a protective mother who chastises him for playing peekaboo with her son on the bus; his possible love interest, a neighbor who lives in the same building; and the psychiatrist he sees in Arkham Asylum. Every one of these characters is a black woman with whom he eventually has confrontations. Phillips consistently places Fleck in an oppositional or antagonistic position to these women.

I don’t know if this is intentional on Phillips’s part, but it is significant. When we learn that his relationship with the neighbor (played with artful restraint by Zazie Beetz) was merely a figment of his troubled imagination, the way he leaves the apartment implies that this realization has led Fleck to kill her and perhaps her child. After his final conversation with the Arkham doctor, his bloody footsteps suggest that he kills her as well.

A key fact the author conveniently ignores in his article is that Arthur never blames immigrants or POC for his misfortune. When he takes a beating at the hands of non-white kids at the start of his film, his colleague calls them “animals” (a common racist term for non-white folks) but Arthur insists they’re just kids. He sympathises with them, despite the fact they brutalised him, because he doesn’t see them as an ‘other.’

And I do think that’s why, crucially, most of the female characters are black women. Whether they occupy a lower rung of society than he does is debatable, because he’s constantly framed as being in the same situation as them. He’s as impacted by the austerity cuts as they are, he rides the bus as they do, he lives in the same shitty building as they do. To quote his therapist: “they don’t give a shit about you, and they don’t give a shit about me, either.”

Arthur doesn’t just have confrontations with them, he has an imaginary relationship with one. Whether he murders her or not is left ambiguous and up to the audience to decide her fate. We can’t say for sure that she’s dead, and that’s the theme of the entire film. We have no idea if anything is real or all in his head when he’s in the asylum.

And that’s the brilliant point.

Arthur’s world is dominated by black women because black women are one of the minorities most affected by institutional prejudice, facing discrimination for both their race and their gender. In 1970s America, they were some of the most invisible people around, ignored by the wealthy and powerful. So Arthur relates to them. 

Phillips’ decision to use black women offers a double message that they, too, are suffering under austerity and classism. This isn’t just a white lonesome man’s struggle, it’s a reality for black women everywhere. Arthur’s situation isn’t exceptional because your neighbour, your therapist, the woman on your bus with her kid - they’re all going through it without going on a murderous rampage. If you feel for Arthur’s plight, you feel for theirs too. It’s fucking brilliant.

As for why he has confrontations with them - he has confrontations with literally everyone. Literally everyone treats him badly. Again, that’s. the. point. Except for the black man at Arkham Asylum who tells him to go get help, who’s just doing his job and feels pity for Arthur. But hey, the author ignores that. 

Fleck kills white men because he cannot access their status and is ostracized by them, but his black female victims are so invisible that the film does not bother to show their deaths. We as viewers can and should take note of them.

Arthur killed the three white boys on the subway because they were beating the shit out of him for no other reason than him laughing. They were cruel and sadistic, and he’d just been fired from the job he loved so was on his last nerve. He killed his white ex-colleague for framing him and having the balls to still ask him to lie on his behalf so he could keep his job, when he had Arthur fired. He killed Murray for demeaning him and mocking his plight.

Every person killed on-screen was white. Every person killed on-screen was because Arthur felt they’d done him wrong. Zazie’s character is unconfirmed if dead. The psychiatrist at the asylum is implied to be dead, but Arthur’s transformation to the Joker is complete and it’s entirely possible that the act in itself demonstrates (after having sympathised with black women before) that Arthur’s sanity has cracked and his humanity has been replaced by the chaos of the Joker, who cares little for any life, even that of a marginalised minority he once related to.

There are other ways that whiteness informs Fleck’s character. He anticipates he’ll be treated as a son by the Wayne family, and assumes he’ll be given medical records just by asking the hospital orderly (played by the great Brian Tyree Henry). The privileges that come with Fleck’s race set him up for these unrealistic expectations. When they’re not met, the consequences are deadly.

It’s almost as if Arthur has no concept of reality and has little understanding of the way the world works and naively believes that things will just happen because he wants them to. It’s almost as if he has severe parental issues and was so desperate for a father, he even imagined Murray calling him the son he’d always wanted. It’s almost as if this has been established in the film multiple times.

Whiteness may not have been on the filmmakers’ minds when they made “Joker,” but it is the hidden accomplice that fosters the violence onscreen.

Let’s take a film that offers a brutal outlook on the impact of mental illness on one’s psyche and sanity and demean the entire message, important as it is, and try to steer a much needed conversation on mental health towards something that doesn’t concern it. As a POC, I find articles like this so, so damaging to the fight against racism.

It essentially weakens our arguments and offers ammunition to those that believe POC just hate white people for no other reason than, “ur white and I don’t like it.” Way to go, NYT.

Guaranteed, if Joker had been black or brown and white women were only used, there’d be a backlash against the narrative for painting men of colour as unstable and white women as victims because men of colour aren’t allowed to be mentally ill, only terrorists and criminals. Which is what Joker ultimately ends up becoming. Can’t win, can you?

Thank u for coming to my ted talk.

[shingia]

Could I request Kuroo, Bokuto, Tsukishima, Sakusa, Miya twins, and Tendou with a reader who used to self harm but was sober for a while, only to relapse after they left bc of a huge argument then please and thanks? Sorry if that’s really intense tho. And thank u for being so nice🙂💞

[𝐓𝐖] 𝐒/𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌

ok i reaaally hope this is what you expected. i didn’t know what kind of ending you wanted but i decided that you, my friend, needed comfort, so i gave you comfort because you deserve it ❤️️

i hope reading this will make you feel better! kisses on your nose ❤️️

type : (strong) angst | word count : 4.4K

warnings : mentions of self-harm, depiction of depressive behavior (plz do not read if any of these might trigger something, i want you all to be safe <3)

⇀ 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨

« fuck you, kuroo. fuck. you. ». those were the last words you had told him. they had hurt, but they were nothing compared to the last words he had told you, the words that kept playing over and over in your head as you slowly felt yourself drift to your old habits again : « i’m done with you ».

was it your fault ? did you push him over the edge ? you had many questions to ask kuroo, but he wasn’t there to answer anymore. so these thoughts were left spiraling in your head as you started to lose balance between love and pain. because his love used to be the cure to your pain. so now what ? what were you supposed to do other than going back to your old habits ? you couldn’t think of any answer.

on monday morning, you woke up thirty minutes earlier because, first of all, you needed some time for the swelling of your eyes to go down, and second of all, you needed to mentally prepare yourself to see kuroo again. it had been two days since your fight, and he had not manifested himself once. it seemed to be well and truly over ; and that thought had been the main cause of the collapsing of your mental strength over the last two days.

during your first period, although you were avoiding his gaze, kuroo couldn’t help but cast glances in your direction. because he knew you better than anyone, and he could only imagine how hurt you were.

but he really started to get suspicious when he noticed you were not raising your hand to correct today’s homework. he had helped you with that last week, and you had told him that you felt confident enough to propose your correction to the class ; which rarely happened. so why weren’t you raising your hand ?

he had a bad feeling about the answer… he didn’t care about giving you quick glances anymore, he just stared at your arms until one of your movements would make your sleeve reveal just a few inches of your skin.

and he was horrified to have his fears confirmed. the cuts that he had so often kissed while holding you in his arms were back. and he knew it was all because of him. and although his first thought was that it was not his job to heal them anymore, he couldn’t bring himself to act unbothered.

he had loved you for long enough to know that you needed him right now. or maybe he still loved you ? it was not clear, but it didn’t matter right now. what mattered was that he needed you to listen to what he wanted to say, even if that was the last thing you accepted to hear from him.

« y/n, we need to talk » he told you once you got out of the classroom. you looked up at him ; his face was unusually austere. he carefully grabbed your shoulder and took you away from everyone else. 

« i can’t… i couldn’t walk out of there pretending like i didn’t see what your arms looked like » he started. « now listen, i know i fucked up, but i still care. and you still matter. whatever our relationship is doesn’t define you and most importantly, these don’t define you » he pointed at your wrists, his brows furrowed with concern. « so please, i’m begging you, keep in mind that i’m always here if you need to talk. always. and if you don’t want to talk to me that’s fine, but in that case, please find someone else. for the sake of everything we've been through together, don't let everything you’ve accomplished go to waste » and he wrapped his arms around you in the strongest hug he had ever given.

⇀ 𝐛𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨

it had already been a week. and bokuto had absolutely no idea what to do. call you ? text you ? probably not. what would he even say ? « hi, sorry for slamming the door in your face after screaming at you for fifteen minutes. am i still your boyfriend ? » awful idea.

and while bokuto was pondering every option he had left to get in touch with you, you were left in the darkest place of your mind. and you hadn’t felt like that in a few months. because bokuto used to always be there, his number on speed dial whenever you feared you would relapse. and thanks to his unwavering support, you hadn’t. but was there anything in this world that was truly unwavering ? you really started to doubt it. and now that bokuto had left you, what could carry the pain away ? whatever the answer was, you were in no condition to think rationally about it.

you remembered how he used to celebrate every improvement in your mental health, how strong of a cornerstone he had been for you. and just the fact of not knowing where you guys were at after your fight was enough to make you feel like you were drowning again.

you were overflowing with emotions that you thought you couldn’t control, and apart from holding on tight to bokuto’s chest, you only knew one way to feel better.

you loved him, you really did. but after a week without hearing from him, you started to think that maybe his feelings were not as real as he pretended they were. and how could you not blame him for that ? for letting you down so fast ?

curled up in your bed, tears were streaming down your face ; because you felt weaker than you had promised yourself to be. you were exhausted, in every sense of the word, yet there was still a tiny bit of strength left in your body that made you grab your phone and open your conversation with bokuto. the last message was a bitter pill to swallow : « no problem babe, i’m always here for you ». it was just a week ago but it felt like an eternity had passed. your fingers started slowly typing on the screen and immediately hit sent, knowing that you would second guess your message if you re-read it. « can we talk? », just three words, it was the maximum you could get off of your chest right now.

but bokuto did not answer. for the simple reason that he was too busy catching his breath in front of your door. he frantically knocked, not stopping until you opened it.

« oh my god, are you okay ?! » he exclaimed, patting your entire body like he wanted to make sure you were well and truly there. and once he had made sure of that, he pulled you against his chest like he wasn’t planning on letting you go ever again. « did- did you… » he ventured to ask, not wanting to finish his sentence precisely because he was afraid of your answer. but when he heard you let out a muffled sob against his chest, his fears instantly got replaced by guilt. more than he had ever felt. « you’re alright, i got you. i got you now… » he murmured, his hands stroking your back tenderly. « we’ll get through this together, ok ? we’ll show the world how strong you are. because i know you are. »

⇀ 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚

yes, sakusa had run away. and he was glad he had. because he knew how hurtful he could be with his words, and he had enough respect not to inflict that to you. but as he made his way back home, doubt started installing in his head. what if he shouldn’t have left you after your fight ? he immediately shook the thought away. no, you were good now. you were better. nothing like who you were when he met you.

and sakusa could be very convincing when he needed to, including with himself. that’s why he didn’t get in touch with you for the next three days, because he thought you just needed some time for yourself.

but when he received a worried text from komori when he got out of the gym after practice, he changed his mind within seconds. « i just saw y/n, something felt off. maybe you should check on them ? ».

sakusa felt a wave of guilt descend upon of him. of course he should. it was his fucking job to offer you his help, even when he thought you didn’t need it. and especially when he knew what you had already been through. he cursed himself all the way to your house, where he could only imagine how lonely you felt. not wanting to waste any more time, he pulled out his phone to call you. and heaved a relieved sigh at the sound of your voice : « hey, are you ok ? like, right now are you doing ok ? » he asked hastily. 

you sat on your bed and rubbed your strained eyes, fiddling with the cloth of your t-shirt. « i- yeah, i’m good… » you lied. « i’m at your door, open up please, i gotta see you » he said before hanging up.

you knew sakusa was not going to take no for an answer. so, after wiping your tears and putting on a long-sleeved hoodie and sweatpants, you went to open the door. 

« hi… » you uttered quietly. sakusa didn’t dare to move. he had been so determined to get to your house, but now that you were standing in front of him, he wasn’t so sure of what he was supposed to do.

you decided to be the first to break the silence,  « i’m okay. and i’m sorr… » « sorry. about everything. » he pre-empted you. seeing you like this made him fear the worst. so he gently grabbed your wrists like he wanted to hold your hands, when in reality he just wanted to confirm his thoughts. and when he saw you stiffen at his touch, he knew he had guessed right. « come here » he whispered before going in for a hug. but you pulled away at the last second. « can we… go to my room ? i- i feel better there » you asked timidly.

he didn’t even answer and simply wrapped his arm around your shoulder before taking you to your bedroom where you immediately curled up on your bed. you didn’t want sakusa to see you like this, but you were in no position to fight back anymore. quietly, he laid beside you and pulled you in a warm embrace, just tight enough to let you know that he got you now. 

when he noticed you were trying to find something to say, to explain yourself, he shushed you with a kiss on your shoulder. « you don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. but i want you to listen to me very carefully : don’t ever think that you’re back to square one now. you’ve dealt with this before, you’ve grown and you can do it again as long as you promise yourself to get back up. and i won’t leave your side. you deserve so much more than what you give yourself, and i’m here to remind you »

⇀ 𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚

tsukishima’s pride was important to him, everyone knew it. the only thing he valued as much as his pride was probably you. but during your arguments, the scale always tipped in his pride’s favor, you simply could not compete.

but surprisingly enough, it was you who had told him to go away after getting in the most heated argument you had ever had. and he didn’t have to be told twice : you had shattered his beloved pride, and he was not going to stay here begging for your mercy.

he still loved you, but he also had no problem ignoring you at school. yet for some reason, this argument didn’t sit well with him. well, no arguments ever sat well with him, but today felt different. 

ignoring you was one of the most hurtful things tsukishima could ever do to you. he had helped you through so much, and suddenly becoming a stranger to him was slowly bringing you back down.

« it’s just one time, i won’t relapse » you thought the first time you tried to cope with the pain the way you used to. but you feared it wouldn’t be just one time. you were diving into what you had said goodbye to ; but now that tsukishima was ignoring you, there was no one to stop you from falling, right ? 

well, that would have been true if he hadn’t kept a discreet but attentive eye on you. which is why he knew very well that you had gone back to your old habits. and he needed to do something about it.

but he wasn’t good with words, and he feared that actions would not be enough this time. he needed something more permanent, something that you could keep with you all the time. so he decided to do something he had never done before, and gave it to you as soon as it was done…

receiving a letter from tsukishima was definitely not something you expected. but what was written in it was even less expected.

« i’m not the best at this kind of stuff, but… i really need you to stop being so hard on yourself. i know it’s not something i usually say, but i fell in love with you because i learned to love your imperfections. and you have to start doing the same about yourself. please. and if you need to be held, to be listened to, i’ll be there. but i wanted to write something because i want you to be able to read this as much as you need, as much as you want. i want you to get better, but even more than that, i want you to want to get better. you can do it, i believe in you more than you can think. please come to me if you need it. i love you ».

the tears that streamed down your face had a salty taste, but for the first time in a long time, they tasted like hope as well. and the next time you came face to face with yourself and your thoughts, your eyes found find their way back to the letter, and you knew that there were people that still believed in you, counted on you, loved you. tsukki was just the first one of a long list. (<3)

⇀ 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮

he had been there through everything. more than you would have imagined. which is probably why you felt desperately empty ever since he got so angry at you that he left without looking back. but at the time, it simply had not crossed his mind that you would suffer so deeply from his words.

but you did. a lot. and that was the reason you found yourself crying on your bedroom floor, not even able to be mad at anyone but yourself.

still oblivious to the true damage, atsumu thought he could get back to you by pretending like nothing had happened. he often did that because, to him, what was in the past belonged in the past. except that today, and in your situation, it could not work.

« wanna grab something to eat ? » was the first text he sent you. and you didn’t feel like answering, so you didn’t. « are you still mad ? i’m not <3 » was the second one. but you still didn’t feel like answering. maybe it was your fault ? maybe you were overreacting while you were just supposed to play it cool like he did ? but you would have played it cool if you knew how to.

when atsumu decided to go to your house, it was initially to apologize in person. he had not planned on seeing you looking the way you did, which was a heart-wrenching reminder of the dark period of time you had gotten through together. but here he was, standing in front of you, feeling more helpless than ever. he knew too well the look into your eyes, one that he hadn’t seen in a long time. 

he dropped the pack of snacks he was holding in his hands before cupping your cheeks. « oh no, no, no. i fucked up, didn’t i ? i am… so so so sorry. c-can you forgive me ? » he stammered, absolute panic in his eyes as he took you in his arms. why would i have to forgive you ? you thought. i’m the only one to blame. 

but atsumu seemed to also hear the things you didn’t say, and he refused to let you feel guilty for anything. ever so gently, he took your hands in his before placing the softest kisses on your wrists that were still covered by the sleeves of your hoodie. « i probably won’t ever forgive myself for leaving you alone. but promise me you’ll always come to me if you need help, or any kind of support, hugs, kisses… you name it. i’ll be your coping mechanism, and i’ll be the best you’ve ever had »

and he kept holding you for a long time, at least until he felt your breath become steady again. and if you thought atsumu was doting before, prepare yourself to be even more amazed now.

⇀ 𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮

fighting with osamu was not frequent, fortunately. but when fights occured, it was bad. really bad. he tended to think that you could endure as much as atsumu when it came to harsh words ; but you couldn’t.

kind of like his brother, samu had a tendency to leave the past behind and pretend like nothing happened when he got in touch with you after a fight. and that’s what he did a week ago, after one of the biggest arguments that you had ever had.

too happy that he seemed to still want to be your boyfriend, you didn’t have the courage to tell him how you had gone back to your old habits during the time you were on bad terms. but as they said, old habits died hard, and your destructive thoughts were still very present even when things seemed to have gotten back to normal.

yet samu was not blind, and he noticed that you were acting a bit more distant since last week, since your fight. but he still thought that your problems could be solved by just keeping on pretending like everything was ok. and eventually, things would turn out ok by themselves, right ?

you were laying on his bed, turned on your side as you scrolled on your phone. usually you would have had an arm swung around him, but you didn’t want to take any risk, so you kept your distances. 

« hey, come closer baby. we’ve barely cuddled today » he told you before lazily wrapping his arm around your waist.

feeling nervous, you swallowed the lump in your throat before putting your phone on the nightstand. « i’m going to sleep, samu », you said, stretching your arm to turn off the light.

but he was quicker than you and gently grabbed your arm, careful not to apply any pressure on it. his eyes widened, he had barely seen your wrist but it had been enough to notice that the scars were recent. he put two and two together and looked at you dead in the eyes ; you looked ashamed, and it broke his heart. « when did y- was it because of me ? » he asked, his voice faintly shaking. you pulled away from his hand and held your arm against you, sinking in the pillow. « no, of course not. it’s nothing » you breathed out, looking away to avoid his gaze. but he was quick to make you face him again, with a slight pressure of his fingertips on your red cheeks. « there’s only one thing that i hate more than seeing you in pain. it’s knowing that i caused this pain. let me help you, y/n. please. you deserve to feel better. i’m sorry i didn’t give you as much love as you gave me. and i’m sorry for behaving like an asshole when you needed me. just… fuck, i just love you ».

tears started prickling the corner of your eyes, but he saw you trying to hold them back. with the most gentle look in his eyes, he proposed to turn off the light if it made you feel better. and you nodded ; you knew that you’d eventually had to have a face-to-face conversation with him. it was the only way to get better. but right now you just wanted to be held without thinking about what he’d see. or wouldn’t see.

so he turned off the light and let yourself get comfortable in bed before wrapping you in his embrace once again. his soft breath against your neck was obviously not enough to make all your pain magically go away, but it let you know that he had your back. and it was all that mattered.

⇀ 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮

« i don’t want to do this anymore, y/n ! » tendou had yelled, making this sentence the peak of your argument. six words, and they were on replay in your minds since four days. you couldn’t believe that almost two years of relationship had ended so abruptly. but you had to face the truth : tendou had enough of you. and obviously you linked that to the turbulent start of your relationship. you knew it hadn’t been easy for him to deal with your self harm when you had just started dating. yet he had managed to make you feel so much better that you had been sober for about a year, all thanks to him. but maybe you hadn’t been grateful enough ? maybe that was why he had decided to end things now ?

the only thing you knew for sure was that he was gone, and you felt like you had lost your anchor.

you had spent the weekend in your dorm, and it had been a painful weekend. so painful that you did not get out of bed on monday morning ; it was just too much to handle. deep down you knew that you were not handling your problems the right way… and escaping reality was not viable.

but little did you know that tendou wanted nothing more than to see you again in the hallways and finally have a heart-to-heart conversation with you. and when he didn’t see you in class, he started to freak out. he knew how it was to feel alone and rejected ; and he started to fear that he had caused you to feel exactly that. so he did not follow his friends to the cafeteria at lunch and headed to your dorm instead, hoping that you’d open the door.

and you did. thank god you did. but panic started bubbling in his chest when his eyes laid on your face.

« alright, come here » he told you with a forced smile before pulling you in his embrace. truthfully, he didn’t feel like smiling, but he knew that the last thing you needed was to think you made him feel bad. when he was with you, his main goal was to cheer you up, he’d deal with himself later. « angel… did you do it again ? » he asked, his tone being the furthest thing from judgmental. you muttered a quiet apology, your face buried in his white uniform jacket. but something lingered on your mind. angel ? it sounded right, but you knew it wasn’t. not anymore. « don’t apologize ! the only person you owe an apology to is yourself » he whispered against your ear. slowly, he put his hands on your waist before bringing you to your bed where he sat right next to you, still refusing to take his hands off of your body.

 « tendou, you don’t have to do this… » you muttered, knowing that you weren’t supposed to be this close anymore. « i’m your ex, you don’t owe me anything ».

he immediately looked down to meet your eyes, an eyebrow raised in confusion. « your ex ? wh- you think i broke up with you ? y/n, when i said that i didn’t want to do this anymore, i was talking about fighting with you ! i’m sorry, i should have texted you these last few days, but i thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me »

a tear rolled down your cheek. tendou’s words sounded like heaven right now. maybe you weren’t alone after all ?

« now, do you need me to get you something ? band-aids ? anything ? » he asked, caressing your hair with his right hand. you nodded your head no and kept your head buried in his neck, like you were waiting for his scent to go to your head. « i know you’ve been through a lot, and i’m proud of you no matter what. but, you know… even though i have enough love for the both of us, i’d really want you to have enough love for yourself » he said and placed a kiss on top of your head, waiting for you to say something. but he sensed that you were not ready yet. and he was ok with that, the last thing he wanted to do was to pressure you. it was going to be a long path, but you had already done it, and you were going to do it again. and he’d be there the whole time.

ok so if you’ve read until there it probably means that you needed comfort (i hope i have given you enough) : so if you are in this situation yourself, PLEASE don’t be afraid to ask for help, you can and you will get better. i’m rooting for you like saeko roots for karasuno ❤️️

@toworuu (didn’t forget about you ^^)

[xoruffitup]

Annette: The AD Devotee Review

So I saw Annette on its premiere night in Cannes and I’m still trying to process and make sense of those 2.5 hours of utter insanity. I have no idea where to begin and this is likely going to become an unholy length by the time I’m finished, so I apologize in advance. But BOY I’ve got a lot to parse through!!

Let’s start here: Adam’s made plenty of weird movies. The Dead Don’t Die? The Man Who Killed Don Quixote? There are definitely Terry Gilliam-esque elements of the unapologetically absurd and fantastical in Annette, but NOTHING comes close to this film. To put it bluntly, nothing I write in this post can prepare you for the eccentric phantasmagoria you’re about to sit through.

While the melodies conveying the story – at times lovely and haunting, at times whimsical, occasionally blunt and simple – add a unique sense of the surreal, the fact that it’s all presented in song somehow supplies the medium for this bizarre concoction of disparate elements and outlandish storytelling to all coalesce into a single genre-defying, disbelief-suspending whole. That’s certainly not to say there weren’t a few times when I quietly chortled to myself and mouthed “what the fuck” from behind my mask when things took an exceeding turn to the outrageous. This movie needs to be permitted a bit of leeway in terms of quality judgments, and traditional indicators certainly won’t apply. I would say part of its appeal (and ultimately its success) stems from its lack of interest in appealing to traditional arbiters of film structure and viewing experience. The movie lingers in studies of discomfiture (I’ll return to this theme); it presents all its absurdities with brazen pride rather than temperance; and its end is abrupt and utterly jarring. Yet somehow, at the end of it, I realized I’d been white-knuckling that rollercoaster ride the whole way through and loved every last twist and turn.

A note on the structure of this post before I dive in: I’ve written out a synopsis of the whole film (for those spoiler-hungry people) and stashed it down at the bottom of this post, so no one trying to avoid spoilers has to scroll through. If you want to read, go ahead and skip down to that before reading the discussion/analysis. If I have to reference a specific plot point, I’ll label it “Spoiler #___” and those who don’t mind being spoiled can check the correlating numbers in my synopsis to see which part I’m referencing. Otherwise, my discussion will be spoiler-free! I do detail certain individual scenes, but hid anything that would give away key developments and/or the ending.

To start, I’ll cut to what I’m sure many of you are here for: THE MUSICAL SEX SCENES. You want detailed descriptions? Well let’s fucking go because these scenes have been living in my head rent-free!!

The first (yes, there are two. Idk whether to thank Mr. Carax or suggest he get his sanity checked??) happens towards the end of “We Love Each Other So Much.” Henry carries Ann to the bed with her feet dangling several inches off the floor while she has her arms wrapped around his shoulders. (I maybe whimpered a tiny bit.) As they continue to sing, you first see Ann spread on her back on the bed, panting a little BUT STILL SINGING while Henry’s head is down between her thighs. The camera angle is from above Ann’s head, so you can clearly see down her body and exactly what’s going on. He lifts his head to croon a line, then puts his mouth right back to work. 

And THEN they fuck – still fucking singing! They’re on their sides with Henry behind her, and yes there is visible thrusting. Yes, the thrusting definitely picks up speed and force as the song reaches its crescendo. Yes, it was indeed EXTREMELY sensual once you got over the initial shock of what you’re watching. Ann kept her breasts covered with her own hands while Henry went down on her, but now his hands are covering them and kneading while they’re fucking and just….. It’s a hard, blazing hot R rating. I also remember his giant hand coming up to turn her head so he can kiss her and ladkjfaskfjlskfj. Bring your smelling salts. I don’t recommend sitting between two older ladies while you’re watching – KINDA RUINED THE BLATANT, SMOKING HOT ADAM PORN FOR ME. Good god, choose your viewing buddy wisely!

The second scene comes sort of out of nowhere – I can’t actually recall which song it was during, but it pops up while Ann is pregnant. Henry is again eating her out and there’s not as much overt singing this time, but he has his giant hands splayed over her pregnant belly while he’s going to town and whew, WHEW TURN ON THE AIR CONDITIONING PLEASE. DID THE THEATER INCREASE IN TEMPERATURE BY 10 DEGREES, YOU’RE DAMN RIGHT IT DID.

Whew. I think you’ll be better primed to ~enjoy~ those scenes when you know they’re coming, otherwise it’s just so shocking that by the time you’ve processed “Look at Adam eating pussy with reckless abandon” it’s halfway over already. God speed, my fellow rats, it’s truly something to witness!!

Okay. Right. Ahem. Moving right on along….

I’ll kick off this discussion with the formal structure of the film. It’s honestly impossible to classify. I have the questionable fortune of having been taken to many a strange avant-garde operas and art exhibitions by my parents when I was younger, and the strongest parallel I found to this movie was melodramatic opera stagings full of flamboyant flourishes, austere set pieces, and prolonged numbers where the characters wallow at length in their respective miseries. This movie has all the elevated drama, spectacle, and self-aggrandizement belonging to any self-professed rock opera. Think psychedelic rock opera films a la The Who’s Tommy, Hair, Phantom of the Paradise, and hell, even Rocky Horror. Yes, this film really is THAT weird.

But Annette is also in large part a vibrant, absurdist performance piece. The film is intriguingly book-ended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character; and your own role blurs between passive viewer and interactive audience. The first scene has the cast walking through the streets of LA (I think?), singing “So May We Start?” directly to the camera in a self-aware prologue, smashing the fourth wall from the beginning and setting up the audience to play a direct role in the viewing experience. Though the cast then disburse and take up their respective roles, the sense of being directly performed to is reinforced throughout the film. This continues most concretely through Henry’s multiple stand-up comedy performances.

Though he performs to an audience in the film rather than directly to live viewers, these scenes are so lengthy, vulgar, and excessive that his solo performance act becomes an integral part of defining his character and conveying his arc as the film progresses. These scenes start to make the film itself feel like a one-man show. The whole shtick of Henry McHenry’s “Ape of God” show is its perverse irreverence and swaggering machismo. Over the span of what must be a five minute plus scene, Henry hacks up phlegm, pretends to choke himself with his microphone cord, prances across the stage with his bathrobe flapping about, simulates being shot, sprinkles many a misanthropic, charmless monologues in between, and ends by throwing off his robe and mooning the audience before he leaves the stage. (Yes, you see Adam’s ass within the film’s first twenty minutes, and we’re just warming up from there.) His one-man performances demonstrate his egocentrism, penchant for lowbrow and often offensive humor, and the fact that this character has thus far profited from indulging in and acting out his base vulgarities.

While never demonstrating any abundance of good taste, his shows teeter firmly towards the grotesque and unsanctionable as his marriage and mental health deteriorate. This is what I’m referring to when I described the film as a study in discomfiture. As he deteriorates, the later iterations of his stand-up show become utterly unsettling and at times revolting. The film could show mercy and stop at one to two minutes of his more deranged antics, but instead subjects you to a protracted display of just how insane this man might possibly be. In Adam’s hands, these excessive, indulgent performance scenes take on disturbing but intriguing ambiguity, as you again wonder where the performance ends and the real man begins. When Henry confesses to a crime during his show and launces into an elaborate, passionate reenactment on stage, you shift uncomfortably in your seat wondering how much of it might just be true. Wondering just how much of an animal this man truly is.

Watching this film as an Adam fan, these scenes are unparalleled displays of his range and prowess. He’s in turns amusing and revolting; intolerable and pathetic; but always, always riveting. I couldn’t help thinking to myself that for the casual, non Adam-obsessed viewer, the effect of these scenes might stop at crass and unappealing. But in terms of the sheer range and power of acting on display? These scenes are a damn marvel. Through these scenes alone, his performance largely imbues the film with its wild, primal, and vaguely menacing atmosphere.

His stand-up scenes were, to me, some of the most intense of the film – sometimes downright difficult to endure. But they’re only a microcosm of the R A N G E he exhibits throughout the film’s entirety. Let’s talk about how he’s animalistic, menacing, and genuinely unsettling to watch (Leos Carax described him as “feline” at some point, and I 100% see it); and then with a mere subtle twitch of his expression, sheen of his eyes, or slump of his shoulders, he’s suddenly a lost, broken thing.  

Henry McHenry is truly to be reviled. Twitter might as well spare their breath and announce he’s already cancelled. He towers above the rest of the cast with intimidating, predatory physicality; he is prone to indulgence in his vices; and he constantly seems at risk of releasing some wild, uncontrollable madness lingering just beneath his surface. But as we all well know, Adam has an unerring talent for lending pathos to even the most objectively condemnable characters.

In a repeated refrain during his first comedy show, the audience keeps asking him, “Why did you become a comedian?” He dodges the question or gives sarcastic answers, until finally circling back to the true answer later in the film. It was something to the effect of: “To disarm people. It’s the only way I can tell the truth without it killing me.” Even for all their sick spectacle, there are also moments in his stand-up shows of disarming vulnerability and (seeming) honesty. In a similar moment of personal exposition, he confesses his temptation and “sympathy for the abyss.” (This phrase is hands down my favorite of the film.) He repeatedly refers to his struggle against “the abyss” and, at the same time, his perceived helplessness against it. “There’s so little I can do, there’s so little I can do,” he sings repeatedly throughout the film - usually just after doing something horrific.

Had he been played by anyone else, the first full look of him warming up before his show - hopping in place and punching the air like some wannabe boxer, interspersing puffs of his cigarette with chowing down on a banana – would have been enough for me to swear him off. His archetype is something of a cliché at this point – a brusque, boorish man who can’t stomach or preserve the love of others due to his own self-loathing. There were multiple points when it was only Adam’s face beneath the character that kept my heart cracked open to him. But sure enough, he wedged his fingers into that tiny crack and pried it wide open. The film’s final few scenes show him at his chin-wobbling best as he crumbles apart in small, mournful subtleties.

(General, semi-spoiler ahead as to the tone of the film’s ending – skip this paragraph if you’d rather avoid.) For a film that professes not to take itself very seriously (how else am I supposed to interpret the freaky puppet baby?), it delivers a harsh, unforgiving ending to its main character. And sure enough, despite how much I might have wanted to distance myself and believe it was only what he deserved, I found myself right there with him, sharing his pain. It is solely testament to Adam’s tireless dedication to breathing both gritty realism and stubborn beauty into his characters that Henry sank a hook into some piece of my sympathy.

Not only does Adam have to be the only actor capable of imbuing Henry with humanity despite his manifold wrongs, he also has to be the only actor capable of the wide-ranging transformations demanded of the role. He starts the movie with long hair and his full refrigerator brick house physique. His physicality and size are actively leveraged to engender a sense of disquiet and unpredictability through his presence. He appears in turns tormented and tormentor. There were moments when I found myself thinking of Conan the Barbarian, simply because his physical presence radiates such wild, primal energy (especially next to tiny, dainty Marion and especially with that long hair). Cannot emphasize enough: The raw sex appeal is off the goddamn charts and had me – a veteran fangirl of 3+ years - shook to my damn core.

The film’s progression then ages him – his hair cut shorter and his face and physique gradually becoming more gaunt. By the film’s end, he has facial prosthetics to make him seem even more stark and borderline sickly – a mirror of his growing internal torment. From a muscular, swaggering powerhouse, he pales and shrinks to a shell of a man, unraveling as his face becomes nearly deformed by time and guilt. He is in turns beautiful and grotesque; sensual and repulsive. I know of no other actor whose face (and its accompanying capacity for expressiveness) could lend itself to such stunning versatility.

Quick note here that he was given a reddish-brown birthmark on the right side of his face for this film?? It becomes more prominent once his hair is shorter in the film’s second half. I’m guessing it was Leos’ idea to make his face even more distinctive and riveting? If so, joke’s on you, Mr. Carax, because we’re always riveted. ☺

I mentioned way up at the beginning that the film is bookended by two scenes where the lines blur between actor and character, and between reality and performance. This comes full circle at the film’s end, with Henry’s final spoken words (this doesn’t give any plot away but skip to the next paragraph if you would rather avoid!) being “Stop watching me.” That’s it. The show is over. He has told his last joke, played out his final act, and now he’s done living his life as a source of cheap, unprincipled laughs and thrills for spectators. The curtain closes with a resounding silence.

Now, I definitely won’t have a section where I talk (of course) about the Ben Solo parallels. He’s haunted by an “abyss” aka darkness inside of him? Bad things happened when he finally gave in and stared into that darkness he knew lived within him? As a result of those tragedies, (SPOILER – Skip to next paragraph to avoid) he then finds himself alone and with no one to love or be loved by? NO I’M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL, I’M JUST FINE HERE UNDER MY MOUNTAINS OF TISSUES.

Let’s talk about the music! The film definitely clocks in closer to a rock opera than musical, because almost the entire thing is conveyed through ongoing song, rather than self-contained musical numbers appearing here and there. This actually helps the film’s continuity and pacing, by keeping the characters perpetually in this suspended state of absurdity, always propelled along by some beat or melody. Whenever the film seems on the precipice of tipping all the way into the bleak and dark, the next whimsical tune kicks in to reel us all blessedly back. For example, after (SPOILER #1) happens, there’s a hard cut to the bright police station where several officers gather around Henry, bopping about and chattering on the beat “Questions! We have a few questions!”

Adam integrates his singing into his performance in such a way that it seems organic. I realized after the film that I never consciously considered the quality of his singing along the way. For all that I talked about the film maintaining the atmosphere of a fourth wall-defying performance piece, Adam’s singing is so fully immersed in the embodiment of his character that you almost forget he’s singing. Rather, this is simply how Henry McHenry exists. His stand-up scenes are the only ones in the film that do frequently transition back and forth between speaking and singing, but it’s seamlessly par for the course in Henry’s bizarre, dour show. He breaks into his standard “Now laugh!” number with uninterrupted sarcasm and contempt. There were certainly a few soft, poignant moments when his voice warbled in a tender vibrato you couldn’t help noticing – but otherwise, the singing was simply an extension of that full-body persona he manages to convey with such apparent ease and naturalism.

On the music itself: I’ll admit that the brief clip of “We Love Each Other So Much” we got a few weeks ago made me a tad nervous. It seemed so cheesy and ridiculous? But okay, you really can’t take anything from this movie out of context. Otherwise it is, indeed, utterly ridiculous. Not that none of it is ever ridiculous in context either, but I’m giving you assurances right now that it WORKS. Once you’re in the flow of constant singing and weirdness abound, the songs sweep you right along. Some of the songs lack a distinctive hook or melody and are moreso rhythmic vehicles for storytelling, but it’s now a day later and I still have three of the songs circulating pleasantly in my head. “We Love Each Other So Much” was actually the stand out for me and is now my favorite of the soundtrack. It’s reprised a few times later in the film, growing increasingly melancholy each time it is echoed, and it hits your heart a bit harder each time. The final song sung during (SPOILER #2), though without a distinctive melody to lodge in my head, undoubtedly left me far more moved than a spoken version of this scene would have. Adam’s singing is so painfully desperate and earnest here, and he takes the medium fully under his command.

Finally, it does have to be said that parts of this film veer fully towards the ridiculous and laughable. The initial baby version of the Annette puppet-doll was nothing short of horrifying to me. Annette gets more center-stage screen time in the film’s second half, which gives itself over to a few special effects sequences which look to be flying out at you straight from 2000 Windows Movie Maker. The scariest part is that it all seems intentional. The quality special effects appear when necessary (along with some unusual and captivating time lapse shots), which means the film’s most outrageous moments are fully in line with its guiding spirit. Its extravagant self-indulgence nearly borders on camp.

...And with that, I’ve covered the majority of the frantic notes I took for further reflection immediately after viewing. It’s now been a few days, and I’m looking forward to rewatching this movie when I can hopefully take it in a bit more fully. This time, I won’t just be struggling to keep up with the madness on screen. My concluding thoughts at this point: Is it my favorite Adam movie? Certainly not. Is it the most unforgettable? Aside from my holy text, The Last Jedi, likely yes. It really is the sort of thing you have to see twice to even believe it. And all in all, I say again that Adam truly carried this movie, and he fully inhabits even its highest, most ludicrous aspirations. He’s downright abhorrent in this film, and that’s exactly what makes him such a fucking legend.

I plan to make a separate post in the coming days about my experience at Cannes and the Annette red carpet, since a few people have asked! I can’t even express how damn good it feels to be globetrotting for Adam-related experiences again. <3

Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to ask me any further questions at all here or on Twitter! :)

*SYNOPSIS INCLUDED BELOW. DO NOT READ FURTHER IF AVOIDING SPOILERS!*

Synopsis: Comedian Henry McHenry and opera singer Ann Defrasnoux are both at the pinnacle of their respective success when they fall in love and marry. The marriage is happy and passionate for a time, leading to the birth of their (puppet) daughter, Annette. But tabloids and much of the world believe the crude, brutish Henry is a poor match for refined, idolized Ann. Ann and Henry themselves both begin to feel that something is amiss – Henry gradually losing his touch for his comedy craft, claiming that being in love is making him ill. He repeatedly and sardonically references how Ann’s opera career involves her “singing and dying” every night, to the point that he sees visions of her “dead” body on the stage. Meanwhile, Ann has a nightmare of multiple women accusing Henry of abusive and violent behavior towards them, and she begins growing wary in his presence. (He never acts abusively towards her, unless you count that scene when he tickles her feet and licks her toes while she’s telling him to stop??? Yeah I know, WILD.)

The growing sense of unease, that they’re both teetering on the brink of disaster, culminates in the most deranged of Henry’s stand-up comedy performances, when he gives a vivid reenactment of killing his wife by “tickling her to death.” The performance is so maudlin and unsettling that you wonder whether he’s not making it up at all, and the audience strongly rebukes him. (This is the “What is your problem?!” scene with tiddies out. The full version includes Adam storming across the stage, furiously singing/yelling, “What the FUCK is your problem?!”) But when Henry arrives home that night, drunk and raucous, Ann and Annette are both unharmed.

The couple take a trip on their boat, bringing Annette with them. The boat gets caught in a storm, and Henry drunkenly insists that he and Ann waltz in the storm. She protests that it’s too dangerous and begs him to see sense. (SPOILER #1) The boat lurches when Henry spins her, and Ann falls overboard to her death. Henry rescues Annette from the sinking boat and rows them both to shore. He promptly falls unconscious, and a ghost of Ann appears, proclaiming her intention to haunt Henry through Annette. Annette (still a toddler at this point and yes, still a wooden puppet) then develops a miraculous gift for singing, and Henry decides to take her on tour with performances around the world. He enlists the help of his “conductor friend,” who had been Ann’s accompanist and secretly had an affair with her before she met Henry.

Henry slides further into drunken debauchery as the tour progresses, while the Conductor looks after Annette and the two grow close. Once the tour concludes, the Conductor suggests to Henry that Annette might be his own daughter – revealing his prior affair with Ann. Terrified by the idea of anyone finding out and the possibility of losing his daughter, Henry drowns the Conductor in the pool behind his and Ann’s house. Annette sees the whole thing happen from her bedroom window.

Henry plans one last show for Annette, to be held in a massive stadium at the equivalent of the Super Bowl. But when Annette takes the stage, she refuses to sing. Instead, she speaks and accuses Henry of murder. (“Daddy kills people,” are the actual words – not that that was creepy to hear as this puppet’s first spoken words or anything.)

Henry stands trial, during which he sees an apparition of Ann from when they first met. They sing their regret that they can’t return to the happiness they once shared, until the apparition is replaced by Ann’s vengeful spirit, who promises to haunt Henry in prison. After his sentencing (it’s not clear what the sentence was, but Henry definitely isn’t going free), Annette is brought to see him once in prison. Speaking fully for the first time, she declares she can’t forgive her parents for using her: Henry for exploiting her voice for profit and Ann for presumably using her to take vengeance on Henry. (Yes, this is why she was an inanimate doll moving on strings up to this point – there was some meaning in that strange, strange artistic choice. She was the puppet of her parents’ respective egotisms.) The puppet of Annette is abruptly replaced by a real girl in this scene, finally enabling two-sided interaction and a long-missed genuine connection between her and Henry, which made this quite the emotional catharsis. (SPOILER #2) It concludes with Annette still unwilling to forgive or forget what her parents have done, and swearing never to sing again. She says Henry now has “no one to love.” He appeals, “Can’t I love you, Annette?” She replies, “No, not really.” Henry embraces her one last time before a guard takes her away and Henry is left alone.

…..Yes, that is the end. It left me with major emotional whiplash, after the whole film up to this point kept pulling itself back from the total bleak and dark by starting up a new toe-tapping, mildly silly tune every few minutes. But this last scene instead ends on a brutal note of harsh, unforgiving silence.

BUT! Make sure you stick around through the credits, when you see the cast walking through a forest together. (This is counterpart to the film’s opening, when you see the cast walking through LA singing “So May We Start?” directly to the audience) Definitely pay attention to catch Adam chasing/playing with the little girl actress who plays Annette! That imparts a much nicer feeling to leave the theater with. :’)

[hellomynameisbisexual]

“The fear of rejection is twice as scary when the person looking out for you is not only is your parent, but they also have a higher responsibility of care because of your disability,” says Rian Hiney. As a bisexual, trans man, the 17-year-old has not only had to reveal his sexuality to his loved ones, but his gender identity, too.

Growing up being treated as a girl, Rian tells The Independent that he “never exactly felt ‘feminine’.”

“My mum used to try and dress me in pretty ‘girly’ dresses but all I remember is how I used to refuse and how uncomfortable I felt. I was constantly labelled a ‘tomboy’ and now that I am older, I totally detest the word," says Rian, who was born with an unknown condtion similar to quadreplegic cerebral palsy.

“It’s just a phase. You’re a tomboy. You’ll grow out of this’, whatever ‘this’ is’,” is the response that Rian became used to hearing.

“If I am going to be honest, when I was younger I didn’t even know what ‘this’ was, I just knew that ‘this’ wasn’t a phase, ‘this’ was me and there was nothing I could do to change ‘this’," he adds.

As Rian grew older, he gradually realised there was vocabulary - “trans” - to describe what he was feeling. The term describes a person who does not identify with the gender they were assigned with at birth, and therefore doesn't relate to a person's sexuality. But first, he had to deal with coming out as a bisexual.

“I initially came out as bisexual at the age of 15," he says. "I remember I first told my sisters and my friends. It wasn’t a massive shock to them and they actually took it quite well. I don’t think I really came out as bisexual to my parents, I just talked about bringing a girl or a boy or whoever home one day, and they had a hard time at first but they kind of accepted it. My mum did keep asking about it, ‘so who do you prefer,’ and what I got from my dad is ‘you’re missing the point, you silly girl’.”

But Rian still didn't feel quite right. Having been open about his sexuality, he was still uncertain to articulate his feelings about his gender identity without any role models to follow.

"When I first heard the word ‘transgender’, I initially thought of the offensive and outdated stereotypes of ‘cross-dressers’ and ‘lady boys’," he says. "There was no representation for me to look up to.” Rian slipped into a depression, and his sister noticed the red flagsof his mental health. With her support, Rian was able to open up about how the gender he was assigned at birth didn’t match up with how he truly felt inside.

“I just asked her, ‘What do you think of the name Rian?’, and we went from there. I told her everything.”

What frightened him was how his parents - who were responsible for his care - would react. "I didn’t want to feel like a 'disappointment' to my mum, and with my dad being your typical old fashioned conservative type of guy, I was very apprehensive."

"In the end, it wasn’t too bad. I just kind of came out with it spontaneously one day and my Dad's reaction really surprised me. He was quite calm about the whole thing and he has taken it within his stride. And apart from her at first teasing me about the name Rian (she didn’t like it at first), my mum has been fine."

Still, Rian's journey to acceptance was far from over. He quickly learned that while he was certain he was bisexual, the prejudice towards disabled people meant that others struggled to understand how he could have sexual feelings at all. And when he came out as trans, the prejudice he already faced was compounded by an unwanted fascination with his sexuality. Disappointingly, he discovered that while the disabled and LGBT communities are largely progressive and open, Rian didn't always feel accepted.

“Both communities regularly face other people’s nonsense. People being condescending, trying to teach you about gender and or disability, people treating your identity as a burden, and both communities are still fighting for their rights,” says Rian. Recent figures show that attacked on LGBT people have spiked by 80 per cent in the UK over the last four years, while the United Nations recently criticised the Government for failing to uphold the rights of disabled people following the implementation of austerity policies.

“Our sexual identities are constantly under critique,” he goes on. “Within the Trans community we are often overly sexualised. People do not see anything wrong with asking invasive questions about our genitals. Transwomen are often objects of sexual desire for straight cis‐men, but then still face violent transphobia from these cis‐men. Transmen and Transwomen aren’t looked at as ‘real’ men or women by some people, if they haven’t chosen to or been able to get surgery on their genitals.”

“On the other hand, people don’t think those who have a disability and in particular, wheelchair users have the right to be intimate. Some people can’t even comprehend it – someone at school recently said to me, ‘How can you be bisexual? You’re disabled and you can’t even have sex’. Trans people are hypersexualised and disabled people are desexualised. This is why people struggle to box me in.”

“I haven’t always felt embraced by the trans community as someone who has a disability. I have heard ableist comments made within the LGBTQI community and I have encountered ableism within LGBTQI ‘safe’ spaces numerous times. I often see people who are supposed to be allies making offensive ableist comments on social media during arguments and it is.”

So Rian is facing his situation by paving the way for others like him. He is currently on the board of Whizz-Kidz, the charity for young people who use wheelchairs, and hopes to act as a role model to other disabled and LGBT people.

He looks to a future where coming out is no longer necessary.

“I hope a time will come in the future where people won’t need to ‘come out.’ Instead people will just be allowed to ‘be’. I can’t see that happening in this generation to be honest, but I am confident that we are changing things enough so that people in the next generation will find things slightly easier. That’s what it is all about.”

[ellgrimm]

Sweets (OHSHC bakery AU)

He lightly dusted the rectangle of dough with fine, white flour and ran it through the sheeter one last time. Mori peeled the slightly bouncy dough off the machine bed and placed it on a tray lined with a piece of plastic film. Wrapping the film snuggly around the croissant dough, he smoothed out the indents impressed by his fingertips. He scooped the tray off the maple wood table and spun around gracefully, with habitual movement, to slip it into the fridge along with the other identical trays of dough.

With that done, he slid out of the floury work apron and traded it for a fresh one he kept tidy for sales at the front register. He washed his hands and checked for any errant streaks of flour on his face. Satisfied, Mori walked out from the fairly austere kitchen and into the world of rich woods and shining glass cases that was the customer-service side of the French patisserie shop and cafe.

Haruhi was in the middle of preparing a cup of drip coffee for a patron. Another customer just arrived at the pastry counter and stood politely, waiting to place his order. “Why don’t you see to our guest, Mori?” she asked cheerfully, as she held a gooseneck kettle and slowly circled hot water over the fresh coffee grounds, keeping an eye on the weight of water being poured. A rich, gold-black coffee dripped out the bottom of the cone filter into a ribbed glass pitcher.

Mori turned to face the pastry case and reflexively picked up a set of tongs. He performed a test click: *click*. Then he looked out over the top of the case and said in a deep and calm voice a phrase he had said at least 500 times before: “Good afternoon, what would you like today?”

But there wasn’t anyone there?

He scanned left and right.

Then he directed his gaze down and his heart skipped. A pair of enormous, caramel eyes were looking up at him from underneath a glorious mop of flaxen hair. The boy spoke, blushing a bit, in a voice that rang out clear and light, “Good afternoon! I would like one tartelettes aux fraises, please.” His French was pretty good, or at least it sounded good, Mori thought. “For here,” the boy added.

“Of course,” Mori replied, as he carefully lifted the mini tart off the ceramic tray. A glazed strawberry, sliced and fanned out over piped pastry cream, sat like a glistening red jewel. He placed it on a round plate and brought it over to the register counter. “Anything else today?” Mori asked.

“Can I… get a caffe mocha?” the charming and petite lad said reluctantly after reading through the coffee menu.

Mori caught the hesitation. “Yes, sir. How many shots of espresso?” he asked attentively.

The caramel eyes wibbled a little, damply, and he burst out suddenly “um? No shots? Please?”

Mori was relieved. Now he understood what the problem was: the menu did not list “hot chocolate.” He made a mental note that he should suggest a menu update to the manager. Making cute boys cry was already not his preference; and this boy in particular deserved the world, he immediately and definitively decided.

Mori nodded and completed the cash part of the transaction. “I will bring your strawberry mini tart and no-shots ‘caffe mocha’ to you in a minute, sir. There is a table with a nice view by that window, if you like.” He gestured to a small, round table that offered a glimpse across the street of a park with a duck pond. A coveted sight in urban Tokyo.

The boy smiled and practically floated over to the promised seat. He caught sight of a mama with her raft of ducklings zooming past and gasped with delight. Mori had to work incredibly hard to suppress a grin. It was everything he had hoped for.

Haruhi noticed. She noticed a lot of things, to be clear. Here, she was shocked and intrigued that Mori had said the longest continuous string of words than she had heard at any point over the past two years since he had started working here.

To be honest, she had been surprised when Kyoya had hired him on, considering how much talking is often involved in customer service. Kyoya, in an uncommonly forthcoming reveal into the inner workings of his mind, succinctly told Haruhi once that “diversity is a strength.”And that meant, in stark contrast to longtime coworker Tamaki’s effervescent and somewhat scattered personality, a staunchly grounded giant who is almost religious in keeping up on the daily labors of a bakery is certainly an asset.

Haruhi grabbed a silver dessert spoon and placed it and a napkin on the wooden serving tray, next to the strawberry mini tart. She winked at Mori as he finished making what was honestly a hot chocolate. He grunted softly, as if to say “hush, you.”

---

He came in every day that week. And every day he tried a different sweet pastry. As far as Mori could tell, he loved them all equally.

And Kyoya saw no objection to adding Hot Chocolate to the official cafe menu. “It’s not seasonally appropriate, but there has been an anti-caffiene health trend picking up lately,” he said decisively.

On the last day of his work week, Mori once again watched the boy leave the shop for the day. This time, the boy, busy looking at his phone, bumped into a trio of well-built, strong young men. He started to apologize for running into them, and Mori panicked a little, instinctively leaping over the counter and dashing past the other customers sitting at their tables. A blur of hyperactivity in an otherwise amazingly calm and inviting space.

And then Mori stopped, his heart beating hard.

“Haninozuka-sensei! We are so very sorry for getting in your way!” the trio barked, stiffly and respectfully bowing. Honey smiled kindly and waved them off.

“Oh, no, it was my fault entirely! I must have been busy with my own thoughts,” Haninozuka offered brightly. And after a quick exchange of pleasantries, he turned and walked up the street.

The trio lingered and talked amongst themselves. Mori tried not to listen, sort of. But he desperately needed to know more about this Haninozuka person. Their… sensei?

“Sensei was so...” Said the first one.

“I know! He’s been such a goddamn hardass at the dojo lately. I wasn’t expecting it.” The second offered.

“I was ready for him to beat us up right here on the sidewalk.” The third expressed, now relieved.

Mori was dumbfounded. This bubbly slip of a lad who giggled at baby ducks and was afraid to ask for a coffee without coffee... was apparently also a brutal martial arts teacher? He couldn’t possibly... and the name was familiar, but he couldn’t finish the thought.

Mori swam in his thoughts for a minute, completely adrift in the dissonance, before Tamaki finally caught his attention and brought him back to earth. “Mori-senpai!” he practically sang, “you left this winsome young lady before giving back her change~”

Mori’s eyes flashed and he looked back, embarrassed. “Very sorry, miss.”

“Um, well, I don’t mind!” she chirped. And she honestly hadn’t minded. He had been athletic and lithe --like an action hero-- when he vaulted himself over the counter, and it had made her think spicy thoughts she would never say aloud. Not something she had expected to experience during her trip to the nicest pastry shop in the ward, but it was a surprise she would treasure for years.

---

It was an agonizing week before Haninozuka came back into the patisserie.

Mori spent every shift that week dutifully doing his work, to the best of his ability. But his ability had degraded because a solid half of his brain was fixated on this mystery. Cute? Cruel? Sweets? Sensei? It consumed him, and he was beginning to hate himself for it. It had been much easier to do this job before he had someone he so looked forward to being around.

Then Mori caught himself. Sure, the work was easier before, when he had been habitually focused entirely on the tasks. Separating eggs. Measuring flour. Shaping butter into thick slabs. Pouring coffee and picking croissants out of the case. Even washing dishes. It had become a somewhat mindless rhythm.

But Haninozuka had made him want to come to work. It made the work feel more purposeful, somehow. It was like Mori had a specific audience in mind when he wiped tables. An audience he wanted to feel safe and comfortable and happy in his domain.

But what if Haninozuka was a bad person? Those three guys had been so sure that this was an unusual side to him. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for their comments to color his idea of this boy. But he also was afraid it would be foolish to not heed their words. Surely they knew their sensei better than Mori could possibly have gotten to in a handful of hours over a few days?

But eventually, he did come back.

This time, he was escorted by the trio from before, as well as a new face. The fourth person, who had similar facial features to Haninozuka, but was a bit taller than him, also had a permanent scowl topped with a grown out bowl cut and glasses, and he was nervously eyeing Haninozuka, watching to see what he would order.

Mori was ready to push the register icon for in the hot chocolate part of the order, and jumped ahead to asking “What pastry would you like today, sir?”

Haninozuka, looking resolute, jaw clenched and without the usual gleam in his warm eyes, stated plainly “I’ll take a plain croissant and black coffee today. Thank you.” The bowl cut kid visibly relaxed a little.

Mori felt the pain in his unusually flat voice, but only nodded. “Excellent choice. Is this together or separate?”

Once he finished taking the group order, they paid and left to go sit down at a pair of tables outside on the sidewalk, well away from the previously frequented pond-viewing seat.

Mori turned to the task at hand. He brought out a set of wooden half-trays, one for each order, and selected pastries for each guest while Haruhi got to work on the drinks. Mori used the tongs to pick up the plain croissant and paused. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt so wrong.

He put it back and selected a hazelnut and chocolate ganache filled croissant instead. It looked nearly identical on the outside, especially if you weren’t paying close attention. Only a small seam with chocolate peeking through could be noticed, and even then, that was on the bottom side of the pastry.

He then turned to Haruhi and said, without room for question, “make the black coffee a hot chocolate. And put all the drinks in to-go cups.”

Haruhi smiled, and used a marker to write “black” on the paper cup that would be destined to not, in fact, have any coffee in it whatsoever. She was already thinking similarly, but had been waiting for Mori to declare it officially.

Haruhi helped Mori carry the trays of drinks and pastries out to the sidewalk tables. He carefully placed the correct one in front of Haninozuka and gave a half smile. Haninozuka barely noticed, staring dead ahead, bracing himself for what would be an absolute trial of bitter drink and plain food. She distributed napkins and utensils appropriately. They both chimed “Thank you, please enjoy,” and turned to head back inside.

“Why don’t you wipe down table 3?” prompted Haruhi, who magically produced a clean damp rag and offered it to Mori. Table 3 was inside the shop, but aside from the large pane of clear glass, was right next to the sidewalk tables. The audio was barely muffled. Mori took the cloth and singlemindedly started wiping at a table that was cerftifiably already clean.

Haninozuka tremulously started with the pastry. He nibbled cautiously at one corner. He sighed.

Mori cursed silently. “You have to take a bigger bite to get to the filling!” he thought.

Haninozuka couldn’t bring himself to try a sip of black coffee yet. He went back to the croissant. This time a luscious double whammy of chocolate and hazelnut hit his tongue. His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything.

Haninozuka Yasuchika, his brother, was taking a bite of his own pastry and found the kouign-amann satisfactorily salty as well as only lightly sweet. He grabbed his latte and brought it to his lips, then paused. He couldn’t help himself. Squinting suspiciously through his glasses, which light glinted off of even though they were all fully sitting in the shade, he prodded verbally “what about your black coffee, Mitsukuni-san?”

Mori kept pushing the cleaning rag over a now polished strip of an already spotless table and watched intently. “Mitsukuni” he thought to himself. “A nice name. And… I feel like I know it?”

Mitsukuni tried to not lament the inevitable ruination of his surprisingly edible, nay delicious, croissant. He reached for his cup and brought it closer. Holding his breath, so as not to overpower his sense of taste, he sipped delicately. Yasuchika grinned.

“Why it is perfectly tasty, brother! As usual, I mean.” Mitsukuni smiled, practically florid.

Yasuchika was caught between doubt and relief. His alien brother had so obviously hated giving up sweet things this past month. How could anyone go from entire cakes to once piece of (albeit very nice) plain bread? And from the most syrupy, whipped cream-bedecked drinks to black coffee? It was an unprecendented transformation. But on the other hand, Yasuchika felt accomplished. He had singlehandedly pressured his older brother to reform his ways. It was for the best, obviously. What sort of dojo is led by someone who would do anything for a chocolate bar? The lack of self control was shameful.

The other three guys were completely oblivious to the intimate details of sugary drama. They had simply thought it would be a good idea to bring their sensei to the only place they had seen him happy in recent memory, as part of a quiet campaign to improve the captain’s mood. Practice had gotten shockingly intense this past week, and, if they were to survive next week they needed their sensei to ease off a touch. Not that they could EVER say so to his face.

Mori checked that Mitsukuni was happily enjoying his hot chocolate and pastry, and that Yasuchika remained none the wiser. Satisfied, he decided the table’s newly worn hole was deep enough and turned back to his work behind the service counter. Haruhi winked and said nothing.

---

It was almost another week before Mitsukuni came back to the patisserie. Mori had been more patient this time. He felt firmly confident that Mitsukuni would find his way back when he was ready.

And his patience was rewarded, in a way.

Mitsukuni staggered in, after dark and only twenty minutes before closing. His eyes were bleary and his countenance groggy and listless. Mitsukuni, usually so sprightly and upright, dragged his bookbag on the ground and pulled up to the duck-watching table. Mori wasn’t sure what to do. Hand the man a hot chocolate as usual? Or… ask how he was doing???

Mori decided to walk over and offer some direct, compassionate human interaction. “Good evening,” he said, simply.

Mitsukuni looked up, with dark circles under his eyes.

He slammed his hand on the table, which startled Mori for but a moment, and said “I wanna shot!”

“...” said Mori.

“Of chocolate syrup, I mean. Like, a couple pumps in an espresso glass.”

Mori left and came back in an inhumanly fast turnaround with exactly that, and offered the teeny glass full of viscous sugary syrup to Mitsukuni, who promptly sucked it down and smacked the glass upside down on the table. “Another!” he garbled.

Mori didn’t remember grabbing the entire syrup bottle, but it was in his hand already. He decided not to think too hard about that and just left the entire thing on the table and walked away, back to cleaning up behind the counter for the night.

Well after the shop closed, with most of the lights off, save for the one over the register, Mori was done closing with one exception. Mitsukuni was finishing the last of the chocolate syrup. He had perked up considerably, and was now waving his arms animatedly, talking fast about his troubles.

“And Chika-chan comes up to me, and says, you know what he says?” Mori did not know. “He says that real men don’t like sweet things! He tells me I won’t be able to get any respect from my men if I keep eating midnight cakes and carrying candies in my pockets!”

Mori assumed Chika-chan must be the grumpy boy in glasses from the other day. He couldn’t say he liked him, particularly. Or, to be more precise, he didn’t like anyone who dared tell Mitsukuni that his respectability was dependent on having “appropriate” and “masculine” interests.

Mitsukuni blurted out a final exclamation of “Chika doesn’t have the balls to talk shit about Usa-chan, though!” and he… passed out.

Mori didn’t know who this Usa-chan was, but he did know that the shop was closed and that Mitsukuni needed to go home. But where was home?

He decided to try something. He looked up the name “Mitsukuni” along with the words “Bunkyo ward” and “dojo.” The search results were conveniently helpful, offering a website that encouraged serious karate students to sign up under the tutelage of Haninozuka Mitskuni.

“Oh. He is really that Haninozuka,” Mori thought to himself. Ages ago, there had been a falling out between their families. Once a close bond through fealty and eventually marriage and bloodline between the Haninozuka and the Morinozuka families, had been broken a couple generations back. The stories we still told, the wounds still fresh. Mori hadn’t even thought about them as “real” since they had become more of a background radiation to his life than a pressing influence. Until today, that is.

He grabbed the leather book bag and slung it over his shoulder, and then picked Mitsukuni up gingerly. Mitsukuni remained unconscious, a few smears of chocolate around his mouth. A legendary sugar crash.

Mori locked up the shop, without even having to put the boy down. He walked towards the Haninozuka family dojo, which was close by.

The lights were on. It was fairly quiet on the grounds. Only once voice was shouting from inside the dojo training hall as they practiced the forms.

Mori called out. “Excuse me. I have your sensei.”

A surprised face poked out. It was Yasuchika. “My… sensei? Oh, you mean my brother, Mitsukuni.” He looked suspiciously at Mori. “Who are you? What did you do to him?”

“I work at the French pastry shop up the street. I didn’t do anything, he was just very very tired.”

Mori purposefully “forgot” to mention his name. And he didn’t want to stick around to find out what Yasuchika really thought of him, especially with their families at odds.

Instead, he gently deposited Mitsukuni’s slumbering form on a training mat and put the book bag down next to him. Mori looked into his calm, round face and committed it to memory. Then he issued a quick departing bow and turned away, leaving the compound. He didn’t look back with his eyes, but a small part of him looked forward with his heart, in a complicated way.

He couldn’t shake that, despite it all, he still wanted to see this Haninozuka back at his patisserie and cafe. He walked home, tired.

[miswaken]

excerpts from House of Leaves that I just think are neat + inform my portrayal of Alice

---------------------------------

      Of course, [Will] Navidson’s pastoral take on his family’s move hardly reflects the far more complicated and significant impetus behind the project -- namely his foundering relationship with longtime companion Karen Green. While both have been perfectly content not to marry, Navidson’s constant assignments abroad have lead to increased alienation and untold personal difficulties. After nearly eleven years of constant departures and brief returns, Karen has made it clear that Navidson must either give up his professional habits or lose his family. Ultimately unable to make this choice, he compromises by turning reconciliation into a subject for documentation.

      None of this, however, is immediately apparent. In fact it requires some willful amnesia of the more compelling sequences ahead, if we are to detect the subtle valences operating between Will and Karen; or as Donna York phrased it, “the way they talk to each other, they way they look after each other, and of course the way they don’t.”

-------------------------------

      In the living room, Navidson discovers the echoes emanating from a dark doorless hallway whish has appeared out of nowhere in the west wall. Without hesitating, Navidson plunges in after them. Unfortunately the living room Hi 8 cannot follow him nor for that matter can Karen. She freezes on the threshold, unable to push herself into the darkness towards the faint flicker of light within...

      This is the first sign of Karen’s chronic disability. Up until now there has never been even the slightest indication that she suffers from crippling claustrophobia. By the time Navidson and the two children are safe and sound in the living room, Karen is drenched in sweat.

--------------------------------

      Navidson was no longer around, except of course Karen still saw him every day and in a way she had never seen him before -- not as a projection of her own insecurities and demons but just as Will Navidson, in flickering light, flung up by a 16mm projector on a paint-white wall.

-----------------------------------

      Leslie Stern, M.D.: More importantly Karen, what does it mean to you?

      Funny how out of this impressive array of modern day theorists, scientists, writers, and others, it is Karen’s therapist who asks, or rather forces, the most significant question. Thanks to her, Karen goes on to fashion another short piece in which she, surprisingly enough, never mentions the house, let alone any of the comments made by the glitterati.

      It is an extraordinary twist. Not once are those multiplying hallways ever addressed. Not once does Karen dwell on their darkness and cold. She produces six minutes of film that has absolutely nothing to do with that place. Instead her eye (and her heart) turn to what matters most to her about Ash Tree Lane; what in her own words... “that wicked place stole from me.”

      ...Karen gives her piece the somewhat faltering title A Brief History Of Who I Love...

-------------------------------

      There are only 8,160 frames in Karen’s film and yet they serve as a perfect counterpoint to that infinite stretch of hallways, rooms and stairs. The house is empty, her piece is full. The house is dark, her film glows. A growl haunts that place, her place is blessed by Charlie Parker. On Ash Tree Lane stands a house of darkness, cold, and emptiness. In 16mm stands a house of light, love, and colour.

      By following her heart, Karen made sense of what that place was not. She also discovered what she needed more than anything else. She stopped seeing Fowler, cut off questionable liaisons with other suitors, and while her mother talked of breaking up, selling the house, and settlements, Karen began to prepare herself for reconciliations.

      Of course she had no idea what that would entail.

      Or how far she would have to go.

-----------------------------

      “He’s still alive,” she tells Reston over the phone. “I heard him last night. I couldn’t understand what he said. But I know I heard his voice.”

      Reston arrives the next day and stays until midnight, never hearing a thing. He seems more than a little concerned about Karen’s mental health.

      “If he is still in there Karen,” Reston says quietly. “He’s been there for over a month. I can’t see how there’s any way he could survive.”

      But a few hours after Reston leaves, Karen smiles again, apparently catching somewhere inside her the faint voice of Navidson. This happens over and over again, whether late at night or in the middle of the day. Sometimes Karen calls out to him, sometimes she just wanders from room to room, pushing her ear against walls or floors. Then on the afternoon of May 10th, she finds in the children’s bedroom, born out of nowhere, Navidson’s clothes, remnants of his pack and sleeping bag, and scattered across the floor, from corner to corner, cartridges of film, boxes of 16mm, and easily a dozen video tapes.

      She immediately calls Reston and tells him what has happened, asking him to drive over as soon as he can. Then she locates an AC adapter, plugs in a Hi 8 and begins rewinding one of the newly discovered tapes.

      The angle from the room mounted camcorder does not provide a view of her Hi 8 screen. Only Karen’s face is visible. Unfortunately, for some reason, she is also slightly out of focus. In fact the only thing in focus is the wall behind her where some of Daisy and Chad’s drawings still hang. The shot lasts an uncomfortable fifteen seconds, until abruptly that immutable surface disappears. In less than a blink, the white wall along with the drawings secured with yellowing scotch tape vanishes into an inky black.

      Since Karen faces the opposite direction, she fails to notice the change. Instead her attention remains fixed on the Hi 8 which has just finished rewinding the tape. But even as she pushes play, the yawn of dark does not waver. In fact it almost seems to be waiting for her, for the moment when she will finally divert her attention from the tiny screen and catch sight of the horror looming up behind her, which is of course exactly what she does when she finds out that the video tape shows...

-----------------------------

      nothing more now than the mere dark. The tape is blank.

      Finally when Karen does turn around to discover the real emptiness waiting behind her, she does not scream. Instead her chest heaves, powerless for a moment to take anything in or expel anything out. Oddly enough as she starts to retreat from the children’s bedroom, it almost looks as if something catchers her attention. A few minutes later, she returns with a halogen flashlight and steps towards the edge.

      Hanan Jabara suggests Karen heard something, though there is nothing even remotely like a sound on the Hi 8. Carlos Ellsberg agrees with Jabara: “Karen stops because of something she hears.” Only he qualifies this statement by adding, “the sound is obviously imagined. Another example of how the mind, any mind, consistently seeks to impose itself upon the abyss.”

      As everyone knows, Karen stands there on the brink for several minutes, pointing her flashlight into the darkness and calling out for Navidson. When she finally does step inside, she takes no deep breath and makes no announcement. She just steps forward and disappears behind the black curtain. A second later that cold hollow disappears too, replaced by the wall, exactly as it was before, except for one thing: all the children’s drawings are gone.

      Karen’s action inspired Paul Auster to conjure up a short internal monologue tracing the directions of her thoughts. Donna Tartt also wrote an inventive portrayal of Karen’s dilemma. Except in Tartt’s version, instead of stepping into darkness, Karen returns to New York and marries a wealthy magazine publisher. Purportedly there even exists an opera based on The Navidson Record, written from Karen’s perspective, with this last step into the void serving as the subject for the final aria. 

      Whatever ultimately allows Karen to overcome her fears, there is little doubt her love for Navidson is the primary catalyst. Her desire to embrace him as she has never done before defeats the memories of that dark well... In this moment, she displays the restorative power of what Erich Fromm terms the development of “symbiotic relationships” through personal courage.

      Critic Guyon Keller argues that the role of vision is integral to Karen’s success:

I believe Karen could never have crossed that line had she not first made those two remarkable cinematic moment: What Some Have Thought and A Brief History Of Who I Love. By relearning to see Navidson, she saw what he wasn’t and consequently began to see herself much more clearly.

      Esteemed Italian translator Sophia Blynn takes Keller’s comments a little further:

The most important light Karen carried into that place was the memory of Navidson. And Navidson was no different. Though it’s commonly assumed his last [recorded] word was “care” or the start of “careful,” I would argue differently. I believe this utterance is really just the first syllable of the very name on which his mind and his heart had finally come to rest. His only hope, his only meaning: “Karen.”

      Regardless of what finally enabled her to walk across that threshold, forty-nine minutes later a neighbor saw Karen crying on the front lawn, a pink ribbon in her hair, Navidson cradled in her lap.

------------------------------------------

      As to what happened after Karen disappeared from view, the only existing account comes from a short interview conducted by a college journalist from William & Mary:

Karen: As soon as I walked in there, I started shivering. It was so cold and dark. I turned around to see where I was but where I’d come from was gone. I started hyperventilating. I couldn’t breathe. I was going to die. But somehow I managed to keep moving. I kept putting one foot in front of the other until I found him.

Q: You knew he was there?

Karen: No, but that’s what I was thinking. And then he was there, right at my feet, no clothes on and all curled up. His hand was white as ice. [She holds back the tears.] When I saw him like that it didn’t matter anymore where I was. I’d never felt that, well, free before.

[Long pause]

Q: What happened then?

Karen: I held him. He was alive. He made a sound when I cradled his head in my arms. I couldn’t understand what he was saying at first but then I realized the flashlight was hurting his eyes. So I turned it off and held him in the darkness.

[Another long pause]

Q: How did you get him out of the house?

Karen: It just dissolved.

Q: Dissolved? What do you mean?

Karen: Like a ad dream. We were in pitch blackness and then I saw, no... actually my eyes were closed. I felt this warm, sweet air on my face, and then I opened my eyes and I could see trees and grass. I thought to myself, “We’ve died. We’ve died and this is where you go after you die.” But it turned out to be just our front yard.

Q: You’re saying the house dissolved?

Karen: [No response]

Q: How’s that possible? It’s still there, isn’t it?

END OF INTERVIEW

--------------

      In Passion for Pity and Other Recipes For Disaster (London: Greenhill Books, 1996) Helmut Muir cried: “They both live. They even get married. It’s a happy ending.”

      Which is true. Both Karen and Will Navidson survive their ordeal and they do exchange conjugal vows in Vermont. Of course, is it really possible to look at Navidson’s ravaged face, the patch covering his left eye, the absence of a hand, the crutch wedged under his armpit, and call it a “happy” ending? Even putting aside the physical cost, what about the unseen emotional trauma which Muir so casually dismisses?

      The Navidsons may have left the house, they may have even left Virginia, but they will never be able to leave the memory of that place.

[jeanmarcraconteur]

A little game you can play on your own or with astrology minded friends: Pick up randomly two lists of key words associated with planets, and imagine sentences including words belonging to the two lists. It's fun, creative, and a good way to learn about aspects.... 

Key words. 

Moon:  childhood - mother - child - home - roots - belonging - country - emotions -imagination - memory - sensitivity - emotional needs - physical needs - care - food - fertility - instinct - psychic - - tradition - the past - Water - Cancer - 4th House

Sun: self - higher self - heart - love - romance- ego -pride -self expression - goals - will power - call - father- role model - creativity - authority - king - center of attention -generosity - performance - arts - high standards - luxury - children (as our creations) - education (because teaching is performing and it taking care of our children) Fire - Leo - 5th house 

Mercury through Gemini: mind - communication - talking - trade - adaptation - multiplicity - exchanges - information - messenger - common sense - - intelligence - thinking-  young man, brother - nervous system - lungs -  - speed - school - student - learning - rational mind - mobility - small journeys -  Air - Gemini - 3rd house 

Mercury through Virgo: practical sense - rational mind - science - professional life - skills - sense of organization - service - chores - critical thinking - work - health - medicine - routine - rhythm - rituals - intestines - details - small animals - Earth - Virgo - 6th house 

Venus esp. through Libra: love - lovers - harmony - balance - art - fashion -couple - relationships - rartnerships - justice - good taste - pleasing -flirting - charming - sympathy - diplomacy - feelings - the other - kindness - hips -kidneys - young women - sister - Air - Libra - Seventh house 

Venus esp. through Taurus: love - sensuality - attraction - enjoyment - values - money - self worth - pleasure of the senses - attachements - possessions - -throat - voice - nature, gardens, fairies.  

Mars: doing - ego -assertiveness - persona - energy - courage - fight -agression - action -leader - male desire - lover -knight.  go get it! Passion. Impulsivity sport - competion - initiative - starts - birth - individualism-accidents - muscles -blood -inflamations. Fire - Aries - First House 

Jupiter. luck - growth -expansion - organisation - generosity - optimism, abundance - taking risks - olympic games - social integration - laws - moral principles - knowledge - wisdom - authority - faith - great journeys - meeting strangers - big picture - meaning of life - teaching - coherence - unity - a mature man - doctor - bishop - lawyer - expert -liver - religion or spirituality -  prayer -god - Fire or Air (here there is an ambiguity as Jupiter is usually considered an Air planet and Sagittarius a Fire sign. Never mind!) Sagittarius - 9th house

Saturn structure - boundaries - limits - fear - long term - resistance - old age - time - restrictions - inhibitions - ambition - efforts - discipline - authority - rigor - austerity - responsibility - social status - reputation -  career - reliability - summit of the mountain - hermit - old man - bones and skin - philosophy - moral principles - duty - stern authority - Earth - Capricorn - tenth house  NB: Strangely enough, the tenth house also signifies "mother" However, if we think of it, our mother is, from the beginning of our life, not only the one who takes care and feeds us, but also the one who gives us structure and limits, punish at times and frustrates our whims... 

 Uranus: hyper mind - plans - future - visions - friends - groups - co operatives - revolutions -institutions -  sudden and unexpected change - insights - break through - break up - intuition - politics - citizenship - ideas - ideals - projects - avant guard - difference - individuality - awakener - eccentric gentlemen - scientist - genius - channeling Fire (for the planet) but Air (for the sign) Aquarius - 11th house 

Neptune: no boundaries - sensitivity - inspiration - mysticism - compassion - empathy - psychic gifts - mediumship - return to unity - ocean - unstability - channeling - charity - art - music - pictures - illusions - dreams - haze - absence - dissolution - addiction - depression - mental health - universality - mystery -hidden things - spirituality - great trials - secrets Water - Pisces - 12th house

Pluto: crisis - destruction and regeneration - death - rebirth - sex - instincts - power - tribal law - financial flows - inheritance - reptilian brain - intensity - flair - research - emotional intensity - resistance - minerals - psychic gifts - mediumship (talking with the dead) - detective - thriller - underground - forensic expert - psychoanalyst - shaman

[studiopeachz]

Task Brainstorm & Research

What am I passionate about?

Food

Cultures

Traveling

Music

tattoos/illustrations/designs

art/painting/drawing

Mental health

Self discovering/acceptance/explorations/expressions

What do you wish more people understood?

I wish people understood more about the different forms of self expression through different ways such as art, design, fashion, literature, etc. 

I wish people understood more about human rights, or general personal choices without judgement

What do you feel strongly about?

I feel strongly about self love and acceptance because the factors of accepting ourselves can be hard but can make us flourish, and gives us opportunities to express how we feel 

What makes you feel good?

Art in different forms makes me feel good has it drives my curiosity to learn and dig deeper for meaningful things

Beauty and self acceptance, embracing our imperfections

Wise words/sayings that inspire and impact me and others in a positive way

What makes me unhappy?

As an empathetic person, I feel unhappy for the one who also feels unhappy or any certain unstable emotions.

Making mistakes also make me upset as it is hard to admit our own wrong doings

Stereotypes, because it gives us an invalid label to individuals which do not define us as a whole

I don’t like when people judge you right away without knowing you

If you could fix something, what would it be?

I would want to fix the past mistakes i have done, wishing i could of done better

I would of want to fix the moments that I wish i could of done or fulfilled which leads to present regrets

What would you like to see in the future?

I would like to see everyone in the world to be kinder, and more understanding towards each other as it gives opportunities to get to know individuals truly, without having to judge them right away.

I would also like to see people normalizing natural and imperfect things and different creations of forms of self expression without any judgement, but curiosity instead. 

What would you like to shine a light on?

I would like to raise awareness about the beauty of differences and self expression, even in peculiar artistic ways

What do you see that others don’t see?

As an optimistic person, I like to see the good in everything, therefore I have this willingness to listen and to understand situations, stories, and journeys of others.

I find the most imperfect things to be beautiful. 

Things about Gen Z

https://www.livingfacts.org/en/articles/2020/meet-gen-z 

https://danschawbel.com/blog/39-of-the-most-interesting-facts-about-generation-z/ 

Demographics

Gen Zers are also the most diverse generation. Research by the Center determined that nearly half (48%) of 6- to 21-year-old Gen Zers are racial or ethnic minorities, compared with 39% of Millennials in that age bracket in 2002 and more than double the percentage of early Baby Boomers in 1968.

Attitudes

In many instances, the youngest generation’s views follow Millennials’ social attitudes, and are in stark contrast to the oldest group, the Silent Generation, with Baby Boomers and Gen Xers falling in the middle.

For example, 70% of Gen Zers say government should do more to solve societal problems, rather than leaving it to businesses and individuals. By comparison, 64% of Millennials and only 39% of Silents say government should do more. Similarly, roughly 6 in 10 Gen Zers and Millennials say increasing racial and ethnic diversity is good for society, compared with about 4 in 10 Silents.

Gen Z’s as consumers 

55% of Gen Z would rather buy clothes online and 53% would rather buy books and electronics online. [JWT]

Their favorite items to spend money on are food and drink (36%), going out with friends (32%) and clothes (18%). [Visa]

66% want to own both houses and cars in their lifetimes. [Deep Focus]

Gen Z’s most used tech devices are the smartphone (15.4 hours/week), TV (13.2 hours/week) and a laptop (10.6 hours/week). [Vision Critical]

50% would look on their phone to look for a better price while shopping at a retail store. [Gen HQ]

63% are concerned when it comes to protecting their identity when paying with a debit or credit card online or in a retail store. [Gen HQ]

Gen Z values

76% are concerned about man’s impact on the planet. [JWT]

79% of display symptoms of emotional distress when kept away from their personal electronic devices. [University of Maryland]

90% would be upset if they had to give up their Internet connection while only 51% would give up eating out and 56% would give up downloading music. [JWT]

84% multitask with an Internet-connected device while watching TV. [Forrester Research]

They have more than 10 apps on their smartphone with 10% having more than 40. [Visa]

60% of Gen Zs say “a lot of money” is a sign of success. [Deep Focus]

What are some general Gen Z issues/behaviours/values: 

Social anxiety (mental health)

Racial equality

Gender identity

Self esteem

Political and social issues

Technology/ social media content

Personal beliefs and values in comparison to older generations 

Speaking up/inner voice

Stress response

Optimistic attitude “it is what it is”

Three Campaign Ideas relatable to Gen Z demographic In Aotearoa:

(self expression)

gender identity / fashion & style / art & design / illustration / ink / skin art - tattoos

(self acceptance & confidence)

Body Image & Positivity / cultural roots / growth / well-being / 

(cultural diversity)

Culture / tradition / ethnicity / foundation / 

Research Gen z with self expression, self acceptance, and cultural diversity

WHAT DOES SELF-EXPRESSION REALLY MEAN TO GEN Z?https://www.havaspeople.com/project/what-does-self-expression-really-mean-to-gen-z/ 

We always knew that Gen Z would be distinctive. They are the first true digital natives, and grew up during times of uncertainty (the wake of the last financial crisis and Brexit in the UK). But over the last year the identity of this generation has been further shaped in a profound way as some of their most formative years are taking place against the backdrop of a global pandemic, with the significant interruptions that has wrought to school, university, and early working lives, as well as social connections. Gen Z were on the precipice of progress when COVID hit “pause” on life. And yet many Gen Zers are emerging as resilient, energized, and eager to express themselves and have their voices heard.

Rinsta (real) and Finsta (fake) social media accounts, often to keep certain aspects of their life hidden from family, potential employers, and others outside of their close social circles). Yet – on the whole – they trust the technology brands and platforms themselves.

69% of Gen Z believe that brands should make their stance on social and political issues known publicly. I believe this is what Gen Z mean by brand authenticity. 

showing us that authenticity does not just mean having a clear point of view, but also using your clout as a brand to share and amplify the causes that matter to you. 

showing your own alignment with the purpose and intent of a brand. Gen Z see the brands who they follow, ‘like’, and buy as a personal reflection of them as individuals, which is why they are prepared to pay more for brands that they believe support sustainability. If that’s how profoundly Gen Zers believe the impact of their consumer choices can affect the way they express themselves, it stands to reason that this will cut even deeper with regard to career choices, which is one of the reasons

This seems an important aspect of self-expression. Gen Z share a willingness to discuss issues in an open reflective way, and to seek out different opinions, which is one reason social channels are increasingly viewed as credible sources of news. To give another example, Gen Z are more comfortable talking about mental health issues than previous generations. While this can be attributed in part to the overall rise in awareness and acceptance of mental health issues over the last fifteen years, it is a noticeable shift from previous generations.

https://extremereach.com/blog/for-gen-z-consumption-is-about-self-expression/ “Consumption for this generation is an expression of individual identity.”

“Some people are angry and resentful because they feel like their voice isn’t heard, so clothing is a space where they can be self-governed.”

They’re experiencing brands in every corner of their online life and so these same “brands need to beware this generation’s discernment because they have a bloodhound-like nose for inauthenticity.”

We’ve been more empowered than ever, so why are Gen-Z the least confident generation yet? https://www.glamourmagazine.co.uk/article/gen-z-least-confident-generation 

Indeed, statistics show that, instead of a defining feeling of hope among Gen Z, there is a groaning sense of pessimism - of hopelessness. Long running research from University College London, revealed earlier this year that depression levels are two-thirds higher than millennials. The study found 14.8 per cent of 14-year-olds in 2015 said they were depressed, compared to 9 per cent in 2005. While 14.4 per cent of young people said they had self-harmed, compared to 11.8 per cent a decade ago.

“I feel like Gen Z and millennials occupy a really interesting place in politics,” says Nogia, 20 “- we’ve only known austerity, we’ve only know casual work, we’ve only know life long sentences of debt for getting an education and we’re living in an age of populism and hatred in politics.”

So, is this having a detrimental effect on a generation’s mental health and personal confidence? Pretty much.

Youth Engagement Officer at YoungMinds, “Young people today have to navigate a huge range of pressures, from school or university stress, to worries over their career and housing prospects, to the rise of social media, which can make problems like bullying or body image issues more intense than they were in the past.”

Social media is - predictably - a major cause of generational anxiety. Not only is it connecting us to the world’s most depressing news stories, it is also connecting us to a plethora of airbrushed, Facetuned accounts making us feel terrible about ourselves. No wonder confidence is low.

Gen Z demands more diversity and inclusion from brands https://www.campaignlive.com/article/gen-z-demands-diversity-inclusion-brands/1705491 

Gen Zers made clear throughout the study that they want brands to step up their efforts around representation. For example, 76% of Gen Zers said they feel diversity and inclusion is an important topic for brands to address, compared to 72% of millennials, 63% of Gen Xers and 46% of Baby Boomers who felt the same.

“Consumers don't want to see brands making an effort to be inclusive just for means of publicity,” said Jenna Stearns, researcher at quantilope and lead on the report. “They want to see something that's authentic and consistent.”

But brands that resonate most with Gen Z consumers are consistent in their support of social justice. Target, for example, has been vocal around LGBTQIA awareness and Pride month for years, said Steph Rand, senior research consultant at quantilope. 

“These brands are rising to the top because they are sustaining and consistently making [these issues] a priority, either in their communications or around the content they produce,” Rand said.

Responses regarding representation also varied by race, gender and sexual orientation. Individuals responded they feel their gender is more represented in mainstream media (70% male; 66% female) and brand advertising (71% male; 68% female) than their sexual orientation or ethnicity.

In 2021, consumers hope to see more individuals with disabilities represented in advertising and media, as well as more authentic PR backed up by action.

Integrated Awareness Campaign Examples:

Self Expression Campaign example: https://www.lsnglobal.com/youth/article/24865/a-kombucha-campaign-that-celebrates-self-expression 

Los Angeles – Health-Ade Kombucha’s latest campaign targets a new generation of health-conscious drinkers.

The campaign, You Brew You, introduces the brand’s new flavour and packaging concepts, as well celebrating the popularisation of kombucha. Diverging from traditional drinks advertising, it features a series of young models in bright clothing with colourful, neon-lit backdrops.

While kombucha brands tend to communicate in a way that focuses on health, wellness and fitness activities such as yoga, Health-Ade Kombucha is on a mission to change the image of the beverage and target a new generation of digitally-native consumers.

As the younger generation look to the future and consider how drinking impacts their health, they are turning towards soft drinks with additional health benefits. For more, explore the insight section of our macrotrend Anxiety Rebellion.

Self love/acceptance Campaign Example: https://fredandfar.com/blogs/ff-blog/banksy-made-me-do-it-transforming-everyday-ads-into-self-love-campaigns 

This stunt can have multiple meanings, as Banksy often uses his art to comment on such structures as capitalism, power imbalances, and corruption. 

Wrapped up in the Banksy frenzy ourselves, we started questioning art and its subjective worth. What makes art valuable? What qualifies as art? In what way can art be used or manipulated to impact our everyday lives? We live in a world saturated by advertisements, media and marketing targeting and manipulating us to be passive consumers. Thinking about what we are subjected to daily by multimillion dollar companies is eye opening, as is Banksy’s take on copyright laws and advertising.

Banksy urges, “any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It's yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.”

So let’s take back the power. We got the ball rolling by taking some campaigns and slogans you might recognize, and turning them into campaigns for self love and acceptance.

Join us by creating your own better slogan and use the hashtag #banksymademedoit. What we need is more self love in the world. Let’s saturate the world with our mission.

Cultural Diversity Campaign Example: https://www.refuelagency.com/blog/examples-of-brands-who-got-multicultural-marketing-right/ 

Rihanna’s brand, Fenty, is all but synonymous with authentic inclusive marketing, created on the foundation that everyone woman is beautiful and should feel included. In 2017, Fenty Beauty launched 40 shades of foundation, and that has since grown to 50. Chaédria LaBouvier wrote in Allure that Fenty Beauty’s sheer number of foundation colors is “a statement that women of color deserve complex options”. 

Rihanna shared that, “It’s important to me that every woman feel included in this brand.” Once this campaign launched, it had a ripple effect called “The Fenty Effect”, a movement calling for brands to challenge the status quo in advertising.

[longgae]

How to win every sexist argument (11 points)

1. Women are equal now, aren’t they? Surely we no longer need feminism. 

As long as 85,000 women are raped every year and 400,000 sexually assaulted in England and Wales alone, it’s hard to argue that there isn’t a problem. Not to mention the fact that fewer than 1/3 of our MPs are female, that women write only 1/5 front page newspaper articles, that they’re less than 1/10 of engineers and that 54,000 a year lose their jobsas a result of maternity discrimination… to name but a tiny sample of issues. It’s not ‘going too far’ to demand equality, and we’re certainly not there yet.

2. Women are biologically more empathetic, so they should be the primary caregivers.

As girls are given dollies and pushchairs while little boys are frowned upon for picking them up; while men are ‘congratulated’ for occasionally ‘babysitting’ their own children and women are castigated for daring to combine motherhood and career; while baby changing facilities are provided in women’s toilets but rarely in the men’s, is it any wonder we tend to take on the roles society stereotypically pushes on us when it comes to caregiving?

3. If it’s really about equality why is it called ‘feminism’ not ‘equalism’ or ‘humanism’?

It’s not secretly about women taking over the world or hating men (just look up the definition of feminism in the dictionary if you don’t believe me). Yes, it really is about achieving equality, but to get there, we have to recognise that while gender stereotypes can have negative impacts on men as well, the vast majority of structural gender inequality: socially, politically, professionally and economically, as well as the overwhelming burden of sexual violence is disproportionately borne by women. That’s why the ‘fem’ part is in there - because in order to achieve that end goal of equality it is a very gendered oppression primarily affecting women that needs to be tackled.

4. How can you be a feminist and like pink/make-up/high heels?

Because feminism doesn’t mean hating pink, make-up and high heels! It means believing that everybody should be treated equally regardless of their sex. Which happens to include the right to wear whatever you want, for your own reasons, without being forced or pressured into wearing what’s considered societally required because of your sex. 

5. If you don’t want to get raped don’t dress like a slut/like that.

Rape is about power and control, not attraction or sex. The idea that men ‘lose control’ around a woman in a short skirt is insulting to men, completely relieves perpetrators of responsibility, and erases and ignores male victims.Women of all ages in countries around the world are raped at all different times of day, in different circumstances, wearing all different kinds of clothing (including in countries where the majority of women wear completely covering clothing). The one thing they all have in common? They came into contact with a rapist. So logically by far the most effective way to tackle rape is to focus on rapists - both by prevention and education, and by fully placing the blame and responsibility with perpetrators.

6. But men have problems, too…

The idea that feminism is a ‘battle of the sexes’ about blaming all men and setting up a ‘gender war’ is a handy, controversial media hook. But it doesn’t reflect reality. A huge amount of what feminists are fighting for would have major positive impact for men as well as women. Take the male suicide rate, for example. In part, the problem arises from the idea that men are tough and manly, that ‘boys don’t cry’ and it’s embarrassing for them to talk about their feelings. So men are less likely to reach out for help and support with mental health issues. But that gender stereotype, which exists alongside the converse notion that women are over-emotional, ‘hysterical’, or ‘hormonal’, is one feminists are fighting hard to debunk. Meanwhile, if there’s a specific ‘male’ issue you think is really important and overlooked… why not start a campaign about it?

7. How can you argue for quotas when the best person should get the job?

If you think quotas mean the best person not getting the job, you have to believe that the best person always gets the job at the moment. Do you really believe there are more than three times more men named John qualified to lead FTSE 100 companies in the UK than all the women put together? All the 32 MILLION women combined? Just statistically, that doesn’t make sense. So you have to recognise that there’s already a system of unofficial discrimination in place - just one that we’re not talking about - and this is what positive action seeks to try and correct. Nobody thinks quotas are a great win for women - the win would be removing the discrimination and inequality that creates under-representation in the first place. But in the short term, alongside other measures, they can be an effective way to make progress happen faster.

8. Not all men are sexists, what’s it got to do with me?

Protesting against sexism doesn’t mean saying that all men are actively sexist. But if that’s your first response, you’re probably making the conversation about yourself, which isn’t particularly helpful. While not all men are sexist, all women face the impact of sexism in some way, so the point is there’s a massive problem to be solved, and you can be a big part of the solution. That doesn’t just mean not being sexist, it means speaking out, educating other men, objecting when you witness workplace discrimination, stepping in when you see street harassment, supporting women’s campaigns and much more. We can’t create a shift in normalized attitudes and behaviors without everybody on board, so not being sexist isn’t enough - get stuck in and start tackling sexism too.

9. The gender pay gap is a myth propagated by feminists.

It’s true that the gender pay gap is complicated. It’s true that it is very slowly getting smaller. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It would have to be a pretty HUGE conspiracy for every reputable major news outlet to report on it annually if it was a massive feminist lie. The argument goes that the pay gap only exists because of women’s ‘choices’ of work type, hours, and child related career breaks, effectively making it a myth. But research shows that while those are factors, they don’t account for the whole gap, suggesting that discrimination certainly plays a role as well. What’s more, the fact that traditionally ‘female’ jobs are paid less, that women end up working part-time because they’re societally pressured into caring roles, and that having children has a negative impact on women’s wages but a positive impact on men’s, are all problems that should deeply concern us, not ‘explanations’ that can be happily accepted. Add in the extra issues that women perform the vast majority of unpaid caring and domestic labour; that women of color earn significantly less than white women; and that women also bear the hugely disproportionate burden of austerity cuts and you have a very gendered economic problem that is complex, yes, but certainly not imaginary.

10. Why make such a fuss about X when Y is so much more important?

Do you ever ask anyone else this? Do you accuse a pancreatic cancer charity of not dealing with multiple sclerosis? Do you think the police should stop investigating fraud until they’ve solved every murder? Turns out, this ‘whatabboutery’ is a classic way of silencing women when you don’t like what they’re fighting for. Don’t panic, feminists are quite capable of fighting multiple battles at once! To say ‘how can you make a fuss about street harassment when there’s sexual violence’ sounds suspiciously like saying ‘think yourself lucky if a man follows you shouting about your breasts in the street because at least he isn’t assaulting you.’ In the 21st Century, I’d like to think women have the right to live lives free of both sexual violence and daily harassment, as well as any other form of inequality. Is that really too much to ask?

11. What’s wrong with catcalling? Can’t you take a compliment?

A compliment makes someone feel good about themselves. A catcall is harassment. The vast majority of men are perfectly capable of distinguishing between the two. Telling someone you know (regardless of gender) that they are a good friend, or look nice today, or bake a mean lasagne, is quite different from screaming ‘TITS’ at a woman from a moving car. Is this really so hard to understand? If your compliments are making women feel uncomfortable, scared, anxious, annoyed or harassed, you’re probably not doing it right.

Credit: https://www.stylist.co.uk/people/feminism/how-to-win-a-feminist-argument-laura-bates-women-sexism/10687

[lastsonlost]

NO SHIT SHERLOCK!

What fucking took you so long!

The story: ALSO- spoiler warning

Midway through a screening of Joker this weekend at a Chicago theater, I leaned over to a friend seated next to me and whispered: “Is this the same movie that everyone has been talking about?”

I asked because what I was witnessing on-screen bore little resemblance to the ode to angry, young, white, “incel” men that I had heard so much about in media coverage of Joker leading up to its release. Instead, we got a fairly straightforward condemnation of American austerity: how it leaves the vulnerable to suffer without the resources they need, and the horrific consequences for the rest of society that can result.

This message is so blunt that even I, a Marxist and philistine, found its message a bit too clobbering. How mainstream commentators have missed it and drawn the exact opposite conclusion is baffling.

Arthur Fleck, the protagonist and eventual Joker, is a poor, young, white, mentally ill man who works as a clown and seems to enjoy it. In the film’s opening scene, he is beaten up by a rowdy group of teenagers, some of whom appear to be teens of color..

Watching this opening, I thought, here it is: in the very first scene, teenagers running wild on the streets of New York City, a classic rightwing trope in American cinema depicting a society (and its racialized underclass, in particular) that is out of control. We’ll soon be told it needs to be reined in by some old-fashioned law and order and cracking of skulls.

Yet in the locker room of the clown agency, when a coworker calls the teens “animals” and “savages”, Arthur explicitly rejects dehumanizing the teens. “They’re just kids,” he responds. Bruises visible on his body – a body for which Joaquin Phoenix lost 52 pounds ahead of filming, with a disturbingly protruding spine and ribs, that is physically ravaged by the austerity-racked society Arthur lives in, wasting away in front of our eyes – he defends his assailants and rejects his coworker’s racist epithets.

Since critics depicted this as a film for the far right, whose overtly racist views are well-known, I expected the depictions of characters of color to be bigoted. But interestingly, almost all of the violence he eventually metes out as he sinks deeper and deeper into a full breakdown – save for the movie’s final scene, at which point Joker’s nihilistic brutality has fully blossomed, now wanton and indiscriminate – is against white men, many of them wealthy.

A passing interaction with a neighbor, a single black mother who lives on his floor, leads to a disturbing and delusional romantic obsession with her . This culminates in a tense scene in which – on the verge of a full breakdown and after we realize the previous scenes of the two of them on a date and sitting at the hospital bedside of Arthur’s mother were completely imagined by him – he walks into her open apartment.

The viewer expects an act of violence against her, perhaps even a horrific scene of sexual assault, by the lonely man who wants the beautiful woman but can’t have her. In other words, the ultimate incel revenge fantasy. Instead, startled, she asks him to leave. He does.

Likewise, in a scene whose political message was so blunt that it could have appeared in a mid-century Stalinist propaganda film, his social worker and counselor – another black woman – with whom he has a tense but clearly significant relationship, is forced to tell him that due to recent budget cuts, their office will be shutting down. Arthur asks her where he’s going to get his medication; she has no answer for him.

“They don’t give a shit about people like you, Arthur,” she tells him, referring to those who cut the budget. “And they don’t give a shit about people like me either.”

The black, female public-sector worker is telling the white, male public-service user that their interests are intertwined against the wealthy billionaire class and their political lackeys who are slashing public services. Across racial and gender boundaries, the two have a common class enemy.

You can’t get much less subtle, or much more diametrically opposed to the right’s worldview, than this.

It is those budget cuts that drive Arthur deeper into madness. Similar attempted cuts likely drove sanitation workers to strike, resulting in the piled-up garbage constantly visible on Gotham’s streets. These are clear allusions to New York City’s 1975 fiscal crisis and the austerity it produced, which soon spread to the rest of the country.

Elites’ condescending responses to the widespread suffering make things worse. Billionaire Thomas Wayne condemns Arthur’s murder of his three employees (representing young, arrogant, rich Wall Street types) on the subway by calling the average person seething in the streets “clowns”. Don’t they know that he wants to help them, the ultra-rich mayoral candidate asks. He is irritated he even has to explain this. His comments merely stoke the already burning fires of resentment, with Wayne’s obliviousness at their misery rubbing salt in the wounds of average Gotham residents and driving them to the streets to protest Wayne and elites like him in clown masks.

And, of course, when Arthur sneaks into a high-class theatre and confronts Wayne about what Arthur has been led to believe by his ailing mother – that Wayne, her former employer, is Arthur’s father – the genteel billionaire, dressed in a full tuxedo, literally punches Arthur in the face. Again, political subtlety is not this film’s stock and trade. How could reviewers miss this?

What Arthur – and scores of others like him in Gotham and our own society – needs is a fully-funded Medicare for All or NHS-style health system that includes robust mental health services that provide him with the counseling services and medication that can save him (and others around him) from his unceasingly “negative thoughts” and violent impulses.

He needs public programs that can provide a warm, encouraging environment for his creative impulses, allowing him to perform standup comedy or perform as a clown without becoming a laughingstock on national television or getting canned by an uncaring boss. He needs wages for his care work for his infirm mother or a robust elder care system that can respectfully take her under its care. He needs high-quality housing he can afford.

Arthur has more than his share of problems, but a few of them would have been solved, or at least adequately and humanely managed, in a society whose budgets were oriented more towards people like him than Wayne. But he does not live in that society, and neither do we. Instead of public services and dignity, he gets that most American of consolation prizes: a gun, and the sense of respect that, while ultimately hollow, has long eluded him.

Joker’s ending is bleak and one whose general thrust we knew going into the film: in addition to the three Wall Street types, an old mother, a coworker, a talkshow host and a billionaire couple have been murdered in cold blood; rioters in clown masks are running wild in the streets, cheering Joker on the hood of a cop car. In the final scene, Arthur is again speaking to a social worker, but now in handcuffs in an asylum. But it’s too late to reach him, because he’s no longer Arthur – he’s the Joker, and the Joker has no qualms about killing her, too.

Rosa Luxemburg once famously framed the choice for our future as that of socialism or barbarism. Joker is a portrait of a society that has chosen barbarism. No one wants to see violence erupt in such a situation, but we shouldn’t be surprised when it does.

In the real world, we aren’t yet at that breaking point. And unlike Gotham, we have alternate paths on offer – represented best by the Vermont senator Bernie Sanders, whose presidential campaign speaks to that roiling anger but channels it into humane and egalitarian directions. If we don’t take it, and that anger continues to find a home in reactionary outlets, the barbarities we see in Joker might start looking horrifyingly familiar.

[teeforhee]

Fuck, I'm not sure I'll ever get over how much CAMHS (child and adolescent mental health service, it's the under-18s mental health service in Scotland) let me down as a kid.

It's like this. You're 11 and you're traumatised but you're scared of using that word, you don't know if you're allowed it, but you are traumatised. And you're so anxious you can't breathe most of the time, you can't sit down and speak to any of your friends, you can do your school work but you keep falling apart and everything feels like it's getting worse all the time. You don't fit in, you're weird and awkward but your schoolwork is good so you aren't worrying about your grades, you're not even sure why you feel this way (it's unprocessed trauma, but again, you don't feel like you're allowed that word). You're s/hing and struggling with suicidal ideation, and you're lucky enough to still trust authority figures, so you do what everyone says you should. You trust an adult. And she calls your GP, who is another adult you choose to trust, who you bare your heart to with all of these symptoms that make your feel sick to even acknowledge, and then they make you an appointment with CAMHS. You came in asking for treatment. They referred you to CAMHS. They did not explain what CAMHS was other than what the letters stood for. That's okay - it's treatment, right? They're gonna help. You can talk this through and they'll help- just gotta be careful you don't get institutionalised. You don't want that, yet.

You talk to a CAMHS worker. She's a psychologist. She says it's very likely you have autism to your mother after your first session. Your mother broaches the topic gently. You are overjoyed: there's an answer! oh fuck, this explains so much! but it's not treatment. It's a word. The psychologist puts you on a waiting list and you have 22 sessions of CBT with her, trying to unpack your trauma and trying to build up coping skills. So many of them feel like just denying the truth, so many of them feed into your magical thinking ("the one thing you can control is your thoughts, you must always control your thoughts, good things will happen when you control your thoughts and stop thinking the bad thoughts"), but it's treatment, mostly. You stop seeing her twice- once because you are trying to develop an eating disorder and having a mental health professional who wants to hear how you're doing is totally cramping your style (I wasn't actually trying to develop an ED really, I was trying to cope in ways other than s/h, in ways that felt honest to the situation and real and gave me a sense of control that "controling my thoughts" just wasn't doing). You come back for recovery. You tell her you want an eating plan. By the time she even considers an appointment with a nutritionist, you've moved past that stage in your recovery on your own. You stop seeing her again because you get into an abusive relationship who doesn't really like you having contact with people who aren't him, and he super super doesn't like you not being able to talk to him for a whole hour every week. That part isn't their fault: no one could be gotten me out of that until I decided to; believe me, everyone around me tried, and it didn't work until I wanted I to, the third time.

But I left, again, I was without support for 6 months, and when I came back it was after my father (the earliest source of my trauma) had died. They take 4 sessions compiling evidence as to what treatment i needed going forward, without telling me that was what they were doing (I was trying to build trust with an adult again after 6 months of constant reinforcing that I couldn't trust anyone but my abuser), and then an appointment with a psychiatrist and your mother and a new psychologist. They dismiss and justify the symptoms that most worry me, they have at this point turned down my request to be institutionalised multiple times (including after an aborted suicide attempt, I presume they thought that was fine because made it clear that I did want to live), and they say at the end of the meeting that they are going to give me an official diagnosis of autism and that after that CAMHS has nothing more to offer me.

They say that if after 22 sessions with a psychologist I am still struggling so much (bear in mind that probably close to half of those sessions I was concealing factors that were actively making my mental health worse and which were traumatising me) I clearly can't gain anything more from their service, and anyway, autism isn't a mental illness and CAMHS as a service can only help while waiting for/trying to get a diagnosis, or if you have a diagnosis or a disorder for which they could provide specialist treatment. My very obvious PTSD? nah, no big-T Traumas, and c-ptsd is way too hard to diagnose. I receive a hilarious letter detailing all of the evidence (I mean genuinely insightful but also fucking hilarious and I do want to note down funniest bits and post them hear at some point, stuff like "unusual speech was noted, (exclamations of 'wacky!' while describing his symptoms)") and then they refer me to a charity which, at time of writing, I have had 1 assessment phone call with, and am waiting for a call back for my next and first proper appointment.

They did not inform me when I was first referred that CAMHS is a diagnostic and specialist treatment service and if they did (this was well over two years ago now, I don't remember word-for-word what my GP told me), they did not tell me that meant that they would kick me out to a charity once they figured they couldn't label me with anything requiring specialist treatment. During our last sessions they were unyeildingly focussed on the trauma of my father dying and of the "shock" of my diagnosis (that I had been waiting for for 2 years. yes, very shocking/s) when those were not my biggest problems. My relationship with my father is complex and I won't get into it here, but suffice it to say that his death was the last step on a very, very long journey, and honestly one of the least traumatising.

I let them keep the focus there because I desperately hate talking about the actual, recent, debilitating trauma of being in lockdown with an abusive partner for 6 months. That shit hurts, I can't even say his name, but that is the thing that I need to unpack if I'm ever going to be able to go outside in the sun again.

Repeatedly ignoring the requests I made for specific treatment until past the point where I needed it anymore, not informing me how the service I was going to be working with for 2 years even worked in something so basic as "what is this for? what will happen to me if I get a diagnosis they can't give me specialised care for?", telling an 11 year old child that suicidal ideation is "not that serious", a fundamental misunderstanding of what I needed and wanted to hear ('normal' is not a helpful word. 'normal' tells me 'suck it up, everyone experiences this and they're all fine, you're normal, just think better' why are they all so adamant that I am normal? Not even considering my mental health I am an autistic bisexual gnc trans guy, we went past whatever 'normal' means a long time ago, fucking listen to me), at every single step of the way this system has left me in the same state I was before, the only improvement being through support from my friends, fucking Childline (gd fucking bless Childline volunteers, but still, I shouldn't have been getting so little support that that felt like my only option), mental health masterposts on Tumblr, chats with my (luckily) very nice guidance counselor (they're called pastoral teachers here but I know most folks reading this are American or are most familiar with the American school system) and what amounts to gritting my teeth and getting through it.

It was worth it, of course my life was worth it, of course I say the same thing every person who's attempted suicide says, I'm more grateful than words could possibly express that I survived, that I get to go home in a few minutes and feed my kitten and write and message my friends, but for fucks sake it didn't need to be this hard. And it doesn't need to be this hard. I'm not out of the woods yet, I'm still waiting on that second appointment with this charity, I'm still 3+ months behind at school, and I'm one of the lucky ones. My boyfriend has been hurt worse by CAMHS, left even more isolated than I was, even more traumatised by the way he was treated, and every single person I know who's been in this system agrees that it's deeply, deeply flawed.

I don't want people to have competitions over who's medical experiences are worse, who's country has the worst mental health system, who's been the most traumatised by their psychiatrists or lack thereof, please. Please don't make this the suffering Olympics. I'm just making this post cause I know, I know that other people have had similar experiences, whether with CAMHS or whatever their equivalent is. Mental health services need serious reform that puts patients first, listens to their needs and requests, that is well funded and well staffed by people who care about their patients wellbeing more than they care about controling other people's lives.

Austerity in the UK is a huge reason why this happened the way it did- my first psychologist left the service to go work somewhere that pays better, leaving just one newly-graduated psychologist that clearly had no idea what she was doing and didn't care to sympathise or show compassion for me.

This shit needs to change, because kids need help, and this is not good enough.

[thessalian]

Thess vs ‘Normalcy’

So here’s the UK. Monday, stuff starts opening again - non-essential shops, anyplace that can serve food and drinks outdoors, and stuff like hairdressers. “A slow return to a semblance of normal” says the Prime Minister.

And I’m having panic attacks. I’ve been having panic attacks about that for awhile now. Thing is, I’m not really afraid of COVID at this point. Yes, there are still people being total dipshits about it (two days in a row I’ve ended up with a maskless jackass not observing social distancing and sitting directly next to me on the Tube - different maskless asshole each time, mind). A little worried about the vaccination programme slow-down and the jackasses who refuse to get vaccinated because Freedom or whatever, but not panic-attack levels.

No, I’m panicking over a return to ‘some semblance of normal’. Because honestly, this whole pandemic mess has shone a massive spotlight on how awful, inbalanced and ugly ‘normal’ has become. And I think the Prime Minister and his cronies in Cabinet know it, because while they’re not rushing (they remember what happened last time), they are reeeeeeeeally pushing the “You want everything to get back to normal, right? Your freedom to go down the pub and visit your family and go shopping!”

We’re focusing on that instead of focusing on the horrors that were dug up from under various metaphorical rocks during the pandemic. Massive underfunding of the NHS. The devastating effect of ten years of austerity on families and communities. Pay disparities and the struggle to earn enough to put food on the table by the people this ‘normal’ actually relies on most but treats the worst. The woeful inadequacies of our social safety nets.

Basically, that version of ‘normal’ is going to kill us sure as any pandemic. Or, frankly, worse. Yeah, death’s the ultimate end of all possibility, all potential for things to get better ... but honestly, so is this. There’s no opportunity for things to get better for people because our government has literally strangled them all. Small businesses got shafted in terms of government support, while all the bailout money went to businesses whose owners were already swimming in money and didn’t need any more. The ‘retraining scheme’ the Tories set up was not up to par, partly because it didn’t support the people retraining well enough, partly because the qualifications covered under the retraining scheme weren’t fit for purpose, but mostly because the eligibility requirements meant that a lot of people who really needed it couldn’t get it. The Universal Credit means of providing benefits is still proving to be a horror show, and the best anyone could do for those who’d lost their jobs to COVID business closures was an extra £20 per week. And all that grand talk about increasing the minimum wage was delayed and then dropped like a lead balloon when everyone was distracted by the Brexit / COVID double-whammy.

Basically, government’s really hoping we focus on the joys of being able to go to the pub again. (It’s always the fucking pub. I don’t know why it’s always the fucking pub, but it’s always the fucking pub. Honestly, I just want to make sure that a couple of my favourite comic and gaming shops didn’t permanently close. I’m not worried about the Warhammer flagship store because they probably had a lot of online business, but places like Orc’s Nest, Gosh and Orbital, and this little plave whose name I can never remember off Camden Market ... I has a concern.) They talk about how our mental health is suffering and we must be allowed out to resume some semblance of a normal life ... and y’know what? It’s returning to a ‘normal life’ that’s giving me the mental health problems. If we get through this and nothing’s done about the glaring issues in our society, that’ll just entrench how ‘normal’ that state of affairs is, and the harder it will be to shake loose from the status quo as established by a bunch of cronyistic plutocrats. And again, that’ll either kill us or drive us into despair just as much as COVID has. It’ll just take longer and come with a side of gaslighting as we’re told we should actually like being overworked and underpaid by people who are only in the position of power that they’re in because they rigged the system that way long ago. I’m trying to be sympathetic to those who want their pub outings back, particularly since I know I’m not inclined to sympathy for the position because I don’t drink much, finding anything I can eat in a pub or restaurant is nearly impossible, I don’t like crowds and I’m actually relieved to be required by law to avoid my family. But I don’t like how something as relatively useless as pubs being open seems to be all it takes to distract people from their own disenfranchisement.

This is not to say that I will completely ignore the silver lining here. I am still very grateful that I can go and get my hair cut and give my hairdresser some business. It’s funny, now I think on it: I was in having my hair cut the day they announced the new ‘lockdown’, back in December. Which means I was one of the last people in there before lockdown began. Now I’ll be back the first day they open once the lockdown ends. I like my hairdresser. She knows how I like my hair. That’s a rare thing. And seriously, the back’s all shaggy and aggravating and ‘lopsided Briard’ is not a good look for me.

[rockinjoeco]

The Stigma from the Media

In the wake of the tragic suicide of former Love Island presenter Caroline Flack, the topic of mental health has become more vital and sensitive than ever. It shouldn’t have to take a tragic suicide for people to start thinking about how they impact other people’s mental health, but it seems that’s where we are now. I could preach to people about thinking about mental health, etc, but it appears that in the wake of Brexit, those days where a majority of British people are kind appears to be over. If we are to tackle mental health stigma, then we need to get to quite possibly the key architect behind this stigma and influencing a toxic attitude on society; the media.

The media is a very powerful tool in our society and unfortunately it’s been proven so by influencing a poisonous culture on everyone. Is it any coincidence that dumbed down, exploitive outlets like tabloid newspapers are the most-read newspapers during a time when, as proven with Brexit and the election, that maybe a majority of the British public aren’t as intelligent as we’d like them to be. This isn’t an assessment I’ve made because an election result didn’t go the way I wanted. We all know about the problems caused by the Tory government, like many people being forced into poverty because of austerity and universal credit, how a knife crime epidemic started because of police cuts made by the government and we all know the billions of pounds wasted on Brexit, which I’m still yet to hear any logical reason as to why that’s a good idea, leaving the NHS to be underfunded. Yet the conservatives won the election by an overwhelming majority despite the hardship that they’ve caused for a lot of British people. Jeremy Corbyn of the Labour Party may not had been the formidable challenger to Boris Johnson as many would had liked, but Corbyn would have been more likely to fund the NHS and help those in poverty than Johnson. The theory is still that the media won Boris Johnson the election with a smear campaign against Corbyn, although the antisemitism allegations weren’t a complete fantasy. The media spouted propaganda to manipulate the public rather than being unbiased like any insightful journalist, and unfortunately too many people were gullible to believe some of the wild speculation they reported.

When Prince Harry and Meghan Markle decided to retire from royal duties, there was outrage amongst the public, but there were still people like myself who knew that the media treatment they had received was a major reason behind this. In the wake of Caroline Flack’s death, it’s a tragic summary of their brutal treatment of public figures and how it can seriously harm their mental health. The media relentlessly report on celebrities’ private lives, usually against their will, but for what reason? The private lives of celebrities isn’t exactly need-to-know information and doesn’t boast any insight into anything. It’s just a money-making scheme to sensationalise the most insignificant of events so the gullible and ignorant people can absorb themselves into. What we know now is the harm it does to the people that the news articles are about. Of course those in the media have branded Prince Harry and Meghan Markle selfish for stepping out of the media spotlight as an effort to excuse their abhorrent pursuit of them. They still make excuses for the car crash that killed Princess Diana in Paris back in 1997 and state that she was killed because the driver was intoxicated, but just before the crash, paparazzi were chasing the car that Diana was in and so it must be argued that the media had a part to play in the horrific car crash. The media are so powerful that they can get away with anything, even murder it seems.

We can debate about whether Love Island is a good tv show, and whether newspapers like The Sun, Daily Mirror and Daily Mail are good newspapers, but what must be talked about is whether or not they’re harmful. Let’s not forget that that two Love Island contestants, Sophie Gordon and Mike Thalassitis, also tragically took their own lives last year. Whether Love Island played any part in Caroline Flack’s suicide is up for debate, but surely the TV show should be under more intense scrutiny than ever, especially as questions about whether it damages someone’s mental health. Also last year, a guest on the Jeremy Kyle Show, Steve Dymond, took his own life and the show was cancelled as a result. For Love Island to not only continue, but add a winter series after two of their previous guests committed suicide raises a lot of questions and shows that ITV put ratings before the well-being of their participants. The media has now become more of a weapon, especially looking at Piers Morgan’s merciless vendetta against Meghan Markle and Jameela Jamil, all because he finds them irritating. Not because they’re criminals or because they’ve done any kind of wrongdoing. The phone hacking scandal by the News of the World demonstrates how certain media outlets have become weaponised to intrude public figures for the means of getting a story. Piers Morgan has frequently dismissed mental health awareness by stating that those who speak out are just ‘wallowing in self-pity’ and are ‘virtue-signalling berks’. If anybody else had tweeted that, they’d probably get in trouble at work, maybe even sacked. The fact that ITV haven’t punished Piers Morgan in any way shows contempt from the network as well as Morgan in regards to mental health and this is why there is still so much stigma around mental health. As someone with anxiety and depression, the media, especially ITV, is why I’ve suffered in silence for so many years.

Social media has also become more harmful than ever too. It has become a tool for users to harass and abuse people, especially celebrities. The cancel culture on social media is so brutal. Taylor Swift spoke out about how social media had impacted her when, following a public falling out with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, the hashtag #taylorswiftisover trended for days on Twitter and it was like being told to kill yourself and Twitter users were likening a human being to a TV show and they could just be killed off if they’re not how the public wants them to be like. Meghan Markle has also been victim of savage abuse on social media, as she admitted on ITV last September, and Lily Allen quit Twitter days after the General Election as she said that Twitter ‘gives a voice to the far-right’ and that it is used to ‘spread disinformation and lies’. When celebrities give their political opinion on twitter or if a news story has that sort of thing, the comments on twitter can contain people saying things like ‘stop talking’ or ‘stick to acting’, which is killing democracy in our country. Are celebrities not entitled to an opinion? Why are they less allowed to have their say than any non-famous person on social media? Nobody has to agree with them, but they have the right to an opinion, just like we are.

ITV has always been a poisonous institution, as any company which keeps Piers Morgan in a job would prove to be. Caroline Flack was forced to resign from Love Island following her assault charge on her boyfriend Lewis Burton, but many have pointed out that Ant McPartlin was allowed to keep his job at ITV when he was convicted of drink-driving, arguably a more serious offense than the one that Caroline was charged with. Because of McPartlin’s popularity, you could say that he is untouchable and can get away with almost anything, even if he did cause death by dangerous driving, ITV will still keep him on because he generates ratings, and that’s what comes first with ITV. The moment when Philip Schofield came out as gay on This Morning was a heartwarming moment and was seen as brave and inspiring to express your sexuality in the way Schofield did. Those inspiring moments are too few on ITV, especially looking at the suicides of their participants. Something at that company is wrong and their mental health campaigns seem redundant now. ITV care so much about ratings that it wouldn’t surprise me if they announced an autumn and spring series in addition to Love Island.

Caroline Flack said back in December; ‘if you’re going to be anything, be kind’. It shouldn’t have to take a tragic suicide for people to start being kind, but Britain has become a less tolerant and more crueller country than ever, especially in the wake of Brexit. People are so quick to pounce whenever a celebrity makes any kind of mistake, like all human beings do, and berate them in the most brutal way possible. While it is important to be kind, we still have to be brutally honest on important matters like mental health and we must get to the source of where it stems from; media corporations like tabloid newspapers and ITV. I, like many other people, hope that action is taken against the media for all the harm that they have caused people, because the media have too much blood on their hands.

[trylonandperisphere]

Article text:

How Much Do We Need The Police?

June 3, 20207:59 AM ET

LEAH DONNELLA

One effect of the widespread protests across U.S. cities this week has been to renew discussions of what role the police should play in society.

For many Americans, it goes without saying that the police are critical in maintaining public safety. Have an emergency? Call the police. But many others — especially black people and poor people — have long countered that the police pose more of a threat to their safety than a boon. See a police officer? Walk in the other direction.

So it seems like a good moment to talk to Alex S. Vitale. He's the author of the 2017 book The End of Policing. In it, he argues that rather than focus on police reform or officer retraining, the country needs to reconsider fundamentally what it is the police should be doing at all.

I spoke with Vitale about what roles police should and shouldn't play, what he makes of the current protests and what actual change in the way police in this country do their jobs might look like. Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.

One of the arguments you make in The End of Policing is that police are being asked to do too much. They're basically being tasked with addressing every social problem that we have. So what are police asked to do? And what should they be asked to do?

One of the problems that we're encountering here is this massive expansion in the scope of policing over the last 40 years or so. Policing is now happening in our schools. It's happening in relation to the problems of homelessness, untreated mental illness, youth violence and some things that we historically associate police with.

But the policing has become more intensive, more invasive, more aggressive. So what I'm calling for is a rethink on why we've turned all of these social problems over to the police to manage. And as we dial those things back, then we can think more concretely about what the rest of policing should look like and how that could be reformed.

You brought up homelessness. In many cities police are tasked with dealing with people experiencing homelessness — but they don't have many options besides basically moving people or arresting them.

Well, we've created this situation where our political leaders have basically abandoned the possibility of actually housing people. Which, of course, is the real solution, supportive housing for those who need extra support. But basically, we have a massive failure in housing markets that is unable to provide basic shelter for millions of Americans.

So instead of actually addressing that fundamental problem, we have relabeled it as a problem that is the fault of the disorderly people who we label as morally deficient. And then we use police to criminalize them, to control their behavior and to reduce their disorderly impact on the rest of us. And this is perverse and unjust. So then it places police in this completely untenable situation, because they completely lack the tools to make this problem any better. And yet we've told them it's their problem to manage.

Part of our misunderstanding about the nature of policing is we keep imagining that we can turn police into social workers. That we can make them nice, friendly community outreach workers. But police are violence workers. That's what distinguishes them from all other government functions. ... They have the legal capacity to use violence in situations where the average citizen would be arrested.

So when we turn a problem over to the police to manage, there will be violence, because those are ultimately the tools that they are most equipped to utilize: handcuffs, threats, guns, arrests. That's what really is at the root of policing. So if we don't want violence, we should try to figure out how to not get the police involved.

There are obviously a lot of people who agree broadly with the notion that the way that policing happens in this country is a problem and that there needs to be some sort of change. But they're pretty invested in the idea that police are needed to maintain public safety. People ask the question, without police, what do you do when someone gets murdered? What do you do when someone's house gets robbed? What do you say to those people who have those concerns?

Well, I'm certainly not talking about any kind of scenario where tomorrow someone just flips a switch and there are no police. What I'm talking about is the systematic questioning of the specific roles that police currently undertake, and attempting to develop evidence-based alternatives so that we can dial back our reliance on them. And my feeling is that this encompasses actually the vast majority of what police do. We have better alternatives for them.

Even if you take something like burglary — a huge amount of burglary activity is driven by drug use. And we need to completely rethink our approach to drugs so that property crime isn't the primary way that people access drugs. We don't have any part of this country that has high-quality medical drug treatment on demand. But we have policing on demand everywhere. And it's not working.

Obviously, a big part of what is on people's minds right now is the role that police have in dealing with protesters, dealing with different types of political unrest. In your book, you talk a lot about the history of how police have been used to quell social unrest. Can you talk about that history a little bit?

Well, I think that one of the myths we have about policing is that it is politically neutral, and that it is always here to sort of create order in a way that benefits everyone. But the reality is that America's social order has never been entirely equitable. We have a long history of exploitation of the Indigenous population, of African Americans through slavery, Jim Crow and today.

And while we're not using police to manage slavery or colonialism today, we are using police to manage the problems that our very unequal system has produced. We're invested in this kind of austerity politics that says the government can't afford to really do anything to lift people up. We have to put all our resources into subsidizing the already most successful parts of the economy. But those parts of the economy are producing this huge group of people who are homeless, unemployed, have untreated mental health and substance abuse problems. And then we ask the police to put a lid on those problems — to manage them so they don't interfere with the "order" that we're supposedly all benefiting from.

But if you're one of those poor people, one of those folks with a mental health problem, someone who's involved in black market activities to survive, then you experience this as constant criminalization.

And would you say the same goes for people who are political protesters?

Political protest has always been a part of this dynamic, right? Political protests are a threat to the order of this system. And so policing has always been the primary tool for managing those threats to the public order. Just as we understand the use of police to deal with homelessness as a political failure, every time we turn a political order problem over to the police to manage, that's also a political failure. I think the mayor of Minneapolis, for instance: Jacob Frey. He has consistently tried to frame this as a problem of a few bad apples. And he says, "Why are you protesting? We fired them." But this completely misunderstands the nature of the grievances. And instead of actually addressing those grievances, he's throwing police at the problem.

Are the interactions that are happening right now between police and protesters something that you think is predictable? Or is this something new that we haven't seen before?

It's not completely new; it's just the intensity of it compared [with], let's say, five years ago during the Eric Garner and the Mike Brown protests. What we're seeing is really an immediate escalation to very high levels of force, a high degree of confrontation.

And I think part of it is driven by deep frustration within policing, which is that police feel under assault, and they have no answer. They trotted out all the possible solutions: police-community dialogue sessions, implicit bias training, community policing, body cameras. And it just didn't work. It didn't make any difference. And so they ran out of excuses.

So the protests today are a much more kind of existential threat to the police. And the police are overreacting as a result.

If we were to take serious steps toward moving in the direction of having police address fewer of our social problems and putting those problems in the hands of people who are actually more equipped to deal with them, what would be the next step? What is the next thing that we as a country have to push for?

I think this will look like a series of local budget battles. And that's really what's going on across the country, is when we have these divest campaigns in places like Los Angeles and Minneapolis and New York and Durham, N.C., and Nashville, Tenn., and Dallas, Texas. These are folks who are saying concretely: "We don't want police in our schools. We want that money spent in ways that help our children, not criminalize them. We don't want more money for overtime for narcotics officers. We want actual drug treatment programs, safe injection facilities, things that will help people." So that's what this looks like. It's about rallying city council members and mayors around a new vision of creating healthier communities.

When you're looking around at what's happening right now, what are the things that you think people need to understand to really process what is going on around the country?

Well, I think the police are making the argument for us, right? People started this conversation by saying policing is out of control; they're not making the situation better. They have not been reformed. Well, now all you have to do is turn on the nightly news and see how true that is.

The level of aggression and unnecessary escalation is stark evidence of how unreformed policing is, and I argue how unreformable it is. The question is whether or not people will take it to the next step and ask the tough political questions. Why are our mayors turning this over to the police to manage? Why are we using curfews instead of having conversations? Why are we throwing protesters in prison instead of trying to figure out what's driving all of this anger?