#ethical committees weren't even around at that time

[blood-orange-juice]

There's a scene in the first season of Babylon Berlin where a characters reads a lecture on psychoanalysis and PTSD (the series are set sometime between the two world wars) and the audience boos him.

"Brain is an organ, not a poetry book," they say.

For me it put into perspective how important was what Freud did. Considering the setting he had to work in, the setting he had to overcome in his own mind first, we really don't value the guy enough.

Not like I didn't *know* it, but it helped immensely to see it in context.

He was the first who said that humans have an inner life that's neither sacred nor purely physical. That it's governed by its own predictable rules and breaks in predictable ways, and that it can be mended through talking. Not being electrocuted or medicated out of the patient.

Just how awesome is that. Just how much inner work that required in his times.

[marz-writes-shit]

3 — The Pen

Amory held up their ID to the scanner of the classroom door, which dinged green in permission and slid aside. The din of pre-class social affairs assaulted their ears as they walked to their seat. They set down their bag, brought out their phone and earpiece, and was about to indulge in the bygone era of vaporwave when Vera's face cut into their line of sight.

Hay naku.

"Hiya!" She affectionately poked their shoulder.

"It's 6 in the goddamn morning," they groaned, "I cannot fathom how you stay perfectly energized..."

"Coffee and Redbull. Anywaysss, I wanted to show you something!" She brandished a gaudy brochure screen. It reminded Amory of a special something haters doused celebrities with on TV. "The theater club stumbled upon a masterpiece from more than a century ago. 'The Sinners of Hell's Welcoming Committee', remember?"

Not stumble. More like paid too much attention in class. Amory nodded, fighting to keep the annoyance out of their body and facial language. "The one alongside 'Misfit'. Are they gonna do a shitty retelling of an already great play?"

Vera giggled. "You already know. I'm just after the girl playing the mother."

Who has a crush on who, who's chasing after who, and who wanted to toy with whose feelings was a diagram that Amory could never manage to keep up with. They subtly massaged the side of their nose, hoping it would pass off as an itch they had to scratch. "Grace as Victoria?"

"Mhm."

"Oh." Grace Atienza was Yasmine's on and off friend. "She looks alright for a Belo ad. I hope this is a sign your taste in women is getting more refined."

"Trust me, it is." Vera swiped on the brochure, smiling at the graphics, a sentiment they couldn't bring themself at this hour to mimic. "Isn't she simply gorgeous? Even more so without makeup."

Vera left them her copy in case they were interested (which they were not), which cost ten pesos apiece, a fraction of the original price of procuring blank screens. Amory pretended to browse, but as soon as Vera busied herself with her clique, they stashed it in their desk and went back to their vaporwave playlist. The music pulsed stories of waves and grids, 3d modelling, drinking, afterparty gloom, never-ending drives and beaches at night. No wonder the old 'punks' used to love this.

It was simply ethereal.

They listened to the same songs over and over until the first period teacher sashayed in. As usual, everyone else scrambled for their seats, and Amory sat up straight in order to not betray the boredom seeping into their marrow.

Ms. Rachel Kwon's trademark was her eccentricity. But she wasn't so bad if people weren't idiots about anything. Her features told of people a little up north but keeping to the east, her inky hair was slicked back in a bun adorned with a comb, and aside from her choice of wearing Tiffany blue lipstick to complement her eyeshadow, she was easy on the eyes. And also discreet, thanks to her plain form-concealing clothes, a far cry from the V-necks and stockings Amory saw on other teachers. Ms. Kwon began the lecture on reproductive ethics via a modified version of the violinist dilemma, something that highly intrigued Amory. It was always lovely to see a competent educator in charge, even with the handmade hyperrealistic props.

Surrogacy had been around for as long as the human race was horny for their partners and teary for their little ones, but it wasn't until 1976 that the first legal contract for it was made. In more primitive times, it would be considered to be a taboo subject to broach, but that was only because people didn't grow a pair.

As they listened in fascination to the lecture, Amory found their attention drifting towards the shrinking violet. The fact that he was conceived by the method Ms. Kwon was discussing was an open secret, and for reasons they didn't understand yet, he looked constipated hearing about it. His name was Javier, and the more information on surrogacy flowed into the hallowed four corners of the room, Amory was convinced he would implode if he was able to. And then there was Fidelie, who stared in horror as she listened and chewed on a fruit roll, like the topic was something for the snuff films. What, like all that slasher movie stuff she watches had nothing on a simple breakthrough in human proliferation? They narrowed their eyes at her before focusing back on the discussion.

"…and that's why surrogacy is still a touchy legal matter in most countries," Ms. Kwon concluded as she finished off her lecture. "Now, I'd like all of you to write an essay on standard-length screen, at least seven sentences, in permanent format and encrypted."

The class collectively groaned, then started fretting over making sure their tablets and styli didn't shatter within the first semester of buying them. Amory's was a brand meant for heavy-duty work, which lasted longer but wasn't as prevalent market-wise as their peers' cheap Claridocs. They chose their signature stroke style and thickness — technical pen, 2px — and let the words flow through each flick of the stylus against the screen. When they reached the end, there was no question of what their paper would score in the eyes of the teacher, and also no doubt of how Vera might pester them to teach her how to write so "flawlessly". Flawlessly? They couldn't understand how hard it was to string ideas together, it was really just knowing the right beginning phrases and cycling through a cache of corny endings.

Converting and encrypting it (in this sense, putting up a virtual lead wall on your work to prevent AI harvesting data from it) was a breeze. What wasn't? Making themself heard through the ruckus of boys who decided becoming one with the floor was convenient. The teacher was nearly screaming, somebody's rattly pencilcase fell over and let loose an arsenal of sharpened pencils and shock pens, and— ah, brilliant, is that Vera getting pulled by her skirt?

"...Miss Kwon? Do we still have to make a copy for our portfolio?"

"Mr. Castellano, pick yourself up as well!— Yes, Espada."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

With a nod, Amory did as told, making sure to kick a shock pen aside for an unwitting worm to grasp. "Fine there?" they mouthed.

"No!" Vera wailed, kicking her potential dragger in the face multiple times.

"Me neither. You should slam your heel into his neck."

They snorted to themself, ignoring the earned looks, and sat back down.

Recess came like being let out by guards for prison football. A bench near the hard hybrid walls, marred by acrylic and magnetic graffiti, was Amory's chosen spot to eat their sandwich while watching their more athletic peers make fools of themselves in the courtyard. One particularly clumsy student tripped over his own feet and face-planted into the grass, drawing laughter and a little monkey jig. Was that a new way of boo'ing people off?

They could never keep up with the trends, huh?

They took a bite, sighing inwardly to themself as they tasted peanut butter. Chewing thoughtfully, their eyes scanning the courtyard, they could single out who was who; athletic types, clowns, geeks — everyone had their roles to play in this little bubble, a show that fascinated and repelled them in equal measure.

They looked up from their food as Vera, looking fresh as ever as if she hadn't been screeching her throat out earlier, sashayed over.

"Got anything else to complain about?" Amory asked, half-amused.

"Always!" Vera dropped down beside them. "But that's what makes life interesting, right?"

"Debatable. How's the skirt?"

"Wrinkled, but fine. All the boys are creeps. Except you, of course." She eyed their sandwich. "Peanut butter again?"

"Peanut butter forever, woohoo." They took another bite. "What do you want?"

"Fresh air and the company of the most decent person on this planet! Nothing more I can ask for here in Pearlcrest. Why, am I intruding on sacred snack time?"

Amory rolled their eyes, but not in malice. "Nah, just contemplating life while munching on this sandwich. You're welcome to join."

Vera chuckled. "Finally, something interesting. What's on the table for today's musings, Professor Espada?"

They let their head loll back on the bench. "Hmm. I was thinking about... why in hell would anyone buy mystery meat from the cafeteria stalls? Isn't the suffocatingly oily atmosphere enough deterrent, or are kids just stupid?"

"You have a point." Vera visibly shuddered before bursting into laughter. "Now that I think of it, I swear I saw some insect floating at the bottom of their coffee jelly vat."

Amory made a gagging sound. "And I thought the fried frogs were the worst they could do?"

"The horrors never stop. Seriously, I've had better from the vendors outside school and that's saying something."

They couldn't help but tut. "At least there, you get what you pay for, not some unidentifiable sludge masquerading as food."

"Hah, right? Remember that time we dared Tristan to try the cafeteria's twist on the fishball? I thought he was going to shoot his vomit jet at us right then and there as revenge."

"Then he refused to talk to us for a week. Worth it though."

They were interrupted by the bell. Students in the courtyard began to scatter and clump on their way to their respective classes.

"Back to hell, I guess!" Vera hopped off the bench and waved goodbye to Amory, who returned it half-heartedly. They crumpled and disposed of the sandwich wrapper, brought out their phone, and hit the Play button.