#guess im collecting funny death screens now

[malliya]

X QUEST FAILED X

[mattgambler]

My thoughts on Sekiro - Shadows Die Twice

TLDR: I talk about what I liked and disliked about Sekiro and why it in my eyes is probably* the best game From Software has released to date. Which means I also compare it to Dark Souls a lot.

*I havent played Demon Souls or Bloodborne, so I cant really talk about those. As someone who played through all three Dark Souls games as well as several other soulslikes on stream, I always stood by the unpopular opinion that Dark Souls 1 is a good game, but also a vastly overrated one - with one of the most unbearable fanbases out there, right up there with Undertale, albeit for very different reasons. My opinion is of course strongly coloured by my interactions with diehard fans of Dark Souls, both on stream as well as everywhere else on the Internet, but at the end of the day I never hated Dark Souls. I wouldnt have played through all three games otherwise. I *did* hate smaller aspects, like the fact that I ended up entering the tomb of the giants without ever finding a lantern and therefore  being forced to crawl through that place in near complete darkness until I found the emergency lantern in there, simply because I was unlucky enough to have none of the necromancers drop one for me. Or how the curse mechanic in the sewers got me trapped in a place that i already struggled with, but now with only 50% of my original HP. Or the entire “Git Gud” mentality that is so grossly abused to defend poor game design that the travesty that is camera control in the Ornstein and Smough fight looks like a piece of art in comparison. Onionbro and Solaire would weep if they knew. There were other things that I didnt enjoy, like what the Souls games count as a story, but I have an easier time pinning that down as personal preference and something that just isnt for me. Vaatividya makes good videos. The tomb of the giants without a lantern however, that just shouldnt exist in any game, not to mention a game that is glorified to such an extent that it could get its dick sucked every day by a different dude without running out for centuries. Can you taste that sweaty salt yet? Along comes Sekiro, a game by the same dev studio, with the same feel, minus many of the things that I have hated and criticized for several years now. Guess what, I like it.    This isnt a review, Im not trying to tell you if you should buy, Im not telling you that there are no microtransactions in the game or what framerate it isnt capped at. There are tons of videos online that jump-attacked all over that on day 1 of release or earlier. Im telling you why, in my opinion, this game is so vastly superior to Dark Souls that it simply warms my heart. Let me start a list and then never finish it: - You can swim - You can jump - You can talk - You dont immediately die when you fall off a cliff - You cant accidentally walk over a cliff like a moron, at least most of the time. - You can’t simply rely on dodgerolls and invincibility frames all the time - You can understand the story without having to go to Youtube to have it explained to you by someone - You can’t kill strong enemies simply by chain parrying them over and over, or at least it is hell of a lot harder - You can’t simply kill strong enemies by knocking them off a cliff (I think) - You can’t abuse magic for an immediate easy mode - You can’t abuse coop for an immediate easy mode

... I’m getting a little unfair here, I know. I actually think coop is a cool feature, even though I personally never used it and even the multiplayer pvp invasions are an original and interesting concept, although I’m not personally into it. Magic is cool too, although poorly balanced and therefore in my opinion less interesting. The reason I added those last two points to my unfinished list is not because I dislike them, but because of the lately relevant “does Sekiro need an easy mode” controversy. Especially the most elitist diehard fans of the souls franchise strongly disagree with the addition of an easy mode, which is funny... ... given that Dark Souls 1 has several. Personally I dont think Sekiro NEEDS an easy mode, but it sure wouldnt hurt anyone. I personally wouldnt have minded playing on a lower difficulty, I had three or four bosses greatly overstay their welcome before I finally managed to smash their asslike faces in. ...but Im rambling. On a surface level, just looking at the feel of combat, movement and overall story coherence Sekiro is already miles ahead, but I can understand that it therefore feels less like a Souls game and that not everyone will like that. I can understand and respect that. DarkSouls 1, as well as 2 and maybe even 3, have a couple of features that I greatly appreciate and that partly even surpass Sekiro in my otherwise overly critical eyes. Dark Souls 1 has the best and most memorable map in my opinion. Dark Souls 2 has incredible DLCs, especially Frozen Eleum Loyce was awesome and beautiful, with the minor exception of that retarded snow zebra area and how you would respawn *before* the loading screen to get there again instead of after. I also liked the Pursuers concept a lot, as well as the idea of despawning mobs if you killed them often enough. I dont remember much about DS3, it was okay as far as Im concerned but I enjoyed it the least out of the three, probably because of burnout as I had played through all three (blind) in a row. Im mentioning all of this because I want to clarify that in my eyes Sekiro is not THE TIMELESS MASTERPIECE NOBODY WILL EVER SURPASS that Darksouls 1 is often celebrated as. But in many ways it is headed in a direction that makes more sense to me than “if you are not enjoying it then you are doing it wrong and you should maybe think for once”. (Not that Sekiro streamers werent told exactly that just the same) Let me tell you, there were many instances in Sekiro where I also didnt think, didnt consider every possible option the game had given me, honestly Im pretty sure I sucked most of the time, in the eyes of your usual GITGUD-Bro. But I struggled, I improved, I succeded, and I had a way better time during it all, even though I did the same shit in the Souls games as well. Just without falling off edges in waist-high water every 10 minutes, or being invaded by some bowing edgelord, or losing 50% of my max hp as punishment for dying to the wrong enemy. There is this myth going around online that Dark Souls might be a harsh mistress, but at least a fair one. The one spreading that rumour must have been the Bed of Chaos herself, because that is nothing but horseshit. Sekiro isnt exactly fair all the time either, there are many moments in the game that feel all too familiar in their GOTCHA nature. Like how the game conveniently places the key to one of the hardest areas of the early game in your path so you go check it out just to get crucified there by Lady Butterfly and a special drunkard, just for you to learn after finally breaking both of them that you would have had a way easier time if you had simply ignored that area and soldiered on on your original path. Sure, one could have simply abandoned that area and returned later, but how many of you did? I sure didnt. The game likes to oneshot-kill you if you fail to dodge the wrong attack, be it a giant carp, a giant snake, or a giant TERROR man. Even worse, in Sekiro you cant even get your souls back! You die, you lose 50%. ALso 50% of your cash. Suck it. Im not particularly happy about that myself and Im not sure what the motivation behind that design decision was, but you take the good with the bad, right? Another thing that Sekiro does that I dont understand is how the game has you collect loot. Every time you kill an enemy you need to hold a button to collect. You can kill several in an area and then grab everything at once if they arent too far apart, but at the end of the day it eludes me why From Software didnt simply go for autocollecting instead. It’s not a big deal (even though I would forget about picking up loot every now and then) but at the same time it isnt adding any enjoyment to the game either, no matter how hard I try and emphasize with whatever a gamer who likes this might possibly think. It is not hard, its is not really relevant,  and I cant think of a single advantage it has over autocollecting. Maybe holding that button is supposed to feel rewarding? I consider it meaningless at best and tedious busywork at worst. At the same time the game introduces a stealth system that actually means something, while at the same time keeping it both well integrated as well as completely optional. Im truly impressed by how that is even possible. I also like the immortality mechanic, that results in you only truly dying if you go down twice, and even refreshes that revive if you kill enough enemies inbetween deaths. It doesnt help that much, as it doesnt refill your estus fl.... healing gourds, but it allows for a little bit more practice against tough enemies before you die, a little bit more lenience while exploring in an area where it is easy to fall, a little bit more standing power in a world where a giant carp can simply eat you. I appreciate it and it is far from making the game anything close to easy. Its more like an extra gourding flask. I could keep going and praise this (surprisingly satisfying enemy style and variety given the setting) or criticize that (less replayability because of fewer possible weapons and builds), but at the end of the day my opinion is crystalclear - Sekiro is stunningly beautiful, very enjoyable, hard as fuck, and while I have heard people say that “it is not a true soulslike”, I have to shrug and agree. It is better.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #29

Concrete Shoes

Be careful what you wish for, be careful who you choose...

“Concrete Shoes? Oh my god that sounds dumb as hell.”

Monica laughed, popping a hot chip into her mouth as she nodded. “I know, right? Who comes up with this shit?”

“Idiot edgelords on the internet, I guess.”

The bottom of Monica’s laptop read 3:19AM but it was a time that passed without any acknowledgement from her, as she was focused on the center of her screen; her best friend Dot’s face was plastered on half, the other half of the pixels full of their shared Rabbit room. The girls were falling down a rabbit hole of internet games that no one in their right mind would play, like The Midnight Man or The Bathtub Game, but the deeper they went, the dumber they seemed to get. At least, that was what the girls were convincing themselves of...because it was dark outside and it was easier to laugh at things than imagine something might actually be real.

“Nothing called Concrete Shoes could be real, or even anything I’d be scared of,” Monica continued, shifting to lie more on her back on the couch. In the background, the TV played a Psych rerun and she gave it a half-hearted glance, before turning back to Dot. “What the hell does it even say to do?”

Dot moved the Rabbit cursor over the screen. “Take your favorite pair of shoes and place them on the floor at the foot of your bed, as if you were standing in them and facing your bed. The toes should be one inch under the bed.”

Monica fished out another chip with a crunch, listening.

“Place the highest denomination of silver coin you have on the toe of each shoe--for example, if you only have quarters, place one quarter on the toe of one shoe, and repeat the action with the second shoe.”

“At what point do I light a candle and say my own name backwards six times?” Monica quipped dryly, which earned her a laugh from Dot.

“Uh, I don’t actually think you do either of those things.” Dot continued reading, leaning in a little closer to her screen. “Once you’ve finished with your shoes, go about your normal nightly routine. Concrete Shoes needs time to find his way to you.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“Once you’ve turned off all your lights and gotten into bed, don’t lie down. Sit up and face the foot of your bed, and in the dark, say, ‘I know you’re there.’“

It’s very easy to scoff at a lot of the things you find on the internet, but if you actually take the time to sit and think about some of these games, what some of these things ask you to do is a little creepy. Monica actually pulled her sweater a little closer at the idea of sitting up in her pitch black room, alone, and saying that sentence out loud. She may not believe a word of this ritual, but that seemed like a real bad idea regardless. You never know who or what might be listening to you.

“You’ll know Concrete Shoes has accepted your offer if you hear the coins clink together after you acknowledge him. It means he’s pocketed your offer, and now you may ask him one thing. It can be a question you want answered, or you can even express a wish for him to grant.” Dot cleared her throat, taking a swig from a can before she continued. “As with most paranormal games, do not ask Concrete Shoes about your death, and do not ask him his name.”

“So his name isn’t Concrete Shoes?”

“I don’t think so, it’s probably just what they’re calling the game to prevent from actually saying his name.” Dot shrugged. “It says, after you’ve asked him your question or your wish, he’ll either answer you with a positive that he’s accepted and will grant your wish in due time, or he’ll simply answer your question, but he may deny you. If he does, do not push him. There’s probably a reason. Simply thank him and tell him, ‘I’d like you to leave, now.’“

Monica tried to laugh at the end of his ritual but something about this wasn’t nearly as funny as some of the others they’d read that night. There was something that felt decidedly more...she wasn’t going to say real. Out of the two girls, Monica was the logical one, the one who needed a bit of tangible proof of something’s validity before she was willing to suspend belief and admit it may be real. Instead, her laugh came out short and a little forced.

“Leave the shoes at the foot of your bed overnight; simply lay down and go to sleep. The following morning, if your shoes have returned to your closet, Concrete Shoes has left and the ritual is completed.”

Dot stopped reading and Monica lifted a brow. “What...happens if your shoes aren’t returned to your closet?”

“It doesn’t say.” There was the sound of Dot’s mouse wheel scrolling as she visibly ran through the list from top to bottom again. “It literally doesn’t say, that’s the end of it.”

Well, that was typical of the internet. Detailed instructions on how to summon what was probably a fucking demon, and no mention at all what to do if the demon decides to just take up residence in your house. Monica shook her head, fighting off a sense of the creeps by turning back to her snack. “And again we’ll ask, who the hell tries this sort of thing?”

A few hours later and Monica was back in her bedroom, staring at her bed before shaking her head and moving deeper into her room. She and Dot of course had no answer for who the hell tries these sorts of rituals but they never did. It was fun to read about them, like walking past the haunted house without ever risking going inside. There was just no need to do that to yourself. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth, running her fingers through her short, dark hair in the mirror before she exited back into her bedroom. Her phone was lighting up on her pillow and she walked past the foot of her bed to grab it...oblivious that a pair of her shoes were facing the foot of her bed, the toes exactly one inch under the bed. The glimmer of two coins on the toes was missed by her, so distracted was she by the shimmer of her phone screen.

It was a text. JAYBIRD 😘 lit up her screen and she swiped to answer it, typing out a message to ask how his night had gone. She’d met Jason Todd on a trip she’d taken with Dot to Gotham City--somewhere Dot had been reluctant to go, but had done for her and it had paid off for Monica in a major way. She’d run into Jason by pure chance of fate and he’d seemed taken with her immediately, asking for her number right then and there. They went on two dates before Monica’s trip to Gotham was over and Jason was already begging her to come back to the city. Right now, they kept in touch via texts, phone calls, and video calls. Sexts and nudes were included there, of course.

Monica got into bed, a smile on her face as she rested against the headboard, typing back and forth with Jason as he text her a puppy-eyed selfie to beg her not to go to sleep just yet, that he missed her and wanted to talk to her. Her smiled deepened and she drew her knees up toward her chest.

« just 1 selfie, beautiful? im dyin here. need 2 c u 😍 »

Monica shook her head with a light laugh. She knew better than to tell Jason she was already in bed, that she’d washed her make-up off, that her hair wasn’t properly brushed--he always told her the same thing. He loved the way she looked, no matter if she was all dolled up for him to undress, or if she was beautifully bare just for him. She swiped to open her camera and lifted it, about to flip it to her front facing camera when the image of someone standing at the foot of her bed was captured on the phone’s screen.

Monica couldn’t help it, she screamed.

The being at the foot of her bed paused, inclining his head as his entire body shuddered at the sound she made. Long horns ran parallel to a face that had born witness to the birth of man, with three sets of eyes that would see the death of man and blink, only curious what would come next. The ancient being didn’t seem to have hair, but rather sharp, bony ridges along his brow and cheeks that complimented his archaic features the way hair might on a marble statue. His skin was pale in some places, in others it was dark as night, and as Monica’s scream died in her throat, all six of his eyes opened and focused on her, a slashing silver that nailed her to the bed she was resting against. Her phone dropped, forgotten, onto the comforter, the screen going dark but Monica couldn’t look away from the creature towering over her bed, and he didn’t seem keen to look away from her, either.

“You did not summon me.”

The voice that spoke to her had once shaken the earth, but rumbled across her bed like a serpent, climbing between her legs to whisper of sin, of stolen souls and eternal damnation that she would enjoy by his side. Monica didn’t know what to say, she didn’t know how to speak to such an ancient voice. She could hardly believe what she was seeing.

“Ah. You did not think I was real.”

The being behind the game Concrete Shoes made a show of inclining his powerful head, his broad shoulders relaxing. He wasn’t going to take offense that this frightened little creature had thought him a myth, a legend, something made-up but he was very real.

“It is lucky, then, that I go where I please.”

He moved, then, a ripple of power not unlike the fabled Gods of old and Monica tried to shrink into herself; his white robes, his jacket and layers whispered against themselves, against powerful legs, as his cloven hooves thundered against her floor.

“Is there nothing you wish for, then, Monica? Nothing I can give you?”

Monica could only shake her head helplessly, wide eyes on him.

“Not even to know my name?”

“I-I,” Monica had to clear her throat twice to work up the courage to speak to him. “I-I’m not supposed t-to ask your name.”

“That is only if you were performing my summoning ritual. I came here of my own free will.” The demon closed the distance between them further with an additional step. “You may ask my name.”

This seemed like a trap, but it also seemed...dangerous to not do what he so obviously wanted her to do. He was standing, towering over her at the side of her bed, those silver eyes of his running over her flesh so that she could feel him everywhere--he was touching her arms, her throat, her chest, her belly, between her thighs. He was everywhere.

“W-What...W-What’s your n-name?”

“I am Sannok, the Satisfier. The one who grants wishes, the one who answers the questions of mortals. I give, so you may have.” Sannok lifted one of his legs, indenting Monica’s bed with his ancient weight, giving her a taste of how big he truly was. He was not simply taller than she; his entire mass seemed larger, as if he were something not bound by the laws of humans. Something...inhuman. “Tell me, Monica, what else might I give you?”

That question held such a caress in it’s undertone Monica’s head was filled with the wonderful, terrible things Sannok could offer her. Nights so full of him she was swollen with the physicality of his claim, her middle full to the point of pain and still he filled her, claimed her, still he fitted his ancient mouth over hers and spoke to her in a language that knew her intimately, claiming her in the same way a brand sears flesh to scar for all time.

Sannok pressed Monica back against her pillows, forcing her small body to bend to try and avoid him and all he did was smirk, a showing of sharp teeth designed to feed, to mark, and his spaded tail slipped up her leg, pressing against the center of her thighs. The moment she and her friend had begun reading his ritual, Sannok became aware of Monica, aware of this supple, unclaimed body and he burned with a need for her. Humanity does not understand the rules of demons, of who and why they choose to reveal themselves but she will, in time. Every mortal woman who bends, bows, and breaks for her demons learns that in time. One day, her middle will swell with the unholy seed of him, and she will know then she’s forever lost, forever bound to him and him alone. One of his ancient, mighty hands came down upon her phone, crushing it as he bore down on her, a showing of possession that whomever this Jason Todd was would not have her. No one else would ever have her again. Demons mate for eternity, for life beyond life, and Sannok has been waiting longer than most to be...satisfied.

“You needn’t tremble so, my love.” Sannok’s sharp-tipped tail flicked playfully against her covered clit, his words a sharp contrast to his actions. Mindful of his sharp horns, Sannok leaned down to rest his cheek against her temple before turning to inhale her scent, committing it to memory. “In time, my size will not frighten you so. I promise, I will fit.”

It was no secret what he meant by this, and Monica was left with the understanding that Sannok was about to seal some sort of deal in a very permanent, possibly painful way, if all of him was as big as the clothed parts. She tried to shy away from his nuzzling but his large hand came up, cupping the back of her neck and holding her to him.

“Shh, shh.” He soothed, laying her back against her mattress. “Don’t fret, love. I will make you so happy, you’ll see.”

Monica could hardly think with him so close, dwarfing her as his heavy, ancient muscles pinned her effortlessly to the bed. This was something out of a nightmare, and what she was learning now, is what those demonologists, those paranormal experts don’t even know--demons want many things from humans but most important is what they can never have without humanity.

Love.

That is why demons are so hard to get rid of, why they cling on so tightly and become violent when attempted to be exorcised. You wouldn’t want to leave your true love either, would you?

“I-I,” Monica struggled to remember, to recall the only thing that could save her, now. What was it she was supposed to say?!

“You what, my beautiful girl?” Sannok’s forked tongue sampled her cheek, a rasp of velvet. “Tell me what it is you want.”

“I-I want you to l-leave n-now.”

Sannok froze, before slowly drawing back, all six of those silver eyes raking over Monica’s face until she turned from him but she could still feel him staring. How could he not? She was...everything, and she seemed so afraid her words had upset him. His rough fingers were soft against her cheek as he stroked lightly, a smile curving dark skin until his sharp teeth caught her room lights.

“My love, I have already told you. You did not summon me.” His fingers flattened against her chest, pushing her fully back against her yielding mattress. “You have no power to banish me, and why would you? When I can give you so much.”

Sannok accented his words with another insistent push of his tail between her legs, earning him a whine that he’d remember for centuries to come.

“All you have to do is say you’re mine.”

Monica clamped her teeth together, knowing that was to give herself up for all time.

“No? Unwilling to give yourself to me so soon, are you?” Sannok did not sound the slightest bit worried as he blanketed her body with his, a heated exhale against her mouth making her whimper. “No matter. I will return to you, night after night, until you give yourself up into my care, for all eternity. I will have you, Monica. It’s only a matter of time.”

Monica wanted to cry out as Sannok kissed her, tasting of raw power and sin, so that her eyes fluttered closed, his tail pushing her pajama shorts to the side to find her weeping core. He fed her shame, drank from it as he did her mouth, as demons are known to do. He took from her mouth enough to hold him over until he could make good on his promise to return the next night, but Monica was made aware almost immediately he was just beginning to know her, to explore her body and lay claim to it, as his fingers joined his tail at the apex of her thighs.

“Allow me to satisfy you this night, my love. To show you what you have to look forward to for the rest of your mortal life.” Sannok spoke against her mouth, that serpent’s tongue caressing the seal of her lips. “And once you trade in this mortal life for the next...well. Who do you think will be waiting for you on the other side?”

[prolapsarian]

Conversation with David Panos about The Searchers

The Searchers by David Panos is at Hollybush Gardens, 1-2 Warner Yard London EC1R 5EY, 12 January – 9 February 2019

There is something chattering. Alongside a triptych a small screen displays the rhythmic loop of hands typing, contorting, touching, holding. A movement in which the artifice strains between shuddering and juddering. Machinic GIFs seem to frame an event which may or may not have taken place. Their motions appear to combine an endless neurotic repetition and a totally adrenal pumped and pumping tension, anticipating confrontation. 

JBR: How do the heavily stylised triptych of screens in ‘The Searchers’ relate to the GIF-like loops created out of conventionally-shot street footage? DP: I think of the three screens as something like the ‘unconscious’ of these nervous gestures. I’m interested in how video compositing can conjure up impossible or interior spaces, perhaps in a way similar to painting. Perhaps these semi-abstract images can somehow evoke how bodies are shot through with subterranean currents—the strange world of exchange and desire that lies under the surface of reality or physical experience. Of course abstractions don't really ‘inhabit’ bodies and you can’t depict metaphysics, but Paul Klee had this idea about an aesthetic ‘interworld’, that painting could somehow reveal invisible aspects of reality through poetic distortion. Digital video and especially 3D graphics tend to be the opposite of painting—highly regimented and sat within a very preset Euclidean space. I guess I’ve been trying to wrestle with how these programs can be misused to produce interesting images—how images of figures can be abstracted by them but retain some of their twitchy aliveness. JBR: This raises a question about the difference between the control of your media and the situation of total control in contemporary cinematic image making. DP: Under the new regimes of video making, the software often feels like it controls you. Early analogue video art was a sensuous space of flows and currents, and artists like the Vasulkas were able to build their own video cameras and mixers to allow them to create whole new images—in effect new ways of seeing. Today that kind of utopian or avant-garde idea that video can make surprising new orders of images is dead—it’s almost impossible for artists to open up a complex program like Cinema 4D and make it do something else. Those softwares were produced through huge capital investment funding hundreds of developers. But I’m still interested in engaging with digital and 3D video, trying to wrestle with it to try and get it to do something interesting—I guess because the way that it pictures the world says something about the world at the moment—and somehow it feels that one needs to work in relation to the heightened state of commodification and abstraction these programs represent. So I try and misuse the software or do things by hand as much as possible, and rather than programming and rendering I manipulate things in real time. JBR: So in some way the collective and divided labour that goes into producing the latest cinematic commodities also has a doubled effect: firstly technique is revealed as the opposite of some kind of freedom, and at the same time this has an effect both on how the cinematic object is treated and how it appears. To be represented objects have to be surrounded by the new 3D capture technology, and at the same time it laminates the images in a reflected glossiness that bespeaks both the technology and the disappearance of the labour that has gone into creating it. DP: I’m definitely interested in the images produced by the newest image technologies—especially as they go beyond lens-based capture. One of the screens in the triptych uses volumetric capturing— basically 3D scanning for moving image. The ‘camera’ perspective we experience as the viewer is non-existent, and as we travel into these virtual, impossible perspectives it creates the effect of these hollowed out, corroded bodies. This connects to a recurring motif of ‘hollowing out’ that appears in the video and sculpture I’ve been making recently. And I have a recurring obsession with the hollowing out of reality caused by the new regime of commodities whose production has become cut to the bone, so emptied of their material integrity that they’re almost just symbols of themselves. So in my show ‘The Dark Pool’ (Hollybush Gardens, 2014) I made sculptural assemblages with Ikea tables and shelves, which when you cut them open are hollow and papery. Or in ‘Time Crystals’ (Pumphouse Gallery, 2017) I worked with clothes made in the image of the past from Primark and H&M that are so low-grade that they can barely stand washing. We are increasingly surrounded by objects, all of which have—through contemporary processes of hyper-rationalisation and production—been slowly emptied of material quality. Yet they have the resemblance of luxury or historical goods. This is a real kind of spectral reality we inhabit.  I wonder to myself about how the unconscious might haunt us in these days when commodities have become hollow. Might it be like Benjamin’s notion of the optical unconscious, in which through the photographic still the everyday is brought into a new focus, not in order to see what is behind the veil of semblance, but to see—and reclaim for art—the veiling in a newly-won clarity. DP: Yes, I see these new technologies as similar, but am interested in how they don't just change impact perception but also movement. The veiled moving figures in ‘The Searchers' are a strange byproduct of digital video compositing. I was looking to produce highly abstract linear depictions of bodies reduced to fleshy lines, similar to those in the show and I discovered that the best way to create these abstract images was to cover the face and hands of performers when you film them to hide the obvious silhouettes of hands and faces. But asking performers to do this inadvertently produced a very peculiar movement—the strange veiled choreography that you see in the show. I found this footage of the covered performers (which was supposed to be a stepping stone to a more digitally mediated image, and never actually seen) really suggestive— the dancers seem to be seeking out different temporary forms and they have a curious classical or religious quality or sometimes evoke a contemporary state of emergency. Or they just look like absurd ghosts. JBR: In the last hundred years, when people have talked about ghosts the one thing they don’t want to think about is how children consider ghosts, as figures covered in a white sheet, in a stupid tangible way. Ghosts—as traumatic memories—have become more serious and less playful. Ghosts mean dwelling on the unfinished business of the past, or apprehending some shard of history left unredeemed that now revisits us. Not only has no one been allowed to be a child with regard to ghosts, but also ghosts are not for materialists either. All the white sheets are banished. One of the things about Marx when he talks about phantoms—or at least phantasmagorias—is much closer to thinking about, well, pieces of linen and how you clothe someone, and what happens with a coat worked up out of once living, now dead labour that seems more animate than the human who wears it.  DP: Yes, I’ve been very interested in Marx’s phantasmagorias. I reprinted Keston Sutherland’s brilliant essay on how Marx uses the term ‘Gallerte’ or ‘gelatine’ to describe abstract labour for a recent show. Sutherland highlights a vitalism in Marx’s metaphysics that I’m very drawn to. For the last few years I’ve been working primarily with dancers and physical performers and trying to somehow make work about the weird fleshy world of objects and how they’re shot through with frozen labour. I love how he describes the ‘wooden brain’ of the table as commodity and how he describes it ‘dancing’—I always wanted to make an animatronic dancing table.  JBR: There is also a sort of joyfulness about that. The phantasmagoria isn’t just scary but childish. Of course you are haunted by commodities, of course they are terrifying, of course they are worked up out of the suffering and collective labour of a billion bodies working both in concert and yet alienated from each other. People’s worked up death is made into value, and they all have unfinished business. But commodities are also funny and they bumble around; you find them in your house and play with them.  DP: Well my last body of work was all about dancing and how fashion commodities are bound up with joy and memory, but this show has come out much bleaker. It’s about how bodies are searching out something else in a time of crisis. It’s ended up reflecting a sense of lack and longing and general feeling of anxiety in the air. That said I am always drawn to images that are quite bright, colourful and ‘pop’ and maybe a bit banal—everyday moments of dead time and secret gestures.  JBR: Yes, but they are not so banal. In dealing with tangible everyday things we are close to time and motion studies, but not just in terms of the stupid questions they ask of how people work efficiently. Rather this raises questions of what sort of material should be used so that something slips or doesn’t slip—or how things move with each other or against each other—what we end up doing with our bodies or what we end up putting on our bodies. Your view into this is very sympathetic: much art dealing in cut-up bodies appears more violent, whereas the ruins of your abstractions in the stylised triptych seem almost caring.  DP: Well I’m glad you say that. Although this show is quite dark I also have a bit of a problem with a strain of nihilist melancholy that pervades a lot of art at the moment. It gives off a sense of being subsumed by capitalism and modern technology and seeing no way out. I hope my work always has a certain tension or energy that points to another possible world. But I’m not interested in making academic statements with the work about theory or politics. I want it to gesture in a much more intuitive, rhythmic, formal way like music. I had always made music and a few years back started to realise that I needed to make video with the same sense of formal freedom. The big change in my practice was to move from making images using cinematic language to working with simultaneous registers of images on multiple screens that produce rhythmic or affective structures and can propose without text or language.  JBR: The presentation of these works relies on an intervention into the time of the video. If there is a haunting here its power appears in the doubled domain of repetition, which points both backwards towards a past that must be compulsively revisited, and forwards in convulsive anticipatory energy. The presentation of the show troubles cinematic time, in which not only is linear time replaced by cycles, but also new types of simultaneity within the cinematic reality can be established between loops of different velocities.  DP: Film theorists talk about the way ‘post-cinematic’ contemporary blockbusters are made from images knitted together out of a mixture of live action, green-screen work, and 3D animation. I’ve been thinking how my recent work tries to explode that—keep each element separate but simultaneous. So I use ‘live’ images, green-screened compositing and CGI across a show but never brought together into a naturalised image—sort of like a Brechtian approach to post-cinema. The show is somehow an exploded frame of a contemporary film with each layer somehow indicating different levels of lived abstractions, each abstraction peeling back the surface further.  JBR: This raises crucial questions of order, and the notion that abstraction is something that ‘comes after’ reality, or is applied to reality, rather than being primary to its production.  DP: Yes good point. I think that’s why I’m interested in multiple screens visible simultaneously. The linear time of conventional editing is always about unveiling whereas in the show everything is available at the same time on the same level to some extent. This kind of multi-screen, multi-layered approach to me is an attempt at contemporary ‘realism’ in our times of high abstraction. That said it’s strange to me that so many artworks and games using CGI these days end up echoing a kind of ‘naturalist’ realist pictorialism from the early 19th Century—because that’s what is given in the software engines and in the gaming-post-cinema complex they’re trying to reference. Everything is perfectly in perspective and figures and landscapes are designed to be at least pseudo ‘realistic’. I guess that’s why you hear people talking about the digital sublime or see art that explores the Romanticism of these ‘gaming’ images.  JBR: But the effort to make a naturalistic picture is—as it was in the 19th century—already not the same as realism. Realism should never just mean realistic representation, but instead the incursion of reality into the work. For the realists of the mid-19th century that meant a preoccupation with motivations and material forces. But today it is even more clear that any type of naturalism in the work can only serve to mask similar preoccupations, allowing work to screen itself off from reality.  DP: In terms of an anti-naturalism I’m also interested in the pictorial space of medieval painting that breaks the laws of perspective or post-war painting that hovered between figuration and abstraction. I recently returned to Francis Bacon who I was the first artist I was into when I was a teenage goth and who I’d written off as an adolescent obsession. But revisiting Bacon I realised that my work is highly influenced by him, and reflects the same desire to capture human energy in a concentrated, abstracted way. I want to use ‘cold’ digital abstraction to create a heightened sense of the physical but not in the same way as motion capture which always seems to smooth off and denature movement. So the graph-like image in the centre of the triptych (Les Fantômes) in this show twitches with the physicality of a human body in a very subtle but palpable way. It looks like CGI but isn’t and has this concentrated human life force rippling through it. 

If in this space and time of loops of the exploded unstill still, we find ourselves again stuck in this shuddering and juddering, I can’t help but ask what its gesture really is. How does the past it holds gesture towards the future? And what does this mean for our reality and interventions into it. JBR: The green-screen video is very cold. The ruined 3D version is very tender. DP: That's funny you say that. People always associate ‘dirty’ or ‘poor’ images with warmth and find my green-screen images very cold. But in the green-screened video these bodies are performing a very tender dance—searching out each other, trying to connect, but also trying to become objects, or having to constantly reconfigure themselves and never settling. JBR: And yet with this you have a certain conceit built into the drapes you use: one that is in a totally reflective drape, and one in a drape that is slightly too close to the colour of the greenscreen background. Even within these thin props there seems to be something like a psychological description or diagnosis. And as much as there is an attempt to conjoin two bodies in a mutual darkness, each seems thrown back by its own especially modern stigma. The two figures seem to portray the incompatibility of the two poles established by veiled forms of the world of commodities: one is hidden by a veil that only reflects back to the viewer, disappearing behind what can only be the viewer’s own narcissism and their gratification in themselves, which they have mistaken for interest in an object or a person, while the other clumsily shows itself at the very moment that it might want to seem camouflaged against a background that is already designed to disappear. It forces you to recognise the object or person that seems to want to become inconspicuous. And stashed in that incompatibility of how we find ourselves cloaked or clothed is a certain unhappiness. This is not a happy show. Or at least it is a gesturally unsettled and unsettling one. DP: I was consciously thinking of the theories of gesture that emerged during the crisis years of the early 20th century. The impact of the economic and political on bodies. And I wanted the work to reflect this sense of crisis. But a lot of the melancholy in the show is personal. It's been a hard year. But to be honest I’m not that aligned to those who feel that the current moment is the worst of all possible times. There’s a left/liberal hysteria about the current moment (perhaps the same hysteria that is fuelling the rise of right-wing populist ideas) that somehow nothing could be worse than now, that everything is simply terrible. But I feel that this moment is a moment of contestation, which is tough but at least means having arguments about the way the world should be, which seems better than the strange technocratic slumber of the past 25 years. Austerity has been horrifying and I realise that I’ve been relatively shielded from its effects, but the sight of the post-political elites being ejected from the stage of history is hopeful to me, and people seem to forget that the feeling of the rise of the right has been also met with a much broader audience for the left or more left-wing ideas than have been previously allowed to impact public discussion. That said, I do think we’re experiencing the dog-end of a long-term economic decline and this sense of emptying out is producing phantasms and horrors and creating a sense of palpable dread. I started to feel that the images I was making for ‘The Searchers’ engaged with this. David Panos (b. 1971 in Athens, Greece) lives and works in London, UK. A selection of solo and group exhibitions include Pumphouse Gallery, Wandsworth, London, 2017 (solo); Sculpture on Screen. The Very Impress of the Object, Gulbenkian Museum, Lisbon, Portugal [Kirschner & Panos], 2017; Nemocentric, Charim Galerie, Vienna, 2016; Atlas [De Las Ruinas] De Europa, Centro Centro, Madrid, 2016; The Dark Pool, Albert Baronian, Brussels, (solo), 2015; The Dark Pool, Galeria Marta Cervera, Madrid, 2015; Whose Subject Am I?, Kunstverein Fur Die Rheinlande Und Westfalen, Düsseldorf, 2015; The Dark Pool, Hollybush Gardens, London, (solo), 2014; A Machine Needs Instructions as a Garden Needs Discipline, MARCO Vigo, 2014; Ultimate Substance, B3 Biennale des bewegten Blides, Nassauischer Kunstverein, Wiesbaden, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, CentrePasquArt, Biel, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; Ultimate Substance, Extra City, Antwerp, (Kirschner & Panos solo), 2013; The Magic of the State, Lisson Gallery, London, 2013; HELL AS, Palais de Tokyo, Paris, 2013.

[angelparentncl-blog]

First blog post

I dont know if anyone will ever read this, im unsure if I actually want people too. This is just somewhere I thought I would jot down my idea’s and thoughts as an Angel Parent.

Before I go any further, maybe it’s best to define what I mean when I say Angel Parent. In basic terms it means my child died. Her name was Lexi Jayne and she was as real as could be, I held her in my arms and kissed her little head and fell in love with her as soon as I saw her. I didn’t used to believe in love at first sight, but since it happened to me twice (the only other time was with my wife) I guess I have no choice.

I guess maybe I should also give a bit of back story. That’s where most things start isn’t it? The beginning.

So, I was fortunate enough to meet my wife at work, I still remember when she came for her interview, she was stunning (and you still are babes if you read this). I never thought I would have a shot. You have heard the term “punching above your weight” or “well out of your league”, this was the ultimate definition of this. But after becoming friends a little romance blossomed and the next thing you knew we were together (yay go me). What followed were a lot of ups and like any relationship a couple of downs. We got married on August 5th of 2012 and our next thought was “let’s start a family”. We tried and tried for a good 4 years. We were told that in theory nothing was wrong with us so everything was to do with weight. We tried diets and our weight went up and down over the next however many years. We were still unsuccessful. We eventually blamed stress from our workplaces at the time and decided to hold off until we were in a better mental state to attempt to conceive.

This was around February 2016. We had lots to look forward too in the year ahead. We had a trip to New York planned, We were discussing a family cruise on the Disney Magic, so much was going on. We decided to be one of those couples who would just holiday for a while and come back to the baby thing later. We after all had plenty of time. Nature is a funny thing though isn’t it? It was June 2016 around the 28th to be exact. Now this may be a bit too much information here so apologies in advance. But Rachael had been having funny periods for the past 2 month, something was off and she was, understandably, concerned. We scheduled a Doctors appointment for the 30th of June to see what the hell was going on. On the 29th of June Rachael decided to do a pregnancy test JUST IN CASE. There it was, the line we had always wanted to see, it was POSITIVE. More tests were taken just to be certain and every one positive, positive, positive. We were overjoyed. We were finally extending our family.

Our next step was telling our parents. At this time my in laws were currently on a cruise, so they were unreachable. But my parents were around. I know you’re meant to wait until 12 weeks to tell people but we had waited for so long we thought, fuck tradition, lets tell people now. We bought some pacifiers and put them into a gift bag and presented them to my mum. She was, at first, confused. Until it all clicked. I don’t think I have ever seen her so happy. I then told my auntie who had the same reaction, though honestly, not as grand. Which we totally understood, she has never really been a kid person, if we got a puppy it would be so different haha. The next day my in-laws were to arrive home. We were going to pop down that evening but decided on a facetime conversation instead. I still have the pictures (im sure I will upload them soon). The tears of joy and happiness still makes me smile. Things were looking good.

As you can imagine the next few months of our lives was filled with excitement, planning, buying and obviously nerves. We went for our first scan thinking we were at 12 weeks. We were wrong, just so much anticipation, turns out we were only 8. But they checked our baby out anyway and everything was progressing nicely. Finally got our 12 week scan and could see our little baby properly for the first time. Yes she was small on the screen but features could be made out. I’m not going to lie here, tears were shed. Its one of those moments when you finally have something that you have always wanted. Your own flesh and blood on the screen in front of you. It’s something you can never prepare for. I’m sure my fellow fathers understand this. Things were now real.

Another 8 weeks later we finally get our 20 week scan. I am so nervous but excited, I get to see my child again but only this time we get to know if were having a boy or a girl. Like every father the thought of a son slightly edges in front of a daughter. I never understood why this is but it happened (on a side note the reason I mention this is because I want this blog to be fully honest, im not going to lie about feelings etc and if you think im wrong for wanting a boy, im sorry its just how it was). So we have the scan we are told it’s a girl. My wife was elated and truth be told, so was I. Yes its not going to be my boy that I will play football with etc but its going to be a girl. I came to actually liking the idea of a girl more than a boy. Just that daddy daughter bond, being wrapped around her little finger, scaring away her first dates etc. I was excited. The 20 week scan also showed us something that we didn’t expect. She had an anomaly. It was on the umbilical cord and thought to likely be a cyst but we would need further testing to be sure. We left the scan room, honestly, nervous. But we were reassured that these things pop up on a daily basis and its nothing to worry about. This just needs to be confirmed by a specialist and things can continue as normal.

So, assured as we were we left, we started discussing names and told our proud parents they were due to have a granddaughter. We decided on the name Lexi Jayne. It just fit. Lexi it was. Our family happily shared the news online that Lexi was our decided name and how proud they were, typical mam n dad stuff really. We were booked in with our next scan the week later to see what was going on with this anomaly. We spoke to a new Doctor who scanned my wife and advised us that this is something more serious than a cyst. We needed to see another speciality doctor in another hospital. So a week later another appointment was made at the hospital in the centre of Newcastle. We were told to arrive for 3pm but expect a bit of a delay. 6pm, we finally get called through for our scan. We speak to the doctor and her nurse who inform us Lexi had what was known as an Umbilical Vein Varix. If you want more information on that, google is your friend here people, in general it means the vein in her umbilical chord is swollen at a point. We were again assured that this is fine, this is a very rare condition but death rates were low, in fact the number of recorded deaths due to this varix is 0. We were told we need to be monitored every other week to check on growth as that’s the only thing we need to worry about.

So again we left happy. We had another scan of our daughter where it looked like she was yawning and had her hand over her mouth. I won’t lie, this had to be my favourite scan pic. It showed us a bit of her personality, we also got a pic of her massive foot which had been kicking Rachael for some time now. We then understood why it hurt so much haha. So more scans came and went and we got to watch our daughter grow every 2 weeks. Though we did have 1 more visit to the hospital in Newcastle centre. The doctors did a 3d scan (though I think they’re called 4d and I can never figure out why). He stupidly left it on the monitor as he went out the room, so free snap from my phone later and we had the perfect image haha. At this point my wife is starting to panic a bit, we haven’t really had time to start on Lexi’s room yet. Its getting close to December and Lexi is due in March. I assured her things would be ready on time and I have plans in place. I don’t think she believed me but I genuinely did have plans. We were to move the furniture out that we currently had in the beginning of December (which did get done) then around the 2nd or 3rd week my mam was going to start on the decorating of the room and the new year would bring in all of her furniture we would need. Speaking of decorating we decided we were going to have a Lilo and Stitch themed room. For a few reasons, one, we love stitch, stitch is awesome, don’t be fooled into thinking otherwise. Secondly the message in that movie that “ohana means family, family means no-one gets left behind, or forgotten” is something we thought was a nice motto for our family. Decals were bought and ready to go on walls. Everything was coming along nicely.

Thursday December 15th 2016. This is a day I will never forget for the rest of my life. It started out as any normal day would with the exception that my wife had a routine midwife appointment. I did my usual, get ready, kiss my wife goodbye and go to work routine. I was sat at work when I received an email at around 12:00. “I need you to come pick me up, somethings wrong with Lexi”. Okay, I was nervous. I left work and went to collect my wife who was waiting in the doctors surgery. During this time I had tried to contact my mam to let her know what was going on. No answer, sometimes getting in touch with the pope is easier than getting in touch with my mam haha. But I got to my wife, she gets in the car and tells me that her midwife cant find Lexi’s heartbeat on the doppler device. I wave this off immediately thinking she is just being awkward like her dad.  My mam calls me back and we tell her the news, she is exactly the same, waves it off, she will be fine, of course she will.

I drop my wife off at the door and I go park the car. On the way in I smoke a cigarette, I have plenty of time. I go to the ward my wife is meant to be on. As I walk in…. the only word I can use to describe this next feeling is, Fuck. The ward is quiet apart from 1 voice. That 1 voice is screaming and crying and is a noise I will never get out of my head for the rest of my life. The other thing that was very distinguished about this voice is I recognised it. I knew immediately who it was. It was my wife. I walked to the reception head down asking for her, they sent me to another desk, I asked again for my wife, they sent me back to the original desk. It’s at this point I see someone I missed earlier, a nurse. I ask again for my wife. She has that look in her eye and I know what she is going to tell me. Her words were “are you Neil?” I say “yes” she is just about to go onto the whole I’m sorry I have bad news speech and I had to cut her off “I’m not stupid” I said “I can hear my wife screaming, my daughter is dead, where is she?” I was taken into a room where my wife is sat (thankfully with my sister who seen her come in) we all just embraced for a few minutes while things were confirmed 100%.

The next part of the day is all a bit of a blur. There are things I remember, things I try not too remember and because of this the order of stuff is a bit all over the place. We were sat in the same room being told that the next steps were we need Rachael to take a tablet, this would start to dissolve the placenta and start the process of getting our daughter out. At this point were trying to phone families to explain what the hell is going on. Were clearly in shock, I managed to get in touch with my mam again (which is rare, see pope comment). This is one part I will never forget. I had to tell my mam that her only grandchild was dead. How do you do this. I was choking back tears and all I could mutter out was, “it’s bad news mam, she’s gone” Unable to comprehend she was replying “what do you mean? Who’s gone?”. I knew what I had to say, it was difficult, it took all of my strength but I got the words out “Lexi is dead”. Everything on the phone went silent. You could hear the tears forming from my mam as she was trying to comprehend what her son was saying to her. Through muttered crying my mam asks how and I cant give her an answer. She said she will meet us back at home and see us soon. Her hanging up breaking her heart will live with me for the rest of my life. During this time we are trying to get in touch with my in-laws, who for once, are harder to get a hold of than my mam. We finally get through and I cant answer much for this as I wasn’t on the phone, but they’re told, I know they’re upset and they make their way to the hospital.

We sit for what feels like an eternity as we are told what the next steps of our journey will be. We finally have the tablet, the 3 of us are sitting in a room of sadness, a room of tears and a room of disbelief. After a while my in-laws appear and provide some much needed comfort to us all. We explain what has gone on and what is happening next. During this time we get moved to another room to get our heads around and prepare for the next few days. We are told we will be send home and we will need to return on Saturday. My wife wants to drink but due to the tablet she cant. So we opt for smoking again instead (my wife had stopped when she was pregnant). All I remember at this point is pacing the floor, my in-laws asking if I am okay and drinking coffee. We finally gather the courage to leave the hospital. We all go to the shop and pick up some essentials. For us cigarettes, for my in laws, food to keep our strength up. We arrived at the house first followed quickly by both sets of parents. We sat, we cried and we had cups of tea and coffee (yes the British way to sort ANY problem is a good ole fashioned cuppa). We talked a lot and for a long time. Eventually everyone left and it was just us. As much as we probably didn’t know it but at the time this was just what we needed. We needed time as a couple and just as a couple to figure our own shit out. We decided we would buy Lexi a star so she would always be remembered.

The next day was a bit of a blur. We had to go shopping and return some items we had bought (bottles etc) and also buy the kind of items women need when they are to give birth. On a side note with that, there are few places you can go to collect these supplies, if by chance you are reading this and working in one of these type of shops, please move it away from the baby aisle. Yes this is great for someone who is due to give birth to a healthy and alive child, to someone who has been told their child has died and is going to have a stillbirth, not so much. One of the things I remember about this day was trying to hold back tears in public. It’s strange as a male, were not meant to cry. Even when going through the worst pain imaginable all I could think was don’t let anyone see you cry. Also I was thankful that my mam was free that day to drive us around. The lack of food and lack of sleep since the day prior would have made driving a difficult and stupid task. I think to my mam she saw this as a small thing, but she will never know how much we needed this and how thankful we were. Another foodless day and sleepless night followed. The next day was hospital day.

So the big day is here, we get Rachael packed up take a few supplies, pop to the shop on the way and pick up some cigarettes, just enough for the day as we suspect we will be home in a few hours. Boy were we wrong. We arrived at the hospital at around 11:50 am, we stand outside taking everything in and before we go in, we have a quick smoke. We can see other people judging us, and we understand it, were pregnant and smoking. The only difference is smoking cant harm our baby, nothing can anymore. We go to the birthing suite and settle in to our room which in this hospital is known as “the Willow Room”. Our main midwife comes in and introduces herself. Her name is Jenny. She is a specialist bereavement midwife who deals with these sort of cases (actually if you google Jenny you will also see she has won awards for this, she really is amazing). She explained the procedure we would have to go through to get Rachael induced and to get Lexi out. The plan was every 4 hours she would have to have a tablet inserted into her cervix to basically force labour. After putting our minds at rest about our own worries and everything else she left the room for us to settle in. The willow room in the hospital is very different to other birthing suites, We had tea and coffee facilities, a sofa that turned into a double bed and the room was generally quite a bit bigger. There was also a book and a box with a camera in for us to take pictures with when our angel arrived. We looked at the book and it was stories of everyone who had been in the willow room prior to us. It was a deeply harrowing experience to read other people’s stories about their loved ones who were taken away so soon, but at the same time, it was comforting to know we weren’t alone, again more tears were shed.

It was around 2pm when Jenny came back to our room and we got things started. I remember asking Rachael how it was with the tablet and she kept a brave face and said as much as it was uncomfortable going in it was okay and she was fine. So we settled in to what would be our home for the next while. We chatted between each other and with the midwives when they appeared, went for a few cigarettes, watched tele, played on our phones etc, just like you would do normally. I really liked this room. It became our own personal bubble. The day turned to night and Rachael had already had another tablet. Nothing was moving, In all honesty, we expected to be home by now. We thought this would be a very quick procedure, induced couple of tablets and boom Lexi would be out. I remember phoning my mam saying things were taking longer than expected and I needed some things brought to us like food and more cigs. My mam being the gem that she is was down immediately with a bag full of goodies to snack on and more cigs to keep us going. She didn’t stay for long but we were grateful for the company. Another thing about being in the Willow Room, you get whatever you want. As most of you will know, hospitals have set visiting hours, not in the Willow Room. We could have visitors at any time we wanted, if there was stuff we wanted we only need ask (I even got meals brought to me and this hospital food was nice man). The other difference was a very subtle one, our room had a blue butterfly sticker on the door. The butterfly system is a great idea and again I recommend you look into it if you are curious.

One thing that made us quite popular with the midwives was our box of heroes, every time someone came in chocolate was offered. It was a small way to show the midwives how much we appreciated the care they had given us so far. So the night passed again being woken up every 4 hours for a tablet. Rachael was getting quite uncomfortable now which is understandable. Basically, the tablet would dissolve around her cervix and every time a new one was added it would feel gritty. It was one of those helpless moments where there was nothing I could do but hold her hand, tell her how amazing she was and how proud I was of her. Another slight tangent here, because we were on the birthing suite quite often during the night we would hear other women come into the other rooms, scream and then hear the baby cry. As you can imagine this was quite distressing but thankfully we had the TV to drown this out. Plus midwives would always come in and check on us make sure we were okay. Also it was during this time me and Rachael decided that when we have our rainbow baby, we don’t want a big deal made of it in the hospital, which means no balloons or anything substantial brought in while we are there. This can be saved until we are home. The amount of distress this caused to both me and the wife when we were going outside or for a walk just made us decide that’s how it will be. We don’t want to put other angel parents through that.

Sunday came around and still no movement. It got to 2pm and we were told that Rachael now gets a 24 hour break from the tablets, this came as great news to us, finally she could relax and maybe sleep without being woken through the night. We were introduced to some new midwives along the way, we met Anne who was a bubbly Scottish girl and who in the evening just sat and cried with us and tried her best to get us smiling again. She was very much like a mother figure and was a very open and honest person. She was amazing at comforting us and was there for us during our time of need without being in the way. We also met Judy. Now Judy was a funny one. I wasn’t sure about her at first she seems a little less friendly than Anne and Jenny but again maybe I was tired. Turns out, that’s all it was. After a late night cigarette the wife got slightly triggered again by people taking their healthy babies home. We got back to our room and she just broke down and cried in my arms. Judy clearly saw something was wrong and joined us. She was so kind and understanding and we sat talking for what must have been an hour. Showing pictures of our pets and family pets and discussing their personalities etc it really was a welcomed distraction.

Monday morning rolled around and still no Lexi. We knew that the tablets would be starting again soon so we made the most of our morning.  Take a bit longer in the shower than normal and just generally have a bit of a relax before the afternoon rolled around. 2pm quickly struck us though and Rachael was prepped for another tablet. It was still painful but we tried to make light of the situation (Rachael at one point offering me to get my prostate checked, at the snap of the glove I politely declined). By this time we had another visit off mam to bring us more goodies and more cigs and a bit more general conversation. During this time I was keeping the rest of the family updated via text or Facebook Messenger so they knew what was going on. Because of how far my in laws lived we didn’t want to make them do such a long journey when my mam was closer, even though I know they would if we needed them too. It got to Monday night and there was still no movement. Rachaels cervix hadn’t changed and Lexi showed no signs of appearing any time soon. It was December 19th and we feared we would still be here on Christmas Day.

Tuesday December 20th. Rachael had been on tablets all day Monday and nothing was moving. She got a tablet at around 2-3am and she was in pain. The tablets really had taken their toll on her, I have never felt so helpless. Rachael finally opted to take some gas and air to help with her pain. I folder up my bed and sat with her to keep her company and try to help with her pain. Judy was our midwife again and she would periodically come to check on us. As the hours went on Rachael’s pain got more and more severe. She went to the toilet and something unplugged (im not sure on the terminology here, I probably should be but im not). I was told to tell Judy about what had happened. This was at about 5am. Judy came back and checked on her, things were moving along now and very quickly. We were told we could have dihydromorphine when labour started to help with the pain. Judy told me to let her know when things moved along again and she would go get this for her. It got to approximately 5:10 am and at that point Rachaels waters broke, This was again one of those things I’d never forget. Normally when waters break (from what I’m aware) this should all be clear liquid. This was not the case with us. When Rachael’s water broke it was red, it was a lot of blood. This was the sign of things happening. I’m not going to lie people, I panicked. I needed to find the call button as there was no midwife I could see. I followed the chord but couldn’t see the button, it was in the cupboard but my brain could not comprehend it. All I knew is I couldn’t see it. Finally when I wracked my head to being able to open the cupboard door I pressed the button, Judy was there immediately. Turns out we didn’t have time for the dihydromorphine, Lexi was coming and she was coming fast.

The birth was a standard birth apart from Lexi coming out butt first. I held Rachael’s hand as she pushed and she delivered Lexi on only gas and air, she did so well. It was weird as much as there was people in the room once Rachael stopped pushing a Lexi was out there was a silence, the crying you expect to hear and pray to hear wasn’t there. I remember for about a good 20 minutes I just sat there, looking out the window crying. I couldn’t look at Lexi and I couldn’t look at anyone else, although I did look while they gave my wife a huge injection in her leg to flush the placenta and being amazed that she didn’t feel it. We did have a laugh about that later. Once the midwives had finished up with Rachael I finally got the courage to look at her. Wow she was beautiful, I know everyone says their child is beautiful but she really was. Perfect little nose, eyes were kind of open so we could tell she had brown eyes, unfortunately she had my nose and not Rachaels and she had little wisps of brown hair. She was born at 5:18 am and when she was weighed she was 2lb 9oz. Judy stayed with us for a while and helped us to bathe Lexi, She asked if I wanted to do it but I didn’t have the strength. We got plenty of photo’s though and got her wrapped up in a towel. Next some clothes were brought in as she was too small for the clothes we had for her. She was wrapped in a little pink blanket and we finally got to hold our angel. Rachael had first hold, as she should I might add. You could see the pain in her eyes as she stared at our first born child. Tears were strolling down her cheek and she could not stop apologising even though she was not at fault. Lots of cuddles and kisses later it was my turn. Dear reader I have a confession to make here, holding a child has always been a huge fear of mine, what if I drop her, what if I don’t hold her right what if I make her uncomfortable etc etc. But I sat down and took her into my arms, it felt so natural. I have never felt such a surge of love and sadness at the same time before in my life. I just broke down. Here she was, my precious little daughter in my arms, I was finally a dad. The only difference is I couldn’t take my daughter home. We took lots of pictures and let our parents know Lexi was finally here and arranged their visiting times.

The first person to arrive was my Auntie, now you may recall I mentioned her earlier in the story, she was the prefer dogs to kids lady. She sat down with Lexi, had a bit of a hold and got lots of photo’s taken. You could see the pain in her eyes, this is not what we expected and I don’t think she expected it either. You could see the bond form between them instantly. We still joke to this day about how I would have understood more if it was our puppy who died. It just shows how much of a big heart my auntie has and she still to this day will cry when Lexi is mentioned. I know that if she had survived they would have been inseparable. We left my auntie babysitting while we went for our first smoke of the day. Later was time for my in laws to arrive, they brought us some McDonalds as a bit of a snack to get some other food in us which was greatly appreciated. Again more cuddles were had and more photo’s taken. My mam and Steve (her partner) followed. I was again surprised by the reaction of Steve. Bit of background here (ie another tangent). So, my mum had only recently got together with Steve earlier in the year. He had known us less than a year when Lexi was born. I will always remember when he walked into the room he just burst into tears. He came over and got himself some cuddles too and we made sure to get photo’s so he could keep that memory alive forever. Something like this I believe shows true character and his reaction to Lexi well and truly cemented my opinion of Steve as being a genuinely nice guy with a heart of gold. More photo’s later and lots of discussion (it was a noisy room at this point) Rachael’s sister walked in. Unfortunately it did get to the point where Lexi was becoming to deteriorated to hold anymore and needed to stay in her cold cot. Vic (Rachaels sister) did manage to give her a kiss and old onto her hand for a while so she did get some bonding time. A Little about Victoria, (again another tangent). Ever since I have known Vic she has always been strong willed and strong minded and VERY strong emotionally. She rarely shows when she is upset unless it really gets to her, she is a proud person and has every right to be and its an honour to be able to call her my sister in law. She can hold people together when needed and be that support that you want without being condescending toward you.

The reason I mention above is due to what happened when Vic walked in the room. She came in all happy and hey everyone being bubbly as normal. Went to Lexi’s cold cot, took one look and immediately turned away to try to hide the fact she was crying. She was clearly too late cos I saw her and went to give her a hug. So we all just kind of chilled in this room and eventually we got notice that the bereavement officer was here to see us. Her name was Kara. We took this as a sign for everyone to leave (apart from Vic, we wanted her to stay as she hadn’t been long, she waited outside for us to finish up with this next part). Kara introduced herself as the person no one ever wants to meet. We made a joke about this and complimented how lovely she actually was and we would happily speak to her again, just preferably under better circumstances. We got through the paperwork that was needed and immediately afterwards the registry officer was here. Another while of getting all of her details registered. She didn’t get a birth or death certificate, she got a certification of stillbirth. This means she will still have a record of life in a way and will still be acknowledged. What did get a bit creepy was towards the end of the registration, the lady doing this kept looking at us funny all throughout the process. It got to the end and she asked, are you married? We said yes, she asked when we got married and where. We told her and the penny dropped. The lady registering the death of our daughter registered our marriage. It was a nice but shocking revelation. Eventually everyone left and we spent some time Me, Rachael, Vic, and Lexi. More bonding later it was time for Vic to go.

We sat for a while just the 3 of us now, s a few nurses we spoke to throughout the time came in to see her and tell us how beautiful she was and offer hugs and support. Finally it hit around 5:30 pm and we decided for Lexi’s sake, it was time to say goodbye. She was deteriorating quickly and we didn’t want her to anymore. We also met another bereavement midwife called Nira. We told her it was time for Lexi to go.  We put her teddy in her basket and sent her on her way re-assured we could get her back any time we wanted. We decided we would stay another night in our little hospital bubble. My mam brought us more McDonalds, a meal this time though and we all sat and chatted for a bit. We fell asleep ready to depart in the morning.

We awoke around 8:15 am after a rough night sleep, we decided to quickly go for a smoke before getting ready to go. On our way we passed Kara again who advised she had a little present for us but was nervous about giving it because of our stance on religion (we’re both atheist). We were absolutely gobsmacked that someone had thought of us who we barely knew and told her not to worry and to pop up and see us when she is free. We finished our cigarettes, went upstairs and had some toast and started to pack. Kara turned up and presented us with this little Christmas decoration of an Angel with Lexi’s name on it. It was beautiful and we thanked her profusely. We were later told that Kara never does this, she was just so touched by us and our story she couldn’t resist. We have spoke to Kara since and she really is an awesome lady. We finally went home and prepared for what would be a very strange Christmas.

I will skip over Christmas because I am sure you can guess how it was. Lots of tears, lots of alcohol and lots of what ifs. Its to be expected.

I will skip to just before new year. We finally got notice that Lexi’s body had been released after post mortem. We will be made aware when she is in the chapel of rest ready for us to go visit her and finish off the rest of the funeral arrangements. Actually (I swear I make a lot of tangents) on a side note. This again goes to show how amazing the hospital was. Once we got everything sorted we were also advised that Lexi’s funeral would be paid for by the NHS/hospital trust. This was a HUGE weight off our minds. Not a single expense was spared, we got cars, the chapel of rest, coffin all made for to our specification. All we needed to pay for was flowers. The funeral was organised by the co-op and I must admit, they were brilliant from start to finish. I will discuss the funeral more in the next section.

So once we found out Lexi was available to be visited again we got everyone who wanted too together and we went to see her. I went in first to make sure she hadn’t deteriorated too much. She was still perfect. Her teddy was still sat with her protecting her and making sure she was not alone. We organised songs with the directors and the priest guy who was going to do the service. We ordered flowers and everything was set for the day.

It was a cold morning, the wind was blowing and the air felt very crisp. The flowers were delivered, the family was here. All we were waiting for now was Lexi. We got in the car, the coffin was not on show, and took the small drive to the crematorium. We had come to the decision that I was to carry her down the aisle. That’s all I could think about on the way. How can I do this? Am I strong enough? Am I going to break down? Am I going to drop her? Etc etc. We pulled in and everyone was inside the building due to the weather though a small smattering of people waited outside. One of those people was a friend of my grandmother. She was stood right where the first car stopped. I am so thankful for this as seeing her was like seeing my gran and that gave me the strength to do what I had to do. I walked over gave her a big hug and thanked her for coming. Immediately turned to the right and picked up my daughters baby pink coffin. There is a saying, “the smallest boxes are the heaviest”. Never before has that felt so true. I walked my daughter down the aisle for what would be the only and last time as precious child played in the background. I somehow held it together. The service was the same as any other, slightly less religious for us but it was still beautiful. I don’t know if there is such a thing as a perfect funeral, but if so, this was it.

I guess the last thing to mention story wise was getting post mortem results. It was found to be that Lexi had the Varix which was an issue and also had a Whartons Jelly Deficiency. Basically this means her cord wasn’t protected. Both of these conditions are very rare and we know that we will not get these again. But for now, we work on our rainbow baby and doing things for baby loss charities.

If you have read this far thank you. More will be coming soon on the life of an angel parent.

[viralhottopics]

Drew Barrymore ‘I don’t pretend to be perfect’

Drew Barrymore is back on our screens, this time as a flesh-eating estate agent. She tells Rebecca Nicholson about the endless ups and downs of her life from child star to teen rebel, and savvy producer to business woman and explains why shell fight to the death to be happy

Drew Barrymore walks into the hotel room in Berlin flanked by assistants, caked in heavy TV make-up and wrapped in a brown fluffy jacket that makes her look like a very glamorous teddy bear. Within seconds, the entourage has disappeared, shes wiped every last scrap of foundation from her face and shes rummaging around underneath her dress, a kind of earth mother hippy smock, regretting her decision to wear tights on this sub-freezing day. Why does anyone wear pantyhose? she exclaims, barefaced, faux-exasperated, shifting in her armchair, trying to get comfortable. Theyre so fucking sadistic! Theyre not even control pants, she says, conspiratorially, but Im forcing them to be.

For a lot of women, especially women who grew up between 1982 and the early 2000s, Barrymore is a particular kind of icon. Shes the accessible rebel we all wanted to be, or be friends with. Shes the child star of ET who hit the skids early and hard, and not only survived, but went on to be one of the most popular (and bankable) female stars of the past three decades. She appeared in, and often produced, the kinds of movies that are vital viewing for teenagers, from the trashy taboo-busting rebellion of Poison Ivy, to the triumphant high school romcom Never Been Kissed, to the moody angst of Donnie Darko. Plus, in her 20s, she seemed to hang out with the best bands, go to all the best parties and always looked like she was having the time of her life. She was the manic pixie dream girl before it became a tacky indie film stereotype. The memoir she wrote in 2015 is, appropriately, called Wildflower.

She looks genuinely pleased that she holds such a place in peoples minds, and decides that if people do like her, If anyone has any goodwill towards me, careful not to sound arrogant, its because she extends goodwill to other people. Not in an annoying way, but just, like, being in peoples fucking corners. Its this combination of soft and sharp, all wrapped up in that valley girl lilt, that has carried her through life. I want people to be happy, but I know happiness has to be fought for. Its a warrior trophy. Its not hippy, she insists. Im like, fight. Fight to the death to be happy, and dont kill anyone along the way.

Little riot grrrl: Drew Barrymore with Steven Spielberg at the age of five on the set of 1982s ET. Photograph: Everett Collection/Rex Features

Were in Germany to talk about Santa Clarita Diet, the new Netflix series which has brought her back into the spotlight again at 41. Its a warm and occasionally gross 10-part comedy about Sheila and Joel, estate agents who have been together since their school days, and whose marriage is tested when the amiable Sheila develops a sudden taste for human flesh.

I stopped working to have my kids and take care of them and raise them, and so I was nervous about working again, she says. I was going through a dark time in my own life. And then I read it and I liked it. Now what am I supposed to do? I cant do this right now, its terrible timing, my whole life is falling apart. She ended up executive producing it as well as starring.

That her life was falling apart out of the spotlight was a new thing for Barrymore, who had played out most of her life in a very public sphere. No ones talking about my life. I mean, yes, I had a divorce, but even that was real quiet. She split up with actor Will Kopelman, the father of her two children, Olive, four, and Frankie, two, at the beginning of 2016, but recently posted an Instagram of him running the New York marathon; she was there, with their daughters, to support him. It was like, Oh, they didnt work out, I wonder why? Oh my God they seem like such good friends, and so amicable, I guess well stop giving a shit. I was so happy about that, she says, breezily.

Warm and occasionally gross: Barrymore in Santa Clarita Diet. Photograph: Erica Parise/Netflix

In the midst of her divorce, Santa Clarita Diet was a transformative experience. Ironically, it wasnt the worst timing. It was great. It was really happy. It was a good summer. My daughters and I got to go out to California and I got three days off a week. Just as becoming a proto-zombie saves Sheila from the numbing boredom of domestic life, Barrymore went through her own kind of rejuvenation. I feel like Sheila. I feel like maybe I was dead inside, she says cheerfully, blowing her nose. I dont know. I was in a place in my life where I had gained a lot of weight, and been in a place of fear and sadness, and I felt stuck. I dont think thats so much unlike the character.

Until she took time away from acting to have kids, Barrymore had never not worked. She began her career at 11 months in an advert for dog food, quickly becoming the main breadwinner for herself and her mother, Jaid, who raised her alone. Her father John Barrymore, of the Barrymore acting dynasty The great line of loonies from which I come, as she puts it wasnt around much. Her extraordinary youth was public and well-documented. Her breakout role in ET, at five years old, was followed by an outlandish few years of childhood boozing and drug-taking, rehab and institutions, and the sense that, at 14, she was washed up and her career was over.

But it wasnt. She moved into an apartment by herself, got a job in a coffee shop, learned how to do her own laundry and, eventually, clawed her way back into the business, defeating the curse of the child actor where so many others have been lost. She has said her 20s were a kind of delayed adolescence. Now, in her 40s, shes had a lifetimes worth of parties and experiences, and says she doesnt miss it at all. I dont feel like Im not at the centre of things. I dont worry about career stuff. I dont worry about who the hottest band is or that Im not at that show that night. I dont care if the latest trend is happening and its just passing me by.

Star quality: Barrymore with Cameron Diaz and Lucy Liu in Charlies Angels. Photograph: Image Net

Her idea of a good time these days is taking the girls to Disney World, or setting up movie nights for the kids in my daughters class. I just watched Home Alone and all the moms and I were crying at the end. Oh my God, its so good! I appreciate it now much more than I did when I was younger.

Shes too classy to be drawn into any child actor comparisons it would be patronising, annoying, no thanks, she says, nicely but firmly but we talk more broadly about celebrity scandals. Everyone goes up and goes down. Thats life. Nobody wants all of it looked at and discussed. However, if you do put yourself out there, then you need to be prepared for that to be examined and you have to handle it to the best of your abilities. So for people who are like [she puts on a whiny voice]: Dont look at me you put yourself out there!

Is there any way to avoid being examined and discussed? Not in this day and age. You just try to manage things in the healthiest way you can. And by the way? You wont all the time. Youre gonna fuck up. So fuck up, then pick yourself back up. But just be nice and kind and humble and gracious and have a sense of humour. And dont pretend to be perfect.

Golden girl: winning a Golden Globe for Grey Gardens in 2010. Photograph: NBC/Getty Images

Barrymore dealt with her own initial fuck-ups in an incredible and startling memoir, Little Girl Lost, which she wryly calls, The mea culpa book I wrote when I was 14. She appeared on Oprah with her mother to promote it, to go over what went wrong. You can watch it on YouTube; shes 15 going on 35. Yet the book has a cult following, in part because it makes all the partying she did as a young child sound kind of adventurous. Yeah! Its like an 80s cult tragedy book, which is super cool and wrong and fun all at the same time. Its a little riot grrrl, you know?

Theres a chapter where Barrymore describes being hauled off to an institution at her mothers behest, and shes furious at the starstruck guards. God, youve just yanked me out of my house with cuffs on, I thought, and now youre asking me what it was like to meet ET. What jerks, she writes. Even at 14, she had a disdain for celebrity. Still do, she says, today.

We meet on the afternoon of Trumps inauguration. She plans to watch it later, as shes a total news junkie, but she doesnt particularly want to talk about what she thinks of him. Im not a painter and Im not a musician and I think people dont want to hear it from actors, she says. I read this op-ed in the New York Times that was saying, just do things quietly, in your art.

Slasher: Barrymore in Wes Cravens Scream, 1996. Photograph: Allstar

Barrymore is more about the practical. During her screen break, she wrote Wildflower, which became a New York Times bestseller, and shes built a sizeable business empire, including Barrymore wines, a production company, Flower Films, and beauty brand Flower Cosmetics. All of which channel some of that free-spirit warmth into profits reports suggest shes worth $125m. Theres a line in Santa Clarita Diet where Sheila announces: I sleep two hours a night. I get so much done! It struck me that for Barrymore, spinning so many plates, that might be funny. Actually, she says, it was originally written that Sheila would use her spare time to learn French. Me, in my real life, would spend time learning French. This woman literally has a ticking clock on her mortality. Shed be studying fucking Bruce Lee moves and learning to do shit. The line was changed at Barrymores request: instead of learning a language, Sheila would get the ability to parallel park in one move. Im, like, yes! Thats practical!

Its strange to see Barrymore, who seemed to be an eternal teenager, starring as the mother of a teenager in Santa Clarita Diet, partly because her fame is life-long, and you can see interviews with her at almost every age on YouTube. But, she says, she never watches them, never goes back. Hell no. The only thing I ever think when I see myself when Im younger, if Im on a talk show and Im stuck there having to watch clips, is that I was so much more brassy when I was young. Im like: Where do you get the balls, kid?

She says it as if those balls have disappeared with age. She claims shes much more polite now. Sarcastic, but polite. And worse still, she tries to say shes newly dull. In my life Im just so quiet and boring, she declares, not entirely convincingly. This is Drew Barrymore, after all, who talks with the hunger of someone who will always be on the lookout for something new, whether thats being a mother, a businesswoman, or playing a friendly estate agent who kills and eats bad people. I am pretty boring, she insists. I tell her I dont believe it. She smiles slyly, and leans in. Theres a rebel in her still. Im not sure I believe it either.

Santa Clarita Diet launches on Netflix on 3 February

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from Drew Barrymore ‘I don’t pretend to be perfect’