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antiloreolympus · 3 years

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7 Anti LO Asks

1. Do you know what really gets my blood boiling about this comic? Persephone and Demeter's relationship.

In the myths, Demeter and Persephone loved each other more than anything. Their reunion is so important - it marked the coming of spring and growth. A whole cult was dedicated to this for crying out loud. Yes, the myths were far from perfect, but the Persephone and Demeter myth showed the strength of a loving mother-daughter relationship with Demeter searching endlessly to find her child that was ripped away and had her innocence forcibly taken.

Now, RS is not the only author to make Demeter this over-bearing mother type in order to put more positivity onto the Hades-Persephone relationship. However, RS takes this trend to a whole new level - to the point where I would even consider it misogyny.

How is it, she takes this beautiful mother-daughter relationship and makes it out to be an abusive and controlling one, and then takes the Hades-Persephone relationship from a forceful one to a loving, perfect relationship with no problems? How is it ok to ruin one relationship to elevate another?

I understand that many versions of the myth try to downplay Hades' actions, and even make it so Persephone actually falls in love with him and there is no rape. But it doesn't change that this relationship was problematic, and meant to represent the loss of innocence.

Then fans have the gall to claim this comic is feminist and then claim on top of that that Demeter and Persephone's relationship was the same in the myth? These fans clearly don't know the myths, and neither does RS.

Making Hades a good person is fine. Changing it up a bit to make Persephone's loss of innocence something else is also fine. But ruining Demeter and Persephone's relationship? Especially when Persephone has to spend half the year with her? So horrible.

2. im sorry, but rachel cant introduce KRONOS coming back and then dropping it for several episodes to focus on a stake-less trail and persephone not knowing what lingerie to seduce hades in. like thats too much of an earth shaking development and huge stake plot point to just ignore for months to focus instead on something as minor as hxp's relationship, which only points out a huge flaw: why is hxp's relationship so minor in this? isnt the whole point supposed to be about them?

3. I think LO completely dropped the ball over Hades’ characterization.

From the first ep I thought ok, this is good, we have some bones to see he’s not that lucky in love and is just tired and lonely, and while ignoring the creepy actions towards Persephone, I thought ok, Artemis hates him, Hestia hates, even Ares hates him, maybe once Persephone finally sees the underworld and probably gets to know him it’ll be a clever twist and they’ll be proven wrong. The underworld will turn out to be fair and just, the citizens will love Hades, he’ll be revealed to be a good leader and king and not like his brothers, it’ll be like everyone saying Hades of myth isn’t actually that bad, and it’ll help reinforce why this sweet and bubbly Persephone wants him, she sees the real him, not the mean rumors and assumptions, this is perfect.

And then it just didn’t happen. The exact opposite happened, actually.

We’re shown the LO underworld is cruel and unjust, where the poor dead are forced into slavery and Hades created a harsh class divide with him and him only on top, the citizens hate him, the underworld gods don’t trust him and openly seem ok if he’s taken out of power, he’s not a good leader and king and doesn’t even want the job yet keeps it for his own ego and grip of power m, and on top of it all he is just like his brothers, if not worse. He loves to get violent over any little slight against him, he hoards wealth and resources to enrich himself while his citizens starve and struggle to survive, he’s corrupt, he controls all the media and laws to bend to his will, sleeps with his brothers wife for centuries behind his back while claiming to be holier than thou, he has sex with his secretaries who are made dependent on him for any way to survive, and now he lusts after his barely legal intern who is also now dependent on him for her way to survive, and that’s only what I remember off the top of my head.

LO perfectly set up to prove Hades isn’t the devil or the false pop culture assumption that he’s evil and to show some actual facts from myth, and yet Rachel only ended up reinforcing exactly that and even making him even worse with her made up ideas, all while thinking having Persephone ignore or excuse it somehow makes it not bad or even a good thing. It’s honestly kind of impressive just how bad of writing that actually is.

4. Chapter 172 is not that interesting. It’s setup had me excited to see Hephaestus and Hera and learning more about echo, but it’s cut so short. Because again the story can’t leave HXP out for 2 seconds.

I can also see why Zeus is gonna go insane.

5. i agree w/ other anon. LO should have pulled a PJO or a BoZ and just made up OCs and have them interact with the gods than whatever Rachel thinks shes doing, which is lying she's being accurate and faithful while completely changing all of it, removing what is needed, and adding what isnt so that it lines up with no actual myth besides like, various 50 shades fanfic she read in 2015 and some popular tumblr text posts.

6 . the animation studio behind blood of zeus literally can only draw one face for the men and one face for the women and they were still able to make the gods all look distinct and hot while LO can't even bother to use more than 6 colors and can only have the women look as tiny as possible with the biggest boobs while the men are all just lego men.

7. ////FP SPOILERS////

Okay so like I stopped reading LO way back before season 1 ended, and a majority of my knowledge of the series comes from what I read here on your blog which is enough for me lol and I decided to read the latest 5 chapters just to see what's up (on zahard. I refuse to give the actual series any views)

And I just. Could not take the whole scene with Daphne running from Apollo seriously? The anatomy and art inconsistency was so distracting that i genuinely could not find it serious. Even when Thanatos discovers her hibernated body I couldn't take it seriously because of how she looked?

And when Hades had that call (??? Was it a call? Or his inner dialogue? I couldn't really tell ngl) with Zeus and said he's causing Persephone unnecessary distress, and that she didn't pose any threat. B!tch??? She killed a ton of mortals??? She has no control over her powers???? She's literally a fugitive for the aforementioned things??? She apparently woke Kronos up? (Idk if anyone knows about that, again my knowledge only spans to whatever I read here) Hello????

And I have a lot to say about the chapters starting the trial but I'll only mention one thing; Hades saying "I don't think blindly supporting my little brother would be doing him any favours (as a ruler)" had me cackling. This is coming from a guy blindly supporting a girl he's literally only known for a few weeks, who's like what, only recently turned 20? Sit tf down Hades you're not cool, you creepy ass overgrown smurf.

Overall I still hate this series lmao. Regarding art though I feel like I wouldn't be so miffed about the anatomy much if the character designs were consistent and the story was compelling. They literally change hairstyles and body types frame by frame, and it's distracting.

The timeline from what I read here is laughable. 4 years in publication with almost 200 chapters and you're telling me only like a month has passed canonically. That's wild and such poor writing.

And as someone who literally will sympathise with any lead character pretty quickly, the story makes me hate them. It makes me want to root against them. I also hate the fact this trash is somehow top ranked on webtoons when so many other stories are far better then it.

Anyway, many thanks to this blog for existing and allowing me to dump so much text here to vent out my hate for this series lmao. You the mvp fam, hope you're having a good day 🥂🥂🥂

#anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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turtletimewriting · 3 years

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Patton’s Adventure- Investigate the cave

Summary: By now I would think you know I’m not going to say!

Note: Thanks to your voting, they have decided to investigate the cave! I know I’ve said this before, but truly thanks for keeping with the story! I know people tend to lose track and stop reading multiple part stories but seeing the same people vote has genuinely made me so happy! Thanks again!

This is based on the tickle forest by fluffomatic, absolutely amazing art and concepts!

Beginning!--- Logan’s Part!

_._._

Janus managed to squirm out of Patton’s tickles and with a dramatic smoothing out of his cape, he cleared his throat, “Fine, let’s explore the cave then.”

Aw, I knew you would come round!” Patton chirped before running out to the cave. This was very obviously a Remus creation. It was the most stereotypical scary cave you could imagine. There were cobwebs fluttering at the entrance with a hollow whining echo escaping from it’s cold dripping jagged stone walls. Everything about it screamed don’t enter. Janus smirked at that predictable challenge and went to walk in when he felt a hand grip on his back.

Patton’s eyes were caught on the webs and the embarrassed blush all spoke for itself. “No, you don’t get me for protection after your vicious attack,” Janus muttered as he unhooked Patton’s hand and held it tightly.

“Not my fault you’re so ticklish...” Patton managed to mumble back but followed him in the cave without any further protest.

The first thing they noticed was that the cave was freezing. The second was just how many critters were scittering about the place. There was a constant pitter patter sound and the echo really didn’t help things. They truly had just walked blindly into the eye of the storm, huh?

Welp there was no point in turning around.

At least the cave system was fairly simple; it was one long tunnel that led to a main chamber. It was no more than a five minute walk to get to the chamber but of course Patton was too busy jumping at his own shadow. It was when Patton screamed only for him to relax as he thought his hand was a spider that Janus snapped, “Why did you suggest we go through this if you truly hate spiders that much?”

“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think about it,” he at least looked thoroughly embarrassed, “but I stand by this plan. There’s no way they would build such an obvious cave if there was nothing to grab.”

“I agree but we can’t stay in here long. One, I think you’ll have a heart attack if we stay much longer and, two, because I’m freezing.”

“Aw, well actually I know a way to distract me and also warm you up,” Patton’s teasing voice was like a punch but Janus simply couldn’t react in time.

The next thing he knew was that Patton trapped him in a tight hug and was spidering gentle tickles all across his neck, taking great delight in tracing his scales. Janus tried to squirm away but his grip was way stronger than it had any right to be! “No! Nohot agahain!” Janus squeaked.

“What JJ? I thought you loved some good ol’ Happy Pappy tickles! That’s why you jumped into the big tickle monster plant?” Patton whispered. He was right though. There was nothing better for a distraction than Janus’ squeaky giggles.

“Naha!” He whipped his head around before giving up and falling limp yet Patton didn’t falter in holding him upright, “Ihi’m still covered in thahat jaauahahahahaaha! PAT! I’m still covered in that junk from the plant ahahahahah!”

“So?” Patton asked genuinely.

“Ihit makes it more ticklish!” Janus burst out before dissolving once more into his giggles.

However, as he whipped his head around again, he noticed they had gathered an audience.

“Pat! Pahaat! Pat wait stop! Look.” He pointed over his shoulder. Now, neither of them could quite make out what they were. There was easily about five of them, maybe more. Put it this way, there was enough of them to probably drive them to tears. Shapes that twisted along the floor to then peer up at them. Now that they had stopped, they now crept forward with eager motions.

“AH! What are they? Are they spiders!” Patton yelped.

“I d-don’t know!” Janus panickedly answered back as he felt one crawl over his foot. Wait... crawled...

“Well thanks for that Sherlock Holmes!” Patton squeaked before pinching at his ribs again, causing him to crinkle up again with a shrieky laugh.

“Hehey! Ihi’m the sarcastic one!” Janus snarked back but he froze at Patton’s face of understanding. Uh oh... If Patton had figured something out before he had then he definitely wasn’t going to like it. Well, he definitely didn’t like it when he felt those same pinches start up again. This time he managed to clamp his mouth shut.

“No! Laugh!” Patton commanded with an exasperated look before digging violently into his sides. There was nothing Janus could’ve done to stop the avalanche of laughter, “see, they seem in love with your laugh. Aw, I can’t wait to tell Logan that I can scientifically prove that your laughter is the cutest!”

As he said it, he could feel the animal tangled around his ankle stop in its tract. It was now quite obvious what they were. They were snakes. Of course.

“Wehell nohoho now what!” Janus exclaimed. Patton awkwardly looked around before wincing,

“Well, we still need to look around so maybe if I keep tickling you then nothing will attack us!” Patton cheered like that was at all a sensible plan and so he told him as such (while still frantically giggling), “well mister, can you come up with a better plan!”

And that was how they started hunting around the cave with Patton keeping one hand permanently squeezing whatever was nearest. The insects scattered mostly at their presence but there were a curious few that sent them flinching away.

They turned over rocks with quick movements and Patton made sure to be extra careful where he stood in case it was just plain on the floor. The unknown draft still whistled throughout the cave in a haunting melody. Janus, of course, didn’t stand much chance. The exhaustion of constantly giggling plus his wet clothes from the stupid plant meant he was wearing thin. The freezing cold only added to this. Eventually even Patton had to call quits. They had found absolutely nothing and his fellow team mate was shivering.

“Aw, c’mere,” Patton whispered and hugged him tightly, rubbing up his arms furiously, “we’ll have to have a chat with our boys later. They totally tricked us into wasting our time, huh?” He meant it all jokingly of course but Janus just took this moment to catch him breath.

...catch his breath and not laugh...

Uh oh...

They didn’t have time to react before Janus felt a long heavy snake whip up his legs and curl around his waist. It’s long heaving body managed to untuck his shirt and he felt a rug like tickle along his belly. It stretched from side to side and also across his outie. He fell to the floor with a deafening squeal.

Not that Patton was faring much better. It was a much tinier snake with an obnoxious frilly mane thing cupping its little face with a tail. It lapped itself around his ankles and he tried not to move but then he felt a wiggling feathers across his neck. Snapping around, he startled at the beetle wriggling it’s little feathered feet around. He twisted around so fast that he ended up falling down anyway. The snake immediately grabbed its chance and burrowed its little face into his shoes and worked them off. By that time, another snake had started on the other while the beetle flung itself off the wall clumisly and latched on to the back of his neck. He stared up but Janus seemed thoroughly entangled with his own snake.

Their laughter rang throughout the cave for a while but even that cave seemed to pick up that one laughter was much more hoarse than the other.

The massive blue and pink python paused at the taste of tears as he kept flickering his tongue at his chin and cheeks. It gave a moment to think before letting out a shrill hiss and gently crept away. If Janus was even able to pay attention, he would notice it was trying its very best not to tickle as it untangled itself. Instead he was flinching at every move and endlessly begging through his tried giggles.

Once he was released, he noticed the other insects completely ignoring him and brushing past him to get to his team leader. Patton was practically lighting up the cave with his blush and he was weakly wiggling but the pink snakes did an incredible job at keeping him busy. Janus would have smirked and teased in any other situation but right now his biggest concern was being attacked again.

He gently peeled the snakes away from his ankles (but not before pausing at just what a cute couple of ladies they were. Probably a Roman creation but then again only Remus knew exactly why he found snakes adorable and be able to create the best snakes he’s ever seen). At that, Patton weakly gave him a thumbs up before jumping to his feet and dragging them out of the cave again.

Once they finally reached the sunlight again, they collapsed in a pile of giggles. It took a full couple of minutes for them to weakly push themselves upright.

“Okay... we should assess... just whatever that all was!” Janus pulled himself and slumped over next to Patton who lazily flung his arm over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Patton asked.

“Yes. Because that situation was messy! We should have just walked out the second we saw just how many bugs there were!” Janus exclaimed before dramatically thrusting a finger at Patton’s chest, “And you with your sudden ler mood since the stupid plant! We’re on a team here! I don’t think trying to tease or tickle the other is going to help anyone.”

Patton nodded along with him and gave a bashful smile, “Yeah, that was messy. But at least we’re talking about this now. I can’t imagine doing a whole adventure where we’re attacking each other. Sorry. I guess I just got too invested in all this.”

Janus gave him a weird look and pulled him into his chest, “Whatever. Good chat. So, no more random attacks and we will now try to be smart about not getting in danger.”

“Agreed!”

They finally brushed themselves off and started back down the path but it was now obvious that Janus was still catching his breath and was more weighed down. Patton didn’t take their talk lightly. He would protect his team mate with whatever it would take.

But they paused once they rounded the corner of the path. Janus hurriedly slammed them up against a tree. It didn’t take much for Patton to figure out why.

A little ahead of the path was a whole group of bears. They were adorable! But then again even real life bears are breathtakingly cute. You could just tell their fur was huge and puffy and fuzzy and perfect for naps. They had beautiful spots and they were snorting and huffing as they scratched against the trees and napped across the dusty path.

“We’re not even that deep in the woods! What on earth are they doing here!” Janus whispered.

“Aww, look at there little ol snorty snouts!” Patton cooed but he made sure to whisper too. Regardless of the cuteness, he had to be strong for his team mate!

“What should we do?” He slumped against the tree with a huge sigh. Patton paused and grimaced as he looked around.

“Okay, so we have a normal plan and a Patton plan.”

“What’s the normal plan?”

“We go around them. We walk off the path and through the trees.”

“Yes because that went fantastic last time! Plus we have no idea if there’s more!” Janus hysterically butted.

“Well the other plan is to climb the trees and go over them,” Patton winced out.

“Ugh,” Janus groaned but he did look up to see strong trees that would be steady and easy to climb.

“I say we go around. You’re too tired to climb!” Patton spoke with all the authority he could.

“I’m fine,” Janus snapped.

This adventure took 21 minutes!

Total adventure time: 53 minutes!

So there we are! What should they choose?

A) Go around by walking through the trees

B) Go over by climbing the trees

Now Patton is no longer in a ler mood. But Janus is now tired.

#TicklyAdventure #ts patton #ts janus #ts deceit #Tickling #turtle writing

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bts-dream-land-blog · 7 years

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Unexpected crush I 08

01 I 02 I 03 I 04 I 05 I 06 I 07 I 08

Words count: 2444

Member: Jimin & you (ft. Taehyung)

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I shouldn’t but i’m shipping Crystal and Tae! :://

_____________________________________________

No one knows my struggle, they only see the trouble.

***

Chapter eight

Hate

Spanish.

I mean, no offense to all you Latinos out there but I'm not a big fan of your language – well, yeah I am a fan of it, I'm just not a big fan of learning it. Mostly because I suck at memorizing words, but also because some of your letters changes to another letter. Like it's written Jose, but it's pronounced, Hose. Excuse my language, but that fucks up my brain. I loved my Spanish teacher, she was so nice – it's just the subject itself. Spending ninety minutes listening to something you don't even understand isn't exactly what I would call fun.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, the school bell rang signalizing that this period was dismissed. I quickly gathered all of my belongings and ran out the door so I wouldn't get squeezed trying to get to my locker. I spotted Andrea amongst the students that were in the hallway, and called for her. ''Andrea!'' She wasn't that far from my reach so I grabbed her backpack and dragged her back to me. She almost stumbled but I caught her. I expected to be greeted with a pleasant look but instead, she met me with annoyance. ''Why didn't you stop when I called for you?''

''I didn't hear you,'' She spat. A little taken back, I asked – ''What's wrong, did something happen?'' For a split second she looked like she wanted to strangle me, but then she changed her expression to a lighter and to a more pleasing one. ''I'm fine, just stressing out,'' I squint my brows, ''Biology test.'' She adds.

I nod understandingly, ''Alright, well if you need to talk, I'm here.''

''I know that.''

I point to the cafeteria with my finger, ''You want to have lunch?'' She didn't get to answer me right away because an arm was slung around my shoulder and a strong sense of cologne hit my nostrils. I looked up above my shoulder where Tae was standing by my side, smirking.

''Ready for lunch?''

''Who said I was going to have lunch with you?'' Tae brought his hand to his heart acting as if I had broken his heart, ''Ouch,'' I rolled my eyes and shortly – Jungkook was by my side too. There was nowhere out now, ''Hey Cece.''

''Hey Ay-Ay'' His smile fell, leaving me to laugh out loud. ''I was actually going to have lunch with Andrea.'' I pointed out, looking at Andrea infront of me. Jungkook and Tae both looked at Andrea, first without saying anything, then Jungkook stretched out his hand and greeted her. Tae followed his action later but his face was filled with suspicion ''Have we met before?''

A hint of panic flashed through Andrea's eye but she quickly hid it, ''Nope,'' Tae nodded while letting go of her hand. ''Okay, I'm starving. Let's go.'' I exclaimed walking my way to the cafeteria. ''For a girl who never eats in the cafeteria, you sure walk fast.''

''I'm a different person when I'm hungry, Jungkook.''

''Oh really?''

''Really.'' I confirmed.

Lunch was nice. I started getting used to the stares weeks ago, and most of the students at this school started getting used to Jungkook hanging with me. ''When can you take that off?'' Tae nodded towards my cast. My pretty cast that I have been wearing on my arms for a while, was now drowning in signatures from so many people that I don't even know. Ever since Jungkook started hanging with me, people have been acknowledging me more than usual and I had to admit, it was kind of fun. People volunteered to work with me for projects, and it was nice.

It's been six weeks since I broke my arm, and through all this time – Jungkook and Tae has been by my side constantly. ''Very soon, I hope,'' I looked at Andrea who was currently mixing her salad with her fork, she bought it fifteen minutes ago but she hasn't eaten anything. She was in her own world, and she has been like this for weeks now.

Distant.

I was starting to get worried.

The bell rang and I grunted loudly slamming my head on the table. ''Get to class, C.'' Jungkook told me, flicking my forehead. Usually when you meet someone, you are shy and quiet and then when you get to know them – you actually like them more than you thought you would, and you're comfortable around them. It's like that with me and Jungkook, only Jungkook – likes to get violent and to extra sometimes – in a nice way of course. It just proves that he cares about me, I guess because he's always having my back and always taking care of me. I haven't gone a day without talking to him and I have to admit that I've created this attachment to him.

Jungkook was already gone when I looked up, and so was Tae. Andrea was the only one left and she wasn't looking quite happy. In fact she looked angry, ''You okay?'' I asked once again.

''Yeah, I need to go.'' She bolted off to who knows where, leaving me alone. I packed my stuff and was about to put on my jacket when I spotted Cameron. Cameron, the same guy I saw when I was rolling down the stairs. I frowned, was he the one who pushed me down those stairs. Only the thought made me mad. ''Cameron!'' I called.

Cameron turned around, he probably didn't expect me to call after him but guess who was wrong. ''Hey Crystal,''

Why was his voice so scary and creepy? ''A question has been stuck in my thoughts ever since the day I broke my arm, and I need you to answer it.'' I said straightforward. Cameron smirked, crossing his arms in front of his torso, amused. ''Okay, ask then.''

''You're the one who pushed me down the stairs, right?'' He might've looked confident in the start but now he just looks like a deer caught by a car light.

''I- I don't know what you're talking about.''

''It sounds like you do, why would you stutter if not?''

He scoffed, ''You don't know shit, so don't go around blaming people from something you did to yourself.''

''What?''

''You saw it coming, Crystal.''

''Katie set you up, didn't she?'' I asked, impatient. Sure Katie had warned me but I never thought she would make a guy like Cameron push me down those stairs. Thing could've gone worse if I landed the wrong way or if I fell the wrong way. I was furious. I never got to utter another word though, because Jungkook’s voice broke through. ''You better run away before I throw a fist to your face.'' His voice gave chills through my entire body, I used all my strength to not go home and hide under my blanket.

''Hey Jungkook,'' I looked confused at Cameron. ''You know him?"

''Remember how I told you my ex cheated on me?'' Jungkook asked through gritted teeth, and I nodded. A couple of weeks ago when we were at this diner while Tae was fixing my broken PlayStation, Jungkook had told me he had a girl he really liked in the past – but she cheated on him and that's one of the main reasons he doesn't date. Her cheating really made an impact on him because he liked her that much. ''This is the guy who stole her.''

''Puh-lease. Bianca was screwing me since day one – you were just so blindly in love that you didn't even see it.''

Love? Was Jungkook in love with Bianca? I don't know why, but the word love and another girls name matching with Jungkook made me mad. Maybe even jealous...Jungkook tensed up beside me, his hands rolling up into a fist and his jaw tightened. I put my hand on top of his fist, and I felt relieved that he relaxed to my touch.

''Don't cross the line, Cameron. I'm not messing around.'' I warned him. Luckily Cameron didn't feel like arguing or crossing the line, he just walked away with a shrug and a wink. I turned to look at Jungkook who was still restraining himself from beating the crap out of Cameron. ''You should go to class,'' He stated.

''Will you be okay? You're not going to beat him up, right?'' He looked at me and his eyes were filled with anger. Anyone would know that he still had strong feelings towards Bianca and like mentioned earlier, that made me angry. I didn't tell him though, I just stood there looking at him – waiting for an answer.

''I'm not gonna promise anything, but what I can promise is that if you don't get to class you'll get a mark.'' He said too sternly even if it was supposed to come out as a joke. He walked away from me, only to come back two seconds later. "I came back to give you this, but you were talking to that douche so," he stretched his hand and inside of it was my lucky pen that he had borrowed for a test couple of weeks ago. I grinned, thanking him. He only gave me a nod and trudged away to his next class that he was already late for - shit!

I'm also late for class!!!

- "Yeah Sierra, on my way home now." Sierra was my sisters name if I haven't mentioned it earlier, it's a really pretty name and it makes me wonder why my parents chose such an ugly name for me. Crystal - yuck. I used to get a lot of compliments on my name, and I still do - but when you have that name your entire life, it can get ugly.

I had to stay in school for quite a while after it ended because of some assignments that I had to do in the lab, + I had extra art lessons. I wasn't exactly what you call a prodigy but art excites me, I would drop sleep for art.

...sleep.

I realized how tired I was when I started yawning, "are you yawning?" Sierra asked, entertained. "Nah, I'm -" there came another yawn. Sierra laughed on the other side of the phone and told me to hurry back to bed and get my sleep and stop staying up so late. Someone give this woman a "mother" certificate because right now, she was acting like one. I didn't mind though, if my mom didn't act like one, and my sister didn't - who would?

I hung up and placed my phone back in my pocket. The streets were empty, and it was really dark. The only source of lights came from the lamppost but even those were weak. I heard crying as I passed the park near my neighborhood and I started getting those goosebumps. I've heard lots of stories about young girls walking home from school in the middle of the night and encountering a ghost. I loved horror movies, but I never wanted to experience anything like what came out of those movies.

As stupid as I was, I walked closer to the crying sound and tried to get a view over what it was. A puzzled look appeared on my face when I saw who it was. What was he doing here, crying? I took a seat next to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. I felt him jump underneath my touch but when he looked up and locked eyes with mine, he relaxed. "Are you okay?" That's the stupidest question ever, Crystal. Of course he wasn't okay, he's crying for god sake.

"Tip top," he said through sobs but the tears were still visible. He tried to set up the bad boy, player facade - but it wasn't working, it just fell back down again. He was totally broken, and I could tell he had been holding in all of this for a really long time. "You wanna talk about it?" I asked softly, not too forward.

"Sure," I waited for him to start speaking but he was busy sobbing. "I'm sorry, this is just hard. I haven't opened up to anyone before."

"It's fine, take your time." I assured him with a smile. He attempted to smile back, even if it was weak - it was still pretty nice. Tae was amazing as a person and he has always been the one who cheered me up when Jungkook couldn't, and cheered Jungkook up when I couldn't. He appeared as the sweetest person on earth with not a single care or problem existing in his life, I guess I was wrong.

"Where do I start?"

"From the start,"

"Okay," he nods - he rubs his palms against each other to create some sort of heat to his hands that were probably really cold - "So, I came home today and my dad brought home another woman. He told me that she and him was gonna get married, and for someone who's overly attached to his own mother, I couldn't believe it."

"I was mad, I was furious and I told him. Dad got mad as well and said some words that I'm sure never was supposed to leave his mouth,"

"What was it?" I asked.

"Mom is dead and she's never coming back - get over her." Tae said cracking halfway. I felt my eyes sting as well. I've never had a mother figure in my life so loosing my mom would probably not be as difficult for me as it would be for Tae who was really close to his mom. He told me a lot about her and for a while I thought she actually existed, he talked about her with so much passion that I thought she was still alive. Again, wrong.

"I wasn't mad at him for saying those words, I guess I'm more mad at myself for not accepting her death. It's been five years, and I'm still waiting for her to return and hug me."

"I just miss her so much, C" That was enough for me to pull him close to me. Not because I felt sorry for him and I pitied him, but because I could already feel my tears coming and because it broke me that someone as happy as Tae had to go through all of this. So there we sat, on a cold fall day, hugging each other because what else was there to do when someone was broken??

#bangtan scenarios #bts #bangtan boys #bangtan jungkook #bts reaction

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newslegion-blog1 · 5 years

Text

POST-MODERNISM IS A SELF-SERVING ICONOCLASM WHOSE END-GAME IS DEATH BY OBSOLESCENCE

Why has post-modernism taken hold so successfully, where did it come from and why does it continue to spread - despite the push-back and the warnings - a culture of mediocrity and reductive relativism that’s threatening to pervert centuries of Western thought and culture?

"We are absurdly accustomed to the miracle of a few written signs being able to contain immortal imagery, involutions of thought, new worlds with live people, speaking, weeping, laughing. We take it for granted so simply that in a sense, by the very act of brutish routine acceptance, we undo the work of the ages, the history of the gradual elaboration of poetical description and construction, from the treeman to Browning, from the caveman to Keats. What if we awake one day, all of us, and find ourselves utterly unable to read? I wish you to gasp not only at what you read but at the miracle of its being readable." -- Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire (1962)

The seeds of what’s become the global post modernist juggernaut were sewn in an unusual way for a cultural movement. It is rooted in a rejection of truth and an antipathy towards individual genius. It's has evolved into much more than just an academic school of Western thought. Today it has conflated itself through media (social media included) with a perverted democratisation of excellence that’s taken hold of vast swathes of “respectable” society and culture. In recent years the degraded redefinition of excellence has spread like a disease to erode truth and fact, disdaining expertise by somehow reducing it to an abusive power dynamic. This is a disastrous choice for us to be making as a society and if the trend isn’t reversed, we’re going to bankrupt Western thought and culture without hope of reprieve. This bankruptcy ends only one way: in our inevitable obsolescence, as the torch passes East and the West cannibalises itself on a banal descent into permanent irrelevance.

From its innocuous roots in late 1940s post-modernism has spread like a steady but relentless virus. It has become a formalised absolution from personal challenge, mobilising a kind of anti-ambition that’s kept virulent by successive generations of mediocre academics motivated by a seemingly bottomless well of intellectual vanity and tenured self-interest.

"Great spirits have always encountered the most violent opposition from mediocre minds." -- Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

A hundred individuals aspiring to creative genius will mostly fall short of the standard and most will have the intelligence to see the shortcomings are their own, be it cowardice or fear or insurmountable absence of virtuousity. How can intelligent academcs used to success reconcile falling short of genius they themselves worship more than any other human characteristic? Post-modernism has become the answer. It is the means to an end and it has served successive generations of post-war career academics - and their students. Just as the Nazis had bastardised Nietzsche to justify Aryan eugenics, the early post-modernists corrupted Heidegger’s rollback of temporal ontology (as the defining way to think about the world) to legitimise a rejection of the significance of all individual human beings in the creative process. The poison had entered the veins of post-war culture.

POST-MODERNISM AS A SICKNESS

In the years after the second world war, across societies in great flux with a demobilised but changed citizen spirit, post modernism was not at first a pervasive dogma. It was a convergence of genuinely blue sky sociology studying conditions in the immediate aftermath of war with philosophy chasing meaning in a mechanised relativistic universe. Philosophy and sociology might have kept themselves uncorrupted were it not for the arts - far more numerous and influential in an everyday sense - having been caught between a Joycean rock and a Woolfish hard place. Vladimir Nabokov, most famous emigre after Einstein, warned us what was going to happen in his greatest work, Pale Fire.

"Reality is neither the subject nor the object of true art which creates its own special reality having nothing to do with the average "reality" perceived by the communal eye." -- Nabokov, Pale Fire (1962)

Career academics, their fragile conceits needing a system of protection against the genius of modernism, were driven to post-modernist ideas which they quickly and self-servingly appropriated. Beat poetry was a first response to these trends, born in Columbia University but dispossessed almost immediately as the colleges closed ranks rapidly. Some version of this dichotomy played out in a hundred academies: tenured professors in the halls, modernist genius in portraits on the walls, the vitality and individuality worthy of their natural successors shut out, excluded, forced outside the institutions.

The battle lines were rapidly arranged. Post-modernism was the armor chosen by the academy.

It didn't take long for it to spread. The benefits to conceited mediocrity and fearful conservatives and entrenched comfortable nepotism and lazy hubristic intellectuals was soon obvious. Post-modernism calcified into a cross-faculty movement that's been consolidating power ever since. Generations later it dominates in universities, converges with democratised consumerism and infiltrates all facets of 21st century society. POST-MODERNISM AS NEOLIBERAL FREEMASONRY

Post-modernism, having taken over the arts faculties, cross-pollenated into the outside world to colonise much of the mainstream media. Its spread and tenacity is testimony to its lasting appeal and the temptation to succumb to those worst instincts will follow a person's whole career, readily at hand should an academic or artist or media hold-out go through moments of doubt or crises of confidence or face a choice between principled independent hardship and acceptance plenty and security in joining the club. Neoliberalism is the post-modernist economics heart of this choice and this is as good a definiton as any for the pressures exerted on non-members. It needs no guns and cudgels to achieve its ends.

But why is this particular club so bad? Isn’t neoliberalism better than totalitarian communism? Couldn’t post-modernist principles be liberating for young minds stifled by the straightjacket canon of past generations? This could have been argued until the 1980s though even then the post-modernist exponents were already the children of diminished progenitors. The nature of the temptation post-modernism offers is too strong for most to resist. The early post-moderns began as pale fire apologists cowed by the challenge of modernist genius.

The post-war academics were indeed a mixed bunch, elder statesmen increasingly marginalised by: well-organised successors greedy for authority but unable to use sheer talent to justify their positions, professional iconoclasts in pursuit of misguided but sincere notions of democratising the academy, hostile to received wisdom and suspicious of outlier excellence, career academics increasingly threatened by the ongoing intellectual diaspora from broken Europe closing ranks to formalise systems that levelled the playing field, etc. With a few exceptions, it was left to America to carry the torch of academic continuity for at least a generation 1950s until as late as the 1970s. Europe and now East Asia are no longer behind North America but the parochial professionalism of the baby boomer period has injected itself deeply on the institutions, post-modernism the mechanism of delivery, neoliberalism lubricating the ambitions of its moving parts.

Post-modernism is particularly pernicious, once sufficiently widespread, because it gives faithful advocates a multipurpose toolkit designed perfectly for its continued spread and consolidation. The toolkit is subtle and subject specific, cynical and utilitarian, honed - ironically - by thousands of extremely clever engineers of corporate academia. It covers jargon and linguistics, provides litmus tests to gauge friends and enemies, dividing and conquer transformation of safe zones promising academic enquiry and widespread publicity so long as there’s no gainsay of post-modernism's unwritten rules. Like in a masonic lodge, would-be exponents of their contemporary post-modernist doctrines (and goals) receive informal schooling in identifying one another.

Half a century later the network is well established throughout the world, organised like Islam and its cooperative imam-led cells, it has the academy locked in a stranglehold. Outsiders, outliers and would-be rebels can be pinpointed and delegitimised with remarkable precision, without compromising any individual mason (or, in most cases, committing any single institution). There’s no need to instruct how to exculpate rebels at the time of rebellion. Everyone in the lodge has the toolkit and already knows how to use it against objectionable targets.

TRUTH IS LIES - LOVE IS HATE - PEACE IS WAR - PLENTY IS STARVATION

What might've started as a complex of motivations driving numerous schools of thought soon became comfortable and entrenched, conformism aligning with conservativism to appropriate tradition, especially in the face of counter culture having mobilised opposing forces that might’ve risen to the challenge of modernist luminaries with genius of its own e.g. Jack Kerouac and the beats, Tennessee Williams and the Southern renaissance, James Baldwin and the civil rights movement. These individuals were pushed out onto the front line dismissing academia as unwelcoming or careers in journalism as unworthy. The post-modernist arsenal had its first wave of targets. An insidious schism between the academy and the individual had been transposed onto a global narrative of culture versus counter culture that’s been polarising ever since.

"The mediocre mind is incapable of understanding the man who refuses to bow blindly to conventional prejudices and chooses instead to express his opinions courageously and honestly" -- Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

The battle for the hearts and minds of the many academic institutions and plethora of media outlets, print, radio, television, film was irreparably divisive by the end of the 1960s. Vietnam, hippy counter culture anti-nationalism and the Situationists student revolts against corporate consumerism brought the power of the state into direct conflict with the individual. The timing was fortuitous and the ideological conflict already well developed within the universities made post modernists natural bedfellows with those pushing the agenda of state authority. Both saw their chance: to marginalise dissenters, including untrustworthy writers and auteurs and non-conformists professors. And, worst of all, anyone cheating the median by presuming to exhibit genius out of context becomes a threat to the mainstream social order, subject to a takedown by every means available in the formidable post-modernist playbook.

DEATH OF THE AUTHOR GONE MAINSTREAM

The breakthrough of post-modernism into mainstream culture can be marked into two distinct phases: the silent expansionist war and the loud entrenched victory.

Roland Barthes, French philosopher and literary critic, provided the seminal concept that allowed post-modernism's craven iconoclasm to market itself into mainstream culture. His 1962 work Le Mort d'Auteur "Death of the Author" gave credibility to the academy's anti-individual disdain of virtuosity in art, claiming the hard won life works of artist and scientist alike without having to acknowledge the standards as an implicit challenge. Celebrity was permissible, even desirable, but would be no democracy of equal participants trying to establish an influential off-narrative platform if it boiled down to a meritocracy 'won' by genius and hard work. Personal nuance was to be aggregated into group identity, rules by the academy, propaganda by Barthes and other misrepresented thinkers.

All this contributes to make post-modernism a toolkit for appropriaton, aggregation, subjugation of the individual to the aim of the groups. Recently #metoo is the latest diseased manifestation, born of feminism and the wholly authentic attacking on misogyny as endemic patriarchy, turned into a way to bring down experts and excellence unwilling to confirm to the post-modern dictates of entrenched groupthink - in this case selected by gender.

"What the public wants is the image of passion, not passion itself." -- Roland Barthes Mythologies (1957)

The details of post-modernism evolution from movement to all-encompassing modus operandi needn't be repeated here. There are islands of resistance dotted around the academy and schools with sincere useful ideas not seeking to feed the growing monolith like structuralism, post-structuralism and deconstruction. These more authentic strains in philosophy and literary theory went through their own smaller conflicts, the leading lights like Jacques Derrida, Michel Foucault, Jean Baudrillard, Noam Chomsky marginalized in plain site, separated from the mainstream of the academy in special departments - a standard measure in the post-modernist manual when dealing with intransigent voices grown too noisy to gag or too marketable to deplatform into insignificance.

The most expedient aspects of post-structuralism and, increasingly, any new idea cropping up in academic circles, came to be identified fast then, notwithstanding the stubborn individuals whose future had to be isolation or exculpation, brought into the post-modernist mainstream. Post-structuralism was cannibalised into one of the most insidious movements of the latter culture war years: identity politics.

Feminism, civil rights, the fight against homophobia, legitimate movements all but in the hands of post-modern spin doctors were twisted to serve different goals and increase the firepower of the academy, the ambitious arbiters of culture. This has been one of the most criminal abuses of the post-modernist cabal.

"...for better or worse, it is the commentator who has the last word." -- Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire (1962)

The appropriation of feminism, sexuality and race should be a practical warning of the ultimate bankruptcy of post-modern ideology. Great women or great gay artists or non-white virtuosos aren't freed from the shackles of traditional homophobic white male-privilege, to aspire to whatever greatness might be attained by their individual unfettered potential. Instead this potential is cut away just as it is with any other presumption of genius. The method is different but the post-modern iconoclast has a diverse toolkit. Women are demeaned into ciphers, gays into icons all face no substance, black writers forced to be poster boys and poster girls ringfenced into representing only a narrow group identity that's as racially segregated as any pre-war ghetto. At best the new oppression is coercive rather than violent but great art is often inspired by oppression. It's certainly always born from distinction by individual outliers and to be deprived of this is to make mediocre currency of great potential. It's ironic that the casualties of this particular battle are the very people the identity political advocates pay lip service to free and defend.

WHERE DOES “DEATH OF THE AUTEUR” END?

From innocent beginnings in the late 1940s, the movement known as post-modernism has evolved into a freemasonry of entrenched anti-intellectual mob legitimacy. It is positioned in the mainstream, confident and on the attack. It has appropriated a dozen counter-cultures, rebranding and often inverting their original good, turning them into cultural sticks to beat society into submission: feminism into gender politics, anti-misogyny into #metoo, anti-homophobia into queer theory, the civil rights movement into affirmitive action, free speech constrained by political correctness. Post-modernism has become ubiquitous, unarguably legitimate stamped with academy credibilty, spread from the institutions through society by brigades well-taught graduates. These days there’s only one line of defence against the self-serving end-game post-modernism continues to drive towards: the independent individual.

Disorganised, unusual, independent, mostly atomised and often contrarian, the individual presents a disunited self-centred front - easy target for patient groupthinkers - but it’s the only other game in town. Complete victory for the post-modernist cabal will mean a society without genius, truth subjugated to expediency, a safe zone so widespread no-one notices it looks the same as obsolescence.

"The bastard form of mass culture is humiliated repetition... always new books, new programs, new films, news items, but always the same meaning." -- Roland Barthes (1915-1980)

The first post-modernist generation passed the latest literary, linguistic and philosophical theory - especially schools of thought coming out of France and Germany - through the prism of democratised merit and everyman relativism to construct an extremely effective popular legitimacy serving the conceits of the tenured academy. The career academic had an arsenal fit for the destruction of reputations and the exculpation of non-conforming genius. The success of this “death of the author” spin, cloaked in the complex language of post-structuralism and other extant obfuscating theory gave the post-modernists a commanding position by the end of the 1960s. This hegemony expressed itself into mainstream culture through successive waves of graduates.

The post-modernist academy bound itself hand in glove with state authority, underpinned by an intellectual neoliberalism sold to the public as responding to the vocational demands of the free market. Anything of substance seeking to thwart the academy or the increasingly polarising state narrative was tarred with the ‘counter culture’ brush, ornery youth the first victims (e.g. the beat generation) but soon anything off-narrative was subjected to the same process of marginalisation (in the case of individuals) and appropriation (in the case of movements).

What little resistance remained in the arts faculties was picked off over the post-Vietnam decades, neoliberalism and consumer capitalism natural bedfellows with post-modernism in a way that solidified in the 80s, integrated branding in the 90s and had become received wisdom - unquestioned, presumed part of the natural order - by the millennium. Small wonder this entrenched cultural regulation adapted quickly to take hold of the internet and, in particular, ringfence social media, turning the latter into a vehicle for population control and echo chamber isolation of contrarian thinkers.

There was no way the post-modernist culture would allow itself to be challenged by changes to the dynamics of society. Vigilant, pro-active and anti-individual to the marrow, the mainstream must remain committed to post-modernisms proven methodology. No genius could be allowed to turn a platform into a pedestal. No expert could be given credible authority over truth, however many facts might be marshalled in support.

"The petit-bourgeois is a man unable to imagine the Other. If he comes face to face with him, he blinds himself, ignores and denies him, or else transforms him into himself." -- Roland Barthes, Mythologies (1957)

There’s something incredibly human about the early motivations of the academics, humiliated by the challenge of modernist achievements, occupying positions of authority but incapable (or unwilling) to go to the same lengths to justify their cultural power. It was wrong but it wasn’t an incomprehensible show of weakness. Perhaps if it had been able to admit a little nuance - like humility - the future would have been different. It wasn’t, however. Committed to a reductive perversion of intellectual relativism, quick to define the opposition in counter cultural terms, increasingly partnered with state expediency, things only got worse and more widespread and more difficult to dislodge in the decades to come.

"I believe in the value of the book, which keeps something irreplaceable, and in the necessity of fighting to secure its respect." -- Jacques Derrida (1930-2004)

The rotten core of the post-modern movement remains throughout, though, and as it’s forced to greater lengths to prosecute an absolute authority, so much the reality and the impact on culture grow more extreme. Today it weaponises such awful characteristics as toxic envy and endemic narcissism. Mediocrity has become synonymous with common sense, conformity means to follow dogma and deny individual free thought. Power dynamics are abused daily, inverting expertise to a sin, traditions of excellence as oppressive patriarchy and individuality subsumed - whether you like it or not - into identity politics where transgression brings the most dire of consequences.

The post-modernist end-game is, by default, a mix of populism and passive aggression. There can be leaders, in the post-modern paradigm state, but these must be celebrities or accidents of ethnicity. Meritocracy becomes lottery - and lottery is an easier sell to a public convinced of its own self-worth but conditioned never to be examined, except for compelled social function. Death of the author and exclusion of individual genius makes life into a reality show - authenticity at arms length - an easy fit with slogans of democracy and universal median values. Equality itself is a twisted principle: not so much equality of outcome as equality of process. The whole system is delivered through the worst of human traits: vanity, egoism, outrage and opinion over complex nuance. It’s a recipe for mediocrity, at best, a disconnection with centuries of intellectual and cultural tradition that may not be restored. In a multifarious world, if we accept the broad sweep of history as led by the enlightenment West and the utilitarian East, it’s the former at risk of becoming obsolete.

We’re quick to spot the nightmare dystopian East when we hear about China and its surveillance social media scorecards for a billion citizens but the West is heading for worse. Mediocrity is a creeping death and will increasingly fall behind as the world moves forward. The Western traditions that have nurtured individual freedom and - quite rightly - arranged a natural order of achievement around encouraging and nurturing genius and original thought: all of this is at risk if the post-modernist social order achieves complete victory. Soon enough the voices of protest and their cries of “Shakespeare” “Newton” “Einstein” “Tesla” “Feinstein” “Goethe” “Nietschze” “Kerouac” “Dante” “Michelangelo” “Freud” “Jung” “Chomsky” “Orwell” will die away. What remains will be the echoing hubbub of an outraged mob that amounts to nothing more than an irrelevant cultural silence.

"There's a blaze of light in every word It doesn't matter which you heard The holy or the broken Hallelujah" -- Leonard Cohen (1934-2016)

#merton

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triumphorce · 7 years

Text

New days do come,

Prevailing proofs of true self,

Showing improvement exists as soon as you choose

To pursue the roots of what moves and lives within the work you do..

So I just ought to do Good,

Because I can,

Because I’m here,

Cause of love, cause of hate.

Cause of survival before the life of man.

An In Memoriam of the Benevolent

Hands of Time land before my own

And other youths’

Soon in command

Rule the lands

If the future grants it.

So while I’m here I draw my Muse, through art renewed.

A superhero, in my mind, to fall or stand, for all.

a heart to push apart and pull reality

martyr, vigilante mentality for breakfast

to fuel ideas today & drive me to where tomorrow ensues and so on.

Always changing my angle, but never the point I came from

Or Aim from to long-range derange scum.

An Oasis of Arrow Rain encasing other Heroes & Heroines,

To protect a Cause at all cost and secure the lead,

Accede the deed of defeating fiends, with means just as just as they see theirs,

To fight the Guile until my final breath..

Final step…final thought..I aspire to bereave and leave fear,

And I try not to think about the end often, or how death’ll hit,

Try not to Cloud my mind unless I’m on a computer, typing it,

A SkyDrive to fly against a timeless wind until I decide to quit,

Compassion next to Violent whims,

Logos and Pathos finally blend,

Ethics for the Universe entirely,

A philosophical Titan of light and peace,

Where I find meaning, Where I find me,

Shine to find meaning and use meaning to shine more brightly,

And I know you see the fight in me, don’t worry.

I’m working on that

Not really

Used to find it frightening, but now..

I don’t try to be what I’m not, fine with Me.

Cherish the extra x inside of chromosomes

Mama next to me every time I breathe.

Every time I see defeat, or am feelin’ obsolete.

I compete inside, an arms race between doubt and every reason I should proceed..

Each gets better, but which will finally secede…

Shit I’m wonderin’ while I dream at night,

Romanticizing scenes of life yet to come

art type'a kid

Are you afraid of the dark kinda kid.

Focus on smiling

Sit back

Jam Cole thru beats

Write what Ima use to fight back.

What I write to the eyes of people.

All my ideas and their sequels.

Just take a look..

At these arrays of rhymes

LeVar child raised in rain and shine

adjacent to complacent minds, All’s a friend of mine but I write in confinement because I don’t like to sit by and pretend I’m blind,

So I just sit by and reason singularly to understand myself before I apply insights in teachings.

before preaching I must be preached to & understand reason behind reasoning

before achieving, I must recognize my depth for achieving and that I’ll never be done reaching.

before expecting others to change, I’m changing to lead to lead a change.

I believe this is my n-i-c-…h-e, finished repeating blindly being,

Thinking, “Why should I let time fly by” and turn to an owl

gliding with guidance of right and left wings of brain

To do good, do well

word to purdue

but more relative to will, which will depend on either all of me or all of nothing,

Our concerns entail our lives’ trials, every turn compiles a trail, for me it’s the ability to make amends with any, sharin deepest secrets kept as a link between me and hidden emotions that that person keeps, no matter the past, no class in comparin, tearin past outer shells of the incoherent swells that conceal bare truth in beings, covered preciously with care, and create peace out of thin air, breathe it in to later let it avail through an era of peril, Veils of clouds that expel to a velvet sun, rising to vermeil skies, compelling, vast sights of light trails that bring back tales we once contracted, no longer contactin, lost in abstractions of what is now and what has happened, every minute passin enlightens details we failed to recognize, Pale against Pale in a world where success may technically mean you failed,

Pale in my mind, where there’s little difference between doubt and hittin the nail,

Pale is strength and pride, pale is attitude, apathetic mood impaling life,

Then I stop tripe cycles and dive into skies again, ride in stealth mode, social lightly, remote to folks, on islands of notes I wrote, remote controllin hold on Ideas, Hopes and My gifts, never rely on shit since I realized I don’t need votes to approve my ends…

Give up, why? Cause I lacked the fight? What a terrible plight, Well, now I strike with smites primed enough to send mis-sile like lines that guide feelings in flight on solar winds that wind up pipes to cite inscribed rites that multiply as I subtract lust, summoned over months in time,

Years of reruns,

Decades from a Climax,

I’ll always be mptying imagery through needles’ eyes to thread sleeves, linen lines…used for bleeding, seaming, and depicting dreams, fixing everything, finishing off anything that disconnects, tears, confuses, unnerves or bruises the surface of medullas, my reflexes kick in, Gai apprentice, fluidly movin, intuitive to intentions, protecting ethics daily and reviewing objectives nightly, An Ethos Knight, guiding ledger as a weapon to acquest feats, reject the norm and eject free of reform, arrested only to the lore, sending pulses of nourishment to seek accordance with frequency of merging heart beats, crafted earnest, All covered in Scars pertinent from lashin, reversed when laughin, Uncertain to trust cause of lavish, when love hurt and compassion deserted us, still a small piece clung through conversion, to alas rise above in a flash, intact and untouched,

And In fact, I sometimes blush when confronted by broken tongues, because I know that that’s just just love for what they know that they lack and grimmace as my path unfolds to truth and answers they think just lie in my wake, but my path isn’t just on the way, my path is made of the way, So I know what’s comin’ in a sense as I run through my sixth, like Drake and his woes, no more woes as I let go..

Pssshh, I gave up on pleasing, no more pleas,

Now I’m either routinely fillin up moleskine lines,

or spillin oceanic rhymes,

Like a broke dam,

Like Oh damn, oops, here let me dry it,

Pullin out more rhymes to wipe you down with..

Oh My, Oh shit, I just opened up

Like Low tide,

Quick,

Pull back,

Fall back, far back,

I come back..

Touchin skies,

Leading tsunami goals and tidal tact.

Fin.

#dps #poetry

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pa0231benjaminhall · 7 years

Text

Essay structure (200 words over max )

My short story is about three flies Juan, who is confident, strong minded, stubborn and has no sense of humour.

Miguel who is constantly depressed, he is also a womaniser that is extremely lazy.

Lopez who is constantly eating, he is very hyperactive and talks constantly.

Juan is a fly that has lived most of its life in a human corps at the end of a sewage pipe with his brothers and sisters. He hears from one brother senor sabio of a place called the white house, it is said to be found at the other end of the pipe. Legends about creature the size of their home, gods that will grant you one wish if you can survive there challenges.

Juan decides to go through with this journey with hopes that it will better their lives. They head down the pipe looking for an opening into the white house.

When they reach the end of the pipe they find an opening that they take and come out a sink, they find out that the gods whose wisdom they seek are not what they seem to be.

The gods are angry, mean and violent with others and each over. They consume everything and leave debris were ever they go.

The three little flies look for a place to hide in the white house, they witness terrible things and end up flying into a room with a large desk placed at the end. The chair behind the desk turns revealing a big silhouette, he calls him self Donald.

Donald speaks to them and debates there place in the world, he questions whether they could find a place more suited to there needs. Donald gives them a taste of what they could have if they chose to follow he’s instructions. The three little fly’s follow Donald to a light placed in a corner of the room, Donald stands by the light and tells them that they could find everything they need through the light, his face is sweet and heart-warming. They land in front of the light afraid of the decision they have to make.

Should they go or should they stay?

After much consideration they decide to go into the light.

They jump towards the light, while in mid-air they notice the name of the light “Bug Zapper”, in there last moments they are horrified by whats to come, they disappear. Donald Trump’s face turns red and he’s facial expression become demented.

how did you get the idea ?

When I was searching for an idea I started by looking for words I would use to describe the story I wanted to wright. I chose to use a disturbing and grim environment, using dark humour to liven the mood of the story. At first I was going to use humans as my main characters but realised that I could make the story more interesting by using an insect or an animal to make the perspective of its life look harsh without shocking the viewer to much. I also wanted the character to be something that would not normally be liked in the real world, which would allow me to add more to the dark theme and would make the viewer think about how they would normally act around it. I decided to use a fly as my main character since it is commonly disliked.

I now wanted to find a theme to the story, I wanted my main character to go on a quest, using epic scenes and bizarre insects to be the antagonists. I wanted the story to sound like an incredible adventure that would be told through generations like a fable.

I decided to make the main character believe in something better then him self and pursue it, to discover all of there secrets.

So I added humans as the superior being that the main character would worship, I wanted humans to be imagined as gods by the flies so that I could make up legends about others discovering them and the rewards that come from finding these mythical gods.

I wanted the flies to idolise humans so that I could show a different view on the humans, the flies expect so much from humans but they end up being disappointed, since there discovery has proven to them that they are not loved by there gods but instead are hated.

how did you use the feed back ?

Using the feedback given to me by our class I could make the story more enjoyable and also make more sense to the viewer. At first I had one main character who would recruit other insects to join his quest as the story progressed. I changed this so that there would be three flies who are brothers that would go on this quest together, I got rid of all the extra characters but kept certain small appearances that would help link the events together.

There are certain parts that I did not want to change and our class agreed with me, parts like the ending, the quest and the environment. These parts were important to me since they are what keep the story interesting and different from others. I only changed the events that led to the ending so that it seems less random and would not confuse the viewer.

The last critic I received was that the story was too action packed and too long, so I cut certain events that were unnecessary and tried to make the story less complex since I was looking to make a simple short story.

Using the feedback was very helpful, I understood what people were expecting from my story, I also managed to keep the core elements that made this story mine while making it more appealing to the viewer.

how did you use the exercises done in class?

The exercises helped me understand how I had to concentrate on the main story and forget all the small detail that complicate the story. I used the exercises in the same way we were asked to do them in class on my own story. I gave myself three minutes to tell my story, this helped me strip my story down to the core so that it is not to complicated. Once I had re-written my story I added components so that the event that lead to the end would make more sense.

how did it affect your work ?

The exercises done in class have made me think about the length of my story and what is truly necessary to make a simple story work for multiple viewers with different outlooks and opinions.

I have concentrated on the main goal of my story which is for the flies to discover humans and suffer consequences for following advice given to them blindly without any thought of there own.

how much has the story changed during the course ?

During the time that we were given to improve our stories mine has changed drastically, my story started with no message, just a series of events that lead to a deadly end for the main characters and everyone that surrounds them.

When I first started writing my story I simply wanted to create a ridiculous world were our logic would be redundant. I wanted the viewer to enjoy the craziness of the environment and the characters who’s innocence and naivety lead them into a world that they do not understand.

I have kept these different events in my story but have managed to create a link between them and the events that come after.

I also added a symbolic to the story which was not a understandable at first, since I have taken a lot out of my story it has allowed me to spend more time

I have re-written my story five times, each change in the story has improved my idea and helped me reach the main goal, which is to make the viewer think about how we act around something as insignificant as a fly.

analyse your work using the information from the lectures

Using a book written by Philip Parker called The art & science of screenwriting I could identify the theme of my story as a quest.

To quote the book:

-The character is set a task to find someone or something.

-The character accepts the challenge.

-The character searches for the someone or something.

-The character finds the someone or something.

-The character is rewarded, or not, for their success in the quest.

These five steps describe the structure of my story perfectly, I believe that there is no other theme that describes my story better then this one.

My three main characters are told about a paradise surrounded by Gods that will grant them wishes.

use your own research on the subject

When reading “Screenplay the foundations of screenwriting” by “Syd Field” I understood I was going in the right direction since I already knew how I wanted my story to end. To quote as it is said in “Syd Field’s” book:

“ A lot of people don’t believe they need an ending before they start writing. Those endings usually don’t work and are not very effective.”

“The ending is the first thing you must know before you begin writing”.

“Know your ending !”

I also knew how I wanted my story to start, I believe that before I even started writing I knew how I wanted my story to start and also how I wanted it to end. Therefor I had the components necessary to wright an acceptable piece of work.

All that was needed now was to add elements in between so that the start and end would be linked and make sense.

The story I have written is about the pursuit of pleasure, since my character are trying to find a better life for them and their family.

what have you learned from this process ?

I now understand that to make a good short story it is important to use these themes to create a good structure that will be understood by the viewer without causing any confusion to what the core story is really about.

prove that you understand the screen writing process

conclusion

how could you have made it better ?

I would say that if wanted to improve my story further I would add more detail to the three main characters and wright about their reactions to the different situations.

I believe that I could have made the message behind the main story more vague therefor making the viewer think and even imagine different messages that were not by my own design. I would have liked to have made the story less linear to make the events happening between the start and the end more interesting.

what mistakes have you made ?

I think that as a short story my idea works fine to me, I actually liked my original story a lot too but it did not work as a short story, using the original story I think I could have used a lot more dark humour to keep the elements that I enjoyed in and also keep the symbolic message behind my new story.

Symbolic messages

First

The main symbolic message behind my story is that we should not follow advice given too us that could change the course of our existence without questioning its source.

second

In my story the flies represent immigrants trying to enter a country to make a better life for their selves or escape the physical and mental violence that they suffer from ravages caused by years of conflict, the white house represent many countries that refuse their entry because they have different beliefs.

Third

It also shows a fly worshipping a being that it believes to be all knowing and all power full, but once they meet they realise that there gods consider them to be vermin and that there very existence disgusts them. If god existed what would he, she or they think of us, after centuries of violence between our own kind and the destruction caused to our own planet.

action plan

If I could do over my story I would change the events that happen between the end and the start because they seem to random.

In the future I would probably spend more time making events that happen between the start and the end more interesting and move away from the main goal of the story to add more diversity and make it seem less linear.

Bibliography.

Field, S. (1984). Screenplay The Foundation of Screenwriting. 3rd ed. New York: Dell Publishing, pp.60-61.

Parker, P. (1999). The art & science of screenwriting. 2nd ed. Portland, Oregon, USA: Intellect Books, pp.78-79.

Parker, P. (1999). The art & science of screenwriting. 2nd ed. Portland, Oregon, USA: Intellect Books, pp.92

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