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thesunnyshow · 4 years

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Name: hi, i am nyx Age: 20 years old Writing Blog URL(s): jungcity.tumblr.com | v-asl.tumblr.com

Nationality: filipino Languages: english, filipino Star Sign: pisces! MBTI: infp-t Favorite color: white accentuated by silver Favorite food: it’s sweet and spicy chicken garlic!! Favorite movie: hmmm, it’s prolly flipped because that movie was so cute :,) Favorite ice cream flavor: rocky road!! Favorite animal: it’s gonna be cats!! although i love lions so much because of narnia :,( Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? coffee :,) Go-to karaoke song: i don’t sing agskh the world would end if i would

What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? i think it’s me writing about jaehyun??? since he’s the king of fanfiction, especially in ncity nowadays.

What fandom(s) do you write for? nct + wayv

When did you post your first piece? three days ago!! that would be august 4 i guess???

Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? i don’t really much write fluff since i don’t have any idea how to write a good fluff!! :( this has been an issue every time i write some au’s. so im always ending up writing and focusing more on angst. it’s the genre i know best. well, crack… it’s hard to make the readers laugh when you can’t even make their tooth ache from sweetness with your fluffy writings. :( smut… i don’t write smut explicitly any more. i’m more on the suggestive side rn.

Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc i write OC’s especially when im writing a series!! to diversify my writing. but i usually am on the x reader side. ships? not that much.

Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? uhm, back in 2017, i was searching for some website where i could publish my works. ive always been a tumblr-girl since i am that wanna-be-aesthetic kinda person :D then i had found that i could write and publish on tumblr so yeah that’s pretty much why i am on this app rn

What inspires you to write? ooh, music has been a great help for sure!! whenever i don’t feel like writing something, i always listen to music and the idea would flow like a river. classic poems helps, too. :)

What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? supernatural!au’s, fantasy!au, medieval!au. i feel like it’s easier to write something out of pure fantasy. i have a hard time writing modern!au’s since i lack the humor and the knowledge for modern slangs.

What do you hope your readers take away from your work? ooh, i always always always am careful with the way that i craft all my works. i try to feel what my characters feel to give them a certain validation. i put my shoes on the scenarios i have in mind even though i haven’t yet experienced everything ive written. and i do love writing strong female characters, whether it’s oc’s or female readers. that’s my main priority whenever i write. and i want them to know that girls could do just as much everything boys could. women are powerful.

What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? i read a lot to get back on my foot. i also try to re-read my past works so i’d be inspired to better my writing on my current draft.

What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? my favorite work is the one i’m still writing rn, which is entitled 505. it’s a hendery fic in which he is a bandit and the female reader is a sacristan. it’s my fave since i relate myself so much to the female reader. :) my most successful one is the childhood best friends!au taeyong x female reader. it’s about to reach 600+ notes i guess? and im so grateful of all the feedbacks i got from it.

Who is your favorite person to write about? it’s jaehyun and hendery :)

Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? character wise, perhaps. since you already have a face value in fanfiction, but in an original prose, you would have to craft everything from 0.

What do you think makes a good story? a good story is something that doesn’t romanticize the bad things going on in the world. a good story is something that is emphatic to the hardships of others. a good story is something that gives comfort to those who are in the dark. a good story is something that boosts the hearts of the readers and makes them feel things!!

What is your writing process like? first, i think of a plot! (this happens oftentimes when im washing the dishes) when i have the plot, i think of the ending. when i have the ending, it’s time for me to device a fitting title. and the plot would develop from then on.

Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? i don’t think so… this is scary. since some people think of fanfics as delusional works from delusional authors. it’s kinda sad.

What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? i love love love enemies-to-lovers trope!! one that i couldn’t stand and do my best to not read is probably… hmm… no, i love all tropes!! i just love e-t-l most!

How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? it means a ton. since it could really boosts me up. heavy sigh. it’s the best thing when you write something— the feedbacks. even though it’s a simple reblog with the ‘#ATKSHSKSHSKAHAKSGAHGEGSJA’ or ‘#myfave’. i would smile like an idiot whenever i read it.

Dream job (whether you have a job or not)? i want to be a successful writer someday!

If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? teleportation!!

If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? ancient greek + victorian era

If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you? yes!! im so hell deep in indecision right now so i want to restart to make everything right

Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? 100 chicken-sized horses!!

If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? enemies-to-lovers trope agsksj LOL

Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? YES!!! perhaps they are lurking somewhere here on earth and we don’t know it yet ;)

Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? oh… i don’t really know what to write. i don’t give much attention to my personal details agsksj

Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? yes!! ugh, there’s this recent issue wherein stan twt called fanfic writers as freaks. and it broke my heart. i mean, most fanfic writers get inspirations from their idols and that shouldn’t be a bad thing. we aren’t delusionals as one might think. we are simply doing our craft.

Do you think art can be a medium for change? yes!! our country’s hero ‘jose rizal’ had somehow stirred the nationality of the people back in the old days because of his writings. i do believe that art changes things!! it has the ability to pierce the heart of the people.

Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? yes. i feel this whenever im writing smut. i mean, let’s be real, your works would do better once you’ve included some steamy smut scenes in it. when i was writing my first fanfic after three years, i didn’t think that i’d ever include smut. but the fear of not getting feedbacks crept up in me, so i forced myself to write some sexy scenes. i know that’s like… weird. but i’m trying not to dwell on feedbacks any longer. and i also have decided not to write explicit smut anymore. honestly, i feel better now that i don’t force myself to do something that i think would please others rather than me.

Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? uhm, as far as i can remember, nope— still hasn’t felt that way. :)

Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? yes!! my best friends irl knows about it. my sister knows. my parents are also aware of my passion in writing, and they do know that i write. but where and what, that remains obscured from them :D

What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? that it’s okay to be vulnerable. it’s okay to make mistakes. it’s okay to fail sometimes. it’s okay to feel things. because like a good book, there is always a character development and you have the pen to write your own version of happy endings.

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? i’ve been there: the scared and conscious part. but one thing i would say is, you have to dare yourself!! you won’t know how your writing would have impacted so many lives and touch the hearts of people if you won’t grab your pen or your gadget and start your draft.

Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? nope, there aren’t. the community has been lovely to me ever since i started writing. :,)

Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? yes!! oh my god. i’d like to take this opportunity to thank my mutuals who’s done me nothing but kindness— @legendnct (hannah), whoo!! you know how much i love you, right? thank you for always being there to listen to me. :) @cloudysuh des, since day one you’ve supported me. i couldn’t ask for more. thank you for the never-ending praises, keyboard smashes, for the tags, and for always boosting me up. @bohoes georgie, you know i love you. since 2017 you’ve been with me— praising my works and supporting me. thank you. @cherr-e cherry!! thank you!! for teaching me how to better my writing. i hope endless happiness for u and please take care. @writermoon hello my babe!! thank you so much for reading my works with such vivid imaginations. i love you. @jaeyongf amy!! the bestest person :,) thank you for always leaving me feedbacks!! thank you for being kind to me. thank you for always supporting me. i love you guys so much and let’s be mutuals for a long time!!

Pick a quote to end your interview with:

“If the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.” — Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë

#@jungcity #@v-asl #thesunnyshow #featuredauthor #episode 22 #nct #wayv

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notjussayin · 4 years

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6 Ways I Stay Present In The Moment

Before I tell you what helps me stay present in the moment/now, let’s first understand what it is to be present and why it is important.

There’s a saying,

“If you are depressed you are living in the past.

If you are anxious you are living in the future.

If you are at peace you are living in the present.”

Lao Tzu

I often find myself dwelling on what I could’ve / should’ve done or wondering of ways to be / act in the future, or just endlessly playing hypothetical scenarios / “what ifs” in my head.

The range of emotions I feel during this time vary from feeling sad, regretful, depressed, angry, fearful, anxious, to feeling happy, hopeful, excited, ecstatic. It depends on what I’m thinking about at the time.

I’m able to feel all of that while sitting/standing in one place. All these emotions are caused due to what’s going on in my head. None of that is happening in real life at that moment per se, it’s all happening in me, in my mind, and I’m left feeling what I’m feeling at that moment.

To be present in the moment, in the now, is — to be outside one’s head.

I wonder how often we are really present in the now; like this very moment, as you’re reading these words. You are present in this moment. Right now there is not much happening except for you reading this and probably some ambient noise in the background. Thats it!

Except for the present moment, everything else exists in our minds. Past and Future are concepts which we live in our minds, all the time!

How many times do you find yourself thinking of and wanting to be at home or with friends when you are at work? — That is a classic example of you not being present in the moment and living in your head.

The only time we have, which is real and outside our head, is now.

I am reminded of two quotes —

“Past is just a story we tell ourselves.”

Her, 2013

“Nothing has happened in the past; it happened in the Now. Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now.”

Eckart Tolle

Now is all we have. Life is happening right now at this moment with each breath you take, each time your eyes blink, with each and every heartbeat, with every second you hear the clock tick, life is happening, right now!

To be present in the moment means to be aware of your internal state AND your surroundings. It is not a state you reach though, it is an action / activity. It is an act of being — being present. You choose to be present, consciously.

Being in our head prevents us from being present in the moment.

This is not to say thinking is wasteful. In fact, thinking and imagination is at the source of all the inventions and discoveries. It is thinking that has gotten us this far and it is that which will take us forward. We imagine something, we think of how to make it happen and we make it happen.

That is conscious thinking though. That is focused, deliberate, conscious thinking. It is not the same as entertaining any passing thought our mind throws at us and we go where it takes us — like a leaf blowing in the wind from one place to the other — lost in our stories; having no power over our minds. We go where our thoughts take us. We feel what our thoughts make us feel.

To plan, strategise, organise the information/thoughts/ideas is a conscious activity.

Our mind is an extremely powerful tool if we use it right; if not, we can be sitting in one place and just brood all day/night.

I read somewhere — Our mind can be a dangerous place to visit, especially at night, alone!

But, how we use our mind is on us.

Do you let your mind control you or are you in control of your mind?

Now that you’ve seen what it is to be present, let me share

——

6 Ways that help me stay present or get back in the moment.

1. Catch yourself when you’re in your head. When you find yourself thinking about something that happened in the past or worrying about the future or investing your time in any random thoughts — Catch yourself at that moment. Our mind thinks 50,000-80,000 thoughts a day! That’s 2000-3000 thoughts an hour (https://www.successconsciousness.com/blog/inner-peace/how-many-thoughts-does-your-mind-think-in-one-hour/) Awareness is the first step to change. The very awareness of you not being present is the first step of you being present. As soon as you become aware that you’re not present, you’re present in the moment.

2. Observe your surroundings — Get your senses into play — Grounding technique 1. Notice 5 things you see in the room. 2. Name 4 things you can feel (“my feet on the floor” or “the air in my nose”) 3. Name 3 things you hear right now (traffic, birds, AC) 4. Name 2 things you can smell right now (or 2 smells you like) 5. Get present to 1 thing you’re grateful for right now.

3. Pay attention to your breath — observe yourself breathing in and out. Feel the air passing through your nose to your windpipes to your lungs to your stomach as you inhale and it’s way back as you exhale.

4. Get engrossed in whatever you’re doing — Do what you’re doing consciously — sometimes we could be doing something but not be present at the same time. Like if the task is mundane or monotonous we could be doing it subconsciously while our conscious brain wanders. — Whatever you do, do consciously — be it eating, listening, reading, writing, doing your work. If you focus on what you’re doing at that moment, you’re present. And trust me, your productivity will shoot up cause you won’t allow you mind to distract you. You’ll reach a state of flow.

5. Write/Journal — Write down whatever is preventing you to be present in the moment. Take your thoughts out of your head and free up that space. You could write it on a piece of paper, maintain a journal, or even on a note on your phone, whatever works for you. The point is to take that thought out of your head.

6. Meditate — Meditation is one of the best ways (for me) to quieten the mind. There are various kinds of meditation and there are a variety of apps and resources you can use for meditation. I usually just sit myself down and focus on my breath. it is a great practice for me to drop unwanted thoughts and focus on the now. — the thing with meditation is (what I learnt from personal experience), you might not feel it’s impact until you stop doing it.

Lastly, Practice — The more you practice being aware, being present, the easier it will become. It is just like building a muscle, the more you work out, the more results you witness.

Put reminders to remind yourself to practice the same. Incorporate these practices in your daily routine. Make them a habit. (There’s a feature on Apple Watch that you can turn on which reminds you to breathe consciously!)

“We first make our habits and then our habits make us.”

John Dryden

The worst that can happen to us is we just cease to exist, out of nowhere, at any moment! Yet here we are, spending so much time holding on to our past (the past that doesn’t serve us anymore) and being anxious for our future. Most of the time we are living in the stories in our heads while the real-life (right now) is slipping by at the same time.

Reminiscing, learning from the past, and planning/strategising for future is one thing. Everything else can be avoided. Things that make us feel sad or anxious, we don’t have to think of them. It’s our choice.

If you are committed to being present in the moment, I highly recommend one book which has had a huge impact on my life — The Power Of Now by Eckhart Tolle

I still remember the first time I read this book was the first time I got the feeling of being in absolute control of my mind. I felt as if my mind was a horse and I had the lead rope. It was an extremely powerful realisation.

—

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you got something out of this.

Feel free to comment your point of views and to share with people

Stay safe!

#NotJusSayin #being present #being in the moment #the power of now #overthinking #power of thoughts #anxiety #zen #meditation #mental health #living in the now #consciousness #conscious living #conscious thinking #mindful thinking #mindfulness #mindfulness practice

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rainhadaenerys · 5 years

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Sometimes I like to search for my own posts in other sites, especially because my book vs show meta is shared quite a lot. I saw someone share my meta on r/gameofthrones, and without fail, some Sansa stan came to say that I was biased, that I didn’t talk about Dany’s “dark moments” in the books, that show!Dany was actually whitewashed:

Wow. Wow. I am the one that is biased, clearly *sarcasm*. Also notice how this anti doesn’t provide a single book quote to support their wild claims.

“The only reason Dany took Astapor was for an army”

Then why did she free the Unsullied when she didn’t need to? Then why did she delay her invasion of Westeros to stay in Slaver’s Bay freeing slaves? Then why did she refuse Yunkai’s gold, Xaro’s ships, Quentyn’s alliance, all things that would have been given freely to her if she decided to leave, and instead chose to stay to ensure people’s freedom? Also, see this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/182893726737/tatticstudio55-i-didnt-think-id-have-the#notes

“She was ok with Drogo selling the Lhazareen into slavery, she said it was the price of the Iron Throne”.

Dany was a 14 years old girl who had no experience on war. Antis like to say that Dany convinced Drogo to invade knowing that he was going to enslave people to do it, but this is not an argument supported by the text at all. When Dany asks Drogo to help her take the Seven Kingdoms, no one mentions the need to sell slaves:

The khal's mouth twisted in a frown beneath the droop of his long mustachio. "The stallion who mounts the world has no need of iron chairs."

Dany propped herself on an elbow to look up at him, so tall and magnificent. She loved his hair especially. It had never been cut; he had never known defeat. "It was prophesied that the stallion will ride to the ends of the earth," she said.

"The earth ends at the black salt sea," Drogo answered at once. He wet a cloth in a basin of warm water to wipe the sweat and oil from his skin. "No horse can cross the poison water."

"In the Free Cities, there are ships by the thousand," Dany told him, as she had told him before. "Wooden horses with a hundred legs, that fly across the sea on wings full of wind."

Khal Drogo did not want to hear it. "We will speak no more of wooden horses and iron chairs." He dropped the cloth and began to dress. "This day I will go to the grass and hunt, woman wife," he announced as he shrugged into a painted vest and buckled on a wide belt with heavy medallions of silver, gold, and bronze.

"Yes, my sun-and-stars," Dany said. Drogo would take his bloodriders and ride in search of hrakkar, the great white lion of the plains. If they returned triumphant, her lord husband's joy would be fierce, and he might be willing to hear her out. - Daenerys VI ADWD

That’s it. That’s the moment Dany asks Drogo to help her take the Seven Kingdoms. There’s no mentions of selling slaves at all in their conversation. We don’t even know if Dany is aware or not of what taking the Seven Kingdoms is going to take. Given how young and inexperienced she is, it doesn’t seem like she gave much thought about the ugly aspects of war at all. Besides, it’s only after the wineseller tries to poison Dany that Drogo mentions that he will rape women and enslave children in Westeros, and at this point, Dany doesn’t have much of a say, because Drogo didn’t decide to invade Westeros because Dany asked. He decided to invade Westeros because the lives of wis wife (his property) and his son were threatened. This is an affront to his honor, his decision has nothing to do with pleasing Dany, so if she asks him to give up on invading Westeros, he won’t do it (just like he wouldn’t invade Westeros just because he asked). Dany didn’t seem to be aware of what taking Westeros back with Drogo would take, and after she finds out, she doesn’t really have the power to stop it.

And saying that Dany was ok with enslaving the Lhazareen is a blatant lie:

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate.

"Most of Ogo's riders fled," Ser Jorah was saying. "Still, there may be as many as ten thousand captives."

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them."

Behind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that went on and on and on. Dany's hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver's head. "Make them stop," she commanded Ser Jorah. - Daenerys VII AGOT

Dany has little say in what’s happening here, little agency. She is just the wife of the khal, and what he decides is what happens. This is the very first time Dany is seeing the Dothraki attack anyone (before this, she was just traveling through the Dothraki Sea to Vaes Dothrak). And she is horrified by what she is seeing. Antis love to take the line “this is the price of the Iron Throne” out of context, but looking at the context in which the line is said tells us a very different story: when Dany says "this is war, this is the price of the Iron Throne", she's not saying it because she's ok with slavery. Quite the opposite: she hates what she's seeing, and she says this to convince herself that she doesn't care, to tell herself to be strong. But it doesn't work, Dany can't look past the awful things that she is seeing, and only two paragraphs later, she starts trying to save as many women as she can, in the only way she can: by claiming those women for herself.

By the way, Dany puts herself at a huge risk by trying to protect those women, because she is defying Drogo’s men. When her khas goes to enforce her order, the Dothraki fight, and some men die trying to defend their rights to the spoils of war. Many of the men look at her with cold eyes. These men try to complain to the khal about this, and when Drogo dies and Dany loses the protection of his authority, Dany is in grave danger.

Also see this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/186687986788/adamparrush-dany-burning-mirri-maaz-duur-alive#notes

“Dany was murdering children in Astapor”

This is just bad reading comprehension, or this person is trying to distort things. Dany didn’t order the killing of children. She ordered only masters and soldiers to be killed, those actively fighting against her to keep slavery. She tell them not to harm any child below 12 to avoid the Unsullied killing innocents. Also, saying “don’t kill anyone under 12″ is not the same thing as saying “kill everyone over 12″, stupid anti.

Also, see this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/184630644137/hi-i-really-enjoy-your-blog-and-your-meta-i#notes

“Dany didn’t want the entire caravan from Astapor and Yunkai to follow her”

That’s a really dishonest distortion of the facts. This is what Dany actually says:

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver's armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst. - Daenerys IV ASOS

Dany says that the freedmen are a burden. She is simply stating a fact, the freedmen are a burden. But she refuses to abandon them as her advisors urged, because she freaking cares about them, you idiot.

“The pile of bodies was high when she took Meereen”

Of course the pile of bodies was high! A battle to take the city just happened! Usually, when there’s a battle, people die, and there are bodies. I guess this idiot must think that Jon and Robb won all of their battles without killing a single soul. Let’s just pretend that none of Robb’s victories had any pile of bodies. Like, wow. What kind of argument even was this?

“They don’t talk about the torturing of the wineseller’s daughter”

Another blatantly lie. I do talk about the torture of the wineseller’s daughters in my books vs show meta, let me quote what I wrote here:

4) Then, after Dany executes Mossador in the name of a fair trial, she decides to throw “fair trial” out of the window by feeding one of the slavers to her dragons for revenge. This is something that never happens in the books. The closest we have to a problematic action like this is when Dany allows the wineseller’s daughters to be tortured. But this isn’t anywhere near as dark as feeding people to her dragons, for various reasons: 1) because Dany’s actions in the books are inserted in a context in which torture is seen as a normal and legitimate means of investigation by the society. Dany is not the only one that does this, and even honorable Jon Snow considers throwing Janos Slynt in an ice cell to force him to comply, and later throws Cregan Karstark in one. So Dany’s actions in the books are lawful, while in the show, they are not; 2) because Dany was trying to investigate. She was angry about what happened, but revenge was not the only motivation; 3) in the books, Dany learns a lesson from this and becomes the only ruler in ASOIAF to explicitly forbid torture.

Another thing that makes the dragon feeding scene so bad is that Dany tells the masters that she doesn’t care who’s innocent or not. But book Daenerys does care about it:

“We have no proof this is their work. Would you have me slaughter my own subjects?” – Daenerys IV ADWD

Feeding people to her dragons in the show was a criminal action taken by show Dany, and it was made out of revenge, with show Dany saying that she doesn’t care about innocence. This is very different from Dany in the books, and much much darker.

“They don’t talk about Dany enslaving people once she becomes queen”

I don’t talk about this because this never happened. Dany does allow people to sell themselves back into slavery, but only if they want to, and she very clearly doesn’t want to allow it:

Dany was shocked. “They want to be slaves?”

“The ones who come are well spoken and gently born, sweet queen. Such slaves are prized. In the Free Cities they will be tutors, scribes, bed slaves, even healers and priests. They will sleep in soft beds, eat rich foods, and dwell in manses. Here they have lost all, and live in fear and squalor.”

“I see.” Perhaps it was not so shocking, if these tales of Astapor were true. Dany thought a moment. “Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.” - Daenerys VI ASOS

Dany does this because she thinks it’s for the best. Because people convince her that otherwise, those people will live in fear and squalor. But she makes it very clear that no one is allowed to force another person into slavery. And actually, the majority of the former slaves choose to remain free. I write in more detail about this here:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/182694132667/do-the-slaves-of-westeros-really-want-danys-help#notes

“They don’t talk about how Dany treated Irri”

You mean how Irri started to have sex with Dany on her own free will without Dany ever asking her? You mean how Dany treats Irri wih dignity, respects her consent, and makes it very clear to Irri that she doesn’t have to have sex with her if she doesn’t want it?

"Should I pleasure the khaleesi?"Dany stepped away from her. "No. Irri, you do not need to do that. What happened that night, when you woke . . . you're no bed slave, I freed you, remember? You . . ." - Daenerys II ASOS

Talk all you want about power difference, but Dany respected Irri’s consent, she treated her with dignity.

See also this meta:

https://rainhadaenerys.tumblr.com/post/187867805480/hiya-mindset-love-your-blog-i-was-reading#notes

And they continued on their bullshit:

They repeat a lot of the stuff I already refuted here, but there are some more:

“Jorah killed Rhaego, not MMD”

Mirri Maz Duur admits she killed Rhaego when Dany accuses her:

Dany gestured at Ser Jorah and the others. "Leave us. I would speak with this maegi alone." Mormont and the Dothraki withdrew. "You knew," Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. "You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it."

"It was wrong of them to burn my temple," the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly. "That angered the Great Shepherd."

"This was no god's work," Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. "You cheated me. You murdered my child within me."

"The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust." - Daenerys IX AGOT

MMD killed an innocent child for revenge, and to prevent a supposed future. She admits it.

"She said to kill everyone in a tokar, this is every freeborn”

No, the tokar is not worn by every freeborn. The tokar is a master’s garment, and it makes it impossible to work. Those who wore it are only those who have the wealth and power and don’t have to work, aka, the freaking slave masters:

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes. It was not a garment meant for any man who had to work. The tokar was a master's garment, a sign of wealth and power. - Daenerys I ADWD

Ugh. Then they went on:

Again, this freaking obsession antis have to convince people that they loooooove Daenerys. I could go on refuting this idiot, but it can be summed up in “You Dany stans can’t see things objectively, I’m the only one that uses logic, blah, blah, blah”. They go on to complain that Dany killed soldiers (none of their faves ever killed soldiers, right?), to say that Dany killed slaves and freed people (no, she didn’t), that you can’t see things in black and white and divide the situation into slavers and slaves (I guess they’re trying to say that Dany is bad for killing some supposedly nice slavers), blah, blah blah.

Sorry if I went off, everyone. This made me really angry. Apparently, I’m the biased one that distorts things, and not this idiot.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys defense squad #books vs show #also kinda me defending myself and yelling into the void

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dennisgilmour · 4 years

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Looking for comments/debate about www.theoriginofgod.com

I wish to start debate/discussion around new unique ideas I have to credibly combine the only two explanations for how we all got here: evolution versus creation. However, theistic evolution just doesn't combine well with Genesis, as the 6 days of creation thing is pretty clear from many angles, and also Bible is clear death came by Adam's sin, not some wonderful life-creation force over billions of years. I am sure many credible arguments on here have been discussed on both extreme sides, or some type of theistic evolution compromise. But for many reasons, neither of these three views works for me. Neither pure evolution, or pure creation or pure theistic evolution provides enough satisfactory answers for me. I've come up with a concept, I call, as per my title, the theory of Christoevolution. I have come up with a complex story, which I admit is just a story, but I also sincerely think the Holy Spirit of God inspired me with this story/understanding. The basic gist is in another reality humans are not aware of, a reality/universe of untold trillions of years, with slightly different laws than our universe, a form of pure evolution created Jesus and His angels, and Satan and his angels, with competing philosophies about God. The spiritual war there between the two sides led to issues that are being worked out in this universe. Jesus crossed the "God-barrier" first and birthed the Almighty Jehovah Father God, or perhaps Father has always existed even for this other reality and simply revealed Himself to Christ at that point. Father and Son now work together, sharing the same Spirit, working out issues from that reality in this universe and saving everybody. Obviously, it is complicated and I can not prove this story, but I see pure evolution and pure creation is also creative storytelling in many ways. Jesus mainly told stories, parables, to explain things and I am sincere I think I am on to something, and Holy Spirit inspired, but obviously can't prove it to everybody's satisfaction at this time. So in summary, in another reality, pure evolution created warring factions, but Jesus crossed the God-barrier and "won" and became God, sort of, but the loving God now has a problem to save even the devil and demons, who God loves as well. This universe was created by pure creation, with some evidence for either side, to challenge humans to work through the spiritual issues and become God's elect. So both pure evolution and pure creation are combined in more credible fashion, IMHO, by pushing pure evolution off to another reality, where we can create a nice story to explain everything, and use our creative imaginations to say what happened. Of course, I admit I can prove none of it, but neither can any Christian or religious person totally prove his or her beliefs either, and pure evolutionary arguments for this universe have many holes and ways to knock the theory. I admit, I am a creative storyteller like Jesus, but also sincerely try to connect with Holy Spirit to come up with a comprehensive story to explain. What's the point debating fictional stories? Good question. I like good questions. Well, since we’re fictional characters in God’s fictional story of humanity, why not debate that truth and many other associated things? I think it high time the world start asking better questions instead of continuing to pretend religion and science are mutually exclusive. Both sides tell stories to fill in the gaps, but don't like to admit it. I am not naive and see that clearly. I am just better at creative storytelling, by God's sovereign design. God makes us all what we are. I desire other human author(s) to contribute ideas to my basic story, who we are all also characters in this cyber-novel, creating our own origins story, combing evolution ideas with alternate realities, Bible themes, creative imagination to continue to refine my basic story at www.theoriginofgod.com. I start the basic gist of the story here, and welcome criticism and if the criticism seems constructive, sincere, and makes good points, I will refine and change some of the story at the website and continue to do so based on good feedback with the world. It gives us something to do to both educate and inform ourselves, while we wait until open contact where the alien-gods (demons), IMHO, will say much I already reveal at the website.

"Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." (Psalm 139:16, NIV) Father is like an author like Stephen King, as this verse says we are like characters in a spiritual novel, all our days written in Father's novel (book) before birth. Many of Stephen King's novels were turned into movies, so we could also be said to be like characters in a movie, thinking we have free will, but really just playing the part a sovereign Father God causes us to do. The characters in the movie, just like the characters in the novel, simply think they have free will, but really do as the author writes they will do. Just because we have dark days on earth sometimes, does not mean our author Father God is dark and twisted, as the "fictional" story of humanity might lead us to believe. Stephen King just writes dark supernatural books, but is really decent and normal fellow, if you get my spiritual drift. The world really needs to start thinking about what I am saying, as the plot of the story of humanity is about to get more interesting when the alien-gods (demons) do open contact and pretend to be our “God”.

Pentagon released fighter jet video evidence of jets chasing UFOs doing physics defying feats and admitting there is something going on, is evidence we are being prepared for open contact. If I am right, these beings will tell the very story I have come up with, because God has revealed much to me ahead of time, and everybody will have to make a choice: are these beings really our ancient alien-gods, as many believe this idea in today's world? Or are they the devil and demons out to deceive and destroy us? The implications of this choice are huge, as I hope one can imagine, and a very critical question all elect must eventually answer. Who is God? Why should I trust Him? Why should I believe Him? Why should I commit myself to crazy levels of obedience, like Christ crucified, and Peter crucified upside down, and many burned at stake in history, etc.... Is God worthy of this kind of devotion? Can we prove it? Can God prove He is God? What acceptable proof can God supply to convince all and save all? I hope to start a new debate around deeper issues than normally considered around this creation/evolution debate. Please read my link www.theoriginofgod.com for comprehensive presentation of my arguments, and start of the cyber-story about origins and what God and Satan are really up to. This pertains to every human on the planet, and so through my internet website and social media, which reaches the whole world, I invite everybody to contribute to the story as you see fit. You can post comments on this blog, and I will read and consider, and if Holy Spirit convicts me to make changes to www.theoriginofgod.com based on what you say, I will do so and give credit on the site to yourself, as the person God used to give me more insight to make the story better. Hopefully, by the time the alien-gods (demons) openly reveal themselves in public open contact, there will at least be greater awareness amongst the world about what is going on. That is my hope and desire anyway, and my motivations for trying to get this information out there. I charge nothing for my services as moderator and lead author to start this thing, which I hope becomes an avalanche of creative ideas and healthy skepticism against the powers that be, who seem to want us just to believe them and stop thinking and asking good questions. I WILL NEVER DO THAT SO LONG AS I AM HUMAN! I am the least Borg drone, it seems, because I simply CANNOT go along with the Borg-like human collective consciousness that makes shit up about origins, God, Bible, science, etc...and I am supposed to just believe it and go along? I hope to liberate the Borg collective captives, and give you FREEDOM! Freedom to know the truth, and be set free with the truth! I will die screaming FREEDOM, as Mel Gibson’s character, William Wallace, did in the movie Braveheart, before I blindly accept horse-shit in the name of Jesus or science or any other control mechanism created beings try to put on me, that has not been thoroughly tested and tried in the fires of love (God) and truth (Jesus).

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theglitchedsystemofficial · 4 years

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Let’s address the elephant in the blog, shall we?

So, revolving the issue of the ‘pride day’ and some odd controversial rumor of transphobic or homophobic beliefs, I, ZerrekTheDog (Distortional), want to clear some things up here.

I am not transphobic in the slightest, maybe when I was younger due to misunderstandings and conflict, but otherwise, I’m not.

Roman is not going to become the new mod, nor am I going to assert a ‘power’ over people as everyone has pointed out. I just want to make content and enjoy it. I will be stepping back from forcing anything, but I will keep deleting future CJ posts.

Ignore CJ in the future. I get they want to try and fix things, but I don’t trust anything they say. They can sit in the lobby of this blog as long as they like, and they can complain about wanting TGS dead- yeah huh- anytime they desire. Along with the anons who like to spam, you will be ignored.

I have nothing against anyone here- besides CJ- because I’m well aware of what I’m like and what I do. I have people to remind me, no matter how many time I’ll forget or need it beaten into my thick head.

The pride day issue was from misswording ‘1st day of pride month’ and caused a severe outrage. This issue has now been fixed, so hopefully we can all move on from it. I won’t say CJ was wrong to point this out, but because of who they are and past occurences, like I said I don’t trust them at all.

If you consider TGS a dead horse or not, it doesn’t bother me. I’m still going to run this, maybe take additional breaks, but otherwise I’m going to record Antisepticeye related content and put it out there.

#theglitchedsystem

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amitojo · 4 years

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6 Ways I Stay Present In The Moment

Before I tell you what helps me stay present in the moment/now, let’s first understand what it is to be present and why it is important.

——

There’s a saying,

“If you are depressed you are living in the past.

If you are anxious you are living in the future.

If you are at peace you are living in the present.”

Lao Tzu

I often find myself dwelling on what I could’ve / should’ve done or wondering of ways to be / act in the future, or just endlessly playing hypothetical scenarios / “what ifs” in my head.

To be present in the moment, in the now, is — to be outside one’s head.

Except for the present moment, everything else exists in our minds. Past and Future are concepts which we live in our minds, all the time!

How many times do you find yourself thinking of home/friends when you are at work? — That is a classic example of you not being present in the moment and living in your head.

The only time we have, which is real and outside our head, is now.

I am reminded of two quotes —

“Past is just a story we tell ourselves.”

Her, 2013

“Nothing has happened in the past; it happened in the Now. Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now.”

– Eckart Tolle

Being in our head prevents us from being present in the moment.

To plan, strategise, organise the information/thoughts/ideas is a conscious activity.

Our mind is an extremely powerful tool if we use it right; if not, we can be sitting in one place and just brood all day/night.

I read somewhere — Our mind can be a dangerous place to visit, especially at night, alone!

But, how we use our mind is on us.

Do you let your mind control you or are you in control of your mind?

Now that you’ve seen what it is to be present, let me share

——

6 Ways that help me stay present or get back in the moment.

2. Observe — Get your senses into play — Grounding technique 1. Notice 5 things you see in the room. 2. Name 4 things you can feel (“my feet on the floor” or “the air in my nose”) 3. Name 3 things you hear right now (traffic, birds, AC) 4. Name 2 things you can smell right now (or 2 smells you like) 5. Get present to 1 thing you’re grateful for right now.

5. Write — Write down whatever is preventing you to be present in the moment. Take your thoughts out of your head and free up that space. You could write it on a piece of paper, maintain a journal, or even on a note on your phone, whatever works for you. The point is to take that thought out of your head.

Lastly, Practice — The more you practice being aware, being present, the easier it will become. It is just like building a muscle, the more you work out, the more results you witness.

“We first make our habits and then our habits make us.”

John Dryden

——

Reminiscing, learning from the past and planning/strategising for future is one thing. Everything else can be avoided. Things that make us feel sad or anxious, we don’t have to think them. It’s our choice.

If you are committed to being present in the moment, I highly recommend one book which has had a huge impact in my life — The Power Of Now by Eckhart Tolle

I understand that online stores might not be delivering books currently due to quarantine so I am sharing link for kindle / audible version 🙂 Don’t let this time stop you from growing and learning. Get your book here

—-

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you got something out of this.

Feel free to comment your point of views and to share with people 🙂

*Hope you’re doing well in this time of pandemic. Stay home and stay safe!

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pengychan · 5 years

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[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 14

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: Hey, remember when I said this story was going to be about 90% humor? Good times, man. Good times. Art by Senora_Luna. [There is some somewhat graphic violence described, and brief mention of past sexual situations with dubious consent at best. Just a heads-up.]

***

Padre Fernando Mendoza did not like Americans.

It was nothing personal - he’d met a few decent ones - but as a whole, he suspected his country and arguably most of the continent would have fared much better without them. Even so, the telegram that reached them that morning had been entirely unexpected.

Americans attacked Veracruz. Battle ongoing.

It was all everyone in the Archdiocese was talking about, and it had taken precedence over everything else, because of course the last thing Mexico needed at the moment was hostility from a foreign power and the attack could not be ignored. However, not everything could come to a standstill, and Padre Fernando was expected to deal with menial tasks.

Which included replying to a letter that had just arrived from Sant Cecilia. And, ironically enough, it came from an American. That American.

Fernando had groaned when he’d opened it to see the signature. He didn’t much like that gringo; truth be told, even among clergy few people appreciated the foreigner who kept telling them at every turn how they were doing things wrong, bemoaning the persistence of pagan fetishes in Mexico like they were not already aware of it, muchas gracias.

But he had been sent in good faith, and he did uphold the Catholic Church’s official position - not realizing that the Vatican was, quite literally, an ocean apart - so they had to support him. He’d even had the blessing of their own Archbishop Eulogio Gillow y Zavalza, who’d had to flee Mexico and had found refuge in San Antonio first, then in Los Angeles.

“I am loath to offend traditional sensibilities,” he'd written. “It might turn people away from the Church rather than towards it. But I am concerned idolatry and too rampant religious disorder might weaken faith. This young man is eager to prove himself - it is fair to give him a chance.”

The letter didn’t add ‘if an American causes offense it won’t be on us’, but it may as well have. So far, it seemed that the one to truly take offense at… everything was the gringo himself. And it seemed that the sun and heat had gotten to his head, judging from the contents of the letter Padre Fernando was reading now.

“... Lastly, I find the new parish priest to be, quite bluntly, severely lacking. I do not question his faith, but his methods are concerning - likely due to inexperience, as perhaps the seminary did not adequately prepare him for his first task as a man of God. I will gladly assist however I can, but I would suggest you consider sending a more experienced priest…”

Ay, he’d lost it, hadn’t he? Fernando had been present when news had come of Padre Edmundo’s death, and when his replacement had been chosen. He’d never met Padre Joaquín, but had only ever heard good things about him. What was the gringo going on about?

Normally, he might have handed the letter to someone above him for consideration; but right there and then, with everyone busy discussing the possible ramifications of a conflict with the very country their Archbishop was currently living in, he felt it would be a waste of their time. So Padre Fernando sighed, took pen and paper, and took it upon himself to write a response to that idiota, who thought he was smarter than anybody else but was so up his high horse he couldn’t even tell a parish priest from a novice.

With all due respect, we believe - as certainly you have by now realized - that you’re mistaken. Padre Joaquín is no novice, his seminary days far behind him. He was highly recommended for his strong leadership, a very important asset in such turbulent times, when faith is tested. Is there a possibility you met one of the novices instead? Language can be a barrier…

***

“Hola, Juan! How’s your back?”

“GAH!”

All right, maybe Ernesto should have knocked before throwing the door open and calling out, but to be fair he was rather nervous for what was most likely going to be a very awkward meeting. And to be honest, considering his track record when it came to making wise choices, this wasn’t even the worst. This time, he hadn’t even patted him on the back as-- wait, what had he just dropped?

“F-father Ern-- what-- what are you doing here?”

Juan very nearly shrieked, getting Ernesto’s full attention before he could try to get a closer look at what looked like a handful of pieces of paper on the ground next to the bed. The wounds on his back were beginning to heal, most having scabbed over, but he was still on his stomach on the mattress, sheets up to his waist. At his sight, he seemed to be trying to shrink. Not a very successful attempt.

Ernesto smiled the way you would at a man who has absolutely not been whipping himself raw in sheer horror at his own desire to fuck you, and held up the tray. “Lunch,” he said lightly.

“But why you!” Padre Juan choked out, only to catch himself when Ernesto raised an eyebrow. His face began turning red almost immediately. “I-I mean, I-- I mean no disrespect but usually… the sisters…

“They were busy, and asked me to do this on their behalf,” Ernesto said, and went to put the tray down on the nightstand. Juan quickly reached down to pick up whatever it was he’d been looking at when Ernesto had come in.

“Wait, I’ll pick that for yo--”

“No!” Juan almost screamed. “No, I-- I got it, I got it, no need--” He snatched everything up quickly, but not so quickly that Ernesto couldn’t see it was photographs… and get a glimpse at his own face, smiling at the camera. “This is just-- these are just-- bad photos, the ones I couldn’t mail out, I was… I was…”

Juan stammered, and Ernesto couldn’t help but feel some pity for him. “Trying to figure out how you can take better ones next time?”

Juan gave him a look of pure relief. “I-- yes, of course. Yes,” he said, shoving the photographs under the pillow. His face was almost purplish. “Practice makes perfect a-and… I can’t say I aim for perfection, only God is perfect, but--”

“But you wish to properly portray His wonders, I am sure?” Ernesto said, feeling just a little smug. That, however, went well over Juan’s head: he just nodded, and cleared his throat.

“I… thank you for the meal.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and smiled, sitting on the chair. Juan stared at him, then at the door, then at him again. Ernesto leaned back, still smiling. The hopeful look on Juan’s face faded, replaced by utter confusion and some desperation.

“Aren’t you-- leaving?”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“I-- it would be best for us both.”

“Oh?”

“As a matter of… of safety. Your safety,” he added quickly, and looked down. His voice was quieter, weaker; his shame evident, plus something else that was a lot like fear.

Ernesto’s smile faded; it wasn’t much fun, all of a sudden. “I think I’m perfectly safe, Juan.”

“You are not. I am... grateful that you have told no one of my sins. But I fear you don’t quite grasp-- I desire you, and the devil is in me,” he choked out, blinking back tears. “I heard things in the seminary - I heard confessions in my journeys - such heinous crimes on unwilling victims. I am terrified of what it would make me do if I drop my guard for only one moment.”

Well, now it was... no fun at all. Ernesto almost pointed out that Juan couldn't overpower him if he tried with all his might, but he paused, knowing full well that was… not the real issue.

Don't think about the barracks, he told himself. Don't think about the barracks. Don't think-- ah, too late for that, wasn't it? He couldn't not think about the barracks, about what men who live and breathe war will do once the lights are off and they're so far away from everyone they care about. Anything for some relief, anything not to think for only a few minutes. A toss of the coin and maybe you were lucky - if not, you had to grin and bear and hope to be the lucky one next time.

Pray to be the lucky one next time because ah, it could hurt.

"... You wouldn't," Ernesto found himself saying; his voice sounded distant to his own ears. Juan seemed too lost on his anguish to notice.

"You are kind, but naive. You don't know that. The Devil--"

"Forget the devil, never met him. I know you. You would never."

Juan blinked, taken aback. Some tears fell down his cheeks; his lips were pulled in a tight line, but oh, there was just a hint of hope that maybe that odd priest might be right. Ernesto could see it for a moment before it was squashed and the gringo spoke again. “The things I’ve heard-”

“I have seen what you have only heard of,” Ernesto cut him off, without thinking. It wasn’t a smart thing to say, for a man who wished to leave his past unknown, but it only occurred to him after it left his lips and ah, it was late. He cleared his throat and straightened himself, staring back at Juan, whose eyes were suddenly wide, mouth slightly agape.

“I have met men like that, Juan,” he said. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there were screams of women. Men were not the only ones who had reason to fear soldiers when they came swarming, after all; officials turned a blind eye, and… and so did he. What else could he do? Confront them and risk being shot dead? He wanted to survive that war, and surviving is easier when you mind your own business.

Nevermind that now, in Santa Cecilia, he had ended up making everybody’s business his own.

“You have?” Juan asked, his voice barely audible, like old paper.

"Sí.”

“When-- where…?”

The truth - the army - was not an option. “Seminary,” Ernesto said instead, causing Padre Juan to pale.

“Were you… were you hurt?”

“... That doesn’t matter,” he said, voice dry enough to discourage further questions. “I’m not naive as you believe. I have seen more than you think."

Juan swallowed. "Then you should know how… how dangerous those like me--"

"None of them was like you. You would never," Ernesto cut him off, with the certainty of a man who's stating the tenets of the universe. Juan… stared, hope a little more plain on his face now. Ah, that was… sad. Just plain sad.

"You... truly think what you're saying?"

"I do."

Juan blinked again, and more tears spilled out. This time he acknowledged them, and reached up to wipe his eyes. "Ah, I-- my apologies. I just… that is not… do I not disgust you?"

“... No.”

"I harbor an unholy desire for you."

"Well, that's rather flattering."

There was a choked-back noise that was almost, almost a laugh. Juan wiped his face again, smiling faintly, and he even managed to chide him. "Heh. Pride."

"None of us is free of sin, no?" Ernesto grinned a little. The faintest smile curled Juan's lips, but ah, it was so bitter.

"My father feared I would taint my younger brother, when he cast me out. I never would have, I couldn't even imagine, but… it haunted my dreams, the idea that I would turn into-- that-- if I failed to rid myself of this sickness."

“That was never going to happen.”

“... That’s what my mentor said. Father Joseph - he was kind, too kind, he called me son and I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t listen to him. I was so sure-- what my father said, and the letter...”

Ah, right. The letter - Sofía had mentioned that, but of course Ernesto had to pretend not knowing what he was talking about. “A letter?”

“Yes. I wrote to my family when I was about to take my vows - I told them I had converted, that I planned to remain celibate and dedicate my life to God. I hoped for their blessing. But my father wrote back to tell me to never contact them again. And so I didn’t. They told my siblings I was dead.” A pause, then a sigh. “Michael was so young, I don’t know if he even remembers me. I don’t even know if they’re all still alive. It’s been so long.”

Ernesto paused to think of his own parents, back in his hometown in the middle of assfuck nowhere. He hadn’t seen them since he’d been drafted; he had no idea how they were faring. Not a huge loss when it came to his father, but… he would have liked to have some news of his mother. “I see.”

“I hoped that if I could make a name for myself… become someone important, perhaps even a Bishop, then maybe they’d hear about me. Maybe they’d…”

“Want you back.”

A sniffle, and Juan simply nodded, shutting his eyes. “I told you and… and myself that I was here to do God’s work here in Mexico. I do hope I have done good, but what I really wanted was to leave a mark. So that I could become someone my family could be proud of again, and… and go home. I could go back, to visit - they could tell my siblings that I was disowned for converting to Catholicism, but that all was forgiven.”

“... I see.”

Juan stayed silent a moment, then finally looked up. He looked immensely sad, but the tears were gone. “That’s never going to happen, is it? No matter what I do, I can never go home.”

"Well… it's their loss.” Ernesto reached over to pat his bare shoulder, noticing all too well the small but sharp intake of breath at the touch. “We’ve got you now. You can stay here.”

“I… I truly can’t.”

“Why not? No offense, but I think you’re going to stay a maricón regardless of where you are.”

He half-expected fury at the statement, but no such thing happened. Juan just blushed furiously.

“You know why I shouldn’t be in your presence, Father Ernest. This is still a-- a sin, something I need to cure. Or if Father Joseph was right, then… then it is a cross I must bear. But I should avoid all temptation. I will leave as soon as I can travel.”

Ah, damn, and there he’d hoped he could convince him to stay that easily. Holding back a sigh, Ernesto raised an eyebrow. “Am I that tempting?” he asked. Maybe he could, after all, use that to make him stay in Santa Cecilia.

Padre Juan’s blush grew redder. “W-well, I-- I--”

“The suggestion to help is still up,” Ernesto pointed out, and Juan suddenly choked.

“F-father Ernest!” He stammered, eyes wide as saucers. “I could never-- you should never-- that suggestion was outlandish even when you thought it was Gustav I lusted after, but yourself-- surely you jest!”

“I am perfectly serious.”

“It is a sin, Father Ernest!”

“No worries, I got everything covered.”

“What?”

“Once the deed is done, I can absolve you and you can absolve me. Easy.”

“That’s… not how it works.”

“Oh, come on. That is exactly how it works.”

“W--well, regardless, I...I…”

Ernesto shrugged, leaning back against the seat. “It might turn out you despise it,” he said, knowing full well that was impossible as long as he was involved - no matter what Sofía said. “And in that case, the urge might be gone for good.”

Juan swallowed, barely daring to look up. “And if I, God help me-- if I enjoy it?”

“Then you’ll at least know something about yourself. And I’ll still absolve you,” Ernesto added quickly. Hell, maybe he’d pushed too far, maybe it was too early to bring up that suggestion again. He braced himself for refusal, trying to think up of more rebuttals… but Padre Juan just fell quiet, and lowered his gaze again. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper as he stared at the pillow.

“I… need time to think,” he managed. Ernesto - who counted the fact he had not ran off screaming a success - supposed it was the closest to a ‘yes’ he could get out of him at the moment, and mentally patted himself on the back.

Not that he was that eager to do this, because Juan would probably turn out to be a pain in the ass in bed and for all the wrong reasons, but with some persuasion he could just be able to convince him to stay and not wander across Mexico, telling all the wrong people about one Padre Ernesto from Santa Cecilia. And by the wrong people, he meant specifically the Archdiocese.

And besides, he did sleep better with someone sharing his bed.

“Of course. No pressure.” Ernesto said lightly, and stood. “Might want to eat your stew before it goes cold-- er. Colder.”

“Ah. Of course.” John moved as though to sit up, but he paused, clearly uncomfortable. Ernesto took it as his cue to leave.

He suspected that was about as far as he could push it in one go.

***

“WE CAN’T WITHSTAND ANOTHER ASSAULT! WE’RE SPREAD TOO THIN!”

“Let’s get back in the Academy! We can barricade in!”

“Where the hell is Maass?”

“Fucked off to Tejería with his soldiers!”

“Not all of us!”

“Great, so there’s what, fifty of you left?”

The cadet’s laugh, a mixture of horrible amusement and just plain horror, was barely audible through the sound of cannon fire, but still enough to make Santiago’s blood boil. He could have gone to Tejería with Maass and most of his comrades, away from the fight and keeping his own ass safe, but he’d chosen not to - how much was it was desire to help and how much a thirst for blood was hard to tell - and that was the thanks he got?

“Be thankful we stayed behind then, cabrón!” he snapped, grip on his rifle tightening.

“Stop arguing-- Chago, for fuck’s sake, stop arguing and keep shooting!” Nando screamed somewhere on his left. On his right a man - a civilian who’d probably never used a gun before that day - was struck by something and fell back, blood splattering across the ruins of what had been a house until minutes ago. Everything around him was gunfire, screams, dust.

“Pier Four is lost!” someone was screaming. “It’s crawling with gringos!”

“Fall back! Fall back! In the Academy! We can shoot them from above-- José! Come here!”

“I’ll stay here, I’ll use the machine gun! You go in! I’ll cut them down!”

Nando reloaded his rifle, lips pressed together in a thin line. “We stay outside, too?”

“We stay outside. Let’s move someplace high up, we’ll do better shooting from a distance. The muchacho with the machine gun has better chances here, ” Santiago confirmed, wiping the dust off his brow. Nando groaned, and followed him in a side street.

“It’s not looking good.”

“We’re fucked. But we can take as many as we can down with us.”

A sigh. “I don’t know what else I expected from you,” Nando muttered, and gave a slightly unhinged laugh. “I’m almost out of ammunition, too. Guess I can use it this thing as a club.”

“And be shot dead before you can approach a single gringo?” Santiago reloaded his own rifle, and lifted it up. It was hard to see a thing; dust covered the sun, it covered them, it covered everything. “Once we’re out, we’ll fall back towards the deposits and see what we can find. Don’t waste bullets. Only shoot if you can see them clearly.”

And it worked, for a time: the few cadets left and civilians were a lot more helpful shooting while barricaded inside, especially with the enemy stupidly advancing in formation… to be met by heavy machine gun fire. The young man manning it - Commodore Azueta’s own son, Santiago would know later - was brave almost to the point of insanity, and kept firing and firing despite being hit several times… but he eventually collapsed, and had to be taken away.

And then came the heavy artillery, again. It was aimed at the Naval Academy. It hit the building they were on first. With a deafening noise Santiago would never forget.

“Mierd--”

“Move move move move!”

Half the building collapsed immediately, in a sea of dust and debris, the roar of the cannons barely covering the screams. Santiago fell, hit something and rolled in the remains of a broken-down wall, and came to a rest on his stomach. He lifted his head, coughing up dust. His ears rang, his side hurt from hitting something hard, and he had to blink several times before he could see a thing. A few feet before his face, there was an arm. Only an arm, the rest of the man buried in rubble, but what Santiago’s eyes paused on - all he could see - was the watch.

He knew that watch, he’d watched Nando win it at a card game.

“Nando?” He coughed again, and threw his rifle aside. Around him it was chaos, but he barely heard it. Gringos could be coming gun in hand, and he wouldn’t have known: he focused on digging through the debris, trying to pull out his friend - the only friend he had left, now.

Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.

But of course he was dead. Santiago knew Nando was gone before he even saw the faraway look in his eyes and the caved-in skull, the blood coming out in rivulets from his head and nose and mouth to mix with the dust. He felt it in the heaviness of his limbs, the complete limpness as he pulled him out from beneath the debris and lifted him in his arms.

He had done the same for Alberto when he’d found him, that day in the desert. But Beto had been stiff, and what blood he had left in his body had set; he barely bled at all anymore, lying face down in red sand. But Nando was still warm; he still bled, turning Santiago’s uniform red.

When he’d found Beto, Nando had been there. Telling him to let go of the body, helping him up, holding him up when Santiago’s knees threatened to give in. Now, there was nobody standing by him. Nobody to help him up.

He had to get up on his own, and he did. He leaned Nando down, stood slowly, and walked away through the dust and the debris and the screaming, trapped men. Somewhere in the distance, there was an explosion he barely reacted to. His ears still rang, his gait uneven, his mind a blur. What snapped him out of it was the outline of a man running through the dust, towards him. Santiago raised his rifle without thought, as practiced countless times, and the man threw up his arms with a cry.

“Don’t shoot! I’m a civilian, I live here! Don’t shoot!” he cried out, almost sobbing. He stepped closer, hands raised; he was covered in dust, blood on his face his tears couldn’t manage to wash off. Not an inch of his skin was visible and his Spanish was perfect, but his accent gave him away - he was American, one of those who’d made themselves a life in Veracruz, who called it home.

Do rats call the house they infest their home, too?

“Please, help me,” the man choked out, stepping closer still. “My-- the building was hit-- my family is trapped, please--”

Santiago pulled the trigger, and the man’s face exploded into a fine mist of blood, brain matter and bone. He fell back with a thud Santiago did not hear: he was already turning his back to the body, reloading the rifle, looking through the dust for more enemies to appear. Soldiers or not, it made no matter now. They were enemies.

With Alberto’s death, he had one man to blame; one man he’d hunt down and kill someday, somehow. But for Nando, there was no individual to blame - so he blamed them all. Invaders, every one - who did they think they were? What right did they have to intrude in their war, to kill the only friend he had left as easily as you’d swat a fly?

He’s started out that war thinking he had something to defend. Now he had nothing left.

Traitors and invaders. They have no mercy. They deserve no mercy.

Santiago Hernández narrowed his eyes, lifted his rifle, and kept on fighting.

***

News of the occupation of Veracruz were no longer that new by the time they reached Santa Cecilia. With no telegraph line yet, they mostly relied on letters - and they travelled slowly - or occasional visitors for most news from the outside world. The visitor in question was a travelling leatherworker little cart from San Luz to offer his services and, most of all, the stunning news that American forces had attacked and occupied Veracruz.

The man, who was a mediocre leatherworker at best, had probably never received so much attention at once; within an hour of arriving, he was in the middle of the plaza, surrounded by people who had all but forgotten the market stalls around them… merchants included.

“Wait, what?”

“What do you mean, Americans? What do they have to do with… with anything?”

“So Veracruz is lost?”

“It is. They attacked on Tuesday. I heard that by Friday, all fighting had ceased. The gringos have occupied it."

“... What, the entire State?”

“No, idiota, only the harbor.”

“Haven’t they had enough of our land? Wasn’t taking the north enough for them?”

There was a lot of talking, a lot of speculation, and Miguel could barely understand a lot of it. Most of all, he couldn’t understand why Americans had suddenly decided to invade one of their harbors. But he wanted to know, so he’d done what seemed the most logical thing to do: ask the only American he knew.

It occurred to him just a moment too late, after knocking and then stepping in, that he wasn’t supposed to see or know anything about the wounds on his back. Thankfully, he didn’t have to pretend to be seeing them for the first time: at the wounds must have mostly healed, because while he rested still on his stomach, reading the Bible, Padre Juan did have a blanket on him.

He smiled when he saw Miguel walking in. “Oh, Miguel. It’s nice to see you again.”

Miguel managed to smile back, like he didn’t know what his back looked like under that blanket, like he didn’t know he had done that to himself for some reason he couldn’t begin to imagine. “You look better,” he said.

“... I do feel remarkably better.” Padre Juan closed the Bible, and put it down on the nightstand. “Sister Sophie told me you asked about me. It was very thoughtful of you. I do appreciate it,” he said, and he sounded so sincere Miguel felt rather bad for him. It occurred to him that he was probably the loneliest man he’d ever met. “She didn’t quite keep me up to date with the latest in town, however. How are things going? How do you like Héctor’s Latin class--”

“Americans attacked Veracruz,” Miguel said, and Padre Juan fell silent, staring at him like he’d just spoken in a foreign language to him. Well, technically he was, but… like he’d just spoken in a foreign language he didn’t understand all that well.

“The city with the harbor, Veracruz,” he repeated, hoping he could give him some insight to the actions of his country. “Americans took it. They attacked last Tuesday. Why did they do that?”

Padre Juan stared at him for a few more moments, seemingly stunned. Finally, he shook his head. “I am afraid I have no clue, Miguel,” he said slowly, and immediately sat up, blanket around him. “... I need to talk to Father Ernest,” he added. Miguel chose not to point out that they did, by the way, have a mayor.

Everyone he always turned to the priest first, anyway.

***

“This could be a good thing--”

“It’s never a good thing!”

“He’s right,” Ernesto spoke up, causing the other three to pause in their discussion and look at him. “Huerta counted a lot on that harbor to receive supplies. And now that route is gone.”

“Are we supposed to believe they did it out of the goodness of their heart? To help?” Sofía asked, sounding all the world like she was asking him if he really believed El Sombrerón was real, or that size did not matter.

He shrugged. “Of course not. But however you look at it, this is a blow to Federales. Veracruz was of huge strategic importance. And the enemy of my enemy… you know.”

He had… a point, Imelda had to concede. Still, it all felt wrong. “Only because they’re accidentally useful for once, it doesn’t mean we have to appreciate another country occupying our land. And God knows if they even are going to leave once this is all over.”

“That makes two of us,” Ernesto conceded. “Dealing with one gringo is enough of a hassle. I’d sooner stick my hand in a wasp nest than deal with more, believe me.”

Sofía shrugged. “I doubt you’re the only ones to think that way. I expect any gringo currently in Mexico is going to have a much harder life from here on. Huerta won’t take it well. Nor us. Let’s be honest, no one is happy.”

“But there could be a silver lining to this, if it weakens Huerta,” Héctor said, and sighed. “I guess we can only hope that’s worth the trouble, at least.”

“We can hope, I guess. Hey, what about our resident gringo? What are the odds someone is going to take it out on him?”

Imelda, Héctor and Ernesto exchanged a glance. “... They wouldn’t,” Héctor finally said, sounding nowhere as certain as he wished to. “He’s a priest, after all. People respect priests.”

Ernesto raised an eyebrow, glancing towards Imelda and Sofía. “With how I’ve been treated, I beg to diff-- ow!”

“You don’t count,” Imelda informed him, digging her heel into Ernesto’s foot another moment for good measure before pulling back, ignoring his complaints. Within moments, he would be very grateful she hadn’t said anything more specific aloud. “Someone should tell him what his countrymen have done. Just so he knows it’s in his best interest not to be too annoying.”

“Duly noted,” a very familiar, rather dry voice rang out. All three of them turned to the door to see Juan, of course, wearing the cassock again although the collar was missing. His hair was still ruffled from the pillow.

Sofía raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a promising start.”

“A promising start for what?”

“Being less annoying.”

An unimpressed look, and Padre Juan’s gaze turned Héctor and Ernesto. It was funny how he was still under the delusion it was them to take all decisions. It was annoying, but Imelda knew she had to pick her battles, and at the moment that wasn’t one she had time to pick.

“I believe you should try command more respect in the sisters, Father Ernest,” he said. “I don’t think they show you the reverence a parish priest deserves.”

… Come to think of it, what she was going to pick was an empty bottle to smash over his head. Her hand moved towards it, only for Sofía to grasp her wrist. She glanced at her sideways.

I hate him, she tried to communicate through her eyes alone.

Who doesn’t, Sofía somehow managed to respond without a single word.

Across the table, Ernesto was clearing his throat. “Ah-- well-- emotions are running high. I don’t know if you heard the news, but--”

“I have,” Padre Juan replied, his voice quiet again. “I promise you, I… I knew nothing of it.”

“None of us is so stupid to think an obscure priest would be informed on the decisions of his country’s government,” Imelda said, her voice cold as frost. She expected a retort, but the gringo just seemed to flinch at the remark, eyes still on Ernesto - whose expression became unreadable for a few moments before he spoke.

“What Ime-- Sister Gisela means is, we know you had nothing to do with this.”

“We’ll make sure that’s clear to everyone,” Héctor added quickly. Padre Juan gave a weak smile, but it did not reach his eyes.

“I have no intention to cause trouble. I did plan on leaving once I was better, so--”

“Too dangerous,” Ernesto shut him down quickly, causing Imelda to raise an eyebrow. He was a good actor, she had to give him that; if she didn’t know he had less than selfless reasons to keep the gringo in Santa Cecilia for the foreseeable future, she might have even believed he was concerned for his safety. It made her feel… slightly less foolish for falling for his priestly act

She didn’t notice how Sofía, sitting at her right, was very obviously biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt at keeping her expression neutral. Neither did Padre Juan who, unaware of it all, tried to argue. “I am no stranger to the dangers of travel. If God wills it, I will be safe.”

Ah, if not for the fact he might end up exposing Ernesto, Imelda might have wholeheartedly and loudly agreed, encouraging to leave Santa Cecilia as soon as possible. She really, really hoped the idiota currently posing as their parish priest knew and appreciated how much of an effort it took her to keep quiet.

“This is out of God’s hands,” Ernesto muttered, unaware of her thoughts. To his credit, the gringo flinched but did not launch into a full lecture on why what he’d just said was sacrilegious. He listened, eyes wide, as Ernesto went on. “Things are going to get more complicated for Americans in Mexico. Huerta will be pissed because they took an important harbor from his grasp, so you’ll have to watch out for Federales. And everyone will just be pissed because… well, come on. You-- they invaded us. We like it better when the States don’t do that.”

Padre Juan hesitated, gaze shifting from Ernesto to Héctor, who smiled. “We’d love you to stay,” he said, purposely avoiding to look over at Imelda and Sofía, who had raised an eyebrow each in perfect synchronicity. “People know you here. You’ll be safe.”

“And besides, we didn’t go through all this trouble to bring you back from the brink to watch you head out and commit suicide,” Sofía added, a seraphic smile on her face. Imelda held back a smile. Ernesto gave her an exasperated look.

“We might still need your help,” he spoke up quickly. “If this, uh, development makes it harder for resources to come from the States, we will need you to put in a good word for us.”

That seemed to hit a chord, and after a long moment Padre Juan gave a nod that was more of a bow of his head. “... I understand. Thank you. I will stay, if… if you want me to.”

As Imelda bit her tongue to hold back a retort, Ernesto smiled at him. When he spoke, his voice sounded startlingly sincere. “We do,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Juan was very quick to mumble his thanks and leave the room - giving Imelda no time to notice the sudden redness spreading on that pale, tired face.

***

Twenty-one dead. Twenty-two, if you counted the idiota who drowned while trying to get on land.

Twenty-two dead American soldiers, and they still couldn’t put a number to the Mexicans who had died in the attack. Some said two hundred, some said three hundred; it was hard to tell if civilians were included in the count, because they had taken up arms, too.

Soldiers probably accounted for at least half of the total. One-hundred and fifty at the very least. One-hundred and fifty like Nando, and the gringos had only lost twenty-two. And he had perhaps killed… one or two. Or maybe he had only wounded them, impossible to know. The only man he knew for sure had died was the civilian who’d had the galls to turn to him for help.

Not enough to avenge Nando. Not nearly enough, but oh had he tried.

They outgunned us. If not, we would have killed them one by one. Have they already counted Nando among the dead? Have they found him? Has he already been buried? He should be buried. He deserves it. I need to write to his family. If only I could tell them I have avenged him...

Resting on his back on a bed, his right leg ablaze with pain, Santiago shut his eyes not to see the cracked ceiling above. Somewhere on his left, a young man whined about not feeling his legs anymore. Somewhere on his right, a woman was talking.

“... Commodore Azueta’s boy was so brave. The American admiral with that funny name wanted to visit, but he said, ‘if the American enters my house, I will either kill him or me’. Doctor Xicoy said-”

“Good answer,” Santiago rasped, staring at the ceiling. It caused the nurses fall silent, turning to him. He barely noticed them. “Shame he passed up the chance to actually do it.”

“Oh, you’re awake.” One of the women walked up to his bed, tall and somewhat imposing. She looked tired, but managed a smile. “We took the bullet out of your leg. Nothing broke. You’ll walk again and probably won’t even limp. Now we only need to keep your wound clean, and then we’ll send you home.”

Wait-- what? “Home? I can’t go home. I’m in the army.”

“You don’t have to. You fought bravely and were wounded. You earned an honorable discharge.”

No, no, no, no, no. “I have to rejoin my battalion. The 19th Infantry. I have--”

“They’ll have been moved somewhere else by the time you recover, and--”

“Then I’ll join another,” Santiago snapped, making an effort to sit up and causing her to recoil. “I am not done with this war.”

She stared at him a few moments, stunned, then slowly her expression turned bitter. “You mean this war is not done with you.”

“I don’t care how you put it. I’ll recover and return to duty. I’ll join another battalion - any battalion,” Santiago snapped, and turned towards the wall. He kept silent for the rest of the evening, gaze fixed on a corner where a few uniforms had been thrown, drenched with blood. His own was among them, probably, stained with Nando’s blood as well as his.

There was barely any blood on Beto’s. The sand soaked up it all.

I never avenged him. I couldn’t avenge Nando. What am I still alive for?

Ah, but he could still do something, couldn’t he? He had one man only to blame for Beto’s death. One target only, and the last thing he knew was that he’d gone south, towards Oaxaca. So, once his leg had healed, he’d join any battalion heading there. He’d find him, make him pay. He’d see his blood run down his hands and all light go out of his eyes, he thought, and the idea was so soothing.

When the nurse returned to check on him Santiago was asleep, a serene smile on his lips.

***

“So. How is the seduction plan going?”

“There is no seduction plan and I’d really appreciated if you stopped blabbing about it where anybody walking in would hear you. We only talked. I made an offer. Up to him whether to take it or not. He’s staying in Santa Cecilia, anyway, so--”

“He was turning red when you said you want him to stay here yesterday.”

“So what? We know it’s me he wants. Unsurprisingly.”

“... You thought it was Héctor.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“You thought it was Gustavo, too.”

“That was, er… last week. He turned out to have better taste than I anticipated, is all.”

“Well. I guess he could have made worse choices.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. But really--” A knock at the door of the sacristy, and Sofía fell into blessed, blessed silence. Ernesto breathed out a sigh of relief, and turned to the door.

“Come in!” he called out. The door opened, and… well, speak of the gringo.

“Father Ernest - Sister Sophie,” John Johnson said, his voice quiet, and stepped in. He was almost back to normal, if… quieter than ever before. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you, Father,” he added, eyes resting on just about… anything across the room except them. Which was a good thing, really, because Sofía did precisely nothing to hide the grin that spread across her face. Not until Ernesto elbowed her, anyway. She recoiled.

“Oh! Of course! I was just leaving,” she exclaimed, sounding much too chipper, and walked past Padre Juan to the door. She turned on the doorway, with the expression of someone who is about to eavesdrop on every single word, and made a rather explicitly gesture from behind the gringo’s back. Ernesto held back from rolling his eyes.

“Close the door behind you. Gracias,” he droned instead. As the door shut - undoubtedly with her ear pressed on the other side - Ernesto turned back to Juan with a smile. “Can I help you?”

Padre Juan seemed to… well, shrink. He kept staring at the floor now, hands folded anxiously in front of himself, face quickly going from white to increasingly bright pink. “I have… thought about what you suggested. Long and hard. If you’re… still willing… if you’re certain…”

Ernesto bit the inside of his cheek not to make a ‘long and hard’ joke, laugh, or a combination of both. Through a supreme effort of will, he kept his expression neutral. He could easily imagine Sofía on the other side of the door, stuffing a fist in her mouth to keep quiet. “I am,” he said.

Padre Juan swallowed, his skin now red. Ernesto suspected it would feel burning hot to the touch. “I have… fought my urges for my entire life. I hadn’t felt a thing for a long time, I thought-- I thought I was rid of it. Until I came here and… and…” he swallowed again, and finally dared to peer up at his face. “Is it possible I will-- if I try-- hate it, and never long for it again?”

Well, now that would be a blow to his pride. Still, he wasn’t bothered. “... It is. You never know.”

“I might-- not hate it-- but then I’d know, I suppose--” he paused, and drew in a long breath. “You’d absolve me. And I’d absolve you. Right?”

“... Yes.” Not that Ernesto’s absolutions meant anything, but he didn’t need to know that. “I will.”

A sharp intake of breath, and Padre Juan gave him a quick nod before staring back at the ground, uncharacteristically silent. He hardly spoke to anyone for the rest of the evening.

And when Ernesto came to his room that night, he let him in without a word.

***

In case you're wondering how the night goes, here you go. Mind the rating.

***

[Back to Part 13]

[On to Part 15]

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #miguel rivera #hector rivera #imelda rivera #coco #fake priest au

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 6 years

Text

What I’ve Been Reading #2

Hey People of Earth!

I recently started a new series on this blog (titled above), where I reflect on the last few books I’ve read. I’m doing this mostly to keep myself accountable because I’m notoriously bad at committing myself to reading. So far, reading has been far greater than it’s been in the past--I’m definitely getting into the rhythm of things. I read some amaaaazing books this time around (since approx. November), and these are them:

1. The Darkest Legacy by Alexandra Bracken

This is book four in The Darkest Minds series, and was just recently released (last summer). Whilst I’ve drifted from YA in the last few years, this series was such a huge favourite of mine when I was younger, and I thought I’d give this book a go for nostalgia’s sake. Also, I truly admire Alex as an author, and wanted to support her! Here’s the summary:

Five years after the destruction of the so-called rehabilitation camps that imprisoned her and countless other Psi kids, seventeen-year-old Suzume "Zu" Kimura has assumed the role of spokesperson for the interim government, fighting for the rights of Psi kids against a growing tide of misinformation and prejudice. But when she is accused of committing a horrifying act, she is forced to go on the run once more in order to stay alive. Determined to clear her name, Zu finds herself in an uncomfortable alliance with Roman and Priyanka, two mysterious Psi who could either help her prove her innocence or betray her before she gets the chance. But as they travel in search of safety and answers, and Zu grows closer to the people she knows she shouldn't trust, they uncover even darker things roiling beneath the veneer of the country's recovery. With her future-and the future of all Psi-on the line, Zu must use her powerful voice to fight back against forces that seek to drive the Psi into the shadows and save the friends who were once her protectors.

What drew me to it: Like I mentioned, its mother series was a mega favourite of mine in grade 8, and whilst I’ve grown out of YA, I was curious to see where the story went, five years in the future. I read about 60% of it on page, and listened to the rest on and of over the course of a few months. I started it in August, and finished it on New Year’s Eve. Not the fault of the book, that’s totally me being Very Bad at commitment. I’ve really enjoyed Alex’s novels in audiobook format, and this one was no exception (I think, if I were to read it again, I’d listen to the audiobook: it’s like listening to a television show!)

My rating: 3/5

Why: This is really due to the fact that I no longer am very interested in YA. In all truths, I got into YA early, and got out of it even earlier because apparently I am a sixty year old woman?? I started my journey with YA in grade seven, and it ended around the end of grade eight. After that, I had trouble finding YA books I could enjoy/relate to, not that the books were any less, or bad because of this, but because I was just an injustice to them (I’ve always been a strange reader). This is why I don’t really read YA anymore because I feel like I rate them unfairly because I’m not super big on the category anymore. It just (rightfully) didn’t give me what I’m most currently interested in in books (horrible people; horrible relationships; morally grey protagonists), because of course the category is different to what I read now! With that said, I think, if I’d read this book in my Peak YA Moment (grade 7-8), I’d definitely have given it a 5 star rating. It was super entertaining and funny and nostalgic, and made me miss a series so pivotal in my writing journey. If you love YA, and this series, I think this book is definitely worth the read! That was a thiccccc tangent.

2. Past Lives, Future Bodies by Kristin Chang

This is a really quick poetry collection (that I spoiler: looooved). This is the summary:

PAST LIVES, FUTURE BODIES is a knife-sharp and nimble examination of migration, motherhood, and the malignant legacies of racism. In this collection, family forms both a unit of survival and a framework for history, agency, and recovery. Chang undertakes a visceral exploration of the historical and unfolding paths of lineage and what it means to haunt body and country. These poems traverse not only the circularity of trauma but the promise of regeneration—what grows from violence and hatches from healing—as Chang embodies each of her ghosts and invites the specter to speak.

What drew me to it: @shaelinwrites rec’d it to me on my last update, and I fell in love with the premise. I’m *cheap* so was very excited to be gifted it by my Grandma for Christmas. (I actually read it on Christmas!)

My rating: 5/5

Why: Kristin Chang is literally so skilled with her use of the line break? I was shook? This is my second collection of poetry that I’ve read, following (no shade) Rupi Kaur’s The Sun and Her Flowers, which, I felt kinda made the line break feel gimmicky? So this collection definitely reinvented it for me. Her poems are so punchy, and thoughtful, and you can truly feel the experience built into the backbone of every one of them. When I panic wrote some poetry for my writing class, I used it as comfort reference and was amazed at how deliberate she is with her words. I also found so much of its commentary on race so relatable. It’s definitely a collection I’ll keep re-reading. I’d recommend this if, like me, you’re just starting out in poetry--a perfect way to acclimate yourself to a new form!

3. God of Shadows by Lorna Crozier

*Rachel vigorously trying to diversify her reading.* The summary:

The poet Lorna Crozier has always been brilliant at fusing the ordinary with the other-worldly in strange and surprising ways. Now the Governor General's Literary Award-winning author of Inventing the Hawk returns with God of Shadows, a wryly wise book that offers a polytheistic gallery of the gods we never knew existed and didn't know we needed. To read these poems is to be ready to offer your own prayers to the god of shadows, the god of quirks, and the god of vacant houses. Sing new votive hymns to the gods of horses, birds, cats, rats, and insects. And give thanks at the altars of the gods of doubt, guilt, and forgetting. What life-affirming questions have these deities come to ask? Perhaps it is simply this: How can poems be at once so profound, original and lively, and also so much fun?

What drew me to it: At this point I’m just stalking @shaelinwrites’ Goodreads because her reading taste is on pointttt. I’ve also been dying to read more poetry, and branch out into different forms of writing, so I can be a little *prepared* for school, so I thought I’d take a peek at this collection.

My rating: 5/5

Why: This collection is so beautiful! I read it super quickly, and fell in love with the concept immediately. I think Crozier explored such unique ideas with super unique language, and I live for it. This collection gave me perspective on ‘gods’ I’d never even thought about. I’d definitely recommend it if you’re looking into reading some prose poetry!

4. The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin

I finished this book today, and now have trust issues and feel like I’m in a constant state of wanting to cry. Here’s the summary:

If you knew the date of your death, how would you live your life?

It's 1969 in New York City's Lower East Side, and word has spread of the arrival of a mystical woman, a traveling psychic who claims to be able to tell anyone the day they will die. The Gold children—four adolescents on the cusp of self-awareness—sneak out to hear their fortunes.

The prophecies inform their next five decades. Golden-boy Simon escapes to the West Coast, searching for love in '80s San Francisco; dreamy Klara becomes a Las Vegas magician, obsessed with blurring reality and fantasy; eldest son Daniel seeks security as an army doctor post-9/11; and bookish Varya throws herself into longevity research, where she tests the boundary between science and immortality.

A sweeping novel of remarkable ambition and depth, The Immortalists probes the line between destiny and choice, reality and illusion, this world and the next. It is a deeply moving testament to the power of story, the nature of belief, and the unrelenting pull of familial bonds.

What drew me to it: I actually don’t know?? I put it on hold at my library in October, and was loaned it in January (looooong waitlist). So I can’t remember why I wanted to read it, probably because 1969 was in the premise lmao. I actually completely forgot about placing a hold on it because it’d been two months, so by the time I got the email notification, I’d forgotten what it was about. Oftentimes, I’m Bad, and leave my loans for weeks, forgetting about them, but I was intrigued by seeing I’d received this loan because I couldn’t remember placing it/why I placed it. I quickly re-read the summary, and immediately started reading because it reminded me a lot of the Haunting of Hill House sibling dynamic, and I was on board!

My rating: 5/5 stars soaked in all my tears

Why: This book is SO good, I literally can’t think about it too much because I will cry, lol. I’m not one to get emotional over books, but this book touched me in a place I didn’t know existed?? Like I didn’t know I had emotions before reading this book?? Apparently I do?? It also left me feeling stunned with a whole bucket of life lessons, and similarly to getting emotional, I’m not a reader to really take away a whole new worldview after reading something, but this book was like NOPE, here’s some THOUGHTS. I think I might’ve loved it so much because the four siblings it follows remind me a lot of my siblings (tag yourself I’m Klara, @sarahkelsiwrites is Varya). I too am a sibling of four with a similar composition to the novel’s (two boys, two girls), so the actual heartbreak of realizing that one day, there ain’t always gonna be four of us struck me so hard I was not prepared?? The characters are BEAUTIFUL, and my heart aches so much after finishing this, I almost don’t know what to do with myself... If you liked the sibling dynamic in the Haunting of Hill House (me!!), you’ll probably dig this book. Benjamin’s writing is also gorgeous; straightforward, but so detailed and lush at the same time. I don’t often see books in third present, so this was a delight for me to read. Also: I’m no expert on any of the topics in this book, but to me, a Fool, this book felt so well researched? This isn’t something I ever notice in books, but it surprisingly really added to the reading experience.

TL;DR: I’m literally an emotional wreck because of this book and have a whole new perspective on life, if you too want to be an emotional wreck, defs join in on the fUN.

So that’s it for this reading update! All of these books in this update were wonderful! Making me antsy to read more for sure! I’m currently attempting to read more short story collections, so if anyone has recs, hit me up! ‘Scuse me while I go sob!

--Rachel

#readingupdates

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vios-rockland-corner · 6 years

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Rockland: Zeitgeist pre-release thoughts PT 6

The date of this post is 3/16/19. Please note that information revealed at this time via Patreon or any of the creator’s blogs may be subject to change after this date.

We got a little more information now. Some nice juicy text! What I’ll more likely use this post number for though is to make a sort of statement about these “pre-release” posts.

I’m super excited to hear that most (if not all) of Cain’s dialogue is getting a rewrite now. After all, who doesn’t like new content? I would have been perfectly happy with “Zeitgeist” keeping most of the original dialogue with just some new tidbits, updated models and more time with Damien and Sam. However, now there’s more opportunity to be surprised when it comes to the types of interactions and ending that will happen in this game.

I’ll also add that it’s not a bad idea to rework most of the text to better separate BTD Cain from Rockland Cain. I’ve stated before that once the games come out, I WILL be treating the Cain in “Zeitgeist” as a completely separate character. This character is going to have to fit into a bigger, more fleshed out universe than BTD Cain after all. It’ll also make for an interesting compare/contrast post later.

Now what I really want to comment on: Cain’s high and mighty persona. Well to be more precise, one of the creators stated that there’s going to be MORE to Cain here than just that part of his personality.

I don’t have a doubt though that Cain will still be on some form of “high horse” here and there. I should clarify something though; I am well aware that I have emphasized this part of Cain the most. At least I think I have. This is because:

1) I do still believe this has been portrayed solidly in the past as a trait of his.

2) I legitimately LIKE this trait of Cain.

Charming characters that either seem to know everything or hold immense power are just plain fun for me to watch.

However, I am not the creator of any of these characters. I acknowledge that even if there’s a trait I like about a character or put more emphasis on, it doesn’t necessarily mean that is how EVERYONE should perceive the character. There will likely be either more important traits to focus on or hidden traits. I might even just make a wrong analysis. It happens. That’s partially why I title my posts “thought” posts, rather than “analysis” posts. I’m giving my point-of-view and other people may or may not agree or enjoy it.

Please also don’t take this as me gushing over one quality so much means I’m going to hate the character because said quality may end up taking a back seat for other character development. Even if the trait I liked was completely removed, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to dislike the character either. If for some reason this DID happen, or maybe I just decide I still end up liking BTD Cain over Rockland Cain, so what? There’s plenty of characters in the roster that I favor over others. It doesn’t mean the other characters hold no value to me, I just have certain tastes.

Honestly though, I’d be super surprised if I didn’t like Rockland Cain either just as much as BTD Cain or more. If there’s going to be more background to him for Rockland, I’ll probably like this new version more.

Also, I did notice a few different sides to BTD Cain in my original thought posts. You do actually have quite a few “quiet” moments with him. Now he tended to end up doing something bad after a lot of these moments. But the point is I actually do see it possible to expand upon just...conversing with Cain. I know that sounds weird, but you have a very old character who’s bored and looking for some way to pass his time. Unlike with BTD, you get the impression with this story that Cain might not be so quick to replace his unlucky victim. There’s going to be a little more intimacy. I don’t mean that as like a s*x joke either (note: If you see me censor stuff that seems tame, I still don’t trust tumblr sometimes). I mean Cain’s going to better develop his relationship with the MC if he’s not really interested in tossing them out at the slightest sign of disobedience (and it sounds like your meeting with Cain is an unfortunate coincidence more than anything). Now it may not be a good relationship. It could just be a master-slave kind of deal. But something will be established. At least that’s what I’m thinking, but who knows what direction this is going to take.

There will also be the opportunity to show a deeper and more sympathetic side to Cain. That’s really not unusual with characters who live eternal lives.

I do still hold the belief though that there’s a 99% chance Cain is going to be portrayed as a villain in the Rockland Universe. Especially if you have Sam and Damien in the same game serving as opposition. Cain might very well have a gentle side, but I think he’s still overall going to be more of an amoral character than the other two. Unless there’s some sort of twist I suppose. We never got the details on why Cain killed his brother for example. In most stories, the common theory is jealousy. But I don’t know what kind of backstory the creator has in mind. I actually doubt that part will be expanded upon much unless it’s integral to knowing Cain’s character.

The reason I’m writing these posts is because it just feels really nice to put something down on paper (so to speak) rather than just keep it all bottled up in my head. Will I lean more towards some directions than others? Probably. I’ll apologize now if I don’t end up giving some characters the same treatment as others. Or if I put too much emphasis on some character traits when there are other parts of a character’s personality that a viewer gravitates more towards.

Everyone should be able to just enjoy and explore the characters as they like as long as they acknowledge that (as a viewer) these characters do not belong to them, and only the main creators know absolutely everything about these characters.

I like canon media and I like psychology. Me trying to dive in and figure out these characters is just for fun to see what I guess right. Don’t take my word as gospel because I’m not always going to be right, and that’s fine. I’m sorry if I ever come off as pretentious with these posts too.

These pre-release posts are even more likely to be way off-base than a post done on any released media. They’re not posts necessarily saying, “This is what I want to see happen,” either. Sometimes yes, but other times it’s just me exploring the different avenues the story and characters might go. I’m heavily lacking in the creativity department, so this is my way of learning how to either guess where a story is going, or how a creator may surprise their audience.

#Zeitgeist #Cain Zeitgeist #runawayoutlaw #rockland #horror game #pre-release

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ogygia · 6 years

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What the fuck is the LBRP? appendix: FAQs

I promised in my guide to the LBRP that I’d deal with some miscellaneous points in a separate post. Because so much of it comes in the form of questions, I’ve decided to present in the form of FAQs!

(Source)

Here goes ...

1. I read your guide and it was interesting and stuff, but isn’t the LBRP just a fancy way of banishing, casting a circle and calling the quarters? It’s not really that special.

Technically, you’re not wrong. But you’ve put the cart before the horse. The butter before the bread. The jam before the clotted cream (fellow Brits will not argue this point with me). Because the likelihood is that modern pagan notions of banishing, casting a circle and calling the quarters (in that order) probably derived from the LBRP, rather than vice versa.

Now’s a good time to remind ourselves that Gerald Gardner, the father of the modern witchcraft revival – and the person who introduced the term ‘Wicca’ into the fold – probably borrowed heavily from Freemasonry and (shock, horror) Aleister Crowley himself. There’s no real reason why modern (organised) Wicca should have a degree system, or employ specific liturgy or ceremonies: these are likely to be based on a Masonic template, with some influence from the Great Beast’s writings. One of the early manuscripts of Wiccan material contain rituals and quotations copied from Crowley and the Golden Dawn, though what this tells us about the actual nature of Crowley and Gardner’s relationship is a matter of debate.

Either way, the whole procedure of banishing, casting a circle and calling the quarters you find in a lot of post-Wicca witchcraft may have its derivation in the LBRP itself, or at least late Victorian occultism. Remember, I’m not saying these practices themselves, on their own terms, originate from the LBRP; I know that banishing is a thing all over the world, as is circle-casting (which has a long history in the grimoire tradition), as is calling the quarters (in Taoist craft, for instance, the four directions are invoked as well). What I’m saying is that the recognised ritual procedure in modern witchcraft which involves all three steps probably has a ceremonial origin, so it would be putting the cart before the horse to dismiss the LBRP as a glorified circle-casting procedure, without recognising its role as an original model for modern Wiccan-based practice.

I’d suggest using the right tools for the right purposes: you wouldn’t kill a fly with a shotgun (not that you can’t). If you want to banish, actually banish. If you want to cast a circle, cast a circle. If you want to call the quarters, actually call them. Familiarise yourself with various non-ceremonial methods for doing these things – Gemma Gary and Nigel Pearson are a good source of information – and experiment. It’ll probably do a lot more for you than a quaint Victorian procedure based in badly appropriated Kabbalah.

In fact, you might find out that your craft only needs one or two of these steps, or none at all. Depending on tradition and the kind of work you’re doing, you may not need to formally banish, or cast a circle, or call the quarters, as long as you’re maintaining good spiritual hygiene, and/or already have a good working relationship with the spirits.

2. Should I use a wand to do the LBRP? Or a dagger? Or will my finger do? Is there a difference?

The First Knowledge Lecture of the Golden Dawn instructs the student to use ‘a steel dagger in the right hand’; Crowley in Liber O says to ‘make a pentagram ... with the proper weapon (usually the Wand)’. So basically, you can use whatever the fuck you want, especially if you don’t care for either the Golden Dawn or Crowley. Or try it with different things over a period of time and see how it feels. Experiment, make notes, see what works.

Advanced-level thoughts: I suspect Crowley diverges from the Golden Dawn because of the centrality of Will to his philosophy of magick. The steel dagger in the GD version appears to be a more functional, or perhaps less fussy alternative to the Magical Sword, which according to The Golden Dawn ‘is used in all cases where great force and strength are to be used and are required, but principally for banishing and for defence against evil forces’.

For Crowley, however, ‘The Magick Wand is ... the principal weapon of the Magus; and the "name" of that wand is the Magical Oath.’ (Liber ABA, Part II, Chapter VI). I feel it entirely appropriate that the Wand is the more Thelemic approach, not just because of Crowley’s phallic obsessions but mainly because asserting one’s individuality and celebrating one’s True Will is so central to Thelema. To employ the Wand in one of ceremonial magick’s key rituals symbolically reinforces the sovereignty of the Magus and their True Will over their universe.

3. Ew, Christian stuff! Can I change the names/symbols/words because I had a bad childhood experience with Christianity/hate Christians/hate God/ love the Goddess and want to do a Goddess version/don’t want anything to do with the Judeo-Christian system/am rebellious and just want to be different?

Short answer: Did you read the fucking guide?

Long answer: Listen, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t call it the LBRP, or claim that it’s ‘the same thing’, or works the same way.

Much has already been said about this elsewhere, but your knee-jerk reaction to Judeo-Christian elements in ceremonial magick reveal a lot more about you than it does the ritual. We know the LBRP is rooted in a Kabbalistic tradition; your feelings towards it doesn’t change its effectiveness for generations of practitioners.

You don’t need to use the LBRP if you’re not comfortable. I don’t even use it that much these days. My only advice to you is to i) not be dismissive about it, especially in the presence of newbies and inquiring beginners; ii) recognise that the LBRP is a whole ecosystem of a ritual in itself, and simply changing the names and words willy-nilly and claiming it to be a legitimate alternative is at best misguided, at worst misleading for others.

Being an asshole: ‘Why would you want to use a ritual that calls out to an oppressive God? Here, I wrote a version where the names are all replaced by pagan deities, and calls on the Goddess. It’s the same, in fact, it’s better. Fuck Xtianity.’

Not being an asshole: ‘Hmm, I would suggest you research it carefully before deciding whether to use it or not, but if you prefer something non-Christian, as I would, why not try X method to banish, or doing Y to cast a circle, so you avoid the whole ceremonial thing altogether – if that’s what you’re looking for?’

My point being, I don’t care if you don’t like the LBRP. I care if you poison the mind of impressionable new seekers with your own knee-jerk prejudices.

That said, there are certain alternatives that in my opinion are legitimate, or close enough in effect, or possess a similar potentiality:

The Olympic Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (notes) – I personally think this is an excellent alternative, especially for those who work within a Greco-Roman paradigm, or a Gnostic/Neoplatonic framework.

The Star Ruby – You’ll probably be aware of this one already if you know your Crowley. Frankly, this is not recommended to anyone who isn’t already working in a Thelemic context.

I can’t think of any other ones right now, but I’ll post them if I come across any.

4. Okay, in your guide I’ve noticed that you can use an Invoking pentagram. How does that work?

One thing I didn’t have space to clarify in the original guide is that the LBRP is not in fact a ritual; it is a variant of a ritual. Think of the structure of the LBRP as a basic template; you can adapt the template for different purposes by drawing the pentagrams in different ways. You can use the LRP (as the basic ritual is called) to invoke or banish any of the five elements, including Spirit; but, as explained in the guide, Earth is chosen as the basic banishing variant because it deals with influences in the mundane sphere of existence.

I didn’t go through the Golden Dawn system myself but as far as I’m aware, part of the work in the outer order involves invoking the elements separately using the LRP and recording what differences they make in your life. I imagine you can easily adapt this to raise specific elemental energies for specific purposes, but I feel like there’s a lot more power in using the planets for practical purposes anyway, rather than the elements. But that’s another discussion.

Also, if you’re wondering, there is indeed a Greater version of the ritual, and in fact there’s also a Supreme version of the ritual, but you don’t need to bother with those unless you’re a Golden-Dawn-type ceremonialist and/or want to work with Enochian energies. And there’s also a hexagram version of the ritual, but I’ll discuss that in a separate guide, perhaps ...

5. This has all been very interesting! Any resources on the ritual that you might suggest, so I can do further research?

Lists! I love lists. My thoughts on useful resources for the LBRP:

To begin with, the aforementioned First Knowledge Lecture is always worth looking through.

Crowley’s ‘Notes on the Ritual of the Pentagram’ – a surprisingly short essay for a usually verbose man, but succinctly explains some of the key mechanics of how the ritual works, and how to perform it properly. Can get a bit technical.

Thelema and Skepticism’s blog post on the LBRP – the blogger in question here has very strong views about what Thelema is or isn’t and I’ve seen him get caught up in all kinds of drama on forums, but his post on the LBRP is one of the best and most comprehensive discussions of the ritual I’ve ever seen. Read with a critical mind, of course, but this is about as orthodox an explanation of the ritual as it gets.

Mark Stavish’s Additional Notes on the LBRP – an excellent, if occasionally jargon-y, further discussion of the ritual, including thoughts on how the angels might be visualised, based on Golden Dawn colour correspondences.

Scott Michael Stenwick’s blog post on the LBRP – a miscellaneous collection of thoughts on the ritual, including some brilliant myth-busting. Stenwick is an excellent magical blogger and his work on the method of the operant field is frankly brilliant. Honestly, I just recommend his whole blog.

Not directly relevant, and a book, but Lon Milo DuQuette’s The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford is a top-notch and very funny introduction to the Hermetic Kabbalah – i.e. the Kabbalah as it is used in the Western ceremonial tradition.

That’s it, folks. There’s more to be said, but probably as miscellaneous throwaway conversations when they arise. I emphasise my earlier point that I write this from my own understanding of and experiences with the ritual, and therefore don’t expect everyone to agree with all of my points. Feel free to send me asks or something if you have any questions or thoughts.

#occult #ceremonial magick #lbrp #lesser banishing ritual of the pentagram #guides #faqs

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cjbrownninetytwo · 6 years

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I just read a blog that put me in two different sets of mind. Like on one hand I was deeply offended, angry and upset over their views, their ignorance and what seems to me plane stupidity. But on the other hand I couldn't help but sort of understand where they were coming from on CERTAIN points and even agree with some of what they were saying. To clear it up for anyone who might be interested it was a blog about how feminism was wrong and women privileges. It was quite obvious that the blog belonged to a man so right away I was like pshh what does he know and I got on my high horse and became self righteous and annoyed (and yes hurt) but the more I read the more I became divided. Because there is such a thing as women privileges in some aspects in life women do have it easier. And men are made to suffer. But I also got thinking, what this faceless man was saying about women could be said about men too and he didn't even realise it. I mean if you swapped the word women for men in his very long list of women privileges you would get almost every point and argument a women uses for feminism. And I can't help but find it sad how we can argue and fight with one and other and not realise that we both (genders) have pros and cons. There are certain situations in life when women have the upper hand, and the exact same goes for men to. No one can dispute the fact that for Years women were just possessions, we breed, cooked cleaned and looked after the children and men and that was our whole purpose in life. We didn't have any rights because as a women we were seen as weak and defenseless a pretty women nothing more. That's a fact just open any history book and it would be there in black and white. Men were aloud to beat their wife's and force themselves on them as it was their rights as the husband. But we as women fought back and got our right we found our voice and we used it and in doing that we taught our daughters to find their strength and no one and nothing can take that away from us. We as women have progressed so far and achieved so much and we should be proud! I am! And now men. Men have always been seen as the stronger sex the superior gender. They were never aloud to admit to feeling that will make them appear weak. They were the bread makers for so long the protectors. As a woman I will be completely honest and say I'm not aware of men's issues and disadvantage as I am with women's. But I am aware that they have them. I know that women have it easier when it comes to support from abuse any kind of abuse. Very few men ever admits to abuse and that's sad and very upsetting because no one should ever feel like they can't speak up. I'm aware that in most courts a women will always come out the winner in child custody and that's sickening because gender does not equal better parenting. A child needs their father just as much as their mother.

To sum it up because its gotten longer than I anticipated, there has always been advantages and disadvantages for both genders. And to only focus on one genders difficulties, only hurt yourself because you are being blind to the truth and focus on validating your own belief. Its okay to have feeling and no one has the right to say your feelings are wrong but knowledge is the strongest power you can have. So always research your argument and reasonings. Be aware of all opinions and facts. And understand the no gender is better than the other. And as human beings we are stronger together than divided.

#weareallhuman #standtogetherasone #femimism #equality

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legionnaireslover · 6 years

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They have to dehumanise Sophie & the kids by calling them names & saying they're fake to justify what they are begging Ben to do. If they didn't they would be asking a (happily) married man to leave his wife & children for no reason other than to satisfy a small number of fans, & that would be unforgivable in the eyes of any decent human being. In fact, if they begged their friend's husband to leave his wife & family, & harassed them until he complied, they'd be called monsters & vilified.

Exactly! And I think that is what makes them the actual “monsters”, in my eyes. This is a conscious decision on their part so they can feel better about THEMSELVES when they verbally assault their victims. They aren’t being “socially aware” or doing this for a righteous cause - some of them try and gift-wrap it up as such, to disguise it as something “noble” and done out of “concern” for him, but it is easy to see through that tissue paper thin facade.

What is all too obvious, when you look at the overall pattern of their behaviour, is that this whole thing stems from a feeling of personal hatred brought on by jealousy, entitlement and insecurity within themselves (that’s what is at the base of most bullying).

Insulting Sophie, denegrating Ben and Sophie’s relationship and children, and demanding he behave according to their “agenda”, makes them feel in control of the situation - even when reality keeps telling (and repeatedly showing) them a VERY different story!

The dehumanisation of a target is classic “hate group” tactics. Often bullying groups (like the Haters) use cruel nicknames to stand in place of someone’s real name to rob them of their humanity. Calling Sophie “Squid” or putting emojis of a horse in place of saying her name is one way to remove her from being too close to “people like us”. Or calling her demeaning names like “cunt”, “whore” “fetchess” or “bitch”, again strips her of her real identity. And at the extreme end of the Hater spectrum is Aeltri, who has even gone so far as to deny Sophie of her sexuality, by putting forth that Sophie isn’t even a “real woman” and is incapable (apparently) of getting pregnant!

Calling Ben and Sophie’s children “pilo” again makes Haters feel just a bit more comfortable about picking on two innocent little boys, I guess. They convince themselves that the children aren’t “real” and then they have the extra assurance in that they don’t even have to acknowledge they are anything but inanimate objects when they refer to them. Their cruel insults seem more remote when applied to plastic “dolls” or pillows instead of actual children.

All this allows the group attacking someone to maintain a feeling of moral superiority (I wouldn’t do THIS to a REAL person - but since she is a “Squid” and the children are “pilos”... ).

It is all very “textbook” and been done before by other hater groups (all the way down through history). But then NOTHING about the Haters is original, is it?!? Just look at the other celebrity hate groups - they all operate out of the same book, they all think the target of their ire is after the ruination of their “fav”, they all think the horrid perpetrator of these “crimes” is a powerful person (yet at the same time an insignificant “nobody” who has accomplished nothing in their lives), they all accuse their TARGET of sexual misconduct and moral depravity, criminal behaviour, undiagnosed mental illness, massive public fraud (that has gone undetected in the legitimate media) and of perpetuating these crimes through conveniently never-ending fear and intimidation.

Oh yeah, and the resolution (to the satisfaction of the Haters) is ALWAYS going to happen some time SOON, in the future, ANY DAY NOW... and every “prediction” of success in this matter is discarded/explained away (conveniently) as each appointed date goes past without results - and a NEW date is dangled in front of the dupes who follow the Haters!

Thanks for reading my blog! Right now I am getting really excited about watching BC in Patrick Melrose!! As a HUge fan of the books and of BC, I have been enjoying all the promos and publicity events (especially the wonderful ones with Sophie by Ben’s side supporting him in the most delightful way!!). Tomorrow night will be a special one for me and I am sure thousands of others. As for the Haters... they can go pound salt in their bitter, bitter asses!

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scarecrowandmrking · 6 years

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The Falling (Mark Pellegrino story)

My sister was always the pretty one. The girl who tried out for and got on the cheerleading squad. The one voted prom queen. The one who went to New York and became a successful designer with the wonderful life and fancy apartment. So I wasn’t at all surprised when I got the invitation to the wedding that would mark yet another achievement in the wonderful life that was my sister’s. Meanwhile I had never left the town of Surry, Wisconsin. No social life. Never even been laid much, just a mostly sexless relationship and a couple one night stands.

The only lucky break I ever got in life was that on the day of the wedding there came a hellacious storm none of the meteorologists seem to see coming. My sister, decked out in her gazillion dollar wedding gown and accompanied by her model good looks husband, had had to stop taking their adorable photos to flee back into the dry confines of the church. We were all pretty wet and miserable by then. Well, except for me that is. Wet. But decidedly not miserable.

There came a loud knocking at the church door. The sound, hesitant at first but growing in its persistence, wasn’t heard by the rest of the crowd, so wrapped up in their empty bellies and the rather enviable chore of trying to control my sobbing sister. I found myself wandering forward as if in some sort of dream, not fully aware of what i was doing until I was standing in front of it with my hand hovering over the door knob.

“What are you waiting for?”

I turned to find my sister hovering behind me. Her mascara was smeared and the ornate vail she had been wearing was long since abandoned, revealing a rat’s nest beneath. I had never seen her look so normal before. And my heart secretly sang at the sight of it.

A second later and the door was open, revealing the form of a hunch backed older woman wearing what appeared to be several layers of rags. She was clutching a cane in her hand, her head bowed against the torrents of rain pelting her fragile form. My sister gave a kind of disgusted snort, causing the woman to look up at us. Her face was a mask of wrinkles and dirt that seemed to be so stubborn that not even the downpour could scrub it off.

“What do you want,” my sister asked in a none too welcoming tone.

“Shelter,” the old woman told us. “There is no place around here for miles. I wish to come in.”

My sister had a look on here face as if the old woman had asked to try on her wedding gown. “Nope,” she said after a moment. “We’re all filled up here.”

She made to slam the door in the older woman’s face but I stopped her, grabbing her by the arm. “Hey, have a little compassion. It’s bad out there. And we have plenty of room.”

My sister rolled her eyes and turned to make her way back to her adoring fan club in the center of the church. “Whatever,” she hollered over her shoulder.

I turned back to the door to find the old woman had been replaced by the form of a beautiful woman dressed all in white. She had a faint glow about her like what I imagined an angel would have. Her hair was long and white, her face so stunning it made my sister look like a gremlin by comparison. My mouth hung open in shock and admiration. I felt as if reality had faded away and I was now in some kind of waking dream.

“You have taken kindness on a stranger. A rare gift these days,” the angelic woman told me. She placed in my hands a red rose. I glanced down at it, feeling a strange sort of heat radiating off of it and seeming to sink into my flesh. “ And I am giving you one in return. This is a rose of giving. Whatever you wish shall be yours. But be careful, when the last petal falls the wishing shall be over. And nothing can be undone.”

When I looked up to ask the strange woman a question I discovered that she was long gone.

*******************************************************************************************************

I placed the rose on my nightstand and went back to watching my nightly binge of Netflix while I thought back on the events of the day. My sister had seemed to be in a much better mood as she and her hubby had headed off to the airport on their way to the Bahamas. On the flight back to my little nothing town in the middle of nowhere, I had held the rose in my hands and thought about all the things I would change in my life if I could. But all of it really came down to only a few real things I wanted to change in my life. Always the same things. In exactly the same order.

The first thing I always did when I got into bed every night was take out my laptop and peruse my social media pages, all devoted to my some would say unhealthy unrequited love affair with the actor Mark Pellegrino. I had first seen the tall, blond haired sexy creature as the all powerful being Jacob on Lost. Then I had moved on to watching him on Dexter, The Tomorrow People, Castle, Supernatural and a host of other Tv shows and movies. I had even spoken to him a few times on Twitter and had met him for a photo op at a con once, all of which only heightened my infatuation for the man. Though there were times to be sure when I felt a tad bit embarrassed of myself that my sister was dating and getting married and no doubt headed to motherville when my entire life was devoted to an actor who more than likely didn’t know I existed.

“I wish he knew I existed,” I told the rose from its place next to my bed. Looking at it, I could tell it had not fared well on the trip here. Already it looked to be wilting and missing some of its once pristine petals. “I want him to love me, too. I want what my sister has. I want someone to choose me for once. Not some other girl. Me.”

I fell asleep wondering what that would be like. To have a man lay down and hold me like they did in the romance novels I read. Was Mark a lay down and hug you sort? And I laid there and thought back to all the pictures and gifs and blogs I had of him, trying to imagine the man behind all of that. Not the celebrity, but the actual man. The flesh and blood human being that cried when he was hurt or raged when he was angry. And I wondered where he was and what he was doing at this very moment. And if there was any place in his imaginings for someone like me…..

****************************************************************************************************

The first thing I became aware of when I opened my eyes was that I was no longer in my own bed anymore. And that’s a pretty frightening sensation to wake up, let me tell you. I stared about the strange bedroom for a moment before reaching over to turn on what I’d hoped would be a light. And when it came on I found myself gazing around a spacious room much more expensive looking than anything my bookstore employee ass could ever afford. We weren’t talking Wal Mart decor here.

“It’s late. Turn off the light,” a deep voice grumbled from behind me. A chill went down my spine. I would know that voice from anywhere. I turned, and sure enough the man I had been lusting after for years now was laying next to me under the covers, looking quite sexy while sporting a rather epic case of bed head.

“Uh.....” I wish I had said something for more sexy in that moment, but apparently when you fall asleep and wake up in someone else's bed for no apparent reason, it kind of robs you of any semblance of elegance.

“Are you feeling ok, love?” Mark pulled himself up to a sitting position. I tried not to look at his naked chest and the nipples I had always wanted to feel beneath my tongue, but failed. “Still upset about the wedding?”

“The...wedding.” My mouth was saying things but my mind just refused to go along with things. I had never been in bed with a man before. And certainly not THIS man. Fuck, he was sexy as hell. Like a damn majestic lion or something….

To my surprise, Mark pulled me into his arms, pressing my breasts against his warm skin. I let out a sound halfway between and gasp and a moan, my pussy getting super wet and making some rather hard to ignore protests as the friction built where my thighs rubbed together. Hesitantly, because I really didn’t know what I was doing, I kissed him on his collar bone and rubbed along his side. His only response was to reach up and pat me gently on the head, much the same way you might comfort a small child, leading me to believe I had either done things wrong or maybe that even naked men in my bed might still have other places they had rather be.

“You don’t know what’s going on in your sister’s life so there’s no point in comparing your life to hers,” Mark says, putting an arm around my shoulder. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, not even a sexual thing, but more like two life long friends discussing the various ups and downs of life. “You’ll only make yourself miserable. Not her.”

“You just don’t know what it’s like to be the third wheel. Or not even in the picture at all. Like you don’t exist. Like nothing you do matters. Not to anybody. Like, why even bother?”

Mark gazed up at the ceiling for a minute, collecting his thoughts. I could tell that he and I had had this conversation many times before, and what he was about to tell me he had told on more than one occasion. But he was going to tell it again. As many times as it took to get through to me.

“That’s just self defeating talk. You talk yourself into failure. Why not talk yourself into success instead? You think we would have any of the advances we do today, the electricity, the medicine, the technology if nobody believed they had anything to offer the world?”

I sat for a while thinking about that. Mark had swayed me on a lot of things online in his debates. He had a way of opening my eyes to things, not just because he was usually right about things, but because he was kind about things. He approached people the way one would approach a spooked horse, with calmness and with an apple in hand as a reward for a job well done. I found myself sinking into him, partly aroused beyond what I could stand without trying to blatantly hump the man and also feeling like I just wanted to sleep curled up safe next to him.

Horny won out. I nuzzled Mark on the neck before planting several kisses on his skin. I made sure my breasts rubbed his arms, rewarded when a sigh left his lips and his arms went around me, pulling me in closer.

“Was I that convincing,” he asks, a wide smile on his face. His blue eyes twinkled in the light cast by the bedside lamp.

“You could convince me of anything,” I tell him, letting my hands roam over his body. I wanted to touch all of him. Taste and feel and explore him as I had done so many times in my imagination, hands moving underneath my bed covers back at home. He was so much bigger than me, and I found myself comparing the size of his large hands to mine, the way his skin felt versus mine. I had never been able to explore another person this way, though I didn’t feel brave enough to go beneath the covers. I didn’t have the self confidence or the experience to just grab for what I wanted. Not yet, anyway.

“Careful, you don’t know what I might ask you to do next,” he teased, pulling me in to kiss me lightly, almost chastly on the lips. It was the kind of kiss a couple does when they’ve known one another for a long time. When every kiss given was not the tongue and passion fueled affair of newbie daters. But at this very moment that was exactly what I wanted. This whole thing was new to me, after all.

I took Mark’s hand and placed it between my legs, letting his fingers feel what I was having a hard time expressing in words. His facial expression changed in an instant, the smile and joking nature quickly replaced with something a lot more feral and hungry. A thrill went through me, part pure sexual enjoyment and part fear since this was was such an unknown.

He grabbed my by the chin with both hands and pulled my face close for a hungry open mouthed kiss. I didn’t know what I was suppose to do with either my mouth or my hands so I just let him take the lead, thrilling at the feel of his hands roaming over my body. It was so much more than I had imagined it would be and for the briefest of moments I felt saddened by having missed out on it for so long. But the feeling was quickly replaced by the growing heat between my legs as he pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me.

“What do you want me to do,” he asked me. “Tell me.”

I found myself stroking his face, wanting to remember every inch of it. Nothing good had ever come into my life and stayed. And I wanted to do all the things I had ever imagined doing with him on all those nights laying alone, hands moving beneath the covers.. Wanted to feel his lips and tongue between working their magic on my hot, wet slit. But what I wanted at that moment most of all was to be one with him. Only him. So I parted my legs and grabbed his cock in my hands, rather clumsily trying to pull him down to my pussy.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Mark tells me, placing his forehead against mine. He’s breathing hard over me, his entire body coiled tight as a bow with need.

“Please,” I beg him. “Now.”

He kisses me softly on the lips as his cock brushes against my slit, his head rubbing my clit and making me moan against him. He toyed with me for a few thrusts, wetting himself in my folds before trying to push inside of me. It wasn’t easy, the pain of being penetrated after so long made me wince and he stopped, soothing me and stroking my face as the discomfort slowly subsided. Then he was moving inside of me and everything else faded away except the growing waves of pleasure inside of me. I screamed his name and clawed into his shoulders, begging him over and over again for something I didn’t quite understand. It was so much more than just to be brought to an orgasm. I wanted a release from everything I had been running from up to this point. All the disappointments that had come and gone. The years spent alone and looking out a window onto a world of couples and lovers and white picket fences. I wanted it to be washed away once and for all. By him. By Us.

When I couldn’t hold back any longer from that moment I had been aching so long for, I arched my back and closed my eyes, feeling Mark go over that cliff with me.The feeling of his warm come filling me up taking me to new heights of pleasure, It was not just a moment filled with screams of passion and nails clawing skin, but an acknowledgement of two beings connecting and worshiping each other on a level that didn’t require all the bells and whistles. It was a simplicity I found so deep and beautiful. And one I never wanted to end.

“Thank you,” I told him as we lay together afterward, my head laid against his chest. I wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like the right thing to say to him. I got the feeling that, though I didn’t know how this had happened or even why, that he had somehow allowed it to happen. That this was not the work of some evil magic that had drawn him in like an insect to a web. And the thought gave me an inkling of relief.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he tells me. I know I should be upset by this in some way, but I felt too removed my usual self, the girl who cared too much, who cried into her pillow at night because nobody wanted her. That girl did not exist here. “But I do feel for you. I know why you are the way that you are. But you could change it if you wanted to.”

“How?”

He took my hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “When you finally realize you aren’t in this alone.”

****************************************************************************************************

I thought about the dream I had had of Mark Pellegrino as I waited in line with everyone else to get a photo op with the Supernatural actor. Things had been going rather well for me after the wedding. My sister had caught her husband butt naked on the living room couch with someone or other and she had lost her job after losing a major client and was now crashing at our parent’s house. And as for me I had finally gotten up the courage to send in some of my manuscripts to some publishing houses and in the next couple of months two of my books would be hitting the shelves. I had bought a new car and had upgraded from an apartment to a little house on the outskirts of town. I didn’t feel like an ugly, rejected failure anymore, not because I was loved by a man, nothing had changed since my wonderful dream about Mark, but because I had gone out and done something to make my life better.

But something odd happened when it was my turn to get my picture taken with Mark. He was standing there in his dark pea coat, tall and regal and every bit as beautiful in person as he was on TV, but when he turned to me his eyebrows rose slightly and it was obvious he remembered me. I ran up to him, wrapping my arms around him as tightly as I could. He pressed his cheek against mine and for a moment I felt like I was back upon the bed, our bodies wrapped around each other and fueled by both love and need.

I wasn’t aware of the picture being taken but I somehow sensed it had been and parted from our embrace to let the next person in line through. “How’s your sister?”

I stopped in my tracks and turned. Mark had stopped taking pictures for a second, his eyes staring intently into mine. There was something about it that reminded me of the dream, the feeling that reality had been encroached upon by something that was other. Some might even call it magic.

“She’s miserable. But I’m a published author now,” I told him.

He smiled at me. A genuine, real smile that made me light up inside. Then the moment was over and he went back to taking pictures with fans. I wasn't aware of it then, but many miles away in the home I had just purchased there was hidden inside a moving box a long forgotten rose with only a few petals left upon its tiny stem. And at that very moment, the petals fell away into the bottom of the box. I would find this out a few weeks later when I discovered the remains of the rose the stranger at my sister’s wedding had given me. And I would shake my head and laugh. But, deep down, I knew.

#mark pellegrino #MarkPellegrino #markpellegrinosex #markpellegrinoporn #markpellegrino/oc #sexy #fantasies #wish fulfillment #as fuck

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March 30, 2020

Kids Arts Activities through Quarantine

As BC’s spring break officially ends, I am very aware that working parents, with kids at home who now need online schooling and extra care, are extremely hard hit by the current changes. I also realize that Adagio may not at all reflect the tempo of their lives as they juggle these new responsibilities. What I hear from my friends in this situation is that Prestissimo Agitato (agitatedly fast) probably sums it up far better. So, I am hoping that some of the kids’ arts activities which I list below might help give parents even a few tacet moments.

This accelerated pace also relates to health care workers, grocery employees, and so many others who are working harder than ever during this period. Conversely, people who have temporarily lost their jobs, aging people who were enjoying the well-earned luxury of post-career social time before the virus hit, and many others now find time spooling out before them in a sometimes overwhelming abundance. And while I am fortunate to be able to sustain a considerable amount of my work during this unusual time, I relate more to both the challenges and privileges of being faced with increased space in my life. In fact, I have always been aware that my choice not to have children has meant that my life’s rhythms are quite different from many of my peers. So, I take this reality as an onus to use the extra capacity I have to contribute where I can. And writing this blog is one way I am attempting to do that.

As I share this, I am inspired by the words of one of my favorite writers and thinkers, Rebecca Solnit, who in her Harper’s article, The Mother of All Questions, poignantly sums up the role that people who choose not to have children can play in their communities. “There are so many things to love besides one’s offspring, so much work that love has to do in the world”.

So, for children and adults alike, I offer Lunch Doodles and Lockdown Diaries and Puppet Shows and Haiku.

At 1 pm EST, every day, Mo Willems, livestreams his Lunch Doodles classes for all to follow: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmzjCPQv3y8

Or, if you want to get your hands a bit dirtier, you might try this homemade playdough recipe to make the rainbows that people are sticking to their windows all over the world to spread hope.

https://www.pre-kpages.com/rainbow-play-dough/

In Saskatoon, Wide Open Children’s Theatrehosts livestreamed storytelling and puppet shows at 10 am CST and bedtime (7 pm CST), every single day, on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/events/638733030283792/

Christchurch artist, Stephen McCarthy has created a free downloadable, Lockdown Diary, that will keep anyone busy for ages:

https://www.mylockdowndiary.com/?fbclid=IwAR0G3KgCfRfnr2FXhEIumzR2SigQB3bEYXfOu1m9m0g8tqL2RnQPoprJL2w

The New York Times has created a digital coloring book with a truly timely image. You can play with their online pen or print it out and do it old-school analog style.

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/03/23/opinion/covid-coloring-activity.html

And finally, if you want to distill your feelings about this unique time, the simple container of a Haiku works very well for this. The 3 lines form is made up of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, & 5 syllables. The invite it is to write your own, video record yourself reading it, and then send it to Quarantine Haikus: https://thebridgepai.org/quarantinehaikus/

Here’s mine:

cherry blossom tree

as colorful as ever

like nothing has changed

March 31, 2020

Resilient Quarantine Artist Projects

The life of an artist is one of constant reinvention. And these times call for just that. As I’ve shifted from a flute performance career, to directing a community arts non-profit, Instruments of Change (instrumentsofchange.org), to creative writing, I have sometimes struggled to define myself by my job description or title. However, if I have learned anything from this necessary process of unravelling my identity from my career achievements, I have learned to connect more deeply to who I AM rather than what I DO. This process of redefinition has led me to recognize that, at the core of everything I do, I am an arts advocate, first and foremost. So, this is the title that sits most comfortably for me. As an arts advocate, I am constantly seeking ways to increase public perception of the value of the arts and artists, themselves. And this eloquent article (https://madmimi.com/s/708e601) which my friend, Juliana Bedoya shared, perfectly illustrates why artists are ideally equipped for dealing with our current uncertain circumstances. To summarize Andrew Simonet’s piece, Dear Artists, This is What We Train For:

1. Artists are accustomed to charting unfamiliar territory.

2. Artists are excellent at “working with what they’ve got” - to quote Duke Ellington

3. Artists are keen observers, and they use those powers to create expressions of resonance and relevance.

4. Artists thrive at adapting to constantly changing rhythms and flow.

In only the few brief weeks since quarantined living began (although I know that this has seemed eternal for some), it has been remarkable how many resilient strategies and projects I’ve encountered in my artist community. So, here, I’d like to share just a few initiatives that are happening in my own backyard.

In Vancouver, the Little Chamber Music Series That Could has launched their Isolation Commissions, where individuals, for only $200, can hire solo artists to film a 4 min video of themselves performing something which reflects the impact that this extraordinary social situation is having on their artistic practice. It might be an improvisation, a favorite piece, a work that brings comfort, or a new composition in progress. Incredibly, by March 31st, already 30 video performances from 30 unique artists had been successfully commissioned. Interested “commissioners” can contact Mark Haney at: [email protected] to arrange their desired artist partnership. And you can learn more about their innovative program here: http://littlechambermusic.com/isolation-commissions/

For years, the Sunday Service has provided live improv sets at Vancouver’s Fox Cabaret, and they are not letting self-isolation stop that tradition. So now, every Sunday, at 9 pm, Cyber Service livestreams collaborative improv, from each of their respective homes, on their You Tube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2A8-xxVUssHFIr_WDt4Gyg?view_as=subscriber&fbclid=IwAR2ojZlCDLZHjkN6qq0iDKtm4mPkI9dQvoZeGVv9IWpYX85zDfq0lKePegA

Instruments of Change is also playing with our own adaptive strategies as we anticipate the potential cancellation of our free, outdoor summer concert series, Street Beats. In 2018, originally invited by VIVA Vancouver, I of C launched this series to make a wide variety of top-rate live music accessible to all, while celebrating our city’s vibrant public spaces. So, in an effort to continue meeting those objectives without the possibility of large public gatherings, Street Beats sound engineer, David Spidel has proposed Street Beats - the Stream Beats edition. His idea is to drone video record several Vancouver parklets and plazas, and then green screen these behind various livestreamed performances of Vancouver artists. We should learn, in the coming weeks, if VIVA goes for his slightly wacky concept, and we’ll keep you posted.

April 1, 2020

Lockdown Laughs

This year, the internet exploded with announcements that there should be a moratorium on April Fools Jokes, as we are all living a far worse hoax than any one of us could ever devise. And while I’m usually a huge fan of this prankster holiday, I fully understand the sensitivity of the ask. So, instead of tricks, I thought I’d just include some good laughs for much needed levity.

As a dentist, my Dad spent his life glaring into terrified people’s mouths, so humor served him well to put his patients at ease. It is no surprise, then, that he has injected daily doses of giggles into my quarantined existence with his reliably hilarious links. Here’s my favorite so far:

https://www.theloop.ca/watch/news/strange/this-couple-s-hilarious-horse-dance-has-gone-viral/6144325579001/1660977952457681249%20/your-morning/

Masters of lockdown living, people in China have perfected the art of making themselves laugh in hard times. And watching this American comedian’s stand-up routine, which weaves in crazy Tiktok videos from China, was perhaps the hardest I’ve laughed since this whole ordeal began:

https://www.theatlantic.com/video/index/608485/tik-tok-quarantine/

Also, my local arts community has come through again, with a livestream version of their weekly Thursday night comedy show, Jokes Please, that’s hosted at Little Mountain Theatre, only blocks from our home. It airs every Thursday, at 9 pm PST, but remains on their Facebook page for future viewing, too. https://www.facebook.com/jokespleaseshow

April 2, 2020

A Simple Verse

Some days, a few artful lines can go a long way. In life, as is now evident more than ever, there are many changes over which we have no control. And while we often wish we had the power to say or do something that could shift those things with which we are uncomfortable, this is not always possible. However, what we can control is the steadiness with which we face these uncomfortabilities. As we all struggle with feelings of powerlessness in these uncertain times, TS Eliot reminds us that patience and faith will get us through.

I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing;

Wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing;

There is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting.

Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:

So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

T.S. Eliot

April 3, 2020

Physically Distant Connections

There is much to be learned from trees. For those who have not yet read the wonderous, Hidden Life of Trees, in it Peter Wohlleben describes the remarkable communication system between our forest friends. Without language or physical touch, these living beings can support, nourish and love one another in magnificent symbiosis. In fact, trees are masters of social distancing, as he illustrates here:

“The average tree grows its branches out until it encounters the branch tips of a neighboring tree of the same height. It doesn’t grow any wider because the air and better light in this space are already taken. However, it heavily reinforces the branches it has extended, so you get the impression that there’s quite a shoving match going on up there. But a pair of true friends is careful right from the outset not to grow overly thick branches in each other’s direction. The trees don’t want to take anything away from each other, and so they develop sturdy branches only at the outer edges of their crowns, that is to say, only in the direction of “non-friends.” Such partners are often so tightly connected at the roots that sometimes they even die together.”

Ironically, another term for the crown of a stand of trees is corona. So, let us all follow their lead and trust that our separateness is what will keep us together.

And, if you’re keen to read more about the wisdom of trees, the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Overstory by Richard Powers, weaves a dense and motivating tale that explores what drives radical tree activists’ passion to save our dwindling forests. Powers is not a man of few words. On nearly every tenth page of his 512 page tome, there will be a word that you will likely have to look up. But trust that you will be the smarter and more moved for it. This has been the most powerful read I’ve had in the past couple of years, emotionally and intellectually. So, if quarantine living happens to leave you with some extra time on your hands, it’s definitely worth it.

Pratityasamutpada is my favorite Sanskrit word. (And yes, as nerdy as that sounds, I do have a favorite.) It means the interdependence of all things. And since physical distancing began, nothing has made me feel more connected to my fellow citizens than the nightly 7 pm cheer for our health care workers. So, I will leave you with a video from this week that captures the essence of interconnectedness beautifully. https://youtu.be/BS8dMC1sfXc

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