#i blame it on advertisers and capitalism

[artsekey]

I'd been seeing videos on Tiktok and Youtube about how younger Gen Z & Gen Alpha were demonstrating low computer literacy & below benchmark reading & writing skills, but-- like with many things on the internet-- I assumed most of what I read and watched was exaggerated. Hell, even if things were as bad as people were saying, it would be at least ~5 years before I started seeing the problem in higher education.

I was very wrong.

Of the many applications I've read this application season, only %6 percent demonstrated would I would consider a college-level mastery of language & grammar. The students writing these applications have been enrolled in university for at least two years, and have taken all fundamental courses. This means they've had classes dedicated to reading, writing, and literature analysis, and yet!

There are sentences I have to read over and over again to discern intent. Circular arguments that offer no actual substance. Errors in spelling and capitalization that spellcheck should've flagged.

At a glance, it's easy to trace this issue back to two things:

The state of education in the United States is abhorrent. Instructors are not paid enough, so schools-- particularly public schools-- take whatever instructors they can find.

COVID. The two year long gap in education, especially in high school, left many students struggling to keep up.

But I think there's a third culprit-- something I mentioned earlier in this post. A lack of computer literacy.

This subject has been covered extensively by multiple news outlets like the Washington Post and Raconteur, but as someone seeing it firsthand I wanted to add my voice to the rising chorus of concerned educators begging you to pay attention.

As the interface we use to engage with technology becomes more user friendly, the knowledge we need to access our files, photos, programs, & data becomes less and less important. Why do I need to know about directories if I can search my files in Windows (are you searching in Windows? Are you sure? Do you know what that bar you're typing into is part of? Where it's looking)? Maybe you don't have any files on your computer at all-- maybe they're on the cloud through OneDrive, or backed up through Google. Some of you reading this may know exactly where and how your files are stored. Many of you probably don't, and that's okay. For most people, being able to access a file in as short a time as possible is what they prioritize.

The problem is, when you as a consumer are only using a tool, you are intrinsically limited by the functions that tool is advertised to have. Worse yet, when the tool fails or is insufficient for what you need, you have no way of working outside of that tool. You'll need to consult an expert, which is usually expensive.

When you as a consumer understand a tool, your options are limitless. You can break it apart and put it back together in just the way you like, or you can identify what parts of the tool you need and search for more accessible or affordable options that focus more on your specific use-case.

The problem-- and to be clear, I do not blame Gen Z & Gen Alpha for what I'm about to outline-- is that this user-friendly interface has fostered a culture that no longer troubleshoots. If something on the computer doesn't work well, it's the computer's fault. It's UI should be more intuitive, and it it's not operating as expected, it's broken. What I'm seeing more and more of is that if something's broken, students stop there. They believe there's nothing they can do. They don't actively seek out solutions, they don't take to Google, they don't hop on Reddit to ask around; they just... stop. The gap in knowledge between where they stand and where they need to be to begin troubleshooting seems to wide and inaccessible (because the fundamental structure of files/directories is unknown to many) that they don't begin.

This isn't demonstrative of a lack of critical thinking, but without the drive to troubleshoot the number of opportunities to develop those critical thinking skills are greatly diminished. How do you communicate an issue to someone online? How do look for specific information? How do you determine whether that information is specifically helpful to you? If it isn't, what part of it is? This process fosters so many skills that I believe are at least partially linked to the ability to read and write effectively, and for so many of my students it feels like a complete non-starter.

We need basic computer classes back in schools. We need typing classes, we need digital media classes, we need classes that talk about computers outside of learning to code. Students need every opportunity to develop critical thinking skills and the ability to self-reflect & self correct, and in an age of misinformation & portable technology, it's more important now than ever.

[pocket-deer-boy]

A lot has been said i think about how a lot of internet "innovations" like Uber and Airbnb are really just capitalism circumventing pre-existing labor laws, and like, yeah, but i think it also applies more broadly. Youtube is a lot like TV but with no guarantee of pay, no labor rights protections for people making the videos (especially for people working behind the scenes, like video editors and such), and no oversight (a lot of obvious misinformation and plagiarism slips by)

I think the same honestly goes for influencers. Like okay fine you can all hate them, but are they not just advertisers with very few protections? Think of when Dylan Mulvaney did a brand sponsorship with bud light. The MASSIVE media backlash against what was ostensibly just a random civilian trans woman. Did she get any protections from bud light? Did she get any reparations for the enormous amount of harassment and threats she got? Fuck no. Immediately after the backlash the company dropped her like a brick, because of course, any association with her was now media poison. Influencers let companies shift the blame for bad PR entirely onto a workforce of untrained underpaid advertisers.

[fanhackers]

Illegitimate Media, Part II

In my last post, I shouted out Abigail De Kosnik’s dissertation, Illegitimate Media: Race, Gender, and Censorship in Digital Remix Culture. De Kosnik’s goal for this project was “to place African Americans and women at the beginning of the history of popular digital culture, to ensure that they are credited with the invention and popularization of the earliest forms of digital remix culture.” She also wants to explain “why their genres of remix have been subjected to so much censorship and restraint, from outside and in.”  Notably, De Kosnik spends considerable time examining censorship from the inside–that is, she looks at the ways in which female media fans have not just fought off censorship from outside, but negotiated their attempts to censor each other.  She notes the early adoption of the convention of warnings–which were meant to warn readers away: 

Note, in Examples 2 and 3, the word “WARNING” in capital letters leading off the posts, and the series of repetitive, emphatic statements making clear the fact that the stories contain sexual content, and the defensive phrases that seem to anticipate a reader’s negative reaction to the sexual content: (in Example 1) “I really can’t take any complaints seriously if you fail to heed this warning”; (in Example 2) “if you don’t like that, too bad. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to”; (in Example 3) “If that bothers you, do NOT read this story...Don’t flame me if you’re silly enough to go ahead and read it after I warned you, and then get offended by it.” These prefaces put the onus of the responsibility for the reader’s enjoyment of the erotic fiction squarely on the reader: (in Example 1) “Caveat lector,” or “Reader beware.” In all three examples of headers, the writers do not advertise the appeal of the sexual fantasies they have taken the trouble to create; they do not promise the reader pleasure. They do just the opposite: they address the reader with the assumption that the reader will find these stories about sexual gratification unpleasing, and these headers constitute pre-emptive strikes in the expected blame game that will ensue from the reader’s discomfort and displeasure. These headers state, It will not be my, the writer’s, fault for writing what I should not have if you are made angry or uncomfortable by this sexually graphic story, instead it will be your, the reader’s, fault for reading what you should not have (148).

That said, De Kosnik also acknowledges that “every severe warning can also be read as an invitation,” as “sly and flirtatious come-ons, meant to intrigue and entice” the reader.  She thinks that the history of erotic fanfiction (and the warnings thereof) speaks very specifically to the feminist pornography wars of the 1980s - which might be useful to think about as we consider how our own use of tags and warnings speaks to our own historical moment. 

--Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

[eretzyisrael]

To the current crop of campus Jew haters, the Houthis are good guys because they’re slowing global trade in the name of attacking Israel. The civil war the Houthis participated in has destroyed Yemen. The Houthi’s slogan is, “God is great, death to the U.S., death to Israel, curse the Jews, and victory for Islam.” The average university student chanting “Yemen, Yemen make us proud. Turn another ship around,” is as ignorant of the Houthis as they are of which river and which sea they want free.

South Africa, a country steeped in corruption, in which the rule of law is disintegrating, has become another favorite of Israel/Jew haters due to the ICJ case they brought against Israel. Iran, a country in which human rights are non-existent, where women are arrested if they’re not properly veiled, receives full support from these ersatz human rights advocates.

You do see the pattern here, don’t you? Jews and Israel – bad. Fascist dictatorial regimes – good.

You may or may not care about the current rise in antisemitism. You should. What begins with the Jews never ends with the Jews. A society in which we Jews lose our freedom is one where everyone’s freedoms are curtailed. As antisemitism grows, your world will become more unpleasant. The fascist supporters marching in the streets, accessorized with the requisite terrorist-chic keffiyeh, in support of some of the world’s worst human rights abusers, hate you too. If they can make things miserable enough for Jews and return us to our pre-1948 roles as marginalized scapegoats, they can work on cowing the rest of society into submission. That’s why they are interrupting and disrupting everything Americans enjoy.

Some recent attacks on the American way of life; you are no longer allowed to celebrate Easter. You may not enjoy Christmas either. You may not barbeque or have Fourth of July fireworks. You must burn the American flag instead. Don’t count on a peaceful hospital stay. If you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor; unless it’s a Jewish doctor. Same if you have a Jewish therapist. Your university convocation? It will be defaced. If you’re even allowed to get an education. If you graduate, you can forget a graduation ceremony. Museums are forbidden. Are you a reader? You may only read approved authors. And don’t think being LGBTQIA  will save you. Intersectionality only goes so far. You have no say. Free speech is a fading memory. And by the way, good luck traveling.

You are in their crosshairs. By your failure to be out in the streets screaming for Jewish blood, you are complicit in genocide. You are guilty, and you must be punished. While they can’t put you in a gulag (yet), they can restrict your life’s pleasures until you bow to their tyrannical, fascist demands. They’re organized, and they mean it. In their own words, advertising their April 15th 2024 Coordinated Economic Blockade to Free Palestine: “The global economy is complicit in genocide. Join participating cities in blocking the arteries of capitalism and jamming the wheels of production.”

Notice that they’re not trying to hide their goal. I don’t know how successful they were in “blocking the arteries of capitalism,” but they were noticed, and they will be back next year, still blaming Israel. So, get ready. The strategy is simple; if they push long and hard enough, and blame Israel enough, regular, normal, non-fascist supporting people, will slowly, a bit at a time, give in to their demands, and agree to live under their collective boot, because most of us just want to be left alone to live our lives in peace.

Forget it. First, Israel and the Jews. Then you.

[garrulus]

I think the hype around Eostre/Ostre is really Anglocentric.

In my language we have a different word for Easter, a word related to Pesach. Which of course, makes some sense because Jesus was Jewish.

It's very Anglocentric to be like "yeah it's definitely related to Eostre" as if English is The Only Language. It's not!

When Jesus was around, english didn't even exist in its current form and Jesus himself for sure didn't speak it. Because he was from Palestina.

Sure, the name Easter can come from the name of the Month Eostre or whatever. Doesn't mean it's suddenly a pagan celebration.

And yes a lot of cultures have a spring celebration. And maybe the names influenced each other. Still doesnt make easter pagan.

Easter is a Christian holiday and i dont celebrate it because im not Christian. Stop telling me it's "not actually Christian" because it is! That's why Christians celebrate!

Literally no one is helped when people claim Easter is pagan.

Christians will still celebrate the resurrection of Jesus and non-Christians will not - because it's a Christian celebration!!

Anyway, i hope your Easter weekend was lovely! Where i live, we had great weather (:

yeah. i agree.

where i come from we use word USKRS, but you can also rarely hear PASHA and VAZAM and none of them are even similar to EASTER.

the closest you can get is that Uskrs comes from old slavic verb that translates as 'to grow' or 'to change' which -> spring...

also i have to say that as Anglocentric culture slowly seeps into everything we do here it also seeps both into Easter and Christmas celebrations... which i kinda hate tbh. there weren't as many chickens, rabbits, nutcrackers or santas around when i was a kid. i mean there were some but not as many..... but i think maybe capitalism is more to be blamed for that. you just can't sell a happy easter basket or christmas sock full of crap to children if all you can advertise it with is a dude being born, crucified and then resurected. but that's for another discussion i digress....🙈

[old-school-butch]

here is my second anon, on same-sex attraction and the fuckery i've experienced around it in the trans community. i wonder if any ex-TRAs and TIFs will recognize this, or if it's only me who managed such a convoluted mental somersault? also, please forgive me for venting in your inbox, i have no better place. but alas.

i thought myself a gay man for 10-ish years. and yet i had... very clear sexual attraction towards women, clear enough that i've genderswapped 80% of my fictional male crushes so they would have breasts and vaginas, while still considering them "men" because i kept their he/him pronouns. seeing females as men allowed me to tell myself i was only attracted to males. i think a mix of biphobia and lesbophobia, stirred into gender-think. i was only allowed to love women if they were actually "men". because it was ok to love men.

i had crushes on girls as a teen and i'd always feel gross and predatory when i shared the locker rooms with them. i remember so badly wanting to sneak looks at my crushes but doing all i could not to. bc i "knew" that it was wrong. however i never developed into accepting this same-sex attraction as normal, because i got swept up in genderism, and became a "man" and... all my attraction towards women suddenly felt EVEN MORE predatory and violating. i swept it away as male gaze, objectification, leering, still predatory. etcetera etcetera. genuinely did all i could to suppress/explain away my obsession with female bodies. i centered my male attraction, and as the trans movement is very male-centered to begin with it was only encouraged. people (straight females) calling themselves f*gs left and right. every time i started thinking about breasts (i'm boob obsessed for real) or having sex with women i pushed it down as male depravity. i also thought me wanting to fuck women had been conditioned into me by advertising. like, yes, of course everyone wants to have sex with women bc they are trained by society to want this :)) logical. this totally happens to all female people. oh you love the smell of pussy? advertising taught you this. -_-

obviously as a TIF, i felt somehow that male identity and pronouns was a prerequisite to be fully human/be the way i was inside. misogynistic as fuck. it seems i felt this for other women, too. you told me i'd feel the weight of the harm i'd done along the way, when i sent the first anon; this is a heavy one. having viewed women and myself this way for so long. and having written off my same-sex attraction (i salivate when i see bare chested women lol) because, well, i'm a "man" and i violate them with my eyes.

the power dynamic between TIFs is funny/tragic too. ssa ones being treated as if they're straight males and culpable for everything those do. osa ones being the ones with more social capital. bisexual ones centering males bc well, the whole movement shits on women and you don't wanna be "straight" or bi ending up in a "straight" relationship. a lesbian TIF just enters a world in which her attraction (which she's likely felt predatory for her whole life already) is REINFORCED as bad. because now she's a straight man. and when a real heterosexual male is not accessible to shit on, she will be the target of the "gay" ones. god, the trans community is such a complicated type of homophobia...

i feel so good now to be out of it. i've been butch my whole life, i had a buzzcut since i was 14, up until my 20s. tomboyish always. now i have a long braid, and i considered cutting it off when i peaked, but i can't bring myself to do it. i miss my breasts very much and my braid is a body part as well, one that i can still hold on to. i can't let it go. it means something to me, i suppose, symbolically. but i don't feel like i'm a man anymore, and my attraction towards women is not to blame for their oppression. it is so liberating. i no longer feel like i'm degrading or harming women by being attracted to them. and most of my friends who dropped me were osa TIFs, binary and nonbinary... they have a lot to lose if they should give up that identity. they'd get booted out the "queer" community, lose the oppression they built their identity on. it's weird looking back at them. ah, i ramble so much, but thank you, even if you don't end up posting this, for having a space open here to go to. it feels so valuable, and it helps to read others anons.

Oh, I've definitely read wilder somersaults. It's amazing how confusing it is when reality is upside down. A lesbian becomes a gay man, or a straight man depending on the identity of the women she's attracted to. All nonsense, but I do wonder if it allows people to contemplate relationships they had rejected previously. Like, if you're a straight man who decides he's a lesbian but then meets another TIM then you're supposed to also include him, or women might have idealized views that relationships with men might not be so bad if you can escape 'being the girl'. Women, according to the stats, are the most likely to twist ourselves into these pretzels, of course, female socialization at work. So, we must forgive ourselves and each other for our roles in all this.

I'm glad things are working out well for you. There are times when I feel isolated being gender critical, but then I remember the headache-inducing mental repression I had to endure to make myself believe all this and I feel much more free and real.

[thickness-protection-program]

Social media is so interwoven with sex nowadays. You can't go online without seeing someone shaking ass or some guys bulge trying to advertise OF our their favorite underwear or something. I'm just like can we be social on social media anymore? Damn. Why do I have to subscribe to someone OF? Like So i either gotta choose a streaming service or a gaming service or an only fans or purchase a premium social media account. I'm tired. Everything is too expensive. Everything cost money and people are out there wagging their dick on Instagram meanwhile I show the slightest hint of nudity and I get deleted because I don't have 200k followers on Instagram? Work.

I understand your frustrations but this comes across as a very pessimistic view of the world. Part of your online experience is cultivating your online experience so if you genuinely don't want to see so much nudity, sex, etc then you are 100% within your right to unfollow and/or block whoever whenever. I can agree that social media has gotten more sexual in a sense and even at times it can get a little overwhelming for an ace like me but in a society where purity culture is trying to take over I think a collective rejection of it is amazing. It is sad that many people feel like they have to resort to OF to make a living but the reality is you don't have to if you don't want to and you don't have to subscribe to any either. And people using their bodies to make money are not to blame. This ask is low key giving slut shaming energy. There are plenty of platonic, casual, sex free spaces online, you just have to find them, and sometimes we just need to get offline altogether. I know I have to take breaks every now and then bc it can all get overwhelming but that's my issue to work out not anyone else's. And yes, everything does cost money but these individual participants in capitalism are not as much to blame as the progenitors of capitalism

[mayalaen]

i told you shipping time not guaranteed

I partially blame capitalism and invasive advertising for this, but people don't fucking read info even on sites that have no advertising.

I have two websites for my shop - one for general tattoo supplies and another specifically for just skin care.

On BOTH sites I have a scrolling banner that stays on top of every page stating "shipping times not guaranteed"

more griping under the cut

On the shipping policy page it goes into a little more detail about it.

And on the product pages, there's another notice at the top of the product description in bold that says **SHIPPING TIMES NOT GUARANTEED**

I've also started emailing customers who pay for expedited shipping stating the same thing.

And yet no less than twice a week I've got irate customers yelling at me, trying to reverse charges, and just making my life hell.

I can't control the shipping carriers, and this time of year it's going to take longer for packages to get where they're going.

I can't tell you how many times people will order at 11 o'clock on a Saturday night and scream at me when the package isn't on their doorstep Monday morning.

Some carriers do weekend shipping, and some of the more expensive Priority Mail options are shipped on weekends, but why the fuck are you ordering plain Priority and expecting it to come 2 days later even on weekends and holidays?!

If you want that kind of shipping, buy from Amazon or Walmart so they can send a driver to your door. Just because I've got products you can't buy at Amazon or Walmart doesn't mean I have their couriers on call.

All the other businesses in the world have to depend on shipping carriers who don't give a fuck about you or us.

Oh and thank you so much USPS for naming your Priority Mail "2-Day Priority Mail."

You absolute fuckfaces NAMED it that but it doesn't really mean 2-day shipping, that's just the name!

Even on your website you say 2-y business days and you don't even give money-back guarantees anymore if it goes beyond that. I've had "2-Day" shipping take as long as 32 fucking days!

/rant over but I'm still seething 🤬

[meiloorunsmoothie]

📱🌡️📷🔑🌼 + one you want to answer that no one has asked 👀

hello! thank you for the questions :D

📱show your phone lock screen and/or home screen ha! I bet you thought it was going to be jeremy…well it’s not (it has been in the past though).

for my wingfeather saga fans, which might only be @theragamuffininitiative (i'm sorry i keep tagging you) at this point (i need to advertise that part of myself better LOL), this is actually kind of morbid and i’m a little ashamed now but:

uhhhhhhh....yeah......

yikes, that's massive

🌡️ fave season fall-winterish! i love the colors, vibes, and flavors of that time of year 🍁

📷 post the 12th photo from your phone’s gallery this one is actually jeremy XD. well, we didn’t get the tub scene in the b&c proshot, so here’s a little bathtub jeremy (+ eva) for you now

🔑 key to your heart this is a tough question…and to be completely honest, i’m not totally sure.

i think definitely putting up with my obsessions and interests is a good place to start XD.

also, i can't tell if this is in the context of romance, but just in general:

I always like to see loyalty in a person, but also I think it’s really important to be able to be open minded—as well as be open to agree to disagree. I definitely think that that’s one thing my peers tended to lack growing up—and also why I feel that some relationships I carry from those days could be on thin ice if I “say the wrong thing.” I grew up in a place where people were supposedly “super accepting,” but in my experience, they weren’t? Not really. They were only accepting of certain things, or “the right things” as they viewed them, and I think as I’ve progressed in life, I’ve learned that I shouldn’t have to hide certain things I believe in. Anyways, turns out I could write an essay on this, but maybe that’s for another day 😅.

But yes, loyalty and respecting/being open to listening to other peoples’ opinions even if you might not always agree. (also, woah, you got proper capitalization for that one 😱😆).

🌼 fave flower i’m inclined to say peonies, they are very pretty.

one you want to answer that no one has asked

oooh…i think i’m going to do dream job

i’ve always thought would be super cool to be a voice actor (note: i am not an actor, nor have i ever taken any acting class). i actually just really want to work in entertainment in general (star wars, i blame you. i was never the same after i watched that movie.)

and, i did actually audition for an animated role once (it was the wingfeather saga. i was too old, but i did it anyways. if you’re curious, feel free to ask. i clearly did not get the role, but i’m happy to talk about it XD).

but yes, voice acting seems like a lot of fun cause i’m really shy but i’d love to be in some kind of media :D.

[wumblr]

let's have a hard talk. these insufferable takes on AI are not advancing the discussion. the discussion was miles beyond this "takes work from artist" "consumer boycott must be the answer" dead on arrival poor substitute for an analysis, years ago, when timnit gebru got fired from google, for making what is now, because of her, the trivially obvious observation that large datasets may be too large to manually analyse for bias.

like congratulations. you have hit upon the point of capek's RUR, origin of the word robot, from a hundred years ago. were you going to take another point from back before the dust bowl or was that it? it's not just automation that takes surplus value from labor, it's any increase in efficiency. this is the first textbook feature of the economic model we're living under. luddites genuinely had more sense for nuance when the loom threatened to extract value from their labor at a pace never before seen. this is not that. luddites were producing textiles that people actually bought. you aren't.

aside from that, the implication that this is on par with like, a museum heist, or art forgery (both of which are, by the way, through a lens that includes class analysis, badass) is laughable. you are not selected for exhibition by making posts online, you are participating in a social medium where your continued pageviews are the source of advertising revenue. you are not bourgeoise, you are proletarian. your deviantart was search engine optimized to the point that it was trivial to pull five billion carbon copies of you off google images with like a two-line API call. you are not unique, you are one drop in a lost generation's renaissance. maybe if you don't want your work "stolen" you shouldn't be posting an endlessly reproducible digital copy to the world wide web? it's been seven years since twitter killed vine for trying to set the precedent that collective action can produce wage, can we bring back that level of foresight yet? or are you happy settling for tiktok because they deign to curate a ""creators fund"" for white heterosexuals? go buy a lottery ticket

i've said it before but this is a structured argument, presented to you with two neatly-collimated "sides," one that says every possible piece of data should be available for free for capitalist class to build automation out of it, and one that says pirating endlessly reproducible goods belonging the capitalist class should have harsher punishment. this is intentional, not unique, not new. it's the perverse dialectic of capital. you can only argue a side that benefits it.

the absence of nuanced intersectional perspective here is embarrassing. beyond that it's painfully obvious people are taking it personally, as if you had any chance to make rent as an artist, regardless of what procedural generation or neural networks might do. it's a selfish, blindly individualistic, mass manufactured wholesale bargain basement opinion, one that does not serve to advance any collective good, because it's based in the pipe dream of suddenly jumping three tax brackets to become bourgeoise. beyond that, doesn't it cheapen your art to only ever make saleable products? beyond that, it's painfully obvious none of you have ever tried using a neural network. from computer science or statistical perspectives, these constructs are novel and fascinating (or, the advent of cheap processing power sufficient to allow decades-old theory to flourish, which let's be honest, this power relies on an exploitative global network of rare mineral resource extraction and high precision manufacturing, which is yet one more topic i haven't once seen broached in the months this stultifyingly dull conversation has been ongoing.)

blaming a novelty for the ills of capitalism is nonsense, and it's not why luddites opposed the loom.

and let me just tell you, working with a code construct also does not improve your chances as an artist, which is the main point i wish i could get across. aside from the absence of intersectionality there's also an absence of class analysis, in which context it's, again, painfully obvious that no capitalist has ever cared one whit about art. even when they deign to take on a patronage it's as a backhanded PR stunt, like the unpaid notre dame roof pledges, to offset the ill repute they've accrued from extracting value for personal gain, while contributing nothing except the directive power their birthright of wealth gave them. this is the main critique i had about age of surveillance capitalism -- zuboff seems to think a return to ford-era capitalism, where the rich bothered to endow museums (to curate what they exclude) or pay a livable wage (in order to recapture it as sales), would solve the fundamental problem of value extraction from labor and natural resources for the barefaced sake of the profit motive. unremarkable and unsurprising for tenured faculty of harvard, how else would she sell books? but for some foolhardy reason i expected better from my peers.

your aspirations of small business aren't going to flourish if you suddenly got everything you claim to want and they banned every code construct from competing with you. you are not in competition with capital. you are nothing to it, it will kill you in total indifference without blinking, surely you ought to know this by now, it will bus in scab slave labor from prison to ramp up production despite a boycott in solidarity with a strike, and it's going to remain this way as long as capital survives. whether or not an algorithm or a network or an artifice is involved is irrelevant to the fundamental problem that it's a winner-takes-all game that ended before you were born. unless and until you want to start challenging the police that uphold the state or the insurance trust that pays to replace its points of failure, you're doing surface level armchair analysis on a problem that only the extremely online care about. arguing over what color of icing is on the cake you're never going to be eating while you starve for lack of bread.

and like... i get it. after the pandemic that we're still going through, you want to refocus on the things that really make you happy. but i've got to say, refocusing on art until you starve because you didn't manage to figure out self-sufficience during a recession is a sad way to die. perhaps you should consider the necessity of survival as a precursor to contentment. and to be clear i am saying this specifically because i care whether you survive and because i am interested in the artworks you are making or in your future potential. but you can't focus on that to the exclusion of all else, dog eat dog world and that means every day i have to see someone get ate. now for the last time, for god's sake can you stop yelling "this is because of code constructs" every time a dog eats your purported art commission revenue because it's really hurting MY purported small business revenue, selling products of code constructs,

[pb-dot]

Let's talk about the MBTI

If you've heard me speak on the subject before, it may not shock you to hear that I'm not a huge fan of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, or as it is more commonly known, the MBTI. For those that haven't had the pleasure yet, I find the MBTI to be little better than a horoscope, what descriptive power of one's personality or mental processes are concerned. It's a reoccurring weakness of psychology, frankly, that we seem to struggle so hard with finding any reliable metrics for measuring the human mind, maybe that's a feature and not a bug.

The one factor that the MBTI that I find personally useful, though, is the Introversion/Extroversion dichotomy. I, myself, am pretty introverted as these things go. I need time to decompress after being social, I'm not particularly outgoing as these things go, that whole situation. That said, I don't consider myself antisocial. I love people. I love talking to them, learning from them, figuring out how they tick, or just shooting the breeze and spending some time outside of my own head. I've always scoffed at self-declared "ambiverts" because it appeared as self-evident to me that introversion does not mean being asocial, and that being somewhere on the scale between the two extremes was quite normal.

As I read up on the damn thing, though, it appears I have been too charitable with the MBTI. As it turns out, the MBTI operates on the assumption of a bimodal distribution, which is to say that the majority of test scores would fall close to the two extremes, and not be distributed evenly around the mean as in a Standard Distribution

Where I'm from, there's a satirical observation, or perhaps a very dry joke, stating that "There are two kinds of people. People who own a boat and people who don't." (my translation) This is meant to mock binary sorting systems, as even the untrained "folk psychologist" can plainly see that any such dichotomous categorization of the human animal is plainly ridiculous. And yet, here is the MBTI telling the same joke but four times over and meaning it every time.

Me and my interpretation of local witticisms is, however, not the only one to have picked up on this little inconsistency between the model and what we can observe in reality. A conga line of researchers, see this and this for examples, have looked at the MBTIs assumption of distribution of results and found the dichotomies to be considerably less dichotomous than advertised.

So, without even getting into the other criticisms of the model, let's just say this thing is shaky as fuck from an actual scientific perspective, and the model doesn't have many, if it has any, defenders among the labcoat crowd.

So, why is this important to me at all? Partially because it annoys me on a personal level when junk science circulates in a field I actually know enough about to pick it up, but also because I find it shady as all fuck how this test still lives on in the popular conscience. Part of it is mine and younger generations desperately seeking identity footholds to cling onto in this post(-post?)-post-modern world we flounder around in, but our dearly hated nemesis Late Stage Capitalism also has its share of the blame. You see, while the Tinder profile-havers and Ted:x talk-enjoyers of the world do their part to keep this particular piece of failed psychometrics going, it's a comparatively small push compared to recruiting and business factors.

Businesses love Metrics, and it's easy to see why. In a world where everything is about increasing one number, namely the bottom line, it's immeasurably easier to evaluate the effect of actions and choices if they come with their own tidy little numbers. If spending X dollars on this or that decision ends up increasing the profit by Y%, that's a considerably easier piece of math for evaluating whether doing this was a good idea than if there were no numbers attached and you had to go partially by gut feeling.

Hiring and other personnel decisions are tricky from a business perspective partially because there are considerably fewer good metrics by which to evaluate an actual person than, say, a change in office supplies. Psychometrics is a notoriously tricky field, and although there are some metrics that supposedly covary with productivity or other words the C-suite likes hearing, many of these can be pricy to administer and generally give results with more nuance than fits comfortably in a spreadsheet.

In that context, I can easily see the MBTI standing out as a more attractive option. It doesn't take long to test for and it gives everyone a convenient combination of letters that you can tell yourself means something significant. Granted, it doesn't really tell you anything useful and has terrible test-retest validity, but that's apparently not enough of a deterrent, and if that doesn't tell you a lot about how nuts recruitment has gotten lately don't you worry, I have plenty of other thoughts about the matter.

Those are for another day though. This little rant was originally going to be about introverts and extroverts and how there should be room in a healthy society for both, but then I came across the actual state of the MBTI while making sure I knew what I was talking about, and then that was suddenly all I could write about. Life takes you on some journies at times dear friends, and sometimes you just have to buckle up and ride it out.

[kaitropoli]

"The Genius of Advertising Could No Further Go"

National Police Gazette (Vol. 36, Iss. 147).

Magazine illustration, 17 July 1880.

Archive Link.

Fair warning: yapping ahead. Things I explore: the National Police Gazette, the illustration, and a teeny history of 19th-century women brothel owners... and also an apology because I didn't mean to write all of this.

THE NATIONAL POLICE GAZETTE

"THE Genius of Advertising Could No Further Go—An Enterprising Proprietress of a Bagnio Places a Photo-Lithograph in Her Window Setting Forth The Charms of the Inmates; New York City" (full caption) is from the National Police Gazette, a magazine founded in 1845 by Enoch E. Camp and George Wilkes that covered murders, outlaws, and sports—as any man-interested tabloid would (I'm not a man, but yippee-ki-yay, would I tune in). And, of course, the gazette would include scandalous (on the cusp of obscene and illegal (Victorian era, keep that in mind)) images of female sex workers and performers (think of it as the time's Playboy... silly enough, they also had Marilyn Monroe for their cover, this being 1956 instead of PB's 1953).

TRAGICALLY, the National Police Gazette would see its largest spike in popularity during the Great Depression before suspending publication from 1933-1935 due to selling ownership twice, being sold again in the late sixties, and then killing the magazine's production in 1977. A whole 132-year reign, including being the prime news for Boxing in the 20s (the editor and proprietor, Richard Fox, handed studded belts to champion fighters) and being barred by USPS, declares this magazine not only a historical relic but also a forgotten yet still-living America—one for the men (and, of course, us girls. After all, this was peak American).

ILLUSTRATION

BACK to the picture. The caption mentions the word 'bagnio,' which, upon scanning, accidentally read the N as an X, so I searched up the word to make sure I was reading it entirely correctly—I was. It's an archaic term for 'brothel' (a place where patrons visit prostitutes). The illustration depicts men staring at images of prostitutes that are pinned on the window by the owner (can't blame men for using women to make money as, in this situation, it's a female owner).

WOMEN & BROTHELS

SURPRISINGLY enough, women dominated Western America, building communities and providing for the economy. The fact I call it surprising is because I just learned this (Feminism should fight against history erasure because this should've been a widely talked about chapter in HS American History)! As much as I believe women shouldn't sell their bodies and that we need to better take care of women (forced prostitution—sex slavery—runs the prostitution industry), I can't deny the history women have with Bordellos, not as employees but also as owners. Madams are the title of these female brothel owners, and they were common back in the 19th century. Most of the time, Madams were entry-level (showgirls) who made almost as much as factory workers and worked their way up to the top or used their money to create inns and parlors, expanding their wealth. These women, though taking advantage of their own and other girls' (usually aged from their mid-teens to middle-aged) bodies, capitalized and found their place in labored society... something that can be considered early feminism. They planted themselves in the economy and made it known that they could own property, make money, and (yes, even in 1800s United States) vote. That, you can applaud.

APOLOGY

I didn't actually expect to yap on this post; I was writing my book, scrolling for images, and found this one, and wanted to include the full caption... which ended down a rabbit hole😭

[nothwell]

Hello! I was wondering if you could share any tips on outlining, if you do so? I'm trying my second manuscript and I haven't found anything that really helps yet.

Hi there! So my outlining process has evolved over the past ten years since I first started writing Mr Warren's Profession. But the short version is: I write a book like sewing a quilt or patching a rip. I have a few key cathartic emotional beats I want to bring to life and I fill in the gaps between them with whatever is necessary to make the story make sense.

Beyond that, most of my outlining is just rapidly writing in brackets the absolutely necessary things a scene needs to get across and then going back and expanding on that in actual prose.

Examples from Mr Warren's Profession under the cut.

THIS SUMMARY:

[aubrey hits the pavement for new mills, old mills, counting houses, customs offices, considers moving to Liverpool, forgets to eat, etc., then gets a telegram from lindsey being like “miss ur faice” and goes to visit in london, telling himself he can also use the trip to look for london work; in reality he relishes every moment spent with lindsey, who lets him forget his troubles and relax.]

BECOMES THIS SCENE:

In Manchester the next morning, Aubrey shaved, dressed, and opened the door to go out before he remembered he’d been sacked. He stared into the empty hallway with unseeing eyes. Then he shut the door to put his head in his hands and think the problem over.

He had the whole day to himself. No responsibilities, no appointments, no schedule of any kind.

And he hadn’t the first idea what to do with it.

The day yawned before him, empty hour upon empty hour gaping into infinity. The thought of it made his stomach knot. His savings wouldn’t last forever.

One short trip out to buy a newspaper later, he pored over the help-wanted advertisements. There weren’t as many as he’d hoped. Still, he circled in pencil every business seeking a clerk. Tucking the paper under his arm, he ventured out into the city.

The first mill seemed promising. Its manager, Mr. Dobson, listened attentively as Aubrey recounted his relevant work experience.

“What did you say your name was?” Mr. Dobson asked when he’d finished. “Warren?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Dobson frowned thoughtfully. “One moment.”

Aubrey waited as Mr. Dobson flipped through the documents on his desk. At length he produced a telegram and brought it close to his nose. His eyes flicked over the words. His frown deepened. He glanced back and forth between the telegram and Aubrey’s face. Then he put the telegram down on his desk, his hand over the text.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid the position’s been filled.”

Aubrey mirrored his frown, confused, but thanked him for his time all the same.

Similar scenes played out in every subsequent office Aubrey visited. One manager shut the door in his face the moment he said his name. Another was less careful than Mr. Dobson in keeping his telegram’s contents secret. The body of the message remained hidden, but Aubrey caught the sender’s name. Block capitals spelt out SMITH.

Aubrey’s eyes widened. He corrected his expression and returned his gaze to the manager’s face in time to see a responsive flicker of fear in the man’s eyes.

The contents of the telegram were easy enough for Aubrey to guess. He forced a smile and cut the interview short. No sense in wasting the manager’s time, much less his own.

As he walked down the road away from the office, it took considerable effort to keep his chin up. Internally, his emotions volleyed between despair and rage. And yet, for all his anger, he knew he had no one to blame for his predicament but himself. Smith didn’t need to stretch the truth to give any prospective employer more than enough reason not to want Aubrey in their office.

When Aubrey reached the next business on his list, he stared up at the door and found he couldn’t muster the will to knock. He turned and started back for home. A hot packet of chips from a stall along the way improved his mood somewhat, but his mind remained overset by hopeless dread. Soon he wouldn’t be able to afford food at all.

Aubrey trudged up the stairs to his garret well after seven. He made a game attempt at reading The Engineer as he finished off his chips, but couldn’t focus. With a frustrated huff, he crumpled up the empty, greasy newsprint wrapper and chucked it into his wastepaper bin. Then he went to bed and lay staring up into the darkness.

Smith had destroyed all Aubrey’s hopes of future employment in Manchester. Aubrey didn’t want to leave the center of the industrial revolution, the home of Mechanics’ Institutes and engineering schools and the rush and roar of iron and steam. But Manchester was hardly the only city in England.

London, for example. London had hundreds of offices and counting-houses and businesses who’d never heard of Smith, much less received his telegram.

It also had Lindsey.

~

THIS SUMMARY:

[aubrey falls into a routine of go out, look for work, come home, eat a hot meal, retire to a warm bed, fuck his handsome boyfriend, and get up the next day to do it all over again. When the weekend arrives, lindsey invites him out to the theatre again. Aubrey points out he’s hardly dressed for it, lindsey offers to loan him clothes again or buy him a new suit outright.]

BECOMES THIS SCENE:

The next day, Aubrey boarded the train to London. The ride took up most of the morning. Aubrey spent it combing The London Star for potential leads. By the time he arrived at his destination, he had a list of offices to visit, sorted by neighborhood, arranged in a loop through the city which would bring him back to the station by seven and home in Manchester by midnight. Before he visited any of them, he stopped at the Post Office to mail a letter.

As he’d supposed, no one in London had heard of Smith. They’d also never heard of Mr. Jennings or Rook Mill. Despite this handicap, Aubrey made some favorable impressions. He felt much better about his prospects than he had the previous evening, and relaxed enough to nap on the train back to Manchester.

When he returned to his garret, he found a letter shoved under the considerable crack between the bottom of the door and the threshold. He picked it up with a smile, which widened as he opened the envelope and saw it was exactly what he’d hoped—a reply to the letter he’d sent Lindsey that morning.

The day after that, he made another trip to London, reading the same paper and making a similar list. But the labyrinthine route he planned didn’t return him to the train station. Instead, after walking the city from noon to dusk, he turned towards Belgrave Square and landed on Lindsey’s doorstep.

Mr. Hudson raised an eyebrow at his appearance—the mud and soot and smog hadn’t been kind to his only suit—but led him in to the library regardless. There, Lindsey sat reading a fat leatherbound volume. When he saw who stood in the doorway, he broke into a grin and leapt out of his chair.

“Aubrey!”

Relief washed over Aubrey as he returned Lindsey’s grin. He’d felt conflicted about inviting himself over Lindsey’s house. He hated to be presumptuous. Yet it gnawed at him to spend so much time in London and none of it seeing Lindsey. The letter he’d received in reply, while affirmative, retained the perfunctory tone required to give the impression that their relationship remained businesslike. As such, Aubrey couldn’t quite convince himself his presence was truly welcome.

Now, however, with Lindsey pulling him into a strong embrace, Aubrey had to admit he might be wanted.

Aubrey leaned into Lindsey’s shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his body, the secure hold of his arms across his back, and the gentle nudge of his chin against the top of Aubrey’s head. Lindsey loosened his grip to brush his fingers through Aubrey’s hair. Aubrey tilted his face up for a kiss, which Lindsey provided with enthusiasm.

“Did you have any luck?” Lindsey asked when he broke it off. “Are you hungry at all? Thirsty?”

“Tired,” said Aubrey, but he did so with a smile. “You?”

“Oh, fine as ever,” said Lindsey. “Please, sit—”

And Aubrey found himself ushered into a plush armchair with a glass of brandy by his elbow.

“Really,” Aubrey began, “you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” said Lindsey, dragging his own chair close to Aubrey’s. “Now, tell me everything.”

He put a hand over Aubrey’s, thumb rubbing across his knuckles. Aubrey turned his palm up to squeeze Lindsey’s in return, and told all. Lindsey’s hand clenched his as he described what Smith had done to his reputation in Manchester, but relaxed as he moved on to his greater success in London. Just as he finished, Charles arrived and announced dinner was ready.

“Dinner?” said Aubrey after Lindsey sent Charles on his way.

“Dinner,” Lindsey confirmed with a smile. It waned when Aubrey didn’t return it. “Is that not amenable to you?”

Aubrey, recalling his last dinner at Lindsey’s house, hesitated. “Won’t your sister mind?”

“She’s visiting Lady Pelham in Yorkshire. There’s no one here tonight but us.”

And the servants, Aubrey didn’t say.

But when he followed Lindsey to the dining room, the only servant there was Charles. The table was set far more simply than at the dinner party, with fewer courses and more familiar fare. Lindsey watched Aubrey carefully as the latter took his first spoonful of soup.

“Is it…?” Lindsey began after Aubrey swallowed.

Aubrey smiled. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Lindsey relaxed and dug into his own bowl with a fascinating combination of relish and decorum.

“What were you reading when I came in?” asked Aubrey.

Lindsey swallowed. “Poe. Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque. Are you familiar with him?”

Aubrey hated to disappoint Lindsey with his ignorance, but he couldn’t pretend to know what he didn’t. “What sort of stories does he write?”

Far from looking disappointed, Lindsey perked up. “Promise you’ll stop me if I bore you.”

Aubrey nodded, and Lindsey launched into a passionate explanation lasting through dessert. He had his dessert spoon in hand, and had used to to poke at his sorbet no fewer than three times, but hadn’t brought any of it to his mouth—he kept pulling it away to throw his arms out wide in broad, emphatic gestures. Aubrey held back a fond smile at the sight.

“Doyle owes Poe a greater debt than he realizes,” Lindsey concluded. “No matter what Holmes would say on the matter.”

Aubrey supposed he ought to read it for himself, and said as much. Lindsey, who’d finally managed to sneak in a mouthful of sorbet, gulped it down to grin at him.

“What have you been reading?” Lindsey asked.

“Nothing so fantastical as Poe,” said Aubrey. “Just The Engineer.”

Lindsey shrugged. “I’m interested.” When Aubrey continued to hesitate, he added, “You’ve listened to me prattle on about Poe for the better part of two hours.”

But Aubrey, glimpsing the clock on the wall behind Lindsey, shook his head. “I ought to return to Manchester.”

Lindsey’s face fell. “What? Why?”

“Because that’s where I live.”

“Well, yes, but—it seems dashed inconvenient for you to travel all the way back there, just to return to London in the morning.”

Privately, Aubrey agreed. Aloud, he said, “What else can I do?”

Lindsey stared at him. “Stay here, of course.”

The offer lifted Aubrey’s heart to new heights. He swallowed hard to put it back in its place. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s hardly an imposition if I invite you.”

“After I’ve already invited myself over for dinner.”

Lindsey scoffed. “That’s not—dash it, surely you know you’re welcome here at any hour?”

Aubrey didn’t, actually. Such a notion hadn’t entered into his wildest fantasies. He knew he ought to respond with gratitude, but shock trapped the words in his throat.

When Aubrey failed to reply, Lindsey added, “I’m happy to host you for as long as you remain in London. Perpetually, if need be. It’d be my pleasure.”

Aubrey coughed. “Not perpetually. Just until I find employment. And a place of my own. Shouldn’t take more than a week.”

“It could take a decade for all I care,” Lindsey said with a laugh. It died when he saw Aubrey’s face at the thought of remaining unemployed for so long.

“A week,” Aubrey insisted.

Lindsey’s smile returned, weaker than before. “As you wish.”

Aubrey mirrored it more sincerely. “Thank you.”

They retired to the library after dinner. Lindsey happily handed his book over to Aubrey and selected another from the well-stocked shelves. Aubrey settled on one end of a long sofa. Lindsey stretched out on the remainder of it, the back of his head coming to rest on Aubrey’s thigh. Aubrey cast a bemused look down at him. It took Lindsey a moment to catch it.

“This all right?” he asked, peering up from his book with wide eyes, all the more ridiculous for being upside-down.

Aubrey bit back a laugh and nodded. Lindsey gave him a concerned frown in return.

“Are you sure?” he said, starting to sit up. “Do you need more room?”

But Aubrey put a hand on his forehead and gently pushed him back down. Lindsey acquiesced, his head rubbing against Aubrey’s thigh as he re-settled. Aubrey kept his hand on Lindsey’s curls and trailed his fingers through them as he read.

Aubrey hadn’t read fiction since he’d been a boy in the workhouse, piecing together scraps of improving penny literature donated to the Sunday schoolhouse years before. Poe proved leagues above anything churned out by the authors of Jessica’s First Prayer and Froggy’s Little Brother. Yet even the tension of The Fall of the House of Usher couldn’t keep Aubrey awake after the day—the week—he’d had. His eyes burned with exhaustion. He’d just made up his mind to soldier on without complaint when his half-stifled yawn caught Lindsey’s attention.

“Sorry,” Aubrey said in response to Lindsey’s quirked eyebrow. “It’s not the book, it’s—”

“—staying up past eleven after rising at five to tramp all over London on foot?” Lindsey ventured a self-deprecating smile.

Aubrey blinked at him, chuckled, then bowed his head in defeat.

Lindsey shut his own book, plucked Poe from Aubrey’s hands, and marked the page with a red ribbon from the library table drawer. Then he tugged the weary Aubrey up from the sofa, put an arm around his waist, and led him down the hall to bed.

The soft, warm bed began lulling Aubrey to sleep as soon as he crawled between its sheets. He stayed awake just long enough to feel Lindsey’s lean limbs curl around him. Then he was out.

He awoke the next morning with his cheek on Lindsey’s breastbone. He lifted his head from the steady rise and fall of Lindsey’s chest to gaze upon his sleeping face. The temptation of his parted lips proved too much for Aubrey. He crawled up to kiss them. Lindsey, half-waking, gave a hum of pleasure. Aubrey pulled away to watch his blue eyes flutter open.

“Good morning,” said Aubrey, unable to suppress a self-satisfied grin.

Lindsey echoed the sentiment and leaned in for another kiss. Aubrey happily complied, rearranging his hips to line up with Lindsey’s. As he’d suspected, Lindsey’s prick stood as ready as his own. They’d both gone to bed naked, which made it easy for Aubrey to frot their cocks together between their bellies. He grinned wickedly down at Lindsey as the latter’s throat bobbed in a swallow of eager anticipation. Then Aubrey rolled his hips. Lindsey arched his back and spent in short order. Aubrey’s crisis followed close behind.

An hour or so after a more drawn-out encore, Aubrey rose, washed, and dressed to hunt for work again. Lindsey, still abed and watching throughout, persuaded him to stay just long enough to gulp down a hot cup of tea and a biscuit. He couldn’t, however, persuade him to come back to bed, or to take a holiday from his quest.

Even after rising late and leaving Lindsey’s house later still, waking up in London rather than Manchester gave Aubrey an early start on his search for employment. He covered more ground than the two preceding days, following up on the more promising offices he’d visited on his first trip into the city.

When he returned to Belgrave Square that evening, Lindsey awaited him with a ready smile, a hot meal, and hours of fascinating conversation interspersed with quiet leisure. That night, Aubrey slept better than ever before, no doubt aided by the sweet release that came with clenching Lindsey’s cock between his own slick thighs.

The rest of the week fell into the same routine; Aubrey woke in Lindsey’s bed, marched all over London, and returned to Lindsey in the evening. Throughout the day, the thought of his Lindsey kept his chin up and a smile on his lips. He could happily spend forever like this—provided he found employment soon.

Saturday arrived. Aubrey rose at half-past six and began to dress. A low grumble from Lindsey stopped him.

“Where’re you going?” Lindsey mumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

Aubrey, who’d bent to put on stockings, abandoned the effort with one off and one on. “To look for work.”

“On a Saturday?” Lindsey sat up and blinked at him. “Who’ll be hiring on a Saturday?”

“Plenty of people, or so I’m hoping. Most offices should be open for half the day.”

“Good God,” Lindsey groaned.

Aubrey bristled. “We can’t all afford to live on five days’ pay.”

“No, I know, it’s just—it doesn’t seem fair.”

“It isn’t. And yet, here we are.”

Lindsey sighed. “You’ll be back in the afternoon, then? We could attend the theatre tonight. Or the opera.”

Aubrey preferred the theatre, but a more pressing concern pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. “I haven’t anything to wear.”

“Borrow something of mine. Or if you return early enough, have a tailor come ‘round and take your measurements. It wouldn’t be ready for another few days, but you’d have it by next Saturday, and then we could…” He trailed off at the look on Aubrey’s face.

“I should probably find work before I buy a new suit,” said Aubrey.

Lindsey frowned in confusion. “I meant I would buy it for you.”

Aubrey had suspected as much. His eyes flicked over to his only jacket, hanging off the back of one of Lindsey’s chairs. Its battered, dusty elbows and frayed cuffs looked even more worn in the midst of all Lindsey’s luxuries. Aubrey couldn’t deny it needed replacing. A new suit might even better his employment prospects. And yet the thought of Lindsey spending so much tied Aubrey’s guts into knots. Knowing Lindsey was rich as any Rothschild did nothing to ease Aubrey’s conscience. The money might be meaningless to Lindsey, but it meant everything to Aubrey.

Rather than voicing any of his actual concerns, Aubrey replied, “I had a notion we might visit the Crystal Palace. They’ve got an electrical exhibition on.”

Lindsey would likely be terribly bored, but Aubrey wouldn’t need a new suit to attend.

To Aubrey’s surprise, Lindsey didn’t seem at all bored by the prospect. On the contrary, his face lit up as if it, too, were powered by electricity. He announced his delight at Aubrey’s suggestion and shrugged on a dressing gown to cross the room and give Aubrey a celebratory kiss. Aubrey found himself smiling in return as Lindsey ran a hand through his hair and on down his cheek.

~

THESE SUMMARIES:

[Aubrey finds a great clerking job at some kind of office and is about to start when he gets the telegram from mr. Jennings (goes back to Manchester to pack up his stuff? Which is still there because he’s paid up through the end of the month?). Aubrey is torn between the sensible option of clerking and the fantastical possibility of getting started on his dream job. Lindsey is like “FOLLOW YOUR HEART!” because he’s too rich to ever have to deal with reality. Still, the lure of engineering is too much for aubrey to resist, and so he returns to manchester]

[aubrey explains he doesn’t want to work under lindsey again; lindsey offers to sell the mill back to clarence; aubrey says that’s not fair to the rest of the workforce, plus he probably wouldn’t keep even a coal-passing job under clarence; explains that this London clerking gig is the first job he’s acquired without personal connections; feels he hasn’t ever really earned anything in life; lindsey’s like “okay sure let’s pretend your friendship with certain individuals gave you employment advantages; those advantages wouldn’t have done shit for you if you weren’t a hard worker. Would Smith have done half so well in your place?” and aubrey points out smith is doing exactly as well as him; better, in fact. Lindsey doesn’t have much to say to that, apart from: “Seems like your mind’s already made up; no coal-passing for you.” And aubrey’s like “yeah but…. Engineering…” and lindsey’s like “ah.” And aubrey falls all over himself trying to explain his reasoning and apologize to lindsey at the same time but lindsey’s just like “whatevs, FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS~!” and aubrey can’t quite believe anyone would say that and mean it sincerely but if anyone would it’d be his precious puppy lindsey. The dolt.]

[lindsey is like “never let someone else stop you from going for what you want most” and aubrey is like “oh yeah like ur dad and school” and lindsey’s like “well, yeah, that, and also…” and aubrey is confused about what else lindsey could want most that anyone would try to keep him away from and then he’s like “oh wait his friends and sister tried to keep him away from me” and then aubrey is overcome by the realization that he is what lindsey wants most and doesn’t really know what to do with this information—quick, cover up your emotions with physical displays of affection!]

BECOME THIS SCENE:

Despite spending most of the night and all the next morning’s train ride considering the problem, Aubrey came no closer to a solution by the time he reached Lindsey’s doorstep. He found Lindsey at breakfast, surprised at his early arrival but delighted to see him. Aubrey sat beside Lindsey as he was bid and made a valiant effort at returning Lindsey’s joyful expression, but could do little more than push his bacon around his plate.

“Is there anything else you’d prefer?” Lindsey asked.

Aubrey jerked to attention. “No, sorry, it’s—I haven’t any appetite.”

“Everything all right?” said Lindsey, frowning. A handsome frown, but the sight cause a pang in Aubrey’s chest regardless.

“Fine,” Aubrey hurried to reassure him.

Lindsey hesitated, then spoke again. “Forgive me, it isn’t that I don’t believe you, it’s just…”

“…you don’t believe me?” A wistful smile tugged the corners of Aubrey’s mouth.

Lindsey mirrored his expression. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“I’ll ask,” said Aubrey, the lie coming to his lips even easier the second time.

Lindsey’s forced smile did nothing to alleviate Aubrey’s guilt. Aubrey sighed and set down his fork.

“I received a letter from Mr. Jennings,” he said. Lindsey’s eyebrows rose against his reluctance to explain further, so he added, “He’s offered me a job as a coal-passer.”

“Excellent!” said Lindsey. “What’s a coal-passer?”

“The person responsible for keeping the engine fed.”

“Ah,” said Lindsey. “And this… distresses you?”

“I have to refuse,” said Aubrey. “A coal-passer doesn’t earn near so much as a clerk. And I can’t return to Manchester. Not when I’ve everything waiting for me in London.”

Lindsey nodded along, but his brows remained knitted. Aubrey returned to his plate. He poked a few morsels, then dared another glance at Lindsey, whose expression hadn’t changed.

“What?” said Aubrey.

“You don’t seem entirely at peace with that decision.”

Aubrey, unused to being so transparent, hurriedly dropped his gaze and replied to the table rather than to Lindsey. “It doesn’t matter.  I’m moving to London. I’ve a new job. A good job. I’d be an idiot to turn it down to shovel coal.”

The room fell silent, save for the tines of Aubrey’s fork scraping his plate as he stabbed at his eggs.

“Is it because coal-passing has more to do with engineering than clerking?” Lindsey asked.

Aubrey brought his head up sharp to regard Lindsey, whose confused frown had given way to concern.

“It does,” Aubrey admitted. “But that’s irrelevant.”

“But if you’d prefer it—”

“—then I’m an ass, and deserve to starve in the gutter, which is where I’ll end up if I—” Aubrey swallowed. “And besides, if I return to Rook Mill, I become your employee again.”

“I could sell it back to Clarence.”

Aubrey blinked. “What?”

“Clarence Rook,” said Lindsey. “If I return the mill to him, then you’d be his employee, not mine.”

Aubrey stared at him, unable to comprehend the notion of a massive property transfer for no other purpose than his personal comfort. “Mr. Rook would slash wages back to where they were when you acquired the mill. And he’d sack me again in the bargain.”

Lindsey appeared shocked. “Why would he do that?”

In lieu of explaining exactly what Lindsey’s dearest friend had imparted to Aubrey during their meeting, Aubrey replied, “Because I’ve a habit of violence towards my fellow staff.”

“Only under duress.”

Aubrey shook his head. “This clerking job—it’s the only one I’ve ever earned. Every other position I’ve held has resulted from personal connections. My—” Aubrey scrambled for the correct word. “—friendship with Mr. Jennings convinced him to hire me on as an office boy, and before that—the Post Office didn’t hire me for my brains.”

“Then they were fools,” Lindsey replied with conviction. “You’re brilliant.”

Aubrey’s instinctive protest stuck in his throat.

Lindsey spoke on. “Let’s pretend your friendship with certain individuals provided an advantage in seeking employment. What good would this advantage have done if you hadn’t proved yourself worthy of the positions you held? Would Smith have done half as well in your place?”

“Smith still has the job I was sacked from. I’d say he’s done better.”

Lindsey, who’d opened his mouth to continue, choked off whatever he’d intended to say.

Aubrey supposed he ought to feel victorious. He’d made his point and silenced his opponent. By the rules of logical debate, he’d won. Yet all he felt was a growing, gaping void in his chest. His soul threatened to sink into it.

Lindsey’s grimace became a sad smile. “Your mind’s made up, then. Clerking over coal-passing.”

“Yes, but—” Aubrey stopped himself.

“But what?”

“Nothing. It’s not rational.”

“To the devil with rational,” said Lindsey. “What is it?”

Aubrey forced the words out in a rush. “Clerking in London would be a step away from engineering. Likely forever. If I start as a coal-passer, I could learn on the job and advance to fireman, second engineer, engineer—”

“So become a coal-passer.”

“At what cost?” said Aubrey. “It wouldn’t be fair to Mr. Lawson. I’ve promised to start first thing on Wednesday.”

“What do you owe him? Write an apologetic letter and wash your hands of it.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you!” Aubrey blurted.

Lindsey sat back and stared at him. “What?”

“If I return to Manchester, it’s farther from you—and we’ve already planned that I’d move to London so we might be—” Aubrey cleared his throat and looked to his plate, stabbing his eggs again. “It’s not fair to you to have me run off, not after you’ve been so obliging. Putting up with my nonsense.”

“What nonsense?”

“This,” Aubrey didn’t say. Instead, he replied, “You wanted to go to the theatre, and I dragged you all over the electrical exhibition.”

“I suggested we attend the theatre,” said Lindsey, enunciating each word with careful patience. “You suggested we visit the Palace. I agreed, and had a wonderful time. We both did. That’s not nonsense. You listen to my prattling about Poe and Braddon and Doyle and heaven knows what else. You overlook my blunders—”

Aubrey lifted his head. “What blunders?”

Lindsey half-smiled. “I asked you if you rode horses.”

“That’s—” Aubrey coughed. “Anyone could make that mistake.”

Lindsey’s sheepish smile broadened. “I gave you a calling-card case.”

Aubrey, who hadn’t realized Lindsey recognized his error, flushed scarlet. “And I cherish it!”

“You do?” Lindsey sounded genuinely surprised.

Aubrey thrust a determined hand into his jacket pocket and produced the object in question. Silver flashed in the morning sunlight. Lindsey stared at it. Then a tentative grin appeared on his face, and he closed his hands over both the case and Aubrey’s palm.

“My point,” he said softly, gazing into Aubrey’s eyes, “is I’m delighted to see you happy. And stricken to see you miserable. Engineering—if you could’ve seen your face at the exhibition!—it makes you so—” He shook his head. “I can’t bear to watch you throw that away. You shouldn’t let anyone stop you from striving for what you want most. Least of all me.”

Aubrey’s reply—that Lindsey was what he wanted most—stilled on his tongue at Lindsey’s tone. It sounded as though Lindsey knew precisely how it felt to be kept from his most heartfelt desires. What could prevent one of England’s richest, handsomest bachelors from having everything he wanted, Aubrey couldn’t fathom. He thought back on what Miller and Graves had told him of Lindsey’s school days. That must be what Lindsey meant; his father keeping him from school, and his friends shielding him from romantic developments.

Then Aubrey recalled why Graves and Miller had wanted to speak with him in the first place. Why Rook and Miss Althorp had done the same. Every person in Lindsey’s life wanted Aubrey out of it. And Lindsey wanted—

Aubrey.

Lindsey wanted Aubrey most of all.

The revelation swept over Aubrey, flooding his mind with panic.

“Are you all right?” Lindsey asked.

Aubrey didn’t trust himself to speak. He stood and closed the short distance to Lindsey’s chair. Lindsey looked up at him, his stunning blue eyes wide in confusion. Aubrey closed his own and swooped down to press a ferocious kiss on Lindsey’s parted lips. Lindsey returned it with equal passion. When the awkward position grew too much to bear, Aubrey pulled back to rest his forehead against Lindsey’s.

“I suppose I’ll be an engineer,” said Aubrey, still not daring to open his eyes.

Lindsey kissed him again. “A brilliant one.”

Aubrey laughed and nuzzled Lindsey’s throat.

~

Nowadays my outline looks like writing out almost the entire scene in brackets, then going back and editing out the brackets, fixing the tenses, and cleaning it up until it's prose.

I'd compare it to learning to draw. At first the sketch and the final drawing look wildly different. But if you put the hours into sketching, eventually the sketches themselves become final drawings and you have to do very little to "finish" them.

Hoping any of this was helpful to you, and thank you for asking!

[spyroz]

"the goal of therapy is to make you Normal and Productive so you can continue Working" is a very valid criticism of the psych industry under capitalism, but a concerning number of people seem to believe that is the Sole Goal of ALL Therapy in any hypothetical society. there are therapists who do not believe you live to work, and that your value is not determined by your productivity. of course they tend to be the best therapists. of course it's also possible that therapy may just not be for you!

and also the way some people think "therapy talk" is like, this cold detached clinical medical speak? like saying "I apologize but I cannot perform emotional labor for you" or accusing ppl of "trauma dumping" whenever anyone vents to you ever? like, is that what people believe you're supposed to learn in therapy?

there are certainly people, therapists or otherwise, who speak that way and yeah its annoying and totally lacking in compassion, but IME those types are mostly kids and young adults who get their mental health info from tiktoks which is its own separate issue. we have the "here's what intrusive thoughts actually are" talk every week, but people in wider society still don't understand ocd whatsoever

the whole discussion on "therapy talk" in friendships and in media just seems out of touch, because shows that feature that kind of dialogue are usually meant for kids and therefore are meant to teach children lessons about friendships and communication. there is not a lack of adult media with messy angry emotionally fucked characters, i promise!! i think the things you should be far more worried about are sanitization & anti-intellectualism on social media, and monopolization & advertising are very much to blame for that

tl;dr imagine how much better literally everything would be without capitalism damn

[you-get-me-closer-to-god]

Vamptember Day 3

“Free Day”

SUMMARY: A lovely dinner with two new friends

PAIRING: Platonic Armand, Daniel, and Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 696 (just a little one for today!)

WARNINGS: mentions of the atrocities of capitalism

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I really wanted to take my time on this one, but I was so busy today ughh. I���m totally coming back to this scene tomorrow with at least 2k words! Regardless, please enjoy reading! I know I love writing them bickering hehehehehe

You were beyond impressed, it looked like something out of a movie, or straight out of your dreams.

The low lighted restaurant gave a hazy and dreamlike energy, where murmurs from other tables around you were indistinct and private. Creamy white linen was draped elegantly over the round table you sat at, folded cloth napkins were poised and ready.

You were overwhelmed at the sight of the menu, most words were in a language you couldn’t even pronounce, so Armand had done it for you, waiters and waitresses quickly appeared, buzzing around you placing dish and dessert and skewer and fillet in front of you, until you had to beg him to stop them.

It was a glimpse of a life you only ever watched strangers have. Only ever an onlooker. It was something you didn’t know you yearned for until you had a taste, and you feared you wouldn’t go quietly back to ramen noodles and cereal.

You stuffed your face as politely as you could, listening to Armand and Daniel’s conversation. Holding back a moan as you took the first bite.

“I will tell you exactly why that is not the case, Daniel.” Armand held up a slender finger, as if to silence him, but Daniel ignored him, setting his fork and knife onto his plate and taking a quick sip out of his spotless glass before continuing.

“I’m only saying you’re being a little dramatic. It’s the twenty-first century for god sake, can you blame them?”

Armand’s eyes widened and his eyebrows raised incredulously, taking personal offense.

“I most certainly can!”

Daniel sighed and leaned back into his red velvet lined chair, taking a piece of cake from a small plate across from you.

“In all my years of living on this earth, not one thing has appalled me quite as much as a massive cellphone advertisement on the very facade of Our Lady of Paris!”

He wanted to slam his fist down onto the table, but at the last second he gently let it drop.

“There was never a more sacred place in France, and if these ‘twenty-first century’ blasphemers could do this, I shudder to think of what else they are capable of.”

“But, wasn’t the building under restoration?They would’ve had to cover it anyway.” You spoke between bites, watching as his fiery expression melted into one of calm.

“Of course, that only makes perfect sense, to cover it for restoration, that I completely understand. But why a cellphone? Why not advertise the Louvre? Or one of Paris’s many convents that keep children off the streets? Something that at the very least reflected the dignity and integrity of Paris, something that would make the holy virgin proud. A company that is no doubt using slavers in a distant country to put together cellphones, is like spitting on her very face.”

Daniel tilted his head to the side and made an unsure noise. In an instant, Armand squared his narrow shoulders and gave him a firm stare, unbelieving that Daniel would still oppose him.

“I think it’s kind of smart.” He shrugged.

“You don’t understand.” Armand said, a tone of finality in his voice, a flick of the wrist as if to disregard the whole topic.

“No, you’re right. I don’t.” Daniel nodded. “Neither do I understand your stubborn inclination toward the worst movies. I guess we’re just that different.”

“Like arguing with a child, sometimes…” He shook his head, his red curls shaking back and forth.

They quieted down suddenly and it made you want to laugh. As much as they bickered, you could still tell they were very close. Maybe so close that they were driving each other insane, but it was clear Armand cared for him still, and Daniel just liked to provoke him. A comical vision, the younger of the two being the more mature one.

You saw a small smile creep onto Armand’s face, as he watched Daniel very ungracefully scarf down the rest of his cake.

You weren’t sure how a third wheel was going to fit in this tête-à-tête. But if it was impossible, the French wouldn’t have invented a ménage à trois, you supposed…

[possessionisamyth]

Every time I see the occasional floating SU post talking about how no one understood The Point, I both get it and immediately recognize that, due to the complex hate vortex created on tumblr during its run, people have selective memory for what legitimate and illegitimate criticisms were being made for the show. Heres a short list, do not add to it:

-the racism from outside and inside the house (human zoo full of brown people, entire bismuth plotline, white people saying garnet isn't black "shes an alien" which also happened for all of her fusions, blatant silencing of black teens written of as "the discourse" whenever they made decent talking points about anything, etc)

-people crucifying rebecca sugar for drawing illicit material as a minor (something a lot of ppl who do art or likes art makes or consumes when they get really into drawing or shipping)

-people shouting "rebecca sugar is jewish! she knows what she's doing" to any criticism at all to silence other people just engaging with the show and stating things they didn't like about certain episodes

-the reveal of rose quartz, the beautiful fat character we spent all this time learning bits and pieces about, being a skinny tall girl(pink diamond) in essentially a fat suit

-homophobic and transphobic people capitalizing on the discourse tags to shout louder and louder about small things that'd go under the radar of any other show further poisoning the cesspool (dumb shit like peridot being child coded)

-how the SU crew handled advertising when they really shouldn't have been doing any marketing ( the concrete reveal and immediate backtracking) and I do blame CN for not doing more actual marketing and trying to bank on social media clout with animators who are not equiped for this

-people asking for lowered stakes when it comes to the diamonds whole schtick because of the implications, and they could predict what the showrunners would do based on previous plotlines

-people upset because during a time where we were getting a fascism free sample(drump), the imaginary fascists get a handshake and a "okay, restorative justice time" moment

-severe lack of understanding that the show was cut short due to the ruby/sapphire wedding, and the movie and sequel series was an attempt to make up for it, and i can't say whether or not this was done well because I dropped out of SU before the movie dropped

In summary, I do think Steven Universe was important. It did do a lot of things well, and it helped open more doors for other creators to do more fun gay and trans stuff in their shows including handling difficult topics. Whether those other shows handle ALL those topics well isn't something I'm going to waste my breath on. If the writing captivates me then it captivates me, and now whether or not it's good is always second to whether or not I find it fun.

My little brother and I watched SU together like we did Gravity Falls and Adventure Time, and I was able to use the metaphor of Stevonnie to explain my nonbinary status to him without any issue. However, at some point for me, I stopped finding the show fun, and I know for a lot of people sucked into the tumblr hate vortex that meant they had to equate the show as Bad.

I don't know if I'll sit myself down and watch the movie or follow up series, but this isn't because I think they're bad. I simply have gotten back into actual adult fiction books and comics, so a lot of YA or kids content haven't been hitting those same brain spots with me like they used to when I was a minor or a young 20 something trying to figure out how to be a person.

There's more I could say about how lgbt+ writing and art is held under a tighter microscope than the most milquetoast cishet content, but there's already dozens of posts floating around that explain it better than I feel like doing at this hour.

What I will say though, is if you loved SU at first and you started to hate it, like genuinely hate it, maybe take the time to figure out when the hate started, what caused that hatred, and why you hated it, especially now that you don't have every other post on your feed talking about how SU sucks yelling in your ear.