#instagram • the line between fulfilled and full of myself. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imaginariumpod · 4 years

Text

For the defense of slowing down: a study of slowness in cinema.

Leisure - Poem by William Henry Davies

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

For the defense of slowing down: a study of slowness in cinema.

This article is one that I have been meaning to write for a while and that is very important to me in a lot of ways, but also I feel like with the amount of people staying at home and who have had to slow down their pace of life one way or another in the past months, it just feels oddly relevant. A lot of people have been forced to ease the pace of their lives, and have had the time, maybe for the first time in years, to spend on things they couldn’t before. People who have been trying to take care of themselves in any way they can, by maybe learning how to cook or bake bread, maybe finally having the time to just take a nap and not feel any guilt because they aren’t productive.

This might be more personal than usual because I feel like I really do need to put this subject in perspective to myself first, and then in perspective to the general context and climate that is shaping our world. We live in a culture where productivity is valued more than anything, where you are expected to go above and beyond, and to run yourself to the ground in the pursuit of success, of money, of efficiency. If you don't have a side project or four, it might feel like you are a bit of a failure because don’t you know you have to take advantage of every opportunities out there to make a name for yourself ? This hustle culture that is becoming predominant everywhere, but especially in western culture, is definitely a byproduct of capitalism in a way it never have been seen before. You only have to take a look in the self-help section of a bookshop or a library to feel exhausted : The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business, or Ready for Anything: 52 Productivity Principles for Getting Things Done.

While I think being a hardworking person and trying to be productive in order to achieve your goals, there’s definitely a point where it’s too much for one person to handle, and when this constant stress of needing to be successful all the time and to always go above and beyond what is needed becomes a societal expectation placed on all of us, that’s when it becomes dangerous. There’s a certain climate that is saying that we need to be constantly productive to be valuable to the system, or else, what is the point of you existing.

And my friends. the only point is you being alive. And being content. and that’s what matters in the end.

The point isn’t to further a corporation’s agenda, the point isn't to exhaust yourself trying to play the game of a system that is designed to fail you. The point is that, maybe, someday, you wake up a bit earlier than usual, and you drink your tea in a world that is still quiet and peaceful. The point is, maybe that you feel safe, that you feel content, that you feel loved, and you have the time to just breathe.

And to just be.

Take a breath.

So most of my friends know this, but I feel like I need to share this to give my proper perspective on this subject. Before finishing my Bachelor’s degree in Art History, I had previously done two years in architectural design. It seemed like a good idea at the time, it was a creative endeavor that seemed fulfilling and yet also a smart move practically speaking. I wanted to be able to find a job after finishing university, and maybe continuing on to grad school to eventually become an architect. That was the initial plan when I was 20 and started university. Fresh-eyed, full of hope and determination.

Those two years were a nightmare.

To sum up really quickly, I was so stressed and anxious, I ended up having constant panic attacks and breakdowns for a whole month, every single day of that month, which made me take the difficult decision to give up on that degree. I had an actual burnout before my 22nd birthday and had to take a full year off to recover from this.

I think it’s then, that I truly was hit by how dangerous fatigue and exhaustion could end up being, both mentally and physically. How, when pushed by the constant pressure to perform and to catch up to a standard that keeps rising, and to a speed that keeps getting faster and faster, one is bound to crack at some point. The stress and anxiety that this puts on people can easily get to be too much to handle. That year off, being forced to slow down, to reconnect with myself and with who I am and with what I wanted from life really was one of the most beneficial things to me and I just wanted to give a bit of my story to make you understand where I am personally coming from, when it comes to slowing down, and to slowing the pace of life. Unfortunately, most of us have a story that resembles this in some way shape or form. I know I was incredibly lucky to be able to take that year off, and it's a privilege many of us might not be able to have.

So this is why I think i can say, that for a lot of us, we are just tired. We are so tired. I know I am exhausted. Life can just be so tiring, there’s this really fine line between being productive and having an active life and being run to the ground. It’s a fine line that a lot of us thread, and it can get overwhelming very easily. Indeed, «life has become fast-paced, as people try to live up to these expectations. Yet, while many people might be materially affluent, their quality of life and work-life balance are often unsatisfactory, and potentially lead to stress and burnout (Schor, 1998).» I feel that especially for the current modern life experience, a lot of us can relate to that, in ways it may not have been felt before in previous generations. Time has always been precious, but it just feels like there’s never enough hours in the day to be able to finish all the things you want to do.

The luxury of time. Time to do nothing.

It might seem that we have more time, but «that free time is used to cram more activities into the day and to travel further to work». Which means that we are all trying to manage to do everything at once, whether it’s working, and trying to continue learning, and needing to keep yourself in shape, and to keep your space clean, and also needing to keep a social life, and sleeping well, and etc and etc. It feels like you always have to do this and that and the list of expectations and goals to meet is never ending and constantly adding up. Indeed, «it is not just free time that people desire, but more time for meaningful things». You are just one person, and there’s only so much one can do before it gets to be too overwhelming. And in those moments, I think it’s important to just. Take a deep breath and Slow down.

We need rest. we need fulfillment. I think there’s a lot of disenchantment toward modern life, by the dream that have been sold to us since we were young. Just work harder and you’ll make it. Work more hours, do more things, put yourself out there, run yourself ragged to the ground and then you will finally get what you deserve (money ! fame ! success ! love ! Family ! Friends! ) and yet all we have is exhaustion and stress and anxiety and pain. I think this whole context has made it so that there’s a resurgence lately of an appreciation for slower media, whether we are talking about movies, books or something else.

I think it can be really interesting to mention the newest Animal Crossing game (Animal Crossing : New Horizons) that has been played by a lot of people since its release, which has been considered like «the video game equivalent of a relaxing getaway — and we could all use that kind of respite right now.» Those kind of slower paced games where you have to build your own life and take care of a city, village or, in this case, island (slow-life simulation games) let players exerce control in their island in a way they feel they might not be able to in their own live. This is a very wholesome game that players can get really engrossed into, and that can provide them with much needed relief and escapism from the troubles of real life, when things get really hard. Those type of games also need you to take things slowly, one step at a time, which I think is very interesting when we think about low-stress sources of entertainment.

«In this, the game forces you to take it one day at a time. You can bypass this by "time traveling," or setting your Switch system clock ahead of time to advance quicker than the game intends for you to, but this isn't how it's meant to be played. You're supposed to feel a sense of slow, but meaningful progression throughout the course of your island adventure, and artificial time changes take away from that»

I could also mention the growing popularity of the cottagecore aesthetic on various social platforms such as tumblr, Instagram and twitter. While being predominantly a visual and aesthetic trend, cottagecore does reflect a growing desire by younger people in their teens and early 20s to have simpler and slower life. Dreams of just living in a tiny house, with maybe a vegetable patch, and all of the time in the world to just bask in the sun. As «[a]n obvious backlash to the hustle culture embodied by Fiverr ads, cottagecore attempts to assuage burnout with a languid enjoyment of life’s mundane tasks.» This aesthetic trend then seems an answer to the growing consumerism and rapid pace of life.

This seems like an unattainable fantasy to most of us, which is why I think a lot of people have been gravitating toward those aesthetics and ways of thinking and living. «It’s a romanticised idea that we could leave behind all the stress and craziness in our lives to go live off-the-grid, where emails can’t reach us and our only task is baking bread or making jam. » I know this isn’t something that everyone longs for, but to me, this sounds like a dream and something that seems like a distant hope. I do wish I could take some time off in a small cottage or mediterranean house, maybe not forever, but maybe spend a few months with the freedom of having the time to myself and using that time the way I desire. Just so one can breathe, reconnect with oneself and have enough energy to keep moving on. «Cottagecore is the perfect escape, it’s soothing and calming but it’s also relatively attainable. Maybe we can’t all go live in a cabin in the woods, wearing nothing but flowy dresses while tending to our garden of wildflowers. But we can learn to cross stitch, we can bake bread, we can buy some watercolours, we can have a picnic in our backyard.»

I am always so anxious about so many things and the only thing I want at any given moment is to have a small house and no responsibilities greater than doing the groceries and watering the plants in my garden. I think that life has gotten very hard and difficult to handle, what with the climate crisis, the political unstableness, the economical unstableness, the rise of the alt-right, and now the whole global pandemic going on, it’s easy to understand why people would feel drawn toward comforting things : « Rebecca Jennings ties a push for coziness in branding (and trends like cottagecore) to the feeling that "things are bad, and people are anxious about whatever ongoing horrors are metabolizing in geopolitics, the environment, and capitalism." »

I want to be safe financially and fulfilled. I want to have the time and space to do the things I really want to achieve instead of giving my time away to a system that does not care about me.

I want to have the calm of heart that I have lost years ago and that I yearn to regain.

nostalgia & aesthetic

There's an aesthetic of nostalgia that is really present in a lot of slow living content and slow media. I don't think ANY of us want to go back in time where things weren’t better for any of us unless you maybe are a white straight cis man, and even then.... In my opinion, slow living and wanting to slow down is not a rejection of technology or modernity in itself, but inherently a rejection of capitalism. You do not have to be productive to be valuable, and to be deserving of happiness, of peace, of love and of dignity. You deserve all of that no matter how useful or not you are to the capitalist system. It’s not about going back to oppressive social norms, but moving forward from them.

I also feel like slow living brings a self care as deeper than the shallow superficial and capitalist self care that's being sold to us. I’m not going to deny that it feels nice to do an extensive skincare routine before sleeping, but there’s a lot to be said about a nightly ritual that makes you feel more grounded in yourself and taking care of yourself and the body you inhabit versus the gigantic capitalistic machine that is the Beauty Industry™. The same way the simple acts of taking of yourself and taking the time to slow down can be a revolutionary act of self-love, they can also be taken advantage of and capitalized on by the huge capitalist industries that use wellness, self-care and self-love as marketing tactics. In our era, it feels simply impossible now to get away from the “treat yourself” campaign. Industries have tapped into the real desire of people to live a more meaningful and happier life by making it mostly into a trend, and not an intentional change to someone’s lifestyle to make it better.

I am of the opinion that slowing down shouldn’t be a trend, but a very deliberate act taken in order to take care of ourselves, of our mental health and our physical health. I think it’s a very essential need that we have to not feel burnt-out and to not feel trapped and stifled by our own lives, and having the space and energy to pursue our dreams and desires.

(Not to say the culprit is capitalism … but the culprit is capitalism) (also not to advocate for revolution on a public platform but revolution)

What I mean by slow media, and slowness in media is that content that tends to be more of the slice of life genre. They are peaceful, quiet. Maybe nothing much happens at all, but it rings very true and very real. Those moments of calm are soothing when maybe the rest of my life really is not. The way someone relates to art and media is very personal and can vary a lot, but the escapism that this sort of stories provides and I feel that with the faster pace of life that has become the norm, it might become something that we seek more often than not.

To me, this sort of media feels like relief.

slow cinema

Cinema has long been a medium that is very efficient at communicating epic and grandiose stories. Movies that are jam packed with action and drama and heightened emotions and tension. And while those movies can be very good and entertaining, I think there’s also a place in the world of cinema for movies that are slower. In fact, there’s a distinct genre of movies where the focus is not on a very fast paced plot or extravagant action scenes and dramatic events, but where the importance is placed on the mundane. Where the slow moments of everyday life and the quiet emotions that we all feel take precedence. It’s possible to name filmmakers such as Yasujiro Ozu or Agnes Varda.

We could also talk about movies such as the Before Trilogy by Richard Linklater (Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), Before Midnight (2013)), where each movie spans a very short period of time and consists entirely of conversations between two people. Those movies are slow, ordinary and yet extraordinary in the sense that it’s two people who have found each other and are speaking and connecting. There’s nothing much that’s happening in those films, and yet it’s impactful.

The movies made by those directors who tend to favor slower cinema often showcases a simpler plotline, but a more complex emotional arc. They are full of slow and quiet scenes, which makes those movies soothing, calming and nostalgic.

What is slow cinema though ? in the academic sense, slow cinema is often defined as «a modern cinematic production trend that emphasizes slowness and duration of time» Even though there’s a lot of more contemporary cinematic examples of slow cinema in more experimental movies such as directors Abbas Kiarostami or Tsai Ming Liang whose movies are very much in line with what is slow cinema. When it comes to slow movies, «Flanagan writes that the stylistic features of ‘slow films’ are “the employment of (often extremely) long takes, de-centred and understated modes of storytelling, and a pronounced emphasis on quietude and the everyday,”» The techniques used in slow-paced movies will often communicate a romanticization of everyday life, of routine, of moments that are quiet and peaceful.

There’s a lot of emphasis put on the passage of time, whether it’s a slow drag of time, with nothing much to do, the quiet moments that punctuates our daily lives or the years passing by and the plotlines in those movies spanning years, generations and even lifetimes. I think this is one of the reason why this kind of cinema can be really relevant in our times, where we feel that time is a precious commodity that isn’t ours anymore, and where time is filled with the pressure of being constantly productive, slow cinema poses itself as the antithesis of that.

«Slow Cinema situates itself solidly within art cinema both in aesthetic and methodology: it is defined by authorship that hinges on the representation of reality. It carries with it a disposition towards the consumption of time that forces the audience to labour through and critically engage with the film itself.»

It’s possible to see that this type of cinema is something that’s very sought after lately, as proven by this letterboxd list The Absolute Beauty in Everyday’s Mundanity, which has been liked by a total of 6,092 people at the moment of writing this article (including me). Containing 209 movies that fit into what the list maker considers as being slow movies that showcase the beauty of everyday life, this list demonstrates that there’s a very definite space for movies that have a more deliberate pace and who, instead of trying to heighten the stakes and action constantly, do take the opportunity to just. Slow down.

An enchanted month.

Elizabeth Von Arnim (1866-1941) was a english author active during the early 20th century. She wrote both fictional and non-fictional books, and the ones I have read from her are very in this vein of slow living, taking the time to just sit in a garden, and let time heal you. It's from her book Enchanted April (1922), which is one of my favorite books and that I wholeheartedly recommend, that the consequent 1992 movie, released by the BBC, was adapted from.

Von Arnim made a point to give a prevalent place in her books to the spaces where one could feel at ease and free from the constraints dictated by social norms and what people might expect from you : «In the garden, Elizabeth von Arnim could think, reflect, and distance herself from the oppressions and duties of the highly rigid and strict German culture that she had adopted through her marriage to Count Henning von Arnim. In observing the varying seasons of nature in conjunction with an active pleasure in literature, she perceived the garden as a metaphor of her life in terms of the development of her soul, and in this context, she believed herself to be in "the process of becoming".» I think it’s possible to draw a parallel between the demands of life that are growing increasingly harder to handle. While Von Arnim puts is mostly in relation to the social norms that were in place during the 1920s, it’s possible to see that the desire for slowing down during the 2020s stem mostly from a tiredness of the ultra-capitalistic world we live in.

The story of Enchanted April starts during a dreary month of march. Grey. Tiring. We have all went through months like these where the responsibilities and list of things to do, and slow drag of the days gets to be unbearable. Mrs Lotty Wilkins sees an a journal advert to rent a castle in Italy for a month, and under the grey drizzling London skies. And she yearns for that moment of respite. Far from her obligations, from her nagging husband and being able to take time for herself for the first time in years.

Eventually, four immensely different women will end up in this castle in San Salvatore, Italy, for a whole month. Each of those women have a distinctive purpose in this book, but they all seem to be looking for something similar: an escape from their frantic and boring daily life, a relief from routine, from the lack of connection and intimacy that they feel. In the midst of those charmed italian gardens, you feel like they can finally take a breath, loosen up and rest.

«She moved about with quick, purposeful steps, her long thin body held up straight, her small face, so much puckered at home with effort and fear, smoothed out»

And just reading that, or watching the movie, gives me a similar respite. The sun lits all the shots, the wind blows gently in the tree leaves, and the clothes that are worn are looser, more comfortable. This movie is charming, humorous and delightful. But most of all, it’s slow paced and soothing. You have drawn out scenes where nothing much happens but the moments are peaceful and reassuring. I rewatch it every april, because while I cannot take a month off to spend it in an isolated italian castle, oh god I Yearn So Much For It.

Even though, this story is set during the 1920s, thus being a contemporary story written by Von Arnim, I cannot help but feel that this story is one that is still deeply relevant today, in the 2020s. The thoughts of the characters seems very familiar and relatable : «For Lady Caroline Dester, the process of change is longer, more involved, and more isolated. She approaches San Salvatore with a “dream of thirty restful, silent days, lying unmolested in the sun, getting her feathers smooth again, not being spoken to, not waited on, not grabbed at and monopolized, but just recovering from the fatigue, the deep and melancholy fatigue, of the too much”»

In Enchanted April, this month in Italy is a moment of quiet rest for these four women, bt also a time dedicated to oneself and to introspection. «Initially, each woman desires to be alone for long stretches of time: Mrs Fisher in her room, Lady Caroline in a chair in the top garden, and Mrs Wilkins and Mrs Arbuthnot in the gardens and hills. Each is free to reflect on her life and begin to have a clearer understanding of herself in relation to others. »

A late afternoon:

Yasujiro Ozu (1903-1963) is one of the prominent filmmakers in Japan during the first half of the XXth century. His movies had a very distinct style and technique to them that made his work really unique to himself. A lot of filmmakers tried to replicate or imitate the stylisation of his work, but there was something in Ozu’s work that was very particular to the period of cinema he lived in. He was active from the later half 1920s until his untimely passing on his birthday in 1963. This means he lived through the Second World War as well as through a time of great change and evolution in the world.

It’s possible to write a hundred pages on Yasujiro Ozu alone because there’s a lot to say about him and his movies, whether it’s about the narrative and the story he chose to portray or the techniques and stylisation that characterize what is an Ozu movie. I thought it was relevant to mention him when talking about slower movies and slower paced media, because of the impact that he had on film, especially when it comes to using the medium to tell stories of lost and quiet moments.

With the increased modernity and a rapidly changing world, Ozu’s films, such as Tokyo Story ( 1953), Late Spring (1949) and Floating Weeds (1959) tried to capture the very modern life he and his contemporary were experiencing and the way they dealt with these changes. Even though Ozu’s movies were particularly specific to a certain period and country, it’s indeed impossible to disassociate Ozu’s movies from the fact that they were made in Japan, and that Ozu went through the pre-war, war and post-war era and continuously made movies during these times.

Which means that his films do reflect a certain time in Japanese history which makes them incredibly specific and contemporary to the society he lived in. «However, I believe that the film is less about articulating the value of modernity against the challenge of tradition than observing the subtle state whereby the former unknowingly pervades the latter. In this sense, rather than the overt manifestation of free movement outside of the home, the trivial motion inside the confined domesticity are a more essential element in Ozu’s films. In other words, in Ozu, modernity exists within the everyday, a stable flow that undulates but hardly overflows.» Nonetheless, the issues and subjects tackled in those movies, such as intergenerational conflict, the difficulty that people have to catch up with a world with values that are rapidly changing, and modernity. Those problems are a universal experience, but were communicated in a unique lense through Yasujiro Ozu’s movies.

The focus of most of Ozu’s films is centered around the familial unit, and the conflicts and moments that arise between them as life moves forward. The everyday moments in a world that gets harder to navigate each day. The story of a daughter who is pressured to married, and the dilemma and conflicts between the societal expectations that people have of her, her own wants and needs and also the desire to be able to strike a balance between those two elements. I think that this, while not being necessarily being a universal experience, can still be an incredibly relatable one.

Once she gets married, she needs to move forward with her life and leaves her widowed father to live alone, which really showcases the simple and universal realities of real life. The plotlines of Ozu’s movies focus on simple and universal conflicts and problems, the stories he tells through those movies are nonetheless things that are universal and. the way he presents them are beautiful, quiet and, most importantly, real. «More broadly, Ozu’s omission of important events also speaks to his interest in the mundane, his desire to uncover the emotional nuances within small talk, daily routines, and other “boring” details of everyday life.»

There are quiet moments of silence, of rain falling while someone is folding clothes or eating. Laughter and companionships. Tears and pain and love and hurt and all of the very important emotions that compose the human experience. «the great filmmaker used to evoke a sense of melancholy and poetry in everyday existence.» which is something that truly is a balm to the soul in my own humble opinion. There’s a lot of vulnerability in this slowness, a very real sadness and emotionality that is very raw and yet mundane in its encompassing universality of the human experience.

The stylistic choices that Ozu decides to take all tend toward this one goal of showcasing the quiet movement of life, while hinting at the tumultuous feelings that people might feel, and the world around them. His movies were simple and slow but very meaningful as well. «Ozu’s films often violate the stylistic conventions of mainstream filmmaking. For example, one “rule” in classical Hollywood cinema is that every shot should clearly and obviously advance the narrative. Yet Ozu’s films frequently feature what commentators call “pillow shots” – namely, shots of landscapes, objects, or interiors that have no apparent connection to the protagonists and what they’re doing plotwise.»

His movies focus on the relationships between people and the world they inhabit, and the growing modernity, and also capitalism, of it. «As you’ll quickly come to see, Ozu is hardly a fan of modernity. In films like The Only Son, Late Spring, Late Autumn, and An Autumn Afternoon, he suggests, among other things, that economic modernization has engendered inequality, feelings of alienation, empty consumerism, and the Americanization of Japanese life.» Those feelings of alienation that we currently feel toward our own lives, our own time and our own time are very relevant for us in 2020. While I do think that those movies represent a certain time and a certain context, and you cannot talk about Yasujiro Ozu without really contextualizing both him and his work, I think it can be really relevant to today. Ozu made movies for himself and for the society he lived in but that doesn't mean that those movies can’t still be important today.

Ozu did impact international cinema, as can be seen for exemple with the movies of Wes Anderson, as seen in this visual essay that compares their body of work. both narratively and stylistically. I won’t go into more details about Anderson here, because he is one of my favorite directors and i hope to write an entire article on him soon, but i thought it was relevant to mention this. Most importantly, Yasujiro Ozu left an imprint on japanese cinema that can still be seen to this day in contemporary movies. I could mention filmmakers such as Naoko Ogigami, with movies such as Rent-a-cat (2012), Close-Knit (2017) and Kamome Diner (2006), all movies that have a decidedly slower pace and kinder vibe to them. Hayao Miyazaki and the movies Studio Ghibli produced also are an example of that slower cinema, but we’ll touch upon this a bit further down the line.

(rent-a-cat [2012] d. Naoko Ogigami)

a little world of our own

With this in mind, it’s easy to see that there’s a sub-genre of japanese cinema that really make a concerted effort at incorporating the concepts of slowness in their stories, whether it's the slower pace of the story or actual slow living principles. Those movies often address the fantasy of leaving everything behind (your work, your problems, your issues, your sadness) to go live in a small town or quitting your job to follow your dreams, or simply to feel like your time is yours again. This list on letterboxd which showcases many movies of that genre in japanese cinema (currently 157 movies on date of writing this article)

A good example of this type of stories would be the duology of the Little Forest movies, as well as the subsequent korean adaptation in 2018. These movies were both adapted originally from a manga by Daisuke Igarashi. Little Forest : Summer/Autumn (2014) and Little Forest : Winter/Spring (2015) follow the story of a young woman who leaves her busy city life to go back to her hometown and decides to live in a slower way, taking care of her vegetables and living according to the seasons. The two movies are infinitely slow, focusing on the main character cooking, resting, eating, and eventually resolving the conflict that she has with her mother. The life she lives in these secluded parts seems uneventful but happy and calm which seems all that she desires. She doesn’t need to contribute to the capitalist system of society to be deserving of being able to live in peace, and this makes her feel less alienated from the world she lives in.

Spirited away

I also don’t think it’s really possible to mention slower moments of everyday life in cinema without talking about the movies that probably were the first introduction to this for many of us. The movies of Studio Ghibli, with Hayao Miyazaki at the helm of it, are little masterpieces of animation. The movies are intended for a younger audience but can be appreciated by everyone. Studio Ghibli movies are another example of filmmaking that manages to capture this slower pace in media. Between all of the adventures and events that are happening in those movies, there are moments of slowness. Of calm. Of quietness.

As Robert Ebert told to Miyazaki, during an interview with him « I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.» Miyazaki proceeded to explain what this concept was for him «"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."» Those slow moments between the action are very deliberate, to slow down the story and to slow down the pace. Contrary to the generally accepted school of thought in modern Hollywood cinema, which is that every single scene needs to move the story forward, Miyazaki lets his story and movies breathe. This way of building the story gives it an added sense of calm and soothingness, but also it gives it another sense of realism. Instead of following a strict narrative outline, this fluidity makes the story feel more real and relatable.

Despite being an animated movie set in a very obviously fantastical universe, Studio Ghibli movies tend to be very realistic in the way they portray the characters, their complexity, and also what are the real underlying conflicts. For example, in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) «The primary conflict isn’t about magic—it’s internal and invisible and wholly human: Kiki’s brief period of lost motivation and artist’s block. She gets it back when she wants to help Tombo, whom she loves. Simple as that. She doesn’t have to wage an epic battle to prove her worth» The stakes might seem lower in this movie, very mundane and ordinary but I think this is what makes it so special.

The quiet moments and details that might seem innocuous and useless at first and slower the pace of the movie in itself, are ultimately what gives it this feeling of genuineness. It lets the characters and the plot have the space to evolve and to grow.

« Although these scenes may seem slow or unimportant, they give space to develop the characters and to heighten dreams or feelings the characters are having such as feelings of isolation, wonder, or anxiety. It is in these moments of stillness that the audience can contemplate with the characters and feel what the characters are feeling. These moments remind the audience the importance of stillness in such a fast paced world and highlights the beauty of a slower paced life»

Studio Ghibli movies insert those slower moments in between more faster paced and action packed scenes but also in the midst of world-changing events such as wars, as shown in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). This demonstrate how people still live on during those crises, even with the danger looming over their heads. Which is something that I think can be very relevant in today’s time where the past twenty years have been increasingly more unstable and the … few months of 2020 were a Shit Show in itself, if you want my opinion. So this kind of media gives me hope that we can live through this, that moments of happiness and peace are still to be found.

A charmed life

Slower cinema is something that has existed for as long as cinema existed, but I do think that it’s a very current feeling to want to be able to slow down the pace of our lives, and be able to enjoy time in a more meaningful way. Personally, I know life has gotten ridiculously hectic for me in the past two years, and while there’s a lot I always want to be doing and I’m very happy about how my life is coming together, this doesn’t mean that sometimes, it doesn’t feel Very Overwhelming and alienating to constantly feel the need to be productive. What we can bring to the capitalist system isn’t what determine the worth and value of who we are as people. «"As speed is seemingly equated with efficiency and professionalism, however, slowness can become a way of signaling an alternative set of values or a refusal to privilege the workplace over other domains of life.”» I hope to be able to live my life on my own term and to be able to spend time on things that are important to me and feel like my time is my own.

Slow media is everywhere lately, whether it’s in cinema, books, games, but also in a more broader sense with the slow life movements, the minimalist trends, but also a general awareness of sustainability, the amount of mass production and mass consumerism in our modern world.

In order to sustain that fast pace of constant production of things, you inevitably have to sacrifice on either the quality of the product, the work conditions or on the materials in order to be able to keep up with the extremely high rhythm sustained by capitalism. It can also be compared to the fast work pace imposed on people who work on the sets of movies or video games for example. I think we all heard of the debacle with the Sonic (2020) movie as well as Cats (2019) and the pressure that was put upon the vfx artists to re-do the movie and complete it extremely fast, which brought poor working conditions on them.

Slowing down is, in my opinion, of the utmost importance for us to be able to live better, but also to be able to do better things. To have better working conditions, to be able to have a better craftsmanship, people having more time to do things and do them better instead of scrambling to constantly catch up to a production rhythm that is just simply way too fast. This ties in with the environmental aspect of slowing down, because if you take more time to make things that are of a better quality and that will last for a long time, there won’t be such a need for a constant production of those things but unfortunately that’s capitalism Babey.

a quiet respite

Ultimately, the act of slowing down and taking a stand against the fast pace imposed on us by the constraints of capitalism is a very personal one, but I think it's worth considering. And when it’s not possible to actually slow down, I hope those movies and these slower medias can give you a respite even if life isn’t giving you much of one. I do think that having the opportunity to meaningfully slow down the pace of your life, and taking the time to think, breathe, and reconnect with the more mundane parts of your life can be beneficial, especially when there’s a constant pressure to perform and to excel in this fast-paced modern life.

I just hope we can try to take care of ourselves deeply, connect with ourselves but also with each other. We need time to feel, breathe and actually live and not just beat to the drum of a corporation and of this sadistic capitalist system who will never care for you. Corporations do not want you to slow down and they want to get your money by any means necessary, which we have obviously witnessed a lot during this Global Pandemic. Which is why I think there's a real pushback against this fast pace of life and the mass consumerism, by slowing down,

On this note, i hope you appreciated the article, i hope you are taking care of yourself during those hard times and i hope the media you are consuming is something that makes you feel better, and i hope you don't put too much pressure on yourself.

please just breathe. hopefully it will be okay.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Slow Life & Slow Cinema :

Matthew Flanagan. 'Slow Cinema': Temporality and Style in Contemporary Art and Experimental Film. University of Exeter as a thesis for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English in October 2012.

ZEESTRATEN, J. Strolling to the beat of another drum: Living the ‘Slow Life’, Master’s Thesis, Lincoln University, 2008. <https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/e0c6/f533e7d8f9254eddbadc0fe6dbb7d4a5ea8c.pdf >

SCREENING BOREDOM THE HISTORY AND AESTHETICS OF SLOW CINEMA Orhan Emre Çağlayan. A Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Film Studies University of Kent February 2014

ELSON, Logan. Slow Cinema Modality: Applying Bordwell to Tsai Ming-Liang, Trent University, JUST, Vol. V, No. 1, 2017

LAVIN, Mathias. Prolonger Ozu, avec Kiarostami, Akerman, Hong Sang-Soo.

FLANAGAN, Matthew. Towards an Aesthetic of Slow in Contemporary Cinema, 16:9, 2020 <http://www.16-9.dk/2008-11/side11_inenglish.htm>

RASSOS, Effie. Everyday Narratives Reconsidering Filmic Temporality and Spectatorial Affect through the Quotidian, A Thesis Submitted in Fulfilment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy School of Media, Film and Theatre University of New South Wales August 2005

LETTERBOXD. The Absolute Beauty in Everyday’s Mundanity. Hungkat, 2020. <https://letterboxd.com/kun/list/the-absolute-beauty-in-everydays-mundanity/>

LETTERBOXD. A Slice of Japanese Life. Seraphimjc, 2020. <https://letterboxd.com/seraphimjc/list/a-slice-of-japanese-life>/

Enchanted April:

BOLLARD, Jennifer Jane. The Felicitous Space of Elizabeth von Arnim, Master’s Thesis, University of Canterbury Christchurch, New Zealand, 1995 , <https://ir.canterbury.ac.nz/bitstream/handle/10092/11887/Bollard_thesis.pdf;sequence=>

VON ARNIM, Elizabeth. Enchanted April, Waking Lion Press, 2008 (first published 1922)

YOUNG, Katie Elizabeth. More than "Wisteria and Sunshine": The Garden as a Space of Female Introspection and Identity in Elizabeth von Arnim' s The Enchanted April and Vera, Master’s Thesis. Brigham Young University, 2011. < https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4032&context=etd>

Yasujiro Ozu:

The Cinema Cartography, Yasujirō Ozu - The Depth of Simplicity, Youtube video, 2015 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G7oeyOsfSg>

JOO, Woojeong, The flavour of tofu : Ozu, history and the representation of the everyday. PhD thesis, University of Warwick, 2011.

BETH, Suzanne. Destruction, puissance et limites du cinéma dans les films d'Ozu Yasujirô, Doctorate Thesis, Université de Montréal, 2015. <https://papyrus.bib.umontreal.ca/xmlui/bitstream/handle/1866/13600/Beth_Suzanne_2015_these.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y>

EMERSON, Andrew. The Beginner’s Guide: Yasujiro Ozu, Director, The Film Inquiry, 2019

<https://www.filminquiry.com/beginners-guide-yasujiro-ozu/>

Criterion. The Signature Style of Yasujiro Ozu. On film. 2015 <https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/3836-the-signature-style-of-yasujiro-ozu>

Thompson, pp. 19-20, 327-331; David Bordwell, Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), pp. 73-74.

CATLEY, Anna. Wes Anderson & Yasujiro Ozu: A Visual Essay, Youtube, 2015. <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbXRpiVO1po >

Little Forest:

SREEKANDAN, Nikhil , Little Forest: Film Review , The Inkline, 2018. <https://the-inkline.com/2018/06/17/little-forest-film-review/>

https://snackfever.com/blogs/magazine/a-refreshing-cool-breeze-found-in-the-little-forest

Studio Ghibli:

EBERT, Robert. Hayao Miyazaki interview. 2002. <https://www.rogerebert.com/interviews/hayao-miyazaki-interview>

The Magic and Artistry of Studio Ghibli’s Films, The Artifice, 2017 <https://the-artifice.com/magic-artistry-studio-ghibli-films/>

JAREMKO-GREENWOLD, Anya. The Low-Stakes Pleasure of Kiki’s Delivery’s Service. on Birth, Movies, Death, 2017. <birthmoviesdeath.com/2017/07/18/the-low-stakes-pleasure-of-kikis-delivery-service>

STEY, George Andrew.. Elements of Realism in Japanese Animation, Master’s Thesis, University of Ohio, 2009. <https://etd.ohiolink.edu/!etd.send_file?accession=osu1250700496&disposition=inline>

Cottagecore:

SKELLEY, Jemima. Cottagecore Is the Soothing Online Aesthetic We All Need Right Now, The Latch, 2020. <https://thelatch.com.au/cottagecore-aesthetic/>

HAASCH, Palmer. People online are flocking to 'cottagecore,' an online aesthetic that idealizes agricultural life, to calm their hyper-stimulated nerves, The Insider, 2020. <https://www.insider.com/cottagecore-isolation-aesthetic-tumblr-explained-social-distancing-2020-4>

SLONE, Isabel. Escape Into Cottagecore, Calming Ethos for Our Febrile Moment, New York Times, 2020. < https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/10/style/cottagecore.html>

animal crossing:

VINCENT, Britanny. Find fulfillment in Animal Crossing New Horizons' slice-of-life gameplay, CNN underscored., 2020https://www.cnn.com/2020/03/30/cnn-underscored/animal-crossing-new-horizons-review/index.html

WEBSTER, Andrew. ANIMAL CROSSING: NEW HORIZONS IS A CHILL, CHARMING LIFE SIM THAT PUTS YOU IN CONTROL, The Verge, 2020. <https://www.theverge.com/2020/3/16/21179238/animal-crossing-new-horizons-review-nintendo-switch-features>

#slow living #cottagecore #slowness in cinema #cinema #film

34 notes · View notes

valiantleigh · 4 years

Text

What I Learned From 5 Years of Minimalism

The Beginning of a Learning Curve

It all started with clothes. Oh boy, the clothes that 14-year-old Brenna chose to wear. Walking into Rue 21, determined to make all my fashion dreams come true, I‌ [un]wisely chose 3 pairs of brightly colored skinny jeans⁠—electric blue, shockingly emerald green, and maroon⁠—and cheaply made circle scarves and tops to match. This was it. This is how I would gain the “oohs” and “ahhs” and admiration of my fellow trendy Freshmen at Parowan High.

Eventually, the glamour wore off. Frustrated, I realized that rare shades of spunky green could only match with so many things. Dressing fashionably was more of a chore than I had ever wanted it to be, and somehow I still didn’t measure up to the girls around me. How would I‌ ever be comfortable with how I looked and achieve the effortless style I longed for?

Enter minimalism⁠—the worldwide movement touting the universal benefits of decluttering, downsizing, and “less is more.” Capsule wardrobes and black and white outfits seemed like the perfect solution to my personal style dilemma, and at age 15 I proudly declared myself to be a “minimalist.”

(If you are not familiar with the term “minimalism”, this article, and this article both give a good overview.)

I‌ began to devour every piece of minimalist literature and media I could find. I strategically began buying clothing that was guaranteed to pair well each day. I was ruthless as I decluttered my belongings and challenged myself to thrive with only the things that were necessary. Everything had to go. Frivolity and excess became enemies to my ideal of perfection.

At one point, I was successfully dressing myself for school each day with only 3 shirts, 2 pairs of jeans, 2 pairs of shoes, and one jacket to my name. Decided pickiness and a limited budget didn’t allow for much more, but at that time it was all about the numbers. I was proud of myself for proving it was possible to “live with less.”

But minimalism isn't strictly about clothing. It's a way of life. Mistakenly, I began to pattern myself after the lifestyle I saw on other people’s blogs and YouTube channels, convincing myself that this was my best life. Minimalism changed a lot of things for me: how I‌ viewed my time, my dream [tiny] house I‌ would build in college (ha! not happening), constant dissatisfaction with the untidiness of any room that wasn’t mine, and even how I‌ lived the gospel. Clearing the excess left me feeling empty instead of whole.

It took a little while but I finally realized that I‌ don’t want the smallest home possible; I don’t want to grow all my food and live off the grid; I‌ don’t want to constantly obsess over having the “right” stuff. And white walls and furniture? Forget it! I’m gonna be a mama, after all.

What I Got Wrong

In the end, minimalism wasn’t the solution to all my problems. For a young girl who felt that having full control over every detail of her life would bring the peace she desired, maybe minimalism wasn’t the best thing. However, looking back I wouldn’t give up the lessons I‌ learned about the relationship between possessions and my individual worth. While there was certainly a time that I cut out too much in order to live the lifestyle I‌ thought would save me, I have now kept the best parts of that journey and found balance and joy in more fulfilling ways.

So what are the best parts of minimalism? A few years ago, I totally missed the mark on that score. “Minimalism is a tool to rid yourself of life’s excess in favor of focusing on what’s important—so you can find happiness, fulfillment, and freedom.” (theminimalists.com, emphasis added) I, however, was using this tool as a justification for striving for unattainable flawlessness.

While I recount my past misunderstandings concerning minimalism, my goal is to dissuade you from it’s vices, not it’s actual tenets. Younger Brenna was reading words between the lines that weren’t meant to be there in the first place.

In fact, nearly every minimalist influencer out there pleads that newbies to the movement avoid conforming to any one way of using minimalism, especially if it isn’t right for them.

According to Colleen Valles of No Side Bar, “the beauty of minimalism” is that “there are no standards.”

“Minimalism is not about following someone else’s rules or way of living as a minimalist,” offers Melissa of Simple Lionheart Life. “It’s about figuring out what is important to you and getting rid of everything that’s distracting you from the important stuff.”

As I made this mental shift from a sort of utopian/restrictive minimalism to a mindful/carefree minimalism, here’s a few lessons I picked up on:

Lesson 1: When you find out what is really important to you, you’ll actually want it, and have a clear path to get it.

In this busy, busy world there is so much to choose from. With all of these choices vying for our attention, decision fatigue eventually leads to self doubt and feelings of failure.

But do we really even want the things that we choose on a daily basis? Do we want to scroll through our Instagram for 6 hours a day? Do we want to impress people whose opinions don’t matter to us anyway? Do we want to avoid things that might challenge us just because it is safe and easy? No one, when making a list of their priorities in life, even thinks about these things. They don’t make the Top 100!

So ask yourself, “What do I really want? And what is stopping me from obtaining it?” When I talk about actually wanting something, that includes taking the necessary action to reach for it and then make it a reality. This is different than saying something is a priority, or knowing something should be important to us.

You don't really want it unless you act like you want it.

A powerful gift that we have been given from our God is our ability to choose. By realizing what you really want and don’t want for your life, daily decision-making won't necessarily become easier, but it will certainly be simpler.

In my own life, instead of wearing certain styles of clothes to fit in or measure up to someone else, I‌ wear them because I‌ want to. I dress modestly because I want to. I‌ wear my vintage mom jeans because I look dang good in them, and because I‌ want to.

Instead of counting how many objects I own in order to fit into some made up ideal, I‌ keep it to the necessities because I want to. I‌ want my stuff to be organized, so I organize it, not worrying about how unorganized other people’s stuff is (because people are more important than stuff).

Once I figured out what I‌ really wanted, my life truly became mine, not some miserable copy-cat existence. My biggest hope for you is to recognize just how much power you wield when you make the choice to choose what your life is going to be.

Lesson 2: You can’t have everything you want, but you can be content.

I know this seems counter-intuitive to "choose what you want in life." But hear me out.

I am a firm believer that when we decide to choose the important stuff, it invites those things into our lives like a magnet. But I also know that we can’t choose every situation, or heartache, or trial that becomes a part of our mortal journey.

I like to think that our freedom of choice falls into two categories: (1) the things we can control or influence, no questions asked, and (2) the things we can’t–in which case we still have full and complete control over our attitude, our outlook, our reaction, and how we cope with what is placed before us.

My decision to be a minimalist was born out of discontent. I‌ just wanted more, more, more, because I didn’t feel like I was enough. But today, I’m here to tell you, that whatever you do have–whether it’s less or more–you can be content, and even grateful, right where you are. You are enough, and all that surrounds you is enough.

Even after all my talk of action and knowing what you want, I know that sometimes there is no amount of action that can change what our reality is right now. Some of our desires only come to fruition after we’ve been reaching for a very long time.

Remember those two categories of choices? I‌ think that they can be separated by time as well. The first category, the things we can control, are all in the future, at some later date. And while we wait, we make the category two choices: our attitude, how we view our situation. Contentedness is “satisfaction with things as they are.”

Plainly stated, we will never be happy or fulfilled with what we have in the future if we don’t accept our current situation–the “right now.”

What I am trying to say is this: maybe you want x but you need y. You want a clean home, but you need less stuff. You want freedom, but you need to take charge of your choices. You want peace, but you need to make space for it by letting go of something first. You want to be productive, but you need to measure your success differently.

After you know what you want, being content in your day-to-day existence–with yourself, your situation, your stuff, and the people around you–is the best way to love the journey while you reach for your desires.

Lesson 3: Money matters, but not in the way the world tells you.

Long before minimalism, I‌ learned my most important lesson about money management from paying tithing. Giving 10-percent of my earnings to the Lord–as a act of faith and obedience–has always multiplied the other 90-percent.

Minimalism taught me how to more effectively use that 90-percent. It’s easy to think that we are free to spend money just because we have it. I have been shopping for about 5 out of 20 years that I've been alive, and every purchase that ended up not working out in the way that I expected–whether I‌ was expecting increased happiness, popularity, or some easy fix to a deeper problem–was a lesson about treating my money well.

When you treat your money with kindness, it will treat you kindly too. So be nice to your money. Think carefully before you use it. Save some of it to show that you appreciate it. Invest it in something for the future. Spend it on that which is good and wholesome–especially the things and the people you treasure. But in all of your budgeting, don’t be too stingy with it. Money will ebb and flow through your life. Treat yourself! Use it as a tool to improve your life and lives around you. The mistakes you make with money will always be lessons for the future. Money is forgiving when you try to mend your ways; all it takes is some time.

Livin’ the Slow Life

I‌ hope you realize how recently these lessons took full effect for me. It didn’t happen right at first, or even all at once.

Over time, I’ve come to distance myself from the world of minimalism. I‌ no longer pour over articles from minimalist bloggers. I‌ know enough, and it sits well with me. Still, minimalism has been a big part of my growth, and I can’t pretend like it never happened.

Now that I know myself and my stuff a little bit better, I’ve decided to call what I do “slow living.” With a quick internet search you will find that there is certainly a slow movement going on, with decades of history behind it, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm just doing what works for me (and borrowing the term). How I approach productivity, money, and how I spend my time is largely influenced by minimalism, but recently it’s become something all it's own. (Of course, I’ve always been influenced by the gospel of Jesus Christ.) Right now, I’m just focused on “embracing my pace.” And I can’t wait to tell you more about it.

Live valiant leigh,

Brenna

[Originally posted on September 3, 2019]

1 note · View note

colleenwomack · 4 years

Text

Post-Austin City Limits at Emo’s

I was sitting on my couch last week wallowing in self pity as I scrolled through Instagram. There was story after story of Austin City Limits weekend one wristbands, and after every single one I was struck with a little bit more FOMO than I had before. The line up was stuffed full of people that I was absolutely dying to see, from Lizzo to RL Grime to Kacey Musgraves; but there I was, empty-handed and burning with envy. That was, until I scrolled by an advertisement for the ACL Late Night Shows.

A little background for you: I’m a little bit of a rave girl. I love dubstep, house, techno— you name it. So when I saw that Hippie Sabotage, TroyBoi, and GRiZ were all hosting afterparties at Emo’s the same weekend? I nearly cried. I threw $110 of my savings account (this is considered an emergency, right?) at the Austin City Limits website and got ready to throw down every night by myself.

Hippie Sabotage was on the Thursday night before the festival. They’re a sibling duo out of Sacramento, California, and their music toes the line between swampy, bass-heavy dubstep and ethereal, sensual house. Their style is aggressive without being imposing. With all the “I don’t give a fuck,” and “open up the pit,” chants, I almost felt like I was at a punk show. Hippie’s opener, Sebastian Paul wasn’t a typical rave opener, falling more in line with Brockhampton than Skrillex, but they were a good warm up. Hippie Sabotage is an interesting duo because they’re indie before they’re electronica, so their crowd isn’t your typical dance/festival type. There was a refreshing blend of hip-hop heads, classic wooks, and glitter-covered rave babies, and every one of us moshed together. Hippie Sabotage are performers with a capital “P,” and I didn’t leave disappointed.

Friday night was TroyBoi. It was also the first day of ACL, so the crowd was primarily college kids and was vastly different from the crowd the night before. cozymason was his first opener. It was my second time seeing cozy and he delivered once again, with dirty disco tracks and smooth transitions. The second opener, pluko, was not as impressive. His set seemed a little amateur and a little eager, but he managed to get the crowd moving, which is all that matters. TroyBoi came on at around midnight, and to sum it up: his set was filthy as fuck. He dropped brain-numbing bass and trap for the entirety of his hour-and-a-half long set. I have never headbanged so hard in my life. His remix of “Ring My Bell” by Anita Ward had everyone losing their goddamn minds. TroyBoi stole my little bass-baby heart.

Griz performed on Sunday night. His opener CAPYAC had a low-key set, and they were a pretty good gateway to the night. But when Griz got onstage, the energy of the entire venue shifted. Griz’s music has this gorgeous power to bring people together. Where Hippie and Troy both had sets that everyone got down and dirty to, Griz’s set was the EDM equivalent of singing “Kumbaya” around a campfire. His music is approachable, funky, and just really fucking fun. He dived a little deeper into hardcore without abandoning his original style. His remix of “ABC” by The Jackson 5 sent a wave of good vibes through the crowd. Every drop was like candy exploding from a piñata.

Between the Emo’s tickets and all the white claws I bought, my bank account is completely drained this week, but to say I didn’t enjoy every second of the ACL Late Night Shows would be a lie. There’s something special about EDM that a lot of people don’t understand. There's a camaraderie between everyone who goes to those shows and the producers that play them. These smaller after shows allow these DJs to spin for people who really love their music, not for people who were just at the right stage at the right time. I ended up going to ACL weekend two anyway, and none of these artists disappointed there either, but these late night performances left me feeling more fulfilled and more turned up than before.

#acl #austin city limits #music #music blog #music writing #edm #rave #emos #austin #austin tx #austin texas #hippie sabotage #griz #troyboi

1 note · View note

libbystcwart · 1 year

Text

📍 SANDCASTLES, COAST.

libby_stewart: best. dinner. ever. #nationallobsterday

❤ 27 likes! / 9 comments.

#merrocksocial #instagram • the line between fulfilled and full of myself.#food tw

5 notes · View notes

lapeaudelamemoire · 5 years

Text

Sitting in my tutorial this morning it occurred to me that we create mental health issues for ourselves, and then are now faced with having to resolve them.

So much of stress, anxiety, trauma and so on are humanly inflicted, and often societally-pressured. Instead of surmising that our young are narcissistic, more depressed, entitled, etc., shouldn't we be focusing on the environment in which that is fostering those things?

There was a girl next to me who had her laptop out, the sleek leather sleeve for it sat on the table, flat and smoothly gleaming. Someone else walked in, took his headphones off, and folded them up, put them away in their black case, the hidden zipper neatly under the black folds of the lips.

I was thinking of how and why I've fallen off the bandwagon in so many areas; never going to sit in coffee shops with my laptop to study, or taking pictures any more, not caring as much about the way I look. Walking along the road down to the post office earlier I saw myself in the reflections of the glass-lined buildings and windows, and suddenly thought of how I used to dress and how I look when I’m in Singapore, how I used to look different, be different, wear high heels and full-length dresses. I don’t do that almost at all, any more.

But then I don’t feel like I am or get to be that person any more.

I was thinking about disillusionment. Why this discussion about how so many millennials are giving up, ‘killing industries’, not getting married or getting married later, not having kids or having kids later or fewer kids, not buying houses, not this, not that. The thing is, when you make something inaccessible, it’s equivalent to telling them that they don’t get to have it, that they can’t have that, that it isn’t for you.

And that really is what it feels like. You lower your standards, you take what you can get and find fulfillment elsewhere, or just make do.

I go back to that getting pulled out of the line in London often, but something about that shifted some fundamental understanding of my identity and perspective, made clear that there are some things I don’t ‘get’ to do, that something that, if done by me, is cause for suspicion and potentially blocked, where it doesn’t when done by others with -- and there is no other word for this -- that privilege.

That ideal of well-travelled, well-educated, goes where they want to go, moves through the world easily, can up and go whenever they want, sleek and seemingly universally approved, has nice things, [read: can afford a non-refundable or more expensive open ticket which, might still have been called into question], confident, leisurely, lingerie-wearing, decked out in sweeping gowns and with elegant adornments, has the newest technology, posts holiday and beachside snaps on Instagram or coffees in chic cafes or dinners in nice restaurants; that image of a (usually white, let’s be honest) woman, on a trip around Europe --

But the balance of over ten grand in my bank account to prove I had more than sufficient funds to stay the two months I indicated my intended length of visit or even up to three or four months and buy a ticket out (a ticket back home to Singapore costs between $1.2k on the very, most basic, cheap end and $1.8k, possibly up to $2k, economy, depending on demand and how much time you leave before booking it), even after currency conversion (at this time my currency was about half of the pound sterling), didn’t do anything to assure the immigration officer that I didn’t pose a threat for overstaying my visa. The insistent seeming accusation of “conventionally attractive and skinny” didn’t seem to do anything to prevent it, either. Nor did my well-stamped passport, stringent care in not overstaying my visa anywhere, or the fact that I had lived in Europe before. Suddenly my luggage full of evening dresses, lingerie, and jewellery (I’d gone back to Venice, after all, and celebrated my then-partner’s birthday there) is suspicious, too-full, and rifled through; my explanation that I had some possessions with said partner at his residence is questionable although I explained I’d been travelling for a year and accumulated souvenirs to bring home. Suddenly that ‘so-good’ Singaporean passport that allows you to travel more or less visa-free ‘around the world’ is not adequate. My impeccable English that everyone comments on and which places me outside of my own home country by my countryfolk has no bearing here either. I am well-travelled, well-educated, well-funded with a significant amount of funding (that I had been very careful to maintain precisely because the advice is to always have proof of sufficient and immediate funds), ‘conventionally attractive’, outwardly ‘cultured and intelligent’, and -- that does nothing for me, means absolutely nothing at all.

If I’d been English, or some other oft-represented European, I could have looked shabby as anything, had basically no money at all, spoke in a ‘lowly’ accent (because let’s face it, the English are still classist bastards), and I wouldn’t have even had to speak to a customs officer.

The thing is, people try to sell you this idea. That if you have this item and look like y and sound like z (i.e. usually some variation of ‘non-accented’ English, like British English, or American English), you’ll move through the world better. Because that’s what status is. How unaffected you are by politics, how accessible things are to you.

And it’s all a big, fat, lie.

Because I swear to you I looked like that. The only thing missing was white skin, a particular place of birth.

But you could say that about most anything else we’re told these days (that it’s a gigantic, in-your-face lie). Outright climate change denials, that if you work hard enough you’ll be able to afford XYZ (like a house or home ownership ‘cause lol, idk who is going to be able to afford a house/owning a home most anywhere), that if you do this you’ll get that (if you get a degree then you’ll get a good job, anyone?), that if you dress modestly and never walk around alone at night you won’t get assaulted...

And it really is that betrayal, some kind of promise broken, whether it’s "Do a gap year, universities like that," they said, and then finding out that in your case, as an international student, that doesn’t apply (scores-based admissions only); or "If you’re skinny, people will love you"; or "If you haven’t done anything wrong you don’t have anything to fear.”

Like... what’s the point? You follow rules and they turn out to mean shit. “But I did everything you said!” you protest, but they keep changing the goalposts; but sometimes, they never meant what they said anyway.

In Borowski’s Auschwitz stories, he makes clear that the Nazi officers the Jews are met with at the station know that they must be deceived to the end or they won’t go, and do. “Leave your belongings here, we’re just sending you to have a bath first, and you can collect them later,” they said.

You can be all of that and it still won’t matter, was really what they said, without saying it like that or verbalising it at all. You can be successful, rich, and the most well-spoken, intelligent person in the world, and you’ll still never be one of us. Why did Hitler hate the Jews? is one question in Hédi Fried’s Questions I Am Asked About the Holocaust. Old money turning their noses up at the nouveau riche. “He’d be an outstanding Crown Prince. If only he were of my blood!” laments the monarch about his adopted son. You can do everything right. Just what a shame you’re not one of us.

Suddenly another flash of recognition, this apparent transformation into you: Now I get your hesitance at going to that fancy-looking restaurant in Venice, by the canal.

I guess what I’m saying is: Yeah, it hasn’t felt like I’m allowed to be that person any more; that that place is not for me, and never was, I was simply naive enough to believe it ever had been, to think I’d sail through. I can be as good-looking, well-dressed, well-educated, eloquent, intelligent, funded, and all the rest of it, but they sure damned did make thoroughly clear that none of that was of consequence, none of that betokens acceptance or welcome. So, why try? Or, perhaps, more groundbreakingly, that who I thought I was or could be was just as much little more than a farce; all that accusatory lobbed shame of “Did you really think you could be like us? Who do you think you are? Stop trying to be who you never could be; go home!”

“You don’t get to look like that; and even if you do, it’s nothing more than a poor pretence, wishful thinking, playing at it;” you hear, the most cruel inner voice made a reality, heard told to you by someone else.

“We don’t want you to feel like you can’t or don’t want to come here again,” the lady who let me through told me (credit where credit’s due, she was actually decent to me and acknowledged how harrowing the experience was).

But people make it abundantly clear through their actions (and much less their words) what you can and cannot do; what they think you are; how much of value, how much you are even a ‘legitimate’ person.

And, you know, the thing is, it’s not that I feel like I can’t, it’s that I feel like why the hell would I?

I said I didn’t feel beautiful without you; but then, isn’t it really also greatly indebted to this?

(You know, I sat in that interview room and wondered if I could sue for causing distress to the detriment of my mental health, but.)

Can I be that person? Am I allowed to be that person? Am I valid as that person? Do I get to be that person?

But also: Do I still want to be that person? Do I still believe I can be?

#personal #eh???

5 notes · View notes

witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years

Text

BODY AND SOUL Part 11 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: AHHH I CAN’T STOP WRITINGGGGG okay, so, the Tiffany moon necklace is real, you can find it on their website here (now I want it for myself, but it’s almost $3000 sob). I debated over whether or not Duncan and Melody should have had an awkward rendezvous in the past and ultimately decided that if I were working in close proximity with Duncan Shepherd as a 21-year-old intern I too would have tried to put my hand drunkenly on his crotch at some point, so my point of view towards her is one of empathy and solidarity and honestly it just made sense to my story (lolol). Bill Shepherd is going to show up at some point, but the impression I got from the show is that he and Duncan only interact when they absolutely have to as they don’t get along; Duncan gravitates to his mother and she acts as a mediator, so Bill will have a very minor role in this story. Not sure if Beau Willimon ever came up with a middle name for Duncan, but I couldn’t find one and made one up (Malcolm). At this point I’m sort of trying to follow the timeline of the show in a VERY loose sense (and I guess this is a spoiler, but I am going to bring in the fact that Duncan finds out Annette is not his real mother into my fic soon, mostly so Kenzie can comfort him and stroke his hair and give him soft, sweet, sympathetic kisses cuz I am a sucker for that sweet comforting shit); the upcoming show Duncan, Melody and Seth go over in this chapter is meant to be the one where Melody talks about Claire Underwood’s “public breakdown” in episode 5; I’m not going to include Duncan getting arrested in this fic though, because it’s my fic and I can do whatever I want and I hated the fact that they chose to end Duncan’s character that way. Had to add that line from O Fortuna...because the Duncan/Michael parallels will never end. “She walks in beauty like the night...” is Lord Byron, a poem I was obsessed with when I was younger and have always wanted to put in a story. Kenzie making chicken and dumplings is a reference to the fact that Billie Lourd is fucking obsessed with chicken. Most people know Hades was the God of the Underworld; few people know he was also the god of gold and riches, which is very Duncan. It was important for me to imply Duncan had extensive cooking wares in his penthouse; that he cooks for himself. Dudes who can’t cook are a turn-off. Kenzie cooked for him because it made her happy to do it; it’s a way she’s showing him how much she loves him, not something she felt like she had to do, and I plan on them cooking together in future chapters. That moment Duncan leans against the wall across from Kenzie as they look out the window is my homage to the Cody lean. The prayer to Nike is a real one. Full-disclosure, the passing-out after really great sex is something that happens to me pretty often; I go into post-coital daze pretty hard, so Kenzie doing that is literally based on my own experiences, haha! Duncan will finally meet Madeline in the next part, but we’ll be seeing it all through Kenzie’s eyes.

Duncan had left the interview with Gretchen Friedrichs with his mind buzzing; he stepped out of the elevator with a vague pressure humming between his temples, rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand, trying to calm the simmering anger that was still hovering over him. He wondered, with some alarm, when the gossip website was planning on publishing Kenzie’s name and occupation. He wrestled with the idea of telling her; no, he thought, I have to do everything I can to ease her into this world carefully. God, I know she’s afraid and that kills me; I have to do everything I can to soothe her fear, not exacerbate it. One thing at a time.

He pulled his phone out, opening the Uber app and ordering a Black car; then, he opened his texts and sent one out to Kenzie; telling her about the Gala, about his mother’s stylist, about the theme (the theme is you, angel).

Kenzie: That’s beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. And he knew it was true. She was filling this thoughts and his heart and his senses; nothing else seemed to matter, not the show or the company or the app or his mother, not Uncle Bill (who would I will likely hear from soon, he thought, hand coming up to his jaw, and he won’t like this at all). The emptiness and shallowness of the work his mother had enveloped him in since he was barely out of high school suddenly overwhelmed him; beside the luminous, boundless, sublime emotion of Mackenzie, her glittering, effulgent reality, the rest of the world had lost its brightness; it was black and white, and she was made of colors he had never seen and couldn’t begin to describe.

He looked back down at his phone. Kenzie had replied.

Kenzie: I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office.

Fuck, he thought, rapidly typing. She’s going to need a bodyguard. I don’t want to scare her, but that’s going to have to happen very soon. He sent her Samuel’s contact; he’d given Samuel hers earlier that day after they’d dropped her off at One Franklin Square. “Please help me keep her safe,” he’d asked Samuel, his eyes meeting the warm brown gaze of his chauffeur in the mirror; as they always did.

“You have my word, Mr. Shepherd.”

Kenzie: Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan’s heart resounded painfully in his chest; oh god, baby, he thought. I want to hold you so much right now. I want to shield you from all of this. He thought of the tender, aching way she’d brought her little hand down to his cock that morning, her little moans as she stirred awake under his kisses. He longed to soothe her in his arms; the anticipation of waiting for tonight felt like a thousand tiny, sharp knives were pressing into his skin, jarring and disconcerting. He wanted to be alone with her; he wanted the world to melt away, turn its eyes from them. I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Kenzie: I’m dreaming about you too, baby. She’d left a lipstick-stain emoji at the end; he shivered, looking down at it, his mind drifting back to her mouth around his length that morning, the kisses she’d pressed against him outside One Franklin Square, in view of two dozen people, and how he’d gripped her against him, unable to care; lost in her, immediately aching as she ran away from him.

He walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the Ritz-Carlton (“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Shepherd,” the doorman said cordially; holding it open for him, and Duncan gave him a nod, trying to maintain his mask of calm) and stepped into the car waiting for him in front of the hotel. He had a meeting with Melody and Seth that would take a few hours; he winced at the withering look he knew was coming from Melody in particular. Oh well. It all had to come out; it was coming out, and he’d just have to weather the anger and annoyance that was coming his way, weather the disapproval and disbelief. Kenzie deserved that from it; she deserved everything. His patience, his courage, his resolve, and his love.

He opened the Instagram app; he glanced at his mentions, wincing. There was one of the photos the woman had snapped; I look fucking pissed, he thought. Kenzie looks like an angel. He loved the way she was tucked under his arm in the photo; loved the fall of her hair against his leather jacket, her little hand around her necklace. She fits there as though that’s where she was always meant to be. The piece of me once cut away, and now reunited. And me; the piece of her, now wrapped around her again, as if some fateful prophecy has finally been fulfilled. I'm not going to let anything tear us apart now.

Duncan saw her handle in his mentions; @kenzielouwho. He smiled, gazing down at his phone screen. I love that. Her sweetness. He hit the follow button, scrolled through her pictures, goggling at them, his face alight. He double-tapped again and again; here she was, her lovely taste and her coordinated little outfits and plants and the moons and stars of her world, her hair falling like a cascade of gold, laughing at the camera, smiling next to Claire, grinning over plates of food, snapshots of sunsets and evening lights and cute animals she met, books she was reading, songs she was listening to. He felt overcome again; overcome with the affection he felt for her, overcome with how much her happiness affected him, how much he wanted to bring her the joy he saw in her face in the photos, how much he wanted to be the source of her comfort and her love. He couldn’t help it; I’d do anything for this woman. I’d do anything. He found the photo of her looking out from the table at the coffee shop, a little moon at her throat, her sweater falling off her shoulder; he left the pierced hearts at the bottom with a feeling of wild abandon. You’ve pierced not just my heart, but my soul, and your happiness is my happiness, your comfort my comfort, your joy my greatest joy. He wished she was here so he could press the words against her skin with his lips; press into her and breathe deep, breathe her into him. To be away from her was such sweet torture. Looking through her pictures made him feel like there were flowers blooming and closing in quick succession in the center of his chest. He felt completely overwhelmed by them; again, he felt overwhelmed by her realness, her reality; the fact that she existed was astonishing again and again. I never want to wake up from this dream.

He found the video that had been taken of them (oh god, that went up fast) and blushed at the ardency with which he clutched her in them. And I thought the other picture was obvious, he thought sheepishly. But in that moment it had felt like no one else was there. He’d forgotten the world entirely, lost in her eyes and the waist of her skirt on her hips and her bare arms and the way she’d looked up into his eyes, the way she fit against him. There hadn’t been anyone else there, he thought. Not really. It was only us. It was only Kenzie.

-----

Duncan stepped into Shepherd Hall towards the upstairs offices and the Beltway studio where he was supposed to meet Melody and Seth, glancing down as his phone echoed out its soft text chime; Mom.

Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. You’ve exacerbated this situation considerably. What the fuck were you thinking? Clearly you are infatuated and it’s making you behave like a drunk frat boy. I understand that public encounters are somewhat inevitable, but kissing this girl in front of a crowd is absolutely unacceptable. Your uncle is furious. I can only control him if you control yourself. Get yourself under fucking control, Duncan. Focus on our objectives.

Shit, he thought. Shit, meet fan. Fuck Uncle Bill. He’s dying and he’s bitter about it and he wants to make someone else suffer before he kicks it. And I’m not going to play into it. He didn’t reply. You know we’re together, Mom, he thought. I told you I love her. What else do you want from me? I’m not a fucking child. I’ll do what you want when it comes to the company, but not when it comes to her.

He took the back staircase up a floor to where the offices were; the studio was set up at the end of the hall. As he came through the doorway, he was met with the very annoyed gaze of Melody Cruz; his eyes glanced over to where Seth sat beside her, nervously focusing on the memo pad in front of him, eyes skirting between the two of them, then back down.

“Oh, hello, Duncan,” Melody simpered, plastering a painful-looking smile on her face. Murder, her eyes shot out at him. Stone cold murder. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, I know how busy you are lately.”

“Melody. Seth.” Duncan ignored her tone, pulling the chair at the head of the rectangular table in the far corner of the studio out, sitting in it neatly, putting his phone face-down on the table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, using all his will to keep his expression neutral; cool, calm, collected, impenetrable Duncan Shepherd. Everyone seemed hellbent on getting a rise out of him this morning; of all the people in his life he considered close, it seemed only Samuel was happy for his good fortune. Fine. Perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to reevaluate the roles of others in his life in the first place. “Let’s go over everything for the taping tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re just going to pretend like you haven’t been making a total mockery lately of all the work we’ve done, then?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you mean, Melody.”

Seth’s eyes fluttered between them again, licking his lips, clicking a pen nervously in one hand. “Um, everything’s fine, Melody, I’m...I’m sure there won’t be any effect on the show.”

“Are you fucking dense, Seth? Of course it will fucking affect the fucking show! Madeline Stone’s fuck-ing daugh-ter!” She slapped her hand against the edge of the table, enunciating sharply. “You think our audience is primarily comprised of intersectional feminists and people who buy cage-free eggs?”

“Melody, you’re out of line.” Duncan felt his temper rising; a temper that hadn’t really settled since Gretchen Friedrichs tried to blackmail him half an hour ago.

Melody went quiet, her eyes burning, her expression infuriated.

“I understand the reasons my relationship may be a shock to you--”

“You better fucking believe it’s a fucking shock. I’ve never known you to be one to even call back for a second date, let alone whatever it going on with you right now. What, you fucking love her?”

Duncan gazed at her; her dark eyes met his icy blue stare evenly. He felt his tendency towards manipulation and coercion begin to try to float to the surface of his composure; for a moment, he considered firing her. It’s what last week’s Duncan would have done, he thought, and strangely, he felt a nervous edge creep into his composure; he was rubbing a hand along his bottom lip before realized he was doing it, looking away from her. This Duncan had been unutterably shaken by a little gold angel in a black dress. This Duncan was not the same man who had last sat in this studio, last plotted out the trajectory of how best to unseat the sitting President of the United States, last given Melody sheets of propaganda to read on air. I’m not totally sure who this Duncan is, he thought; Melody still stared, her expression seeping into confusion at his metamorphosing reaction. I just know I don’t want the same things I wanted a few days ago. I want her. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of it. I care what she thinks first and how she feels first and I don’t care who her mother is and I don’t care how many times people see us kiss on the street and I don’t want to be away from her, not for all the money in the world, not for all the power, not for the world itself or a hundred worlds. And nothing any of you say is going to make me leave her.

“Yes. Melody. I love her.”

Melody scoffed, leaning her head back into the headrest of her swivel chair, crossing her arms under her chest, turning away from him. Once, long ago, when Melody had been an intern for Shepherd Unlimited, they’d slept together. It was a hasty, short-lived event; neither of them had even really undressed for it, and Duncan hadn’t been able to come; they’d both been drunk and she had pressed a hand suggestively against his crotch and the scotch in his blood had convinced him that it was a good idea and it wouldn’t matter the next day, the way the scotch in his blood had decided halfway through that his cock was ready to go to sleep. Neither of them had ever really mentioned it again; but Duncan knew that Melody had never really let it go. Not in words; it was always in looks. But he wasn’t sure if her anger really had all that much to do with who Kenzie’s mother was as it had to do with the fact that this girl, whoever she was, was the girl Duncan Shepherd had decided was the one for him, kissing her openly in the street, standing in line with her in coffee shops with his arm around her, holding her hand on the way to private rooms in posh French bistros, cameras be damned.

“I guess this is why you fucked up your interview so many times the other day,” she said icily. “Thinking about her perfect little pink pussy.”

“Melody.”

“Seth, give him the fucking outline.”

“Melody. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that time.”

Melody’s eyes fell on him, shining; shocked.

“I’m truly sorry about that night. I appreciate you and the work you do immensely; I see the long hours you put into the show and Gardner Analytics. I haven’t told you that enough. I know that happened a long time ago, but it was stupid, and we should have talked about it after it happened, and we didn’t. I should have said something to you, apologized, and I didn’t. This apology is far too late, and my timing is terrible. But I am sorry.”

Seth was carefully drawing circles on his memo pad; he pretended to look at his phone, as if engrossed in whatever he saw there, but Duncan could see how rigid his body was.

Melody continued to stare at him, not speaking. He uncrossed his legs and sat up; sat with his arms resting on his knees. He cleared his throat a little.

“I know it’s not convenient. But the truth is, I love Mackenzie Stone. It wasn’t expected; it wasn’t planned. It happened. Annette knows, and she knew before the video and the photo from today. I understand your hesitation and your concern for the future of Gardner Analytics and the show. But the reality is, my relationship will continue regardless of whether or not you approve of it; whether or not anyone approves of it who isn’t Mackenzie or me. But I am sorry, Melody. I respect you deeply as a friend and as a coworker. And I’m sorry my apology took so long.”

Melody bit her bottom lip, and he could see her arms clenching against her torso where she had them crossed. Then, she looked down at the folder in front of her, opened it, and passed him the sheet of paper on top.

“Outline for Episode 153.”

Duncan nodded, reaching for the paper, pulling it toward him, as Melody blew out a long breath, and began her overview.

--------

It was after 6 by the time Duncan left Shepherd Hall; he looked down at his phone (he hadn’t for hours as they went over the episode--as this one was supposed to be about President Underwood’s thus far very public breakdown, it had to be flawless) as Seth and Melody walked away from him. Melody had looked over her shoulder, giving him a strange look that he couldn’t decipher, then waved shortly, turning away--it gave him the feeling that something minute and ever-present had been vaguely fixed between them, though. Kenzie and Samuel had texted him; Samuel’s was at the top, more recent, so he saw it first: Mr. Shepherd, Miss Mackenzie is safely at home. If you need my services, I am now available to you.

Yes, please, Samuel. I’m at Shepherd Hall. I need to go to Tiffany’s.

Samuel responded right away. Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I will be there in ten minutes.

He scrolled down to the text from baby, angel, beloved

Kenzie: There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

Oh, no, he thought, his heart sinking. Someone beat buzzpopfeed to their info. He knew how clever people could be online; they found the tiniest clues and used them to sleuth vast swaths of information (once, a fan on Instagram had zoomed in on every toiletry behind him in a selfie he’d drunkenly taken in his bathroom and made a list of “Duncan Shepherd’s Go-To Grooming Must Haves”, which was published by a gossip site soon after). Seeing Kenzie run into One Franklin Square on camera was a dead giveaway, and he raked a hand through the curls at the side of his face in frustration. That was so fucking stupid of me. I should never have gotten out of the car after her. I should have controlled myself. And now people are trying to molest her at work. That’s my fucking fault. He wondered if it was buzzpopfeed that had found Kenzie on the opposite side of her building; they were notorious for breaking into private residences and crossing police lines, inventing elaborate scenarios to get onto upper hotel floors where they knew celebrities were staying, and wearing hidden cameras. That’s just the sort of shit they’d do, he thought. And if they got her on camera I don’t doubt it’ll be on their site soon.

He thought about going to the site to check, but stopped himself. I’m sure I’ll get another angry text soon enough from Mom if there’s something new, he told himself. And what, she’ll be angry at Kenzie for trying to leave work. As if there was an alternative.

But Mom: she’s easy to love. She’s so lovely. When you meet her, how could you not see it? Mom, I love her. You’ll see why; and then, you can’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong. Then you won’t be able to say I’m making a mistake.

The thought was like one he would have had when he was a child; lost in the orb of his mother, always admiring her, always certain with an unshakable conviction that she was right. Always sure that she knew what was best. The innocence of the thought struck him; even if he knew now that his mother was far from perfect, and that her intentions were often underhanded, he couldn’t shake the hope that she would warm to Kenzie in time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Samuel pulled up, Ella drifting quietly from the interior: your daddy’s rich, and your mamma’s good-lookin’...so hush little baby...baby, don’t you cry...Duncan pulled the door open, letting the warm evening air drift over him and push his hair back, a strange wave of nostalgia washing over him; a mixture of sadness and hopeful longing. If such a wonderful, fateful thing could happen to him; meeting her at all, finding her at all, in a world of so many people walking past each other every day without a second glance, surely the miracle of his mother accepting and loving her could, too, come to pass. O Fortune, like the Moon of ever-changing fate, ever waxing, ever waning...where had he heard that before? The line echoed in his mind as Samuel pulled away from the curb, and they were both silent, a quiet understanding passing between them; Duncan nodded to Samuel through the mirror; thank you. Thank you for taking care of my Kenzie today. Samuel’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light; seemed to him like twin moons in a black sky.

I’m so glad you’re okay, baby, he texted Kenzie. I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.

------

An hour later, Duncan stepped out of the BMW in front of his high-rise with a very distinct blue box tucked carefully under his arm; his eyes glided up to the 30th floor, where he knew he could sometimes see into the long window of his penthouse if the light was right in the evening. He could see the reading lamps near the window were turned low; could see the reflection of light coming from where the kitchen and dining room were to the north end of building, but he couldn’t see Kenzie; she wasn’t near the window, it seemed. An almost-vanished sliver of moon hung over it, like the rind of a melon devoured. He walked quickly into the building, anxious to be near her; the doorman, Jerry, nodded to him with familiarity. “Mr. Shepherd, fine night.”

“It really is, Jerry, hey,” Duncan moved past him, giving Anchaly a nod. Anchaly gave him a knowing smile; his copy of Tropic of Cancer catching Duncan’s eye for a moment. “Enchanting,” Anchaly said as he walked past, eyeing the blue box under his arm. “She walks in beauty, like the night / of cloudless climes and starry skies--” Duncan grinned at him, heading to the elevators, feeling flushed. “And all that’s best of dark and bright / meet in her aspect and her eyes,” he finished, as the doors slid open.

“Just so,” Anchaly agreed, and turned back to his book.

Duncan looked at himself in the long mirror as it climbed, unaware that Kenzie had done the same only a few short hours before; his hand pressed along the smooth line of his leather jacket, only just now remembering he’d worn the same clothes for two days. He sniffed his armpit carefully; not too bad, considering. He ran a nervous hand through his hair; still nervous, he wondered. Still trembling to behold her grace. I hope that feeling never fades. I don’t know how it could. He thought of how she’d looked clutched against him in this mirror, in that haze of their first night together; how it had made his cock throb, his nerves set on fire, her little body pressed to him, his hands in her hair. He felt his cock growing hard now, pressing with urgency into the lining of his tailored slacks (her little tongue in my mouth, her little nipples in my fingers, my hand between her legs, her laugh, her smile, the light falling on her); he ran his fingers along the edge of the blue box, swallowing carefully, pressing a thumb along his jaw. The doors slid open, achingly, seemingly impossibly slow. He walked to his own door, heart thumping wildly, as though it belonged to her now; it’s because I belong to her now, he thought. And I’m happy to obey her every whim.

He used the second keycard he carried in his wallet to unlock the door; it was usually tucked into the inner lining of his wallet, but he’d moved it to the spot where the old one used to be in his billfold; the one that now belonged to her. As Duncan opened the familiar doorway of his apartment, warm, wonderful smells enveloped him; food smells, lovely and enticing and comforting.

“Kenzie?”

She emerged to his left; from the dining room, a room he never used, a room that would be gathering dust but for the housekeepers’ attentions. Kenzie’s face looked tired; there were small dark circles under her wide hazel eyes, and her cheeks were pale, but her lips were pink (like roses), as if rosy from hot liquid; she was wearing a little slip dress that fell almost to the floor, one of the straps falling down her arm, and its color reminded him of wine grapes firming on twisting vines. Her neck was bare and her hair fell around her shoulders, catching the light of the diamond-drop chandelier.

“Hey, baby,” she said quietly, and her eyes seemed dark again as they stared at each other for a long moment; green and bronze. “Hi.”

He put the blue box down on the stand by the front door, his eyes not moving from her face.

“Baby...” he whispered. He closed the distance between them, his hand coming behind her head and cradling it, the other falling down her cheek and neck to her shoulder and down her arm, feeling insistently, hungrily, with terrible relief. She fell into him with urgency, her hands grasping the lapels of his jacket with tight little fingers, her mouth opening to him with need. They stood this way for a moment that felt like an eon, a lifetime, pressing into each other, lost in the solace of each other; he thought again that he’d be happy to die now, breathing into her. She lifted her mouth away a little and he tried to follow her; “baby, today was the strangest day,” she whispered into him, closing her eyes, face lifted up to him, hands pressing up his arms.

“I’m so sorry I followed you out of the car--” he started, his voice tinged with the remorse he felt, tinged with regret.

“I’m not.” She looked into his eyes, her little body sighing. “I’m glad you did. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

He smiled; his hands fell through her hair and down the small of her back, loving the smooth feeling of the dress through his fingers, the silky strands of her. He turned his face, kissing the corner of her mouth; he moved his lips so they trailed along her bottom lip, biting a little, sucking gently, and he was thrilled at the moan that seeped out of her, her eyes fluttering.

“I got something for you.” He stepped away from her, gently gripping her hand and pulling her along with him, towards where he’d left the blue box on the stand by the door. He stroked the contours of her knuckles and fingers for a moment as she glanced at the box, her face curious; then, with a small burst of excitement scattering through her eyes. He handed it to her with both hands, stepping close. “Oh, Duncan,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes again, making him shiver with the devotion he felt, frozen in her gaze.

She pulled at the white ribbon around it, the black lettering emerging from underneath it; Tiffany & Co. He took the ribbon gently so she could lift the lid, and as her eyes fell on what was inside, the little laugh of delight that escaped her filled his heart with tenderness that made him want to press his face to her neck. Inside the box was a platinum necklace on a long chain; the charm at the end of it was a crescent moon set with brilliant round diamonds, which immediately threw their glow against her face, under her eyes. “A moon,” she whispered.

“The moon on a string, for you,” he replied, grasping her hand again, pressing his thumb over it. “My beloved.”

“It’s perfect. It’s too much--” Her eyes took on that overwhelmed glimmer; he shook his head, pulling her mouth onto his again, shushing her worry.

“It’s not. It’s not nearly enough. I wish I could pull the real moon down and give it to you.”

She grinned into his lips. “That’s beautiful. But I don’t know what I’d do with the moon all to myself. The world needs her. I love her best where she is.”

“Of course you would say something like that,” he whispered into her, his thumb brushing a gently trail from her cheek to her earlobe, twisting a strand of golden-brown hair through his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Something so lovely, and so kind, and gentle.”

Her eyelids fluttered downwards as she blushed; he could feel her shaking a little under his touch. He gently lifted the necklace from the box, and he reached out with his long fingers, pressing the index of his left hand into the hollow of her throat, trailing it there.

“May I?”

She nodded, her green-tinted eyes staring at him again, her mouth open ever-so-little. She lifted her hair and turned, exposing the whiteness at the back of her throat, the bumps of her spine and the incline of her shoulder blades above the dip of the dress; he resisted the urge to kiss her there, later, and unclasped the hook, lifting it around her head, his fingers brushing against her with longing as he clasped it at the nape of her neck. She turned around again, facing him, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips; “how do I look,” she asked, her eyes falling into him.

“Like an angel,” he said, hands against her shoulders, fingers trailing. “Like a goddess.” And she did to him; the soft light on her skin and her hair, dazzling against the little round diamonds in the crescent moon, the shape of her little breasts pressing against the soft velvet of the lilac-colored dress. “You look like Persephone, goddess of spring.”

A strange look came into Kenzie’s eyes; one of a dawning realization, or a familiar deja vu; she brought her little hands to his cheeks, trailing them softly along the stubble on his jaw, onto the bottom of his lip; he pressed his mouth against her fingers, closing his eyes.

“Then that makes you my Hades, God of Wealth, King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dark Places.”

“Spooky.”

She giggled.

“Thank you, baby. I love it so much. I love you...so much.”

“I love you too, Kenzie. I love you.” He opened his eyes again to her; everything I have is yours now, he thought. Everything is for you. All of me.

“Come have dinner.” She smiled mischievously, pulling back from him. She held his hand and pulled him through the doorway into the room he never used; its centerpiece was the long cherrywood dining table that once belonged to Duncan’s great-grandfather, a piece passed down to him by his mother when he moved into his penthouse years ago. Kenzie had found one of the linen tablecloths packed away in the drawers of the darkwood sliding-door china cabinet Duncan never touched; it was carefully tucked around the table, and on it was a lovely spread; she’d moved some of the pillar candles from the coffee table into this room, lighting them in the center, and their warm glow dazzled into his eyes, making them tear.

“I made chicken and dumplings,” he heard Kenzie say softly. “It’s one of my favorites, my mom always made it for me when I was growing up, especially after she’d had a particularly hard day; now, to me, it’s always comfort food.” His eyes roved hungrily over the spread she’d created; his favorite shallow cooking pot full of fluffy dumplings covered in speckled parsley, and steamy, bright chicken stew; another platter had smoky tendrils of broccoli rabe, and a third had an array of colorful root vegetables, yellow beets and dark orange chopped carrots and purple turnips.

“Kenzie, this is wonderful,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for cooking for me. I’m so happy you did this for me.”

“I wanted to,” she said, shyly, the diamonds around her neck catching the light, her cheeks, pale when his eyes had first fallen on her, now glowing with her emotions and the touch of his fingers. “I wanted to make you something because you’ve been so wonderful...because you’ve made me feel so wonderful…”

“Kenzie, baby,” he couldn’t stop, he pulled her into him again, aching, his body shuddering into her, his lips falling along the side of her face, and she sighed into him, “God, I missed you so much today, I wanted to see you so much…”

“I felt the same way baby, I’m so happy you’re home--”

He pulled her hand up to his face, kissing her open palm with terrible softness, overcome.

“I’m starving,” he said, grinning at her, and she smiled back (my moonlight), kissing him, nodding, saying “Me too, let’s eat, let’s eat.”

-------

Over the dinner Kenzie had created for him, Kenzie told him about everything that had happened to her after she ran into One Franklin Square; “Ben Wilder is basically the Annette Shepherd of the Washington Post,” she said to him, her eyes flashing. “Everyone is terrified of him, and he demanded I get you to give him an interview. It’s impossible to hide any modicum of gossip from him.”

“I’ll give him an interview,” Duncan said between mouthfuls of Kenzie’s savory chicken and dumplings. God, this girl can cook. I can’t wait for us to cook something together, he thought. I can’t wait for us to cook together for so many nights to come. He watched her eyes goes dark with surprise at his words. “...You will?” He watched her fingers fall to the diamond moon hanging at her beautiful throat; Kenzie, baby, I love your fingers there, I love your fingers, my little moon, my Persephone--

“Of course.”

“Duncan, I work for The Washington Post.”

He laughed a little, drinking down a mouthful of the Grand Cru he’d opened for them, bringing the bottle over to him, pouring more into his crystal glass, pouring some into hers carefully. “Kenzie. I know.”

“So...how is that going to be okay with your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”

Her eyes shone out at a him from where she sat across from him; he was at the head of the beautiful cherrywood table, and she was sitting in the seat to his left, facing the doorway to the kitchen, her little face soft in the candlelight.

“Okay,” she said, and the smile that spread over her cheeks was like the blush of spring flowers in the rain. He reached over to her; her fingers curled through his, and the energy that passed between them was like the rolling crash of thunder over an open plain; wide and intense and open and circling down into the cores of their bodies, through the fingers that touched. They gazed at each other for a moment, hands tightly together. Then, Kenzie grasped her wine glass in her little slender fingers, stood, and, still clasping his hand against hers, said, “I seem to recall a bold claim from this morning.”

He looked up at her; she glowed, and his breath fell away from him.

“A certain Prince of the Underworld, he of vast fortune and troves of gold and black flowers with silver stems, told me he was going to make me come...so...fucking...hard.”

Duncan smiled; smiled with an all-encompassing happiness that pierced into the center of him, one that made him want to scream with its intensity; he let go of her (I don’t want to) and wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin at his lap, but as he stood, she moved away from him, gazing coyly into his eyes as she did, over her shoulder, cradling the wine glass against her; come and get me, her eyes whispered. His groin shuddered with a coiled sort of agony and he pulled his own wine glass with him, languidly, following her slowly, leaning against the door to watch her move through the kitchen and the wide front room, flipping the light switch so they were bathed in darkness, as she moved towards where the long glass window stretched, its blank face gazing down on the city lights; the silky movement of the dress against her back and her ass, one of the straps falling down again, the incline of her breast almost completely visible to him, the waves of her hair down her back; Duncan imagined flowers tangled in the strands, peonies like the little flowers on the glass of water he’d pulled in her hand, roses like the roses on the balcony and in the bathtub, the candles clustered around them, her body hovering over him in the water, her fingers clutching at his stubble.

She gazed out onto the city, quietly, lost in her own thoughts again, it seemed; he felt like he could almost see the gentle cascade of her thoughts in this moment, the hazy warmth of the wine spreading through her, the pain and confusion of the day fading and spreading down into the city, away from them; he put this moment, looking at her, bathed in a soft glow, into the memories of her he would always cherish, always have locked in his heart. He watched as she sipped the wine, the crystal edge of the glass reflecting the golden helmet of Pallas Athena beside her.

“You know,” she said, as he moved towards her, carefully, “today, after I got here, I looked at your home for a long time. Its energy. Its spirit.”

“What did you see?” He couldn’t remove the longing from his voice; everything I want, everything I need, he thought. It’s you. Only you. He came up against the other side, against the wall of his study; he leaned against it, his arm propped up, trying to look out at the capital city’s glow; but his eyes turned to her, almost involuntary, lost in her.

She dipped her head down for a moment, thoughtful, her eyes to the steep incline of the ground, thirty stories down; the crystal glass glinted in her hand again, throwing stardust against her cheek.

“That you love art and beauty. That you love books. That you love the strength of women; the strength and yes, the beauty, and the beauty of men, too, I think. I think so. And that you have a great and hidden depth in you, Duncan Shepherd, one that perhaps not everyone around you sees; one that you hold secret, pressed against your heart.”

He kept his eyes on her. She turned to him, dazzling, soft, and he noticed her wine glass was almost empty now.

“I think you really are like the God of the Underworld; a prince on a cold throne. And I think you need a Queen made of Light who sees the light in you. And I think I am her.”

She stepped away from him once more; looking over her shoulder again, setting the crystal glass next to Athena, a swirl of red still in the bottom, moving on to the soft, low light of the bedroom. His breath seemed caught in his chest; he put his own glass, a little wine left in it, an offering, next to Nike, whom he stood near; bring me Victory, blessed Nike, whence I toil like the bees, you bring me honey--

As he entered the bedroom (quiet black sheets, the cover thrown back) he saw her pushing the dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it; she was naked underneath, and his nerves thrilled to realize she had been naked underneath it since he came home; thrilled at the secret she’d held that he had not realized, but she left the necklace on, the moon made of diamonds, and Kenzie looked over her shoulder at him, her long lashes languid as she laid down on the bed, sighing into it, bending one of her knees so her thigh fell over her sex, hidden from him just a little, her face turned to where he stood there at the door, leaning against it, staring over her.

Kenzie moved her legs apart, her sweet little sex opening to him, reminding him of that first night, days ago--

He pulled his jacket off quickly, about to pull his shirt off just as quick--but she murmured “slow, baby, I wanna watch you,” and he slowed himself; anything you want, angel, he thought. Whatever you want, now and always, and as he unbuckled his belt, now shirtless, he watched her little fingers go down between her legs and rub at her little clit, her mouth falling open.

“Baby, stop,” he said, firmly.

Her eyes widened at him; her finger paused its circles at her core.

“Put your hands up above your head. Against the headboard.”

Her eyes went darker; that glow, forest-green, haunting. Kenzie lifted her hands up, grasping onto the slats above her. Her mouth was still open, lips parted just a little, her breath coming out in tiny, quiet gasps.

“I’m gonna make you come.”

He watched the shiver fall down her body, starting at her shoulder, through her torso, her hips, her legs, to her toes. She gripped the slats harder, opening her mouth a little more. He pushed his pants and his briefs off his body, staring at her, his cock falling against his fingers for a moment, making him moan, and then he reached down and picked up his belt where he had dropped it; he let it hang carefully down from his hand for a moment, watched her eyes travel over it, a mixture of desire and apprehension in them, then he climbed onto the bed, between her legs; he didn’t touch her, but she wrapped her legs around his thighs, the head of his cock brushing for a second against the open lips of her sex, and they both shuddered. He lifted his arms up and pressed the smooth leather strap against her little wrists; she let out a moaning little cry that made his heart feel as thought it was going to burst out of him, but he concentrated on the task at hand; he wrapped the straps around two of the slats, buckling them together behind it, pulling the strap tight against her, not too tight, but enough to make it so she couldn’t move her wrists out of the belt; he watched her hands flex for a moment, and then he looked down into her wide hazel eyes; she nodded to him, eyes fluttering, and he moved his long hands down her arms, fingers closing over her round breasts and gripping the diamond moon above her breasts for a moment, down further as he moved his body back, hands on her waist and now her hips and now her thighs, pushing then further apart; he saw the little tears glittering in the corners of her eyes, felt the shiver of her body under his hot hands.

“Is it okay, baby?” he whispered, hesitating.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she whimpered, an edge in her voice that made him shake. “Yes, fuck, yes…”

He moved his head down to hover just above her folds, above the lip of her clit; his hair fell over his forehead, brushing her belly, the dip of her bellybutton; she shivered, crying out again; then he pressed his lips into her, his tongue laving out to urge against her core; he looked up as he did, watching her arms resist the constraint of his belt holding her for a moment, tight on her wrists, pressing into her skin, her little mouth stretching in need; “Duncan, fuck, ohhhh--”

“You like being tied up like that, baby?” he whispered, then he pressed his tongue against her again, long and slow and aching, and her hips bucked into him, and she let out a little shuddering cry that made him painfully hard, made his cock jump against the sheet.

“Y-y-es, baby, yes…”

He brought one of his large, long hands up, fingers curling; then he brought it down suddenly, a soft but sharp little slap onto the sensitive slit between her legs, and she cried out again, leather pressing into her little wrists.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes.” The tears glimmered in her eyes again; her cheeks were rosy, and he could see her pussy slowly turning dark pink from his attentions. “Yes. Do it again, baby.”

He lifted his hand again, his palm and fingers flat; this time he brought his hand down again, harder this time, slapping her clit with a rough immediacy.

“Fuuuuck, fuck!” Kenzie moaned. “Please, suck my clit, baby…”

Duncan leaned down, eagerly, his lips closing around the bud of her; he sucked deeply, carefully, his tongue swirling over her, and he felt her hips buck into him again, her moans strangled and needy and unwinding.

“Kenzie, I’m gonna make you come hard,” he whispered into her, his breath making her buck into him again, and again, her mouth a little O, her wrists shaking, “and then I’m gonna make you come again after that.”

“O-okay, baby,” and her voice was shuddering, high, driving him into white feelings of madness.

He worked his tongue against her again, and his fingers came up; he pressed two, his index and middle fingers, into the wet core of her body, curling them, flexing back and forth, his lips sucking into her clit again. She cried out again; “Baby, I am gonna fucking c-cu-um,” and he kept his mouth pressed heavily into her clit as she shuddered under him, his fingers still buried inside her pussy as her wetness fell against them, moisture gathering between the spaces of his digits, sweet-smelling and thick. She continued to shudder for some time; he laid his head gently into her abdomen, his fingers coming out of her, soaked with her, his hands pressing into her jutting hipbones, tracing them and leaving traces of wetness and his lips pressed into her skin, ignoring his own hardness, his own need, for the moment.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking godddd,” Kenzie moaned, and he looked up; tears coursed down her cheeks and her shoulders were shaking. Her hands were still clamped in the confines of his tight leather belt; he leaned up, reaching behind the slats, untying it, tossing it aside, gently grasping her wrists, bringing his lips to where they’d left red marks on her, kissing her tenderly.

“Are you okay, baby,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whimpered, though tears still coursed from her eyes. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna fuck you again now. And you’re gonna come for me again.”

Her eyes opened wide, wide from their fluttering, hazy half-lids; she gasped a little, and then she nodded, and she whispered “yes, baby, my Prince, fuck me hard now.”

He pulled her up, gripping her under her arms; “come here, baby, come with me,” he whispered, and her little naked body slipped off the bed as he pulled her, and he kissed her with his mouth open with fierce admonition, fingering the diamond moon at her breast in his large elegant hand and she lifted herself up to him and her tongue tangled against his and as he pulled her towards him he saw a glitter of moisture that slipped down her leg from her release. He gripped her hand tightly, pulling her from the bedroom; he led her to the window, his glass window, surveying all of the city, a wall of glass, and he pressed her hands against it tenderly in the darkness, the only light now shining below them, his mouth open under her ear, his body pressed against her back and her thighs, his cock hard between her legs, brushing against her cunt, sensitive and soaking wet, and she moaned again, her eyes looking back at him for a moment, then back at the lights below as his large hand came around her throat and he pressed his length into her, his other hand coming around to her clit, rubbing insistently.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he fucked her, raw and rough and with wild desire, and her little mouth hovered over the glass, her breath cascading in clouds against it, her fingers curling where they were pressed, fingers splayed, her knees buckling just a little against him, her ass moving back to press into him as his fingers bored into her core and pressed harshly into her neck, her hips moving against him, her feel tip-toed to reach up to his height, her eyes looking out, glancing up at their reflection over her shoulder. “Almost as beautiful as you are, but nothing is, no one is, nobody is as beautiful as you are, Kenzie, my angel--” Duncan could see the outline of them there too, in the reflection, his hair tossed against his forehead, his mouth open in a mixture of lust and concentration, her wide eyes turned up almost into her head as she gasped, and he moved the hand from her neck to twist around her chestnut hair, pulling it tight, bringing her head back with a soft jerk, and she moaned “oh goddd--” and ground against him again, ground down onto him so he was completely buried inside her. His index finger was grinding circles into the side of her clit; he moved it down to where moisture was dripping down her leg, dripping down the length of his cock as he pulled in and out of her, and gathered it on his finger, bringing it back to her clit, soaking wet--

“Baby, I’m--I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna--”

This time, Kenzie’s little body rocked back onto him, her fingers clenching into fists on the glass, her cunt spasming down onto his length with a force that brought stars behind his eyes, and he watched the glitter of the diamonds at her neck reflect in the glass. “Fu-u-uuck my pussy, fuck my little cunt with your big cock,” Kenzie cried out, and he lifted out of her and plunged back, feeling the vague outline of her cervix brushing his head; then, Kenzie screamed; she screamed and her body began to shake, to vibrate against him, the lips of her so far down on his cock that they brushed against his balls, and he felt another cascade of moisture seep out of her, this one more intense than the first, dripping down his testicles in rivulets, and he shuddered a hallucinatory release into her that made him blind for a moment, his cock immediately sensitive and painful with its intensity, his voice crying out “Fuck, fuuuck, I wanna be inside you forever, Kenzie, goddess, I wanna fuck you until I die--”

They leaned heavily into each other for a moment; her cunt spasming up onto his cock, his cock shuddering into tenderness inside her; then he pulled out and Kenzie slid, weakly, to the floor, breathing heavily, her little breasts shuddering.

“Oh baby, are you alright--” Duncan immediately crouched to her, avoiding the sensitive area between his thighs, his eyes widening with alarm; he tucked a hand around the crook of her neck, the other hand coming around her waist and holding her up as he gently pushed her head towards him; her breathing was heavy and her eyes fluttered once more, half in and half out of consciousness. He pressed his fingers against her cheek softly, tapping it a little; her eyes trembled open, and the look she gave him was one of supple, dream-like trust.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Duncan.” Her eyes hovered between opening and closing; her breath slowed, and she murmured “I’m so sleepy, baby,” and they closed and she was hovering there in his arms, breathing softly, lost in her post-coital euphoria.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek; he hovered there, breathing in the smell of her skin, then he hitched his arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders, and he picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed, where he pulled the sheets and the duvet over her little body; my poor angel, my poor sweet baby, he thought. I have to talk to her about a bodyguard tomorrow, I know she won’t want one, but I have to convince her it’s for the best, god, I have to. He watched the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek, the slow breath that moved her body under the blanket, the slow shadow of her heartbeat against her throat. Then he moved towards the bathroom; his groin was still soaked in her release, his cock still throbbing as he came down from his orgasm; he went to one of the drawers under the bathroom sink to get the wet wipes he always stored there (a million uses) and paused, his heart in his mouth, as he saw her little toiletries lined along one side of the sink, the side he’d cleared for her; his on the left, hers on the right. The dark red bottle of her perfume; he pulled it over to him and brought his nose to the nozzle, breathing in; roses, vetiver, geranium, and his body sighed into the smell, the smell that was her. A little black hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink; strands of her chestnut hair glinting in it. A little eyeliner stick, a tube of lipstick, a stick of mascara, a bottle of face wash. All her little things, the little pieces of her. His immaculate grooming supplies were on the opposite side, spotless and still; hers threw warmth into the space, made his cheeks blush; he wanted to touch everything, kiss each of her belongings, memorize their shape. Duncan felt overcome again; it was as if her things had always been missing before, leaving a Kenzie-shaped hole, one he didn’t know existed, but could feel, somewhere in his hidden heart. And now, they weren’t missing anymore. Here they were. He could reach out and touch them, like he could reach out and touch the smooth contour of her skin, the waves of her hair, where she slept in his bed. Our bed, he thought, smoky desire drifting, cleaning himself up, shivering as the cold wipe touched his still-sensitive cock; using another one under his arms, at the back of his neck. Our bathroom. Our apartment. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. How can I keep her safe if she isn’t here with me? How can I sleep without her now? He imagined reporters hounding her as she tried to leave for work in the morning; imagined people trying to get into her apartment building at night, trying to look in her windows. The thought absolutely chilled him. I’ll ask her. I want to soothe the worry I saw in her eyes tonight. I don’t want her to worry about anything, or anyone. And I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.

Duncan left the bathroom, naked, flipping the light-switch, but not before one long, last glance at Kenzie’s little things on the sink; he smiled, his heart full. He turned towards the closet, eyes falling over Kenzie where she slept again; she was breathing slowly now, far away, the diamonds still glinting at her throat; he went to her softly, unclasping the necklace at the nape of her neck, gently lifting it away from her so she wouldn’t wake, pressing the softest, lightest of kisses into her cheek, his heart on fire. He put it on the side-table, noticing her phone there; it was turned over so he could see its gold case and the moon sticker on it, fading away from use; he trailed one finger over it, lovingly, then turned and walked into his closet. Duncan bent to the drawer, in search of sweatpants, but he stopped, noticing the little outfits that now hung in the space he’d cleared for them; her clothes in my closet--our closet, he thought, and looked down on the shelf below, where there were a few other things stacked in a row; a little black bag, some little moon and star jewelry. Her little things. His chest swelled with longing; he wanted all of her things here, all of her, kissing him, blessing him; he longed not to be greedy, not to ask too much of her too soon, but he thought again of paparazzi outside her house and his mind clouded with concern, resolving to ask her in the morning. He pulled on the sweatpants, wincing as the waistband brushed against his cock, then, he moved out towards the kitchen (he paused, eyes falling on her hair tossed over the pillow tenderly, her little hand clutched against her mouth) and into the dining room, to clean up the dishes.

#millory #millory au #duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd au #house of cards au #michael x mallory #duncan x mackenzie #duncan shepherd x mackenzie stone #duncan shepherd x mallory #cody fern #billie lourd #cody x billie #collie #ahs apocalypse #body and soul #body and soul au #my fic

30 notes · View notes

ilovelocust · 6 years

Text

The Shiro Thing

Long post ahead. Confusing and ranty. You’ve been warned.

God my head is a tangle of thoughts on this whole Shiro bombshell. For those who don’t know, in the writer’s latest interview with screen rant, they said that Shiro was going to “retire” from being a paladin. That when Allura pulled him from the black Lion, she completely severed his bond with Black. Black now has only one paladin and that’s Keith.

Yeah so, first thought. I can’t believe this is the plot point they decide to spoil through interviews. Can’t know Keith’s dad or dog’s name, but I can know that my favorite character will no longer be a part of the active front line roster.

Second thought, the worst interpretation of the writer’s words is actually likely. Normally, I might hesitate and comfort myself with quotes from other interviews where they suggested Shiro might still have a role as a paladin, but there are too many other things lining up against Shiro.

Namely, a while back they told us in an interview that the original plan was for Shiro to die just like Sven and not come back at the end of season 3. If he came back at all, it was just going to be as a way to show how Keith had grown as a leader since taking over the black mantle. The execs are the ones who nixed killing Shiro, and they had to change the plot to accommodate Shiro sticking around.

The thing is, the way talk about season six in the interview. It seems like we’ve reached the point they’d originally planned to take us by another route. With the big confrontation and discovering that Shiro’s spirit had been in the lion the whole time. Now their intended plot, for Keith to take over fully and Shiro to die/“retire” somewhere far away from the plot, can continue uninterrupted.

Third thought, this is a really horrible thing to leak. If I’d found out via the show, then I could have seen justifications and build up towards the decision, but as it is, they’ve taken all my hype and speculation for the next season and shot it full in the chest with disappointment. There is no sugar coating. I now know Shiro is never going to fly again, and all I’m waiting to see is how bad they make it.

Fourth thought, this is a step down for the character. The Black Lion isn’t a trophy for the best character, but it is a critical part of Shiro’s character. Season 3/4 we saw Shiro without black, and despite his attempts to hide it, he wasn’t happy. Season 6 in monsters and mana we had repeated emphasis on how nothing was more fulfilling to Shiro than being a paladin. Season 2 and 6 both emphasized how strong the bond between Shiro and Black was, and that he trully understood what it meant to be black’s paladin.

Now all of that’s gone. The role that gave him fulfillment, just gone, and that’s not a step up for his character. He’s been tortured, enslaved, died. He doesn’t need to be stripped of his position on top of that.

Fifth thought, Allura in season 1 and 2, and Coran through out the whole show were kept relevant despite not having lions. If they leave Shiro behind “to protect earth” it’s because they weren’t trying to find him a role.

Sixth thought, having Shiro step back to heal is removing him from the show. The writers have said multiple times they have to keep things action packed due to the audience they are aiming for. If Shiro is not allowed to heal and accept himself on the front lines. Then he won’t be allowed to heal and accept himself on screen. He’ll be a side character like Matt. Someone who occasionally shows up but isn’t really part of the plot or development anymore.

Yeah, I think that’s everything in my big jumbled mind at the moment. I’ve probably worked a couple people up, so lets get some things clear. If you feel like me, the worst thing you could do write now is shit on the staff’s social media accounts or on the social media accounts of fellow fans who are much optimistic about Shiro’s chances next season. Seriously, if you yell at someone for thinking everything will be okay or trying to calm things down, just unfollow me. I don’t support hurting other fans.

If you want a constructive way to express how much you don’t want to lose Shiro. @voltron on tumblr/twitter/instagram. Not the staff as individuals. Leave their accounts alone. A swarm of a hundred upset people is a mob, no matter how much they individualy may try to remain polite. If you complain, complain at the official medias of the show. They have people who are paid to deal with us, and are the ones taking the pulse of the fandom on various developments.

Again, do not yell at or harass the staff or other fans.

#shiro #voltron #lp #takashi shirogane #vld

77 notes · View notes

flakandforay · 6 years

Text

Melon Music Awards (MMA) 2018 Theory

so this is another milestone for our boys in which at the 2018 MMA, they won a total of 7 awards with 2 of them being the daesangs, I'm so proud of them. but yet, with another award show, it shows subtle comeback hints for their next era, so what is in store for us this time round?

warning(s): spoilers of Harry Potter, mentions of death, suicide, abuses, violence etc; please read with care

support my ko-fi ☕️

⇝ theory masterlist

theory: see, there was already some things on twitter in which they mentioned that bangtan would be having an 18mins worth of time for their performances inclusive of vcrs, and that means quite a lot of content for them to showcase hints for their next comeback.

so, based on here ( which is the full MMA performance inclusive of VCRs), you could see that they started out with the sort of same feeling for their mnet comeback stage of fake love in their comeback show here

look at the similarities, the whole idea being in that same place with the cloaks and the masks.

comeback show

fake love (extended version)

mma

but here’s where they merged more together with the fake love extended version as well, in which all of the 7 members have their own cloaks and masks.( read the fake love teaser 1 theory, fake love theory here, fake love extended theory here )

yet, you would see that bangtan did their own solo dances, having their solo performances/time etc, to reveal them in their ‘own worlds’ as what this segment for bangtan’s performance at MMA was introduced.

and it matches exactly of E’s concept, the idea of being trapped in their own worlds, possibly without the masks etc.

moreover, the vcr from the MMA showed that they zoomed it out from a keyhole, and who do we notice was also zoomed out from a keyhole?

either Hoseok or Jungkook, ironically our two main characters for the first part of the love yourself seres, in which Jungkook does the intro of Euphoria and Hoseok with his trivia 起: just dance.

notice also that there is some sort of relationship between them in the HYYH: the Notes, O version, here as well.

Jungkook 30 September YEAR 20

“Yet, when I opened the door, I could only see Hoseok Hyung. He was cleaning the things we left behind in the classroom. I held the door handle and just stood there. Hyung came over and put his arm around my shoulders. He then led me outside. “Now, let’s go.” He closed the door of the classroom behind us. Now I realized. Those days were gone and they would never return.”

okay but moving on, if you go back to the start of bangan’s performance, it goes with ‘Who are you?’.

now I'm thinking here that after you find out how to love yourself, you start to know yourself and then possibly speak for yourself, as to what Namjoon preaches during his speech at the UN General Assembly, i mean that’s what Namjoon sort of did during the billboard music awards, ‘love myself, love yourself’ and that became the next era.

im assuming, it’s going to be the same here as well.

see, bighit recently decided to revisit some of the old HYYH pt.2 concept photos posted on instagram and changing the hashtags to be more fitting with what there is to come. many armys speculated on this ( here )

thing is, there used to be hashtags already existing for these photos, but i have a feeling they added more.

since if you look at the concept photos, it would be #no regrets, #neverland, #dream etc but now you have #Awake ( ironically Seokjin’s first solo ), #PLAY, #Psique, #togetherforever.

“Who are you” if in the acronym form is WAY, just like what they did in the hashtag. #WAYToYou, possible Who Are You to You?

of course, they would have changed Seokjin’s hashtags for the concept photos because so far he is the leading character however, interestingly, they changed Yoongi’s concept photo as well.

there could be two reasons for this, possibly that they would eventually change the hashtags of all the boys or there could be a shift in the role of who’s going to be the main character for the next era.

going back to the HYYH translations, i dont really see much linkages between Yoongi and Seokjin as much.

the hashtag #togetherforever would probably prove that possibly all the boys died ( read prologue theory ), and going into purgatory or maybe just Seokjin surviving etc and the boys are in his memory etc, or no matter what Seokjin does, someone would die, but initially, the boys would be together.

possibly a reincarnation of the boys’ deaths hence they’re together forever.

also, the fact that there was this whole vcr of the memories of the boys since the prologue, to include i need u, euphoria, highlight reels, etc, the whole story line actually, these glimpses of the memories of the boys, perhaps in different lives or at different times, shows that they are together forever, at the young age of youth they are in, possibly in a dream.

now, moving forward, see the vcr pans out to this mirror in which it shows these weird sentences but you could hear the audio playing in the background to find out what it really means.

you read it from the bottom, backwards.

“I show not only your true side but also your fake side.”

this mirror reminds us of the Mirror of Erised from Harry Potter, in which the words are read backwards. many armys speculated this as well on twitter ( here and here )

The Mirror of Erised is a very old device. Nobody knows who created it, or how it came to be at Hogwarts School. A succession of teachers have brought back interesting artefacts from their travels, so it might have arrived at the castle in this casual manner, either because the teacher knew how it worked and was intrigued by it, or because they did not understand it and wished to ask their colleagues’ opinions.

The Mirror of Erised is one of those magical artefacts that seems to have been created in a spirit of fun (whether innocent or malevolent is a matter of opinion), because while it is much more revealing than a normal mirror, it is interesting rather than useful. Only after Professor Dumbledore makes key modifications to the mirror (which has been languishing in the Room of Requirement for a century or so before he brings it out and puts it to work) does it become a superb hiding place, and the final test for the impure of heart.

The mirror’s inscription (‘erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’) must be read backwards to show its true purpose.

“I show not your face but your true desire”

Reference

Harry Potter was known to have been an orphan as a child, not because his parents left him or anything, but because they were killed and he survived but attained the lightning scar that’s on his forehead.

if you follow the whole series of Harry Potter, either through the books or movies, you would have known that Harry Potter longed to be with his parents, the people he loves, Dumbledore even. that was what Harry truly desired.

Albus Dumbledore’s words of caution to Harry when discussing the Mirror of Erised express my own views. The advice to ‘hold on to your dreams’ is all well and good, but there comes a point when holding on to your dreams becomes unhelpful and even unhealthy. Dumbledore knows that life can pass you by while you are clinging on to a wish that can never be – or ought never to be – fulfilled. Harry’s deepest yearning is for something impossible: the return of his parents. Desperately sad though it is that he has been deprived of his family, Dumbledore knows that to sit gazing on a vision of what he can never have, will only damage Harry. The mirror is bewitching and tantalising, but it does not necessarily bring happiness.

Reference

here, Rowling’s thoughts were put forth and it said that basically, your true desires are the ones that could hurt you the most, causing far more damage as such.

if i relate it back to of the boys, if going by the harry potter’s version of the mirror, their deepest desires are the ones that’s going to get them hurt, hence the whole concept of Temptation during the Wings era, wanting something that it hurts so bad. ( inspired by Demian by Hermann Hesse )

however, if we go by bangtan’s version of the mirror, it’s the sense that they changed themselves to please others to the point that they do not know who they are anymore, hence fake love, singularity, the truth untold etc.

Singularity

내 목소릴 널 위해 묻었잖아

My voice was buried for you

잠시 들어간 꿈 속에도 나를 괴롭히는 환상통은 여전해

Even in my momentary dreams The illusions that torture me are still the same

나는 날 잃은 걸까 아니 널 얻은 걸까

Did I lose myself? Or did I gain you?

Tell me 이 고통조차 가짜라면 그때 내가 무얼 해야 했는지

Tell me, if this pain is fake Then what must I do?

this is the beginning of it

Fake Love

널 위해서라면 난 슬퍼도 기쁜 척 할 수가 있었어 널 위해서라면 난 아파도 강한 척 할 수가 있었어 사랑이 사랑만으로 완벽하길 내 모든 약점들은 다 숨겨지길 이뤄지지 않는 꿈속에서 피울 수 없는 꽃을 키웠어

If it’s for you I can act like I’m happy even when I’m sad If it’s for you I can act strong even when it hurts Hoping love will be perfected with only love Hoping that all my weaknesses will be hidden In this dream that won’t ever come true I grew a flower that couldn’t be blossomed

I’m so sick of this Fake love, fake love, fake love I’m so sorry but it’s Fake love, fake love, fake love

전부 바꿨어 Just for you Now I dunno me Who are you?

I changed everything just for you Now I dunno me Who are you?

나도 내가 누구였는지도 잘 모르게 됐어 거울에다 지껄여봐 너는 대체 누구니

Now I don’t even know who I used to be So I ask the mirror, who are you?

Love you so bad, love you so bad 널 위해 예쁜 거짓을 빚어내 Love it’s so mad, love it’s so mad 날 지워 너의 인형이 되려 해

Love you so bad, love you so bad For you, I’m enacting a pretty lie Love it’s so mad, love it’s so mad I’m erasing myself to become your doll

나를 봐 나조차도 버린 나 너조차 이해할 수 없는 나

Look at me, I threw myself away Not even you can understand me

낯설다 하네 니가 좋아하던 나로 변한 내가 아니라 하네 예전에 니가 잘 알고 있던 내가 아니긴 뭐가 아냐 난 눈 멀었어 사랑은 뭐가 사랑 It’s all fake love

You say I’m strange when I changed into the person you liked You say I’m not the person you used to know What do you mean? No, I’ve grown blind What do you mean this is love, it’s all fake love

Woo 나도 날 나도 날 모르겠어

Woo, I don’t even know myself

this is the climax

The Truth Untold

초라한 모습 보여줄 순 없어 또 가면을 쓰고 널 만나러 가

I can’t show you my weakness So I’m putting on a mask to go see you

바보 같은 가면을 벗고서

As I take off this stupid mask

또 가면을 쓰고 널 만나러 가

So I’m putting on a mask to go see you

난 울고 있어 사라진 무너진 홀로 남겨진 이 모래성에서 부서진 가면을 바라보면서 And I still want you

I’m crying At this sandcastle That’s disappearing And breaking down As I look at this broken mask And I still want you

this facade, this whole song tells the story of Smeraldo through and through

even looking at the lyrics of those songs would show ideas of how much they have changed for someone, their lies piling up.

coincidentally, these songs are the first 3 of the album as well.

so, just like the mirror in the MMA stage VCR, im guessing they picked it out from this. so going by the spinoff of bangtan, instead of the mirror showing their not just their fake side/facade, but it also shows their true side.

i am assuming the mirror is going to reflect the full truth, seeing through all the lies or walls/barricades that the boys built to protect themselves in this world. to show their inner demons as well and flaws.

hence, possibly a reenactment of the smeraldo flower “the truth untold” but with the mirror, would now be told/revealed.

3 notes · View notes

twistedaddiction · 2 years

Text

The Dress

So hopefully this will be the last of the catch up posts, and moving forward I may have shorter updates every few days. But to be real I straight up write novels sometimes when unloading my thoughts.

The dress is probably one of the most magical things a bride gets to choose. When I was younger I had a white blanket that I would wrap around myself like a towel, and because I was small the end would drag behind me like a train.

To be honest i hadn’t given my gown too much thought. At prom I had one of those princess type dresses that ballooned out so having that fulfilled I wasn’t sure if I wanted that shape again or if something else would suit me. As per some tips I got online, I had planned to look at 3 stores and purchase my dress sometime in the fall when it was off season and the prices would drop to make room for next season’s dresses.

I didn’t do too much research but as Instagram started to flood my story timeline with wedding ads (curse you voice detection) there was a bridal shop that caught my eye from their sales. I haven’t actually been able to ask my third bridesmaid, Vickie, about her part in the wedding so I asked my MOH Venuya and my other bridesmaid Zul when they may be free to go with me.

Venuya drove with me across the city to the shop and Zul was a little behind because of traffic, so we got started. I let the consultant know that I had *almost* zero expectations and that my intention for the visit was to get an idea of what I might like. She first walked me through the racks of dresses she thought would make sense for my height, and gave me details on the types of fabric and styles.

We singled out a couple to start and I went to the change room to try them on.

The first was a 3/4 sleeve ballgown. The top was very lovely and consisted of lace. It had a full skirt made of Taffeta. It was crazy to see myself in a dress and we all quickly agreed that the full-skirt-ballroom look was probably what I would need to go for. As lovely as the shape and top were, I hated the stiff feeling of the Taffeta

The second gown was strapless. While I didn’t have much expectations one this I knew I didn’t want was strapless. I was advised the straps could be added. I don’t remember the fabric of the skirt but it was nicer, however it did not give off the full effect that the first one gave. and I believe the top had sequins or something of the sort and I just did not like it.

The third dress had a gorgeous top. The patterning was lace with some beading. The skirt was full but it was filled with sparkles so it felt a little tacky/childish for me

This is where Zul came in and it starts to get muddy. I tried one that was between an a-line and a mermaid shape, There was something I liked about the fabric but overall it was a little too plain.

There was another that was a lace up back. I looooove lace up back. I had my prom dress altered to be lace up and it was one thing I thought that I would definitely want on my gown and it did look really good, however the skirt wasn’t full enough.

The other two were not memorable, so I decided to end the consultation there

I told the consultant we were finished and thanked her for helping me get a good idea. She left us to our own devices then and I decided to sift through the dresses on clearance with Zul before we left. I was lazily looking through and Zul pulled out a gorgeous dress. The top had really elegant and elaborate beading, and a full skirt made with Chiffon (I think, will edit later if I’m wrong) overlay. I asked a different associate if I could try it on quickly. I put it on and man, my jaw dropped (there is photographic evidence of this genuine reaction).

She proceeded to tell me that the reason it was being discontinued was due to suppliers not being able to ship those materials over and that it was actually the last one. I’ve had a handful of instances in my lifetime of being told an item I liked is either the last in my size or the last of its kind. Something inside me told me if I didn’t get it I would regret it. It was perfect and because it was on clearance it was half the price of my max budget. So I bought it.

The associate brought over a little bell and asked if I was saying yes to the dress, so I got to ring it and do a little dance before I paid lol. What an experience to get it on the first try.

The only weird/sad part was when trying on one of the dresses, I had a de ja vu moment from a dream I actually remember having. That I had Zul and Venuya there but not my other friend. I remember waking up from the dream and wondering why she wouldn’t have made it, but I never thought it would be because I didn’t feel she had a place there. Weird trip in the matrix. But overall I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

#theWeddingSeries

0 notes

masterturner · 6 years

Text

long drawn out personal post

this is a bit stream of consciousness, so if you’re reading this and trying to make sense of it, im sorry. its okay if youd rather not. its a lot and its emotional labour to even read it probably. it’s been almost a year since the breakup now. every day closer to the anniversary of it, i feel a little more broken. i’ve had two suicide attempts since then, a prolonged IOP thing, and i no longer see a therapist (though i really should start again). im not crying about borderline personality disorder though. this is all breakup shit. still. im still holding together somehow. i dont really know how, some days. ive gone through the whole cycle of grieving multiple times now, cycling again and again through denial and bargaining and all that, ‘til i reach acceptance and think the hurricane is at its end. then i find i’m just in the eye of the storm, and it’ll soon pass as i get caught up in the winds again. then i do the whole cycle over and over again. thats what the therapists in the IOP said it was. a grieving process. you can grieve the terminus of a relationship the same way you grieve a dead person. it sounds so silly when i make that comparison. they also said that progress and healing are nonlinear and that it’s not really necessarily going to be as simple as passing through the grieving process a single time. i said it sounds silly. its not silly though. its real, and i have to remind myself of that from time to time. i dont usually talk about anything personal on here, and its a little weird that im doing it now. but i guess im doing it because i dont know where else to do it. i could do it on facebook, but it feels attention-grabby, needy in a way i always feel weird being. doing it here under a little ‘read more’ thing feels less obtrusive and private, but not so private that im completely trapped in my own skull again. i hate feeling trapped in my own skull. the anxiety bubbled up and got bad again pretty constantly. it got that way tonight. i felt my heart race while i tried to sleep. usually the worst points stemmed from me looking my ex up and seeing how their life was progressing along without me. unlike me, my ex has a drive and interest in the performance of social media that i generally lack. my social media experience begins and ends in shallow ways: i look at cute butts on tumblr, reblog dumb memes and get vague impressions of things going on in the world and such through the sometimes nonsensical things other people reblog. thats about it. my ex, though, shes the kind of person that does things like update her facebook profile picture at least once in a 6 month period, unlike yours truly. i dont even follow her or have her friended anymore on facebook. heaven forbid i had an instagram to see what kind of stuff was going on there. it always got the worst when i saw her with her new SO. now i get to look at that every time i get the nerve to message her. its literally painful to even look to the extent i have to archive or delete every stray line of text we send to one another afterward. i was seriously in denial - i talked myself into believing the SO wasnt an obstacle, wasnt a big deal, he was just a rebound and it didnt invalidate me. it didnt make me lesser, and it didnt mean that i was being replaced. after all, what stranger can replace 5 years of memories and experiences together? but i was a rebound too, and that led to a deep and intense relationship. why couldnt it this time too? i was naive, i think. hopeful and naive, and i really wanted to believe this and that. ‘i know her’ i’d tell myself. ‘i know her, and i know she wouldn’t think this’ or ‘she wouldn’t do this’. but it’s wishful thinking. maybe a part of me always did know better. maybe i stopped listening to that part of my own psyche because i started to recognize how harmful it was. it’s kind of messed up how that works though? like... you can be happy with someone, but also be terrified of that day when they realize they can do better. and then it becomes a sort of twisted, fucked-up self-fulfilling prophecy because that thought sucks the life and passion out of you. it’s insidious and slow. and it’s tempting to look at it like ‘i was right all along, everyone will leave me’, but that’s not really how it necessarily is. thats just the trauma talking, the fear, the part of my mind that’s lazy and resigned to suffering and collapse. it was that fear that made it real. maybe if i’d learned to manage that fear, though, things could have been different. would have been different. it’s pointless to speculate on that though. the reason i say it isnt to speculate though, it’s because im trying to remind myself that it can apply to right now. the friendships and relationships i have now - few and far between as they may be, stretched thin as they may be, damaged and in dire need of repair as they may be - aren’t doomed to failure just because i’m afraid of loss and abandonment. the collapse doesnt have to be inevitable. maybe talking like i’ve learned and figured something out from all this will make me feel better. maybe believing it all had a purpose will make it feel like it was worth it. eventually. right now, though, it doesnt. i’m still so upset. i’m still miserable and i still long for things i can’t have. i miss affection. i miss being touched, even in a plain and nonsexual way. i miss being kissed and i miss being hugged. i miss being wanted, and every day i wonder if ill ever feel that again. and then i get to thinking, would it be enough to feel that from just anyone again? why do i feel so starved for... any kind of affection at all? why do i feel so desperate for something - anything like this? could anyone ever love me the way my ex did? i guess the cynical and plain answer to that is no, but thats okay. and maybe someone else can love me better. and maybe that desperate longing to be loved, cherished, cared about, touched, anything is just a symptom of an addiction that’s yet to pass. kind of a cold and clinical way to put it though, and i dont know if thats really me. yet i dont want someone else because its not enough to just have anyone. my ex left me, and now i still have that feeling of being invalidated, devalued, abandoned, and ultimately replaced. even if someone else came along and professed undying love for me, no matter how i welcomed it, that feeling of being tossed aside would remain. and i dont know how to come back from it. i hate how much my mind... fixates on it. like... everything makes me think of it. i cant make a status on facebook without wondering if my ex will see it, what she might think. i cant leave my house and go somewhere without wondering, what if my ex sees me? what would she think of what im doing? would she approve, or be proud of me? would it impress her? or would it disappoint her? it saps the joy out of almost everything i do. i cant watch an old show without feeling bad im watching it without her. i cant help but wonder if she feels the same, or if shes gotten over it. and a part of me doesnt want to know the answer to that wonder. does she still listen to mili? coheed? does she listen to ‘old flames’ on repeat like i do? when ‘sweater weather’ comes on, does she think of me or someone else? even now as i write this, i wonder if my ex still stops to peer at my dumb blog from time to time for a hint of how im doing and what im thinking. and i dont even know if id want to know, because seeing this message in that light casts a pall over it that makes me feel sick. i didnt want my ex to see how not okay i am. i didnt want her to see the part of me that feels so sick still. and i dont want to know that she doesn’t look at this either. so here i am at an impasse, writing words and tossing them into the void of the internet, hoping for and expecting only silence, while also hating and fearing the very same. id like to think that maybe this is a sign i dont care anymore, but i think i know better than to really believe that. i force myself every day to just... not reach out. not say anything to her thats real or vulnerable - the few times ive talked to her it feels forced and fake. and it feels like ive cut off a limb, because im so used to leaning and relying on her. but i feel like i have to, because expecting that level of emotional labour from someone that has cut those ties with me seems silly and foolish... not to mention selfish. why? maybe a part of me thinks that by hiding it, i’d win her back someday. or maybe im just afraid of being burdensome and difficult. or maybe i just... genuinely do want her to be happy without me. i wish it was that last one. i wish i could just back off and be happy that shes with someone else that maybe will treat her good in a way that i couldnt, or didnt. i dont know what i want, though. i know what i dont want though. i know i hate feeling like this and i wish i could make it stop, but i cant. its not really getting easier. i had the borderline shit before this, and i could end up meeting the criteria my whole life for all i know. the breakup is just a massive complication in that whole mess, but i dont know if id even know what was wrong with me if i didnt have that relationship in the first place. there was a day a few days ago, or maybe a week or two ago (i dont remember) where i wanted to hurt myself (not physically though for whatever reason), and in order to do it, i made myself do something i was starting to break the habit of doing. i browsed her facebook profile and scoured it for anything that’d make it sting again. i succeeded - it didnt take much. a few pictures, a relationship status change, that was pretty much it. my mind filled in the blanks after that because of course it did. it snowballed into full blown catastrophizing. they’re probably madly in love. they’re probably moving in together, if they havent’ already done so. they’re probably making plans to get married. they’re probably this and that and this and that - like it matters. like it affects me somehow. but it doesnt. not really, not physically anyway. i dont have to look, and its like i hope not looking will make it hurt less. but not looking makes me hope, and hope has bred more hurt than anything else in the past year. since i last looked her up in that fog of need to hurt myself emotionally, a lot of that dreadful hope i had that i could win her back drained away, and i want to believe that the pain will go away now. i havent talked to her since then. i still think about her. i still dream. i still fear and i still wonder and reflect. but i havent talked to her. is that good? is it bad? is it anything other than what it is? does it matter? maybe someday ill be over this. a part of me yearns for that. and a part of me is afraid to ever let go, because what if love wins in the end and all the time we had together meant something after all? did it not mean anything if it didnt end up taking the shape i wanted it to take? no, it still meant something, but does that matter now? i dont know. all i know is that to this day it hurts and... that’s all. thats all i know. eleven months later and it still hurts. but i guess expecting it to be all better after 5 years of dating is a little unrealistic. i thought we were gonna be together forever. forever is a long time, though, i guess. she makes it look easy, but maybe it isnt for her either, even if she’s better at making it look a certain way. i have no way of knowing and thats maddening in its own way. if i had the ability to close that distance... hear her out, be there for her, could i do it? could i get over my own fear and hurt to build a connection again? id love to find out. but i cant seem to get that far. it doesnt matter though. its her life, and she has every right to move on without me. its easy to say ‘poor me’, but theres two sides to every story. a lot of pain that led up to the end. questions i still have that will never go answered, and closure i might not ever obtain. ctrl+a, delete, backspace. that’s all it’ll take, tyler. then maybe you can sleep. but no, instead you’re going to post this. for what? why? is it a cry for help? complaining for the sake of complaining? i dont know. i cant leave it all in my own head though. but the silence that i get back in response is liable to be deafening all the same

#do not reblog this

2 notes · View notes

cardboard-moon · 6 years

Text

40 Things You Never Wanted To Know About Me

You probably already know me decently well or else you wouldn’t be reading this, so instead of rehashing the basic (boring) “getting to know me” questions I dug a little deeper and asked myself about what’s really important. Here is the result: 40 Things You Never Wanted To Know About Me. Enjoy!

1. What Parks and Rec character am I?

While I could argue for almost everyone on the show I’m probably most like Ben Wyatt: a white, brunette, and sad man who eats soup alone on a park bench (minus his love of math and rollerskate kink)

2: Top 5 books?

To Kill a Mockingbird, The Secret History, A Prayer for Owen Meany, The Help, 11/22/63

3: Top 5 movies?

Chinatown, Star Wars, Rear Window, National Treasure (nick cage can be good in small doses ok) and Nancy Drew (2007)

4: Top 5 shows?

Parks and Rec, B99, That 70′s Show, Mad Men, Arrested Development

5: Top 10 most iconic vines?

1) Chris is that a weed/Mary is that a police

2) Hi My Name is Trey I have A Basketball Game Tomorrow

3) Rebecca It’s Not What You Think

4) The one where the girl is just hitting elmo with a baseball bat

5) Anything Kermit but esp. the one where he falls off the building

6) You Know This Boy Got His Free Taco

7) 2 Bros Chillin in the Hot Tub

8) Waelcom to my Keeetchen we have bananis and avocadis

9) Whoever Threw That Paper Your Mom’s A Hoe

10) i spilled lipstick in your valentino bag (yOU SPILLED WHAHULAUG LIPSTICK IN MY VALENTINE WHITE BAG)

6: Where do I see myself in 21 years?

One of my dreams in life is to marry the heir to a prestigious winery out in wine country. I have a vision of myself at 39, waking up at 10 AM on a tuesday and standing on my private balcony in my state-of-the-art spanish stucco villa. i am drinking a chardonnay despite the early hour whilst i observe my grape empire in my silk negligee. the only event planned for the day is a portrait sitting for my rottweilers (4 of them), for which i have arranged spaces in the family’s private art gallery. i am aging well despite the harsh california sun and my partner and i have a trip to tuscany planned for the fall. it’s a charmed life and i never tire of eating grapes

7: Top 5 favorite cryptids

1) Nessie (Nessie is a true lady I believe in her)

2) Mothman (not real)/ el chupacabra (possibly real)

3) the kraken (definitely real)

4) Bigfoot (not real but a legend anyways)

5) the yeti (real only in russia)

8: Do I Believe in Ghosts

It’s a complicated topic and of course we will likely never know for sure but the short answer is yes. in my opinion though, what ghosts are is the important question: are they really the dead coming back to haunt the earth? are they just manifestations of energy that the mind interprets into recognizable shapes? hallucinations? or is it wish fulfillment and the reduction of tensions on a heavy conscience? our brains are capable of powerful things, but it begs the question as to whether if a human desperately wants something to be true does the human mind have the power to make it true? c. s. lewis mentioned once that he never understood the ghost debate since, given that ghosts are real, they have no real power over us or anything interesting to say. but i believe that just goes to show how the mystery is far often more important than the solution.

9: Best/Worst Month of the Year

Best: May/November (spring/fall in full swing, holidays, time off school, great atmosphere) Worst: August (too dang hot & start of school)

10: What is one of my embarrassing secrets

I didn’t learn how to tie my shoes until I was nine (velcro ftw)

11: What is my Dream Date

We go cryptid hunting in the woods and have a picnic in the dark; you supply dogs for entertainment and guardianship purposes, i supply drinks and the cryptozoological myths we are chasing. Afterwards we get gelato

12: Top 3 Presidents

(this is based solely on arbitrary opinion not policies) 1) Barry Obama 2) Lincoln 3) Millard Fillmore (his name is funny)

Honorable mention: jimmy carter (he was the only noncorrupt man in office for like 30 years before barry)

13: Top 3 Vice Presidents

1) John Adams, if nothing else but for the drama this man caused 2) Walter Mondale 3) the big boy JB

Honorable Mention: Nichard Rixon

14: Top 3 Secretaries of State

1) Madeline Albright 2) Henry Clay 3) Elihu P. Washburn

(note: secretaries of state have the funniest names, like Hamilton Fish (1869-1877) rest easy Mr. Fish)

15: Worst Activity they make you do in middle school PE

Middle school P.E. is the worst in general but I’m going to say either grading you on your shotput skills (?) or BMI (??) or just the tuesday run in general (luther kids know)

16: Top 4 Worst Scents

1) Washing a knife covered in peanut butter 2) Really cheap perfume that they sell in checkout lines at convenience stores 3) Olives 4) organic deodorant

17: Top 7 Conspiracy Theories

1) The Denver Airport is an underground military fallout shelter designed to protect the 1% from nuclear warfare

2) A Roman pope adjusted the Gregorian calendar so that his reign would fall on 1000 AD so we’re actually living in the year 1783

3) Paul McCartney is dead and was replaced prior to the Seargant Pepper album by a lookalike named Billy Shears

4) The state of Wyoming is a myth

5) Avril Lavigne died and was replaced back in the early 00’s

6) The Titanic sank because too many people went back in time to prevent it from sinking

7) Not to be cliche George Bush and the military-industrial complex orchestrated the 9/11 attacks (jet fuel can’t melt steel beams and all that)

18: Inside jokes with myself

I’m not usually a “gamer” but every year without fail someone introduces me to a game exactly at finals time and I get hooked and it ruins my gpa and study habits. This year it’s Stardew Valley, last year it was Dream Daddy and the year before that it was undertale and I blame Jojo for absolutely all of it bc they are usually the instigator. Anyway, every year I joke with myself about what game will derail my grades this year

19: Top 5 Worst Tactile Sensations

1) Putting tights or leggings on wet, hairy legs post-shower

2) Running fingernails along cardboard

3) Sweating in a turtleneck

4) Having wet, salty hair after swimming that drips down onto your back and makes the top of your shirt damp

5) Reaching into a bag of grapes and only finding really soft, slimy ones

20: Best Cat I’ve ever encountered

One time my friend and I were leaving Romancing the Bean and walking back to her car and the fattest, fluffiest, softest ginger cat I’ve ever seen came trotting up to us and flopped over at our feet. He was such a good boy!!! And so friendly with strangers!! He was very well groomed and just wanted some love, and whenever we stopped petting him he would jump up onto our legs and leave little wet paw prints everywhere, I wanted to kidnap him

21: Best dog I’ve ever encountered

All of them

22: Best squirrel I’ve ever encountered

My dad has befriended a squirrel named Nutty that likes to sneak into his office when the door’s open and steals peanuts. if the door is closed he’ll bang on it and scream until we acknowledge him

23: If I were a furry what would my fursona be

I do not know because I am not a furry. HOWEVER someone who is well-versed in furry matters told me once that I would be one of those long, nervous dogs like a greyhound maybe and tbh I could see it

24: Favorite/Least Favorite Disneyland Rides

My favorite has always been haunted mansion, except for the halloween season when it’s nightmare before christmas and then it’s thunder mountain. I just love the outside atmosphere of the house bc I’m a slut for that southern gothic architecture style. Worst is splash mountain because there’s no seatbelt and LOGICALLY i know I don’t need one but it doesn’t stop me from having a panic attack every time I get on and we go up the big hill as I worry about being flung from the toboggan across the park

25: Least favorite restaurant within 10 mile radius of my house

I live over by Porto’s so I am #blessed to be surrounded by some really dope food. However there is a hipster place a couple of blocks over in Toluca Lake that only serves bizarre food like fried chicken in maple syrup with waffle fries and it’s surprisingly bland, so the lack of taste combines with how expensive it is probably makes it the worst (it’s also forgettable bc I can’t even remember its name)

26: Rank of JBHS history department according to how good of a parent they would be

9.Mr. Bixler - I have never had this man so I can’t say shit. NA/10

8. Ms. Snowden - I’ve never had her either but I’ve heard enough about her between Burroughs and Luther to know that this woman is kind of scary, intimidating and uptight, all things I personally do not desire in a parent. 2/10

7. Mr. Hatch - I love Scott Hatch but he is a tremendous mess of a man. Judging by his wife’s instagram photos his idea of parenting is taking naps while cuddling his children and letting his wife do the rest of the hard work. Plus he seems like the type to be too wrapped up in his own melodrama and too busy hangin out with his best friend Edward Frankenbush playing Xbox to pay much attention to his kids. However, he did skip the first day of school to take his daughter to kindergarten so he gets points for that. 4/10

6. Mr. Lee - Mr. Lee is a very respectable guy who seems like he does a very good job providing for his family. He’s ranked as middle of the road because he’s a naturally private person so I can’t speak to his parenting tactics or personality much, however the few stories he shared about his daughter were very cute and he does the typical teacher/parent things like making her his screensaver on his computer. Overall, a very quality dad and man, 6.5/10

5. Mr. Fitz - Kyle Fitzgerald is similarly a mess of a man, but the difference between him and Scott Hatch is that he seems to make an investment in his kid. He always talks about current events in terms of what idiocy his poor daughter will have to put up with which shows his devotion to her well-being and survival in a confusing world. Also he brought her in to go swimming once while I was working at Verdugo and I got to see them having a great time on the splash pad and it warmed my heart. Great dad 7/10

4. Mr. Piper - Richard Piper is such a good father but in a detached way. He loves talking about his son and wife just as much as he loves talking about planes. The real kicker? When he talks about taking his son ON planes and geeking out over history together. He also asked all of his classes for people looking for tutoring work when his son was struggling in math which is so cute. Good guy Rick gets an 8/10.

2. (tie) Mr. Frankenbush and Ms. Hacker - Ed and Jan are both beautiful people. I know Ms. Hacker is #divisive but I personally am a big fan and would die to have her guidance in my daily life. She’s always interested in what’s going on in people’s lives and sure she’s definitely chaotic but it’s a loving chaos that’s only looking to help other people. I’ve not had the pleasure of having Mr. Frankenbush but he always is hanging out with his son Joey and they love coming to the Burroughs pool and playing water polo together; they spend a lot of time together since his wife works so much and they have such a buddy friendship. Both of these lovely people are super devoted and invested in the youth and would make great parents. 9/10

1. Mr. Clark - A god. We don’t deserve this man and I can’t sing his praises enough. Were were all lucky enough to be Greg’s children I don’t think evil would exist in the world. 11/10

27: Worst book I read for school

Hands down Tale of Two Cities since it’s the only one I’ve never finished. Dickens just doesn’t do it for me I guess plus I get really tired of the one dimensional characters and how much he romanticizes Lucy

28: Favorite little-known tidbit of history

When Richard Nixon went to Soviet Russia as Eisenhower’s VP during the cold war his secret service agents detected higher than usual amounts of radiation coming from Nixon’s hotel room, so they started talking loudly about it bc they knew the Soviets had planted buds and were listening. Within like an hour the radiation had vanished and they never heard anything about it again so man Soviet’s ain’t sly

29: 5 Places in Burbank That Are Definitely Haunted

1. Coral Cafe for obvious reasons, look up the ghost on youtube

2. The View seems like it would have some kind of el chupacabra-esque creature prowling around, maybe a mountain lion hybrid

3. Fry’s Electronics

4. The abandoned train station under the bridge

5. The LA river by the equestrian center

30: Rank of all the AP classes i took in order of entertainment value

9) AP Bio: I liked bio but the class wasn’t very entertaining. There’s not a lot of humor in bacteria and cells, and Mr. Van Loo is much more of a calming than a humorous and chaotic presence, so overall it takes the hit as the least entertaining class.

8) AP Stats: Math is similarly not very entertaining, but Mrs. Hollingshed’s erratic personality gives it the edge over Bio. Definitely more humorous than expected of a math class.

7) AP Econ: I bombed econ and business/money isn’t very entertaining but Jan Hacker made it so thanks to her chaos (love her though).

6) AP Euro: European history is incredibly iconic because, spoiler alert, Europeans are idiots and historically speaking everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. I just wish I remember it since I think idiot sophomore Lily slept through most of the class so needless to say I didn’t soak up much of the entertainment value. If it were up to me I’d take it over again and maybe stay awake this time.

5) AP Lit: Lit was just as much challenging and intimidating as it was entertaining, so it balances out. Mrs. Caluya is notably iconic and the books we read were all pretty interesting so it gets a high vote from me.

3) (tie) Gov/APUSH: History is always entertaining in my eyes since people do stupid things out of pettiness. These two tie for different reasons: Mr. Piper is a great teacher and that mock trial we did for the industrial age was great, but the subject was also extremely entertaining overall. I loved reading about how John Adams made making fun of him illegal. Gov was mostly just entertaining because of Mr. Hatch and how salty his is about the government. His sarcastic comments about how corrupt everything is gave life to an otherwise pretty lifeless subject.

2) AP Lang: aka the class with no curriculum, or the Kuglen Hour. I love Mr. Kuglen so much and he is responsible for 99% of the amusement in the class. I somehow learned how to be a better writer by listening to him complain about Trump and everything else under the sun for an hour every day so it was well worth it. Also who doesn’t like a class where you read Dave Sedaris for homework?

1) AP Psych: Without question, this is the epitome of entertainment. Psychology is just a mishmash of people trying to figure out why humans are as stupid as we are and why we do dumb things. Add in all the iconic psychologists and history and a class led by salty Mr. Hatch and you have a recipe for an entertaining year.

31: Top 5 Iconic JBHS teachers that I NEVER had (no particular order)

Mr. Peebles: A quirky man who I would have loved were I any good at math whatsoever

Mr. Arakelian: Band kids hate him but the stories I hear are so frickin iconic that I wish I could be an honorary band kid for a day and see the horror firsthand. If you have Arakelian stories please send them my way I’d love to hear about your pain

Mr. Frankenbush: A sad boi who everyone should get to experience and I regret never having.

Dr. Madooglu: He was so kind to me after the failed anti-trump lunchtime protest last year and he didn’t even know me. I wish I could’ve experienced him as a teacher.

Mr. Clark: The man, the myth, the legend

32: List of some iconic swim horror stories

Charlie breaking his hand after he lost a race and punched the gutter as hard as he could

Some idiot JV boys smearing poop all over the Burbank High locker room

The entire JV team getting Burroughs swim banned from Islands

Me almost passing out at the Los Amigos meet last year after I didn’t eat or sleep all day

Everyone always feigning illness or injury to get out of swimming the 4x100 relay

Getting in trouble for watching boys volleyball practice instead of doing the weight room sets

Every. Single. 5AM morning practice before school.

When coach martin finally figured out how periods work and suddenly we couldn’t use that as an excuse for not swimming anymore

33: What Office Character Would I Be

A mix between Angela, Oscar, and Kelly (we love our dramatic icons)

34: #1 Thing I’d Bring With Me to a Desert Island

Castaway for instructional purposes

35: What Would I call my memoir

Schadenfreude

36: 7 Best Buzzfeed Unsolved Episodes (no particular order)

This is one of my favorite shows so these are my recommendations:

1. 3 Horrifying Cases of Ghosts and Demons - one of the very first and best episodes; a 45-minute special where the Boys investigate the Winchester house in San Francisco, the Island of the Dolls in Mexico, and the Sallie House in Kansas

2. The Strange Disappearance of D. B. Cooper - A man going by the name of Dan Cooper hijacked a plane, demanded money and passage to Mexico, and then at some point jumped out of the plane and was never seen again. To this day no one knows his identity or his fate despite some of the ransom money turning up in a river somewhere.

3. The Haunted Halls of Waverly Hills Hospital - Ryan and Shane explore an abandoned asylum in Pennsylvania and some creepy stuff ensues. One of the best supernatural episodes

4. The Thrilling Gardner Museum Heist - An almost hilarious story (with reenactments!) about a seriously inept security guard and the loss of some of the world’s most beloved paintings. This was one of the first episodes after they started making money and the production quality is off the charts

5. The Scandalous Murder of William Desmond Taylor - Another excellent reenactment story about one of Hollywood’s first and biggest scandals, the suspicious murder of a leading film producer.

6. The Enigmatic Death of the Isdal Woman - A woman’s body was found suspiciously burned in the European wilderness and no one knows who she is or how exactly she was killed. Watch if you like espionage!

7. The Strange Killing of Ken Rex McElroy - An entire town seemingly rose up to murder a douchey, violent pedophile. One of the only episodes that’s actually happy?

37: 6 Things I would Have Changed About High School

1. Definitely would have joined yearbook as soon as I could

2. Wouldn’t have forced myself to swim for all 4 years; if the passion’s gone then you shouldn’t force it. It’s just a sign that you need to move on to better things

3. I would’ve taken more AP’s and maybe tried another stem ap class. I’ve always been self-conscious about how bad I am at math, but I’ve gotten a little better over the years and instead of being too afraid to challenge myself I would’ve liked to see how I could do and prove myself.

4. Worrying less about grades!! I killed myself over my grades for like three years and then I just kind of let myself go. I would have let myself have who knows how many more hours of sleep and taken the L on a couple of assignments; I’m still learning that my health is more important than perfection.

5. Meeting the right people! I wouldn’t have restricted myself to a few friends and would have branched out more by joinng stuff like JSA. It sucks meeting the right people your senior year and realizing that I was hanging out with the wrong people this whole time.

6. Spanish instead of French.

38: What Would I Name My Farm Animals if I had A Farm

I’d definitely name them all after female Shakespearian characters. My cows would be Hippolyta and Titania from Midsummer, my horse would be Desdemona from Othello, my chickens would be Gonereil, Regan, and Cordelia from King Lear and my goat would be named Gertrude from Hamlet

39: Most Useless Talent I Have

I have a really strong internal clock so when I don’t think about it too hard and guess intuitively I can usually predict how much time has passed/what time it is without looking at a clock. It’s really only useful for estimating how much time I wasted standing in the shower staring at the wall

40: Top Regret After Writing This:

Writing this instead of studying for my econ test in seven hours.

Thanks for reading!

#writer's project #thanks jen for assigning this i had fun

2 notes · View notes