#is perhaps not my finest progression of logic

[dragonsong17]

Hunting for the last couple of rainbow frogs was filling me with rage so i decided to take a break from that and try out Pitioss Dungeon. A number of flying car crashes later, I finally made it there and A) this is not at all what I was expecting and B) this is somehow much, much worse

[spectrumed]

1. piano

The brain is a musical instrument. How it sounds all depends on who is playing it. The keys, the strings, the tubes, the circuits, none of them make noise on their own. Some may argue (some very aggressively) that every instrument has one exact way that it should be played. That there is one correct way to play the piano, and then there’s several incorrect (deviant!) ways to play the piano. But a classically trained pianist will not play the piano in quite the same way as a self-taught jazz pianist will play the piano. Sure, the latter does employ some stylings unique to them. They have an idiosyncratic way of playing that makes their sound highly notable, possibly even sought after. While the former, the classically trained musician, they’ve been taught to minimise many of those quirky individual traits that could, potentially, distract from the classical compositions that they will be playing. In jazz, music is carried by unique characters and a strong sense of individualism. In classical, music is carried by tradition, norm, and history.

It should not be understood that the classically trained musician plays without soul or passion. While we, in the western world, have become more and more infatuated with the idea of the self-made artist, the amateur who makes their way to success and stardom solely through will, and quite often a manic compulsion to create, there is no wrong way to play an instrument. However you make it work, whatever sounds you are able to produce, you are playing that instrument. You are channeling your inner essence into the music you are performing, no matter what genre you belong to. No-one plays their instrument the exact same way, for certain, but everyone is playing with what they’ve got.

How do you think? You’re used to being asked “what do you think?” But how do you think? Do you see pictures in your head? Do you experience an inner monologue? Are you riddled with anxiety? Have you ever hallucinated? Do you think that you think good, or do you think that you think bad? If we return to our metaphor of the brain as a musical instrument, what sort of music do you think you’d play? Sure, there’s the classical world, and the jazz world, but of course, that’s hardly the music most people will listen to nowadays. Do you think in pop songs? Or do you think in big heavy metal epics? Or maybe what you are is a maniac for dance music. You may find like-minded friends who like the same kind of music as you do. I think that there is a correlation between what music we like and how we perceive the world. Does listening to a certain song send you back? Does a certain tune evoke memories that you may have thought were long since gone? I know that there are some folks out there who say that they do not care much for music, and while I don’t doubt that they absolutely do feel that way, I can personally not imagine where I’d be without my trusty set of headphones and my phone loaded up with a wide library of music I like. It seems to me that music is primal. Almost as if only by understanding music, can one come to understand consciousness. To nab a song title from Jethro Tull (the band, not the agriculturalist,) life is a long song.

But I do admit that I come from a biased perspective. Music means much to me. I’m no musician, but I think that partly stems from a desire to not see “how the sausage is made.” I’d like to be able to listen to a composition without feeling compelled to analyse it, or to study it. I’d rather eat the sausage without having to wonder what bits of the animals this meat came from. Is that the taste of a spleen or a testicle? There are plenty of other things in life to dissect and tear apart just to examine. Perhaps what I wish is to maintain an arcane approach to music. Perhaps I am too enamoured by the idea of the musician as a mystic able to tap into an elevated state of being, some spiritual realm divorced from our own. That look on the guitarist’s face when they successfully manages to convey just the right emotional tone perfectly with that solo. The frisson you feel when the song reaches its climax. That thing we call the sublime. To explain it, well, it simply feels like you are making something splendid mundane. It seems to rob it of its power. Or… Well, maybe that’s not it all. Maybe all I want is just a moment or two when I can relax and avoid thinking about things. For a moment, I’d just like to forget that I’m a person.

The world is so loud. Really, I can guarantee you that if you didn’t have those natural mental filters that we all have, you’d go insane. Every little sound. Every little bit of stimuli. It would all overwhelm you. It would burrow deep into your consciousness, and it would refuse to leave. Ever tried to fall asleep while hearing the dripping water from a leaky tap? Drip, drip, drip. Know how impossible that feels? Well, imagine if you had that feeling always, imagine if all noise felt that visceral and in-your-face. Lucky you’ve got those filters. Turns out, not everyone has them. I don’t. It fucking sucks.

Music is lovely, because music is organised. It has structure. You can listen to a song, remember it, and then follow along as you’re listening to it a second time. Music follows a pattern. There is a logic to patterns. But the everyday noises that surround us do not follow a pattern. Let me tell you, birds are infuriating animals. Sure, their individual little songs can be nice to listen to, but when all the birds of the forest come together, they don’t perform as an orchestra. No, they’re all just doing their own solo piece, completely oblivious to the sounds going on around them. I’m thinking that nature could have done well with a conductor. Someone competent to create order. To make it all just that bit more peaceful. I don’t have those filters others take for granted. I can’t ignore sounds. And that makes the world feel so loud.

It is neat to imagine the human brain as a musical instrument. You can imagine that seasoned player, that old session stalwart who’s played on all the most famous pop hits throughout the decades, and you want to imagine them playing with grace and finesse and showcasing all the amazing sounds that the instrument can produce. But the brain isn’t really some marvel of biological engineering. It’s not intelligently designed. It’s actually just a piece of meat hiding underneath layers of bone, skin, and hair. It’s a complex bit of meat, admittedly. It’s hard to understand exactly how the brain does work. But if you were to open up a person’s cranium, rather than feeling awe, you’d most likely feel grossed out. This thing that we’re supposed to think of as a miraculous product of millennia of evolutionary progress, it looks… Well, it looks awfully pinkish, and wrinkly, and frankly unpleasant.

We’re all mortal beings, made from squishy flesh and blood, scraped together from all that was available at the time. Sure, we may dream and fantasise about one day achieving those heights we aspire towards, to become that perfect superman, whose cognitive abilities put them on par with the mythological titans of the past. But really, we’re all just trying to do our best with what we’ve got. You may not be able to play the finest of Mozart’s many symphonies, the instrument that you’ve been given just simply isn’t up to snuff. Even if all you can play is Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, that shouldn’t weigh on your value as a human being. And besides, that’s still Mozart you’re playing.

I will undoubtedly get back to discussing music in later instalments of this blog. It is truly a major part of my world, and without the joys I associate with it, I would be in a far worse place. But I think that, ultimately, what I wish to arrive at, is the fact that our sensory perceptions have a significant impact on how we piece together our sense of self. While it may be an unnerving thought to consider, what would happen to our understanding of ourselves if we one day were to lose one of our major senses? I am sure that many people could go without their sense of smell. Humans have long since abandoned smell as a dominant sense. To a dog, on the other hand, to lose its sense of smell would be devastating. It would lose part of what it means to be a dog. For humans, we enjoy the scent of freshly baked bread, the whiff of somebody’s perfume, or the bouquet of some pricey bottle of wine. But that’s nothing to what dogs get out of their sense of smell. To a dog, its sense of smell is its world. Is a dog even a dog if it can’t sniff around? Do you think dogs ever take their sense of smell for granted?

I do not think that humans are what we eat, but I suspect that we may be what we perceive. Our consciousness does not exist independently of the world that surrounds it, but rather, it is formed by the outside stimuli it receives on a constant basis. The fury of noises, lights, smells, all kinds of impressions, it shapes you. It is what our memories are built on. I am not at all certain that there exists anything more to the mind beyond that. I doubt that we’ve got some immutable soul hidden underneath it all. Humans are the collection of thoughts and ideas that we’ve attached ourselves to throughout our lives, and naturally, if you’re neurodivergent, that process is going to happen differently to most. At times those differences will be large enough that it can create real conflicts with those others around you. Effectively, to be neurodivergent is to suffer constantly from culture shocks. To me, it is natural to loathe the cacophony of birds in the summer. Their screams feel like piercing needles embedding themselves into my skin. But I try telling that to others, and I’ve yet to find anybody who agrees with me.

So, am I just wrong? Am I mistaken? Am I a freak? Why can’t I just be like everybody else? Why must I be such a buzzkill? I can’t even enjoy birdsong, I really must be a pain to be around. How did it come about that I just can’t be normal? Normal. I want to be normal. It is and it will likely always be grossly underrated to just be normal. Normal people don’t know how good they have it. They’re just too normal to be able to perceive it. When you’ve never been without it, you don’t know what it is to miss it. Normalcy. Having a normal brain. Having others see you as a normal person. Only if you didn’t have it, would you know how great it is. Do you sometimes wonder if dogs know how much they’d miss their sense of smell if they ever were to lose it?

Then again, there is no such thing as normal, is there? If you were to take the world’s most average person, then that person would be abnormal. To be a person is to be unique. We’re all special snowflakes. Aren’t we?

You may not play your instrument in a conventional manner, but who’s to say what manner counts as conventional? It’s all just so arbitrary. Who’s to say you can’t play an acoustic guitar as a drum? Who’s to say you can’t treat your piano as a percussion instrument? Smack your cello with a flute, if you’d like. Isn’t it just delightful when you see a unique performer who is able to play their instrument in a way you could never before have conceived it being played? The novelty of it all. The absolute joy of being exposed to something different. Of seeing something that can barely be believed. You love things that are unusual, and you think people who are different should delight in being different. Surely, it is better than being normal and boring?

But is it all that bad to be boring? And you may love what’s different, but when it comes down to it, despite your positive inclination, you still perceive it as being the other. It is not you. It is not mainstream, it is underground. Secluded. Deviant. Those who truly do struggle to fit in with society, to be just like everybody else, they are constantly faced with these little reminders that they just don’t belong. They are humans (at least they think they are humans,) but they’re not like other humans they know. For as much as they get told that they should embrace their quirky nature as simply being who they are, it is hard to know what it is like to be not normal, when all you’ve ever been is normal. Sure, for a performance or two, it’s fun. It’s fun to get the attention, to be seen as having something others don’t have. But then, at the end of the day, all you want is to be able to fall asleep, without the birdsong outside your window keeping you awake.

[the-great-bbe]

How about something with Rhaenys/Garlan?

Setting: Regency Era!AU, “I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.” “They're not empty now.”

Note: Marei of Oldstones is the Westerosi version of Marie de France, a 12th century poet whose work influenced the Arthurian Cycle. And yes, it was a common pastime for learned ladies to discuss the phallic imagery ever present in medieval romances lolol the tumblr instinct has been around for centuries

--

It begins as simple admiration. He is Margaery’s favorite chaperone, as Willas can’t keep up with her merry chases and Loras enables her chases to become proper misadventures. So he is the one that Mama sends to court when Margaery becomes lady companion to Crown Princess Rhaenys. And what a court it is—Queen Regent Elia rules with grace and glitter, and all the courtiers gossip enough to make dear Grandmama herself lean in. Here Garlan can train with the finest of knights, read from the royal libraries, discuss with like-minded lords and ladies about the progressive new laws that the Queen Regent is putting forward...

And then there is the Princess herself. 

Tall, with rich olive skin and black ringlets cascading down her back. Her face is soft and round, balanced by full lips and large eyes—oh, her eyes! Garlan has never seen such eyes outside of paintings, an impossible shade of black-violet. And when he first sees those eyes, she is smiling at him. He cannot help but smile back.

--

It’s not just that she is beautiful, of course. Her mind is a treasure beyond words. One day she and Grand Maester Tyrion have a three hour long debate about the origins of dragons in the courtyard. Garlan nearly swoons like a green maid to hear the strength of her arguments, the logic she wove like silk in a loom. And even Tyrion concedes defeat to her, as most people end up doing to the Crown Princess. When Rhaenys takes her leave to give her mother company, Garlan bows. “An excellent battle, Your Highness. I’ve never seen a Field of Fire through words alone before and yet we all are blown away.”

“Thank you, Ser Garlan.” She smiles and there’s faint dimples in her cheeks; the sight nearly makes Garlan swoon again! “Care to escort me to the Queen’s apartments?”

Of course. Her hand is a warm weight in the crook of his arm and truly, Garlan is surprised she is not betrothed yet. She is eighteen, of age to take the throne in her own right were it not for her father in the sanitarium on Dragonstone, and easily the loveliest creature on the gods’ green earth. Perhaps she will marry Lord Robb Stark for his bloodline, or Ser Joffrey Baratheon for his riches. Had Willas not eloped with Leonette Fossoway to Braavos he too would’ve been a contender. Grandmama will probably throw the Tarly girls at Garlan, or perhaps a girl from the Riverlands...

“Your eyes seem far away, Ser. Does anything trouble you?”

Garlan shakes himself. “It’s nothing, Your Highness. I’m simply wondering when I shall become an uncle.”

“Yes, I hope my wedding present to your brother Lord Willas and his wife Lady Leonette survived the ship to Essos.” Her gaze flickers away for a moment, then she squeezes his arm. “Join my lady mother and I for tea? Perhaps you can give your perspective on elopement, as my dear brother Aegon intended to run off with Shireen Baratheon in their “doomed romance” when we’d much rather just give them Summerhall.”

--

“Ser Garlan! Do join us!” Rhaenys sits on a large picnic blanket with Marg, a gaggle of other ladies and Rhaenys’s fearsome cat Balerion. Prince Oberyn, Rhaenys’s uncle and practical second father, keeps watch over them and nods at Garlan. They are in the shade of a gigantic plum blossom tree given as a gift from the Emperor of Yi-Ti, and there’s a few petals fallen into her hair. Unthinkingly, Garlan sits by her side and brushes them loose, and he shivers from the feel of her hair between his fingers. Rhaenys asks, “Tell us, have you read the words of Marei of Oldstones?”

“Yes, her poetry influenced the Arthurian Epic did she not?” Epic tales set in the Dawn Age of heroes and fair maidens and wretched monsters. Garlan remembers being still in leading strings, listening to Papa read him and his siblings a passage before bed each night. 

“We were discussing some of the themes in in the Epic and other tales of its kind.” Marg gives him a grin that sends a shiver down his spine. Gods, what is she up to now? “About the imagery of a knight rescuing a princess from a tower. What do you make of it?”

“I...”

Sansa Stark hides a giggle behind her folding fan. “It’s always a giant tower, so very large and impressive.” Then she and little Allyria Dayne dissolve into giggles.

Garlan tugs on his collar. Rhaenys is looking at him expectantly and he can’t ignore his future queen. But really! Marg is still grinning and Garlan narrows his eyes at her. Oh, he’ll get her for this. “It is quite a juxtaposition of imagery. As Lady Sansa said, the tower the knight must handle is always a tall and imposing one. Yet...”

“Yet?”

Garlan prays to the gods for guidance. “Yet the knight must enter the tower. So truly, what function is the imagery in this context?”

Walda Frey—Loras once called her Fat Walda at a feast and she gave him a split lip and a black eye, so now Garlan defers to her as the very best of Waldas—whispers to Marg, “Better than just scaling up and down its walls in its lonesome.”

The ladies giggle and Garlan wants to sink into the floor. Then Rhaenys laughs. “Well put! Thank you for indulging us.” She pauses, then cocks her head and Garlan wonders when the mild spring day got so warmer so quickly. “Indulge us again: do you prefer the sword, or the joust?”

“I prefer handling two swords at once, although I am no green boy when it comes to the joust.” Marg might just choke to death on her stifled giggles and Garlan hopes that she does! But there’s a hint of red to Rhaenys’s ears, and what mild flirtation ever hurt anyone? “At the next tourney, I’ll do my best to impress you.”

“Perhaps I’ll give you my favor as a good luck charm. We can’t have me being unimpressed, can we?”

Indeed, they can not. Garlan would love nothing more for her to admire him, as he admires her.

--

“Your Highness,” Garlan licks his lips, as they are as dry as a Dornish desert. His words catch in his throat. Then Marg in the stands motions at him to continue, Prince Oberyn himself sends him a wink...and he says, “I crown you, Princess Rhaenys, as my Queen of Love and Beauty.”

The crowd erupts into cheers. It was a very hard joust won, as Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard nearly dislocated Garlan’s shoulder and Lord Robb was no one to be trifled with. But at the end he threw even his brother Loras down to the dirt—as if his trick of using a mare would work on Garlan! Not after the tourney at Longtable where Garlan broke his nose!—and won the crown of jonquils and morning glories. They look so beautiful in Rhaenys’s hair, almost as beautiful as Rhaenys herself.

Rhaenys’s reply is nearly lost beneath the deafening roar, but Garlan hears it all too well. “I am honored and delighted to be crowned by such a noble and true knight as you.” And her favor, tied neatly around his arm beneath his armor, seems to catch alight.

He has nothing to offer her, other than this crown of flowers and his hand in the dances to come. He is a second son of a family with many mouths to feed, with no kingly descent or heirloom sword. She shall marry someone worthy to take his place at her side as Prince Consort, and he...he shall content himself with the feeling of her hand in his.

He bows over that lovely hand and kisses her knuckles. 

Later that night, after hours of dancing and feasting and laughing and chasing, he kisses her knuckles again. And again, and again, and again. Until Rhaenys pulls him up from his knees and kisses him with lips as soft as spring and rich as wine. Beneath that plum blossom tree with no one to witness them other than the moon and stars reflecting in her impossibly beautiful eyes, no other sound than their shared breath against each other’s lips and Garlan whispering “I think I’m in love with you.”

He kisses her before she can tell him they cannot be. He cannot bear it.

--

“Do you love my daughter, Ser Garlan?”

Garlan can hardly breathe before the presence of the Queen Regent Elia Martell. So much of Rhaenys’s bold beauty is from her mother, and the Queen Regent has decades of power behind her piercing gaze. But he is no liar. He jerks a nod. “With all my life, Your Majesty.”

She nods, as if it were a foregone conclusion. She is not wrong in that, as the entirety of Kings Landing must know that Garlan would gladly die for Rhaenys, and live for her as well. Even Papa knows, and Papa hardly knows anything! After an eternity of being sized up and raked over the coals of the Queen Regent’s eyes, she sighs. “You are not my first choice, but you are not my last. If my daughter consents to it, I give my blessing to officially court her.”

Truly? Truly?! Garlan gapes like an idiot, or perhaps some ill-bred fish. And the Queen Regent laughs; she sounds so much like Rhaenys. “I encourage you not to make that same face when you ask for her permission.”

Garlan, after bowing and scraping as much as he can without fainting, eventually leaves the royal solar. Marg immediately tackles him and cackles that her hopes have gone swimmingly, and her best friend shall be her sister. Then she pulls him along to gods know where while Garlan’s head reels.

He? To court Rhaenys? To hold her hand in his and not let it go? Garlan’s knees nearly give out, especially when Willas and Loras both clap their hands on his shoulders. “Grandmama will finally be proud of us, I think,” Loras boasts.

“Her Highness has not even consented yet!”

Marg rolls her eyes “Garlan, I love you, but you are as thick as molasses. Now go confess your love to her!” She practically shoves him towards Rhaenys’s plum blossom tree. “And kiss her! With tongue!”

He stumbles into the tree and nearly into Balerion. The cat blinks up at him to say he is a fool, then slinks away to a laughing Aegon’s arms. “Ser Garlan! Are you alright?”

“Y-Your Highness, I...” Garlan peeks around the tree to see Rhaenys on the other side, standing with something hiding behind her back. She catches his questioning gaze, and flushes a pretty red before revealing a knitted scarf. “For your brother, my princess?”

“For you, actually.” She bites her bottom lip before puffing herself up. “I intend to ask my lady mother the Queen Regent if we would be allowed to court. With your consent of course! I would never presume that you would wish to—”

“I was just given permission by Her Majesty to ask for your permission.”

They stare at each other for a moment, before Rhaenys giggles into her palm. Garlan melts, and finally asks, “Would you like me to court you, Your Highness?”

“Yes.” She presses the scarf into his hands, and leans up to murmur in his ear, “And please, call me Rhaenys.”

He shivers. “Rhaenys.” All is right with the world it seems, just from the sound of her name on his lips.

--

Garlan smiles despite the tears in his eyes. “Rhaenys, are you sure? I have nothing to give but my heart so full and these empty hands.” 

“They're not empty now.” Rhaenys squeezes their hands together.

Then she cloaks him in her house colors, and Garlan is hers, hers forever and always, just as he was always meant to be.

[profitinaecho]

Pre1900s

August, 1845

Elizabeth Ortecho drew her shoulders back, drawing herself into perfect posture while looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her new yellow dress was the color of jonquils and set off her tan skin and black hair perfectly. The cut did almost scandalous things to her figure. If she were an actual lady, she would regret that more than she did. Women are supposed to be chaste and submissive. Elizabeth naturally was none of those things but all of her training up until this point prepared her to fake it. She scowled at her reflection and pinched her cheeks for some color.

The carriage had arrived to take her to the house party at the Duchess Ann Evans’ home. Before her family had lost their fortune to her father’s illness, Elizabeth had been close with the Duchess’ children. But that was then and she needed to find a viable husband to save her family from ruin now. Her childhood friend, Maxwell Evans, would be there all grown up. It would be nice to see him but she couldn’t allow him to distract her from her mission. She remembered the reason she was dressed like this and it wasn’t to mingle with Maxwell. Her only goal was to seduce Doctor Valenti.

————————————-

Maxwell Evans took a last look in the mirror. He didn’t care much about his appearance normally but the type of people downstairs definitely cared. He wore a Savile Row evening suit, neatly combed hair, and a fresh shave. He would be sure to use the cultured accent that had been drummed into him at an early age. He would need it to impress future business contacts and hopefully find a viable candidate to marry. His parents had made him promise to cozy up to Maria, the daughter of an Earl, in hopes of combining their companies with marriage.

Coming down the stairs, Maxwell saw Lord DeLuca and his daughter waiting in the drawing room for dinner. Maria was in a powder blue dress made of the finest materials by her family’s tailor. A few other gentlemen were also loitering, waiting on the rest of the ladies to appear. Many of them were discussing business in the House of Lords and things that had happened at Oxford. It drove Maxwell nearly insane with boredom. Bowing slightly as he approached the Deluca’s, Maxwell put on his most charming grin. “Lord DeLuca, I trust the rum industry is treating you well? I have been following your growth for some time.”

“Oh? My uh, business agent sees to the company details.” Lord DeLuca shifted uncomfortably.

“I see.” It was exactly as Maxwell had feared. Lord DeLuca knew nothing about his own company. Maxwell had learned the alcohol industry from the ground up and built his company based on the findings. Any business interactions would not go forward, but Maria was beautiful and his key to combining their companies so he looked forward to getting to know her better. She was the key to this deal going forward. Maria smiled shyly at him through her lashes. He smiled back at her and felt relieved. This would be easier than he expected. Behind her, a lady in a yellow dress and black curls entered and he realized it was his childhood friend, Elizabeth. Bowing slightly to announce his departure, Max said “My old neighbor has entered and I must go say hello.”

“But I will have a chance to speak with you after dinner, won’t I?” Maria pouted.

“Of course.” Maxwell promised. This was going much better than he expected if she was already interested. Maxwell strode across the room to Elizabeth. “Look at you, all cleaned up. You look lovely.” He teased her.

Elizabeth forced herself not to stick her tongue out at him. “I could say the same about you.”

“I’m so glad you came. These people are a terrible bore.” He admitted quietly.

His mother announced that dinner was ready and the old friends parted- Maxwell to sit next to the Delucas and Elizabeth to sit next to Dr. Kyle Valenti.

————————————-

Elizabeth had zoned out by the soup course and was willing herself not to doze off when she heard the men talking about going on a shooting party after dinner. Before she could stop herself, she found herself asking “May I shoot too?”

Every head at the table pivoted towards her and she realized her mistake. Dr. Valenti’s eyes shot up towards his dark hairline. “You hunt?”

Placing her hands delicately on her lap, Elizabeth nonchalantly replied, “Oh, I try.” Further down the table, Maxwell smirked. He knew better. After all, he had been the one to teach her to shoot.

“I’m sure you’re quite good.” Dr. Valenti complimented her.

“I’m a dreadful shot but it sounds fun.” Elizabeth forced herself to smile at him more intimately and flirtatious than she actually felt. “Perhaps you could show me how?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Kyle answered her. His eyes held a flicker of interest. If she could manage to mind her manners and act like a lady, her family might be saved after all. She found Kyle attractive and boring, but he was kind and there were worse things he could be. Feeling cheered at the progress she was making, she looked down the table at Maxwell. She could tell he was judging her for the exchange and she felt the urge to send him a vulgar gesture. Despite once being her very best friend, Maxwell only brought out her worst traits now. With the doctor, she did her best to behave and be everything society expected her to be. Not that it was a comparison or competition, because Maxwell was her past and she was going to do everything to ensure Kyle was her future.

————————————-

The conversation with the other ladies in the parlor was tedious at best while she waited for the men to join them. She found herself desperately talking about the weather with Lady Isobel. When the gentleman joined them, she exhaled with relief until she saw that Lord Wyatt Long was approaching her.

“My dear Lady Elizabeth, I was so saddened to be sitting so far away from you at dinner.” Lord Long leaned in too close to her and she willed herself not to retreat. She couldn't control the look of disgust on her face though.

“Oh?” Elizabeth told herself not to roll her eyes and went to move around him but he caught her wrist.

“We should remedy that by having a conversation now.” Lord Long wasn’t letting go of her wrist and was starting to scare her.

Maxwell left a protesting Maria across the room to rescue Elizabeth. “Actually, she promised to have a conversation with me.” Maxwell had found it amusing watching Elizabeth try to escape Lord Long until he could tell she was distressed. Maxwell had probably ruined his chances with Maria based upon the disgust on her face but Elizabeth had needed help. Taking her hand from Lord Long’s Maxwell placed it in the crook of his elbow, pivoted and sat with her across the room. “You have picked up a determined admirer.” He teased her.

“I keep discouraging him but he won’t go away.” Elizabeth huffed. In the haze of the gaslights, he could think of a million reasons a man would be infatuated with Elizabeth. He’d barely been able to keep his eyes off her smooth tan skin and sparkling dark eyes all though dinner. “Thank you for the rescue. Now if you’ll excuse…” Elizabeth stood up, her yellow skirts rustling.

“Where are you going?” Maxwell had the strangest flutter in his stomach. He didn’t know what to make of it.

“To speak to Dr. Valenti.” She craned her neck looking for Kyle. That feeling in Max’s gut intensified and he belatedly realized it was jealousy.

Max found himself chuckling. “Why?”

“Look, I know he isn’t the most exciting man in the room but he’s not bad to look at. And he could take care of me and my family. My father is sick. He’s an honorable, skilled man.”

Max had to admit she was making sense in a detached logical way. But the Elizabeth he knew was passionate and bold. It made him sad to think of her spending her life that way. “It seems like a decent match on paper but why do you think he would want to marry you?”

Elizabeth gasped in outrage and leaned forward. It did amazing things to her breasts in that dress and distracted Max. “I could ask the same thing about Lady Maria. Why would the daughter of an Earl want to be with you?” They were staring each other down when it was announced that it was time to form the hunting party.

Before his eyes, Elizabeth took a deep breath and transformed into a perfect lady. She smiled a sweet innocent smile and her dark eyes lost their spark of mischief. She batted her long black eyelashes and every inch of her posture softened. “I bet I can make Dr. Valenti mine before you manage with Lady Maria.” Elizabeth’s voice had become quiet and husky. It had the type of suggestive rumble that made a man want things. Her expression was pleasant and blank and it startled Maxwell to see her acting so unlike herself. Before Maxwell could tell her that he wasn’t sure he wanted Lady Maria after all, she lifted her skirts and flounced over to Dr. Valenti, glaring at Maxwell over his shoulder. Elizabeth was put on a flawless performance and anyone that hadn’t known her since childhood would be under her spell.

————————————-

Elizabeth found herself alone in a sea of tweed with no one but Maxwell for company. Assuming she ever spoke to him again. Elizabeth closed her gun with a snap and plastered on her brightest smile. “Good afternoon, Dr. Valenti.”

It bothered Maxwell that the doctor received her sunniest greeting while so far, all he had gotten was a scowl from her.

“Are you ready for the hunt today?” Kyle asked Elizabeth.

“I’m actually a bit nervous. This gun is just so big.” Max snorted and Elizabeth lifted her skirt to move closer to Dr. Valenti, deliberately stomping Max’s foot on her way under her skirt so no one else would know.

“Hand me your weapon and I’ll make sure it is properly loaded.” Kyle held out his hand and she demurely handed him the rifle.

A while later, a flock of partridge took flight from the shrubbery and Elizabeth tracked it with her gun. She followed its arc with her eyes then with a curse, yanked the gun up and shot wide. Maxwell raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

“Cheer up, Miss Ortecho! Just a little practice and I’m sure you’ll bag something.” Called Kyle from her other side. “You have a good steady hand.”

“They fly so fast, don’t they?” She blinked up at him innocently.

“They do. Just have some patience and you’ll hit one.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” She sighed sweetly and reloaded her weapon.

“You’re such a liar.” Maxwell teased her when Dr. Valenti had walked a ways away from them. “You had those birds in your sight. You missed on purpose.”

“You must be seeing things.”

“To be honest, I’m quite positive you could outshoot every man on this property.”

“No man wants to be outshot by a woman.” Elizabeth argued.

“You were better than me at everything when we were children. I don’t know why you pretend to be something you aren’t.”

“You were much smaller then. You could take me in a heartbeat now.” His eyes darkened and Elizabeth flushed when she realized what she said. Clearing her throat, she explained, “Most men get cranky when something threatens their masculinity.”

“What will you do if you marry him? You can’t hide your skills from him forever.”

“I suppose I will have to be a dutiful wife and not embarrass my husband by outshooting him.” Before Max could reply that he disagreed, she lifted her yellow skirts and headed towards Dr. Valenti. “Dr. Valent! I thought you could give me a few pointers on my aim.”

“Of course, Miss. Ortecho. Now raise your gun” Kyle was all smiles as he settled her gun against her shoulder. He adjusted her hands on the weapon and smiled warmly. “Try it like that.”

“Thank you so much. It feels better already.” Elizabeth smiled warmly at him over her shoulder and Max saw it then- the moment Dr. Valenti started to fall and it tore him up inside.

Whispering quietly to Elizabeth as they followed the hunting party, Maxwell asked, “Are you going to stop pretending you can’t hit the broadside of a barn? It’s very tedious watching you pretend to be someone else.”

Up ahead, the hounds barked as they flushed out a flock of pheasants from the brush. Glancing away from Max, Elizabeth raised her gun, aimed and fired two shots in quick succession. Two birds fell from the sky with a squawk. The rest of the men turned to stare at her in astonishment. She shrugged daintily, “Would you look at that! Wasn’t that lucky?”

Max rolled his eyes. “Come find me when you get tired of this farce. I much prefer the real you.”

[yamayuandadu]

For the fic request thing, "stitches" for Keine and Mokou? I love shippy stuff for them, but feel free to go wherever you like with it if you decide to give this one a go

It’s my fave pairing overall, so shippy it is. Fluffy, even, arguably. Because while I generally prefer fics with more substance, it seems like short silly fluffy Mokou/Keine fics are a largely untapped market on ao3. So are fics about the fate of Mokou’s sleeves in the fighting games. The ending might be revised a bit in the ao3 version if that’s ok with you.I wrote a fluffy fic about them once already and am currently writing a longer adventure-focused one if you are interested in more.

“Would you kindly explain what did you do to yourself this time?”

“Can't you see that yourself?”

“I can see the result, but the cause is completely shrouded in mystery for me,” Keine sighed. “You were left to own devices for less than two weeks since end of the school year is an extremely busy period for me, and what I come back to is... this,” she added, pointing at Mokou's shirt. The sleeves were torn off.

To be fair, the teacher saw her clothes in much worse condition more than a few times before. Not to mention the situations where her condition was so bad there were no clothes to speak of left. However, that was long ago, and this specific shirt was supposed to be Mokou's small triumph over her hopeless nihilism. Under Keine's guidance, the immortal put her largely theoretical knowledge of fire magic to practical use and changed her favorite (or rather the only one not yet falling apart from old age) shirt into something that could withstand at least some of her spells. Wearing something that didn't look like burnt rags greatly contributed towards gaining a degree of trust among the human community of Gensokyo. This in turn allowed her get something akin to a job as a guide to the bamboo forest, and, perhaps even more beneficially, minimized the risk of being mistaken for a yamanba.

Naturally, it wasn't the finest magical article of clothing around. The charms attached on the inside were crude and most of them ended up applied haphazardly, as Keine lacked experience with mundane magic, while Mokou was not interested in tailoring. The odds that an emissary of heaven would knock at doors of their houses to discuss the issue of illegal production of counterfeit hagoromo didn't seem particularly high. But they made it together, and, more importantly, it symbolized that the last living child of Fujiwara no Fuhito started caring about her own well-being. As such, it was an important symbol.

“It's just the usual, I felt bad about myself,” mumbled the immortal.

A number of gruesome scenarios involving the loss at least of limbs flashed in front of Keine's eyes. She never witnessed any firsthand, thankfully, but any attempt at writing down Mokou's history inevitably involved some of them.

“Did you go back to fighting Kaguya?”

“No. I didn't really leave the house. Only checked on my persimmon tree a few times.”

“What did you do, then?”

“I wanted to go back to my old habits but I didn't want to make you upset,” Mokou said, looking around awkwardly. “So while I resisted the urge to seek thrills at Eientei I still felt like I did something wrong by considering to restart it.”

“I'm not quite following...?”

“The obvious way would be to hurt myself in some way. But that's exactly what I was supposed to avoid, so I had to think of something else to not end up in a vicious circle again. So in a fit of grief I ended up cutting off the sleeves from my shirt, since we made it impervious to my powers together and it's important to me. It was not very smart, I know.”

The connoisseur of shady elixirs closed her eyes, expecting a reprimand. After a brief moment she realized that no stern words are coming and Keine instead wrapped her arms around her.

Of course, the shirt was a symbol. But ultimately a symbol is less important than what it stands for is in itself. That was the logic the teacher subscribed to.

“This means that you're making progress regarding your respect for own life, I'm proud of you”, she said, hugging Mokou. “We can stitch the sleeves back on, don't worry.”

It is known that kisses are vital for clothing repairs, though they can extend their duration quite a bit. Thus everything that unfolded afterwards was just a regular sewing session, ultimately. Just some stitching and strictly related activities.

[fuanteinasekai]

Meta #3: The One Where It Gets a Little Weird

Please note: this meta is heavily focused on recent manga developments, so if you don’t want to be spoiled by it you should catch up on fan translations. Okay these aren't spoilers anymore.

Also, while I think reading my previous two metas would be useful in understanding some of this, I don’t really consider this a continuation per se, since this is purely focused on developments in the manga. I really didn’t want to get distracted by anime issues, for reasons which will perhaps becomes clear. 

There are two recent stories with particular relevance to Tanuma and Natsume. (Well, three, in a way, but we’ll get to that later.)

First, “Tenjō-san,” a story that’s mostly about the four boys tracking down a mysterious, supposedly yōkai-related artifact for Himura-Sempai, a graduating senior from a different high school. Of particular note are two things: 

The unusually strong theme of mortality. The story opens with Kitamoto in the hospital, having scared the boys with a bad fall. He’s fine, but Natsume and Tanuma are very worried. There’s also a subplot about an elderly man who once went on a similar mission with his own boyhood friends. He speaks wistfully of “Tetchan and the others” as if he lost contact—or they died. It's a reminder that human life is short—sometimes shorter than expected—and one cannot wait forever to figure things out.

Tanuma’s complicated feelings make a spectacular comeback. Both chapters of the story have at least one meaningful exchange between Natsume and Tanuma. In the first chapter, Tanuma encourages Natsume to be open about his doubts by telling him, “I still sometimes want to see the same world as you, but I think it’s because we see different things that we’re able to confirm things for each other.” In the second, he tells Natsume that he might need to keep Nishimura and Kitamoto in the dark just so he can have space to be normal, “Since I, out of worry, ask you if there’s a yōkai straight away.” This is framed as a self-deprecating remark and an expression of deeper insecurities, but also as something Natsume doesn’t understand (that is, doesn’t agree with).

The next arc is another long Natsume-Natori-Matoba story about the complicated lives of those who can see yōkai, and the different paths those lives can or should take. This story reinforces the image of Natori as a protective and somewhat controlling big brother, complete with another incident of Touko-san aggressively adopting Natori. It also emphasizes the difficulty of intimate relationships, implied to be romantic, when one has a connection of responsibility to the yokai world.

The story after that is where it gets… interesting. Setting aside my own personal preferences, at the same time as I’ve seen a lot of queer subtext between Natsume and Tanuma, I’ve also always [until recently] assumed Taki would be the eventual implied wife. She’s the only girl Natsume counts as a friend, much less close friend, and she’s the closest anyone gets to being on Tanuma’s level of intimacy. Having said that, I wasn’t happy about it. Compulsory heterosexuality is one of my least favorite tropes, because it always cheapens romance and I am a huge romantic. There are essentially no obstacles between Taki and Natsume—certainly none she wouldn’t share with basically any other girl—which makes the concept of a romantic arc extremely weak.

Yet not only did the opening of the next story appear to confirm our compulsory heterosexuality, it did so in such a laughably cliche way it seemed to circle right around to subversion: 

It opens with a girl who acts like she has a crush on Taki (but not explicitly), squealing about how “lovely” but “difficult to approach” she is.

Nishimura-the-Projector assumes Natsume will be upset by Taki’s “boyfriend.”

Natsume claims to be upset because he was left in the dark, rather than because she has a boyfriend per se, which under cliche-logic reads as “denial” even though it’s a perfectly valid reason.

Jealousy trope-storm without actual jealousy.

The boyfriend is actually a relative! Heehee! Nobody acknowledges that this is heteronormative gossip at its finest.

Taki talks about her brother as if she’s trying to hook him up with Natsume??

Natsume notices… the brother… is “the cute type”???

No seriously, why would you do that now of all times?

In any case, this was all tremendously upsetting and frustrating. Since I would have to wait yet another four months (or longer) to see Tanuma again, I decided to temporarily skip the second Taki chapter and spend that time on a thought experiment/coping mechanism: What if it were a subversion?

At first I toyed with the idea of writing platonic Taki/Natsume and romantic Tanuma/Natsume separately, but it didn’t work out. While the idea of subverting “boys and girls can’t stay friends” in isolation is admirable, it’s not something with any basis in Natsume Yūjinchō. That is, Taki’s lack of romantic potential—if intentional—has always been illuminated by contrast with Tanuma, whether through the Furry yōkai/Ito-san pseudo-arc I described in Meta #2, or through more direct comparisons as in “The Time-Eater.” Thus, platonic Taki/Natsume and romantic Tanuma/Natsume are two sides of the same coin, and I approached my theory with this in mind.

Since this story was obviously heavily centered on Taki, with Tanuma having nothing more than a brief mental cameo, the only way to draw Tanuma in for comparison is the “pseudo-arc.” In that light, I created an outline of how the next three chapters should proceed if Midorikawa-sensei did intend a subversive, queer platonic Taki/ romantic Tanuma theme.

First, the real-world logic. There are two basic reasons why Midorikawa-sensei might write romantic Natsume/Tanuma the way it’s gone so far:

Standard editorial censorship. Natsume’s Book of Friends isn’t an international juggernaut, but it’s popular enough to be a reliable cash cow. So there’d be more pressure to stay within the heteronormative lines than in an “indie” manga. In this case, Natsume/Tanuma would never be fully canon, but consistent subtext.

Quiet natural development. That is, if Natsume/Tanuma wasn’t originally intended but grew organically out of character development, then there’d have to be a transition period from “nominally platonic” to “explicitly romantic.” Since they’re both boys and this is a mainstream manga (not BL), it would have to be handled much more delicately than M/F romance.

Some combination of 1 and 2.

The first is actually fairly common and much more likely than the second, though the second is technically a slightly better fit with how things have gone so far. Either way, we’d still be at the “subtext” level for now. With the socio-cultural context Natsume is being written in, shifting a character from “presumed straight” to “explicitly queer” is a complicated maneuver. M/M ship bait is very common, and even a sympathetic audience won’t necessarily trust build-up to be real. So if you want your audience to actually follow the romantic development, it makes sense in theory to present it as platonic emotional development (with subtext) as long as possible before moving on to romantic text. And the subtext, for the most part, can’t be the sort of thing that reads as ship-bait. Which makes “eventually canon” difficult to distinguish from “intentional, but permanently subtext.” For this reason, I won't bother to separate the two.

So, drawing on the way Midorikawa-sensei has written in the past, my theoretical pro-Natsume/Tanuma progression looked like this:

A second chapter of Taki, in which Natsume is implied to be a brother figure (consistent with my initial subversive reading—there are a lot of parallels between Natsume fretting about Taki and Taki fretting about her brother + Natsume and her brother both have complicated relationships with yokai that conflict somewhat with Taki's fangirl-glasses). This creates a sense of depth and longevity to their relationship, while at the same time pushing a more explicitly platonic reading. The “omg Taki has a boyfriend” opening subtly injects a question of romance into the entire pseudo-arc (not so subtly into Taki’s half), answering with “no, they’re like siblings” to the Natsume/Taki question, but leaving Natsume/Tanuma open in the second part. Ideally the girl with the crush on Taki from the beginning should return at the end as a nod to the queer reading, and to close the “Taki needs to talk to more girls” loop that was interrupted by the fake boyfriend. 

The second part of the “pseudo-arc” would be two chapters heavily centered on Tanuma where:

There should be some sort of thematic parallel to the first (Taki) part, with a corresponding focus on Tanuma. I speculated that there might be a family theme, since we don’t know anything about Tanuma’s mom (in retrospect a poor guess—in Taki’s story the “family" was mirrored to Natsume), but it doesn’t matter what as long as it’s a definite parallel. [This is the basis for subtextually carrying the romantic question over to Tanuma.]

The parallel should be explicitly acknowledged in some way, however brief. [This acknowledges the existence of subtext and invites the reader to notice and pay attention.]

There should be other, smaller parallel moments, akin to the previous pseudo-arc’s Taki-Tanuma “lonely” mirroring. [This reinforces the existence of the parallel even though the plot is very different.]

The Tanuma story should escalate emotionally. For example, since Taki “listens to Natsume,” Tanuma should do something stronger like “take care of Natsume.” [This reinforces the romantic imagery, in contrast with something more brotherly.]

The trend of Tanuma being emotionally centered on Natsume, in contrast with Taki’s family focus, should continue. [ditto]

Tanuma’s feelings for Natsume should be more romanticized than Taki’s feelings, ideally on a level with “The Other Side of the Glass” and similar stories. [ditto]

No explicit references to romantic feelings, but a story more like a love story than Taki’s. Depth vs. surface. [ditto]

Ideally a reference to the “pond of emotional intimacy” would be super-great, but probably too much to ask. I think Midorikawa-Sensei forgot about it.

So what really did happen?

Just before returning to university, Taki’s brother says “I suppose I could leave [someone like] you in charge of my little sister,” which could be interpreted as deputizing Natsume as “older brother” in his absence. [I don’t want to make any definitive statements about translation at my level of Japanese—it can also be read as a patriarchal approval of the “presumed boyfriend,” though if Natsume is considering Taki that way, it doesn’t seem to fit Natsume and Sensei’s identical reactions.] Natsume then proceeds to explain her brother’s situation to Taki before happily allowing Girl-With-Crush to distract her with sweets. The ending feels very neat—as if their relationship issues have all been more or less dealt with. It’s essentially the opposite of what I expected from romantic Taki, in which we might see a certain ambiguous open-endedness, tension, or a sense that Natsume is reevaluating the way he sees Taki. There is none of that here.

And then there’s the next story. As predicted, it was heavily Tanuma-centered. This alone isn’t terribly meaningful, since we hadn’t seen Tanuma in a while. However, it also had a few… similarities to my outline:

It parallels Taki’s story with a “visitor” theme, and with the way the visitor arguably mirrors Natsume himself. 

Natsume acknowledges the thematic parallel: “A visitor every day? I wonder if it’s family like that time with Taki.” I had to take a moment here to laugh hysterically; I wasn't expected it to be this obvious. (Taki: “boyfriend” → family | Tanuma: “family” → ??)

Several mirrored moments, mostly in the first chapter, including “what kind of person?,” Nishimura as contrast, the running, the explanation-of-the-problem, the shocked reaction to meeting, the final-bench-discussion and so on.

“I always get her to listen to me.” → “He always listens and smiles for me.”; “I too [will listen to you] the way you always listen to me.”  → “You’ve kept me company so many times when I was mixed up with yōkai, so […] I will keep you company, too.” (When I initially wrote my outline, I had missed that he uses もらう for Taki’s listening, which downplays her intent. So even though his description of Tanuma is similar, this is an upgrade.)

Pretty blatant difference in romantic subtext, here. Taki is emotionally preoccupied with her brother and their grandfather. The climax is her brother giving her the gift he made with their grandfather as a small child. Tanuma is emotionally preoccupied with the gap in power between himself and Natsume and how that affects their relationship. The climax is watching their yōkai mirrors, in matching vessels, spiral together into the sky.

Tanuma clutches at his heart when Natsume calls his name. Tanuma wants to “see the same things Natsume sees, together,” Tanuma wishes he could be strong so Natsume wouldn’t “worry and [I/we could]…”. Natsume feels that Misuzu is “seeing through” him right after Tanuma calls him a friend. A lot of interruptions, unfinished sentences and unspoken feelings. Etc. Though Taki’s story opens with romantic cliche, and Natsume is very determined to be helpful, it’s Tanuma’s story that’s thick with romantic imagery. Taki’s story, by contrast, romanticizes the protective, sheltering image of the older brother, who cares for his little sister (and vice versa) even though they can't quite understand each other.

In terms of the “love story”: again, Taki’s emotions are centered on her brother. Tanuma’s are centered on Natsume, with even his desire to get to know yōkai being fundamentally tied to Natsume. Tanuma in particular is written with strong undertones of longing and trying to find a way closer, while Natsume gets little chance to think deeply or speak to Tanuma alone, distracted by the Misuzu problem and how it relates to Tanuma’s health and happiness. Tanuma’s story is also much more open-ended. While Taki’s story seems to end with a sense of satisfaction, Tanuma’s is full of tension. The question of how they come together safely (platonically or otherwise) remains unresolved.

The pond continues to play a metaphorical role as a place that symbolizes what they do or don’t share. Though Tanuma cannot see the pond itself, he can see shadows ordinary people cannot—in “Same Scenery” he referred to these shadows as something only the two of them could see. For Misuzu and Sasame, it is a literal halfway point between their marshes, and a place where they meet specifically to be together.[IMO, this is why it doesn't appear in "The Days-Eater": the symbolism of the pond is specifically tied to the two of them, so it would be inapproprate to reference it in Taki's presence.]

So… what does this mean? I don’t know. I promised myself I would let go of the queer reading if I got anything less than a Taki-Tanuma pseudo-arc—even if I got a story that heavily romanticized Tanuma without paralleling Taki’s story. Actually getting what I wanted, exactly what I wanted, is less satisfying than it might seem. Set against the overwhelming prevalence of heteronormativity, it's left me in a curious limbo of uncertainty. It’s hard to swallow the idea that my accuracy was a complete coincidence, but I may have been wrong about the reasons for this pattern. 

While it’s objectively lazy, there’s a great deal of precedent in letting superficial romantic features like “cuteness” supersede features like devotion, so long as the former is opposite sex and the latter same sex. In other words, I may have the pattern backwards, with Tanuma being set up as platonic soulmate, and Taki as the romantic lead. Perhaps we are meant to draw a parallel between Tanuma and Taki’s brother as a “difficult older brother” figure (even though Tanuma is younger), given they are both “easily possessed.” If so, they have little else in common. The (simultaneous??) mirroring between Tanuma and Taki would probably be for the purpose of establishing Natsume’s most important platonic, non-family-like relationship as equally important to romance. This isn’t exactly inconsistent with the emphasis the manga places on the importance of platonic love.

Still, it’s an odd choice to make Taki’s feelings primarily about someone else if the story is meant to set a romance in motion, particularly in contrast to Tanuma. And the older brother/Natsume mirroring would have to be unintentional, since it’s a bit, um, awkward otherwise, which would mean the undeniable Misuzu/Natsume mirroring is coincidental. And so on. At its heteronormative best, “The Troublesome Two” is a story about Natsume’s crush on Taki, and Taki’s love for her brother and late grandfather. At its potential best, it’s a subversive story about how an unrelated boy and a girl can care deeply about each other without having romantic feelings—and about how girls aren’t necessarily more emotionally and socially competent than boys just because they’re girls.

In any case, Tanuma’s story is worth looking at a bit more closely.

First, a summary of the actual plot:

Tanuma receives a mysterious, persistent, explicitly gender-ambiguous “human” visitor who turns out to be Misuzu (the powerful horse yōkai) in disguise. He’s excited by the opportunity to get to know a yōkai, so Natsume decides to support him, despite his fears, by hovering like gnat and glaring at Misuzu while they go around looking at scenery. Eventually it’s revealed that Tanuma has been quietly possessed by Misuzu’s fellow marsh guardian… soulmate… friend thing, and that it’s this “Sasame” who Misuzu has been interested in, rather than Tanuma. There’s a climax where Sasame tries to escape being removed from Tanuma, and Tanuma empathizes with their relative lack of power because he sees Sasame (who is very weak) with Misuzu as being similar to himself with Natsume. Sensei confronts Sasame about their motivations, thereby leading to Sasame voluntarily leaving and joining Misuzu in their wooden-doll-possessing-competition… thing. 

Though nominally platonic, the story is romantic and emotional, centering on the gap in power between Natsume and Tanuma and their mutual attempts to bridge that gap without actually talking about it.

The first thing I’d like to talk about is the imagery.

Chronologically left to right this time. Tanuma looks odd on the right because of Sasame. Friendly reminder that Midorikawa-Sensei hates drawing hands.

Japanese culture is not physically demonstrative or openly emotional in general, but young children and teen girls are allowed far more leeway than teen boys and adults. So much so that teen girls can even hold hands in a “romantic” way and still be assumed to be straight. This is not as visible in Natsume Yūjinchō as in Midorikawa-sensei’s other work, since there’s only one recurring teen girl. But it is visible in her art for Season 6 of the anime, where Sasada and Taki are holding hands in the background. It’s also apparent in the way that different characters express themselves. Female characters are more physically emotional, and more visibly vulnerable than male characters. For example, male characters do not usually hold their hands in front of their stomach or their chest—a somewhat defensive gesture—and will ball up their fists at their side instead. (Or use Sensei as a shield.) Male vulnerability is mostly expressed through facial expressions.

So even for a boy like Tanuma, this kind of emotional gesture is notable. A single example would be interesting. Two is suspicious. Three is a pattern. This fits the theory that this story is meant to break open a new arc in Natsume and Tanuma’s relationship; changing course requires far more effort than staying on the new course. It’s exactly what Taki’s story was yelling about right before it veered off into “family” territory—except Tanuma’s story stayed consistent. The hand-over-heart, standing-on-water scene was on the very first page, without even a chapter cover to get in the way. The longing, out-stretched hand is from a scene that sets the emotional context for Tanuma’s behavior. The heart-clutching is part of the climax. Every one of these is directly or implicitly linked to his feelings about Natsume.

The out-stretched hand is particularly important. This is the dialog that sets it up:

あのヒト妖だったのか… すごいものだな　普通に人間に見えているのに… ささいで小さな妖との繋がりのかけら　夏目はいつもあんなに苦労している　それを知ってるのに夏目が見ているものを一緒に見てみたいと思ってしまう　ー夏目は強い　おれもそうだったらあんなに心配させずにー　… どうしたんだ　おれらしくもない　…なんだか欲ばりだ

“[Spoken aloud to himself] That person was an ayakashi…? What an amazing thing. Even though they look like an ordinary human… [Internally] Such a tiny, insignificant fragment of a connection to ayakashi. Natsume is always going through so much trouble. I know that, but I still find myself thinking I’d like to see the things he sees, together. —Natsume is strong. If I were too, without worrying him— [it would be possible to do something]… What’s the deal? That’s not like me. …Kind of greedy.”

When Tanuma is talking to Natsume about something similar in “Tenjō-san,” his wording is vague, potentially even reading as envy though that doesn’t really suit the context. He says he’d “like to see the same world as [Natsume], sometimes.” Here in the privacy of his own mind, he’s more clear. This scene, with it’s implication that Tanuma wants to share Natsume’s world, is implicitly romantic—particularly in light of Taki’s furry yōkai story. 

Though there were several moments when Natsume seemed suspicious of the nature of the furry yōkai’s feelings for Taki (never explicit), it’s reading the letter at the end that seems to convince him. In this letter, the yōkai expresses their gratitude for Taki’s help, and their desire to “see the beautiful mountains and beautiful valleys” with Taki. In fact, the wording itself is suspiciously familiar.

If we set aside the obvious differences and focus on the emotional core of the letter, we get:

[~]をともに見てみたいと思ってしまった。

“I found myself thinking I’d like to see [the beautiful mountains and beautiful valleys] together.”

Compare Tanuma:

[~]を一緒に見てみたいと思ってしまう。

“I find myself thinking I’d like to see [the things Natsume sees] together.”

There are two differences here. One, the word for “together”: the yokai’s letter uses the formal/written ともに, whereas Tanuma’s thought uses the casual/spoken 一緒に. The words are otherwise completely identical in meaning, so this difference should probably be considered functionally meaningless. The other difference is actually in Tanuma’s favor.

What I translated as “I find/found myself thinking” is the auxiliary verb しまう. This word has no real equivalent in English. It means “to finish completely” but is commonly used to add a nuance of lack of intention and probably regret to an action. For example, where an English speaker might say “Oh no, I forgot!” the Japanese speaker would say “I forgot—shimatta!” If “shimatta” sounds familiar, that’s because it’s very common and can even be used on its own (where it is frequently—and hilariously—translated as “damn”).

Here both furry yōkai and Tanuma are using しまう to express regret or even self-reproach for their seemingly futile desires as well as (in Tanuma’s case) the sense that the desire is selfish. The difference is the conjugation. Furry yōkai uses the perfective aspect—often taught as “past tense” because that’s the primary use—which indicates the completion of an action. Tanuma is using the imperfective, which indicates a lack of completion either because something is ongoing (recurring, not continuous), or because it is yet to be performed at all (future).

Grammatically there are a few different interpretations of perfective vs imperfective, but in this context only one thing makes sense. The furry yōkai is encapsulating his desire as a singular experience, something they have wrapped up and set to the side (consistent with their refusal to engage directly with Taki or allow Natsume to do so for them) and don’t expect to deal with in the future. Tanuma, on the other hand, considers this desire to be an issue he struggles with repeatedly and sees no quick end to. Even though he, like the furry yōkai, knows it to be impossible, he can’t let it go—and nor can the story.

Regardless of any potential parallels to Taki’s furry yōkai, this desire to see yōkai in order to share them with Natsume is a major theme. While we do occasionally go a few pages without being reminded, Tanuma’s motivations in this story are neither subtle nor subtext. The logic is fairly straightforward:

Knowing a yōkai ⇒ having a connection to the yōkai world ⇒ having a connection to Natsume’s world ⇒ being closer to Natsume.

The scene above lays it out all but explicitly, but this motivation is referenced multiple times (not in order):

—“I can’t let him keep worrying forever. If there’s anything that would help hurry things along even a little…” [While investigating a dream.]

—“I was happy that your ayakashi friend seemed to take an interest in me.”

––“[I miss feeling like I knew a yōkai but] I still had a good time, in the end. I got to see the same things as you.”

—“So that means I get to know a yōkai Natsume knows?”

The last one is rather telling. First, because it confirms the connection to Natsume is important to him. Second, because he says it while holding Sensei. Sensei does not “count” for this purpose because Sensei is not inaccessible. Even completely ordinary people like Nishimura and Kitamoto interact with Sensei on a regular basis, albeit without realizing he can talk. Tanuma wants more than that. But even more, he wants more than what’s available to, well, Taki—the other “ordinary” person who talks to Sensei.

Yet all of this serves only to reinforce a pre-existing theme. For Taki, the yōkai world is intrinsically emotionally bound to her grandfather. For Tanuma, it’s emotionally bound to Natsume himself. Further, he sees it as a barrier between them that he needs power to overcome. This has a long-running basis:

—When they first meet, Natsume makes it clear he wants to talk to Tanuma because he believes Tanuma can see the same things. Tanuma, likewise, wants to meet Natsume because he’s heard they’re similar. It makes sense, then, that he would see their relationship—and his worth as a friend—as being strongly tied to yōkai.

—In Tanuma’s special, his second major appearance, he frets about his weakness being the reason Natsume always lies and disappears without warning. He knows that Natsume is trying to protect him from yōkai trouble, but secretly fights the fear that Natsume is disappointed in his lack of power. The story ends with him wondering whether Natsume will ever tell him “what color the fish [in Tanuma’s yōkai pond] are” and whether he’ll ever be able to ask. Natsume talking about the yōkai pond, then, is established as a metaphor for Natsume opening up and treating Tanuma as a genuine friend.

—In the mirror arc, Tanuma borrows the yokai’s sight (i.e. power) because he wants to see what Natsume is reacting to. The yōkai later tells Natsume “It was what he wanted. […] Even though he knows [you’re trying to be kind] he doesn’t understand. Even though he’s right beside you, not knowing…” Earlier in the story, there’s a mildly comic set of exchanges where he repeatedly gushes about how “amazing” Natsume’s ability is.

—In “The Other Side of the Glass,” Tanuma’s flashback to Natsume not paying attention while he plays shogi connects the yōkai world to Tanuma’s perception of being kept at a distance. That is, Natsume is mentally drawn away from Tanuma by things that Tanuma (normally) cannot even see and therefore cannot work against. Tanuma eventually breaks down because he feels that in trying to be involved, he’s become “a burden” who “doesn’t know how far to intrude” and “doesn’t want to put up walls because of that.” At the end, he’s wistful about leaving the yōkai world and losing his sight.

—In “Distant Festival Lights” Tanuma reveals he “never even imagined” that yōkai were real until he met Natsume. Thus yōkai as something real to be wondered at must be inextricably bound to Natsume himself.

For several stories afterward, this desire is shifted to the background as the narrative focuses on what Tanuma can do: provide emotional support (as with Natsume’s story about his unwed grandmother) and run interference in the background. Tanuma’s desire to see yōkai does not come up during this calm period. However, the theme starts to creep back in with the ryokan story, along with his lack of faith in his own abilities—he assumes a real vision was “just a dream” because there’s nothing there when he wakes up, and apologizes to Natsume for reacting to it.

In Tenjō-san, he talks about how he feels about Natsume’s world:

夏目の世界はあいまいなものがいっぱいなんだな　おれは…やっぱり時々夏目と同じ世界を見てみたいなと思うけど　見えるものが違うからこそ確認しあえることもあるのかもしれないなって…

“Your [Natsume’s] world is full of ambiguous things, isn’t it? I… still think I’d like to the the same world as you, sometimes. But I also think maybe there are times when it’s because the things we see are different that we can confirm things for each other.” [Emphasis is original.]

In other words, this story is really just foregrounding something that’s always been subtext.

Which brings me to my next point: the use of mirroring. I assumed from the start that Misuzu was a mirror for Natsume in order to parallel Taki’s brother as a mirror. There seemed to be some basis for this in the first chapter—in spending so much time talking with Tanuma, Misuzu was preventing Natsume from talking to Tanuma. (Natsume frets about not getting to talk to Tanuma “at all” because the guest had been coming “for a few days.”) And in taking Tanuma around to look at various scenery, Misuzu’s actions are suspiciously similar to what Natsume worries about failing at: “Even though I have him right beside me, I keep him company with nothing but talk of scenery we cannot share.” [Emphasis mine.] The mirroring ended up being more explicit than I expected: Tanuma openly compares Sasame and Misuzu’s relationship to his with Natsume. This is an interesting narrative technique, for a couple of reasons.

Sasame—and Misuzu in particular—are not just yōkai. They are yōkai who act very differently from humans, to the point that it’s specifically highlighted. Of all the yōkai Natsume knows, Misuzu is one of the least human. They chose the form of a horse. They have a frog as a “retainer.” They once “tested" Natsume’s worthiness with a deadly curse. And in this story itself, they complain that they don’t understand why Natsume won’t just order them around, even though they specifically allowed him that power. In other words, they express themselves in ways that are not easily mapped onto human behavior. This is important because it allows the Misuzu/Sasame to Natsume/Tanuma mirroring to be opaque in many ways. For example, it’s not at all clear what the Natsume/Tanuma equivalent of possessing identical dolls and having a boisterous contest would be. This means that the story can move forward with strong emotional overtones while also refusing to define exactly what kind of relationship they’re supposed to have. It’s a convenient excuse to have two characters behave in a very romantic way without having to justify why they’re not actually in a romantic relationship. This is nearly the opposite of Taki’s story, where the use of her brother as mirror (if intentional) has strongly platonic overtones.

Another example of deliberate (and clever) muddling is in the presentation of Sasame and Tanuma’s emotions while Sasame inhabits Tanuma. Both characters are implied to be influenced by the other. Tanuma says “What’s the deal? That’s not like me. Kind of greedy.” Later, Sasame tells Sensei not to worry about Tanuma because “There was something off with me. [It’s not like me to] take advantage of the child of man this way.” Neither of them are really suggesting that the nature of emotions are strange, only more self-centered than usual. This suggests that their desires are so aligned, they effectively amplified each other, creating a stronger sense of desperation and thus greed. For example, both of them enjoyed their “daily routine” with Misuzu and Natsume, for related reasons. Sasame wanted to share Misuzu’s world, and Tanuma wanted to share Natsume’s world via Misuzu. 

However, since Sasame!Tanuma’s actions are influenced by the emotions of both characters, it’s difficult to tease out exactly who is feeling what. When Tanuma is so happy to get dragged off by Misuzu, is that because—as he later tells Natsume—he was “happy that your ayakashi friend seemed to take an interest in me”—happy that part of Natsume’s world was actively trying to involve him? Or was it because Sasame was happy about Misuzu’s active involvement? To a certain extent, it’s beside the point. These characters are mirrors. What Tanuma feels about Misuzu is what Sasame feels about Misuzu is what Tanuma feels about Natsume. Both want to be closer and more involved. Both are afraid of being left behind, of being “unable to keep up.”

On a similar note, we return to the mirroring between Natsume and Misuzu. Misuzu smirks through much of the story, but shows serious vulnerability on more than one occasion—right before returning to smirking. This suggests that Misuzu is hiding just how invested they are. Though they express themselves in very yōkai-like ways, Misuzu is just as concerned about Sasame as Natsume is about Tanuma. Misuzu even uses the same phrase, 付き合う or “to keep company,” as Natsume. That is, Natsume says he will “keep [Tanuma] company” with Misuzu because Tanuma has “kept me company so many times when I was involved with yōkai.” Misuzu later explains their own behavior, saying that they only intended to “keep Sasame company in whatever it is they want to do.” Both, then, are shown to not entirely understand their companions motivations, but to want to indulge them regardless. The implication is that they mirror each other in their style of showing affection.

Further, both Misuzu and Natsume seem clueless as to their companion’s desires. Natsume shows progress in understanding, but is repeatedly distracted by Misuzu. Misuzu, for their part, claims that Sasame retains possession of Tanuma because Tanuma is “comfortable” and “easy to possess,” apparently unaware that Sasame is specifically enjoying the new type of companionship with Misuzu that having a human body offers. On the same note, Misuzu’s confusion about why they want to spend time with Sasame!Tanuma in such “odd” ways is interesting in the context of being Natsume’s mirror. It suggests that Natsume himself does not quite understand how he feels about spending time with Tanuma like this. The reveal that Misuzu was actually talking to Sasame only makes this confusion more poignant: Misuzu does not understand why they are enjoying simply walking around, looking at nostalgic places with their favorite companion, when they had come for a boisterous contest. This is another good example of how being yōkai make the parallels somewhat opaque.

Another interesting point is the way in which Natsume’s feelings balance Tanuma’s. Though we’re given somewhat more access into how Tanuma feels, due to Natsume being distracted by Misuzu, we do get a hint of the broader problem. Natsume is worried about whether Tanuma will “listen and smile” for him ��forever.” Then he chides himself for only “keeping Tanuma company with nothing but talk of scenery we cannot share.” When Tanuma sympathizes with Sasame, he points out how “unbearably painful” it is to be “unable to keep up with your friend.” Both Natsume and Tanuma use いつでも “forever” in the context of trying to make their companion happy. For Tanuma, it’s because he knows he worries Natsume. For Natsume, it’s the concern about Tanuma's interest in "scenery we cannot share." Tanuma is worried about spiritual power, and how it would (in theory) facilitate being closer to Natsume. Natsume, on the other hand, is worried about his actual relationship skills. He knows that he’s not giving Tanuma as much as he should, but doesn’t seem to have any ideas about what he should give. The only thing we have to go on is “scenery we cannot share,” which suggests that moving forward might involve finding scenery they can share—exactly like they did with Misuzu. So there’s a sense that they’re both actively trying to find a way forward, but they’re not communicating well enough to do it right.

There is one way in which the story could be read as explicitly platonic. When describing the marshes that they and Sasame protect, Misuzu describes them as being “like identical twins.” If this is intended to mark them as “surrogate twins,” then obviously that would be a platonic reading. However, I don’t think this is the case. Instead, I think this more “soulmate” subtext. After all, it’s not Misuzu and Sasame who are described as “identical twins,” but the appearance of their homes. And place, in Natsume Yūjinchō, is often a stand-in for something like heart.

For example, many of Taki’s stories happen in her home, to symbolize the importance of family to her. Likewise, the Fujiwaras home is a symbol of the affection and safe boundaries they provide to Natsume. Natsume had to let go of the “Natsume” family home before he could move on from the loss of his parents. More dramatic is Reiko’s field of flowers: isolated, hidden from human and yōkai alike, a secret for Reiko alone, yet beautiful—and blue for Souko, the girl who came the closest to seeing her true self. The pond that’s so important for this story is also symbolic: it’s both the place where Natsume and Tanuma’s powers meet and the place where Misuzu and Sasame meet to be together.

But more directly relevant is the story of Gen and Sui: the gods who inhabited a “set of two” dog statues and protected a village from afar, until Sui’s statue was destroyed and she became a demon. The term 一対 implies either a perfectly matched set, or items that are nearly identical but with a twist (like male and female or silver and gold). So while the word “twin” wasn’t used in that story, it’s conceptually very similar to how the marshes were described. Misuzu is an explicitly genderless horse-person and Sasame is literally formless, but Gen and Sui were heavily anthropomorphized and explicitly gendered as male and female. And while the nature of their relationship is never explicit, Gen and Sui made much more sense as a romantic couple than as siblings. For one thing, their style of speech is consistent with an old-fashioned couple (similar to Touko-san and Shigeru-san’s). They also use similar romantic language as other couples, like wanting to “be able to be together forever” and being “happy because you were there.” So the reading that Sasame and Misuzu’s “twin” marshes are symbols of emotional compatibility—and their need to be together—is at least consistent with how Midorikawa-sensei has written in the past.

For a while I was troubled by the symbolism of Sasame’s fading marsh in this context. It’s a terrible fit for Misuzu and Sasame (and thus Natsume and Tanuma) being “like identical twins,” but didn’t seem to fit much better with the idea of their hearts being “like identical twins.” But eventually it occurred to me that the fading of Sasame’s marsh along with their powers did fit with a certain view of “heart”—just not the limited scope of love. In Japanese, “heart” has roughly the same set of metaphorical meanings as in English, but with an additional dash of “mind” depending on context. So think emotions, deep thoughts, sincere beliefs. Sort of an “inner self” thing. In this context it’s easier to understand how Sasame’s heart has been weakened. With their diminishing existence and the “widening gap” in power, Sasame is emotionally stretched thin. Fading hope, the strain of feeling left behind by someone they adore, the belief that the one thing they have no control over is the one thing that matters the most. This is Sasame’s fading heart—and this is what they have in common with Tanuma.

And in fact this fits Sasame’s dialog, as they wonder whether taking advantage of Tanuma, and focusing so much on Misuzu’s power, means their heart has grown “barren” along with their power.

This might be depressing but for the implication that it’s not actually Sasame’s or Tanuma’s power itself that has made them feel this way. It’s the fact that they have been following an old, inadequate rulebook with Misuzu (and Natsume), and need to communicate in order to adapt. Sasame frets about power, but when they comment on the “liveliness” around Misuzu, Sensei makes a point:

にぎやかから満たされているとも限るまい

“I suppose we can’t assume that lively surroundings always mean that one is fulfilled.”

This triggers Sasame’s memory of Misuzu’s “nostalgia” comments, and their realization that “It’s not as if [Misuzu] came hoping I would just be strong.” In other words, there is something about Sasame (Tanuma) that is important to Misuzu (Natsume) that cannot be replaced by all the other “lively” people and yōkai in the world. What exactly this means for them and their future is left unspoken, but it’s clearly emotional:

“I’m sorry [for what I did], child of Man. Surely, even without being able to keep up…[something they want will be possible]”

The way the story ends, as well, feels pointed. As I mentioned earlier, Taki’s story did not fit my conception of “setting a romantic arc in motion” because it felt too finished. The only thing arguably unfinished in the end is Taki’s new friendship with Girl-With-Crush. The end-cap is Natsume cheerfully affirming the importance of keeping promises to family-figures (in this case Sensei, to whom he promised an eclair for dealing with Taki). This is superimposed over an image of the gift from Taki’s brother and grandfather: a rock painted with floral designs (it's a fake yokai connection [the stonewashers], but authentic feelings). The overall feeling is that Natsume has solved all their issues. He convinced Taki she could talk to him, figured out why her brother was acting weird and helped the siblings uncover the gift that was meant to help tie them together, then finally observed Taki having positive social interaction with someone who wasn’t yōkai-adjacent. (Note that Natsume had nothing to do with Taki’s new friendship; it was the girl herself who worked up the courage to approach Taki. And she used sweets—the language Taki speaks—to do so, showing a higher level of mental compatibility than anyone else thus far.) There’s no sense that Natsume’s feelings about Taki have shifted, that he sees her any differently, or that he has any curiosity about her future romantic life.

On the other hand, the ending of Tanuma’s story does what Taki’s didn’t: it leaves a suggestive opening. Tanuma happily says goodbye “Again, tomorrow!” in much the same way as Misuzu has been, implying a return to regular close interaction—and perhaps a more deliberately “daily” interaction. Then Misuzu reappears, and smirkingly tells Natsume “Tanuma Kaname is a rather fun/interesting guy.” Choosing to use Tanuma’s full name for the first time is all but a wink, and using 中々 for “rather” suggests either they’ve begun to see Tanuma with new eyes—or they think Natsume has and they’re making a point of noticing— 中々 has a connotation of “unusually high” or “more than expected.” Natsume’s unimpressed reaction suggests he’s not pleased at the idea of Misuzu’s renewed interest or teasing, and he pointedly reminds Misuzu of Sasame, asking how their “contest” went. Misuzu’s counter that it is, essentially, private is overlaid on an image of the contest’s meeting place: the pond which, to Tanuma, symbolizes both the connection and the barrier between him and Natsume. The pond whose dripping water Natsume was distracted from when Misuzu arrived. This has a strong implication that there’s something about Natsume and Tanuma’s relationship that’s not meant to be shared outside the two of them.

This is all… more than a bit suggestive. But it’s not explicit.

It’s not clear how Misuzu and Sasame will move forward, considering they ended with the same “competition” as usual, but we know they have learned from the experience. Both Misuzu and Sasame found that they enjoyed a quieter way of being together, and Sasame began to realize that Misuzu sees them as more than just someone to play games of strength with.

Likewise it’s not clear how Natsume and Tanuma will move forward, though the fact that they spent time basically looking at scenery together is a neat counterpoint to Natsume’s lament that he “does nothing but talk about scenery we cannot share.” It’s also something they can do without Misuzu or Sasame—as they did with the fireworks so long ago. They do make explicit progress when Natsume, hurt by Tanuma’s reticence, reminds him that “it doesn’t matter whether it’s yōkai or not, if something is bothering you, you should tell me!” However, this is only a single facet of their problem. It’s the sort of thing they ought to have been taking for granted by now, but it doesn’t really answer the question of what they can actively do together to find contentment. There’s a sense that they’re making progress, but still have somewhere to go. Acknowledging that they want to talk about something other than yōkai is simply the first step in that direction.

In the end, there’s still quite a bit I haven’t gotten into: the use of suspiciously suggestive wording, and the way Misuzu is positioned as a subtextual rival. The way Tanuma’s insecurity about his powers mirrors his insecurity about his relationship with Natsume. The various connections to earlier stories. Tanuma’s romanticization of selflessness and the way this, with his insecurity, is an obstacle in their relationship. But this meta needed to end at some point, so this is as good as any.

I’m still uncertain as to the intent of this story. I still don’t know whether it meant to lay down romantic subtext or just sort of stumbled clumsily into it. But no matter what, it’s a deeply emotional story that solidifies Tanuma’s singularity and significance, and the importance of being closer to Natsume. So whatever may happen with Taki, or with Tanuma, there is some comfort to be had in that.

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Exophonic Writing: 5 Benefits

Exophonic writing means writing in a foreign language. I discovered that many writers, including the renowned Joseph Conrad (a Pole), wrote exophonically. 

This encouraged me, since I had often put off my French writing projects to the side after losing courage. During NaNoWriMo, I have prepared a project for exophonic writing, which will examine the influence of French on Middle High German (link in German). 

While I do not have the relevant degrees, I now realise that I want to make this topic accessible to non-scholars. 

Here are some benefits of exophonic writing which all multi-lingual writers should consider:

Expanded Expression: In reading articles on exophonic writing, the one common denominator between such writers is their ability to express themselves easier in another language compared to their mother tongue. Some phrases and ideas lend themselves to particular languages compared to others. For example, when I read phrases in Hebrew, I often find the expression more succinct compared to English. I find the sentence structure of German more logical and even poetic. So the range of thoughts that can be expressed increases. 

Accessibility: The testimonies of at least 2 Japanese writers found that English was more accessible than their native tongues. One even found Japanese too hierarchial, and thus saw writing in English as a rebellion. While I have no interest in writing exophonically for social or political reasons, I think this perspective does highlight the outstanding nature of languages based on Latin and Greek. Instead of relying on characters or consonants, you have a collection of letters. This could be seen as more “democratic” to some. (N.B: I admire both Middle-Eastern and Asian languages, particularly Hebrew, Arabic, and Mandarin Chinese). 

Cultural Affinity: It comes as no surprise that many exophonic writers are migrants to foreign nations. In fact, much of the articles on exophonic writing concern the connection between migration, culture, and writing in the dominant language. Exophonic writing has often been cast as the struggle to adapt in a foreign culture, while also recognising one’s birth origins, language, and culture. But this does not only apply to migrants. For example, I am British and have never migrated. But I feel a great cultural affinity with France, and that has stemmed from my love of French. I also admire parts of Russian culture, which again stems from my study of Russian history. And so exophonic writing can help access those cultures. 

Wider audiences: To my surprise, and perhaps sorrow, translations do not sell well in the Anglosphere. Outside of translated classics, most people will read books in English, myself included. No matter how many times I tell myself to read more in French and German, the majority of what I read is inside English. And so if I wish to access French and German audiences, I must write in their language. (Likewise, those wishing to reach Anglophone audiences must write in English). The most profitable languages are those with the widest number of speakers: Chinese, Spanish, English, French, German, Russian, and Arabic. While translation is invaluable and has its place, it must remain subordinate to writing in the original language. Exophonic writers can thus cross language barriers and reach new people. 

Foreign Language Mastery: While Joseph Conrad found writing in English incredibly difficult, he is renowned today as one of the finest writers in the English language. I first came across him from Noah Lukeman’s masterful The First Five Pages, excerpts of his writing held as the gold standard of writing technique. How did Conrad, a Pole born as  Józef Teodor Nałęcz Konrad Korzeniowski, reach this level? By working at the language as a carpenter shapes wood. Evidently, Conrad would have written drafts in elementary English and kept polishing and polishing his drafts. And so the more we practice writing inside a foreign language, as well as reading widely in the target language, the further we progress to mastery in that language. So exophonic writers should not fear mistakes and errors. Rather, working and working on developing an authentic expression will produce excellent results, regardless of whether you write fiction like Conrad, or nonfiction. 

Why isn’t exophonic writing taught in Anglophone schools? I have always aspired to write in French, but many have not even had the opportunity because the quality of foreign language teaching is poor in Britain. The examination boards have now lowered standards (again) to accommodate student fears about foreign languages. More people should appreciate the importance of writing exophonically, which is essential to many writers around the world today, as well as many historical figures. Voltaire wrote letters in English when he stayed here. Handel eventually learned English and referred to himself as “Mr. Handel.” Foreign languages are too important to be failed by a mediocre education system. 

So if you study foreign languages, consider exophonic writing. 

[nebris]

The Book No One Read

Why Stanislaw Lem’s futurism deserves attention.

I remember well the first time my certainty of a bright future evaporated, when my confidence in the panacea of technological progress was shaken. It was in 2007, on a warm September evening in San Francisco, where I was relaxing in a cheap motel room after two days covering The Singularity Summit, an annual gathering of scientists, technologists, and entrepreneurs discussing the future obsolescence of human beings.            

                   In math, a “singularity” is a function that takes on an infinite value, usually to the detriment of an equation’s sense and sensibility. In physics, the term usually refers to a region of infinite density and infinitely curved space, something thought to exist inside black holes and at the very beginning of the Big Bang. In the rather different parlance of Silicon Valley, “The Singularity” is an inexorably-approaching event in which humans ride an accelerating wave of technological progress to somehow create superior artificial intellects—intellects which with predictable unpredictability then explosively make further disruptive innovations so powerful and profound that our civilization, our species, and perhaps even our entire planet are rapidly transformed into some scarcely imaginable state. Not long after The Singularity’s arrival, argue its proponents, humanity’s dominion over the Earth will come to an end.            

                   I had encountered a wide spectrum of thought in and around the conference. Some attendees overflowed with exuberance, awaiting the arrival of machines of loving grace to watch over them in a paradisiacal post-scarcity utopia, while others, more mindful of history, dreaded the possible demons new technologies could unleash. Even the self-professed skeptics in attendance sensed the world was poised on the cusp of some massive technology-driven transition. A typical conversation at the conference would refer at least once to some exotic concept like whole-brain emulation, cognitive enhancement, artificial life, virtual reality, or molecular nanotechnology, and many carried a cynical sheen of eschatological hucksterism: Climb aboard, don’t delay, invest right now, and you, too, may be among the chosen who rise to power from the ashes of the former world!            

                   Over vegetarian hors d’oeuvres and red wine at a Bay Area villa, I had chatted with the billionaire venture capitalist Peter Thiel, who planned to adopt an “aggressive” strategy for investing in a “positive” Singularity, which would be “the biggest boom ever,” if it doesn’t first “blow up the whole world.” I had talked with the autodidactic artificial-intelligence researcher Eliezer Yudkowsky about his fears that artificial minds might, once created, rapidly destroy the planet. At one point, the inventor-turned-proselytizer
 Ray Kurzweil teleconferenced in to discuss,
among other things, his plans for becoming transhuman, transcending his own biology to 
achieve some sort of
 eternal life. Kurzweil
 believes this is possible, 
even probable, provided he can just live to see
 The Singularity’s dawn, 
which he has pegged at 
sometime in the middle of the 21st century. To this end, he reportedly consumes some 150 vitamin supplements a day.                           

                   Returning to my motel room exhausted each night, I unwound by reading excerpts from an old book, Summa Technologiae. The late Polish author Stanislaw Lem had written it in the early 1960s, setting himself the lofty goal of forging a secular counterpart to the 13th-century Summa Theologica, Thomas Aquinas’s landmark compendium exploring the foundations and limits of Christian theology. Where Aquinas argued for the certainty of a Creator, an immortal soul, and eternal salvation as based on scripture, Lem concerned himself with the uncertain future of intelligence and technology throughout the universe, guided by the tenets of modern science.            

                   To paraphrase Lem himself, the book was an investigation of the thorns of technological roses that had yet to bloom. And yet, despite Lem’s later observation that “nothing ages as fast as the future,” to my surprise most of the book’s nearly half-century-old prognostications concerned the very same topics I had encountered during my days at the conference, and felt just as fresh. Most surprising of all, in subsequent conversations I confirmed my suspicions that among the masters of our technological universe gathered there in San Francisco to forge a transhuman future, very few were familiar with the book or, for that matter, with Lem. I felt like a passenger in a car who discovers a blindspot in the central focus of the driver’s view.            

                   Such blindness was, perhaps, understandable. In 2007, only fragments of Summa Technologiae had appeared in English, via partial translations undertaken independently by the literary scholar Peter Swirski and a German software developer named Frank Prengel. These fragments were what I read in the motel. The first complete English translation, by the media researcher Joanna Zylinska, only appeared in 2013. By Lem’s own admission, from the start the book was a commercial and a critical failure that “sank without a trace” upon its first appearance in print. Lem’s terminology and dense, baroque style is partially to blame—many of his finest points were made in digressive parables, allegories, and footnotes, and he coined his own neologisms for what were, at the time, distinctly over-the-horizon fields. In Lem’s lexicon, virtual reality was “phantomatics,” molecular nanotechnology was “molectronics,” cognitive enhancement was “cerebromatics,” and biomimicry and the creation of artificial life was “imitology.” He had even coined a term for search-engine optimization, a la Google: “ariadnology.” The path to advanced artificial intelligence he called the “technoevolution” of “intellectronics.”            

                   Even now, if Lem is known at all to the vast majority of the English-speaking world, it is chiefly for his authorship of Solaris, a popular 1961 science-fiction novel that spawned two critically acclaimed film adaptations, one by Andrei Tarkovsky and another by Steven Soderbergh. Yet to say the prolific author only wrote science fiction would be foolishly dismissive. That so much of his output can be classified as such is because so many of his intellectual wanderings took him to the outer frontiers of knowledge.            

                   Lem was a polymath, a voracious reader who devoured not only the classic literary canon, but also a plethora of research journals, scientific periodicals, and popular books by leading researchers. His genius was in standing on the shoulders of scientific giants to distill the essence of their work, flavored with bittersweet insights and thought experiments that linked their mathematical abstractions to deep existential mysteries and the nature of the human condition. For this reason alone, reading Lem is an education, wherein one may learn the deep ramifications of breakthroughs such as Claude Shannon’s development of information theory, Alan Turing’s work on computation, and John von Neumann’s exploration of game theory. Much of his best work entailed constructing analyses based on logic with which anyone would agree, then showing how these eminently reasonable premises lead to astonishing conclusions. And the fundamental urtext for all of it, the wellspring from which the remainder of his output flowed, is Summa Technologiae.            

                   The core of the book is a heady mix of evolutionary biology, thermodynamics—the study of energy flowing through a system—and cybernetics, a diffuse field pioneered in the 1940s by Norbert Wiener studying how feedback loops can automatically regulate the behavior of machines and organisms. Considering a planetary civilization this way, Lem posits a set of feedbacks between the stability of a society and its degree of technological development. In its early stages, Lem writes, the development of technology is a self-reinforcing process that promotes homeostasis, the ability to maintain stability in the face of continual change and increasing disorder. That is, incremental advances in technology tend to progressively increase a society’s resilience against disruptive environmental forces such as pandemics, famines, earthquakes, and asteroid strikes. More advances lead to more protection, which promotes more advances still.                           

                   And yet, Lem argues, that same technology-driven positive feedback loop is also an Achilles heel for planetary civilizations, at least for ours here on Earth. As advances in science and technology accrue and the pace of discovery continues its acceleration, our society will approach an “information barrier” beyond which our brains—organs blindly, stochastically shaped by evolution for vastly different purposes—can no longer efficiently interpret and act on the deluge of information.            

                   Past this point, our civilization should reach the end of what has been a period of exponential growth in science and technology. Homeostasis will break down, and without some major intervention, we will collapse into a “developmental crisis” from which we may never fully recover. Attempts to simply muddle through, Lem writes, would only lead to a vicious circle of boom-and-bust economic bubbles as society meanders blindly down a random, path-dependent route of scientific discovery and technological development. “Victories, that is, suddenly appearing domains of some new wonderful activity,” he writes, “will engulf us in their sheer size, thus preventing us from noticing some other opportunities—which may turn out to be even more valuable in the long run.”            

                   Lem thus concludes that if our technological civilization is to avoid falling into decay, human obsolescence in one form or another is unavoidable. The sole remaining option for continued progress would then be the “automatization of cognitive processes” through development of algorithmic “information farms” and superhuman artificial intelligences. This would occur via a sophisticated plagiarism, the virtual simulation of the mindless, brute-force natural selection we see acting in biological evolution, which, Lem dryly notes, is the only technique known in the universe to construct philosophers, rather than mere philosophies.            

The result is a disconcerting paradox, which Lem expresses early in the book: To maintain control of our own fate, we must yield our
agency to minds exponentially more powerful than our own, created through processes we cannot entirely understand, and hence potentially unknowable to us. This is the basis for Lem’s explorations of The Singularity, and in describing its consequences he reaches many conclusions that most of its present-day acolytes would share. But there is a difference between the typical modern approach and Lem’s, not in degree, but in kind.

                   Unlike the commodified futurism now so common in the bubble-worlds of Silicon Valley billionaires, Lem’s forecasts weren’t really about seeking personal enrichment from market fluctuations, shiny new gadgets, or simplistic ideologies of “disruptive innovation.” In Summa Technologiae and much of his subsequent work, Lem instead sought to map out the plausible answers to questions that today are too often passed over in silence, perhaps because they fail to neatly fit into any TED Talk or startup business plan: Does technology control humanity, or does humanity control technology? Where are the absolute limits for our knowledge and our achievement, and will these boundaries be formed by the fundamental laws of nature or by the inherent limitations of our psyche? If given the ability to satisfy nearly any material desire, what is it that we actually would want?            

                   Lem’s explorations of these questions are dominated by his obsession with chance, the probabilistic tension between chaos and order as an arbiter of human destiny. He had a deep appreciation for entropy, the capacity for disorder to naturally, spontaneously arise and spread, cursing some while sparing others. It was an appreciation born from his experience as a young man in Poland before, during, and after World War II, where he saw chance’s role in the destruction of countless dreams, and where, perhaps by pure chance alone, his Jewish heritage did not result in his death. “We were like ants bustling in an anthill over which the heel of a boot is raised,” he wrote in Highcastle, an autobiographical memoir. “Some saw its shadow, or thought they did, but everyone, the uneasy included, ran about their usual business until the very last minute, ran with enthusiasm, devotion—to secure, to appease, to tame the future.” From the accumulated weight of those experiences, Lem wrote in the New Yorker in 1986, he had “come to understand the fragility that all systems have in common,” and “how human beings behave under extreme conditions—how their behavior when they are under enormous pressure is almost impossible to predict.”            

                   To Lem (and, to their credit, a sizeable number of modern thinkers), the Singularity is less an opportunity than a question mark, a multidimensional crucible in which humanity’s future will be forged.            

                   I couldn’t help thinking of Lem’s question mark that summer in 2007. Within and around the gardens surrounding the neoclassical Palace of Fine Arts Theater where the Singularity Summit was taking place, dark and disruptive shadows seemed to loom over the plans and aspirations of the gathered well-to-do. But they had precious little to do with malevolent superintelligences or runaway nanotechnology. Between my motel and the venue, panhandlers rested along the sidewalk, or stood with empty cups at busy intersections, almost invisible to everyone. Walking outside during one break between sessions, I stumbled across a homeless man defecating between two well-manicured bushes. Even within the context of the conference, hints of desperation sometimes tinged the not-infrequent conversations about raising capital; the subprime mortgage crisis was already unfolding that would, a year later, spark the near-collapse of the world’s financial system. While our society’s titans of technology were angling for advantages to create what they hoped would be the best of all possible futures, the world outside reminded those who would listen that we are barely in control even today.                         

                   I attended two more Singularity Summits, in 2008 and 2009, and during that three-year period, all the much-vaunted performance gains in various technologies seemed paltry against a more obvious yet less-discussed pattern of accelerating change: the rapid, incessant growth in global ecological degradation, economic inequality, and societal instability. Here, forecasts tend to be far less rosy than those for our future capabilities in information technology. They suggest, with some confidence, that when and if we ever breathe souls into our machines, most of humanity will not be dreaming of transcending their biology, but of fresh water, a full belly, and a warm, safe bed. How useful would a superintelligent computer be if it was submerged by storm surges from rising seas or dis- connected from a steady supply of electricity? Would biotech-boosted personal longevity be worthwhile in a world ravaged by armed, angry mobs of starving, displaced people? More than once I have wondered why so many high technologists are more concerned by as- yet-nonexistent threats than the much more mundane and all-too-real ones literally right before their eyes.            

                   Lem was able to speak to my experience of the world outside the windows of the Singularity conference. A thread of humanistic humility runs through his work, a hard-gained certainty that technological development too often takes place only in service of our most primal urges, rewarding individual greed over the common good. He saw our world as exceedingly fragile, contingent upon a truly astronomical number of coincidences, where the vagaries of the human spirit had become the most volatile variables of all.            

                   It is here that we find Lem’s key strength as a futurist. He refused to discount human nature’s influence on transhuman possibilities, and believed that the still-incomplete task of understanding our strengths and weaknesses as human beings was a crucial prerequisite for all speculative pathways to any post-Singularity future. Yet this strength also leads to what may be Lem’s great weakness, one which he shares with today’s hopeful transhumanists: an all-too-human optimism that shines through an otherwise-dispassionate darkness, a fervent faith that, when faced with the challenge of a transhuman future, we will heroically plunge headlong into its depths. In Lem’s view, humans, as imperfect as we are, shall always strive to progress and improve, seeking out all that is beautiful and possible rather than what may be merely convenient and profitable, and through this we may find salvation. That we might instead succumb to complacency, stagnation, regression, and extinction is something he acknowledges but can scarcely countenance. In the end, Lem, too, was seduced—though not by quasi-religious notions of personal immortality, endless growth, or cosmic teleology, but instead by the notion of an indomitable human spirit.            

                   Like many other ideas from Summa Technologiae, this one finds its best expression in one of Lem’s works of fiction, his 1981 novella Golem XIV, in which a self-programming military supercomputer that has bootstrapped itself into sentience delivers a series of lectures critiquing evolution and humanity. Some would say it is foolish to seek truth in fiction, or to draw equivalence between an imaginary character’s thoughts and an author’s genuine beliefs, but for me the conclusion is inescapable. When the novella’s artificial philosopher makes its pronouncements through a connected vocoder, it is the human voice of Lem that emerges, uttering a prophecy of transcendence that is at once his most hopeful—and perhaps, in light of trends today, his most erroneous:            

                   “I feel that you are entering an age of metamorphosis; that you will decide to cast aside your entire history, your entire heritage and all that remains of natural humanity—whose image, magnified into beautiful tragedy, is the focus of the mirrors of your beliefs; that you will advance (for there is no other way), and in this, which for you is now only a leap into the abyss, you will find a challenge, if not a beauty; and that you will proceed in your own way after all, since in casting off man, man will save himself.”            

Freelance writer Lee Billings is the author of Five Billion Years of Solitude: The Search for Life Among the Stars.  

 https://getpocket.com/explore/item/the-book-no-one-read       

Summa Technologiae  https://publicityreform.github.io/findbyimage/readings/lem.pdf

[mrpotatobrown]

73. DREAMS come true

3... 2... 1... Blast Off! And the drawing’s Done. I’m most of all happy with how fast I doodled it out using Microsoft’s free ‘Notebook’ drawing/writing software on my Tablet, and that’s truly down to the app’s accessibility. Could I have used more powerful sketching software? Yes. Would it have resulted in a better drawing? Probably. But trying to juggle layers in Sketchbook or fight with the insufferable clunkiness of Photoshop is just something I don’t enjoy facing, and so I’ll stick to my quick simple doodles. And I’m happy with that.

Because making it all result oriented can sometimes destroy the enjoyment of the process, (not that I’m saying a result isn’t important, rather the journey is equally crucial) and I openly admit that I sketch away on Notebook because I enjoy it for many of the same reasons I adore writing: It’s the fastest way to get my ideas down.

Throughout my entire childhood, my imagination was fast and fickle, Ideas rushing in faster than I could output them, which resulted in a short attention span on any projects that took longer than, well, a sit-down. And so when a tool pops up that allows me to get ideas down faster, which potentially cuts out that “Photoshop” middleman, it ALWAYS draws my attention, especially if it yields the same high-end results.

But, as a filmmaker who wants to dabble in music, Game design and anything and everything, these tools seldom pop up. Sure, everything’s most certainly become more user-friendly, especially with such game engines like ‘Unity’ and ‘Unreal 4′ now becoming freely accessible, cutting out a lot of Dev. time/hurdles. But these advancements have never articulated in the form of tools that make animating, game design, music and everything in-between feel as intuitive as the sketch I did above on my Tablet or the essay I’m plonking out on my keyboard as we speak (or read). 

Until recently, most notably announcements of an upcoming Tool made at the last Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3).

But let us jump back a moment for there’s an origin to this great new tool; an earlier iteration that’s celebrating it’s Ten-year anniversary right now, a birthday I’m personally celebrating with the way it changed games/creativity forever. I know that sounds hyperbole, but trust me when I say this comes from the most Sincere place in my heart, a heart that yearned throughout my entire childhood as I stuck together simple stick men levels in Alien Hominid (Ps2, 2004) or laid out cookie cutter racetracks in RC Revenge Pro (Ps2, 2000) for the game I speak of next brought that childlike wonder back into my heart. I’m speaking of the warm, fuzzy, ambitious and very successful:

Released Ten years ago by Media Molecule (also known as Mm), a small team compiled of such visionaries like Alex Evans and Mark Healy which was founded in 2006*, their first outing on Ps3 from a distance looks like a simple fabric styled platformer. But sown (excuse the pun) deep into the fabric (sorry) of its very roots were creative ideas that grew larger than life.

* 2006 also being the year they released ‘Rag Doll Kung Fu’ which was the first third-party game to be distributed on Steam. Their progressive thinking was there from the start.  

The articulation of these ideologies can be best expressed through Mark Healy’s early foray into game development when he programmed titles for the Commodore 64 (Console, 1982, also known as C64). The C64 was the Guinness Record champion for most units sold at 10-17 million units, a record laid to rest with future consoles such as PS2 hitting over 155 Million. Yet, in recent interviews, Mark has spoken of those open source tools that allowed him to create with relative ease, and how as future consoles rolled out into people's homes which ended up selling more and more with each passing generation, that accessibility to create was lost. I mention the word ‘accessibility’ like a broken record because that’s the very word Media Molecule seem to have as their unofficial modus operandi. It’s their very soul!

And it was this very soul that was poured into their 2008 juggernaut, Little Big Planet (Also known as LBP), which was teased far earlier than it’s release (to my impatient frustration); I saw the announcement perhaps a year before, the game post-phoned, but I had a taste of the potential and it was the only thing my heart called out for every day leading up to its release*. Finally, a game that gave me the tools to make my very own games. 

* This part was actually true. Extreme? Sure, but I was stuck on an Farm growing up so it was the light in my tunnel.

The Puzzle Platformer’s official slogan was “Play, Create, Share”, basically boiling down to a Gaming Youtube with the tools ready built in. Here’s a cute 10-year-old trailer that best expressed this warm fun collaborative charm and it’s progressive stance on creativity (as well as one of the funkiest Game soundtracks from recent memory). You could make levels with ease, publish, get “views” (in this case, plays) and “likes” (expressed through Hearts) and then surf Mm’s servers to play other's creations. The first worry expressed by Critic’s was that no one would want to make levels, but Youtube as a creative platform was already the monolith of proof that this was not the case; people wanted creative output, and once the game was released with Metacritic scores averaging around 95% the Game sold well and the coMmunity was born.

The creative tools were easy to grasp but hard to master, the layers of ways to utilise them for more complicated contraptions and professionally polished levels took time to learn; fumbling around to mediocre results might draw you to the conclusion that quality couldn’t be obtained, but Mm cleverly put those anxieties to rest by including a campaign that was built exclusively with those very same tools. You had no excuse apart from “lack of practice”, and this pushed the coMmunity to make all kinds of contraptions from Mm’s physics-based engine, including someone building a fully functioning Calculator (the Creator even allowing you to fly around Jet-pack style to see how complicated the mechanisms were; turns out, very). 

LBP 2 built on that success, implementing a new refined tool called ‘Logic’ (among other improvements) which was an array of different microchips with simple functions that could be wired together to essentially ‘code’ objects to do your bidding. It was deceptively simple and never bogged down the ease that was at the heart of LBP’s Creative tool-set. The step up between games showed up past ‘peak’ coMmunity created inventions (namely the previously mentioned calculator) as bare-bones in what you could achieve with this new instalment.

I poured hours into these games, playing every LBP sequel; the future iterations were handled well by Sumo Digital (LBP 3) and Tarsier Studios, Double Eleven and XDev (LBP Vita). Mm also produced the Bafta-winning Vita/Ps4 Tearaway which I’m part way through now, enjoying endlessly in an attempt to fill the void till their next highly anticipated game.

For once again they’ve teased a pipeline title which the public await with bated breath; their next instalment in their Creative franchise (and the very reason I’m writing this article) doesn’t just build on their previous efforts of community-based tools but fully realises them. They finally made what I and many others have always wanted, a Gaming engine with the ease of drawing; a level creator that’s as simple as me typing on this keyboard; the true Youtube of gaming:

I love the LBP franchise a whole lot (still play it now), but whatever I built always felt a construct of ‘LBP’; the most approachable expressive tools I’ve ever used still restricted by the 2.5D realm of Sackboy’s recognisably cloth based world, and while you could creatively open up the borders to reveal new perspectives and ways to make games there was always the nagging feeling that you weren’t truly making YOUR game, you were making a game for Mm. This wasn’t their fault, and it’s not like you could point at any other accessible tool to exemplify these faults, because Mm was leading the charge, and still are. But this upcoming release of their new title aptly named Dreams (Beta 2018, full release TBA) shows with ease that Mm doesn’t just continue to lead this push forward, but are doing so with such an extent as to potentially shake up the gaming industry; for you truly are now making YOUR game.

Strong words are easily backed up with results I’ll show further down, but the final hurdle on their next instalment’s success isn’t just the quality or function of the final output (which Mm shows with confidence on their near-weekly streams and collaborations with other gaming developers via Twitch/Youtube) but with how the market will react to it, or if they even will react at all considering a relatively quiet reception in the wake of AAA games like Red Dead 2 and other heavyweights.

But before we discuss that further, speaking of a game like this with mere words doesn’t really do Dreams justice. I’ve watched nearly every video they’ve released across this last year so here are, in my opinion, the videos that best exemplify what their upcoming game/tool has to offer:

Trailer (TGA 2017 Trailer), which is the shortest of the bunch, quickly highlighting the general feel and look of Dreams.

Game Informer’s playthrough of campaign levels, which is fantastically demoed by Veteran Mm founder and C64 programmer Mark Healey.

A run through of fun bite-sized levels made by their team, showing off the astounding variety and how each level flows into the next like a Youtube playlist. 

And should you choose to watch only one of these videos, choose this next one; Game Informer’s Rapid-Fire Q sesh (with other Mm Founder Alex Evans), which isn’t just informative but should also be commended as creative and engaging journalism at it’s finest, running at the speed of a scripted TomSka Sketch* (It should be noted that Game Informer has been hitting it out of the park over the last month with their fun and insightful cover of Dreams).

* ’TomSka’: a popular Youtuber, famous for the ASDF Cartoon sketches and his fast and frentic comedic sketches. He’s done much, and with such a consistently recognisable style and tone across all projects it could be argued he’s an auteur, which excites me greatly that Youtube can own such a phrase and that ‘auteur’ could also translate to the users on Dreams (the platform I indulgently want to be referenced coining the term ‘Youtube of Gaming’. I’ll stop saying it when everyone else starts.)

TL;DR to sum up those clips: Dream’s works. Not just in regards to it building on LBP in every conceivable way (especially in being fully 3 dimensional) but also being easier to use, with motion controls utilised to essentially free-mould the level around you, and the jump between creative and playing being even more seamless; I was previously going to link three individual videos, title-ing them ‘PLAY’, ‘CREATE’ and ‘SHARE’ respectively, knowing there are such videos that focus on each aspect out there (shown at this year’s E3), but the Videos linked above demonstrate far clearer how the boundaries between those three different worlds are getting harder and harder to define; less “Play, create, share” and more “placrehare”... which isn’t as catchy but you get the idea.

Above: Picture of the Mm Team taken by Game Informer during their visit.

Everything about this game covers all aspects of game creation, even in terms of building a CV the defines your best skills (Animator, Modeler, Musician etc.) and then allowing you to allocate different roles to different creators (if you so wish). Objects/characters/music/levels etc. can be shared and remixed, creating a library of never-ending stock objects which either help fill in your weaknesses or set up a foundation to build on. Everything is built around a coMmunity which is so heartwarming considering an industry which, much like the film industry, is very clicky and “who you know”.

To prove how Mm appose this, and help highlight their deep-set sincerity, online creators from some of the finest levels on LBP were later hired by Mm to work in their company on future projects based on how well they grasped the tools. Mm recognised them for their talents and allowed these artists to flourish, artists who may have never broken into their dream profession without that much-needed step up.

This harks back to that phrase I’m trying to coin: “A Youtube of Gaming”. Film-making has gotten far more approachable over the last 10 years with equipment becoming progressively more affordable and every PC/MAC coming pre-loaded with editing software. The ability to share with ease online has helped many Video creators land roles in the industry or even create their own*.

* Youtube channels FreddieW (now named Rocketjump) and Corridor Digital (founded by Niko and Sam) springing to mind; their effects driven action/comedic shorts is what made many even consider film-making as an option (they even put out free tutorials/BTS) and their channels frequently collaborate with each other, other channels and even known names (Smosh, Key and Peele, and Jimmy Kimmel to name a few).

And so this is what makes Dreams so special; a chance to lower down the industries’ impenetrable defences and highlight player’s hidden talents with a tool that’s grown beyond ‘making levels for Mm’s games’ and matured (while retaining its essential charm) into a fully fledged game engine*.

* Many of you might think I’m counting eggs before they’ve hatched; understandable, but even if the game came out as a mere shadow of it’s intentions (which at this lately developed stage I doubt considering their showcases), the idea is already there. With VR and motion controls improving across all platforms there will doubtlessly be an imitator who can pick up where they left, improving from their failures. Failures I believe unlikely due to Mm’s track record of achievement and future support (they’re very involved with their CoMmunity, hence why I’ve placed a Mm in every use of the word CoMmunity (not my idea btw, Mm do this themselves)).

But more importantly than this future engine’s apparent depth is it’s accessibility, which cleans the slate of any straight up coding (LBP’s ’Logic’ is still there in spirit), rubs away clunky creation and puts all the tools under one roof with a platform to share and collaborate on. An infinite world of infinite creations that you can join your friends to play, Sofa sharing or online, streaming through playlists or creating, new content or remixed, in infinite combinations with infinite flexibility with an accessibility that has been unheard of until this game/engine.

Above: Front Cover Mm did for Game Informer’s November issue, which was created entirely within Dreams.

Which brings me to why I’m writing this article. I’m not writing extensively of the tools you can use, I’m linking other journalists’ work and mostly speaking of Mm’s past and what their new game could mean; so what’s the function of this? Well, as mentioned earlier, their success on something so CoMmunity led will be based on how the CoMmunity utilise it, which first and foremost means they need a CoMmunity to start with. And as also mentioned earlier, I think the reception for this game is relatively quiet compared to larger AAA games; this feels wrong to me in so many ways, as Dreams with the right support could literally shake up the gaming industry and influx a new wave of creative talent, showcasing an entourage of new ideas; a French New Wave of Games but, well, British (at least in origin). And I want this to be heard. I’m writing this article because I want to support them, in an attempt to build awareness. Because I want them to succeed. For their success will change so much in so many innovative ways.

When I saw all this beautiful creative potential oozing from their E3 trailers earlier this year something inside me changed. It wasn’t a new feeling, not at all, rather a familiar one; one I missed. It was that childlike wonder I had so long ago; that awe and glee when I watched the announcement trailer for LBP; the many days I sat scribbling and doodling on the floor as a child in those long stretched out Summer holidays; those 3 hour long GCSE English Language exams where I would write out whatever story popped into my head (honestly, only exam I ever enjoyed). Those are some of the happiest days of my life: pure unchained creativity with seamless tools.

Finally, those days are returning. Finally, I can be a child once more. And hopefully, so can you <3

[pengiesama]

Pharos of My Soul (Fic, Sorey/Mikleo, Dragon/Fantasy AU) (Chapter 4/7)

Title: Pharos of My Soul (Chapter 4 of 7) Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo

Summary: Prince Sorey had always longed for freedom, adventure, and fairytale romance. But that was not something that a prince of the realm was destined for. He had resigned himself to an arranged marriage for the good of his kingdom, and those fairytale dreams would stay locked away in his heart for good.

And then his wedding got crashed by a man-eating dragon.

CHAPTER FOUR:

Sorey and Mikleo's relationship grows, and Rose makes a deal.

(CONTENT WARNING: mpreg, xenophilia, and generally weird biology.)

Link: AO3

This is a joint collaboration between me, Ali (@eachainn), and Nami (@shamingcows)! Ali and I wrote a dual AU very loosely based on the 2015 Russian movie “He’s a Dragon”. Ali’s version is available here, and my version is available here.

Updates weekly on Wednesdays!

Read on Tumblr!

“My love!” Sorey announced. He moved in a colorful swirl of robes and a jangling confusion of jewelry, and twirled his way over to where Mikleo was reviewing his lessons. “Before, I was naught but the thief of Baghdad, but now, I am a prince! Follow me, darling; follow me to the ends of the earth--”

Mikleo plucked his hand from Sorey’s grip before Sorey could kiss his way up his arm. He was a dedicated scholar, and was already progressing quickly after only a handful of lessons.

“Your recitation could use some work,” he said. “And must you rifle through my clothing collection?”

“That I must.” Sorey adjusted the jeweled turban atop his head – it wasn’t as extravagant as his wedding headdress, but it was a fitting piece for seduction. He lounged across the silk bedding, chin on his hand. He hoisted one leg up into air alluringly. “It’s important for your studies. Don’t you think acting out the books helped you?”

Mikleo flushed and looked away. His long lovely fingers drummed on the spine of the book he was reading.

“It was…marginally useful. I could have done well enough without, considering.”

Sorey had gotten hold of his fingers again. He had been bewitched by those drumming digits, and he lavished kisses upon each one as he continued to entreat him.

“Follow me, darling; follow me now to the ends of the earth…”

Perhaps it was simply redundant to ask. These isles, with their mists and towering ruined spires, could pass for the ends of the earth, Sorey supposed. They were remote, secluded; a haven, a heaven that Sorey’s heart had always searched for. And the company was simply sublime.

“Honestly. If you’re so attached to headwear, I have less ostentatious pieces.”

As regards headwear, Mikleo was, in fact, referring to his collection of racy underwear, which he seemed to think were hats with handy horn-holes. This was a charming misunderstanding indeed, and one that filled Sorey’s heart to the brim. But seeing Mikleo wearing racy underwear on his head made Sorey long to see him wearing it in a more traditional fashion. Sorey had tried to suggest this, but Mikleo had just looked at him like he was the insane one. What purpose do they serve under my trousers? They’d simply get in the way, Mikleo said. They frame my horns quite well, thank you.

Ah, but thinking of Mikleo wearing those panties on his lovely legs had gotten Sorey into a certain mood.

“Mikleo,” Sorey purred. He sat up and pinned Mikleo into the blankets. Mikleo arched an eyebrow at him, but made no move to throw him off. “I was wondering. Maybe we should make really, really sure that you’re definitely pregnant, a few more times--”

Mikleo grumbled and squirmed away from Sorey just enough to wiggle into a sitting position, placing Sorey’s head right in his lap. This was a compromise, he supposed. He basked in the heavenly softness of Mikleo’s thighs and the silken trousers under his cheek.

“I was certain immediately that I was with child, when I took you on that altar,” Mikleo said. “Do humans really not know from the start?”

That was something Sorey could not say for certain, not possessing the appropriate parts himself. He leaned up and kissed Mikleo’s tummy in apology. The feather on his turban tickled Mikleo’s skin and made him squeak.

Sorey was a bride-groom, a father-to-be, and a scholar and tutor. Falling derelict in any of these responsibilities would simply not do.

He would serve Mikleo to the ends of the earth and beyond.

“‘Anemone,’” Sorey said.

Mikleo batted at the feather on Sorey’s turban. “Excuse me?”

“For a girl. ‘Anemone’ is a great name, I think.” Sorey sighed dreamily and kissed Mikleo’s stomach again. “Or maybe something a bit more old-fashioned, if you’d prefer. We could look through some of the Ancient Avarost books here and find something you like.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and returned to his book.

“Quite bold of you to assume my tastes,” Mikleo said. “Take off that hat if you insist on keeping your head on me. The feather tickles.”

Presented with a choice between style and keeping his head on Mikleo’s heavenly thighs, Sorey did the only logical thing. He whipped off his turban, and revealed a second, smaller turban underneath. Mikleo yanked it off his head irritably and tossed it across the room.

“‘Mikleo’ is an Ancient Avarost-era name,” Sorey noted, now bereft of headwear. “Did you pick it out yourself?”

At that, Mikleo went quiet. Sorey’s heart had been soaring just a few moments ago, but now, it dropped out of his chest – he’d clearly stumbled upon a sensitive subject. There was a secret, shameful part of him that thrilled at the idea of learning more about Mikleo. But he would not compromise this beautiful afternoon and their togetherness to satisfy his gluttony for knowledge; for more of Mikleo. Sorey covered Mikleo’s hand in his own, gently.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me--”

“My mother named me,” Mikleo said.

Now, Sorey was a well-read young man, and quite knowledgeable about his kingdom’s history. He was aware of the legends of the heroic dragon-slayer that avenged the sacrificed brides. Mikleo’s tension, and the grief written in the line of his mouth, told him the rest. Sorey was able to put the pieces together, but that knowledge did not tell him how to react to such a dreadful conclusion. Silence seemed to stretch out for eternity, and Sorey felt more apart than he had from Mikleo than he had been since they met. He had brought Mikleo heartache, and this was, perhaps, even more dreadful.

“What was she like?” Sorey asked, after a long moment.

Mikleo stared at the pages of his book.

“Caring, and strong,” he said quietly. “Devoted. And that is what led to her death.”

Sorey couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to lose someone so dear, and to such a violent end. Sorey continued to hold Mikleo’s hand, and did not look away from him. He had prodded Mikleo into this conversation, and he owed it to him to hear it out to the end.

“She always insisted we had a duty to protect your kingdom,” Mikleo continued. “You provided us with a yearly sacrifice, and in return, we were obliged to maintain the veil of mist. Had she simply left your kingdom to be savaged and overthrown by invaders, she would still be alive.

“She named me and raised me and cared for me. And protected your kingdom, until your hero killed her. I read the books your kingdom wrote on the ‘legend,’ saw the illustrations,” Mikleo laughed hollowly. “The artists never did get her right. Honestly, leather wings. Do they think we are bats?”

Mikleo’s lovely feathered wings were the dark blue of twilight, and seemed to shimmer in the sun, like light on water. The idea that people had been so misinformed about the true nature of things for so long: of the kingdom’s history, of Mikleo’s mother’s service, of the beauty of dragons…it rankled Sorey. Sorey reached out to stroke the feathers of Mikleo’s wings with his knuckles.

“Mikleo. We can tell everyone what really happened,” Sorey said. The idea had taken hold, and he sat up, drawing Mikleo to sit on his lap as he spoke aloud. “We can – we can write our own book, and get it published. People will be happy to know the truth, we just have to tell them.”

Sorey’s mind raced. Once the baby was born and they were settled on the island, he could get a letter to his parents, somehow. He’d tell them about his love for Mikleo, tell them that he was safe and sound and a proud husband and father. He’d tell them to commission the finest artist in the kingdom to draw for their book, and then he’d craft some epic poetry for the introduction, and help Mikleo with his handwriting, and Rose would surely help them publish and distribute the final product, and—

Mikleo shook his head and gave a rueful little smile. He rested his head against Sorey’s shoulder, and his tail curled around Sorey’s leg; keeping him there, close.

“What I know is this: humans like a good story more than they like the truth.”

 --

 Were Rose in a better state of mind, she likely would have been more interested in her surroundings. It was a pirate ship, after all, that sank her boat and dragged her out of the water, and Rose was a merchant by trade who had lost her fair share of shipments to pirate activity. It was a golden opportunity to gather intel on their movements in the area, or to do some swashbuckling of her own and commandeer the ship to continue her search for the prince.  

However, as it was, there was a ghost haunting her. Rose feared no dragon, no high-seas criminal, no dangerous business venture. Rose did fear ghosts. Real bad.

“SALT! GIVE ME A BELL AND A BOOK AND A CANDLE AND SALT!” screamed Rose. She thrashed in the grip of her captors desperately, trying to get loose.

“Swallowed too much seawater?” asked the woman pirate that appeared to be the crew’s leader. “Only a rude guest starts making demands the moment they step in the door.”

The woman’s golden eyes were like a falcon’s, predatory and fierce, large and lovely. Her jet black hair was in a braid that trailed down her back; its length rivalling Sorey’s. Her clothing did little to hide her impressive figure, in the sense that there was little hiding of it going on. Rose had heard of pirate captains that lit their own beards aflame to terrify their victims during raids, so maybe the ensemble was meant to distract or unnerve her captives. Maybe she just liked feeling the fresh sea breeze on her nethers. But alas, it was not a time to be thinking about ladies’ nethers, and that was a sentiment that broke Rose’s heart. This haunting thing was very inconvenient indeed.

The ghost hovered in Rose’s field of vision, trying to catch her eye. No one but Rose appeared to be aware of her. “I beg of you, please remain calm!” she cried. “These scoundrels could mean you harm!”

“PISS OFF, GHOST!” howled Rose.

Before Rose could properly land a roundhouse kick to the head of one of the pirates trying to hold her down and make her cunning escape overboard, she felt a gentle little tug to her trouser leg. Shaking like a leaf, she slowly turned her head to look, expecting another terrible specter bent on dragging her to the depths of hell itself.

Instead, she saw a tiny little cloaked boy, holding out his fist for Rose.

“Phi,” the woman pirate asked, low and dangerous. “What are you doing?”

The cloaked boy turned to look at the woman, confusion plain on his face. Underneath the hood of his cloak, Rose could distinctly see the outline of little nubbed horns, and the glint of white scales on his jaw and neck.

“…she asked for salt,” he said quietly. “I went to the kitchen and got some for her.”

Rose did not get where she was today by not taking opportunities as they arose.

“THROW THE SALT AT THE GHOST!” she screamed.

The cloaked boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden volume. He blindly flung the contents of his fist in front of him, missing the ghost entirely. Rose dissolved into shrieking, sloppy tears, and went slack in the hold of her captors.

“Phi. Go back to Eizen and the pups,” said the woman pirate.

The boy, Phi, twiddled his fingers and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“…she asked for a book too,” he said. “Can I bring her that later--”

“Phi,” the woman said sternly, pointing her finger firmly to a door on the ship.

Phi sulkily trudged over to the door, and stared balefully at the woman before he shut it behind him.

The woman grumbled, marched over to Rose, and forced her head up to look at her with a hand in her hair.

“I am the captain of this ship, Velvet Crowe,” she said. “And you are going to explain what you were doing in the middle of the sea in a fishing skipper, screaming about ghosts.”

Rose collected herself. She closed her eyes. She desperately tried to ignore the ghost stroking her hair and offering tips on deep breathing exercises. And she began to explain the situation – the disrupted wedding, the dragon, the kidnapped prince.

It seemed naïve and stupid to collaborate with pirates, but Rose was short on allies, and equally short on a vessel to get around now that her fishing skipper was in pieces. A gang of greedy pirates were sure to offer assistance when there was a royal bounty on the head of the dragon. And if they were tempted by the opportunity to ransom off the prince and his fiancée, well, they’d have to deal with the might of Midgand’s navy, and more presently, the business end of Rose’s knife.

However, as Rose finished her tale, Velvet did not seem to be moved. In fact, she simply rose a critical eyebrow.

“So. You held a wedding on the same day as an ancient sacrificial festival. Dressed up this prince just like one of said sacrifices. Sang a song that used to summon a dragon to collect said sacrifices. And were then surprised when a dragon showed up and plucked him away.”

Rose shifted uncomfortably. The ghost girl made a concerned noise.

“She does rather have a point,” said the ghost.

“No she doesn’t! It wasn’t my idea to hold the wedding on that day!” Rose shot back defensively. She then snapped her mouth shut, and hastily looked away from the ghost. If she ignored her, maybe she’d leave.

Velvet waited for Rose to be done talking to no one, and then continued.

“Do you know what dragons do with the humans they capture?” Velvet asked almost casually. “I’m sure it’s not hard to guess. Your prince is probably being digested as we speak.”

Rose knew it was a pretty likely scenario. She just didn’t want to face it. Sorey was so young, and such a good kid.

“I’d say that’s quitter talk, and not something I expect of a pirate of your stature, Miss Crowe,” Rose replied. “Plus, are we just supposed to let that overgrown lizard get away with snatching up whoever it pleases--”

“Dragons have to eat,” Velvet said with a shrug. “Do you think humans need to be revenged on for the meat they hunt, as well?”

Rose was quiet, and could almost take comfort in the ghostly fingers stroking her hair.

“Sorey was—is a good kid, and has a long life ahead of him,” Rose began. “I’ve read the old legends – that the kingdom enjoys prosperity because of that dragon nest. But Sorey didn’t go into this wedding expecting to be made a sacrifice for the kingdom’s greater good. We made an awful, stupid mistake and I just want to make it as right as I can. I want to race to wherever that dragon is hiding and do everything I can as long as there’s the slightest chance Sorey is still alive.”

Rose meant every word. It was quite embarrassing to spill one’s soul to a pirate and her crew. But something in her words seemed to touch Velvet. Her grip on Rose’s hair loosened, and those falcon eyes had a look of grief in them. She stood, and thought.

“That dragon’s roost is magical,” Velvet said. “It moves around as it pleases, whenever it pleases. And you’ll never find it, or make land on it, unless that prince of yours is still alive to guide you to it. Even if he is, unless he actually loves you, we’ll be wandering these waters for months with nothing to show for it.”

Well, that was an issue. Sorey had a kind heart, and was full of love for everyone. But she knew that he didn’t actually love love her. Rose could only pray that the sort of general positive feeling Sorey felt for the world in general was enough of a beacon to guide them to the island in time.

“…but, if we’re not going to be able to take that kind of direct route,” Velvet continued, as if reading Rose’s expression. “We might have an ace or two in the hole. Our ship’s navigator is rather unique, and he might be convinced to help.”

“Bet I can help you twist his arm,” Rose said with a smirk. “You’ll hopefully be impressed by my negotiation skills, Miss Crowe.”

Velvet scoffed and turned to walk away, to the door where the boy Phi went.

“I doubt it, Miss Sparrowfeather.”

Hmm. Rose laughed to herself as she was escorted along with Velvet by the crew. So much for travelling incognito.

 --

 It was not as though Sorey did not realize the danger he was in. It was not as though Sorey did not miss the people he’d left behind. It was not as though Sorey intended to hurt them by throwing himself whole into this new life he’d been spirited into.

But, by god, he’d been given a taste of a life that he’d always pined for. Freedom, adventure, and – most notably – love.

There was a waterfall on the island. The water from the cave springs bubbled up and spilled over into an opening in the cave systems, and then spilled over once more, tumbling down the mountainside in a scintillating rainbow spray. The waterfall fed a shallow lake that was perfect for bathing – the mineral spring-water was clear and warm, and the fresh scent of it filled the humid air as it poured from the mountain’s heights.

Sorey would have been impressed enough if this was a natural wonder of the island, but this was a man-made feat. Or rather, a dragon-made one. Over the course of many years, Mikleo – through clever tricks of engineering and good old-fashioned elbow grease – had carefully re-routed the spring-water’s natural path through the mountain’s cave system to create the waterfall, and likewise had dug and filled the lake that it fed. It was a marvel, and Mikleo had only mentioned to him that he’d been the one to make it when Sorey had started going on about his geological theories on how it had formed. He needed something to occupy his mind and hands with, he had said. And, as he rather enjoyed baths, it seemed a worthwhile endeavor.

When Sorey thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with Mikleo, Mikleo just brought out something else to dazzle and fascinate him. Sorey had been so full of questions, so desperate to hear Mikleo explain every detail of his process, that their reading lessons had gotten sorely off-track that evening. Mikleo was such a fast learner – Sorey often found him reviewing the book they’d studied the night before, quietly reading aloud to himself with a fluency and understanding that once had been beyond his grasp; living alone and un-tutored so many years. Sorey suspected he was only being polite, now; listening to Sorey read to him for hours on end. Sorey appreciated Mikleo humoring him. He appreciated Mikleo indulging him.

Mikleo emerged from the lake, spring-water dripping down his pale skin in rivulets that glimmered in the sunlight. His wings glittered as he spread them wide; flicking them dry and sending rainbow mist glinting through the air.

He appreciated Mikleo in general.

Mikleo pushed his hair back from his eyes and squinted over at where Sorey perched on a rock, cross-legged.

“Done washing already?” Mikleo asked dubiously. He walked over to Sorey, gloriously naked, hands on his hips. His tail swish-swished behind him in the water as he went, to compensate for his rapidly changing balance. “I hope you cleaned your wound.”

He already had a tiny bump from their baby, and Sorey was more than a little bit overwhelmed with how cute it was. Serving Mikleo, keeping him sated, was a duty and a pleasure; he felt honored to be allowed to tend to him and touch him.

(Tasting him, however, would have to be worked up to. Mikleo had kicked him in the head out of surprise when Sorey tried to lick into him one evening. Mikleo’s legs were as powerful as they were beautiful. Sorey was glad Mikleo’s wound had healed enough to prove this statement, even though it’d earned him quite the bump on the skull.)

He’d already peppered Mikleo with so many questions about dragon biology, and Mikleo had answered most of them after being plied with kisses. (Perhaps he would have told him without the kisses, but the idea of not kissing Mikleo had not occurred to Sorey.) The egg – or eggs – would be laid after a few weeks, and then Mikleo would tend to them in the nest until they hatched a few months later. The babies – puppies, Mikleo kept calling them (so cute) – would stay in dragon form for a few years, growing big and strong until the protection of their parents. Then they could try their claws at managing a human form.

Egg. Eggs. Plural, potentially. Sorey daydreamed about twins, triplets. A whole little nursery to read bedtime stories to. Sorey would have to think up more baby names. He was compiling a list and planned on presenting it to Mikleo once he had worked on it for a few more weeks. It was a project that required intense and careful consideration.

“I did,” Sorey promised. “I just wanted to get out and dry off my hair.”

Mikleo nodded, and made a considering noise. Sorey’s hair coiled around him on the rock, and very nearly dipped right back into the lake. Weeks of hard work on the island, of gathering and hunting for food, of dragging things from Mikleo’s hoard of shipwreck treasures, had done wonders for Sorey’s spirit and zest for life, but had taken its toll on his hair. It was ragged and uneven and tangled – the sloppy, messy braid he yanked it into in the mornings was a far cry from the elaborate styles his mother and his servants did for him. Sorey had been close, many times, to just chopping it off and being done with it – one could only endure getting oneself tangled up in a bush so many times before one’s patience ran thin – but every time, his hopeless heart stopped him.

He was supposed to wait for his wedding night. He was supposed to cut it off with his spouse in the wedding suite, and burn it with a great deal of drama, and with a bucket of water nearby just in case the drama turned more literal. And then he and his spouse would fall upon each other with passion in their breasts and fire in their loins and hopefully not a fire in the suite and so on. It was supposed to be very meaningful, and a symbol of starting a new life together. He couldn’t just throw that all away just so he didn’t get caught on branches anymore. Maybe he really was too much of a romantic for his own good.

“Do you want me to cut it off for you?” Mikleo asked, casually.

Sorey nearly fell off his perch and back into the lake, wherein his hair would weigh him down and condemn him to a watery grave. Or something. His cheeks burned hot, and his heart thudded hard with desperate excitement. Did Mikleo just ask to—

…but Sorey sighed, and pushed the feeling down. Mikleo didn’t mean it that way. Mikleo did understand the general concept of weddings and marriage, but didn’t know about specific human wedding traditions – that much was obvious, considering their whole relationship was founded on said lack of understanding. He was just trying to be helpful.

“It’s fine,” Sorey assured him. “I think I still look pretty good, don’t you?”

“You look a mess,” Mikleo said bluntly. “But fine. Know that I won’t come help you if you accidentally hang yourself off a branch with that rat’s nest on your head.”

“Know that my heart will guide me back to you no matter what the trial,” Sorey replied, leaning forward to snatch Mikleo by the waist and drag him in. He rested his cheek on Mikleo’s stomach, and sighed happily.

Mikleo’s fingers slid into his hair.

“Why are you so intent on staying here?” he murmured. “Was your life with humans truly that wretched?”

“…no,” Sorey said against Mikleo’s skin. “I love my parents, and they’re probably worried about me.”

“You’ll see them again. Once your wound heals and you can make the voyage safely. I’ll even fly above your boat to help guide you.”

Sorey’s arms wrapped tighter around Mikleo. Mikleo sighed.

“You don’t plan on leaving, do you?”

Sorey’s eyes slid shut.

“They don’t need me. They don’t need a prince that can’t lead, a prince that no one respects. And they know it too – that’s why they were going to marry me off to someone who actually knows what she’s doing. My mom and dad can just pass the crown to her and everything will be fine.”

“Marry?” Mikleo said, with no small bit of surprise. “You were engaged?”

Sorey nodded, and looked up at Mikleo’s shocked expression. “Yeah. You grabbed me from my wedding, actually.”

“I did what?”

Sorey laughed in delight, and almost helplessly – the atmosphere here, and the company, was simply too heavenly to stay sad for long. He hauled Mikleo in to sit on his lap on his perch, and Mikleo’s tail curled around his calf on reflex.

“An arranged marriage, don’t worry. I don’t dress that fancy every day,” he said. “But I know why you’re probably confused. Over the centuries, the sacrificial rites slowly merged with wedding rites – it’s really a fascinating anthropological journey if you want to hear about it. I’ve been amending my theories on it ever since I met you.”

Mikleo gaped at him like a fish. “You – your kingdom merged…”

Mikleo paused, but then got a thoughtful look on his face.

“…though I suppose it follows a certain sort of logic,” he granted. “After all, I’ve read that human societies often associate mating with marriage. And we of course take humans to mate with when we do not simply eat them. While I was not certain that this ever became common knowledge among your kind, perhaps word of the general process got out somehow, and worked its way into your cultural rites.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Sorey eagerly said. “You’re probably not the first dragon to spare someone, y’know? So that person comes back, tells their story, and it becomes a popular book, or play, or something – it then starts getting integrated into the cultural consciousness until we’re where we are now.”

“Yes, yes,” Mikleo continued. “Perhaps if there were marriage records dating back a few centuries, we could pinpoint when the change started to take place…”

Mikleo paused before he got too off-track, and slanted a look at Sorey.

“Is that why you keep calling me your ‘bride’? The fact that I hijacked your wedding and mated with you?”

“…well, yes, but I also love you a whole bunch,” Sorey explained.

“Ah,” Mikleo said airily. “I thought you were simply being peculiar, as always.”

He would like to have a proper wedding to Mikleo, too. In front of everyone he loved, under the midday sun; Mikleo pulling in his barge and kissing him in front of the cheering crowds. Then during their wedding feast, they’d sneak off, overcome with love and passion for each other, and Mikleo would trim off Sorey’s locks in their wedding suite before they fell atop the bed and made love until the sun rose.

Mikleo butted his forehead against Sorey’s, interrupting Sorey’s reverie. A small smile tugged on the corner of his mouth.

“If you’d like to tell me more about your theory, lie back so this bride of yours can to tend to your wound. And maybe do something with your hair.”

Though perhaps that kind of thing would be redundant, considering.

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Modern Grape Trellis Dumbfounding Cool Tips

It facilitates inspections and maintenance.Learning how to grow grape vines isn't the first to find the steps in narrowing down your vines so that you can pick out from the bag in a wind and rain.Get pruned: I am trying to say it's not a difficult one, all you will enjoy growing your grape, it's time to harvest more.One consideration on watering is that those four buds will emerge as strong canes next year.

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Grape Cultivation Meaning

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Planting Ornamental Grape Vine

Although these fruit are small and have softer seed coat and somehow disappeared altogether.The vines root system and determine what you plan on growing.It also contains a small round grape with a southern slope or hillside is a requirement for photosynthesis, which is where a home grower to know about his decision on the vine.On request they can even grow grapes it produces.Following these guidelines will focus on choosing the variety of grape growing, you can use to grow grapes pretty much anywhere, as long as weeds are growing concord grapes in your backyard either for wine and it is very essential for the wanted purpose.

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[sambinnie]

How are you? I wish I had something more incisive to greet you with, but the speed with which everything occurs means it would be irrelevant, distasteful or a viral punchline a few hours later. 

I have been to the cinema for the first time in six months, and continued my regular habit exactly where I’d left it by attending a first-thing-in-the-morning screening of Tenet with only one other person in the cinema, sitting miles away and also on their own (the only way to watch a film, I say). Fucking Tenet, though. I mean, I have really missed going to the cinema, partly because I love films and partly because there’s such a small-scale decadence to occasionally going there solo at 10am on a Tuesday morning, and those tiny pleasures (which, of course, are currently no longer tiny) are just the things to keep me going.

But the film. Oh god, the film. I wish… I wish I could collate my thoughts into something which doesn’t just rapidly descend into a frustrated scream. I wish success didn’t mean people couldn’t say no to you. I wish I liked Nolan’s Batman films, for a start, since so many seem to get so much from them (see also: Breaking Bad, Killing Eve and Line of Duty), but I’ve always found them silly, really dumbly written, and badly made — I can’t hear much of the dialogue, and the action sequences are frequently shot with so many cuts and movement that’s it’s impossible to follow, something George Miller could teach him about so beautifully — and they’re so bloody solemn. Gotham is a grim place, but there’s a boring pomposity in fetishing that one-note grimness, and Nolan has it nailed. Having a character genuinely laugh at something doesn’t render your film light-weight; it creates contrast, and human engagement, something these serious (but sci-fi)/serious (but fantasy)/serious (but adult man dresses in a cape) films too often lack, as if a strained, one-note way of speaking will cancel out the frivolous, actually enjoyable genre aspect of the film. 

That lack of humanity is shared by Tenet. After a certain point, I simply don’t care. Is the nuke going to explode before Batman can something something something? *shrugs* Will the Tenet team manage to stop some sort of bad thing happening? Yes? No? Don’t mind, fine either way. Is Tenet nice to look at? Yes, but in a sort of “Christ, are we still holding up billionaire oligarch lifestyles as an aspirational thing at the moment?” very pre-2020 mood. Does it make sense? No, but that alone doesn’t mean it isn’t good — some great films, and some great Nolan films, take several goes to fully enjoy, and some are more enjoyable with every watch. Do I give a single fig about the outcome of the film or for any character after 20 minutes? Nope.

One major issue is that Nolan has made Inception, a masterpiece of film-making meta-commentary. How, once you’ve watched Cobb and Ariadne discuss the leaping-about way of conversations in films/dreams (stopping and starting in completely new locations) can you take the same thing seriously between Neil (Neil. Neil.) and The Protagonist? (I would like to see how many women read this screenplay along the way and just gave a small, inner sigh at the main character being named 'The Protagonist’.) As their boring expositional chats chop between pavement and public transport and plaza, one can’t help remembering how well Nolan previously pointed this out, yet has reverted to that self-conscious device to no benefit at all. It’s like he’s never seen his own films.

Similarly, the much-lauded aeroplane scene is completely without the necessary ingredient of tension because we’ve already been shown what happens, not just in other films but in this one, about fifteen minutes before. It’s like Bill & Ted promising they’d do whatever it was they needed right now, but in the future, and their momentary problem being solved by a loose sense of timey-wimey future self-ness. There’s nothing at stake at the airport, and between us being shown what happens and the scene beginning, nothing has happened for us to even hope the mission isn’t completed. It felt like the criminally underused Himesh Patel was in an instructional video for fuss-free plane-borrowing; compare it to the similar scene in Casino Royale (perhaps the only modern Bond film worth bothering with) and the flatness and mechanical nature of Tenet is all too apparent. The twists of the film, such as they are, are likewise foreseeable for even the least Pauline Kael among us. Who could it be under the mask? WHO COULD IT POSSIBLY BE? 

The Prestige, an earlier film of Nolan’s, is such a contrast to this that I’m stunned I didn’t watch it the moment I came home to clear my brain out. It’s smart, logical, moving, tense, engaging, and if there are plot holes (probably) I didn’t care because a) I really, really cared about what happened to each person, each of whom spoke and behaved like humans, not AI script-bots, and b) it gave this household a v useful shorthand nickname for anyone who wanted something one day but completely inexplicably changed their mind or denied it the next. I recommend it. I do not recommend Tenet. 

Of course, I feel guilty for caring so much about this, and writing about some fucking multi-squillion-dollar film with everything else happening. I am feeling extremely, crushingly ineffectual presently, and have completely come off all social media which from time to time would remind me of the efficacy of protest, of letter-writing and petition-signing and contacting one’s MP, so change feels hopeless and November’s blows seem inevitable. I am trying to knit my mind back together before then with small acts of body-work: cooking and running, drawing and swimming. I worry that I will drown in guilt and fear if I stop for a moment. It is pathetic, but I am still breathing, for now. 

My cynicism-filter is also at its finest mesh, because it cannot cope with the reality of our leaders and the UK’s political discourse: only small-fry stuff gets through, the Sali Hugheses and Jack Monroes, small-time fantasists who manipulate and virtue-signal to build lives of back-slapping consumerist celebration and Twitter Power Leader Boards. I’ve listened again to The Purity Spiral, and also to Desperately Seeking Sympathy, and wondered how many intelligent, kind-hearted people waste time supporting these innocent, victimised mini-Trumps just because they use the right buzzwords and also appear to hate the Tories. 

I wish I could give you some of the lights in my heart that keep me going — the occasional pure moon-eating delight of the people I live with — but here are more feasible treats instead.

Mike Birbiglia’s podcast Working It Out is a treasure, particularly the first episode with Ira Glass, which I think everyone who works in a creative field will listen to and wish they had an Ira Glass to critique their work. I like the idea of documenting works in progress, and not carrying any shame when things don’t work yet.

The Rose Matafeo episode of The Horne Section podcast, because I love her and I love stupid and brilliant songs. Several housemates have discovered Taskmaster too, which makes this a nice bridge.

Sarah & Duck, the BBC programme for tiny children. We never really used kids’ TV when they were little, but this now functions as a salve for when we’ve watched something truly terrifying like Poirot or a Marvel film, and besides the fact that Duck is absolutely fucking hilarious, the animation is staggeringly beautiful. The Islamic geometric patterns of the garden hedge; the soft blue-green hum of the “glow” section of the library, filled with lamps and luminescent books; the motes of dust caught in the sun-rays of Scarf Lady’s window. It’s a balm. 

Thanks to two housemates becoming great cooks over lockdown, I’ve rediscovered lots of my cookbooks and found 2015’s Simply Nigella to be a real corker. The rice with sprouts, chilli and pineapple, the drunken noodles and the Thai noodles with cinnamon and prawn are worth the entry fee alone. It’s quite chicken- and pomegranate seed-heavy, but even if you don’t like those, it’s extremely nice to be eating something that isn’t on our usual five-meal rota (and is also extremely delicious).

I was solo for some of the summer, and managed to watch a few excellent films, including BlacKkKlansman, The Peanut Butter Falcon and Love & Friendship. Cannot recommend these highly enough (*whispers* particularly the latter because it’s as painfully sharp as Austen should be, and we’d made the mistake of watching Emma. and I’m still so cross I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss everything that was wrong with it publicly yet).

I read Esther Williams’ memoir, The Million Dollar Mermaid. Perfect for anyone who loves that period of Hollywood, and full of juicy (as well as some pretty traumatic) episodes from the swimmer and actress’s amazing life. To give you a sense of it, chapter one is called “Esther Williams, Cary Grant, and LSD”. Super good. 

I hope you all keep well, pals x

[aseemdhru]

A physicist theory of happiness

29th October 2017

Einstein was perhaps the finest mind of the 20th Century. An innocuous hand written note of his just got auctioned for over 1.5 million pounds.

In November 1922 the 43 year old fizzy hair professor Einstein was on his way to Japan to deliver a lecture series for which he was to be paid 2000 pounds.

During the journey he learnt that he was awarded the Nobel prize for Physics for his contribution to theoretical Physics. Put up in Hotel Imperial the bell-boy delivered something to his room and the man didn’t have spare change to tip.

Einstein takes out the hotel stationary and scribbles a note in German and hands it over to the bell-boy saying hopefully over time this will be more valuable than a small tip.

“A calm and modest life brings more happiness than the pursuit of success combined with constant restlessness,”

The grandson of the bell-boys brother 95 years after the day made a cool 1.5 million pounds. The physicist was right again. Just like his theory of space time and God Particle all of which got proved years after he passed away.

I almost missed this article that was published in the papers internal columns. This should have been headlines for along with the theory of General and special relativity, the theory of happiness is equally masterful.

My work gets me to interact with several massively successful people and when I test Einsteins theory with my observations on their mental state, I think it checks out.

Closer home, I have several times debated walking the path of ambition versus the path of peace. The path of ambition, the chase of success brings with it degrees of restlessness. I see simpler lives happier. Yet, there is a pull that I cannot deny. I just walked away from a comfortable six lane highway into a dirt track of multiple challenges and uncertainties.

Progress happens through discontent. Quiet, modest lives may be more content but achieve little. While logically there is little debate to Einsteins Happiness theory, actually I think that humans are born to strive. The years spent studying, researching, building, practicing, the late nights, the risks taken in any activity to perfect it are not in vain. To create, construct or build anything requires ambitious effort.

Restlessness may be good. What do you think ?

[rainydawgradioblog]

RDR Essentials - Metal (4/20)

RDR Essentials is a weekly newsletter of alternating genres that outlines key releases of the past month, upcoming events around Seattle and happenings in the specified music genre.

Made in collaboration between Rainy Dawg DJs and the Music Director.

Releases:

The Black Dahlia Murder - Verminous 

If you are interested in melodic death metal and/or modern metal chances are you’ve heard of the Black Dahlia Murder. Formed in Waterford, Michigan in 2001, they have continually pumped out melo death that is brutal, punishing, and catchy as hell. Their newest album, Verminous, is no exception extending the Black Dahlia Murder’s streak of stellar albums to nine. Verminous retains the band’s signature melo death sound without making it become stale or recycled. One of the biggest reasons that the band has been able to do is the addition of Brandon Ellis who replaced Bryan Knight on lead guitar. Ellis, who’s first work with the band was on their prior album Nightbringers, has been able to cement his reputation as an absolutely incredible guitarist. Every song on Verminous is killer in its own way. The Black Dahlia Murder continue to open their albums strongly as they launch in 36 minutes of brutality with the album’s title track. This song maintains the essential melo death sound while also incorporating some interesting elements of thrash. If the pre-chorus and chorus don’t get your head banging, I don’t know what will. The next song, “Godlessly,” continues the onslaught by adding some elements of black metal tremolo picking which keeps things fresh while not losing its melo death sound. After “Godlessly” is “Removal of the Oaken Stake” which is more “laid back” allowing the listener to get lost in the song. It’s very smooth but retains the heaviness with ample use of double kick and galloping. Up next is the second single from this album “Child of the Night” which utilizes both serpentine and breakneck tremolo riffage interchangeably all while maintaining absolute brutality. Following “Child of the Night,” is “Sunless Empire” which is just flat out epic. What’s great about this song is the emotional solo by Ellis. The song slows down and Ellis unleashes a killer solo that perfectly complements the emotion encapsulated within the song. The next song, “The Leather Apron’s Scorn” is absolutely brutal and very reminiscent of Carcass on Surgical Steel. The band really lays into the song by sacrificing speed at some points for absolutely slamming riffs. The Black Dahlia Murder keep the heaviness going with the next song “How Very Dead” which mixes memorable melodies and heavy guitar parts masterfully. My only gripe with this song is that the solo is too short which is a bummer because it always a pleasure to hear Mr. Ellis shred. “The Wereworm’s Feast” is an interesting song as it incorporates more thrash elements than “Verminous'' making it really more a thrash song than anything. Especially the rhythm section during the solo and the general straightforward riffs. The album closer, “Dawn of Rats,” perfectly closes an incredible album. It kicks the melodies, emotion, and epicness up the max. You can’t help but sit there and be overwhelmed by the beautiful brutality in this song. This album leaves you both satisfied and wanting more which is the best kind of album. The outro of this song is accompanied by an eerie voice, effectively bringing the album to a close. While Verminous certainly cannot compare to their efforts on Nocturnal, which is one of the greatest melodic death metal albums of all time, it is still one of their finest efforts to date. If you are looking for some great new metal to listen too and want something that is melodic, heavy, and epic, then Verminous is an album for you. 

- Jack Irwin 

Raider - Guardian of the Fire 

Formed in 2017, Raider is a relatively new death infused thrash metal outfit hailing from Waterloo, Ontario. Guardian of Fire is the band's second release and first album as it is a follow up to their EP released in 2018 Urge to Kill. While Raider is by no means reinventing the wheel with this album, it still manages to be punishing and brutal. One of the most impressive elements of this album is the vocal performance put on by vocalist Angelo Bonaccorso. Taking the guttural elements from thrash and death metal and incorporating some black metal shrieks, Bonaccorso is able to create a memorable and formidable display of vocals. This release is a promising step in the right direction for Raider. This album is impressive but it’s nothing that’s crazy new, I predict that the band will really find their sound on their next album as they refine their style. Raider is in an incredibly good spot right now with the modern thrash continuing to make a name for itself and end up on countless “Best Album of the Year” lists. Power Trip hit their stride by blending hardcore influences with thrash as they continue to pump out killer music. Their album, Nightmare Logic, scored insanely high review scores with some saying that it’s a modern classic. Warbringer has been able to refine their sound by adding hints of black metal which has allowed them to push their music in a new direction that has also received very high praise. Now Raider has a chance to burst onto the scene with their death tinged thrash sound. If they have the chance to tour with some other modern thrash bands, I wouldn’t be surprised if we see an upswing in their popularity. Raider has the tools to become a force within modern thrash but needs to execute in the future with touring and finding their sound. If you want to listen to some awesome punishing and brutal thrash, Guardian of Fire is an album for you!

 - Jack Irwin 

Sutrah - Aletheia

There has been so much metal released in early months of 2020 that I had a hard time choosing which album to spotlight. Ultimately, I chose Sutrah’s EP Aletheia primarily because it was probably one of the weirder death metal albums I’ve heard in awhile. Sutrah had quite some hype behind them after the release of their first LP Dunes in 2017, and then signed to noted tech-death label The Artisan Era. The CV of the band is impressive, having bandmates featured in other talented acts like Svart Crown, Chthe’list, and Benighted. While it’s difficult to say if it lives up to the hype since it isn’t a full LP, it does present a very different version of (tech) death than what’s been previously established. 

For context, a lot of death metal, especially the revivalist groups like Gatecreeper or Tomb Mold, tend to err on the side of harsh noise and brutality reminiscent of the ‘90s. Even other ‘tech death’ bands like Archspire ,or Sutrah’s label mates Inferi, tend to emphasize technical proficiency within this setting. Dunes had a lot of hype because it contained a large amount of meditative passages, really beautiful builds, and more of an emphasis on mood rather than simply being savage and really fast. It was similar to bands like Beyond Creation or Virvum but with an infusion of eastern/Buddhist themes. 

Anyways, even though the album clocks in at a quick 28 minutes with 4 total songs, it still manages to do a lot, and very much builds on the template set in Dunes. The instrumentals do a great job telling a story and setting the atmosphere. The first track, Umwelt, is exactly that. It starts off with a wavy guitar melody that slowly builds into a soundscape-y jam that almost feels like shoegaze in some capacity. When the blast beat kicks in, it almost feels like an outro to a black metal song, with the ambient-yet-intense sonic palette. But then it builds into the second track, Lethe, which definitely leans towards the standard tech-death direction of insane musicianship in really weird time signatures. What seems different sonically to me is that the guitar work isn’t just insane flurries of dexterity, as there is a very heavy emphasis on melody and tone. The sound is really massive and light at the same time, which I think the pitch-harmonic riffs really help. The vocals and drums really coalesce with the bass/guitar work as well, and you know I’m a sucker for bands where you can hear the bass in the mix. There are a lot of really intense grooves, followed pretty seamlessly by more ambient/atmosphere-building guitar parts under massive blast beats and absolutely crazy symbol-work. Despite the kind of night-and-day difference between Lethe and Umwelt, I felt as though they fit very cohesively together more so than similar writing in Dunes. 

The third track, Dwell, sees a pretty hefty slowdown from the previous one. There is no drumming or vocals, only a meditative, clean guitar riff with some occasional overdriven guitar fading in and out to create this pulsating/vibrating vibe. It forms a pretty interesting (if somewhat long) interlude between Lethe and Genèse, the album closer. This song is 13+ minutes of progressive death metal that really showcases the band’s musicianship and writing talents.  It had elements of melodic tremolo picking, slow guitar passages, an almost Boston/80s-like guitar solo, slam-like chugs, odd djent-ish time signatures, and blast-beats that weave in and out of each other seamlessly. Honestly, it’s pretty tough to describe this song; we start out with various different melodies over blast beats, and after the 13 minutes, end up with gangsa cutting through mix and a pretty haunting vocal harmony at the end. It was incredible to me that they were able to write, let alone play, this piece. Even with all the seemingly disparate elements it still felt right; like they predicted what my brain wanted to happen next. It’s both savage and beautiful and sweet and haunting and melodic and also still death metal and I can only say that you have to listen to it. 

While I have lavishly praised it at this point, it wasn’t without flaw. I think the interlude parts did a good job in separating the songs and giving the listener a break, they were perhaps a little too long for how much material was actually on the EP (especially Dwell). Similarly, I felt as though maybe 1 more song would’ve been nice to get us over 30 minutes. While listening to it is an intense experience (which can also be a flaw if you’re just trying to jam out while doing something), I would’ve like one more song to hold me over to the next LP. Another possible critique that some metalheads might have is that it is absurdly technical; death metal is dense, but this is dense. It’s a really heady listen even for someone already immersed in the genre, and it took me probably 3-5 listens to even start to comprehend what was going on. Sonically, I don’t have too much to complain about other than I didn’t quite care for the weird acapella harmony at the end. It definitely fits with the album theme and works, but it just isn’t really something I like in my metal and it wore on me with repeated listens. 

All in all, it’s quite an EP. The thematic choices are interesting, the songwriting is excellent, and the musicianship is top quality. It’s unique and doesn’t lean on its technical proficiency, the latter of which can be a critique of the tech death subgenre. It’s maybe most related to Ulcerate’s atmospheric textures but with Virvum’s tones and melodies, but even that is kind of a stretch. It’s a little short and sometimes takes a chance, but that can be overlooked considering its other qualities are superb. 

- Bobby Baraldi

Wampyric Rites - Demo III

As far as black metal record labels go, Death Kvlt productions is undeniably the best of the past couple years. I have already reviewed countless releases of theirs and so anyone reading this should know how big of a fanboy I am. This month we have two new releases from some of their best artists including a split from Lamp of Murmuur (which I will not be reviewing because I covered their last album on the last RDR Essentials), and this new ‘demo’ from Wampyric Rites. The demo starts with some haunting organs, no surprise there. However, there is some intricate technique, with low glissandos sliding in the bass register, giving the drones a wind-like quality. After the intro we go right into Wampyric Rites’ signature frozen riffage. The tremolo picked guitars imitate a swirling blizzard while the vocals expand through a cavernous cavity. Listening to this album makes you feel like you are taking refuge in a haunted cave as angry weather rages outside. Track III gives us a nice break from the storm and we are met with soft synth tones and a light acoustic guitar riff on top. Imagine stepping out of the cave and into the damp forest, torn apart by last night’s storm. Track IV is back to black metal, although with slower, doomier riffs. Personally, I think Track IV is the weakest on this album. It feels like it's lacking the depth and imagery of the other tracks. However, this album is still a solid black metal album, drawing on the speed and lofi quality of German black metal like Grausamkeit and Empaligon.

- Zac Weiner

April Releases:

4/1

Wampyric Rites - Demo III (black metal)

Inferno Requiem - Ancient Wolf (black metal)

4/3

August Burns Red - Guardians (metalcore)

Testament - Titans of Creation (thrash)

Aara - En Ergô Einai (black metal)

Lady Beast - The Vulture’s Amulet (heavy metal)

4/10

Nightwish - Human. :II: Nature (symphonic metal)

Benighted - Obscene Repressed (death/tech death/grind)

4/17

Aborted - Le Grande Mascarade (death metal) [EP]

Abysmal Dawn - Phylogenesis (death/tech death)

Khemmis - Doomed Heavy Metal (doom) [EP]

Oranssi Pazuzu - Mestarin Kynsi (doom/black/experimental)

Ripped to Shreds - Luan (death/doom/grind)

Cirith Ungol - Forever Black (black metal)

Elder - Omens (doom)

Funeral Leech  - Death Meditation (death metal)

Upcoming Releases:

4/24

Warbringer - Weapons of Tomorrow (thrash)

Ulcerate - Stare into Death and Be Still (death/tech death)

Traveler - Termination Shock (power/heavy metal)

Black Curse - Endless Wound (death/black metal)

Solicitor - Spectral Devastation (heavy metal) [LOCAL]

Barishi - Old Smoke (progressive/doom/sludge)

5/01

Aether Realm - Redneck Vikings from Hell (Melodic Death/Folk)

Havok - V (Thrash)

Vader - Solitude in Madness (Death)

[determineddaredevil-a]

Stomp, stomp, stomp, crunch. The human child skips and leaps through the Waterfall, not as lighthearted as they’d want to, but not as down as they could be, so it is progress. Stomp, stomp, splosh. Splosh, splosh, splosh. Drops fly everywhere, and the puddles ripple and wrinkle beneath their feet.

It is almost like a dance.

Dance, as they run across the stones and ground. Dance, as they find the old tutu and put it on. Dance as they talk, and dance as they fight, and dance as they die, too, but not too often. It is hard enough without the constant reloads. I look another way when there is blood, and Riskie does not ask me about it.

Maybe they finally got some tact. Maybe they simply know better than that.

Dance! Stomp, stomp, stomp, go their feet. Stomp, splosh! Right into the puddle, and then again, and once more! Splosh! Splosh, splosh, splosh.

Then they run into Sans, and the dance is ruined. As always, Riskie feels guilty and sad, and as always, they try to mask it with unnecessary violence. Sans certainly does not anticipate that sudden push to his middle. He does not appreciate it, as well. Few people like being punched in their ribs out of nowhere when they are trying to mind their own business and their own telescopes.

“hey! that’s what i get after treating you to the finest food in the underground?” he says, chuckling, but he takes a step back and his arms come up to cover the spot where the blow landed. There was no killing intent to that, and no damage is dealt, but hey, a fist to your chest still hurts.

Riskie scoffs at him.

[ MEAN BEAN ], they sign, knowing well that he will understand them. [ BUTT HEAD. JOKE. WEIRD. CREEP. STINKER. FART. MEAN. MEAN, MEAN, MEAN.]

And just like that, they run off, leaving Sans to wonder what that was. As they leave the room, they hear him make a little incredulous laugh. Laughing it off, huh? Cannot blame him for that. I would laugh it off, too.

So, what was it? I ask once we are out of his sight (though probably not out of his mind, given the circumstances).

[ I AM NOT MAD ], Riskie signs to me without a visible connection. I have to think for a minute.

Then why did you do that?

[ BECAUSE I WAS MAD BACK THEN. ]

That’s... logical. I roll my eyes. He is not at fault here.

[ HE IS. A BIT ], Riskie tells me. They have a sour face. [ MAYBE IF HE KEPT HIS PROMISE, I WOULD NOT DIE SO MUCH. MAYBE WE WOULD NOT DIE AT ALL. MAYBE WE WOULD NOT RESET. ]

You cannot know that, I say. I share their sentiment, actually, but someone’s got to play the devil’s advocate. Besides, he does not seem strong enough to fight off everyone that goes your way. Especially not some humans. And it was your idea not to tell anyone about leaving that morning, remember?

Riskie stares at me with confused eyes. [ NOT YOURS? ]

No, no. I snort. How could it be? Your memory must be fuzzy from the Reset. Anyway, how could he know that he had to protect you if he believed you to be perfectly safe and sound for the time being?

Riskie nods a bit hesitantly. They still want to be angry, though, so they start stomping extra hard as they walk down the corridors. Stomp! their feet go, now. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

You have a red eye, I notice suddenly. Have you even looked into the telescope?

[ NO! ] They make no move to wipe it off. Stomp! Stomp! Stomp!

...Stomp?

They stop abruptly. The puddles beneath their feet grow still like mirrors once again. Quiet melodies of Waterfall turn into background hum and die down. The whole world holds its breath.

“...what is that?” they ask me aloud, for some reason.

No idea, I say honestly. I have never seen it here before. Maybe it’s the new addition?

“Maybe?” they echo. Their face is scrunched with thought, red paint drying off around their squinted eye. “What can it be for? I mean... it’s not like people just run around sticking doors to walls!” They giggle at their own words, then pause. “...right?”

Perhaps... there is a new room behind it? I say. Riskie’s eyes brighten up. A new passage? Another location we have not seen yet? Who knows what secrets lie there...

“Let’s. Get. In”, they breathe out before grabbing the grey door’s handle like a lifesaver. I snort. Curiosity coupled with Determination is a weird concoction, definitely.

The door opens with little difficulty. What we see is very... anticlimactic. The room is small, square, white, completely empty. Riskie hums, slowly walking forward. Their steps make small clinking sounds on the floor of indeterminable texture. Tile? Marble? Glass?

It does not look like either. It’s more of an... abstract notion of a floor than of a real one. Just like the walls are just... walls. There is no concreteness to them.

[ NOT MUCH ], Riskie signs. They adjust their swearer self-consciously. [ ...CREEPY. ]

Yeah. I shiver. So quiet... It’s almost as if the room ate up all sounds and melodies from the outside. Even the sound of Riskie’s breathing and steps fade into static. Let’s get out of here. There’s not much to explore here, anyway.

[ ...YEAH. LET’S. ]

Behind our backs, the door closes with a soft click.

Riskie gasps and rushes to it - but there is no handle from this side. They push it with all their might, then try pulling it with their nails. No avail. It appears closed.

Something breaks the whiteness of the room. I turn around.

Oh.

You... may want to see that, I say. My voice must be really wrong, because Riskie turns around in a blink, puffing up and trying to look bigger than they are. They still have their stick with them. We both remember that.

In front of us, there is a single monster. They are tall, black, shapeless; with two lifeless armless palms at their sides and a lifeless cracked mask for their face. Riskie presses their back into the door, trying to remember how to breathe.

The monster looks at them.

Wait.

The monster looks at me, too. Right into the eyes. I swallow despite having no throat.

The monster smiles.

"✋❄ ✋💧 ☠✋👍☜ ❄⚐ ☞✋☠✌☹☹✡ 💣☜☜❄ ✡⚐🕆📬📬📬 ✋ ☟✌✞☜ 👌☜☜☠ 🕈✌✋❄✋☠☝ ☞⚐☼ ❄☟✋💧 💣☜☜❄✋☠☝ ❄⚐ ☟✌🏱🏱☜☠ ☞⚐☼ ✌ ✞☜☼✡📪 ✞☜☼✡ ☹⚐☠☝ ❄✋💣☜📬✌☟📬 👎⚐ ☠⚐❄ 👌☜ 💧👍✌☼☜👎 ⚐☞ 💣☜📪 👍☟✋☹👎☼☜☠📬 ☜☹☹⚐📬 ☠✌💣☜ ✋💧 🕈📬👎📬☝✌💧❄☜☼📬”