#maybe try just fucking educating people and understanding that someone can separate the art from the artist

[astrognossienne]

scandalous star: gary cooper -an analysis

“I don’t like to see exaggerated airs and exploding egos in people who are already established. No player ever rises to prominence solely on talent. They’re molded by forces other than themselves. They should remember this – and at least twice a week drop to their knees and thank Providence for elevating them from cow ranches, dime store ribbon counters and bookkeeping desks. ” - Gary Cooper

He didn’t say much, but when he did, it carried a lot of weight. He was the archetypal hero of the Old West; the quintessential masculine ideal of the stoic and “strong silent type” that most Taurus men are. But for famously laconic Gary Cooper, his good looks and earnest, haunted eyes for decades made him the quintessential lonely American of motion pictures.He was a more equanimous, human protagonist versus boisterous, bigger-than-life Hollywood supermen. He was renowned for his quiet, understated acting style and his individualistic, emotionally restrained, but at times intense screen persona, which was particularly well suited to the many Westerns he made. He was a man’s man...as well as a ladies’ man. Cooper became a hero to many, even as he developed a reputation as one of the most notorious philanderers in Hollywood. Privately a debonair ladykiller with a taste for high society, he crafted an image as just the opposite from his prototype cowboy image he materfully portrayed on the silver screen. He was insatiable, before and during his marriage. How did he reconcile his moral righteousness onscreen (Taurus sun) with his philandering offscreen (Sagittarius moon)? That was the work of the fixers, gossip magazines, and the studio system at large, which ensured that Cooper was never caught, never denounced, and held up as a paragon of American values.

Gary Cooper, according to astrotheme, was a Taurus sun and Sagittarius moon. He was born Frank James Cooper in Helena, Montana, the second son of an English farmer from Bedfordshire, who later became an American lawyer and judge, Charles Henry Cooper (1865-1946), and Kent-born Alice (née Brazier) Cooper (1873-1967). As a child, he met a freed slave woman named Mary Fields, otherwise known as Stagecoach Mary, and so awed by her was she that he later wrote an account of his memories of her in Ebony magazine. His mother hoped for their two sons to receive a better education than that available in Montana and arranged for the boys to attend Dunstable Grammar School in Bedfordshire, England between 1910 and 1913. Upon the outbreak of World War I, Cooper’s mother brought her sons home and enrolled them in a Bozeman, Montana, high school. Upon graduation, he eventually matriculated at Grinnell College in Grinnell, IA, where he attempted to nurture a passion for drawing - until a serious car accident ended his college days in the summer of 1920. He would recover from his severely injured hip through an odd but painful therapy, horseback riding.

When his father retired from the bench and moved his mother to Los Angeles, Cooper gave up agriculture classes to try his hand as a Hollywood extra. Cooper played an extra in a handful of silent films before arriving on the set of The Winning of Barbara Worth in 1926. The actor cast as the second male lead didn’t show, and someone shoved Cooper into the part. He appeared with Clara Bow (who soon became one of his conquests) in her star-making film It, but it was his appearance in another Bow vehicle Wings, released later that same year, truly launched his career. He plays a World War I flying cadet, and although his screentime was still relatively short, there was one scene — an extended close-up shot, the light streaming in from outside — in which he looked gorgeous. In 1929, he filmed The Wolf Song with Lupe Vélez. He soon had an affair with Velez, who purportedly claimed that Cooper “has the biggest organ in Hollywood but not the ass to push it in well.” For more on their relationship, read my star analysis on Lupe.

Cooper filmed The Virginian — his first real “talkie,” and the film was a major hit and cemented the foundation of Cooper’s image. His ability to project elements of his own personality onto the characters he portrayed, to appear natural and authentic in his roles, and to underplay and deliver restrained performances calibrated for the camera and the screen helped make him a cinematic success, often lauded by those he worked with. However, his good looks and charisma made him a success with women, whether he worked with them or not. Over the next few years, Cooper was paired with the most gorgeous and promising female stars in Hollywood —with Carole Lombard in I Take This Woman (whom he slept with), Claudette Colbert in His Woman (whom he allegedly slept with), Marlene Dietrich in Morocco and Desire (who he famously slept with more than once), and Joan Blondell in Make Me a Star (who he allegedly slept with). In 1932, Cooper and his Paramount “rival,” Cary Grant, were cast against Tallulah Bankhead in Devil and the Deep (1932). Like Lupe Velez, Bankhead was a loose cannon, with most famous quote being:

“The only reason I went to Hollywood was to fuck that divine Gary Cooper.”

Amidst all his public and private action, Cooper began courting Veronica “Rocky” Balfe, a starlet who went by the stage name of Sandra Shaw. She was also best known as the blonde dropped by King Kong. The two were wed in late 1933. Balfe retired from the screen to become a wife and mother, with her giving birth to their only child, Maria, in 1937. Cooper portrayed a new type of hero—a champion of the common man—in films like Mr. Deeds Goes To Washington and 1941′s Sergeant York (which won him his first of two Best Actor Oscars). Cooper met Ernest Hemingway at Sun Valley in October 1940 and they were friends for the rest of his life. He co-starred with Ingrid Bergman (with whom he had a year-long affair with) in a the film adaptation of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls. He kept starring in more films and bedding his female co-stars until he got more than he bargained for when he made The Fountainhead. Naturally, the 47-year-old Cooper had an affair with his co-star, the 21-year-old Patricia Neal. However, this time things got crazy: Neal wound up pregnant with Cooper’s child. He insisted she have an abortion. When Cooper’s long-suffering wife found out about the relationship, she sent a telegram demanding he end it. This didn’t work; he also confessed that he was in love with Neal, and continued to see her. Cooper and his wife legally separated in May of 1951. Cooper’s daughter Maria, by then in her early teens, famously spat on Neal in public. Neal later claimed that Cooper hit her after she went on a date with Kirk Douglas. Neal ended their relationship in late December 1951. Amid all this drama, Cooper starred in what is now regarded as his defining role: the beleaguered sheriff in High Noon, which won him his second Best Actor Oscar. In later life, he became involved in a relationship with the costume designer Irene, and was, according to Irene, "the only man she ever loved".

Maybe all his previous actions had an affect on him because Cooper converted to Catholicism in 1958, and reconciled with his wife and daughter. Also, he began starring in films that centered around searching for redemption, such as Friendly Persuasion (1956) and Man of the West (1958). In 1960, Cooper fell ill with prostate cancer, which quickly spread to his colon, lungs, and bones; he died of it shortly after his 60th birthday in 1961. A year after his death, Irene committed suicide by jumping from the 11th floor of the Knickerbocker Hotel, after telling Doris Day of her grief over Cooper's death. Regardless of his philandering, regardless of the arduous work of his studio’s publicity departments, there was something plaintive, almost childlike, maybe even innocent about Cooper, so he can easily be forgiven his sins. He acted out what mattered to millions of people, and that act made him a star beyond measure.

Next, I’ll focus on his former paramour Lupe Velez’s arch nemesis. A woman who happened to be wife of MGM art director Cedric Gibbons (Gary Cooper’s wife Rocky’s uncle). She was another pioneer of Mexican cinema who was arguably the first Latina to successfully crossover to Anglo audiences: Leo Dolores del Río.

Stats

birthdate: May 7, 1901

major planets:

Sun: Taurus

Moon: Sagittarius

Rising: Taurus

Mercury: Taurus

Venus: Taurus

Mars: Leo

Midheaven: Aquarius

Jupiter: Capricorn

Saturn: Capricorn

Uranus: Sagittarius

Neptune: Gemini

Pluto: Gemini

Overall personality snapshot: He was torn between an instinct to roam free and a determination to find security and make a solid, lasting contribution to the world. As he repeatedly changed horses in search of both ultimate certainties and high-spirited adventure at the same time, he could find himself deeply divided and uncertain. He sought to earth the fire from heaven and put it to work, but he found all too often that it would not let him rest. In his search for stability and security, he became a farmer and was immediately confronted with the changing seasons. He embraced the solid certainties of geology and are hit by an earthquake. He liked to feel the solid earth move. He sought certitude and permanence, yet his endless inquiries constantly confounded yesterday’s certainties. When he got his own uncertainties together (by accepting he wanted the best of both the changing and the unchanging worlds), he could have been a brilliant teacher, conversationalist, counselor, entertainer, wit, creative artist or entrepreneur – in fact he could have been anything he wanted. Once focused, he could be a human dynamo, and wonderfully humorous, witty and entertaining with it. As he discovered, his quest for solid material certainties did not make a happy bedfellow for his yearning for excitement and larger religious and spiritual understanding. In one way or another, be it through philosophy and the spiritual quest or through writing, music or art, he needed to put together and formulate a total vision of the universe which is based on unassailable facts yet satisfying to his idealism.

Constantly seeking, he was a natural agnostic, applying the criteria of science to counter woolly speculations, yet at the same time highly skeptical of the limited and statistical pronouncements of unthinking science. The danger, if he did not marry these elements within him, is that he would swing from one to the other and undermine the virtues of both. A restless changing of jobs, careers, partners, visions or aspirations left him drunk with his own spinning. When he deliberately tried to remain sober and commonsensical, it seemed to make matters worse for there was something of the gambler in him. This all-or-nothing streak can temporarily overcome your natural caution and enable you to burn your bridges (though you will usually ensure there is something tucked away for a rainy day). He felt an impulsive need to do things on a grand scale, to live with commitment, to feast on the world, and to understand what it was to be alive in all possible ways. He seemed to be called both to explore the reaches of the imagination and to build secure foundations. He brought far-reaching visions into manifestation, and these visions injected his conservative desire for stability and security with flair and colour. His vision of tomorrow and the larger world gave spice to any project he undertook. He saw endless possibilities and wanted to make them real. In this he could be the natural entrepreneur who saw economic opportunities at every turn, an inspiring counselor and teacher, and a stimulating companion whatever he did.

His well-shaped body displayed a warm attractiveness and ripeness. In his later years, he may have needed to watch the tendency to gain weight too easily. His strong broad shoulders supported a very large neck size. His most outstanding feature was his eyes and his gentle smile and voice. He was big-boned. He enjoyed dressing well, preferring soft colours. He was practical, steady and patient, but he could  be inflexible in his views. One thing he did have was plenty of common sense and good powers of concentration, although he tended to think that purely abstract thought was a waste of time. His thought processes weren’t as quick as others, but his decisions were made with a lot of thought behind them. He also had the welcome ability to bring people together. He needed to be able to show his originality and independence in any job for complete satisfaction. His work should also satisfy his scientific bent and humanitarian leanings. He needed scope for his inventiveness, because he was able to bring a fresh view to any job. Ideally, his work should permit him to express the idealistic side to him character and allow him to help as many people as possible. He could be extremely efficient in the way that he tried to get maximum result out of minimum effort. He didn’t like extravagance and waste. He was a thoughtful and resourceful person, who was well-informed on many subjects. Success came gradually and as a result of hard work. Success and growth, for him, were expressed by material and financial achievements, bringing status and prestige.Worldly success was well within his reach, because he possessed all the necessary talents to gain power, influence and status. He was practical, determined and patient. When there were hitches in his plans, he simply worked around them. He knew where he was heading to, and had already figured out the best way to use his talents to reach his goals.

Although he could be fairly pessimistic about life in general, it didn’t put him off aiming for the top. He could be very single-minded about reaching his goals, and was prepared to put his career interests above his personal happiness. He was extremely aware of his own worth. He was prepared to work beyond the call of duty. His strong sense of ambition gave him a certain rigidity, arrogance and selfishness in the eyes of others. He belonged to a generation with fiery enthusiasm for new and innovative ideas and concepts. Rejecting the past and its mistakes, he sought new ideals and people to believe in. As a member of this generation, he felt restless and adventurous, and was attracted towards foreign people, places and cultures. As a member of the Gemini Neptune generation, his restless mind pushed him to explore new intellectual fields. He loved communication and the occult and was likely also fascinated by metaphysical phenomena and astrology. As a Gemini Plutonian, he was mentally restless and willing to examine and change old doctrines, ideas and ways of thinking. As a member of this generation, he showed an enormous amount of mental vitality, originality and perception. Traditional customs and taboos were examined and rejected for newer and more original ways of doing things. As opportunities with education expanded, he questioned more and learned more. As a member of this generation, having more than one occupation at a time would not have been unusual to him.

Love/sex life: His sexuality was a wonderful combination of sensuality and basic laziness. He let himself be carried along by his pleasure-seeking instincts, greeting every new experience with fresh eagerness and then slowly draining from that encounter all the joy it has to offer. This passive, easy-going approach to sex not only made for good technique, it also conceals the egocentric strength and stubbornness that was at the core of his erotic nature. People don’t realize that beneath all that luxurious hedonism he was always the person in control. He was a conservative lover for whom appearances were always important. There may have been occasions when his sensuality lured him into indiscretions but he was quick to cover his tracks and hide the evidence. The quiet practicality of his sexual nature served as a handy antidote for his Martian braggadocio. He knew that he was the best there is but he was willing to sit back and let the world find out the good news on its own. In his youth Cooper was endorsed by several female “experts” of the time (such as Clara Bow, Marlene Dietrich and Tallulah Bankhead) as Hollywood’s sexiest man. His soft spoken and manly sex appeal projected just as well on the screen. After marrying at age 32, Cooper’s sex life became somewhat more sedate though he never lost his ability to attract women.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Scorpio

Lilith: Scorpio

Vertex: Libra

Fortune: Capricorn

East Point: Taurus

His North Node in Scorpio dictated that he needed to be careful not to let the more emotional side of his personality overwhelm him. Instead, he should have set out to consciously develop his more practical abilities. His Lilith in Scorpio ensured that he was dangerously attracted to those women who seduced and conquered on a daily basis; who liked life intense and was judged for her sexuality and general vibe and learned early on how to deflect moral judgments. His type of women may have been tried in the court of public opinion but no way were they going to show up for the sentencing. His Vertex in Libra, 6th house dictated that he llonged for a union of souls that was based on a model of pure peace and justice. Images come to mind of a mythical life on Venus, the planet of love, where there is never a discordant beat between lovers, but rather, continual harmony even if played in the minor chords. Physical lust was certainly a necessary aspect of two beings eternally intertwined, but the platonic component far outweighed it in importance for him. He had an attitude of duty, obligation and sacrifice when it came to heartfelt interactions. The negative side was the tendency to become hypochondriacal or martyristic to get the love he so desperately wanted. There was a need for others to appreciate the sincerity of his intentions, to the daily tasks he executed in a conscientious and caring way and for others to know that his actions, no matter how routine they may seem, were based on devoted love. His Part of Fortune in Capricorn and Part of Spirit in Cancer dictated that his destiny lay in creating practical and long-lasting achievements. Success came through hard work, determination, responsibility and perseverance. Fulfillment came from observing his progress through life and seeing it take a form and structure that will outlive him. His soul’s purpose guided him towards building security in his life, both emotional and material. He felt spiritual connections and the spark of the divine within his home and family. East Point in Taurus dictated that he was more likely to identify with the need for pleasure (including the potential of liking himself) and comfort.  

elemental dominance:

earth

fire

He was a practical, reliable man and could provide structure and protection. He was oriented toward practical experience and thought in terms of doing rather than thinking, feeling, or imagining. Could be materialistic, unimaginative, and resistant to change. But at his best, he provided the practical resources, analysis, and leadership to make dreams come true. He was dynamic and passionate, with strong leadership ability. He generated enormous warmth and vibrancy. He was exciting to be around, because he was genuinely enthusiastic and usually friendly. However, he could either be harnessed into helpful energy or flame up and cause destruction. Ultimately, he chose the latter. Confident and opinionated, he was fond of declarative statements such as “I will do this” or “It’s this way.” When out of control—usually because he was bored, or hadn’t been acknowledged—he was bossy, demanding, and even tyrannical. But at his best, his confidence and vision inspired others to conquer new territory in the world, in society, and in themselves.

modality dominance:

fixed

He liked the challenge of managing existing routines with ever more efficiency, rather than starting new enterprises or finding new ways of doing things. He likely had trouble delegating duties and had a very hard time seeing other points of view; he tried to implement the human need to create stability and order in the wake of change.

house dominants:

12th

9th

8th

He had great interest in the unconscious, and indulged in a lot of hidden and secret affairs. His life was defined by seclusion and escapism. He had a certain mysticism and hidden sensitivity, as well as an intense need for privacy. Traveling, whether physically across the globe, on a mental plane or expanding through study was a major theme in his life. He was not only concerned with learning facts, but also wanted to understand the connections formed between them and the philosophies and concepts they stood for. His conscience, as well as foreign travel, people and places was also of paramount importance in his life. He loved the totality of the human experience and embraced the whole cycle of human life, including birth, sex and death. His darker side, and the complexes and emotions that he preferred to keep hidden, even from himself was a theme throughout his life. His ability to undergo deep personal transformations and spiritual regeneration was also highlighted.

planet dominants:

Venus

Saturn

Sun

He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships. He believed in the fact that lessons in life were sometimes harsh, that structure and foundation was a great issue in his life, and he had to be taught through through experience what he needed in order to grow. He paid attention to limitations he had and had to learn the rules of the game in this physical reality. He tended to have a practical, prudent outlook. He also likely held rigid beliefs. He had vitality and creativity, as well as a strong ego and was authoritarian and powerful. He likely had strong leadership qualities, he definitely knew who he was, and he had tremendous will. He met challenges and believed in expanding his life.

sign dominants:

Taurus

Sagittarius

Capricorn

His stubbornness and determination kept his around for the long haul on any project or endeavour. He was incredibly patient, singular in his pursuit of goals, and determined to attain what he wanted. Although he lacked versatility, he compensated for it by enduring whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted. He enjoyed being surrounded by nice things. He liked fine art and music, and may have had considerable musical ability. He also had a talent for working with his hands—gardening, woodworking, and sculpting. He sought the truth, expressed it as he saw it—and didn’t care if anyone else agreed with him. He saw the large picture of any issue and couldn’t be bothered with the mundane details. He was always outspoken and likely couldn’t understand why other people weren’t as candid. After all, what was there to hide? He loved his freedom and chafed at any restrictions. He was a serious-minded person who often seemed aloof and tightly in control of his emotions and her personal domain. Even as a youngster, there was a mature air about him, as if he was born with a profound core that few outsiders ever see. He was easily impressed by outward signs of success, but was interested less in money than in the power that money represents. He was a true worker—industrious, efficient, and disciplined. His innate common sense gave her the ability to plan ahead and to work out practical ways of approaching goals. More often than not, he succeeded at whatever he set out to do. He possessed a quiet dignity that was unmistakable.

Read more about him under the cut.

Actor Gary Cooper was born on May 7, 1901, in Helena, Montana. Spanning from the silent film era to the early 1960s, Academy Award-winning actor Gary Cooper built much of his career by playing strong, manly, distinctly American roles. The son of English parents who had settled in Montana, he was educated in England for a time. He also studied at Grinnell College in Iowa before heading to Los Angeles to work as an illustrator. When he had a hard time finding a job, Cooper worked as a film extra and landed some small parts. After his appearance in

The Winning of Barbara Worth

(1926), a western, Cooper's career began to take off. He starred opposite silent movie star Clara Bow in Children of Divorce (1927). Cooper also earned praise as the ranch foreman in

The Virginian

(1929), one of his early films with sound. Throughout the 1930s, he turned in a number of strong performances in such films as A Farewell to Arms (1934) with Helen Hayes and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936) directed by Frank Capra. Cooper received an Academy Award nomination for his work on the film. Cooper continued to excel on the big screen, tackling several real-life dramas. In Sergeant York (1941), the played a World War I hero and sharpshooter, which was based on the life story of Alvin York. Cooper earned a Best Actor Academy Award for his portrayal of York.

The next year, Cooper played one of baseball's greats, Lou Gehrig, in The Pride of the Yankees (1942). Again, he scored another Best Actor Academy Award nomination. Appearing in a film adaptation of Ernest Hemingway's For Whom the Bell Tolls,  Cooper starred opposite Ingrid Bergman in a drama set during the Spanish Civil War. This role garnered him a third Academy Award nomination. In 1952, Cooper took on what is known considered his signature role as Will Kane in High Noon. He appeared as a lawman who must face a deadly foe without any help from his own townspeople. The film won four Academy Awards, including a Best Actor win for Cooper. In addition to his excellent on-screen performances, Cooper became  known for his alleged romances with several of his leading ladies, including Clara Bow and Patricia Neal. The affair with Neal, his co-star in 1949's The Fountainhead, reportedly occurred during his  marriage to socialite Veronica Balfe with whom he had a daughter. Their marriage seemed to survive the scandal. By the late 1950s, Cooper's health was in decline. He made a few more films, such as Man of the West (1958), before dying of cancer on May 13, 1961. (x)

[anotherkindofmindpod]

I’d love for you guys to have Mark Lewisohn on your show just to grill him. As someone who’s experienced workplace bullying and sexual assault, that he would go so far as to paint Klein as “heroic” when he said things like “reluctant virgin” is just so devastating to me. It makes me feel ill. I do NOT want this man to have a say in Beatles history. I love the Beatles. I don’t want that tainted by people who will paint over abuse just to feed their own self importance.

We vehemently agree, Listener!  Thank you for writing in.

Our list of grievances with Mark Lewisohn is long, but in a nutshell we believe his intent is to publicly “redeem” John Lennon and we have seen copious evidence that he will go to whatever lengths he has to in order to do this. 

That includes, but is not limited to: 

Claiming that readers of his Tune In Series may consider Klein the “hero” of the Beatles break-up

Deliberately spreading the demonstrably false lie that John (and Yoko) did not have a significant heroin problem in the late 60s and early 70s (Lewisohn suggests Cold Turkey is just John playing make believe)

Displaying unapologetic favoritism by using glowing terms to portray John and Yoko as the world’s most perfect romance, as opposed to Paul and Linda, whose 29-year marriage he dismisses as “conventional” and motivated by appearances (namely Linda’s pregnancy, even though it was planned) and Green Card needs

Stating that he could tell from watching the infamous “it’s a drag” clip that Paul was kind of sad, but primarily annoyed at how much positive attention John was getting on the day of his murder

Apparently suggesting to an audience of his Power Point Show that Paul maybe stole a leg off Yoko’s bed (the bed she had delivered and built in the Beatles’ recording studio, mind you), a personal “theory” which is based on the fact that Paul later wrote a song called “Three Legs” (you know that song: “My dog, he got three legs, like the bed you inappropriately brought into Abbey Road 2 years ago which I secretly vandalized behind your back because I have nothing better to do, am certainly not busy writing the Beatles Swan Song and don’t have a fucking 7 year old at home or anything”)

This isn’t even to mention Tune In, which could be a whole separate post and episode. Suffice it to say, this book often reads less like a Beatles biography and more like John Lennon Fanfiction to us.

Lewisohn managed to distinguish himself by doing (some) research and unearthing some original documents. That he had some skill in research is not surprising given that he started his career in Beatledom as a researcher for Norman, on his book Shout — which Lewisohn still contends is a good book. Norman, on the other hand has evolved his opinion of his own work and thinks Shout was flawed, so has written a whole biography on Paul to make up for what he sees as the failure of Shout, which is his underestimation of Paul. Unfortunately, Lewisohn does not seem to have made this same journey. He pays lip service to John and Paul being equal, and then spends all of his time and energy trying to prove otherwise. Norman says that he has created a monster in Lewisohn. We take his point.

One of our biggest issues with Lewisohn is that he vigorously promotes himself as an unbiased truth teller, and his calm manner seems to telegraph this. But it is not true. The research that Lewisohn does and the spin that he applies to his findings are all heavily biased. As we mentioned in one of our episodes, he travelled to Gibraltar simply to experience where John and Yoko got married. Yet when Paul calls the May 9th meeting over management the metaphorical cracking of the Liberty Bell, Lewisohn doesn’t even bother to Google it so he can understand the metaphor.

What he chooses to research is also a form of bias. For example, we at AKOM are very interested in Paul’s relationship with Robert Fraser during the Beatle years — since Paul has commented that Fraser was one of the most important, influential people in his life. Paul McCartney was the concept artist behind Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, the Magical Mystery Tour film, the iconic Apple logo, and he co-designed the covers of the White Album and Abbey Road.  All of these are pretty defining moments in the Beatles’ career.  As Beatles fans, we’d like to know more about Paul’s art education and influences. But we would be shocked if Lewisohn dug into Fraser at all beyond his relationship as John and Yoko’s gallerist/curator (and heroin dealer, but since that isn’t a thing in Lewisohn’s world then maybe he will be ignored).

We think Lewisohn benefits massively from the fact that Beatles authorship was like the Wild West since its inception, when everyone with a connection to the Beatles (plus or minus a personal axe to grind) wrote a book about their experience. It was absolute chaos, with no rules, no checks and balances, uncredited sources, etc. Just an absolute shit show.  What Lewisohn did was bring some order to the chaos with some proper documentation. But again, what he chooses to dig into often reflects bias. And this certainly does not mean that he is intellectually or emotionally equipped to interpret his findings. Doing this takes social intelligence and insight, which is a very different skill. As a creator of myths, he is no better (and no more insightful or original) than many of the others who came before him; he worships John Lennon and freely admits it. He is not even close to being unbiased.  But in this dumpster fire of a fandom he has at least checked some boxes and done some digging.  The fact is, the bar has been so low for so long that Beatles fans don’t even know how to expect or want better.  But WE certainly expect better.  We expect some breakthrough, fresh thinking.  Not just Shout with Receipts.

We think it’s significant that Lewisohn was deeply disliked by George Harrison, who lobbied to get him kicked him off the Anthology project. He was fired from Paul’s fan club magazine, and yet no one seems to think he might hold a grudge about that, too?  Lewisohn so distorted John and Paul’s relationship in Tune In that he believes he is the target of the lyrics in Paul’s song “Early Days.“  And he either thinks that’s flattering or funny, because Lewisohn seems to truly believe he knows John Lennon better than Paul McCartney does.  We find it almost tragic that Paul is so bothered by the way his experience and relationship is being portrayed by authors (perhaps Lewisohn) that he wrote a song about it. In it, he conveys his frustration and heartache about how everything is misconstrued and we find it absolutely outrageous that Lewisohn would not take this to heart.  Perhaps Lewisohn thinks Paul should listen to him for a change? And if he doesn’t like it, then tough, because Lewisohn knows better? We think Lewisohn should do some serious soul-searching about “Early Days” because if one of his main subjects is saying, “you are getting it wrong and it is breaking my heart”….maybe, just maybe, he should listen and rethink things.  Maybe apply a little creativity, out-of-the-box thinking and empathy. This is what his heroes did.

Meanwhile, Jean Jackets are SO BUSY complaining that Paul McCartney doesn’t like Lewisohn because he “tells the truth!” that they fail to notice that Lewisohn has become a mouthpiece for Yoko Ono.  He has already started white-washing John Lennon’s history, promoting John and Yoko as the true and only geniuses versus Paul as the craven, small-minded Lennon disciple who (through no virtue of his own) was born with the ability to write some nice tunes.  Lewisohn’s version of John, on the other hand, is ALWAYS a sexy, visionary genius on the right side of every issue.  He even went out of his way to recently trash Paul’s early 70’s albums, which -in addition to being obnoxious and we believe wrong (since we love them)- is totally outside his purview.

Lastly, to address your original point, Lewisohn’s claim that Klein may be viewed as the “hero” of his Beatles History reveals that he hasn’t shown sufficient empathy or interest in Paul’s experience.  This claim at best ignores and at worst condones the fact that Klein was an abusive monster to one of the two founding members of the Beatles.  As we discussed in Episode 4, Klein was a criminal who bullied Paul in his creative workspace, disrespected Paul in his own office in front of his own employees and actively pitted Lennon against McCartney for years.  It’s hard to imagine ANYONE who inflicted more damage on the Beatles and Lennon/McCartney than Allen Klein.  In addition to the wildly inappropriate “reluctant virgin” nickname, he verbally threatened to “own Paul’s ass” (to which Paul responded “he never got anywhere near my ass”). Klein was so disrespectful to Paul and Linda’s marriage he pitched the idea of procuring “a blonde with big tits” to parade in front of Paul to lure him away from Linda and destroy their relationship.  Let’s also never forget that Klein contributed lyrics to the song “How Do You Sleep.”  Allen Klein literally gave Paul nightmares.  Anyone who so much as pretends to care about Paul’s break-up era depression (including his alcohol abuse, his inability to get out of bed and his terrifying sleep paralysis) would not champion Allen Klein.

Yes, Klein is a human being and therefore has his own POV, same as anyone else.  But a Beatles biographer is beholden to four points of view only: John, Paul, George and Ringo.  And when an outsider is openly hostile to one of the Beatles and damaging long-term to all of the Beatles, it is beyond inappropriate to portray him as a hero.  This type of comment, made publicly to an audience of Beatles fans, invalidates and seeks to erase the real trauma inflicted on Paul McCartney by Allen Klein, and we think Lewisohn should apologize for his comments.

Instead, Lewisohn’s current buddy is Peter Brown, whose book, The Love You Make so offended and angered Paul and Linda that they literally burned their copy (and photographed it burning for good measure).  This information doesn’t appear to bother Lewisohn in the least. Why not?

George referred to Norman’s Shout as “Shit.” But Lewisohn thinks it’s a great book.  Why?

How any Beatles or Paul or even George fans tolerate Lewisohn is baffling to us; we don’t recognize a real human being in his version of Paul, and his version of John is a superhero rather than a man.  We suspect that fans have come to accept the traditional story and at least appreciate some properly-documented facts. 

But as we are constantly trying to demonstrate on our show, just because the story has always been told one way, doesn’t mean it’s right.  Because in the end, Mark Lewisohn has no special insight. He wasn’t there. He is a guy who bought into a narrative during the Shout era, and is cherry picking his findings to support it.You can find a discussion of Lewisohn here

[isa-ly]

HOW TO EMOTION?

TW: mental health, therapy, repression, dissociation

Today’s just one of those days where I’m questioning whether or not I’ve completely lost the ability of functioning like a normal human and kind of feel like the Tin Man from Wizard of Oz. You know, casual Friday. 

I know this is a written blog, but since I am also very much a woman of images and metaphors, I shall once again try and elaborate the issue of today’s post by making it into a well-known, kinda dead and yet very accurate pop culture meme:

I am not kidding, this is what I look and feel like in most of my therapy sessions. I’m pretty sure Kerstin would agree with me here, as the topic of feeling, or more like my inability of doing so, has been pretty much been the red string winding itself through my mental health journey so far. I mentioned it briefly in the last post, but I figured since today is just one of those pesky overthinking ones, I might just dive in a bit deeper and try to detangle my knotted thoughts into something a bit more coherent.

I’ve talked about this before to some of my closer friends and honestly, every time I tried to explain it, I just felt like an absolute mad psychopath. Don’t get me wrong, I know that I’m not, but it’s kind of hard to get people to understand what it feels like to just ... not feel. Okay, that sounds a little bit too dramatic, let me try and re-phrase it in a way that makes more sense.

I talked all about the metaphorical elephant and it’s even more metaphorical stake last time and this is kind of the extended version of that issue. The Stake Supreme, if you will. Basically, one of the earliest coping mechanisms that I picked up when I was very young, was to simply swallow down any feelings of anger, rage, sadness or hurt and pretend that they just weren’t there. Now, that’s not really something very unusual, as we generally live in a society that doesn’t leave a lot of room to healthily express or work through our emotions with the crushing weight of professional, educational, financial, social and personal pressure constantly weighing on our shoulders. So, again, I’m very well aware that me pretending that my bad feelings don’t exist, does in no way, shape or form make me a special snowflake.

It does, however, make me a very emotionally repressed and mentally inept snowflake. And that’s not really great either.

It took me many therapy sessions to figure out that what I had used as a necessary protection mechanism for all my childhood and young adulthood, had slowly but certainly turned into the root of pretty much all my current mental health issues. And here I was, thinking that mommy and daddy issues were just a try-hard-to-be-relatable brand that pseudo-depressed people on Twitter liked to use to excuse their shitty personalities. Oh no, am I one of them now? Alright, back to the point.

I’m just going to try to explain, both to myself and you, what happens in my head whenever the aforementioned process of ~A Feeling~ occurs. Where normally, I would experience something that elicits an emotion that I then experience and feel, lately (and by that I mean ever since some of the more severe of my mental issues started happening) I instead feel like the actual emotion gets stuck somewhere between having been produced and actually reaching my consciousness. In a way, to get back to that earlier visual, it feels like I’m the Tin Man. The feeling gets dropped into my empty tin chest and while I try my absolute hardest to actually feel it, it just sits there. Not really arriving, not really unfolding, just existing while remaining completely detached from me. And I continue to feel how you would imagine a man made out of tin and air would feel: hollow.

I’m trying really hard not to make another load of self-deprecating jokes here, as sharing and trying to explain this makes me beyond uncomfortable. Instead, I’m just going to keep going because that’s kind of the point of this blog. When I told my therapist what I typed up there just now, she explained to me that this strategy of processing (or lack thereof, actually), is commonly referred to as repression and dissociation. And that with my history of handling emotions (or, once again, lack thereof), it actually made quite a lot of sense for me to struggle with this.

She then went on to explain that one could imagine it like this: Whenever anything triggers an emotion to be formed (which, you know, happens quite a lot, since that’s kind of all that human brains do), my self-taught mechanism is to immediately replace it with a so called ‘non-feeling’. I know, that word seemed strange to me too in the beginning. What it means is that by having constantly invalidated and swallowed down my own feelings of anger and sadness through the course of my youth, I unintentionally created this perfect, well-oiled machine of repression that unquestioningly does its job without me even noticing. In a way, I somehow mastered the art of literally, fully and completely detaching myself from my emotions and simply viewing them as separate entities to my own mind.

Now, while that sounds like a sick villain superpower, I’m gonna be honest: It kind of fucking sucks. Especially on days like these, where old habits resurface and I once again find myself looking at my own emotions as if they were statistics on a computer, knowing that they are there, knowing that they exist within me, but for the life of me not being able to actually feel them.

That’s yet another thing I also learned in therapy. There are miles, literal continents, if not even multiverses, between rationally knowing you should feel something and actually feeling it. I’m not completely insane and oblivious, I very well know that I am capable of having emotions and that they are there and being produced by many funky chemicals working together in my brain. However, simply knowing this on an intellectual level is no where close to satisfactory if you cannot actually feel it too.

It’s like looking at ice cream, knowing that it’s there, seeing it with your own two eyes, remembering and being able to imagine the taste, the texture, the sweetness and yet never really actually being able to eat it. Never really feeling it melt it in your mouth. It remains an idea, a concept, close to smoke in thin air that you can very clearly see, and yet never really grasp.

And that, as you might be able to imagine (or even relate to, if you’ve experienced it before), is just not a lot of fun, to be quite frank. Emotional repression? Yeah, no, that one definitely gets a bad Yelp! review from me. Wouldn’t recommend. Zero stars out of five.

In addition to accidentally failing to process my own emotions (are you proud of me, mum?), there’s also the other half of the problem which is, as my therapist already mentioned, the dissociation. Now, I want to be clear here: While I’ve gotten quite a few medical diagnoses in my time in therapy, the actual condition of dissociation or dissociative disorder, which is actually a personality disorder, is not one that I ever received. The dissociation my therapist talked about, ergo the one I am experiencing, is more situational and linked to the repression. Funnily enough, it is literally happening at the current moment, while I’m writing this post.

Actually, it’s been there for every post I wrote. It is also there during almost every therapy session and whenever I attempt to talk to someone about my problems or feelings. If you ask me how I am and we get talking about my mental health, you can assume that I’ll be dissociating about two minutes into the conversation. Usually, it’s not something that is very noticeable. At least that’s what I like to believe, maybe it’s also super obvious, like my soul leaving my body, and people are simply confused or kind enough not to mention it. Who knows.

My therapist, however, did notice it, as she let me know after a few sessions, when I first tried to describe what dissociating felt like to me. “Oh, yeah, I can tell whenever it happens. I just thought I’d give you your space until you wanted to talk about it”, was what she had said. Oh, Kerstin. You’re a real keeper.

So, what does it feel like to dissociate? (I once again pretend that someone is asking so I don’t feel like I’m talking to myself about myself). It’s a little hard to explain but here’s what I have told some of the friends I have talked to about it before: Imagine from pretty much one second to the other, your entire head is filled with cotton, kind of like you’re really tired and exhausted and everything that you see or hear doesn’t really get through the thick wool that seems to have replaced your brain. Forming thoughts and staying in the moment gets harder with every minute that passes. There’s this weird pull at the back of your neck and the front of your forehead that kind of just wants you to close your eyes and drift away. Far away to somewhere where it’s quiet and cotton-y and there’s no one or nothing else around you.

It’s not just mental, it’s physical. It feels like your brain hit the shut down button without your consent, like it’s slowly closing the blinds as it gets darker and darker and you just want to fall asleep. Speaking seems to become almost painful, thinking coherent thoughts is close to impossible and following what others are saying is a million times harder all of a sudden. It’s like the world has gone out of focus and you’re trying to sharpen the lense again, to no success.

Actually, I think that a lot of people have experienced dissociative symptoms before. Not to play Dr. Freud here, but it happens quite a lot, for example during panic or anxiety attacks. Some of my friends have told me that it felt like they had suddenly left their body and were watching themselves as from across the room. That’s why often dissociating is also described as an out of body experience. Because in a way, it literally is one. 

As my therapist explained to me, and as I experience it too, it’s comparable to your brain throwing a metaphorical fuse because it’s in danger of short circuiting. My dad would be so proud if he saw me making electrician references (yes, he is a trained electrician, okay). Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: Often, when I’m exposed to emotions (and that includes talking or writing about them), my brain will run a little too hot like an old, wary car engine, and before it gets too close to exploding into a fiery death, it simply flips the switch and disconnects itself from the body and the emotions that are happening in it. Just like the repression, this is yet another safety mechanism that my brain came up with in reaction to me never really learning how to correctly process emotions. So, whenever some of those stronger feeling resurface or leak out, it tries to protect me from them by cutting the connection between the both of us.

In almost every way, it feels like I’m being locked out of my own head and can no longer really use my own brain. To someone who’s never felt that before, this might seem a little terrifying. And I agree that, objectively, it is. Knowing that the grey goo behind your skull has the power to shut out what in the ever-loving fuck is considered your conscious self, is a bit worrisome, to say the least. However, to me, it’s something that I have a) gotten very used to by now and b) in the moment don’t actually experience as something scary at all. I’m disconnected, remember?

Which is also why it’s sometimes very, very hard to get grounded again and find the way back into my own head. Like a bird that’s accidentally escaped its cage, proceeding to go fucking rogue in the living room, then crashing into a wall, all while trying to figure out what the fuck is happening while it’s on the verge of blacking out. I’ll often feel so dull and dizzy that all I really want to do is curl up and stare at a wall until eventually, my mind and body connect again and things are back to normal.

To kind of circle back to the whole theme of this post: This whole dissociation thing is very strongly connected to my tendency of emotional repression. It’s somewhat of a vicious cycle, which is why days like the one I’m having right now, can be a little tricky. It starts with me feeling empty and hollow, bim-bam-Tin-Man, and is usually followed with feelings of isolation and depression, since I cannot seem to get joy, satisfaction, or any emotion, really, out of anything. This then often leads to me trying to force some sort of emotion into myself, struggling to dig through my subconscious in hopes of finding something, anything, and eventually becoming even more frustrated. Aha! Frustration! That’s an emotion, right? It’s there! Can you feel it? I think you can, oh wow, there it is! Oh, wait, no ... no, now my head is getting heavy. Everything’s blurry. Is the feeling still there? Maybe. Who cares, just close your eyes now. So sleepy, hm ... floaty float.

Okay, sorry, that just turned into a weird combination of a badly written slam poem and a pretentious high school theater class rendition of some old play no one has ever heard of. I’ll just use the fact that I’m still dissociated as hell as an excuse for now. Wait a minute ... if I’m this spacey and zoned out right now, how am I even managing to write this post? Huh? Isa? Explain yourself!

Well, I haven’t been in therapy for nothing. It’s been over eight months of Kerstin and me figuring all of this out, finally putting a name and label to it and therefore understanding why it’s there and how it works. Which has helped me a great lot in actually handling it. That’s kind of the whole point of therapy after all, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong: These days where I feel repressed, empty and dissociated, can still be hard and they’re rarely ever fun. They honestly make me want to bash my head against a wall in hopes that that will make it go back to normal.

But since I don’t really favour having a concussion on top of feeling depressed and detached from my body, I have learned to use other counter-measurements to help the process of finding my balance again. Rebuilding that mojo, am I right? This post is already pretty long, so I won’t go into even more detail on all the different methods and mechanisms of bouncing back, but I’ll say this much: I spent a good portion of therapy trying to learn when to push and when to rest whenever I’m feeling dissociated. And yeah, it’s a fine line and I still haven’t fully figured out how to walk it without falling from one extreme into the other.

But take this blog, for example. I know that writing it, actively facing my problems and the very strong, repressed emotions connected to them, will make me dissociate like hell. A few months ago, that would have been reason enough for me to not do it and simply ignore it again. Now, however, after working with my therapist and on myself, I have learned how to push my own limits just far enough in order to, in this case, continue to write even though it feels like my brain is about to burst into a cotton explosion. It’s a give and take, a sort of push and pull I’m playing with my own mind and head. But as time progressed, I figured out the game plan a little better, I learned my own rules and the secret short cuts and cheating methods (because come on, who really plays fair, that’s for boring losers) and the resting time it takes for me to restore my strengths again.

So, today for example, I woke up as Mr. Tin Man, progressed to being a lost, numb and rogue dissociation-bird (man, I really gotta work on my metaphors, this is just getting worse by the minute) and then decided that the best way to counter-act all of it, would be to sit down and write my lovely new blog. Has it helped? A little, yeah. It took my mind off the right things, made some others a bit worse and intense but now, I feel a little more stable and like I managed to talk some sense back into my spiraling, detached brain.

Kerstin, please tell me you’re proud of me. Because as we all know, therapy is about impressing your therapist and not about getting better for your own sake. Pft, who needs that. What do we want? Validation! When do we want it? All the time, because we never got it as a child, so now it’s the only thing we crave in life!

Yikes.

Alright. So, here we are. Since I’m still feeling a little zoned out and dopey, I’m not fully sure if everything I wrote made complete sense. But hey, while this blog is for others to read should they feel like it, it’s still mainly there for me to sort my own racing thoughts before they can spiral out of control. And I think I managed to do that just now. And I know that that feels kind of nice.

Actually, I feel it too.

P.S.: I just had to. A little self-deprecation doesn’t hurt anyone.

[drooliesblog]

Dante x Lady Week 2020 prompts

Compiled these prompts together with a singular concept in mind because THIS��👏 IS 👏 ALL 👏 I 👏 EVER 👏 WANT 👏 FROM 👏 MY 👏 OTP.

 These are written as snippets of the prompts, some new and some as continuations with a rather common theme. They’re all not suppose to be interconnect and act as one-shots of their own except for two. I didn’t have much time during the week to write every idea down but damn was I thriving thinking about these concepts and AUs. Please let me know which ones are your favorite!

Royalty:

Lady chokes back her tears when she finally sees the bluest eyes stare right back at her. A second ago, they were closed and she honestly believed they would never open again. If they did, they would have been a different color, not something this beautiful.

“The curse is finally broken,” he croaks from the weight of her body on top of his, gently moving her and the tears with his hands. His human hands. Despite finally being able to sit up, he has to catch her in his arms and fall back down. He doesn’t really mind, it doesn’t matter how sore he is. It’s just… it feels so awkward to be so human after years of being a devil, he used to treat her with careful touches due to his strength but now it feels like he needs to be the one treated gently.

“I thought you died” she says after her calms down, they’re lying down in the midst of fire and destruction from their fight with the evil wizard (her father) who cursed him to begin with. The Lady Knight traces over his features, admiring how different he looks now. How princely he seems to be, fitting for the fate of ruling his kingdom… with someone more queenly. Someone not her…

Steeling her heart from their possible future of separation, Lady moves her hand away from his face but he takes hold of it. Placing her palm above his heart, she realizes where he’s going with this. He can’t be doing this now, she doesn’t have the heart to say no if he does. So she speaks up first, before he can break her resolve.

“Dante I can’t, we talked about this. I’m not cut out for this, never been educated to rule a Kingdom. Being a queen is not the life for me.” There, she said all she can with her resolve still strong despite the quake in her voice.

“I wasn’t raised to rule either, younger twin remember? Besides this kingdom has been without the royal family for a long time.” As he spoke, he uses his free hand to guide her to look up at him, his thumb tracing the fresh scar by her jaw.

“Dante… what are you trying to say?” She’s not trying to be hopeful, to be so selfish when all she’s been through was for the sake of the kingdom and the people that cried for help. But oh, it feels so good to feel this loved and safe.

“I’m saying forget Dante the Prince, everyone else has and let me just be Dante. Your Dante.”

Chase:

They were walking hand in hand, the sand between their toes under the twilight of the night sky. Both are recounting the game earlier that Lady instigated, she laughs when Dante brings up the smoke grenade she threw at him earlier.

“Speaking of, I think I see it. Hold up” he says while letting go to move back. She clasps both of her hands together at his release, still feeling and already missing the warmth of his. She admires the moon reflected on the sea while waiting for Dante to come back to her side, but she doesn’t want to admire the moon in silence so she quips up.

“You can’t seriously be mad about that, the grenade was harmless and I needed to get the upper hand if you’re going to be chasing me.”

“Not mad, just wanted another memento of how crazy I am to always go after someone like you.”

“Hey now- son of a bitch,” Lady is completely speechless when she turns around to admonish her lover. He’s down on one knee, the pin of the grenade is held between his fingers like a ring.

“I’ve been chasing you since we first met and I ain’t ever gonna stop. Will you let me chase you forever?”

Western:

“Still mad sweetheart?” Dante has to raise both hands up now, trying to diffuse the situation he landed himself in. Despite his life being in danger, he still has time to appreciate how much of a beauty she’s become, wild back hair cropped above her shoulders. Angry bi-colored eyes accompanied by the scar across her nose. He would wax poetry if he knew how, but he’s been an outlaw for a long time with all his manners beaten out from the wild west. He thinks she should at least know how pretty she is, so he lets out a low whistle that only earns him another bullet grazing his cheek. Same spot from the shot she made earlier, well damn she’s got aim.

“You stole from my father and made me an orphan on our weddin’ day.”

“He was a bad man, Mary. Bastard had it comin’ and you know it.”

“Didn’t let me finish cowboy and don’t ever call me Mary again… Ain’t my name no more.” He has to bite his tongue or lose his head for real when she gets up real close and puts that barrel right against his forehead. There’s honest to god real anger in those eyes, hurt too if he looks any closer than he’s doing so already. He keeps himself real quiet by finding some of his lost manners and waits for her to finish.

“You left me at the altar, didn’t take me with you. You know I would’ve… I could’ve, still can you know… but you ran off and I was alone. Only had your Ma’ to keep me company when I lost everything. Even name, but that was choice. Think about it, still think you got the right to come back after all this time, Dante?”

“I…believe I did, still do but Law didn’t agree so much, would’ve hanged me for killin’ yer old man… I tried to ya know… to get you that day but they already were expectin’ me. Settin’ you up like bait… I still want to… if you do… It ain’t right what I did, but that don’t mean I still can’t now. ” He’s careful to remove the barrel when her gaze softens and her strength against him relents. It’s awkward now, when Dante’s been gone for so long but feelings are coming back like a water breaking down dam. He’s glad she’s still so understanding after all these years. Maybe still loves him even…

“What do I call ya then if not… well…” He asks tentatively, taking off his hat to groom himself a bit more presentable. She shrugs, lowering her rifle in silence. Nervously, he tests out her patience and forgiveness.

“Then… how about Missus Dante Alighieri?”

Bodyguard:

“Can you stop pacing like that?”

Mary looks up and past the bars that holds her to see the monster –devil-boy she thinks spitefully- that her father summoned from the depths of hell to keep her imprisoned. He’s so bored that the chair he sits on should be breaking from the precarious angle of him pushing the back legs at. He hasn’t stopped leaning that far back, using only his propped legs as a tether to a table full of empty cups and scattered cards. He may be skillful in the art of lazy guard duty but the chair is old and will give out. When it does, she’ll be there to laugh at his stupid face since it’s just themselves to keep each other company.

“No,” she answers back petulantly, bringing her nose up in disdain and the devil rolls his eyes.

“You going back and forth is giving me a headache, just take a nap or whatever. I can’t believe I accepted this deal.” The last part, he muttered underneath his breath but she heard it anyways. Curiously, she goes up against the bars of her cell and peers out to read his expression. His face is human, but she’s seen what he’s capable of. Knows that his albino appearance cannot fool her from where he’s truly from and that she’s out of her depths if she thinks she can defeat the demon.

“Having a change of heart? Feeling bad that daddy dearest wants to sacrifice his only daughter for power?” She sneers, her lips twisting into a snarl after openly declaring her fate.

“Well… yeah, I don’t really wanna screw the world over… or you even.” His answer took her by surprise, what was that? She has to stare at him, long and hard to find any lies to his admission. His blue eyes staring back now, a look she recognizes as regret and she can feel anger bubbling out from the mockery that is his turnaround.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Why are you even doing this? Following that man’s orders. Just free me and get lost then!” She has half the mind to beat him with the chair right now.

“I can’t… the deal was that I’d keep an eye on you and I get a bride in return, else the contract breaks and I’m dragged back to hell.”

Mary scrunches her nose, her life was on the line and the devil wants a wife. Yeah, she’s definitely justified in the chair beat down. But… she can use this to her advantage, her guard in red is giving her an opening. She just has to get at his level, make a bargain better than her father’s.

“My father said to keep me from running away right?… it’s not really like you’re breaking the contract if I’m willing to go to him… you’ll still be watching over me. Like… a bodyguard of sorts. Did he say anything about me stopping him from ending the world?” She smirks when she sees how much he’s perking up at the word, bodyguard. So she’s got a hero-wannabe devil… she can work with that.

“You have a point there, I won’t be breaking the contract if we… look at it like that, didn’t say anything about stopping you from going to him… but there’s still the bride issue…”

She deflates, still with that bride-bullshit… ok minor setback. “Why does having a bride matter so much, I thought souls were the kind of things you guys prefer.”

He rakes one hand through that silver mop of hair and finally gets up from his position, walking over to her. She definitely has his attention now, she can make him change his mind. “Not my kind of thing really and I just want some sort of love in my life. It’s lonely in the business.”

“Then how about me?”

He’s definitely looking at her now, brows furrowing to an unreadable expression. She can’t stand the silent stare and continues with her sudden proposal.

“I don’t want to die as a sacrifice, you want a wife without going back to hell. If we go by that logic then contract still stands and we all get what we want.”

“You sure you want this?”

She gulps, but she’s not backing out of her proposition and keeps staring him straight in the eyes.

“Just protect me as I stop my father.”

Past/Future:

“You know what? Future looks pretty good.” Nineteen year old Dante declares Forty-whatever Lady, who’s sitting at his desk on his chair like it’s her’s. He knows what’s up and he likes what it might mean. He can’t explain why he’s in the future or how he got there… at least not yet, mind’s still foggy from some sort of magic.

But he’s not so out of it that he can’t recognize the furnishing he bought not too long ago from his timeline. He knows what his business looks like and the years hasn’t changed it one bit. The only new additions he doesn’t recognize are the women who occupy the space. One being Trish, his mom’s clone and the other being Lady… who he has to assume might be his significant other. Like he can’t not be with a woman that gorgeous. At least he hopes that’s what she is to him when she’s looking that damn fine and in control behind his desk, on his chair like that. It’s like twenty-whatever years into his future, sounds like a good time to settle down with someone, he thinks. Especially if that someone is her.

He wants to know how important she is to him, to older him. It’s only been less than a day since they got acquainted after showing up in this timeline, and he likes her. He like likes her when she’s so funny and crass and doesn’t give one damn about things. She’s cool like that.

She also got him pizza, his favorite kind.

Lady quirks a brow to his words and replies with that same crass attitude of her, “because I’m treating you with pizza? Don’t hope too much, I’m not that generous with you.”

He laughs, not too put off by her teasing. Now he really wants to know how much of an item they are. He tries to, but words don’t come out when the alternative pervades his mind and he shuts down. He likes the idea of being with her a little too much that if they’re only just friends and he has to hear that kind of reject from her, it’d hurt like shit. But he’s curious and a tad restless with his anxiety that he excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

He knows his way around that he manages to find his room on his way not to the bathroom. It’s not locked and he peers in to see his bed neatly made. Yeah… no, he doubts he’s neat enough to clean his bed even at Forty. Carefully, he enters the room and snoops a bit more. He’s both delighted and disappointed to know Lady sleeps here but only because of the bags that contained her clothes and weapons. It shows how temporary her residence is when the only clothes in his closet are just his, so it doesn’t really say a lot at what they are. There’s not even a picture of them together, if he’s enough of a sap to keep a picture of his mom then it can’t kill him to have a picture of them together.

He solemnly swears to remedy that when he goes back to his timeline and finally meets his Lady. Then it hits him at the revelation to his thoughts, so if there’s nothing that says what they are out in the open, there might be something hidden instead. Dropping on all fours, he looks under his bed to find a hidden compartment. He spots a small familiar latch and reaches deep under to open it, just his luck that something actually does fall into his palm. Something not his usual stash of cash. He gives himself a congratulatory fist pump for buying a bed with a hidden safe and using it for something not money in the future.

“Whatcha got there, kid?”

Dante’s startled to hear Lady in front of him that he doesn’t have time to register what is in his hand. By the time he’s straighten himself up, both he and Lady are staring at a red velvet box that he’s holding out. Oh fuck.

He opens it to see a golden band.

“Oh fuck,” the both of them swear.

Role Reversal:

Through the rubble of the wreckage that is Fortuna, Dante carries Force Edge nonchalantly above his shoulder, he saunters over to the stoic older figure in the middle of it all.

“I guess I should thank you…”

It’s weird to be indebted to the man in the navy dusker when hours before Dante impaled him against the statue of the legendary, Virgil. Nero turns around to face him, showing that stupid smug grin of his that irks and amuses Dante to no end. The old hunter scoffs and waves off Dante’s gratitude, telling the young Knight that he had his reasons to do what he did. Reasons to look after the long lost son of his deceased twin, Sparda. A reason Nero can’t bring himself to reveal to Dante after all that has happened. At least not yet.

Dante is surprised with Nero’s goodbye when he makes his way out, it’s not tenderness behind the Hunter’s word but it’s the lack of persistence of the return of Force Edge that was clearly still in his arms.

“Wait,” he called out “you forgot this.” And he presents the sword out but Nero shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

“What? Thought this meant a lot to you…” The weight of the sword feels so much heavier when Nero shows no sign of wanting it back.

“That’s the kind of gift worth giving. I’m entrusting you with it so what you do from now on? Your call.” Dante’s touched and honored at the answer and watches Nero finally make his exit. The young knight finds himself lost in his thought while drawing Force Edge back into his devil arm, he wonders if they’ll ever meet again. He hopes so, there’s something comforting and familiar about the Devil Hunter.

“So…” A voice calls out behind Dante and he turns to see Mary in her knight’s uniform.

“This the end?” She asks while adjusting the strap of her sword. The splattering of blood that stained her uniform indicates her recent dealings with the monsters that now lurk about in their city. Dante doesn’t have the strength anymore to fight with Mary about putting herself out there when he just saved her from being Sanctus’ living battery. Telling Mary to not risk her life for others has been a lost cause since they were kids and god damn, he loves her more for it.

“Maybe,” he says but the end to what? Despite the city being a wreck, he still sees a better future. From the look in her eyes, she’s thinking the same thing.

“We’re still alive…”

That’s true… they’re still alive but not the same. He’s not the same, not human anymore and the thought shames him to know she might choose to reject him because of his damnation. But he has enough resolve to respect her wishes, he always will. He brings up his devil arm, grasping it with his human arm, trying to find the courage to voice his fears.

“Mary, if I’m a demon and not a human anymore… would you still-” he’s finding it hard to look at her, afraid to see the look of disgust. Mary is strong, proud and above all else, honorable that Dante can’t bring her down when he’s become what she’s sworn to kill.

It’s her hands that takes a hold of him from the fear that could swallow him whole, its firm with a resolve that is reflected in her eyes. He sucks a breath in from her sudden affection, everything right now is giving him the kind of hope that makes him lean in to her touch.

“Dante you’re you…” she’s stepping in close to him, bringing up their joined hands in reassurance. “And it’s you I want to be with and I don’t know anyone who’s as human as you are.” He does everything in his power not to mess up the moment, because he can be an ass and now is not the time. Not when he’s fishing out his pocket to return to Mary her mother’s necklace. She gasps and leans forward to let him clasp the only family heirloom she has left. Someday he’ll give her something more than just a necklace, something to fit her finger and really cement what they really mean to each other.

Homecoming:

The Sparda twins are flooded with a sense of relief upon seeing the neon lights of Devil May Cry, after months of fighting in hell a little bit of peace was a nice change of pace. A little bit of peace being a rundown building in the seedier side of town. Dante’s not complaining about it and Vergil will just have to grudgingly suck it up, because home is home.

Dante perks up to see the women in his life sitting inside, and with Vergil finally by his side the family picture that he never knew he wanted is starting to feel so real. He has to wipe his nose to reign back any tears, he’s not going to freaking cry in front of Vergil.

When he’s certain he still got his bravado, he claps behind the other man’s back and goads him to go further. There’s a look of warning to not pussy out or start a fight with Lady and Trish. His twin is gracious to give him a scoff instead the usual verbal threat of bodily harm. That’s what Dante calls character-fucking-growth.

With everything falling into place in his life, he swears to protect this weird family and keep them together or die trying. He has a nephew, friends to call upon and a brother who’s not dead.

Then there’s Lady…

She’s jovially responding to whatever Trish must have said because the blonde is moving her head back and looks to be laughing now. She’s at such a good place right now, far from the days of Temen-ni-gru and recklessness. Well she’s still reckless but so is he...

Okay, maybe they’re reckless with the lives they lead but that’s the perk of the job not something detrimental to their health, so he thinks… But that’s beside the point. The point is that there’s Lady and he wants something more to make this family picture in his mind more…

More…

More tangible…

“Dante?”

That’s not Vergil speaking to him… He snaps out of his thoughts to see that asshat inside Devil May Cry and talking to Trish while his dear brother was left outside in the cold. He’s out in the cold alone, or not alone because there’s Lady right there in front of him.

Oh.

“Heeeey Lady…” He totally did not lamely greet her like he hope he wouldn’t. She offers him a smile, and he’s still being lame because he’s certain his own is coming off crooked and awkward. In no time, he takes her into an embrace, making up for his lack of charm and she returns his hug by wrapping her own around his shoulders. It feels so good to feel her this close that he lifts her from the ground to pull her closer. She can’t walk away when she can’t touch the ground. Heh heh.

They might as well be like this for eternity, he wants them to. Stay like this and probably die like this too as long it’s something she wants as well. His eternity ends though when she looks up and asks to be put down. He’s reluctant at her request, but the look in her eyes has every wisecrack he could think of die on his lips. He obliges by letting her feet drop to the ground, still holding her but she’s moving out of his grasp and it feels so empty to have her move away like that.

“Lady I-

She stops him by getting on one knee and presents to him a familiar ring he’s kept hidden from her before his venture to hell.

“Son of a bitch!” He swears, he can’t believe she’s beaten him to the punch. He’s not even upset that his careful planning is ruined by her taking the initiative because now his family picture is finally complete.

[doomedandstoned]

Closer To The End (part II)

~By Billy Goate~

Art by Ruso Tsig

Everyone has bouts of sadness, loneliness, heartache. For better or worse, it's a part of the human condition. There was some discussion after my last article about whether depression is something we can choose to walk into or away from -- like a bad attitude -- or whether in some people it may be more deeply ingrained in the psychological makeup, whether by nature or nurture. I thought it would be helpful to give you a window into my own background so you can understand when depression first made itself manifest and the different strategies taken to deal with it over the years.

Banished from this world, and from its toil I can only watch, grieve and pity Stare at stupid likes, wonder at people's smiles

I get more and more stress Nothing anyone can offer, more or less Done grieving, closer to the end

DON'T KNOW WHY

I vaguely recall spells of melancholy in childhood. The return from summer camp to a boring home with mom vacuuming and dad at work had me feeling quite empty and blue. It was a strange, bewildering state of mind to be in. Mom told me to snap out of it or else. There were a few moments that shattered my reality as a child. Realizing, for instance, that mom and dad were having marital problems. Hearing my pastor of a father say a swear word. Often, I would be startled awake in the dead of night to my mom shrieking at my dad, throwing dishes, insisting that he was against her. My dad was a patient man and knew that all was not right in her world. These things jolted me into new layers of reality, each accompanied by periods of moodiness and anxiety.

By the time I was in the 4th grade, I started having trouble in school. I was placed in one of those "talented and gifted" programs, though I never really understood why. I knew I couldn't see what my teachers were writing on the chalkboard. Panicked, I would ask students nearby what the hell the teacher was writing, only to be scolded for distracting the class. One particular teacher was downright mean to me, until she found out that I was having vision problems and needed glasses. Once she realized I was also the son of a preacher man, she tripped all over herself to be kind. Maybe she felt guilty?

Something else odd happened around this time. I came home with division homework one day and just decided not to do it. I don't remember if it was because my parents were too busy to help or I was just too stubborn to ask. There was no rational reason for it. The next day, I was shamed in front of the entire class by an Admiral Ackbar looking mother fucker named Mr. Davis. "Billy Joe, why didn't you do your homework?" he demanded. "Why?" His hand lifted my chin, forcing me to stare up into his beady little eyes peering menacingly behind his spectacles. Mr. Davis' rosy complexion turned beat red when I answered: "I...don't know."

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who I am

I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know anything I don't know who to be

SATANIC PANIC

My parents were tethered to a particularly pernicious strain of fundamentalist Christianity that got caught up in the "Satanic Panic" of the 1980s. That meant no D&D for me! Urban legends were shared in Sunday school and from the pulpit about young people who had necked because their character "died" in this forbidden game. It was the most sinister proxy for evil that I could envision at that time.

The Satanic Panic put everything else under the microscope: toys, comic books, and popular music were all suspect. A copy of Phil Phillip's 1986 "expose" Turmoil In The Toybox lay on the coffee table, pages well-worn and highlighted. He-Man, G.I. Joe, even Star Wars were viewed as tools of the Devil to recruit a desensitized generation of youth into his heathen horde. I'd wake up from one day to learn about something else I couldn't have, play, watch, or do. Video games would not be far behind.

One day, my mother caught me rocking out to the Scorpions in my room and immediately confiscated my radio, outlawing metal from the house (and basically anything with a rock 'n' roll beat). MTV lasted only long enough for me to be exposed to Metallica's visceral "One" and Guns 'n' Roses' "Welcome To The Jungle." While the classic days of rock's infancy were viewed as a time of innocence (I don't think my folks really got what "Blueberry Hill" by Fats Domino was about), anything stemming from the late '60s counterculture forward was viewed as dangerously corrupting.

Various factions within the church began playing games of connect-the-dots with the songs of Jefferson Airplane, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath, tying them into a subservice plot by Luciferian cults and the shadowy elite (at that time Communists -- a favorite boogeyman of the era) who were trying to undermine undermining of God, family, and country by subverting its youth. All of popular culture was roped in with the conspiracy, too. Though the house was cleansed of its ungodly influence, the worst was still ahead.

Soon, my mother started cutting me off from neighborhood friends and finally pulled me out of public school altogether around middle of 5th grade. She had learned about this radical new response to America's failing education system through friends from another church who had just taken their own children out of school. Emboldened, she began homeschooling us in West Texas in the mid '80s, during a time when it wasn't a clearly legal practice. Every time the doorbell rang my siblings and I would run and hide, thinking the truant officer had come to take us away to foster care. I didn't understand at the time what I do now: my mother was mentally ill. Furthermore, she was in over her head. This became apparent when she tried to take on the role of teacher.

While I am extraordinarily grateful for the year or two of solid education she gave me (particularly in the writing and public speaking departments, two areas she and my father were naturally gifted in and which have been the buttress of my career), it wasn't long until she became frustrated with the Abeka and Bob Jones University curriculum we were using. One day, when I was struggling with algebra, she declared that we wouldn't have to learn it. "After all, who actually uses algebra in daily life?" she wondered. We were now self-directed learners, a radical new idea that was controversial even in the homeschooling movement ("un-schooling," they called it). Of course, I wasn't allowed to just sit around and watch TV. Consequently, I shifted my focus to the things that were more interesting to me: music, art, history. Math and science? Not so much.

STOCKHOLM SYNDROME

For years, I remained blithely unaware of what was happening in the world around me in the world of music. I lived in Arlington during the rise of Pantera, Topeka during one of Guns ‘n’ Roses most controversial shows, and Oregon during the height of the grunge era and the sunsetting of the Grateful Dead -- all of it veiled from notice. My life was devoted to church and, if anything, I tried to convince fellow Christians to separate themselves from the tainted allure of the fool’s gold of popular music, television, and video games. For a while, I was a true believer. Call it Stockholm Syndrome, if you like. Infractions of the moral code -- and the slightest temperament of rebellion -- were met with a freshly cut switch, which would leave stinging welts up and down my calves, tights, arms, and back. Thus my conscience was conditioned.

I remember happening upon the pornographic scene in George Orwell’s 1984 and afterwards feeling that the only right and proper thing to assuage my guilt was to burn the everlasting shit out of this smut. Even then I loved the novel, but I couldn't reconcile my faith with this section of it, so I purged it in the flame of backyard trash barrels. At my most fervent, I also lit the match to a stack of MAD Magazines and comic books. As harmless as they might have seemed to the average Joe blinded to the wiles of the Devil, these were gateways into realms of the flesh. “Walk in the spirit, not the flesh,” I recited to myself as fire brandished the yellowed pages of print, slowly turning them black until they were embers caught up by the wind and scattered into the sky. True story: I once threw away a perfectly good copy of Downward Spiral after one hearing the demonic screams of "Becoming" (not to mention the brash blasphemy of "Heretic").

The me that you know doesn't come around much That part of me isn't here anymore

The me that you know is now made up of wires And even when I'm right with you I'm so far away

This kind of extreme separation from the world really fucked me up socially. For years, I couldn't hold on a conversation with another person my age. What would we talk about? I was clueless about anything happening in the world of sports, music, television, or the culture at large. Even though conversation is no longer a problem for me, I still feel odd about friendships. I have an irrational fear that they're going to be taken away from me at any moment, so I keep everyone at a comfortable arm's length. At times, intimacy feels painfully awkward.

Maybe this is why I'm so notorious for leaving shows immediately following the last song. I’ll give my smiles, shake hands, and say goodbye, but avoid sticking around long enough to really get to know people. I’ve been invited to crash on couches to avoid the long drive home, but I always politely decline. Certainly, I don’t want to come across as rude, I just feel like an outsider to the world -- someone who just doesn’t fit in, doesn't belong. Not now, not ever.

TEENAGE ANGST HAS PAID OFF WELL

As I reached my adolescent years, I began going through prolonged spells of melancholy. The prospect of sharing this with others was extraordinarily embarrassing, so I kept it all bottled up inside. Mostly, I tried walking it out on long excursions through the open field next to our house. I worked through a lot of issues during that time and credit those walks with helping me to keep my sanity. As a matter of fact, I recommend daily constitutionals to everyone as a general principle of good mental health. It would be a mistake not to mention that my belief in an omnipresent God at this time played a medicinal role in helping me to cope with my depression, though my views on religion would one day reverse course.

By 18, symptoms of major depression surfaced like a noxious weed and even God could not get me through it. I prayed, too. God, how I prayed, sometimes hours on end. That year, I fell into a downcast mood that refused to dissipate and remained there for months -- four of them straight. I sought refuge in the music of Tchaikovsky, working my way from the fateful Symphony No. 4 to his Symphony No. 6, the Pathétique. The sounds I was hearing tapped into a new emotional alphabet, impossible to transcribe into any tongue. It was remarkable: somehow the music knew precisely what I was feeling. I finally had a soundtrack to my depression.

One day, a buddy and I joined the military on a whim, though he'd later get disqualified for asthma. I felt the Army would provide a much needed "Be All You Can Be" boost to my confidence and a crash course in normie life. I shipped down range to my duty station, Fort Benning, Georgia, for infantry training. My new home would be with Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion, 58th Infantry Regiment -- the infamous "House of Pain." In the space of 14 weeks, I was exposed to every aspect of humanity imaginable. From the "shark attack" welcome of the drill sergeants on Sand Hill to the rude middle of the night awakenings for physical training, I was in shock most of the time. Slowly, though, I eased into this strange new world and got my bearings.

Almost a full month into this prison world, we were allowed to visit one of the on-base shopping exchanges. I immediately looked for a CD player and began checking out the music section, trying to see if there were names I recognized. "Guns 'n' Roses? Sure they're cool," shrugged my buddy Bradley, a floppy-eared Gomer Pyle looking dude. "But you really need to check out some Soundgarden, dude." I did, picking up their latest, Down On The Upside, and it was like salve to my soul. The music spoke of being trapped ("...and I don't like what you've got me hanging from") and being eternally at odds with the world ("Born without a friend and bound to die alone"). There was even a song about "Boot Camp," the short album closer. The nihilistic despair was strangely comforting.

I must obey the rules I must be tame and cool No staring at the clouds I must stay on the ground In clusters of the mice The smoke is in our eyes Like babies on display Like Angels in a cage I must be pure and true I must contain my views There must be something else There must be something good far away Far away from here And I'll be there for good For good

The song did not resolve happily, and I feared my life wouldn't either. After a serious injury left me permanently wounded, I began to feel my life wasn't being guided by the Hand of God of all, but the random throes of Fate. Maybe they were the same thing. I resigned myself to the misery of a long recovery, during which time I had to learn to walk again. It's a three beer kind of story, maybe I'll share it sometime. Probably not. Returning to civilian life proved to be even more of an adjustment than the military had been, and my shadows of depression lingered with me even as I tried to remain one step ahead of them.

MELANCHOLIA

I have long held a theory that human beings are not built for the world that we have constructed for ourselves. Whether we're talking Seattle traffic or the constant buzz of social media, the frantic pace of our rapidly evolving technocracy has left us a worried, frazzled mess. The studies are conclusive: almost one in five have experienced depression and one in four struggle with anxiety, with PTSD being a household acronym.

A counselor once asked if I enjoyed being depressed. I found it a bit of a repulsive question. I can tell you that there is nothing glamorous about depression. There's no reason to idolize the angst of those sad Kurt Cobain eyes. Everyone has experienced feelings of being bummed out, and for most folks it is a transitory feeling. It comes when one of life's storms arises and leaves when the situation resolves itself. There's a whole section of us, however, for whom the dark clouds never leaves. It just hovers around our heads, like the oppressive, low-hanging specter of an Oregon winter.

Depression isn't always about feeling sad, either. Often it manifests in a general malaise -- you can't bring yourself to care about the things you used to. Other times, it works in tandem with anxiety, seizing your heart at the thought of all the day holds in store, then punishing you with the feeling of dread. We may feel sad, anxious, or fearful and not be able to give a rational explanation for it. In those moments, I cannot imagine a more miserable place to be. With that said, I hasten to add that my description of depression may not align with your own, as it is an intensely personal experience.

Release your head from the world Keep yourself underground No one understands your mind

Humans programmed like robots Making sure you don't belong No one understands your mind

I suspected I had depression in the clinical sense, when I realized that though I wanted to feel better, all I could do was subsist in the misery. Those of you who've been able to talk yourself out of such states will scoff. My mother, who suffers from a host of afflictions that have never been properly diagnosed, was notorious for telling us kids to "snap out of it." I do understand that kind of no-nonsense perspective. Her father and mother were staunchly independent homesteaders of the WWII generation who braved the untamed wilderness of Alaska and the exotic dangers of Australia. The '60s and '70s generation grew up fearful of losing such independence to mental institutions that locked up people, merely because they acted in ways society didn’t understand. The stigma of psychiatric care was every bit as real as the stigma of mental illness. Thus, her approach was quite practical: take Saint John's Wort, get on a good diet of vegetables and fruits, drink plenty of water, get fresh air and exercise. If that doesn’t work, there’s always Jesus.

Despite plenty of prayer and a multitude of home remedies, depression continued plaguing my mind. People frustrated by what they viewed as an easy fix would imply that depressed folk like me just wanted to be depressed, maybe because it got them attention or they were just spoiled rotten. Soon I stopped sharing altogether. As one friend of mine, a real no-nonsense type, told me: “No one cares. You have to get on with your life.” “How do you manage that?” I asked. “What's your secret?” “You just have to shrug it off,” she concluded. I envied the cold, pragmatic stoicism and wished that I could just shrug my shoulders and let everything slide off. At one point, my depression was so acute, I looked into electroconvulsive therapy, memory loss be damned. During my consultation with a specialist, I learned the procedure had advanced since Jack Nicholson’s unfortunate end as a mental patient in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. Ultimately, I decided against it.

SEARCH FOR ANSWERS

As with most human situations, our problems stem from a complex mixture of nature and nurture. I posed a question to my psychology professor one day: "Does depression cause us to think depressing thoughts or do depressing thoughts cause us to be in a state of depression?" His answer surprised and relieved me. "Both," he said.

In Psychology 202, we were in the midst of a chapter on depression and other mental disorders. Having recently experienced the loss of my grandmother, I was feeling especially hopeless and decided to ask my prof another burning question at the end of class. "If a person were to see a therapist, does it go on his record?" In my mind, counseling was for the weak and hideously broken. "Not at all," he responded with a smile. "Even psychologists seek help from other psychologists for their depression and anxiety." Then he really blew my mind: "I have a therapist myself. See her once a month. Sort through a lot of life decisions that way." He also assured me that there was no master file of such visits. While a therapist might keep her own notes, it's certainly not something shared with employers and as a rule is kept strictly confidential, as are all medical records.

My first visit to a counselor was nothing like I'd imagined. I wasn't given pills, invited to lay on a couch and look at ink blots, or even asked questions about my parents. Instead, the counselor initiated an open-ended conversation that encouraged me to articulate the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings I'd been bottling up inside. It was the first time I'd ever talked about my experiences in the military or about the emotional upheaval of my childhood. I felt liberated after just a few weeks of these sessions. For a time, I felt very much on top of my problems. Maybe this counseling thing wasn't so bad after all. I even began to recommend it to my friends and stood up for psychologists when mom would bash the profession in one of her trademark rants.

Promises abound You rarely find it to begin Maybe I'm afraid To let you all the way in

I excuse myself I'm used to my little cell I amuse myself In my very own private hell

I noticed a pattern to my depression: it seemed to be triggered by situations in which I felt helplessly incapable of controlling my environment, decisions, and destiny. You know, other people taking advantage of me, a nightmare roommate, an overbearing boss, unrequited love -- that sort of thing. It was like a switch flipped and all of the sudden the feelings flooded in and surrounded me for days, even weeks.

Feelings of loneliness and disquiet were often compounded by negative thinking about the situation. "What's wrong with me that I can't find someone to be with? Am I that unattractive or uninteresting?" The negative self-talk wasn't helping my situation. In some ways, it even turned out to be a self-fulfilling prophecy. I'd walk around with a scowl on my face, prompting friends and family to constantly ask, "What's wrong? Is everything ok?" That's why I realized it may take more muscles to frown than to smile, but that undersmile sure is a lot more comfortable. No wonder people kept themselves at bay.

I actually started practicing my smile in the rearview mirror on the way to school every day, just so I remembered what that felt like. Fake it 'til you make it, the saying goes. Even if I was feeling like a miserable wretch inside, I certainly didn't want to betray those feelings to the world outside. So I got good at being a fake. When people asked, "How's it going?" I'd say, "Fine, just fine, thanks. And you?" (One of my counselors would later call me on that every session: "How are things really?").

When I got married, depression reached peak levels, only now that oppressive, low-hanging cold front wouldn't burn off with the sunshine. The mood never lifted. It was with me 24-7. It wasn't unusual for me to be severely depressed during the normally halcyon days of summer. I knew something had to be done, so I confronted another long-time stigma of mine: medication.

To be continued...

This whole house of cards crumbling slow If I disappear would you even know? The trap is time and no one gets off of this ride alive

So far under Too much pain to tell And now I'm ripped asunder So far under

[kitt-andrea]

The People and the Planet

The places we walk write poetry, but the people we are with create the places we walk. Be careful where you tread.

I cannot see: the route around the corner or the small woods alongside the back path or that place itself without thinking- of a morning we waited with baited breath, or the evenings in ease as we sang and drank and hoped our childish joy at adult delights could be heard from outside. Times we created a space that could not be recreated.

The University may tell us The Slate is a conference centre, but we were there when it was Our Occupation, its halls echoing with the sound(s) of resistance. They may turn up the speakers to drown us out, but nothing can contain the voices of youth- full of love. We accepted this experience to be unique and stand alone, so more poems have come from these weeks than we read to each other inside. And we made art, on cardboard and in photographs, and tunes strummed quietly on a guitar.

Although we carry these beauteous creations around now, they belong to Our Occupation, just as much as we belong to it- and it belongs to us. This space is sacred- even now (!) it has been defiled by the business people who bring strife and inequality into its precious rooms. These days it longs for our return; for its fulfilment. When we trampled in mud and hope, it rewarded us: its/our safety and ecstasy made us almost divine, no matter how broken so many of us are. Proof marginalised people can exist in this world happily, given a place and space and autonomy. Some would interpret our relationship to the building as one that deified the occupants, but this is unfair. Rather, we simply were allowed to exercise our own free-will. The oppressed taking control of some part of their lives is so foreign → alien → undesirable to some that they can only see us as malevolent dictators (the powerful have blamed those with less power for the existence of power).

In the winter’s cold nights, light filtered in from the high windows there weren’t blinds for, so ever-bright, the clarity of camaraderie and wisdom illuminated us. We learnt something new about life, the world, each other- every moment. Enlightened to our potential, upon entry we made the toilets gender-neutral and drew over the binaries they had once represented. The speakers extended to the bathrooms, so we played the music of fun throughout the whole area; my fondest memories are of brushing teeth with friends after a long day and finding joy in the odd intimacy of it all.

And there was an intimacy. We all slept in the same room- we said for warmth. But truly, it was to become close and foster trust among each other, until at the end of the first dramatic week we laughed and sang Les Misérables. Management had heard the people sing, and laugh and cry and become one voice over the wind. Still we were in awe at an industrial dishwasher and walk-in fridge, so we filled the kitchen with humus and collective responsibility to keep Our Occupation tidy. Those heavy desks told us “anything is possible”; we proved that all fourteen days we lived there, and I hope management see that and think- ‘a rag-tag group of young people with a cause held an entire building for a fortnight’- we cost a few hundred thousand pounds in damages, but a lot more in propriety. Because for the first time on Warwick University grounds, the collective/we belonged. Belonged in a way none of us did in our first-year accommodation or in common rooms. We had made that environment and treasured it. So occupying became an art we had mastered. Respect and resistance and recognition. Our collective name is engraved deeper than even the walls now, and so The Slate belongs forever to Warwick For Free Education.

But what of Senate House? Some stories are not good ones. Brutality. Screams. Unjust. I watched. The video of that infamous day for the first time and could not hold back tears, still brought to desperation knowing how friends suffered. Like some fucked up Holy Day, I remember December 3rd 2014, when three were arrested, but a day later the protest was a thousand strong and their occupation opened the eyes of so many who stayed after that, and still resides in those whose hearts are open to resistance. And they try to tell me that religion is dying. So I’ll have faith in a day I didn’t see and try to hold dear those who suffered so that JUSTICE/PEACE might take root.

So, I will well up every time I must go into that place, and think of all the horrible things there and try to figure out where [redacted] was standing when they got dragged away and sprayed with CS gas, and where [redacted] ran to try to stop an arrest, and how [redacted] was forced outside with lights glaring and cried- the screams haunting the lobby.

It is said, to take your pain and make it into something beautiful is an art. I say taking your pain and making it is beautiful all on its own. The ability to feel what you feel, acknowledge it and to create something from it, to twist it into something you can hold, to mould yourself around the shape of pain and hold on is beautiful. Surviving pain is an art, and you hold the paint brush. Although I can never experience what they did, I shall write my pain in this knowledge and hope I have done enough. Because chest tight fists clenched heart palpitation feet ready to run and mind whirring is not how I should feel giving in my key to reception. This is not the reaction of someone not deeply disturbed, and generational trauma can be condensed into university overturn. We are learning to overcome this- somehow.

I must remind myself some moments we move the landscape are not ones of fear and media buzzing, but of everyday life. Although the flat I lived in last year feels desolate and distant to me, the path towards it is enlightened with the memories of walks with friends before we would go separate ways. [The first time we hung out, I did not know if it was a date, or how to understand their lack of words, but] Or another day, with a new companion we wrote the words in our heart onto those styrofoam letters across the university, and once again Warwick For Free Education was written, inside a heart. The letters only stayed the rest of the week but we still collaborated to cover our campus with giggles and protest and belonging: that week navigating campus was the easiest it had ever been.

When two different groups convened on some bench, a gust of nature/poetry told me to commit this moment to memory for when I feel sad- and so this bench sings of contentment. I remember how the sun came out for the first time in months, so we sat for hours without getting cold and drank bad beer. So many hours spent preparing what I had to say, but it felt so worth it. Or in their small room, like mine, filled with food and laughter and the casual intimacy that comes with close spaces and closer friends. Going to a talk and advertising a boycott and- for once- everyone laughed. Mocking our mental illness(es) but feeling alive and free despite it all. I have remembered. This day and the places we made.

We have made this wasteland, once barren of passion and heart, bearable- not quite home, but a place we could be. So we were, we are, and the poetry of protest chants shall continue to grow from the crude soil, rough and through weed killer, beautiful in resistance. On a campus so artificial, where nothing is natural and the conditions so harsh, we shall continue to grow through the cracks, accomplishing what few others today can do: we find our roots firm, because they are entwined together, in solidarity forever. Maybe one day our hard work will bloom into the song of a generation. Resonating off the halls of Our Occupation.

November 2017

[secretgamergirl]

Let’s Talk About The Crying Game

This morning I woke up to an ongoing conversation in my Twitter mentions where a couple people were debating whether The Crying Game has merits that outweigh the lasting harm it’s inflicted on trans women in general. I jumped in to explain the exact form that harm took, educating and rightly horrifying the person who had previously been playing devil’s advocate for the film. I love clearing up disconnects like that and leaving people more aware of serious issues, and I figure this one is plenty common, so let’s get into it here too.

As a quick aside before getting into my main point, let’s all consider our understanding of albinism thanks to pop culture. Generally speaking, I think we’re all aware of the bizarre problem of Hollywood consistently making everyone with albinism in film some kind of over the top villain with supernatural powers. And we generally congratulate ourselves for our ability to separate fact and fiction, knowing that here in the real world, they’re just regular ordinary people with white hair and skin, and red eyes who you don’t have to worry about killing you with their minds. Except the red eyes thing isn’t actually true either. Not all forms of albinism effect the eyes at all, but even in the ones that do, people have the normal range of eye colors, it’s just that photos of them are more likely to get the “red eye” effect from camera flashes, and we all got so used to that it became our idea of “normal” and fictional depictions started depicting it consistently.

We all pick up a lot of “common knowledge” from pop culture sources that’s complete BS without realizing it, no matter how much we’re convinced that we can tell the difference. Carrots are bad for rabbits, but we all think of them as The Thing they eat, because we collectively lost the context for a movie reference in an old cartoon. And our brains are absolutely terrible at drawing a line between the facts we actually researched and the “facts” we just picked up from pop culture or local idiots.

All that in mind, The Crying Game, more so than any other source I can think of, is the movie that popularized the myth that “trans women are out there, dating guys, and not disclosing that they have a penis until they’re about to have sex.” That’s what the movie’s known for, and that’s what’s known about the movie. I’ve never even seen it, personally, but I still somehow managed to pick up on the meaning of the phrase “a Crying Game type situation” and it’s still a phrase people are using 24 years later. That’s a pretty big impact. Also, you’ll note I say it popularized a myth, because this isn’t actually a thing that really happens.

Think about it just anecdotally for a moment. I’m willing to bet that you, personally, have never been undressing with a woman in preparation for sex, and suddenly hit with the realization that she has a penis. Further, I’m willing to bet that you don’t even know anyone who has. At best, you might be familiar with a real world version of this story having been told by someone standing trial for murdering a trans woman, because that’s actually a valid legal defense.

A funny thing though about the cases you can actually point to is that invariably, they involve taking the murderer at his word, because the victim is dead, and can’t testify to the contrary. You would think, if this were something that actually happened, most examples wouldn’t end in murder. The man, enraged at having been tricked, would stop at a mere beating, or a long period of enraged screaming, or would try to murder the woman but fail. Those stories though, you never hear. Nor do you hear the stories you’d have to figure should be out there where a woman goes to bed with a man, and only finds out he’s trans when he suddenly reveals his lack of a penis in the bedroom.

Meanwhile, here’s some things which very much do happen. A man murders a trans woman and claims he was “tricked,” then witnesses show up to testify that they had dated for quite some time, and he was absolutely aware from day one that she was trans. Or it comes out that he had specifically sought her out on a dating site specifically set up for men to find trans women, or made a specific request from an escort service.

And if you talk to trans women who date men, you’ll find it’s quite common for them to have stories about brushes with death at the hands of men who were very much aware they were trans the moment they first met, if not earlier. Plenty more have stories of being assaulted and groped, with a particular focus around the crotch.  A good number of trans women who don’t date men have stories of this nature as well.

Trans women are very much on the supply side when it comes to us dating men. Just do a quick search, anywhere really, for the T-slur, “T-girls,” “dick girls,” “futanari,” “futa,” or “TG” and look what comes up. Google, tumblr, any sort of art site and look at how much trans woman porn comes up. Odds are you can find even more with “forced fem” “trap” or “sissy,” if you want the really specialized stuff. We are as rare as redheads, and just as disproportionately represented in men’s fantasies. Any trans women who are interested in dating men have an overabundance of suitors constantly asking them out specifically for that reason, and the idea of someone needing to trick a man into thinking she was cis is absurd just on that level, not even getting into the obvious problem that the ruse must break when the clothes come off, and your date would then be allowed to murder you.

Meanwhile, the guys consuming all that porn mentioned earlier, fairly frequently, get bold enough to check out a real life trans woman. So they’ll look for a dating service, trans friendly bar, whatever, and look to hook up with one of us. Then, sometimes, partway through a date or whatever, their fragile masculinity will send them into a panic that they’re doing something gay, they won’t want to be outed, and they get violent, sometimes murderously so, and decide their cover story for the whole thing will be to claim they ended up in “a Crying Game type situation.” It makes sense to them, because hey, we’ve all seen the movie, that’s a thing that happens. And anyone they’re forced to give that explanation to will recognize it as a common occurrence, because they, too, have seen that movie, and know it to be a common thing.

So, women like me, even those of us who wouldn’t be caught dead in bed with a man, get demonized as part of these fragile dudes’ cover stories, plus we have to deal with the reality that any given sleazeball can grab one of us off the street, murder us, maybe raping us first, and probably get away with it, just by lying and saying it was “a Crying Game type situation.” And that’s a valid legal defense.

So fuck that movie. It’s exploitative trash, and more importantly, it has a body count.

[lulusoblue]

Headcanon: Casey Jones being on the Autistic Spectrum

I see plenty of neurodivergent headcanons for the turtles galore, but never for any of the human characters. In all honestly, saying one of the turtles is on the autistic spectrum is iffy and uncomfortable to me at least because it’s sorta implying that said autism would be the result of a mutation caused by an external element. Because it’s not like we’ve had shit over some dickhead portraying autism as a side effect of vaccination rather than it being a mental disorder that’s as embedded in our genes and beings as internal organs and a massive part of who we are as people. also fuck you wakefield

And so thinking about it more, it just clicked that Casey could fit an autistic headcanon. So here’s a list of things about his character I believe fit such a headcanon based on personal experience and from other autistic people I’ve known:

• Apparently the writers put him at around 17 years old, a year older than April, with some intent that he might have been held back during his education (probably to tie into him seeking April for tutoring). I don’t have any knowledge of American education beyond secondhand information I may see on the internet or pop up on my dash, so my only knowledge of being autistic in a learning system built around neurotypical students is from brief personal experience. Neurotypical education sucks when there isn’t enough awareness of learning difficulties or the teachers don’t have enough training to know how to handle it. Casey might have trouble with his education because he may have difficulties trying to pay attention and absorb information without the tools or support to help him focus. This can get you labelled as just bad behaviour or being dumb/stupid. I sure as hell wasn’t able to follow lessons in school until I finally had someone who listened to why I didn’t like lessons and found them hard to understand. We don’t have any clue as to when Casey was held back if this concept still applies in canon, but being held back might not mean he just didn’t care to study or doesn’t have the smarts to pass. Granted it gets harder to care about learning when you have trouble understanding and your educators don’t bother to help you so much as call you lazy. Which brings me to my next point.

• Casey’s interests and knowledge in gadgets, vehicles, and metalwork. The boy knows his stuff when it comes to Mad Max-looking makeshift weaponry and devices, which is clear from his decked out bike and the crude taser that he’s managed to strap to his arm without frying himself. He worked with Donnie to rig up a supercar as a hobby and helped pimp up the Party Wagon. And he’s still flunking trig. (so’s April but shhhhh that was just a Season 1 thing) Casey seems like a very visual learner in this case: he picks up on things through observation and is self-taught on what interests him. For all we know he figured out cars while being cooped up on a farm with nothing better to do while one of his terrapin friends was in a coma. I’ve ended up doing that with some programs I use or with life stuff in general. Manuals are boring and slow and easy to lose focus on. Maybe look up a couple of video tutorials for something but most of building skills and interests is self-teaching and trial-and-error. (my experience of video editing and art programs is “what’s this do and can i figure out what makes it tick without looking it up”, which is an approach to new interests I think also fits Casey). Likely not something specific or common in autistic people, but figuring things out in such a way has been a thing that popped up for me and a couple of old friends. What I’m saying is Casey made that new mask after half-watching a couple of cosplay tutorials and winging it with some scrap.

• Casey wears those gloves and that headband all the damn time. Even when he’s eating pizza, he’s eating it wearing gloves that have probably been worn working on his bike, wielding a hockey stick/baseball bat that’s likely bashed sweaty heads in rain two weeks ago without being washed, and just the day-to-day things that would get those gloves sweaty or grimey or icky. He wears that headband at all times, even when he’s wearing a mask thank would probably fit better if he took that band of material off of his head. What do his headband and gloves also have in common? They’re articles of clothing that usually have elastic to stay in place. Sure canonically they’re just there to fit his grungy look (get to that hoodie in a second), but digging myself deeper into this headcanon i got to thinking they might also serve sensory/stimming purposes. If there’s something that I think is one thing autistic people have in common or a feeling they share, it’s fiddling/fidgeting and certain sensory things to some level: e.g. I usually wear loose tops because i like fiddling with the hems and corners of my clothing. Some people wear tight or loose clothing based on how they process the sensation of skin against different type of clothing. Casey never taking off his damn gloves or headband could be seen as him liking the sensation of the elastic in them around his wrists and forehead. He probably pings the elastic as well because that’s fun too when you’re bored and need to fiddle.

I refuse to believe that he has never washed that hoodie. I mean yeah the turtles have smelt worse living in a sewer but Casey is a Human who has spent most of his life around Humans and his Human father would probably have burnt his clothes by now if Casey never washed the stink out of them. That and Casey is a hockey player, and I imagine stinking clothes is an annoyance that comes from most sports. Those paint stains on his hoodie I think he’s leaving there on purpose, like he’ll wash his clothes but no dad his clothes get washed separate because he can’t wash his clothes with your clothes because you use stuff that lifts stains and that’ll get rid of the paint splats that he likes on his clothes and why does he want paint splats because he does and they look nice and he probably won’t get the same splatter pattern again if he tried and shush dad this hoodie stays the same because it has to because shut up. We don’t really see Casey tagging anything regularly so unless it’s because they don’t change the texture on animated models because what’s the point it’s not a cgi blockbuster we’re making here Casey probably keeps his paint splattered hoodie like that because it looks nice and it’ll stay nice dad. It’s a Thing.

• Casey constantly refers to a love of heavy metal music. Too much sound for an autistic person can end up in sensory overload and that fucking sucks. And in general just the world around you can suck and you wanna shut it out because ugh. You know what helps? Headphones and really loud music. What genre has really loud music? Yup.

Casey having a social battery. He just pops in and out of the show all the time because the writers dunno what do with him shrug so yeah. Autism likes to play up the variance of a person’s social needs and wants and limits. You want to be friends but you just can’t be asked to be with people right now. You get this surge of wanting to hang out with friends and be loud for a bit, and then you have this mood where you just want to not exist or just not do things. Basically like this:

“raph great to see you i love your face” “whatever weirdo”

[dude where are you] [home] [you’ve been at home for three days] [i’m waiting until i stop hating faces to talk in person again]

If anyone has any other things to add to this headcanon, please do share/add onto this post. Now if you’ll excuse me i’m gonna dig myself further into this headcanon.

EDIT: I forgot another point I wanted to put in and also @a-specforest added some cool addon tags so broski if you don’t mind imma put them here too

• #okay so one symptom of autism is speaking in ’pre learned phrases’ #and casey has a ton of catchphrases • #sometimes speaking in a tone that doesn’t match the conversation? #casey does that a lot too • #he seems to have a few hyperfixations #in season 2 he’s practicing hockey late by himself #and the working on cars that you mentioned

1) how else would he come up with Goongala of COURSE!!! That and pre-learned phrases are great to have when spontaneous speech is a bitch and you trip over words and stammer. not that i would know anything about that nooo We’ve already heard him muddle up words in the moment (I think he said jumbled up “racism” later in S4)

2) Tone control is something I’ve dealt with, too. Apparently I have resting bitch voice so I’ll say something and get asked if i’m in a bad mood or snapped at for “being rude”. Also knew other autistic people who would have ranges of tones in certain convos too, e.g. one always sounded happy and chipper and laughed a lot even when something wasn’t particularly funny, one person’s tone of voice went everywhere it was hard to tell what their feelings were even with the context of conversation. Casey’s attitude and tone in conversation, even serious ones, might be an indication of that, I agree.

3) Oh yeah, he definitely fits hyperfixation. There’s his hobbies, and also there’s how he sees his future. When he and April are in the park for their first study session, he’s got two clear ideas for what to do with his life; Hockey Star or Bounty Hunter. With him immediately trying to play hero when confronted with a walking talking tank of organs his bounty hunter fantasy may have something to do with it. He’s reckless and headstrong, but it also lends to his fixation on one of his dream careers; if fighting a monster that he’s confronted with something he sees as a step to bounty hunting, he’ll likely put up his dukes and get melted because ACID HANDS I have definitely known people who were determined on doing something because it was what they wanted. It might’ve come across as stubbornness or rigidness depending on what it (even something as simple as just doing something like a chore a certain way), but in context of ambitions and their future they were pumped as hell to take the steps they needed to take to do what they liked and what they wanted for themselves. They didn’t care about what people thought of them even if they didn’t pass as neurotypical and would get stares on the street. Not sure how they would react if say culinary career path involved fighting mutated food, but considering the show itself is an action-adventure cartoon with mutant turtles I think we can give Casey a pass on that lack of realism there. we begrudgingly give the writers passes all the time so why stop now

Aaaand the point i forgot to put in my original post:

• Casey’s less-than appropo reactions or attitudes in situations possibly links to difficulty reading people, being empathetic or understanding social cues/priorities. Reading and understanding facial expressions and body language can be a bitch if you’re autistic. There’s even a learning software program a couple of students from my school would use in one-to-one sessions that specifically addresses this for those who find it THAT hard to tell what another person is expressing. It’s especially troublesome because empathy can be a confusing thing too, because it can go from you not really having any empathy to you having so much that you think you’re hurting the feelings of a pair of shoes because you chose to wear something else that day which totally isn’t the extreme i experience at all hahaha help i’m mentally apologising to a boot Casey doesn’t appear to take things seriously in dangerous circumstances the majority of the time, nor does he appear considerate of others at other times. It’s a lot of confidence and certainty that things will turn out OK (with a heaping spoonful of “self preservation instinct what self preservation instinct”). It’s not always an appropriate attitude to make jokes and quips and tease and make jabs at people, but he HAS taken things seriously and shown worry/sadness at appropriate times. He’s really quiet and almost numb when the subject of his family’s fate comes up in Invasion, and he was surprisingly the only one to be most affected after watching someone get mOLECULARLY RIPPED APART. From experience, both personal and through observation, figuring out how to react and respond to things when you don’t really know how to is a pain in the ass and often distressing because you feel bad for not knowing. Sometimes you resort to humour to lighten things and try to ease tensions, sometimes you have an internal screaming match with yourself and panic and go through an archive of potential reactions because what the fuck would apply here, or sometimes you just shut down or just don’t react like it’s not really a big deal or even happening. Or you end up going through verbal barfing and dig yourself deeper into a hole of instant regret because you’re making yourself look like an ass when you don’t want to why is this so hARD. I think Casey would fall into the “address things with confidence and cockiness” kind of reaction pool, because it’s an attitude he’s comfortable with and how he better deals and processes things. It’s not to say he doesn’t have some empathy or disregard for other people’s feelings (hello Buried Secrets), it could be that it’s not comfortable territory for him even when he wants to be serious/emotionally supportive. did any of that come out right fffffffffU

• Casey’s small social circle and it possibly being by choice. His best friends are the girl who he met through tutoring in a subject she was failing before and four giant turtles who are trained in ninjutsu. He only mentions having one friend before, a friend with whom he had a falling out, and he didn’t seem to like Irma all that much (you can say it’s because “she’s a third wheel on dates” but even outside of that he didn’t seem to get along with her much). With things like hyperfixation and the like making a vast group of friends is tricky. Being autistic might mean the friends you choose to make have lots of interest in common with you rather than just being someone you get along with. Not to say being autistic means you are limited to a few friends. I’m no expert on autistic social lives, I can only draw from firsthand experience. I found trying to maintain a number of friendships difficult and often overwhelming so at some point in school I stopped trying to make friends, with the exception of a couple of people I liked and had common interests with. I chose to keep my social circle small because the thought of making lots of friends and keeping in touch with them all and remembering who likes who and what overwhelmed me and made me nervous as a child. Still kinda leaks into adulthood because I don't have many friends outside of the company I keep on tumblr. In this autistic headcanon, Casey’s very small social circle could be by choice. He doesn’t mention having any other friends besides one previously, fixates on April (and yes I am knocking the romantic aspect out the window for this) after approaching her for tutoring because he found her cool and likes hanging out with her (and probably saw kicking a mutant’s ass as common ground/bonding too), hung out with her even when a person he wasn’t keen on (Irma) was also there, and even when he’s introduced to the turtles and befriends them he still appears to be platonically closest to April arguably, depends on how the writers want to write him that week. Considering how the love triangle bullhockey has been given little to no reference as of late, his concern for April in Tokka vs the World and his annoyance at Leo’s teamup picks in Tale of Tiger Claw might be more because he can’t be with his favourite person. (and yes that can be a Thing too) He might also fixate on having April’s company because she isn’t much of a social butterfly herself outside of the friendly neighbourhood mutants living in the sewer. Compare how many times we see him hanging out with the turtles minus April versus when April is present.

[workingontravel]

“Why do you travel so much?”

(You can read a Swedish translation of this text here.) A couple of years ago, I realised that one of the people waiting for the same plane from Paris to Stockholm was a colleague, choreographer Dinis Machado. As we started talking about our lives, he told me of the hardships in a year of constant touring. There was something about the way he told it that is emblematic of a life that has been mine and still is for many of my friends. I began thinking about what it means for us to have this collective yet potentially lonely experience of intense travel for work. So the encounter with Dinis at an airport in Paris was somehow the starting point for this interview project. Because of this, he was the first person I wanted to interview. I asked him how he experiences his relationship to travelling; the history and future of that relationship. His answers gave me many stories. Here are a few of them.

Dinis Machado: My identity is based on processes of moving. With this I mean that my entire private life is adapted to migration as such, rather than to just touring for work. 

I moved from my hometown Porto, the second biggest city in Portugal, in 2005, when I was eighteen. My passage through Lisbon was very formative in how I make art, but I always felt like a tourist there. Moving to the capital from the second biggest city, I was viewed a bit like a wannabe. The social networks I started building in Lisbon were, of course, much more fragile than for someone who had lived there all their life. At the same time, this anonymity had an amazing side. I moved to Lisbon at around the same time I came out as a gay person. I don’t know if it was a tactic really – I moved there because of art, but discovering my sexuality while being away from everything that was me before meant something to my possibilities of experimentation. New relationships happened in synchronicity with a new identity. We are in a time when sexuality is changing a lot. There are these apps that everyone uses. People have a very non-monogamic life in that sense. But I don’t think they always claim it politically. They do it on the side, in the dark, in the back corridor. I think because I don’t have a family pattern holding me in place, I allow myself to claim it. And my art is also more and more about that. This said, I am very interested in alternative ways of thinking about relationships, not only as a result of all my travelling, but also from the very beginning of my life. From the moment you stop believing that a relationship is only one thing, you also start to see the multiplicity of social structures. You can see what a relationship actually contains, with or without sex, cinema, talking about personal problems… Different structures and different qualities of intimacy interest me. The economic crisis in Portugal escalated when I was living in Lisbon. Even my mother, who is a primary school teacher working for the government, had her salary reduced. The salaries no longer adapted to inflation, and new taxes were added, so people were actually receiving less money. While I was establishing myself as an artist, it was more and more difficult to live on it. There was very little state funding for the arts. Institutions that used to have it lost it, and went for the project grants. Starting artists like me could not enter anymore. I always got money from a private foundation, but never from the government. The first year I applied, I was number three on the list of people closest to getting it, and when I left Portugal in 2012, when the crisis peaked, I was thirty places down.

This was a consequence of the right-wing politics inspired by the debt repayment requests from the IMF. But the loans that caused Portugal’s debt were used in a way that didn’t give anything of what the richer countries in Europe have. Repaying them just made things worse. At times, unemployment was around 40% for people below the age of 35. People were losing their houses to the banks, and foreigners bought a lot of the real estate. The percentage of apartments turned into Airbnbs in Portugal is just insane. 

Nowadays, they consider the country to have recovered, because there are less unemployed people. But the jobs are stuff like baking, making beds or handing out keys for Airbnbs. There is low unemployment, but everyone has a 600€ job (which is the minimum wage in Portugal). All the big profits are leaving the country or going to the few who are already wealthy. Portugal’s situation is, in a way, approaching that of countries like Brazil, where the gap between rich and poor is widening.

For these reasons, it became more and more absurd for me to try to make a living from art. I was fed up, but I didn’t want to drop all my efforts and work in a café somewhere. So, I was moving more and more, within Portugal and sometimes abroad. No one really knew where I lived. I spent as little money as I could on accommodation, renting only when it was absolutely necessary for work. In the end, the only funding I could get in Portugal was a grant to work abroad. When I decided to leave Portugal, I had come to the conclusion that I shouldn’t start new relationships there. I suspended any attachment. Doing another art education was a shortcut to a context where I could continue to produce my work, while taking it easier for a while. I had been struggling so much. That is how I ended up in Sweden. But as a foreigner, you can’t get Swedish funding for studies. And the cost of living in Sweden is three times higher than in Portugal. Together with my mother, I managed to convince a bank to lend me 500€ per month for two years to study. I knew that it was practically impossible to live on that, but I just made a leap into the dark. This loan had a ticking clock built into it. Every month, I received less because they deducted the interest for the money I had already borrowed. So even though I started out with 500€/month, it was about 350€ towards the end of the two years. By that time, I was living on a boat with a nice community of students and artists. It was fucking cold in the winter, but in a way I loved it. But towards the second year, my situation got complicated, because my loan had shrunk a lot. I couldn’t get funding for my work in Sweden since I was a student. So I got jobs: as a bike messenger, as a nude model… But I still didn’t want to quit art or my studies to make a living. In the end, I asked to get the money from the loan faster. I took out the last 3000€ at once and bought a caravan. I parked it close to a public swimming pool in Stockholm where I had a gym membership. I lived there and used the showers at the swimming pool. Both the boat and the caravan were tough and lonely experiences in a way. But they were also extremely liberating. I allow myself to take risks now, because I know I can get by on very little. It will still be ok – or not ok, because it’s a very precarious way of living. But I resisted a certain minimum bourgeois life style by crossing these lines, and it made me conscious of how all of Europe is divided through them. Everyone in the EU supposedly has the same rights, but we know that this is’nt true. The southern countries do all the manual labour that the northern countries don’t want to do. Then, my life changed again. The Cullberg Ballet/Life Long Burning was offering this one-off grant for young choreographers and I got it. It allowed me to work, get new funding and do a production that was invited to the ImPulsTanz festival. That, in turn, led to a lot of touring. I’m still very much a touring artist. I tour to small venues, institutional festivals, places in South America… a bit outside the central European circuit. Maybe the fact that they don’t book me as much there has to do with that DIY aesthetics that they might lack some understanding for, because their material base is so different from mine. I do almost everything myself. My stage sets all fit in to a travelling bag, and they are small, foldable or inflatable. My friend says I will be a tent engineer when I stop being a dancer. Everything travels with me, and nothing is disposable. All this tent-ness of my work is practical for touring, but it’s also connected to the precariousness of my life. I very rarely stay in hotels. I tour with so little money. If a friend doesn’t host me, I usually book Airbnbs, despite what I have seen this business model doing to Portugal. Apart from my sets, I travel very lightly: my computer, one or two pairs of trousers and jumpers, seven t-shirts, seven pairs of socks, seven pairs of underwear. I “drag” normality in a way. As a performer, people have so many opinions about every step you take. I don’t feel I have the space to make statements. Even here in Stockholm, I use the same amount of clothes. I got used to it when touring. I own more extrovert and less masculine garments that I really like, but I use them mostly in performances, where it’s easier for me to embrace non-binary gender.

I had a different period in Sweden, for three years when I had a boyfriend and we were living together. Then we separated. When we split up, I lost so many parts of my life, not just the relationship but also my home and a lot of friends. Before entering the relationship, I had more of an alternative community around me that was very unwelcomed by my partner. At the time of the breakup, I was already distanced from some of the people who could have helped me. That year, I just travelled so much. Because I didn’t have an apartment, I just booked as much travel for work abroad as I could. At the same time, this was the first occasion in Sweden that I had a proper budget for a project. So I was attached to the country in that way, in a functional relationship with funding bodies. But I was physically exhausted from moving between countries, more than from touring. Touring is not a restructuring of life, but moving is. Touring became home. Travelling was a constant. I love trains. I love planes. I can travel for ten hours. It makes me feel safe. Phones are off, and there is this set time frame that I can use to focus on one thing at a time. Being on stage was a way for me to “turn off” during that period. Stages are one structure; you know how to operate there. In the midst of administration, travelling, arriving and setting up, that one hour of performing was actually peaceful. I think it’s because dancing is the only thing I have in my life that actually comes from a very early age. I started dancing professionally when I was six. It made me feel like I had a history. That is in contrast to always being surrounded by producers or others whom I had only met in the last three days. Or even friends in Stockholm – or in places where I toured – friends who had known me for less than three years. These people had no idea who I used to be, who I was in my early twenties. Almost the only thing that had been long-term in my life was that everything was short-term. All the things that were part of my personal life before the migration period were kind of erased. It was traumatic. At a certain point, there was only administration of all my travels, caravan problems, boat problems, money problems. All my narratives were about that. And then I made a piece about it. It’s called Cyborg Sunday.

The fact that I can work in English is what allowed me to survive in Sweden until now. My Portuguese is more or less gone. Nowadays, I think in English. When I speak English with someone here, we meet on common ground, since it’s foreign for both of us. When I try to get around with Swedish, the situation is very unequal. The other is speaking their native tongue, and I am speaking a language that I started learning “yesterday”. Maybe it’s about pride for me. I want to be able to express complex thoughts. I mean, I read philosophy. I’m not in a rush to speak baby language.

Until very recently, my life was an emergency of getting money to live. Because of that, I only speak coffee Swedish. I hear people saying it’s a game-changer to speak Swedish, but I think that’s a lie. Although I love how Sweden allows me to produce work, I doubt that I will ever be viewed as a Swedish person. It’s a very white context, super segregated. This is contradictory, since Sweden has a long history of hosting exiled communities and cultures. But there is a discomfort with the other. “Foreigner” comes before anything. Sometimes it can be like a tender otherness, but you will never pass.

A while ago, I started to use “we” when speaking about things going on in Sweden. “Because we here in Sweden do this and that…” People would get confused. I also applied for Swedish citizenship last September, to be able to vote and to make that symbolic gesture of belonging here. They told me I need five years in Sweden – I’ve been here for six – but I am only allowed to have travelled eight weeks abroad per year, because that’s what they consider a standard vacation. All absence from the country above those eight weeks is deducted from the amount of time I have lived in Sweden. So I’m not even close.

Now that my life is a bit calmer – I have an apartment, I manage to live ok on what I earn and so on – suddenly all these questions of who I am came back. For a while I was depressed. I was wondering where “I” am in all this administration of life. But I concluded that there could be no separation between work and self. Throughout my twenties, this is what became peculiar with my identity. I don’t care about traditional family values. My life just has another structure. My friendships are on and off and intense. I see friends in Chile or Brazil once a year, once every two years. We are like family, but we don’t talk so much when I’m not there. I hate digital communication, texting, and e-mails. We use the time when we are together. I arrive and it’s like it was yesterday. We just hang out 24/7. With my friends in Sweden it’s the same, in a way. I get in touch when I’m back from travelling, and I schedule seeing them. One thing that I do differently now is that I actually try to plan my work travel in a way that allows more space for these relationships. For example, I’m going to Brazil to perform for three days, but then I’m actually staying an extra week to be there with my friend and join her in her daily life and check out the art scene. I also have certain rules for myself now. I try not to travel more than two weeks per month. I prefer staying some weeks in one place, making several shows or teaching or something. I also prefer to engage local people when I need dramaturge or a stage assistant, rather than bringing a team with me. This is both for economic, social and political reasons; these cannot be separated.

You asked me what would happen if I couldn’t fly anymore. I try to imagine touring being organised so that you go from city to city by train on a consecutive route instead of flying all over. It’s not like me to say this, but I think that is very close to impossible today. I am already pushing the production structures so much to be able to just work. It’s extremely difficult to negotiate. You negotiate for years and when a date comes you just need to take it. Often, these are dates for festivals or specific empty slots in a programme and you just take it or leave it. There is rarely space to discuss this month or the other. I’m pretty concerned with environmental questions, but sometimes I feel people misplace the responsibility on the individual dancer travelling for work. It’s still far more environmentally friendly that a performer travels to present their work to a whole audience than the audience travelling to see the performance in a different place. To change the travelling patterns of contemporary dance would be possible, but not something artists can do alone, and I am not sure venues are so concerned that they would be open to restructuring the way they programme to make a difference. It seems easy to turn to a dancer and say, “Why do you travel so much?” But it’s extremely difficult to work around it within the established structures of production and touring.

[iamluzgar]

Verbal Abuse

So for some reasons I’ve seen people being misleaded about what is verbal abuse and what is constructive critisism.

Being blunt and/or cold by saying the "cold hard truth" is something that people have to do in order for us, sometimes, to get better at things. But, there is a different between that and being just mean (and verbally abusing if it happens daily). It's not that hard really. Just one is about putting down something/someone, and the other is reaching for what could be adapted/upgraded, so there is a reason behind it. If you say "your art is shitty" there is a huge difference with "I don't like your art because I think it lacks [...]" and that's the whole difference between someone who just want to fuck up your day and someone who actually has something to say to you. It may hurt, both of them, but one has something about where you can reflect on, whereas the other don't.

So if someone is telling you, you're "lazy", "stupid", "too emotional", they are just trying to be mean. Because they are not trying to help but lowering your self worth by putting you down on """facts""". If you actually feel those things yourself, then maybe ask yourself why. Why do they think you are lazy, why do they think you are stupid, why do they think you are too emotional? Is this the truth, do they see the big picture? What can you do to improve yourself if you feel that it applies? These are the questions to ask.

Being lazy? It could be an underlying mental illness, or just missing that you have the control of your life and the consequences (which happen to a lot to people actually, thanks educational system), so you could make plans or set weekly goals do more if you feel you don't do enough. But why do we focalize on being productive everyday of our life? Can't we be peaceful too some days? Being stupid? What IS intelligence? Well you can try to see your strenghts and weaknesses and decide if you want to improve on your weaknesses or continue into your strenghts. It’s a choice! You can check the the Theory of Multiple Intelligence from Gardner. It's a very cool way to find your strenghts and weaknesses.

You know what I mean for the rest of it. Being called those things all the time are bad because it lower self esteem, it gives a sense of not being good enough (which can cause anxiety and depression). If you truly feel that way (most of the time it's because of verbal abuse), try to reflect on why you think that about yourself, and try to think about yourself in the past, and if you would be so harsh of your past self as you are right now. What can you do to help you not think this? You should (and I will never not say that) go see a therapist to work on those things because it's very important to feel enough. Not only to know it, but to own it (and it's a very long way but we're here together). If you can’t reach a therapist or help, it’s important that you try to find people living through the same shit as you do, because they will be able to help you and support you. If you’re underage, try to talk to an adult that you trust.

If the person is causing you harm with non-constructive critisism daily, it can be verbal abuse. Verbal abuse can also come with aggressive behavior and insults (taunts, laughing about you, lowering you, comparing you with "more successful people”) coming from the other (who can be litteraly anyone). It has heavy repercussions on mental health and it's not visible nor being seen as awful as other abuses (physical/sexual). What can you do when it happens? If it happens to you, the first thing is trying to not let it show to the other party that you were hurt. I know it's very hard, but showing emotional response is exactly what they are looking for. The best thing is actually to stay calm (but not easy at all). Concentrating on your breathing can be a very good thing to settle you. 

You have to know that you're not worthy on being put down like this, that you don't deserve this. You have the right to refuse talking with the person (but again, politely) as long as they are being verbally abusing. Then, you walk away. Simply and gracefully, as soon as you can (and get help from a therapist! This is very damageable for your self-esteem. It's not always, but it can). The thing is with responding calmly, is that often the person causing you verbal abuse already sensed that you were in an emotional weakness and use it to their advantages. So it's very very hard to not give in and it's totally understandable if you can't do it. It's work, it's progress, it's very hard to get all of these attacks without being able to emotionaly answer them. When you succeed, make sure to have a time alone when you actually vent about it, with art (drawing, writing, dancing) and/or crying. The best would be to do things physically (dancing/stimming), emotionally (cying/shouting/talking) and creatively (writing/drawing) (for example). Know that your body, your feelings and your brain need to express themselves sometimes separately and make sure to take time in doing that, this is important. Also take time to breathe, we never breathe enough.

Stay strong, stay cool ♥

These are the ressources I think are useful and that helped me to make this post: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theory_of_multiple_intelligences

https://consumer.healthday.com/encyclopedia/children-s-health-10/child-development-news-124/yelling-at-children-verbal-abuse-648565.html http://www.wikihow.com/Respond-to-Verbal-Abuse http://www.wikihow.com/Deal-With-Verbal-Bullying (Wikihow here are articles that are based on .gov links and researches)

I am not a therapist, but I've been working on this because I lived through it (bullying and abusive parenting). You can talk to me anytime if you feel the need to. I’d gladly take critisism if you feel like you need to add something to this.

[thesolidolivinephenomenon]

Okay, fine

So you have a final in two days (maybe three, since the final is at night) & it’s in one of your worst subjects, what do you do? (And just to up the ante a little, let’s say you also have anxiety. (#actuallymern))

Day One:

The hardest part of studying is often starting, so today is all about getting that foundation set, so that tomorrow & test day you aren’t extremely anxious.

find a place to study with the following requirements:

around people (will make you more accountable)

generally quiet

spread out space

near to a working water fountain/ water source

doesn’t make you anxious

makes you comfortable, but still alert

bonus: pack some food, water, and maybe coffee/ tea

make a list of what will be on the test

star the things you don’t know shit about

take > 90 hrs to study/ understand fully 

circle the things you’re confused about

take 45- 90 minutes to study/ understand fully

box the things you generally know 

take < 45 minutes to study/ understand fully

make a separate list of the starred items

determine which of the starred items you know the least/ is making you the most anxious

start there. (this technique is what I like to call “the big frog technique” basically imagine you were given a bucket of frogs of various sizes and you had to eat all of them. In the bucket there’s just this really huge fucking frog with warts and slime, and you 100% don’t want to eat it. BUT if you eat this really gross frog first, eating all the other frogs will seem easier, perhaps even pleasant. With studying it’s the same- eat the big frog first & then everything else will feel better/ more manageable.)

Tackle the “Big Frog” item on your list (see about italics) & follow UPT

Understand- the material by reviewing/ writing out notes. Use your textbook, notes, powerpoints, youtube, and other resources.

Practice- do practice problems, multiple choice, short answer questions, essay outlines, etc. 

Teach- make notes or a presentation or /something/ that you could theoretically give to someone else to help them learn the material. 

tip: if you’re feeling a time crunch focus on U & P, tomorrow’s studying will focus more on the T aspect!

Rinse & Repeat with the rest of the star items

If you have the energy/ time, also do all/some of the circle items

Bonus:

drink water

snack/ eat meals

take stretching breaks

straighten your back

take short walk breaks

turn off your phone

block facebook or whatever distracts you 

shower

take care of yourself once your study session has ended

sleeep

save the last 3-4 hours of the day for you: read, watch a show (try not the binge watch though), watch a movie, write, do art, put on a facemask, do what makes you happy b/c life isn’t just about school.

Day Two:

Alrighty, you’ve done most of the heavy lifting yesterday (go you!), so today is all about that practice. (~ ‘bout that practice~). Also, your anxiety hopefully will be lower today that it was yesterday when you started studying. if it’s not, get yourself to a place where you won’t be as likely to procrastinate/ be anxious & study their. Enlist a friend if you need too. And (I know this tip might not be helpful if you’re currently really anxious, but I promise that it works for me when I’m starting to get anxious) just start. Start with a single sentence or a video. Build up from easy studying things to harder ones. As you get more comfortable/ focused, you’ll likely get less anxious. 

Finish any of the circles left over from yesterday following the same UPT model. 

that’s pretty standard at this point, and you’re already a pro at studying with this method. 

Quickly review the star/ circle items from yesterday

we’re talking 5-10 minutes per item. Test yourself on the concepts, look over the practice problems/ questions/ outlines, maybe redo them if you’re feeling it

on a post-it note, write down what you still don’t understand. 

Do the boxed items on your list, following the UPT method.

ideally these shouldn’t take you too long to do, since you already understand this material fairly well. 

Memorize whatever you need to memorize 

if you haven’t been doing it along the way

Check your list & make sure you’ve covered everything.

you should have at this point, unless you forgot to star, circle, or box an item on your list. 

this would be the time to really look over your notes/ labs/ prelabs/ whatever. if there’s any term/ concept you don’t understand, study that before moving forward.

Do some more practice problems from your textbook/ old worksheets/ a worksheet your professor or TA made

try to do problems where you’ll actually be able to check the answer against an answer sheet or a friend’s answer.

Message a friend/lab partner/TA/Professor with any questions that you have.

you don’t really want to be confused after today, so, even though it’s scary to ask questions, do ask them. 

protip: you can also try asking questions in the comments section of the khan academy videos (or other educational videos), but don’t necessarily expect that it will be answered immediately. 

Make a review packet for a ‘friend’! 

Alright this is where the teaching part comes in. (yay!) You’re going to want to pretend that you’re making a review packet for a friend containing everything you’ve studied. 

I say for a friend, but you could also make notes with the intent to share them with other people in the studyblr community.

So the big tasks for teaching are:

break down the subject & define terms in your own words

try to break out of the notes standard notes system, use drawings, poems, children’s picture book, audio, video, power point lecture whatever medium excites you/ makes you feel like you’re really teaching. 

walk through practice problems/questions/ outlines & explain why you’re doing what you’re doing to get these answers. (make sure your ‘friend’ knows where the numbers or concepts are coming from & things parts of an equation/ quotes from a book relate to each other). 

be creative & try to allow the most time in your studying day for this.

Go to a review session/ study with a friend. 

this is a good opportunity to ask questions if you have any

generally, this session should make you feel like you’re polishing up, if it doesn’t, take down notes on what you don’t understand & either figure them during the session or UPT them after the session.

Review your review packet/ presentation/ poetry/ whatever teaching material you made

GET A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP! & follow the same bonuses as yesterday.

Day of the Exam:

Today is easy peasy all you have to do is:

review your packet throughout the day

pretend your professor is allowing you to bring an index card into the exam & make that index card

make sure to eat good meals & stay hydrated

make sure you’re rested/ awake for the exam

make sure you’ve got your pencils/ calculator/ whatever you need for the exam

relax & know that you’ve done a kickass job studying & you’re going to be fine. <3 

[onestowatch]

An Interview With Hippo Campus: The People’s Band

There are certain bands that are meant to be heard live. You are meant to hear the lead singer’s sarcastic quips, meant to see the guitarist’s and bassist’s mid-song guitar duel, meant to feel the lyricism of the songs invade your mind, and ultimately, meant to sit back and listen to some damn good music while it all plays out before your eyes. Indie pop-rock band Hippo Campus is one of those bands, and believe us, they are well on their way to headlining major stages across the globe. 

Self-described as a band “that people really connect with,” Hippo Campus is comprised of four 21-22 year olds: vocalist Jake Luppen, guitarist Nathan Stockar, bassist Zach Sutton, and drummer Whistler Allen. They’ve amassed a strong following over the past three years by dropping a few EPs and hitting the road with bands like Walk the Moon and Saint Motel. 

On March 1, they released their debut album, Landmark. The record is chock-full of catchy tunes that are reminiscent of the band’s signature progressive, sunny sound. Hippo Campus has spent most of 2017traveling for their very own headline tour in support of the new release, but have since postponed shows due to lead singer Jake Luppen’s case of the flu.  

I spoke to Luppen hours before they took the stage in Washington D.C. to discuss their new album, why everyone is so wrapped up in their age, and how they’d like to be perceived as a band of the people.

Ones To Watch: Congratulations on your first album! How does it feel to finally have it out now?

Jake Luppen: It feels awesome. Obviously, we’ve been working on it for a long time. The whole process took 8 months so it feels good to finally have it in the world. It’s definitely a little bit weird to have something you’ve been so close to for so long be available for everybody to listen to, and to gain their own experiences from, but I think overall it’s a really great feeling.

OTW: Let’s go back to the beginning--you guys met at a fine arts high school. Were you in two separate bands at the time?

JL: Yes, Zach and I were in a band called Blatant Youth and Nathan and Whistler were in a band called Northern, and we used to play shows together in high school.

OTW: When did you guys form Hippo Campus? Were you still in high school?

JL: Yes, we were still in high school. I think it was the beginning of senior year when we technically formed in secret actually. [Laughs]. We didn’t really want the other members of the other bands to know because we weren’t sure if it was gonna be a real thing or not, but Nathan and I throughout junior year had been jamming on and off for a while.

OTW: That’s a little scandalous! [Laughs].

JL: I know, it was scandalous. It was terrible when the other bands found out. They found out in the worst way possible, or at least Zach and I’s band did.

OTW: Oh no! What happened?

JL: Zach left his Facebook open, and we had a Facebook group. The other guys from Blatant Youth saw it, and they were pretty upset with us for not telling them about it.

OTW: So you guys formed your senior year. When did you start to gain recognition for your music?

JL: That wasn’t until probably about halfway through my freshman year in college. The local radio station sort of caught on to what we were doing, and they started spinning us, and that’s kind of how we gained some traction in Minnesota. We played a few college gigs too. We were in this one battle of the bands, which we finished second in actually. [Laughs]. But it was mainly the local stations that kind of got us some local attention.

OTW: It’s really difficult to make the decision of choosing to pursue your dreams over your education. What had to happen for you to ultimately leave school?

JL: I was attending the University of Minnesota. I went there for a year and a half, and Zach went there for half a year. Basically we got our first tour offer and I was sitting in a philosophy class, and I remember opening my e-mail and our manager sent over the first tour offer. 

I texted my mom, and I was like, “I like college but I think that I need to pursue this. I think I need to leave and try out touring and stuff.” It all went over pretty well.

OTW:: Let’s talk about the songwriting on the album--it’s really well done. It feels very intricate and thought out. What’s your favorite song lyrically?

JL: I think “Vacation” is probably my favorite song lyrically on the record.

It’s kind of the most raw and the most real. It’s honestly the least thought out, I would say...those were pretty much kind of the first words I wrote. It directly deals with the struggle to write the record and maintain relationships within the band while writing this record, because it really tested all of us. I think it’s just kind of an informative song--you can hear a lot about the record, and the way it was made in the song.

OTW: Is there a particular topic that you like writing about or that you’re drawn to?

JL: I think it varies. It’s all about what you’ve experienced, and what’s honest at the time. I think with this record, obviously we had two years of touring experience after having never done that before. It made that pretty easy to write about on this record. We kind of undertook writing about some social themes, especially with people our age and the way social media influences us. 

That’s another thing we had to immerse ourselves in, is this world of social media--and as an artist, whether we want to or not. We have to engage our fans at this level. So that was definitely something interesting to write about--this world we are kind of forced to be in when we don’t necessarily want to be in it.

OTW: Does anyone else write lyrics as well?

HC: Yeah, Nathan will write lyrics with me.

OTW: The album feel very cohesive but then you have two writers, which can bring up different thoughts and views. How do you maintain that cohesiveness?

JL: We usually split it up song to song, so you can point to a song, like “Monsoon,” Nathan would write the majority of the lyrics to that one. But “Vacation,” I wrote majority of the lyrics to that one, as well as “Way It Goes.” It’s just like that but there’s usually maybe a line or two where one of us will serve as an editor or something like that. It allows things to feel cohesive, but it allows you to have some sort of editor or moderator, and someone to bounce ideas off of which has been helpful. This is the first band where we’ve both kind of done that in, and it’s been nice. 

OTW: I saw you perform at SXSW, and there’s a natural chemistry between you guys and the audience. Has it always been that way, or is that something that has progressed?

JL: I think the live shows have always been our bread and butter. It’s been the thing that keeps people coming back to us. 

I feel like it’s kind of hard to understand what we’re doing unless you’ve seen it live because it’s kind of a different experience. You see a lot of bands that don’t look like they’re having fun when they’re performing, and it just makes it taxing to listen to. A show should be a fucking good time. I mean obviously you should be able to play and be able to perform everything, but you should just be fucking having fun. That’s what people are there for. It’s always been important to us--to have a good time at the end of the day.

OTW: How do you cope with that, specifically as the frontman? Are you an extrovert or an introvert, and how does that translate on stage?

HC: Honestly, I think I’m more of an introvert. I think in my personal life I don’t really have that frontman persona--I really don’t like being the center of attention.If someone had just met us at a party, they’d probably think Nathan or Zach is the lead singer because they’re louder, and I guess they can deal with attention probably better than I can. I can recognize that I can do it onstage--it’s weird. It’s like playing a character. I sort of like play a version of myself.

Photo: Hippo Campus Facebook Page

OTW: That’s why I asked because I feel like you have this alter ego thing going on onstage, and it works really well.

JL: Nice, yeah totally. You kind of have to do that. It’s good to have that separation because otherwise your head could start getting fucked with pretty easily if you don’t have a divide. If you carry this artificial reality that is the stage offstage, shit can start getting super weird. It’s kind of nice to have the divide. I think it’s that for all of us. We have a sort of divide between our offstage and onstage persona.

OTW: Is there any advice or tips that have helped you guys when performing live?

JL: I like the one that goes, instead of talking a lot at our shows, just shut the fuck up and play. I think there’s something nice about that. It’s fun to engage people, but at the same level, sometimes it’s nice to just have the show be entirely about the music, and not be about any single one of us saying weird things. It’s about being thankful to be there and saying that, but I think it’s good advice to just fucking play music. You don’t always have to fill any sort of awkward space with talking. It’s alright to just be present, and hang out and have a good show.

Photo: Connor Siedow

OTW: You guys have played shows with a lot of really cool bands like Modest Mouse, Walk the Moon, and Saint Motel. If you could tour with anyone, who would it be?

JL: For me personally, I’d love to tour with The Shins. I fucking love The Shins. They’re one of my favorite bands. A tour with Death Cab for Cutie would be pretty amazing. Obviously the big ones like Radiohead. They would be an amazing band to play with. Sylvan Esso. We’ve only hung out with them once, but it would be cool to tour with them at some point.

OTW: You guys are playing a lot of festivals this year, including Bonnaroo, FPSF, and Lollapalooza. What’s the highlight of that lineup this year?

JL: I think they’re all going to be pretty awesome. One of my favorite shows we’ve ever done was at Lolla two years ago, so I’m very much looking forward to coming back again. Bonnaroo should be awesome too. It’s our first time. It’s our first time at FPSF too, but I’m really looking forward to Lollapalooza. I think that that should be fucking awesome.

OTW: What do you think sets Hippo Campus apart from other indie bands?

JL: It’s hard to answer this question without sounding egotistical. We occupy this weird space right now. I really want to have a good answer to this question because it’d be good for people to hear it, because it’s like alternative people pigeonhole us as an indie band, and indie people pigeonhole us as alternative. I think inherently we want to be an indie band, or inherently we’d want to be like a press band, but I think that what we’re doing resonates with people, as opposed to like publications or tastemakers or anything. 

We’ve gotten some good press, you know, but I think what makes us different than a lot of indie bands is that it’s just resonating with real human beings on a different level than I’ve seen. If you went to our shows, you wouldn’t expect there to be that many people there, enough people who are deeply affected by it. 

I guess what makes us different is I feel like we’re a people’s band. We’re not a press band, and we’re not really a radio band. We’re just kind of a band that people really connect with, and I’m fucking proud to be that because that’s what is most important. 

Hopefully I didn’t sound too much like a dick. [Laughs].

OTW: No way, that was awesome. I think you summed that up really well. Is there anything now that has to happen for you guys to feel like, “We’ve made it”?

JL: I don’t think we’ll ever feel like that. I think we’re all pretty hungry individuals, so it seems like things are constantly growing, but nothing is really ever good enough to settle on, and I hope that’s something we all maintain. It’s important to not get comfortable. It’s very easy to get comfortable in this business at a certain level but I think it’s a goal to always grow and to always push and stuff because we can always do better. I think we’ve tapped into like 30 or 40% of the potential that we have writing and performing. I feel like there’s a lot of room left to grow.

OTW: A lot of people tend to emphasize your age. Do you think starting out young limited you guys in any way?

JL: Not really--if anything it benefited us. I guess it limited us in the way that every article will start off with, “Fresh out of high school, youngsters..they have a sound way beyond their years.” If I had a nickel for every time that we had “a sound way beyond our years,” I would be quite rich. It’s beneficial in the way it gives us an excuse at times. People are like “Oh well, they’re growing,” which is fucking true. We have to remind ourselves of that. I’m happy people want to write about us, but if we never had another article that started with “local youngsters” or whatever, I would be very happy with that.

OTW: Well shit, that was my headline!

JL: Fuck! [Laughs].

OTW: Who are three artists on your Ones To Watch list?

JL: This band called Whitney are pretty new. They’ve kind of come up as like press darlings. I’m really excited to see what they do in the future. I think there’s a lot of room to grow, and I think they’re a really cool band.

There’s a band from Minnesota called Remo Drive who I will always shout out. It’s like emo rock or punk. Emo revival is the right genre now. Anthony Fantano blogged about them and brought up a few of their music videos that have over 200k views now and shit, so I think they deserve more attention now than what they’re getting in kind of the local music scene, as far as like radio and press and stuff. I think that they’re gonna fucking blow up.

This band called Happy Children is another band too that I think is gonna do really well. They’re great homies, and Whistler actually produced their EP. So shout out Happy Children. Shout out Remo Drive. Shout out Whitney.

[ah17hh]

Kanye West “Runaway” Copy Pasta via /r/emojipasta

Kanye West “Runaway” Copy Pasta

God🙏🏿🙏🏿🙏🏿 I love💙 this👆🏻so much🙌🏼. Every single 🕴🏻thing about this 👆🏻masterpiece 🖼 is so beautiful 😍 . The music 🎶 ... Every lyric 🎼... The artistry 🎨 in direction, the creativityin 👩🏼‍🎨 production 🎥 , the cinematography 🍿 , those fireworks 🎇 ... that gorgeous 🔮 bird 🦅 costume on probably the most stunningly ✨ beautiful 🌟 woman 👩🏻 I think I've ever seen 👀 ... The ballet 🩰 dancers 👯‍♀️ ... Wow 🤩! I've watched 👀 this👆🏻 prob a hundred 💯 times ⏰ but it will never 🙅🏻‍♀️ get boring 😑 . I can't 🙅🏻‍♀️ take my eyes 👁 👁 off the screen 📺 for one ☝🏻 second ⏰ of those 34 minutes 🕰 . I 🙍🏻‍♀️ love ❤️ all of Kanye's 👑 work, and it is purely 💦 impossible🙅🏻‍♀️ to pick a favourite ❤️ , but 🍑 if I could only 🙋🏻‍♀️ever listen to ✌🏼two ✌🏼songs 🎵 for the rest of my time 🕰 here on earth 🌍 - it would no 🙅🏻‍♀️ question ❓ be Ghost 👻 Town 🌃 and- Runaway 🏃 . I cannot❌ listen 👂 to runaway 🏃‍♀️ without feeling triumphant 🏆 for some reason, lol 😆. Makes me laugh 😂 , makes me cry 😢, makes me appreciate 🙏🏿 the beauty 💋 in every other human 🧒🏿 being at once ☝🏻 with feeling my own. 🦾 For one ☝🏻 song 🎼 to ignite 🧨 that many 😒😏🙃🙂emotions🙂🙃😏😒in me just feels incredible🤩🥳. And inspiring 😱, and enchanted 💫. Kanye 👑 West 🧭 , as an artist 👩🏼‍🎨 AND as a human 👨🏾being, in my 💁🏻‍♀️ very humble 😌opinion- has harnessed some 🤔 sort of power 🗣 to captivate 😳 people 🕺🏻🕺🏻 educate 🏫 and enlighten 🧠 them- whether it means entrancing them 🕺🏻🕺🏻🕺🏻 with his artistry 🎨 , speaking 🗣🗣 truths 💯 that people🕺🏻🕺🏻🕺🏻 need to hear 👂 but don't always 😒 want to, and not 🙅🏻‍♀️ giving a fuck what anybody🤷🏻‍♀️ thinks 🙇🏻‍♀️ about... While still wishing 🌟 them 🙆🏻‍♀️ the best 👼 & respecting 👥 their freedom 🕊 to disagree (which is usually code for misunderstand ❌🧠/ or not comprehend❌👁 what he is trying to say 🗣. Even worst 😳 case scenarios where people 👨🏾 act especially argumentative 😡 or hateful 😈or just plain ignorant 🐍 towards him 👑 - at his bottom line I always hear him 👑 expressing his desire 😻for🧒🏿👩🏼‍🦱🧕👮🏿‍♀️ everybody 🧒🏿👩🏼‍🦱🧕👮🏿‍♀️to just be happy 😃 , and to feel free 🕊 . Everything I 🙋🏻‍♀️ hear 👂 him preach ⛪️ 🙏🏿 is about working 💪🏼for the greater good of humanity 👥 🌎 , it's about waking up 👁❌💤 it's about freedom 🕊 , it's about art 🖼 and expression 🗣 and feeling 💕 , and more importantly 🧐 actually BEING- okay 😃with oneself 🧒🏿. Understanding 🤨 that we 👥 are each 🙋🏻‍♀️ flawed 😔 but it is these flaws 😳 that make us 👥 unique 👏🏼, and it is our combined👏🏼 uniqueness👏🏼 and flaws👏🏼 that combined👏🏼, make one ☝🏻 absolutely perfect😻 whole. As a human 💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻race, as the beautiful😻 individual ☝🏻expressions of light 💡 and energy 🔋 , spirit 👻 , God 🙏🏿, source 🌎, the universe 🌌 ... Whatever you 🤨would like to call 📲 it, but those are just words 🌝, and the point is it's all beautiful 💥🔥✨💕😻. And we're all beautiful😻💕✨🔥💥. And it is precisely the things that we 🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻 are conditioned ❌NOT ❌to value 💰 or love 💗 about ourselves🙋🏻‍♀️ that make us 👥so perfect 💕 as a united 🇺🇸 whole 🌍 We are ❌not ❌separate, and nobody ❌👥 should ever feel lonely 😩 because of this ☝🏻 . There's 8 billion 🌍 people in the world 🌎 but still so many 💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻 of us feel alone 😢 ... But all at once ☝🏻 we 💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻 should cherish 🙏🏿 the individualities 🙋🏻‍♀️we have each created 🖼 for ourselves, for this s what makes this roller coaster 🎢 ride in space 🌌 fun 🤠. lol. And interesting 🧐 . Of course it is difficult 😤 sometimes to try and remain enlightened 🤓 and calm 😙 in the face 👹 of ignorance 🐍 or hatred 👺, and in any instances where Kanye 👑 has clapped 👏🏼 back or gotten defensive 🥴, they either deserved 🤕 the reality check ✔️, they 👩🏼didn't see 👀 it coming bc their ignorance 🐍 trumped their intuition 👁👁- which is also likely the cause of the initial ☝🏻 issue in the form of a complete 🌍 misunderstanding 😟 due to the fact 💯 that Kanye 👑 is trying to express 🎨 something that they are not🙅🏻‍♀️ ready to hear 👂 or are just not 🙅🏻‍♀️ even close to being on the intellectual 🧠 , emotional 😭 , or spiritual 🙇🏻‍♀️ level that he is speaking 🗣 on- and therefore just not 🙅🏻‍♀️ getting it. These 👏🏼 things are amazing 😉 though, bc for one ☝🏻 , I love ❤️ it that Kanye 👑 is human 🕺🏻🕺🏻🕺🏻 in that regard, it just reinforces everything I 💁🏻‍♀️ said before about embracing 🤗 all those imperfections 🧏🏽‍♂️, and two- ✌🏼 because every single ☝🏻 time ⏰ - it reinforces the exact ✔️ point he's 👑 trying to make but just can't 🤷🏻‍♀️ put into words 🗣 in a way that some people will hear 👂 , or even try to listen 👂 to. Which goes back to my 💁🏻‍♀️original sentiment about Kanye 👑 as an artist 👩🏼‍🎨 . Not a politician 🇺🇸 , not an actor 🎥 , or any other profession 👨🏾‍⚕️ who get paid 💰 to lie and just see 👀 how many 👥👥 people they can get to buy 💴 it. Not 🙅🏻‍♀️ somebody who was groomed 😿 and trained 😾 to tell 🗣 people 👥only what they want to 👂 in a soothing 😎 way that they can handle, and obvi 🙅🏻‍♀️not somebody who was 🧠 🧼 brainwashed 🧼 🧠 to believe anything those soothing 😌 voices 🗣 and paid 💵 liars tell them to believe. Which I 💁🏻‍♀️think 🤨 is why people👥 just 🙅🏻‍♀️don't get him 👑 , or want to disagree 🐍 and attack 🥊 him, or both ✌🏼 . But because he 👑 IS a human 👨🏾‍⚕️ being, as other human beings 👥, we can't 🤷🏻‍♀️expect him to pander to the masses' 🌍 false beliefs or their 🐍ignorance. Hell 🔥 idk even know if it's right✔️ to call 📱 it "the masses" 🌍 honestly it might just be a handful of shitstarters 💩 😡 and dummies 🤦🏻‍♀️ that the media 📸 blows way out of proportion so that from my 💁🏻‍♀️simple pov- his 👑 existence looks 👀 like mad 😡 drama 🗣 when it's really maybe mostly not, lol 😆 . And I 💁🏻‍♀️ already know 🧠 the media 📸 makes the world 🌍 outside my peripherals 👁 look stupid 🤦🏻‍♀️ , violent 🔫 barbaric 🔪... And much, much worse 😔 than it really is 🧐. Because the facts 💯 are, all these nice 👍🏻 , intelligent 🤓 people 👥 aren't disgusting 🤢 or mean 🤬 or funny 🤡(in a bad 🥵 way) enough to make a cool 😎 story 📖 . When in my reality 💯 , I meet woke 👀 af Individuals🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻 wayyy more regular 👯‍♂️ than what any sort of media 📸 tells me my odds should 🤔 be for an encounter 👀 with someone 👑 like that, another human 🕺🏻 being that doesn't want to kill 🔪, rob 💰 and rape 👉🏻👌🏽 me 💁🏻‍♀️ or who's smarter 🤓 than a box 📦 of rocks 💎 is a rare breed 🐕 of person🕺🏻- according to the news anyway. 🙄 Anyway big ass tangent ⭕️ here- (feels appropriate🤓 tho, considering who's 👑 video 🏃 I'm commenting 👩🏻‍💻 on- not gonna lie- lol 😆 ) but anyway. Point being that because Kanye 👑 is so refreshingly 💦 human 👨🏾‍⚕️ like us 👥 aka REAL 💯 , and people 👥 cannot 🙅🏻‍♀️ expect perfection ✔️ in any sort of normal 😐 everyday life 🗺 or interactions 🤝 or behaviors 👹 from other, more or less equally 🥴imperfect🥴 people 👥. BUT- because Kanye 👑 is also the extraordinarily 🏆 talented 👌🏽 and phenomenally 😍 creative 🥳 ARTIST 👩🏼‍🎨 he 👑 is, he 👑 doesn't have to be perfect😇 in any other humanly 😎 possible way, anyway 💯. He 👑 is already perfect 👌🏽 in as many ‼️ ways one human 🕺🏻could be in THAT ☝🏻 department, And... Idk 😐 about y'all 👥, but as one ☝🏻 human 🕺🏻being to 8 billion others 🌍 - I'd much rather y'all 🌎 be as real 💯 and intelligent 🧠 and 🙅🏻‍♀️not giving a fuck 🖕🏿🖕🏿🖕🏿about what others 🐑 think 🤔 , understand 🤓, agree 👍🏻 with,, or like about you... 😛 but also not 🙅🏻‍♀️shoving🙅🏻‍♀️ all the stuff you do 👌🏽👌🏽 give a fuck about down ⬇️ everybody's 🐑 throats and judging 😡 them, bullying 😫 them, ostracizing 🤭 them, or attacking 🥊 anyone who doesn't believe in every single ☝🏻 little 🤏🏿thing you 🤡 do. Respect ✊🏼 . Love 💕 . Joy 😊 . Inspiration 😯 . Passion 🍆 . Freedom 🕊 . Fun 😆. That's ☝🏻☝🏻☝🏻what we 🕺🏻 💃🏻 are all here for 💯 . That ☝🏻 is what every 🕺🏻person 💃🏻 wants at the bottom ⬇️ of their hearts 💞 and souls ❤️ . We 👥pursue it all in different 👀ways and that is what we 👥 should appreciate 🙏🏿 most about being here 🌍 , with each other🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻❤️. Thank you 🙏🏿 Kanye 👑 West 🧭 , for being one ☝🏻 of the many✊🏼, many, teachers 👩‍🏫 of things like this to me 💁🏻‍♀️ personally. And thank 🙏🏿 you to all 🌍 the rest of you 8 billion 👥👥👥- you are all my 💁🏻‍♀️teachers 👨‍🏫 too. I just wish 🌟I knew you 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨all well enough to appreciate🙏🏿 you're being here, 🌏 in person 👀. Because even that value 🏆 and gratitude 🙏🏿 for those that you 💃🏻🕺🏻don't know 🧠, would be awesome 😎 to give ✊🏼and receive ☝🏻on that level 💯 . Even like this ridiculously long 📝 comment of appreciation 🙏🏿 for Kanye 👑 West 🧭, who doesn't know me 😔 and prob never will 😢 , is a type of gratitude 🙏🏿🙏🏿💯 I would like to extend to everyone 🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻🕺🏻💃🏻 on the planet 🌎 for something, if I could😫😫. Because even the 😏appreciation🕺🏻 thrown towards a stranger 🚶‍♀️ in the slightest 🤏🏿, most superficial 💋and completely one-way road ⚠️ type of "knowing 🧠 👀 " someone- like that from a "normal" 🚶‍♀️ person, or in this case a fan 🤩 for somebody they 🌊 admire 💕 , in this ☝🏻 case a famous 🎉🎉🎉 artist 👩🏼‍🎨 , is a step towards 🔜 the kind of world 🌎 we 👥 would live 🏡 in if everybody 👥👥👥could truly 💯 appreciate 🙏🏿 everybody, just in some 🤔 way- any 😨way- or every 🤗 way- or even just 🥳for being here 🌍‼️‼️. But I guess 🤔 everybody 👥can only appreciate everybody 🌍 , if on some level we 🕺🏻🚶‍♀️💃🏻already do. And I think 🤔 that's the level Kanye's 👑 on when he 👑 made this 🎥 🎼 🏃‍♀️ 💿 . Love ❤️ you 🤝 all 🌍🌍🌍 You too, Ye 👑. Thanks 🙏🏿 for giving me 💁🏻‍♀️ this comment 📝 box 📦 to drop 📥some love ❤️ on the world 🌍 . lol 😆 . And to anybody 🤔 🕺🏻💃🏻 who's still reading 📖 this ☝🏻 , may God 🙏🏿 and yeezus 👑 bless ❇️ your beautiful soul ❤️, and I love 💕 YOU 💃🏻🕺🏻most of all! 💯 I believe 🤗 the title of this film 🎞 is where you 👥 can find the meaning 🧐 . Runaway. 🏃 If you 👥 have ever listened 👂 to Kanye 👑 he always talks 🗣about how we 🌍 are slaves 😔 to society 💭 . He 👑 is showing 👀 us within a film 🎞 that the way people 👥 perceive 👁 us and our 👥 own egos 😼 trap 🕳 us into a mold 🗜 that we 🕺🏻💃🏻 doesn't necessarily 🙅🏻‍♀️ represent who we 🌍 are. The bird 🦅 is Kanye 👑 and his 👑 own inner beauty 💄. Kanye's 👑 entire motivation 💪🏼 to create 🎨 and be heard 👂 is the fact 💯 that he 👑 feels shorted 😞 by what people 🐑 think 💭 he 👑 should be or what they 🐑 think 💭 he 👑 should do. He 👑 feels like 🙊 his 👑 true 💯 self, untainted by society, is a phoenix and if he 👑 let's society 🐑 🌍 control 🎮 him 👑 then it will turn ⏭ to stone 💎 . Kanye 👑 wants us 🕺🏻💃🏻 to see 👀 that the stereotypes 🧒🏿🧕👮🏿‍♀️ created by us 💃🏻🕺🏻 limit our own 👥expression, our true 💯 authentic beauty 💄. Now, you 🤡 may think 🤔 it is crazy 😜 to think 🤔 this much 🙊 about the symbolism 📖 but artists 👩🏼‍🎨 don't 🙅🏻‍♀️ make art 🖼 unless they 👩‍🎤 are compelled 😍🤩 by some larger 🌍 mission. Art 🖼 is expressing 💦 the soul ❤️ . Art 🖼 is sacred 🙌🏼. So yes✔️✔️✔️, on the surface 🌊 this is beautiful 😍 and enjoyable 🤪 but for him 👑 , it is so much more 💯. Man 👨🏾 i cry 😭 so much when the autotuned 🎤 part from runaway 🏃 starts ▶️, it's like so beautiful 😍 the mix 🔀 between the song 🎼 and the ballet 🩰 scene. I never🙅🏻‍♀️ realized 🧐 how dope 🤪 ballet 👯‍♀️ was until right I 💁🏻‍♀️ watched 👀 this ☝🏻. They 👯‍♀️ walk on their toes 🦶. Think 🤔 about how much 😣 their toes 🦶 hurt 🤕 . You 🙅🏻‍♀️wouldn't know 🧠 the serious 💯 toe 🦶 pain 😓 that they 👯‍♀️ are in though because they act 🤪 like their toes 🦶 don't hurt 😢 ,but in reality ☝🏻 they 🦶 hurt very 🤕badly 😭. I 💁🏻‍♀️ just tried 🚶‍♀️ standing on my 💁🏻‍♀️ toes 🦶 and I 💁🏻‍♀️ can't 🙅🏻‍♀️ explain 🤨 how much it sucked 😒. Appreciate 🙏🏿 these people 👯‍♀️ who are willing 🤪 to wear 🩰 weird 🦅 clothes and stand 🚶‍♀️ on their toes 🦶, because it is awkward 😫,embarrassing 😣, and painful 😖 . Go stand🚶‍♀️ on your toes 🩰 in a weird outfit 🧝🏽‍♀️. Bitch.🥵

Submitted March 28, 2020 at 05:49PM by unemotionals via reddit https://ift.tt/3aqxyk1

[starringemiliaclarke]

Press/Gallery: Emilia Clarke Solo Flight

  VANITY FAIR – It may be another year before Daenerys Targaryen appears on HBO, but Emilia Clarke has wrapped up shooting for the final season of Game of Thrones and is prepared for the big screen.

  On a rainy April afternoon, Emilia Clarke enters the bright, airy Egyptian galleries of the Metropolitan Museum of Art the way so many movie-lovers before her have: quoting Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally. Adopting the unsourceable accent Crystal uses opposite Meg Ryan in a famously improvised scene filmed in this very room, Clarke starts stuttering, “Pah-pah-paprikash.” Our amused if bewildered guide, too young to get the reference, adds the 1989 rom-com to her list of movie recommendations from Clarke, who has already gushed about the 2017 religious drama Novitiate. Chuckling over this unlikely double feature, Clarke assures her, “You have two incredible movies coming your way.”

  One reference the guide does get: Game of Thrones, the HBO juggernaut which stars Clarke as its most unstoppable heroine, Daenerys Targaryen. In fact, the very tour we’re taking, put together by a company called Museum Hack, is based on the series, and offers a fan-friendly survey of the sometimes inscrutable displays of the Met. You don’t have to be an art historian (our guide is an aspiring actress) to understand what Greek fire, Damascus blades, heraldry, mutilated men, samurai kamon, the dragon-born St. Margaret of Antioch, and an early female pharaoh have to do with wildfire, Valyrian steel, house words, and Clarke’s world-famous alter ego.

And yet, despite her fame, Clarke has managed to spend a full half-hour in the museum sponging up our guide’s trivia without being spotted. For years, Clarke’s brown hair let her hide in plain sight, but she recently bleached it an icy Targaryen blond. So, why the invisibility? Maybe it’s her height. “We both have a thing about our stature not quite being what people expect,” says her co-star Kit Harington, who, at five feet eight, has six inches on Clarke. Maybe it’s her outfit—the gray overcoat, cream sweater, and jeans are a far cry from the cloaks and armor of Thrones. Or maybe it’s her bright, decidedly non-intimidating personality. “When I’m goofing around with my pals, I’m unrecognizable,” she says. Harington calls Clarke’s humor “naughty,” and it’s certainly true that her informal, expletive-laced banter is a far cry from Daenerys’s imperious tones. “Sometimes, if I’m in a really bad mood,” Clarke notes, “people are like, ‘Khaleesi!’ ”

  Finally, the spell of anonymity breaks, thanks to a display of competitiveness worthy of Game of Thrones. Our guide has challenged us to photograph as many birds and dragons as we can find in the paintings and sculptures on the tour, and Clarke is approaching the task with her usual effervescent zeal. Standing in the shadow of a stone Hatshepsut, one of patriarchal Egypt’s first female pharaohs, she triumphantly displays one of the winged targets she has captured on her phone. “This little birdie: Boom!” she shouts, her voice ricocheting off the stone walls. A pair of young men look over, then descend, and, in thick French accents, ask for a photo. Clarke’s triumphant grin tightens into a polite, distant smile.

  There it is: the face of Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons, who, over the course of seven seasons, has climbed from powerless pawn to resolute conqueror, forcing one rival after another to “bend the knee” or burn. As Daenerys has risen, so has Clarke, morphing from a struggling actress and part-time cater waiter to an international superstar and symbol of feminine fierceness. That journey is “important and inspiring—particularly now, in our climate,” says her close friend Rose Leslie, who played the wildling warrior Ygritte in early seasons of Game of Thrones. “She’s at the forefront of representing independent women.”

  We still don’t know if, as many expect, Daenerys Targaryen will win the right to rule the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, but we can be assured that Emilia Clarke will hang up her platinum wig for good when Game of Thrones ends its eight-season run, in 2019. There’s still a lot of filming and post-production work to be done, but Clarke has already shot her character’s final on-screen moments. “It fucked me up,” she says. “Knowing that is going to be a lasting flavor in someone’s mouth of what Daenerys is . . .”

  Clarke has good reason to feel unsettled. Letting go of a culture-defining television role can be liberating, to be sure, but it can also be deflating—or worse. Jon Hamm may always be seen as Don Draper; Sarah Michelle Gellar is forever Buffy the Vampire Slayer; Jennifer Aniston will never not be Rachel. Fortunately, Clarke approaches this pivotal transition with a stubborn insistence on behaving like a normal, grounded human being. And her upcoming credits suggest that she’s greatly in demand beyond Westeros.

  This month, Clarke, a self-described “achievement junkie,” joins the rapidly expanding Star Wars universe in Solo, a highly scrutinized origin story for Harrison Ford’s Han Solo. Her well-honed gift for concealing every detail about her work—“Everything in my life is a spoiler,” she says—helped her get into character. Director Ron Howard, a Game of Thrones fan, explains that Qi’ra, Han Solo’s childhood friend turned unreliable ally, is secretive, slippery, and morally questionable—“a much different sort of a character” from Daenerys.

  If Solo becomes a major hit, it will give Clarke a rare chance to leap cleanly from one spectacularly successful genre franchise to another. But even if it doesn’t, she has no shortage of options. An active participant in Time’s Up, she has ambitious plans to write and produce her own material—and create new opportunities for other women in the industry. Discussing those issues, she begins to sound more like the fiery Daenerys. “It becomes harder to separate you from the role when you’ve been with it so long,” she admits.

  Eight years ago, Dan Weiss and David Benioff were in trouble. Their pilot for Game of Thrones, an adaptation of George R. R. Martin’s popular A Song of Ice and Fire book series, was a disaster. Along with re-shoots, the pair were looking to re-cast a few key roles, including the pivotal part of Daenerys Targaryen. Tall, willowy, and fair-haired, Tamzin Merchant, the actress originally cast as Khaleesi, was a far more conventional match for the character on the page. The second time around, Weiss and Benioff took a fresh look at the character.

  “Emilia was the only person we saw—and we saw hundreds—who could carry the full range that Daenerys required,” the pair explained in tandem via e-mail. “Young actors aren’t often asked to play a combination of Joan of Arc, Lawrence of Arabia, and Napoleon.”

  When Clarke started on the series, Daenerys was downtrodden, occasionally objectified, and stranded in a subplot that kept the character geographically distant from the main story and the actress isolated from most of her co-stars. “I was cut off from the rest of the cast,” Clarke says. Over the years, as the famously cutthroat Thrones has thinned its sprawling ensemble, Clarke has risen in the ranks, snagging the show’s flashiest, most empowering moments.

  In an era when network and streaming platforms alike are struggling to get anyone to tune in, Game of Thrones has become one of the last surviving holdovers from the must-see TV era. For a handful of weeks every year, HBO owns Sunday nights, with devotees watching live to avoid spoilers at the office Monday morning. Clearing its own very high ratings bar, Thrones commanded an average of 32.8 million viewers in its 2017 season. Its 38 wins make it the most-awarded scripted-TV series in Emmy history.

  That glaring spotlight has made Daenerys a cultural touchstone—not to mention a costume-party staple, with Madonna, Katy Perry, Khloé Kardashian, and Kristen Bell among her many famous impersonators. At a recent charity auction, Brad Pitt offered six figures to spend an evening with Clarke and Harington, only to be outbid. Last year, Daenerys finally powered into the heart of the series, earning long-awaited screen time with Harington and the rest of the surviving stars. Clarke, who has been nominated three times for best supporting actress at the Emmys, may soon be gunning for lead honors. “Everything in my life is a spoiler,” Clarke says.

  Clarke’s upbringing in the bucolic countryside an hour outside of London couldn’t be farther from the dysfunctional family dynamics that forged the orphaned Daenerys. Emilia’s mother, Jennifer, is a businesswoman who currently runs the Anima Foundation, a charity aimed at raising awareness of specialty brain-injury care, and her father, Peter, was a theatrical sound engineer who prized education above all else. “Your bookshelf should be bigger than your TV,” he liked to remind Emilia and her older brother, Bennett. “My mum, my brother, my dad, and I would sit around a table, and my happiest place was just discussing stuff,” Emilia says. “I really value intelligence. I’m one of the very fortunate few people who really likes their family. I just like hanging out with them.”

  Clarke isn’t the first woman in her family to engage in high-stakes identity juggling. Her maternal grandmother wore light makeup to disguise the fact that she was half Indian, owing to her mother’s very secret affair with a mysterious man from the colonial subcontinent. “The fact that [my grandmother] had to hide her skin color, essentially, and try desperately to fit in with everyone else must’ve been incredibly difficult,” Clarke says. “So, yeah: history of fighters.”

  Emilia’s parents saved up to send her to a pair of upper-crust boarding schools—Rye St. Antony and St. Edward’s, both in Oxford—but she never felt at home with her much wealthier classmates. “I didn’t really fit in, like everybody who ever went to school ever.” So she channeled her energy into performing. She was rejected the first time she applied to acting school, but eventually Drama Centre London claimed her from the waiting list when another student broke her leg and dropped out. There, she finally found the “artistically inclined” friends who would keep her grounded amid the circus of international fame.

  The jet-setting Clarke clings tightly to her roots even as her life and career take her ever farther from the Home Counties. For one thing, she recently got her brother a gig in the Thrones camera department. “This job can be so alienating,” she says. “You’re in a trailer by yourself. You’re in a car by yourself. You’re in a plane. You’re in a plane. You’re in a plane. That’s what success looks like if you’re an actor. Success looks like being alone.” Clarke stays sharp by devouring “nerdy” podcasts on a range of topics from politics to science. “She’s so informed,” says Rose Leslie. “She has an opinion on every topic.”

  Clarke’s father passed away in 2016 after a long battle with cancer. At the time, Emilia was in the U.S. shooting the upcoming thriller Above Suspicion and couldn’t break away to say her final good-byes. “It still sucks. Grief sucks. He doesn’t know what I’m doing now,” she says. “That’s it before I start crying.” After a couple of romances with famous men—first, Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane, then, reportedly, actor Jai Courtney, a brief souvenir from her Terminator Genisys shoot—Clarke swore off dating actors. In fact, she hasn’t been romantically linked in some time. When Solo premiered at Cannes, in May, she had hoped to walk the red carpet with her brother, and her goal in general is to keep her relationships out of the news. “The guys that I’ve met in my life that are dicks, I voluntarily walk the fuck away from them,” she says. “That’s just bad taste. People shouldn’t know about those choices.”

  Clarke usually appears in public with various non-famous “mates” from her drama-school days. Her “perma-plus-one” is Lola Frears, daughter of director Stephen Frears. “I ain’t got me no celebrity friends,” Clarke says. “My squad? They don’t let me get away with anything. There’s not a lot of actors I relate to.” Leslie, a rare exception to Emilia’s rule, confirms that Clarke’s longtime friends keep her in check: “There would be a ticking off or a bollocking if they felt she was no longer the lovely lady that they have always known.”

  The Star Wars tradition of featuring morally upright heroines, among them Carrie Fisher’s General Leia, Daisy Ridley’s Rey, and Felicity Jones’s Jyn Erso, was part of what drew Emilia Clarke to the role of Qi’ra in Solo, but it was the chance to break the mold that really sold her. “We’re going to hit you with a character that could very easily well be a dude, because you question her motives,” she says, sitting in a back corner of the Met’s no-frills cafeteria snacking on a pear and sipping English-breakfast tea from a paper cup. “That’s really fucking exciting in the Star Wars universe, because that has never happened.”

  Before accepting the Solo role, Clarke had to ask Game of Thrones show-runners Weiss and Benioff for permission to complicate their plans for a final season by adding a demanding Star Wars filming schedule to the mix. They didn’t hesitate. “Solo felt like a great fit that would let her show off her versatility,” Weiss and Benioff explained. “Also, we figured she’d probably get to shoot a ray gun. Ray guns are something we just can’t offer, unfortunately.”

  Swapping dragons for ray guns, Emilia Clarke was eager to prove her mettle in a whole new galaxy. But that plan hit a snag when the Solo production fell spectacularly and publicly apart. “I’m not gonna lie,” Clarke says. “I struggled with Qi’ra quite a lot. I was like: ‘Y’all need to stop telling me that she’s “film noir,” because that ain’t a note.’ ” Frustrated by the lack of direction, she turned to Solo’s father-and-son screenwriters, Lawrence and Jon Kasdan, for support. Then, four and a half months into shooting, co-directors Phil Lord and Chris Miller exited the project, citing “creative differences.” Production was put on hold until they were replaced by Ron Howard, a longtime friend of franchise creator George Lucas’s. With a brand-new director and an ambitious re-shoot schedule—Clarke reluctantly agrees when I call those first months “a high-budget dress rehearsal”—Solo still had to hit its opening date, in May of the following year.

  Clarke says Howard’s arrival “saved” the movie: “All hail to [Lucasfilm president] Kathy [Kennedy] for hiring Ron.” Slipping into a mocking impression of herself, Clarke re-enacts a self-pitying therapy session with Howard over a private meal they shared before resuming production. “He even feigned enthusiasm!” she says. “I know for a fact he had that discussion with everybody. I think we all came to set feeling like his favorite. It makes for a really happy load of actors, with our egos.”

  Howard recalls that dinner a bit differently. The former child star of The Andy Griffith Show saw in Clarke “the kind of pragmatism and a can-do spirit that often comes from people who have cut their teeth doing television.”

  “I know some of how tough it was for her,” Harington says. “But she’s pretty tough as well.”

  Clarke wasn’t privy to everything that led up to the director swap, but she wasn’t entirely surprised, either. “When it comes to that amount of money, you’re almost waiting for that to happen. Money fucks us all up, doesn’t it? There’s so much pressure. Han Solo is a really beloved character. This is a really important movie for the franchise as a whole. It’s a shit ton of money. A shit ton of people. A shit ton of expectations.”

  Solo wasn’t the first troubled blockbuster to test Clarke’s resilience. If anything, the production of 2015’s Terminator Genisys was more chaotic. She watched frequent Thrones director Alan Taylor get “eaten and chewed up on Terminator. He was not the director I remembered. He didn’t have a good time. No one had a good time.” When the film underperformed at the box office, she was “relieved” to not have to return for any sequels. News of the rocky production traveled, and Clarke says the crew on the famously disastrous Fantastic Four, which was filming nearby, even had jackets made that read, AT LEAST WE’RE NOT ON TERMINATOR. “Just to give you a summary,” she says, laughing.

  Rumors spreading between film sets is one thing, but the Solo tumult was covered exhaustively in the trades and on fan sites, adding another layer of pressure to an already pressurized project. “I hope we did it good, then, because people have all this gossip,” Clarke says. “I don’t want people to go, ‘That’s the bit where it all went wrong. That’s the bit, I know it.’ I just really hope that people have a good time, that it’s good, and, you know, selfishly, that I’m not shit and that people don’t write reviews going, ‘Oh my God, that’s, like, the worst acting I’ve ever seen in my life. Wow. How did they give her the part?’ ”

  For all her anxieties about how her performance will go over, Clarke and I are both energized by the Solo footage we’ve seen. Clarke’s easy chemistry with Donald Glover, who plays fan favorite Lando Calrissian, is evident from their very first on-screen meeting. And though her shifting allegiances mean she has to play a range of emotions opposite Alden Ehrenreich’s Han Solo, she endows every twist with an undercurrent of romantic possibility. Tonally closer to the Indiana Jones movies than to, say, Rogue One, Solo marks the franchise’s return to lighthearted, fast-paced capers.

  Clarke—who spends most Thrones battles on the backs of her C.G.I. dragons—was eager to jump into the fray with some hand-to-hand combat. “She had to deal with quite a large sword and some pretty elaborate fight choreography, and she made it look easy,” Ehrenreich says. With all the re-shoots and reconfigured plotting, she also had to fight to keep some of her favorite moments in. “That is going to be badass as fuck,” she told the filmmakers of a showstopping Qi’ra moment that made the cut. “Don’t forget your audience.”

  Long before they shared a scene together, Clarke and Harington had become friends thanks to their time on the Game of Thrones promotional circuit. It was through Harington that Clarke met Rose Leslie. An adept mimic, Clarke impersonates a “smitten” Harington mooning over his on-screen lover and future real-life fiancée in the early days of the show: “There’s the best human in the world. She’s called Rose.”

  Clarke has a teasing relationship with Harington. “I’ll tell him, ‘Kit, stop being a dick—stop being so grumpy.’ Like I would with my brother.” And as the two transition in these final seasons from real-life friends to partners in TV’s biggest romance (albeit one complicated by incest), the ribbing has only increased. “If you’ve known someone for six years, and they’re best friends with your girlfriend, and you’re best friends with them,” Harington says, “there is something unnatural and strange about doing a love scene. We’ll end up kissing and then we’re just pissing ourselves with laughter because it’s so ridiculous.”

  “She’s goofy,” Weiss and Benioff confirm. “We have tried to let some of Emilia’s humor and light seep into Daenerys whenever possible. Who says conquerors can’t be funny?” A memorable Season Four conversation between Daenerys and her right-hand woman, Missandei, concerning a eunuch’s “pillar and stones,” for instance, is much more Clarke than Targaryen. Sadly, it’s unclear how much space there will be in the show’s climactic final season for bawdy, Clarke-ish humor. “I’m doing all this weird shit,” Clarke says. “You’ll know what I mean when you see it.”

  In the final episodes of a show with a body count as high as Game of Thrones’, Clarke never really knows when she might be filming her last moments with a member of the cast. She’s also shooting for the first time with several of the show’s top stars, including Sophie Turner and Maisie Williams, who play the formidable Stark sisters.

  Clarke is well aware that the strong women of the series are leaving some kind of imprint on the culture, but she’s saving up all her big-picture reflections on Daenerys for later: “This is going to be a Band-Aid that I’m going to rip off.” To help with that process, she started keeping a daily journal of her last season. With cell phones banned from the set due to security concerns, it’s her best hope of chronicling the final days of Daenerys. Selfies are off limits, but Clarke has asked set photographer Helen Sloan to snap the occasional behind-the-scenes photo. Both the journal and the photos, Clarke hints, may be available to the show’s fans someday.

  Clarke is unsurprisingly, and contractually, evasive when it comes to specifics of the concluding six episodes. Heavy hints in the most recent season indicate that, in addition to contending with the usual climactic end-of-the-world crises, Daenerys will also be grappling with more intimate parenthood and family issues. Here, Clarke and her on-screen alter ego may have something in common. Friends like Leslie and Harington are settling down to build their own families (“Their wedding is going to be siiiiick,” Clarke says), and an old schoolmate recently made Clarke godmother to a highly photogenic baby boy who makes regular appearances on her Instagram account. She lights up when talking about him.

  Talking about her own parents evokes other emotions. The wounds from the loss of her father are still fresh, but her mother remains an inspiration. If all goes according to plan, it’s Jennifer Clarke who will provide the map for Clarke’s very first post-Thrones steps. After the show ends, Clarke plans to re-create a road trip her mother took in 1972 to Yosemite and the redwoods of Northern California. With best friend and scriptwriter Lola Frears by her side, Clarke intends to spend part of the trip working on ideas for new projects. Her agents offered to take these ideas to “guys” with writing experience, but her answer to that was pure Daenerys: “No, I’m going to take it to me.”

  Citing Reese Witherspoon, Greta Gerwig, and other actresses turned creators as inspiration, Clarke says she wants to work with as many female filmmakers as she can. As for the conventional industry wisdom that women can’t work together without infighting? “It’s fucking bullshit. It’s so annoying.” An active member of Time’s Up, Clarke negotiated with Weiss and Benioff in 2014 to ensure she maintained parity with her male counterparts. She and four co-stars—Harington, Lena Headey (Cersei Lannister), Peter Dinklage (Tyrion Lannister), and Nikolaj Coster-Waldau (Jaime Lannister)—reportedly each landed $300,000 per episode, a dazzling figure that skyrocketed to half a million per episode for the final two seasons. “I get fucking paid the same as my guy friends,” Clarke says. “We made sure of that.”

  And while Clarke would be thrilled to have her own Lady Bird or Big Little Lies, that’s not all she’s after. She says she’s “desperate” to make documentaries and shine a light on underserved causes. “That’s the shit that gets me going personally.” Inspired by her father’s cancer ordeal, Clarke is especially passionate about the risks Brexit poses to the U.K.’s National Health Service, and she was recently named ambassador to the Royal College of Nursing. “That’s something I have in common with Dae-nerys,” she says suddenly, after several hours of explaining all the reasons she and her character are nothing alike. “I really feel for people and I want to help them. Not to sound too much like Oprah Winfrey.” She pauses, and thinks again. “Fuck that, I’m gonna sound like Oprah and I’m going to be proud of it.”

  In the midst of the twin tornadoes of Star Wars and Game of Thrones, Clarke acknowledges that most of her choices these days are “studio choices.” And if Solo is a hit, Clarke could be working for Lucasfilm for years to come. But Harington sees something else in her future: “She’s done, far more than me or most people in the cast, these very high-budget, big-hitting blockbusters. Hopefully Star Wars continues for her and she does more of them. But I think she’s an incredibly talented actor, and I would love to see her do something which is a more focused character piece, because the ones she’s done are brilliant.” Clarke’s effervescent performance in 2016’s romantic weepy Me Before You—a surprise hit at the box office—hints at what she’s capable of.

  Clarke wants to stretch herself, and explore a new-media landscape where creators no longer have to rely on large companies in order to get their projects made. “Everyone can. Get your iPhone out. Let’s do something. You know what I mean?” And with 17 million followers on Instagram, Clarke has the power to make and launch her own projects. Her recent Thrones-themed fund-raising Instagram video for the Royal College of Nursing Foundation racked up more than seven million views in just three days.

  All that takes some of the heat off Clarke as she decides how to follow up roles in two of entertainment’s biggest franchises. She doesn’t necessarily need another monster hit. She can afford to take her time, listen to herself, and do something that feels true to who she is—whoever that may be.

  The most obvious evidence of the blur between Daenerys and Clarke is the relatively new shock of blond hair on her head. “I did this, which was frigging stupid,” she says, fingering the blunt-cut ends of her bleached hair.

  When Kit Harington trimmed his famous curls in 2015, fans were led to believe his character, presumed dead, wouldn’t be returning to the show the following season. (He did.) But Clarke swears her decision to go blonde has nothing at all to do with Daenerys’s fate. “I got to a point where I said I just want to look in the mirror and see something different. So I was just like, ‘Fuck it, it’s the last season. I’m going to dye my hair blond.’ ” Clarke jokes that she immediately felt remorse and bought nine baseball caps online. “But they don’t go with your outfit, so I don’t wear them.”

  Clarke’s brown hair had always been her shield. The blond hair makes it harder to slip back into her pre-fame life. Partying with her old friends is tricky because their friends get “weird” about it, and she misses the mundane pleasures of, say, running errands for her mother. “What I get most heartbroken about is that those opportunities are almost completely gone.” Then she catches herself, and apologizes for moaning about the “champagne problems” of fame. “If I were reading this, I’d be like, ‘Cheer the fuck up, love.’ ”

  Back underneath that statue at the Met, Emilia Clarke cranes her neck up to get a closer look at the ancient pharaoh’s smooth granite face. Hatshepsut wears a false beard that allowed her to pass more easily through the male-dominated world. Our guide points out a faint piece of carved string running up the pharaoh’s jawline holding the disguise in place. Thinking about it later, Clarke, who knows a thing or two about disguises, passing, alter egos, and powerful women, shakes her head in astonishment. “That is some fascinating shit right there.”

  A towering granite Daenerys statue may never find its way into the hallowed halls of the Met, but it’s not clear Emilia Clarke wants that anyway. As we duck out of the Met a bit behind schedule, only to find that it’s raining and our sleek hired car is nowhere in sight, Clarke gamely suggests we rush out into the downpour and dive into the back of a yellow cab. Our driver doesn’t recognize Clarke, either, which puts her at ease. Unsure how to get to where we’re going, he passes his smartphone to her so she can type the hotel’s address into his G.P.S. “Don’t worry, mate,” she announces. “Your little app will get us there!” A satisfied smile plays on her face as the taxi twists, turns, and bumps along. She looks happier than she ever has riding a dragon.

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  Press/Gallery: Emilia Clarke Solo Flight was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke