#metacommentary

[fandsart]

Listen, I ship Steddie, but the duffers didn’t queer bait us with Eddie. He has some queer coding, but that just means he could easily be read as queer, not that he was written to be queer, and as he wasn’t, they didn’t use his alluded to status of queer to bait the queer members of their audience into watching. We watched, and then deemed that he seemed queer

I’m fairly certain that if Eddie had survived and Steddie happened, the same Steddie shippers who call it queer baiting would point to the Crissy scenes make “Oh, those Duffers! Straight baiting us again!” jokes. Hellcheer is a very valid reading to come away with

C’mon guys. Get it together

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Lich King - Wage Slave

[leftoblique]

Just saw a post about Taylor Swift and while the gist of it was correct (her parents were comfortably upper middle class, knew people in country music, and contributed aggressively and materially to her career) every single number stated in the post was either wrong or a gross exaggeration.

Swift's parents did spend what seems like an inordinate amount of money on her career, including buying a small stake in a startup record company. But the buy-in wasn't any more money than if they'd sent her to a private four-year college in the same period, and arguably did a better job of getting her her first real professional gig.

The takeaway from Taylor Swift's career shouldn't be "oh my god look at this lady failson! nepotism! nepotism! fuck her!" it should be "hey did you know this is what basically all* [white] upper-middle-class families do in America - they buy their kids all the advantages they can so that they are guaranteed to have a soft landing in adulthood, and maybe we should think about the pressures and structures that make that such an appealing way to game the system?"

* (except the ones who disown their queer or wayward kids for not living up to their standards, of course)

There are twin realities here that we need to acknowledge:

Swift, through no fault of her own, was given a lot of advantages in life that helped her succeed - advantages most other people don't have.

Swift is an incredibly talented performer and public personality who has built a very successful brand and made some awesome music.

I think we can hold those both in our heads at the same time without demonizing her or even her parents, or trying to claim she isn't actually good at what she does.

Now, Kid Rock? Shithead nepo failson.

[studyinglogic]

Some of these entries are some of the best blogging I can remember seeing anywhere recently - well done : )

Thank you very much! I'm never quite sure of how good my writing is (most of my writing is done for myself), so it's always great to hear that other people find something in it!

Thank you very much! I'm never quite sure of how good my writing is (most of my writing is done for myself), so it's always great to hear that other people find something in it!

As an aside, I really wish I tagged my original posts and reblogs with my longer contributions from the start. I originally intended my tumblr to consist primarily of original commentary, but this quickly fell by the wayside. Some of the posts which give more of a flavour of this facet of my persona can be found under the tags self, life, personal, or in the two self-interviews I did (1, 2). When I have more time I'll revamp my about page to make these more salient!

[askrossiel]

"That line is a very sad shape. What might I do to cheer it up?"

[insilverrolled]

from Antigone

By Jean Anouilh, Translated by Barbara Bray

CREON: Do you really think this is the moment for fine distinctions? Do you think there's time to debate whether you say yes or no, to wonder whether some day the price isn't going to be too high, whether afterwards you're going to be able to call yourself a man again? No! You grab the tiller, you stand up to the mountains of water, you shout an order—and if you're attacked you shoot the first comer. The first comer! He hasn't got a name. He's like the wave that's just broken over the deck, like the wind tearing at your limbs. He may be the man who smiled at you and gave you a light yesterday. He hasn't got a name any more. And neither have you, as you hang on desperately to the tiller. The only things that have got a name now are the ship and the storm. Do you understand?

ANTIGONE: (shaking her head). I don't want to. It's all very well for you, but I'm not here to understand. I'm here to say no to you, and to die.

CREON: It's easy to say no!

ANTIGONE: Not always.

CREON: To say yes you have to sweat, roll up your sleeves, grab hold of life, plunge in up to the neck. It's easy to say no, even if it means dying. All you have to do is keep still and wait. Wait to live. Wait to die, even. It's feeble!—something human beings have thought up for themselves. Can you imagine a world where trees have said no to the sap? Where the animals have said no to the instincts of hunting and love? Brute beasts at least are good and natural and tough. They all jostle each other bravely along the same path. If any fall, others trample them. No matter how many die there'll always be one of every species left to reproduce and follow the same path with the same courage.

ANTIGONE: What a dream for a king! To be like an animal! Wouldn't that make life easy!

[heartshapedgreen]

gahh been finding so many great commentators/essayists on youtube & tee noir is becoming such a fave

like "that's just really coded for 'find your place as a sexual being in this world' because sexuality isn't something that you choose and then explore as a woman, sexuality chooses you because you're a woman" + the analysis on woc having to perform within a dichotomy, with one end a projected hypersexuality and the other end a purity they're not allowed to embody, because they're racialized before they're seen as women... much to think about

and then this alongside megan thee stallion's cobra analysis video is just chef's kiss

[amelia]

this being a sponsored ad on a iwtv blog i was looking at

[txttletale]

people online: support trans rights!

people in real life: theyre making kids learn how to be gay in school now. on account of woke gone too far and all

[ocean-returns]

Are casual viewers aware that both the 12th and 14th doctors subconsciously chose their face because of Donna Noble. She's got an absolute chokehold on that alien's psyche.

[theminecraftbee]

Grian comes to again, flat on his back, and groans. Distantly, he hears Scar yelling an apology. It’s hard to tell if Scar had accidentally dropped sand, accidentally kicked one of the dragon eggs currently littering their bases (causing it to fall), or had missed concrete somewhere and caused that to drop, but the apology, this time, was at least sincere, so he’s fairly certain Scar didn’t intentionally knock Grian out. Doesn’t mean Grian hadn’t been knocked on his ass by, what, a pavlovian reaction to sand? But it means Scar hadn’t been intentionally exploiting it.

He’s rubbing his head when he hears them chittering distantly. He looks up, and then he Looks up, just to make sure he’s not imagining it, and… yep, they’re there. The Watchers. They’re busy happily chittering about the fact that Grian passes out when any block falls to the ground. Of course they are. He wonders if this is their fault. Probably not; Watchers may be annoying, but they can’t see the future, so it’s not like they’d have known about the egg thing ahead of time. No, they’re probably just amused at his suffering.

Joke’s on them. This is mostly just going to make cleaning up slower. And they’re going to have to deal with that too, on account of the fact Grian can’t do much else until it’s done.

He’s trying to hit another egg with a piston when he hears, distantly, “shoot, the beach!”, realizes what has happened, and then he’s waking up on the ground again. He stares at the sky for a moment.

“Trust Scar with sand, I thought. He terraforms all the time, I thought. He won’t keep messing me up with it, I thought.” He groans.

The chittering of the Watchers gets louder. He hears a lot of ‘Scar’ and ‘sand’ and ‘he can’t bear it’ and. Great. Grian’s pretty sure he knows what comment is coming next—

you’ve never left that desert.

“So this is your fault!” he says, accusingly. “Why! All it’s done is make my life more confusing!”

Indistinct noises. At one point, when Grian had been more one of them than he is now, he had been able to tell all of the voices apart easily. Now, the Watchers are somewhere between the wall of incomprehensible, horrible sound that they are to mortals and normal voices. He has to strain to pick out anything overly specific. He supposes if he chose to go all Watcher again he’d be able to tell what they’re saying, but frankly, they’re all annoying, so why would he bother? Better to stick to things as they are.

He messages Scar: If you drop sand one more time I am going to figure out how to add more dragon eggs to your base.

Scar messages back: its an accideet

Grian responds one more time: lol. accideet.

He takes a moment before standing up to check around himself. Scar does seem to have moved on from whatever he’d been doing with terraforming to keep dropping gravity blocks, so it’s probably safe to stand without passing out again. What had he been doing? Right. Eggs. Piston.

you never left that desert, Grian hears again from the wall of noise.

“Right. That’s me. Never left,” Grian says. Honestly.

can’t stand the sight of scar and sand.

“You know you guys are reaching, right?” Grian says.

never left—

“I would if you’d let me!” snaps Grian.

Indistinct chittering. Deep breaths. He’s fine. He's apparently developed sand-based epilepsy or something, and is trying to find the solution to that, but. Fine. He’s fine. It’s not like arguing with Watchers is ever actually worth it. They never change their mind. The thing is that they tend to think they know exactly how he works, and no matter how much he tries to refute their baseless assumptions, they still have a picture in their head, and they still keep working off of it.

A strange shudder runs down his back.

you never left that desert.

“Look, it’s not that I’m not over it,” Grian says. “I’m actually pretty over it. I’ve been over it since Last Life, really, even if none of you believe me.” He puts another egg in his inventory. “Scar’s my friend and he’s a weird guy and I like him, but it’s not like I’m not over that stupid game. Wouldn’t keep playing it if I weren’t over it, would I?”

Indistinct chittering about tragedy and deserts and dramatic final suicides and, look, Grian is good at telling stories. That’s the whole point. That’s why these guys won’t leave him alone. But sometimes, he swears…

“So you know, I would have left the desert by now. It’s just that you all haven’t. So guess who’s still stuck here? Believe me, it’s not me who’s not over it. If you wanted me out of the desert, you could let me leave any time you’d l—”

He has a second’s warning before he’s on the ground, dizzy, hoping he hasn’t gotten a concussion. He glances down at his communicator.

Mumbo says: that was me this time my bad

Shakily, Grian types: you have 10 seconds. start running.

The chittering gets more distant. Grian gets up. He checks to make sure his wings are on. He goes to light a rocket, but not before shouting: “Scar, if you do anything with gravity blocks while I am actively flying I will kill you dead!”

“Have fun buddy!” Scar shouts back. Grian’s not sure Scar actually heard a word he said. Well, hopefully there will be no sand falling from his hands while he goes to murder Mumbo, then. If there is, Grian’s—well, Grian’s going to have a broken bone at that rate, but he’s recovered from far worse falls. Some of those have even been Scar’s fault, by some measure or another.

He Looks back up at the mass he knows are the Watchers. “If this is you all’s fault because you never seem to have gotten over the whole desert thing, I’ll find a way to, I don’t know. Inconvenience you greatly. Not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll figure it out.”

The chittering gets way more fond, then. Pleased. They want him to do that. Can’t even threaten the assholes properly, they like it. Honestly, Grian doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s not like they’ll listen. No matter how many times he says he’s over it, it’s not like they’ll listen.

(Sometimes, he hates that he’s so good at stories.)

Right then. Time to wreak havoc on his friends for exploiting his very exploitable weakness, then. This sword’s got sharpness on it, right?

------

(originally written for @hermitcraftguesstheauthorevent, and posted on ao3 here; now that it's revealed, i figured i'd go ahead and post it here, since it really matches the cadence of one of my tumblr things more than an ao3-only fic. enjoy!)

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Lich King - Act Of War

[rontra]

Oh my god the guitar-playing Marisa at the school festival... Umineko...

[studyinglogic]

When I first started using tumblr, I intended to use it as a platform for writing my own material, whether as posts or reblogs. The amount of content on tumblr has since made this intention impossible; many of my posts after this will likely be reblogs with minimal original commentary.

Some posts on tumblr wear their profundity openly; others are profound but don't seem so because they're more overtly humorous. I enjoy posts of both types---especially since humour often makes the point more memorable. As Alan Jacobs says about Pynchon's novels: "If you think the jokiness is annoying, imagine what the books would be like without the jokes."

There are certain forms of humour common to tumblr; I await the book analysing them (hopefully to be written within the next few decades). In the meantime, we collect, contribute, and create the material for this unwritten and imaginary text.

[askrossiel]

"Sometimes, when I am sitting outside the walls of all stories, I think about what my fortunes would be had I come to a different story than the one I did. I think I would fare dreadfully in that other-Duckburg, the one where some people's spirits have a shape and a use. What reason would my rescuer have in his own story to look under a bush in a park in a city where his lab is not? And especially when he has all those other children to look after?"

[insilverrolled]

from Antigone

By Jean Anouilh, Translated by Barbara Bray

CHORUS: Nice and neat, tragedy. Restful, too. In a drama, with its traitors, its desperate villains, its innocent victims, avengers, devoted followers and glimmers of hope, death becomes something terrible, a kind of accident. You might have arrived in time with the police. But tragedy's so peaceful! For one thing, everybody's on a par. All innocent! It doesn't matter if one person kills and the other is killed—it's just a matter of casting . . . And above all, tragedy's restful, because you know there's no lousy hope left. You know you're caught, caught at last like a rat in a trap, with all heaven against you. And the only thing left to do is to shout—not moan, or complain, but yell out at the top of your voice whatever it is you had to say. What you've never said before. What perhaps you didn't even know till now . . . And to no purpose—just so as to tell it to yourself . . . to learn it, yourself. In drama you struggle, because you hope you're going to survive. It's utilitarian—sordid. But tragedy is gratuitous. Pointless, irremediable. Fit for a king!