#not the psychology of it (leave that to experts) but the liberation

[scobbe]

The biggest gift I received from IFS therapy was getting a real handle on what actually was happening around me while I was busy disassociating and disconnecting from the terrible real life around me. (There are parts of us, buried though they may be, who do remember.) And having a coherent narrative of “oh, between the ages of 14 and 24 I lost everything that had ever given me a sense of safety and identity,” removed a massive amount of anxiety and shame I was putting on myself, believing I was lazy or defective or unable to handle life. We are very, very good at writing stories to protect ourselves from pain, but those stories can’t hold the kind of real truth that actually defines who we are. When we know we’ve been kicked to the ground we can get up again (even asking for help to do so!) but when you’re tangled up in thinking you’ve just got to improve yourself or try a new job or relationship or spiritual practice or whatever, it only leads to exhaustion on a treadmill going nowhere. And the worst part is our society takes advantage of this and will try to sell you fixes you don’t need.

But if you have Been Through It you know you have a right to hobble a little, to be a veteran of a war, to give yourself some slack and appreciate your achievements, whenever you’re able to achieve them. There’s nothing to be “fixed”, only wounds that need healing and injuries that need accommodating, and that’s okay.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Against Lore

For the rest of May, my bestselling solarpunk utopian novel THE LOST CAUSE (2023) is available as a $2.99, DRM-free ebook!

One of my favorite nuggets of writing advice comes from James D Macdonald. Jim, a Navy vet with an encylopedic knowledge of gun lore, explained to a group of non-gun people how to write guns without getting derided by other gun people: "just add the word 'modified.'"

As in, "Her modified AR-15 kicked against her shoulder as she squeezed the trigger, but she held it steady on the car door, watching it disintegrate in a spatter of bullet-holes."

Jim's big idea was that gun people couldn't help but chew away at the verisimilitude of your fictional guns, their brains would automatically latch onto them and try to find the errors. But the word "modified" hijacked that impulse and turned it to the writer's advantage: a gun person's imagination gnaws at that word "modified," spinning up the cleverest possible explanation for how the gun in question could behave as depicted.

In other words, the gun person's impulse to one-up the writer by demonstrating their superior knowledge becomes an impulse to impart that superior knowledge to the writer. "Modified" puts the expert and the bullshitter on the same team, and conscripts the expert into fleshing out the bullshitter's lies.

Yes, writing is lying. Storytelling is genuinely weird. A storyteller who has successfully captured the audience has done so by convincing their hindbrains to care about the tribulations of imaginary people. These are people whose suffering, by definition, do not matter. Imaginary things didn't happen, so they can't matter. The deaths of Romeo and Juliet were less tragic than the death of the yogurt you had for breakfast. That yogurt was alive and now it's dead, whereas R&J never lived, never died, and don't matter:

https://locusmag.com/2014/11/cory-doctorow-stories-are-a-fuggly-hack/

Hijacking a stranger's empathic response is intrinsically adversarial. While storytelling is a benign activity, its underlying mechanic is extremely dangerous. Getting us to care about things that don't matter is how novels and movies work, but it's also how cults and cons work.

Cult leaders and con-artists know that they're engaged in mind-to-mind combat, and they make liberal use of Jim's hack of leaving blank spots for the mark to fill in. Think of Qanon drops: the mystical nonsense was just close enough to sensical that a vulnerable audience was compelled to try and untangle them, and ended up imparting more meaning to them than the hustler who posted them ever could have dreamt up.

Same with cons – there's a great scene in the Leverage: Redemption heist show where an experienced con-artist explains to a novice that the most convincing hustle is the one where you wait for the mark to tell you what they think you're doing, then run with it (scambaiters and other skeptics will recognize this as a relative of the "cold reading," where a "psychic" uses your own confirmations to flesh out their predictions).

As Douglas Adams put it:

A towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitch hiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost". What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

Magicians know this one, too. The point of a sleight is to misdirect the audience's attention, and use that moment of misattention to trick them, vanishing, stashing or producing something. The mark's mind is caught in a pleasurable agony: something seemingly impossible just happened. The mind splits into two parts, one of which insists that the impossible just happened, the other insisting that the impossible can't happen.

You know you've done it right if the audience says, "Do that again!" And that's the one thing you must not do. So long as you don't repeat the trick, the audience's imagination will chew on it endlessly, coming up with incredibly clever things that you must have done (a clever conjurer will know several ways to produce the same effect and will "do it again" by reproducing the effect via different means, which exponentially increases the audience's automatic imputation of clever methods to the performer).

Not for nothing, Jim Macdonald advises his writing students to study Magic and Showmanship, a classic text for aspiring conjurers:

https://memex.craphound.com/2007/11/13/magic-and-showmanship-classic-book-about-conjuring-has-many-lessons-for-writers/

There's a version of this in comedy, too. The scholarship of humor is clear on this: comedy comes from surprise. The audience knows they're about to be surprised when the punchline lands, and their mind is furiously trying to defuse the comedian's bomb before it detonates, cycling through potential punchlines of their own. This ramps up the suspense and the tension, so when the comedian does drop the punchline, the tension is released in a whoosh of laughter.

Your mind wants the tension to be resolved ASAP, but the pleasure comes from having that desire thwarted. Comedy – like most performance – has an element of authoritarianism. You don't give the audience what it wants, you give it what it needs.

Same goes for TTRPGs: the game master's role is to deny the players the victories and treasure they want, until they can't take it anymore, and then deliver it. That's the definition of an epic game. It's one of the durable advantages of human GMs over video game back-ends: they can ramp up the epicness by "cheating" on the play, giving the players the chance to squeak out improbable victories at the last possible second:

https://wilwheaton.typepad.com/wwdnbackup/2009/03/behind-the-screen.html

This is so effective that even crude approximations of it can turn video-games into cult hits – like Left4Dead, whose "Director" back-end would notice when the players were about to get destroyed and then substantially ramped up the chances of finding an amazing weapon – the chance would still be low overall, but there would be enough moments when the player got exactly what they'd been praying for, at the last possible instant, that it would feel amazing:

https://left4dead.fandom.com/wiki/The_Director#Special_Infected

Critically, Left4Dead's Director didn't do this every time. As any showman knows, the key to a great performance is "Always leave 'em wanting more." The musician's successful finale depends on doing every encore the audience demands, except the last one, so the crowd leaves with one tantalyzing and imaginary song playing in their minds, a performance better than any the musicians themselves could have delivered. Like the gun person who comes up with a cooler mod than the writer ever could, like the magic show attendee who comes up with a more elaborate explanation for the sleight than the conjurer could ever pull off, like the comedy club attendee whose imagination anticipates a surprise that grows larger the longer the joke goes on, the successful performance is an adversarial act of cooperation where the audience willingly and unwillingly cooperates with the performer to deny them the thing that they think they need, and deliver the thing they actually need.

This is my biggest problem with the notion that someday LLMs will get good enough at storytelling to give us the tales we demand, without having to suffer through a storyteller's sadistic denial of the resolutions we crave. When I'm reading a mystery, I want to turn to the last page and find out whodunnit, but I know that doing so will ruin the story. Telling the storyteller how the story should go is like trying to tickle yourself.

Like being tickled, experiencing only fun if the tickler respects your boundaries – but, like being tickled, there's always a part where you're squirming away, but you don't want it to stop. An AI storyteller that gives you exactly what you want is like a dungeon master who declares that every sword-swing kills the monster, and every treasure chest is full of epic items and platinum pieces. Yes, that's what you want, but if you get it, what's the point?

Seen in this light, performance is a kind of sado-masochism, where the performer delights in denying something to the audience, who, in turn, delights in the denial. Don't give the audience what they want, give them what they need.

What your audience needs is their own imagination. Decades ago, I was a freelance copywriter producing sales materials for Alias/Wavefront, a then-leading CGI firm that was inventing all kinds of never-seen VFX that would blow people away. One of the engineers I worked with told me something I never forgot: "Your imagination has more polygons than anything you can create with our software." He was talking about why it was critical to have some of the action happen in the shadows.

All of this is why series tend to go downhill. The first volume in any series leaves so much to the imagination. The map of the world is barely fleshed out, the characters' biographies are full of blank spots, the mechanics of the artifacts and the politics of the land are all just detailed enough that your mind automatically ascribes a level of detail to them, without knowing what that detail is.

This is the moment at which everything seems very clever, because your mind is just churning with all the different bits of elaborate lore that will fill in those lacunae and make them all fit together.

SPOILER ALERT: I'm about to give some spoilers for Furiosa.

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FURIOSA SPOILERS AHEAD!

Last night, we went to see Furiosa, the latest Mad Max movie, a prequel to 2015's Fury Road, which is one of the greatest movies ever made. Like most prequels, Furiosa functions as a lore-delivery vehicle, and as such, it's nowhere near as good as Fury Road.

Fury Road hints as so much worldbuilding. We learn about the three fortresses of the wasteland (the Citadel, the Bullet Farm, and Gastown) but we only see one (The Citadel). We learn that these three cities have a symbiotic relationship with one another, defined by a complex politics that is just barely stable. We meet Furiosa herself, and learn something of her biography – that she had been stolen from the Green Place, that she had suffered an arm amputation.

All of this is left for us to fill in, and for a decade, my hindbrain has been chewing on all of that, coming up with cool ways it could all fit together. I yearned to know the "real" explanation, but it was always unlikely that this real explanation would be as enjoyable as my own partial, ever-unfinished headcanon.

Furiosa is a great movie, but its worst parts are the canonical lore it settles. Partly, that's because some of that lore is just stupid. Why is the Bullet Farm an open-pit mine? I mean, it's visually amazing, but what does that have to do with making bullets? Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal – the solarpunk Green Place is a million times less cool than I had imagined it. Sometimes, it's because the lore is banal and stupid: the scenes where Furiosa's arm is crushed, then severed, then replaced, are both rushed and quasi-miraculous:

https://www.themarysue.com/how-does-furiosa-lose-her-arm/

But even if the lore had been good – not stupid, not banal – the best they could have hoped for was for the lore to be tidy. If it were surprising, it would seem contrived. A story whose loose ends have been tidily snipped away seems like it would be immensely satisfying, but it's not satisfying – it's just resolved. Like the band performing every encore you demand, until you no longer want to hear the band anymore – the feeling as you leave the hall isn't satisfaction, it's exhaustion.

So long as some key question remains unresolved, you're still wanting more. So long as the map has blank spots, your hindbrain will impute clever and exciting mysteries, tantalyzingly teetering on the edge of explicability, to the story.

Lore is always better as something to anticipate than it is to receive. The fans demand lore, but it should be doled out sparingly. Always leave 'em wanting more.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/27/cmon-do-it-again/#better_to_remain_silent_and_be_thought_a_fool_than_to_speak_and_remove_all_doubt

[tomorrowusa]

There is a lot of emphasis in the news media on Biden's age while almost nothing about Trump's fitness. This needs to change and we should be more active about holding news organizations to account.

In a four day period in September, the cable news stations mentioned Biden’s age 193 times while Trump’s age was mentioned just 56 times. (MediaMatters.org on September 29, 2023.) After this one sided coverage, these same media outlets then polled the voters about Biden’s age and found (surprise!) that voters are more concerned about Biden’s age than Trump’s age. It’s garbage in and garbage out.

There's just a 3.5 year difference between Biden and Trump. But Trump is not the fitter of the two. Being an epic blowhard and blabbermouth is not a measure of fitness.

After Biden concluded his debt ceiling deal with McCarthy in June, the extremist so-called House “Freedom” Caucus members complained that Biden “outsmarted” McCarthy in the negotiations. The House GOP’s most extreme members hate Biden and have zero incentive to tell the truth about Biden’s good state of health.

So even the most extreme Republicans had to admit that they were outfoxed by Biden.

On October 2, Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-FL) took to the floor of the House to denounce the deal that funded the government for forty five days Gaetz said: “It is going to be difficult for my Republican friends to keep calling President Biden feeble while he continues to take Speaker McCarthy’s lunch money in every negotiation.”

As for Trump's health, mental health in particular, the evidence of his debility is on full display.

Meanwhile, the mainstream press has largely ignored and downplayed Trump’s declining mental condition and increasing tendency to threaten violence. Probably the only mainstream media piece that accurately described the respective health of Biden and Trump was in the New York Times on June 4, 2023. The pertinent excerpts are as follows: “While in office, Mr. Trump generated concerns about his mental acuity and physical condition. He did not exercise, his diet leaned heavily on cheeseburgers and steak and he officially tipped the scales at 244 pounds, a weight formally deemed obese for his height. After complaining that he was overscheduled with morning meetings, Mr. Trump stopped showing up at the Oval Office until 11 or 11:30 a.m. each day, staying in the residence to watch television, make phone calls or send out incendiary tweets. During an appearance at the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, he had trouble lifting a glass of water and seemed to have trouble making his way down a modest ramp. Most striking was Mr. Trump’s cognitive performance. He was erratic and tended to ramble; experts have found that he had grown less articulate and that his vocabulary had shrunk since his younger days. Aides said privately that Mr. Trump had trouble processing information and distinguishing fact from fiction. His second chief of staff, John F. Kelly, bought a book analyzing Mr. Trump’s psychological health to understand him better, and several cabinet secretaries concerned that he might be mentally unfit discussed invoking the 25th Amendment to remove him.”

He's gotten worse rather than better since leaving office.

These aren’t isolated statements. The highlights (or lowlights) of Trump’s deteriorating condition are as follows. Trump forgot who is currently president, and claimed “the Obama administration” recorded the length of his “border wall.” He even claimed **Jeb Bush** invaded Afghanistan and Iraq! Trump appeared confused when he said Jeb Bush was president during the Iraq War. “You know he was a mili — he got us into the, uh, he got us into the Middle East … Right?” In September, Trump mixed up Biden and Obama, and claimed Biden might start World War TWO. Trump even said you need a government photo ID to buy a loaf of bread. At the same time, Trump’s remarks have taken a dark turn and he has repeatedly threatened violence. Trump suggested that General Mark Milley should be executed. If anybody else had said that, they would be getting a visit from the FBI. The fact that this isn’t being treated as major front-page news is astonishing to me.

Trump makes threats to media moguls and they go easy on reporting his delirium.

The run away front runner for the GOP presidential nomination said Comcast, the owner of NBC and MSNBC, “should be investigated for its ‘Country Threatening Treason’” and promised to do so should he be re-elected president next year. Why does the press continue to cover up Trump’s poor health when he has promised to go after them? How can they be so stupid? It’s pretty wild that, of the two leading presidential candidates, the guy found liable for rape and who is facing ninety one criminal indictments isn’t the one who is facing calls to step aside for someone else to run. The mainstream media has lost all sense of scale and proportion. The media fixation with Biden as opposed to this clearly impaired guy is journalistic malpractice.

Psychologist Mary Trump, Donald's niece, called her uncle a "dangerous presence" on Australia's ABC earlier this year. She also said he was essentially "an insecure little boy who seeks attention".

And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

Ask your news providers why they are seldom mentioning Trump's mental health in their coverage. They should not be normalizing his threats against people and his bizarre erratic comments.

[aeon2407]

Pyro's Pyrotechnic Love Life - Chapter 3

For @contentment-of-cats. Also on AO3.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Evergreen Forest, Krownest

“Actually, how did you two meet?”

It’s been two hours since Artur left, two hours since a Mandalorian wearing the most colorful armor she’s ever seen stripped his weapons and took him away in stuncuffs.

Sabine Wren, Sundari Academy defector and Phoenix Squadron’s weapons expert, took him away in cuffs.

Yana’s been keeping herself busy by helping with digging a trench for shelter and fortifications in case the Wrens decide to go for violence and rigging the Disciple’s databank with a generous amount of dentons. That and casual conversation. Odo’s question caught her attention, and she took a moment to decide if answering it now would cause her anxiety to show.

To Sith hell with it. Everyone here was family to her, anyway.

“Uh… he had to attend a full year at Royal after they left Terra, General Tagge’s orders. Apparently jumping straight from Lieutenant to Major required some extra leadership training.” A few chuckles. “Anyway, he was there my final year. We met in Professor Partagaz’s Criminal Psychology class. We got to know each other in the sparring ring and on the range, though. He went back to batt the day after Jashin and I commissioned.”

A smile crept onto her face at the memories, pushing the anxiety and stress back. The challenges, the banter, The Kiss, the sex.

Most of her paid leave for the next four years was spent taking his private shuttle to Coruscant or Spira or Bespin or wherever they could find real meat on the grill and a good, soundproofed hotel room. She loved being loud and a bottom and vulnerable with him, just like she loves doing it all with Yissa now. It was liberating, especially for someone with her upbringing.

“It was tough, you know?” Now that she was talking and comfortable doing it, everything started to spill unprompted. “Dating someone on the other end of the galaxy, working the jobs and the hours we did. But we made it work. We made it work for four years.”

Odo looked fascinated, Yissa was pointedly uncomfortable, Jashin knew all of this already, but it was Faro who asked the tough question. “Why did you two break things off? I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault, but he was crying his eyes out that night.”

“We both needed more than what a long-distance relationship can offer.” Pyro automatically used the same reply she gave Jashin back then before she registered the rest of what was said. “Wait, how did you know he was crying? We broke up at Tagge Manor.”

Now it was Faro’s turn on the backfoot. She obviously hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Um… uh…”

Her mentor was uncharacteristically nervous, stumbling over her words like a new ensign, and it took Yana a few seconds of staring before it clicked.

“OH SHIT!”

Everyone jumped back at the volume, and some snow fell from the branches above. Yana was looking at Faro with an unmistakable mixture of surprise and disgust, the galactic expression for when one finds certain people in certain… situations.

Everyone waited with bated breaths for Pyro to finally spill whatever it was she figured out. And when she finally did, it was with an appropriate amount of horror in her voice.

“You kriffed Cassio Tagge?”

Karyn reminds herself, yet again, to cram a filter somewhere in her mentee’s vocal functions. Maybe Thrawn can help.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It took another two hours of huddling around and bundling together in their little tarp-covered trench, with Karyn suffering and refusing to acknowledge the bombardment of questions aimed at her, before Artur came back with a Gauntlet starfighter and an escort of jetpacked Mando troops, just before his self-appointed deadline. There was blood splattering his face and coating his fingers, snow in his hair, a blaster burn on his right bicep, and a burnt right gauntlet.

He held his head high despite the injury though, his weapons were back where they belonged, and there weren’t cuffs on his wrists anymore. Something was different about his escorts too. Their stances were no longer hostile, more professional and in some cases even a little deferential if you squint and look from an angle.

Beside her, Pyro must’ve noticed the same thing and came to some sort of conclusion, because Karyn heard her let out a surprised gasp followed by a string of very colorful words, in multiple languages to boot, that would’ve made Marinith proud and Thrawn tell her things about herself.

It wasn’t until her surrogate son lifted the tarp and told them it was time to go that Karyn noticed what Pyro must’ve earlier. There was a lightsaber on his hip. More specifically, the fabled Darksaber, last known to be in the possession of Sabine Wren.

That would explain the escort. The questions now, however, would be whether Artur had to commit sororicide to become Mand’alor, and what he was going to do with the title.

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Hydian Way, Hyperspace

Artur took a detour close to Mandalore and launched the saber into orbit. “Ni jor'naycir te dha kad'au bal te gai be Mand'alor. Vercopa te projor verda alorir”, he had muttered to himself, voice as flat as when he was Vader’s left hand, then punched in the coordinates for Cantonica and all but yanked the lever. He didn’t want, or need, the title of Mand’alor. Someone else can have it.

A collective sigh of relief was let out from the bundle of people behind him as the familiar warped lights of hyperspace flushed the cockpit a shade of blue. The troop bay on a Gauntlet wasn’t small by any means, but between the number of people and storage cubes, four of them ended up having to sit on each other’s lap. Of course, with two couples among them it worked out perfectly.

He spent the next two hours or so in silence, checking everything from the navicomputer to the engine readings with the precision and decisiveness of someone who gave Soontir Fel and Han Solo a run for their credits during dogfights at Cliffside.

It was a shame Solo deserted on Mimban. He was looking forward to getting the man back into the Carida flight program, or maybe Skystrike would’ve been a better fit. He was definitely good enough to fly for the Empire, maybe even with SCAR Wing One.

The cockpit door sealed shut as Pyro lean against his shoulder from behind. A hand trailed down to his chest in a comforting hug, and he instinctively covered it with his own, lightly squeezing and rubbing her calloused palm with his thumb.

Yana felt a mangled mix of emotions slam into her heart at the touch. Safety came first, then love. Peace. Vulnerability. Longing. Guilt.

She didn’t pull away.

“Did you…”

“No.”

“Are you still…”

“Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, Yana.”

…

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

…

…

“It’ll crush you whether you talk about it or not, Artur. Better here and now than on the job.”

An acknowledging hum. Pyro knew the man well enough to leave it be.

“Does Faro know?”

…

“She does.”

“You told her?”

“Dad did.”

“Wasn’t his place.”

“It was, actually.”

“Says who?”

“Me. Gave him permission and everything.”

“Oh.”

…

“Still can’t believe they…”

A grimace from her. A chuckle from him.

“How’d you think we met?”

…

…

“Fair enough. Was it as gross for you as it is for me?”

“I’m in the Army, Pyro. Unit morale is basically contingent on sex, and we don’t usually have the privacy you sailors do.”

A deadpan and slightly confused stare.

“No, it wasn’t gross to me. They both liked each other, they both seemed to have enjoyed it, and it didn’t affect any careers, so I didn’t care either way.”

“Huh. Haven’t thought about it that way.”

“I can tell.”

A light smack on the head. “Asshole.”

A shared chuckle.

“In her defense he was quite charming back then, and…”

“I really don’t want to think about it more than necessary.”

“Fair enough.”

“Thank you.”

“Everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Not you though.”

“Wanted to check up on you.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The conversation lulled into silence from there, but neither of them minded it, Pyro content with leaning against the man who had once made her of all people happy at the thought of marriage, Artur content to keep holding her hand and rubbing her knuckles. It was a pale reflection of what they once had, but it was the best he’d get.

The navicomputer chimed, signally their imminent exit from hyperspace. With a noticeable amount of reluctance, Yana pulled her hand out from under his and made her way back.

Don’t say it, Tagge. For all that’s good and proper, don’t say it.

“You know, if it wasn’t for Hammerly, I would’ve asked if you wanted to try again, now that we’re posted on the same ship.”

Damn it.

Yana paused, her hand hovering above the door control.

“If it wasn’t for Yissa, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.”

She opened the door and walked away.

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Hyperspace Penthouse, 49th – 53rd Floor, Mon’t Car’l Tower, Canto Bight, Cantonica

“So this is what owning a whole region of Space gets you.”

“No, this is what the War Mantle contract gets you.”

“Nah, this is Founder money right here.”

“Can’t be. The Hammerlies were Founders too, and they’re rich, but not this kriffing rich.”

“Tarkin has the one below us, though. Must be an exclusivity thing.”

“You say that like the Tarkins didn’t own Eriadu pre-Empire.”

Karyn and Yissa quietly found seats for their sore and tired bodies, letting the junior officers gush to their hearts’ content while Artur hauled their cubes into the kitchen. To be completely fair to the looies, it was one hell of an apartment. Curved, floor-to-ceiling transparisteel windows on either side and an open concept balcony allowed plenty of light into the living room and provided one of the most spectacular views any of them had ever seen, overlooking a glistening ocean as the dimming lights of sunset caught the waters just right.

Circular living rooms haven’t been in style since the Clone Wars, but this one walked the line between modern and classic and looking no less classy doing it. Couches, armchairs, and pouf couches lined the windows, balcony, and around the large wooden caf table, circular of course, placed in front of the fireplace.

Oh right, there was an actual fireplace here.

The circular, glass-bottomed infinity pool on the second floor led into a decorative waterfall down to the balcony that can double as a refresher, and there were lounge chairs and parasols nearby.

The kitchen was open, only separated from the living room by a marble island and the change in flooring from hardwood and plush carpets to polished stone tiles. Every kitchen appliance under any sun in the galaxy can be seen, sometimes more than once, and Artur had said that there were service droids available for restocking any foodstuff they wanted, whenever they wanted it.

Bedrooms lay spread across the five floors, and Odo joked that he could finally sleep soundly without the others’ ‘nightly activities’ disrupting him. Unfortunately, Jashin and Phyrre seemed to have taken that as a challenge.

“So, is this good or no?” Artur asked from the kitchen, a warm yet amused smile on his face as he watched the lieutenants acting like a clowder given a new shiny toy, which wasn’t all that far from the truth. Honestly, the behavior reminded him of getting Pyro that MM9 for their third anniversary.

Hammerly turned to him from the pouf couch, noticeably more relaxed. “Yeah, this is good.”

Her answer came out in breathy whispers, which got a giggle out of Yana as she curled up on her wyf’s lap, falling asleep in seconds as her daily allocation of manic energy is spent.

They came to Canto Bight for the nightlife, but tonight will be strictly recuperation, either physically or, in some cases, mentally. They have a month. They can waste a day.

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Medical Ward, Wren Stronghold, Krownest

Ursa hasn’t slept for two days, despite her son’s urging, despite her husband’s kind but sobering words saying that there was nothing she could’ve done. Despite that darasuum dar’manda and his cutting accusations.

Bridger sat on the ground next to her, meditating like the proper jetii child that she knew he wasn’t. Or maybe he was praying, she could never tell with his kind. Sabine floated in a bacta tank nearby, still unconscious from blood loss but breathing steadily through the respirator. Her left arm was preserved in a cryostasis unit next door along with her right leg. That demagolka had taken both in one fell swoop.

The older jetii was working with Tristan and Captain Syndulla to look for methods of reattaching limbs. Right now, their best lead was the neuropathic connectivity research conducted by the Kaminoans to install inhibitor chips and fix ‘defects’ in their clones. The three of them were enroute to salvage whatever remained of Tipoca City. The Lasat was venting his anger by sparring her guards into the ground, and Ursa could’ve sworn she heard the droid listed at least fifteen different war crimes in a plan to exact revenge. She might just help out.

But first, she had to address the accusations to Sabine when she wakes up. How do you tell your until-recently estranged daughter that she wasn’t your first child?

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Canto Casino, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Vacation Day 5. Leave remaining: 30 Days.

At this rate, he’ll have four billionaire crewmates instead of just the one by the time they get back shipside. Jashin was afraid to even think about what they’d do with that much money.

It’s been going on like this for the past four days. Artur supply the creds then loudly loses at a no-limits table to attract the high rollers, Yissa keeps track of the cards, Pyro comes in with her big, beautiful brain and wipe them out while Phyrre distracts the floormen in a shimmering dress that was extremely flattering on her. He’d be tempted to rip it off if it wasn’t more expensive than his entire career so far.

This must be entertaining for them, because so far they’ve wiped out every multimillionaire and billionaire at Tagge Palace, KDY Grand, and Coruscant InterGalactic.

All of them would be nursing lifetime bans from every casino on the planet if it wasn’t for the House of Tagge signet gleaming on Artur’s finger. As it were, no one has tried anything yet, but Jashin and Odo were watching from the bar just in case.

Faro has been joyfully on a bender the entire week they’ve been planetside, drowning in every combination of alcohol under the galaxy that wasn’t lethal for human consumption. Given the nature of her job, no one begrudged her the indulgence.

Artur had very thoughtfully left a stim, a few bacta pads, and some water by her bed after hauling her back the first night. He also left a bucket with a note saying ‘you deserve this’ and a smiley face. The bucket has proven itself incredibly useful every morning thus far, and they rolled a dice every day to see who’d have to empty it.

Back to the game though, Artur let out an exaggerated groan as he tossed his cards onto the table and walked off. Trohren Kuat grinned, happy to finally get one over a Tagge as he dumped his entire credit chit, twenty-eight million total, into the game. Time to wipe out this pretty little lass. Maybe he can offer her a chance to earn them back later. Taking Artur Tagge’s creds and the brat’s little bedwarmer would really make his night.

“What does Kuat have?” Odo asked in a whisper as Artur settled next to them at the bar, eyebrows raised in alarm as the man sighed.

“Either Pure Sabacc or nothing of value.”

“And Pyro?”

The sigh led into a predatory grin, the one even Thrawn has learned to be apprehensive of, as Pyro called and placed her cards down gently. “Idiot’s Array.”

The look on Kuat’s face was pure aurum, and Artur took the opportunity to mockingly toast the man from across the floor with a glass of Kuati gin. A raised eyebrow as the older man rose from his seat hostilely reminded both of them how KDY got such a good deal on their slice of War Mantle, and how easily they can lose it. He lost his father’s favor. He still had his aunt’s.

Artur turned to look at Pyro, smiling gently at the smug and gleeful expression on her gorgeous face as she transferred the eighty-million-credit pot into her chit and skipped to the bar.

The haul was now nine hundred million split four ways. Phyrre gets double on account of marriage, and Artur and Yissa were happy to hand over half their shares each.

“Great job, darling”, Yissa said as she glided up next to her wyf, planting a kiss on her lips now that Pyro can drop the act of being Artur Tagge’s trollop, part of their plan to hook Kuat in given the man’s inexplicable despisal of the House of Tagge, which worked like a kyber charm.

Pyro preened at the compliment and pulled her wyf back in for another kiss, a soft but blazing one that drew a few stares. It was unlike her, really, to be this brazen, but Yissa definitely wasn’t complaining.

“We should be going back. It’s late”, she breathlessly said. Yana nodded mutely.

Artur was the only outsider that recognized the love and lust in her eyes. First time he saw it when it wasn’t directed at him, though, and the realization made his gin taste sour instead of that familiar bitterness he was looking for.

Damn it. Why was this so hard?

“She’s right. It’s 0200. We should head back and catch some sleep before sunrise.” Artur did his damn best to keep any emotion besides joy and contentment out of his voice. Verdict’s still out on whether he succeeded.

With that, he downed the glass, tossed a 5000-credit chip onto the bar, and gestured for everyone else to follow. Odo hasn’t been drunk since making Junior Lieutenant, so he was the designated driver while Artur rode shotgun. Jashin already had Phyrre in his lap behind the driver and was using every last bit of self-control he had left to not take her then and there, taking the edge off slightly by starting a loud and heady make out session, both drunk out of their minds. Next to them, Yissa had Pyro in a similar position, just with more snuggling and cuddling than kissing.

Artur found his knuckles turning whiter by the minute on the armrests, and his heart was pounding in his ears. And if Odo noticed, he certainly didn’t comment on it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hyperspace Penthouse, 49th – 53rd Floor, Mon’t Car’l Tower, Canto Bight, Cantonica

Vacation Day 7. Leave Remaining: 28 Days

Artur was suffering. That much he knew.

He also knew beforehand that being around Yana and not being with her would be a stab to the heart, but after a string of failures against a frustratingly elusive Saw Gerrera he needed an out from under Vader to keep his troopers safe, so when Tarkin gave him a choice between 1st Battalion staying with the 501st or reassignment to the Chimaera as an independent unit he took it, thinking that the wounds had healed.

No regrets on the choice, but he was a fool for thinking that he could ever move past Ilyana Pyrondi. Tagging along on this vacation was just unnecessary torture.

Maybe it was lackluster soundproofing, something he has been wanting to fix for a while, but Hammerly seemed to be extra loud these past few nights, and the twisting feeling in his heart was making it hard to sleep, so he’s been tiring himself out by painting his knuckles red with death stick dealers and spice peddlers in alleyways and taking an ice bath in the morning.

And now they were at the beach, and for the first time since learning how to, Artur Tagge didn’t want to swim.

Because swimming would mean getting close to a Pyro while neither of them had anything on beside skintight bathing togs. And while he immensely enjoyed the view, being in that particular situation, given the circumstances, wasn’t something he looked forward to.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Bright demeanor, easy smile, friendly banter. That was all he needed to do. When all was said and done, everyone present deserved a good, long vacation, and he refused to be the one to ruin it.

“You might want to unclench your jaw, Artur. Imperial benefits doesn’t include dental.”

The Tagge heir glanced towards Faro, who had just made herself comfortable on the bar two seats left of him, a multicolored drink (surprise, surprise) already in hand. There was a dreaded look of sympathy in her eyes, and Artur turned his head away, forcing his masseter to loosen as he took a large sip of Whyren's Reserve. He felt like drowning in alcohol today, might as well splurge on the good stuff.

“I know how hard it is, trust me, but at some point you have to move on.”

“There is no moving on, don’t you get that?” Artur snapped, seething. He hated the tone she used, the look in her eyes. He was a Tagge, damnit. Son of a General, nephew of a Baroness, heir to one of the wealthiest and most powerful dynasties in the galaxy and a kriffing war hero on top of that. Who was she to pity him?

He snuffed out that train of thought immediately as he glimpsed her wounded expression. She was just trying to care, and it was unbecoming to brag about himself like that, even in his own head. A deep breath helped to calm his racing heart and cool the heat in his blood. “I’m sorry.”

The tone he used was even more pathetic than he thought, and far more than he would ever admit to. A hand found its way onto his shoulder, riddled with old callouses that have softened after years of holding bridge command instead of intensive fieldwork. “Talk to me, Arty.”

“She’s the love of my life”, Artur muttered. It hurts, admitting that fact out loud, but this was Karyn Faro he was talking to, so he was safe. “I’m not being dramatic. I’ve put a lot of thought into it. She’s the one.”

Karyn sat there in stunned silence. She knew that when Artur loved, he loved passionately and unequivocally, but this was a completely different level. What should she say?

“And now you’re not with her anymore.”

Because pointing that out was the best option, Karyn. Good kriffing job.

Artur stiffened, swallowing a scathing sarcastic reply. His body loosened up once again as he leaned into her touch.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yana was conflicted, and that made her feel unthinkably guilty.

She was in an incredible relationship with an incredible woman that is Yissa Hammerly. She was loved. She was cared for. She was cherished and appreciated.

So why was her heart torn between loving this incredible woman and yearning for Artur Tagge? It made her feel filthy and disloyal.

Yana dunked her head under again, letting the cold water wash over her face in an attempt to clear her mind. She knew the feelings still lingered, what they had weren’t something one just moves on from, but she didn’t expect it to hit her like a cargo ship the moment she saw him again. She’d managed to mostly stay strictly friendly with him so far, but now he was so close.

Gah, this was why she hesitated to start things with Yissa. It wasn’t fair to her, but even after trying to warn her off by saying that she still wasn’t over her ex, Yissa still wanted to be with her, and that finally convinced Yana that a relationship with Yissa Hammerly was worth it. And it definitely was.

Yana had come to terms with the fact that she loved both Yiss and Arty in equal amounts, if for slightly different reasons. Now, she needed to choose.

Wait, maybe she didn’t.

A plan was beginning to form in Yana’s mind, more complex than any equation she’d ever tackled, one where she can get the best of both worlds. But if it failed, she’ll lose everything.

Now, where the hell is Jashin?

[passionneat]

Creating Harmony and Tranquility: Unveiling the Magic of Home Organizers in Houston

In the sprawling metropolis of neat organizer Houston, where life is fast-paced, and demands are unrelenting, achieving a sense of peace and order within the confines of your home can feel like an elusive dream. Clutter, disarray, and the never-ending cycle of tidying up can leave you feeling overwhelmed and drained. However, there's a silver lining – professional home organizers in Houston possess the expertise and vision to transform your living spaces into havens of harmony and tranquility. In this comprehensive blog article, we will delve into the world of home organizers, understanding their significance, exploring their unique approach, and uncovering the magic they bring to your home.

The Essence of Home Organizers

home organizing services houston are like magicians, wielding their skills to conjure order out of chaos and turn mundane spaces into functional and aesthetically pleasing environments. These experts deeply understand spatial design, psychology, and organization principles, allowing them to create personalized solutions that cater to your specific needs, lifestyle, and preferences. Whether you're struggling with a cluttered living room, a chaotic kitchen, or a disorganized closet, a home organizer's expertise can be the key to unlocking the full potential of your space.

The Magic Touch: Benefits of Hiring Home Organizers

Clutter-Free Living: The most apparent benefit of hiring a home organizer houston is a clutter-free home. With their keen eye for detail, they help you identify unnecessary items, facilitating decluttering sessions that liberate your space from the burden of excess belongings.

Customized Organization: Each home is unique, and so are its inhabitants. Home organizers in Houston recognize this diversity and tailor their solutions accordingly. Whether a minimalist seeking simplicity or an avid collector craving an organized display, these professionals can work the magic that suits your lifestyle.

Enhanced Productivity: A cluttered space can hinder productivity and creativity. By organizing your home, these experts create an atmosphere that fosters focus and inspiration, allowing you to thrive in your endeavors.

Stress Reduction: As the clutter dissipates, so does the stress. A tidy home directly impacts your mental well-being, promoting relaxation and serenity.

Optimized Storage Solutions: Home organizers know the secret language of storage solutions. They can make the most of your available space, recommending and implementing storage systems that make accessing your belongings effortless.

Moving Made Easy: Home organizers can simplify the process if you're facing a move, whether downsizing or relocating to a new neighborhood. They ensure a smooth transition, packing and unpacking your belongings with precision and care.

The Home Organizing Process

Initial Consultation: The journey begins with an in-depth consultation where the home organizer assesses your home, understands your challenges, and listens to your aspirations for the space.

Personalized Plan: Based on the consultation, the home organizer crafts a tailored plan that outlines the steps to achieve your organizational goals.

Hands-On Organizing: Armed with their expertise and a dash of magic, the organizer starts the transformation process. They sort, declutter, and implement organizational systems while keeping you involved in decision-making.

Lasting Transformation: A home organizer's work goes beyond tidying up. They empower you with organizational skills and knowledge, ensuring the effects of their magic endure in the long run.

Conclusion

Home organizers in Houston are the unsung heroes of peaceful living spaces. They can transform cluttered rooms into serene sanctuaries with their unique blend of expertise, creativity, and personalized approach.

[sexologistbhopal]

Enhancing Sexual Wellness: The Best Sexologist in Bhopal Unveiled

At the Best Sexologist in Bhopal, we understand the scarcity of sufficient sex knowledge, leaving many individuals struggling to achieve an extraordinary and active sexual life. We prioritize the importance of sexual and social communication, guiding individuals on how to discuss preferences, dislikes, and boundaries with their sexual partners. Meet Dr. Sunil Patidar, a renowned sexologist with over 12+ years of experience, practicing at Patidar Homeopathic Clinic in Bhopal, India. Dr. Patidar is a young and knowledgeable professional who specializes in the field of sexology, addressing various aspects of human sexual health, interests, behaviors, and treatments.

Understanding Sexology:

Sexology is the scientific study of sex and sexuality, encompassing human sexual interests, behaviors, and functions. Sexologists are experts who delve deep into the study and understanding of human sexual health, diseases, disorders, medications, and treatments. With their extensive knowledge and expertise, sexologists work towards providing comprehensive solutions to individuals facing sexual concerns and challenges.

The Importance of Sexual Health:

In today's fast-paced world, the significance of maintaining a vibrant sexual life often takes a backseat amidst the chaos of daily routines. Unfortunately, discussions surrounding sexual health are rarely initiated between couples and their healthcare providers, especially in developing economies. Dr. Sunil Patidar strives to create a liberating environment where patients can feel at ease, openly discussing their sexual well-being in a safe and judgment-free space. It is crucial to address underlying stress, depression, and other common issues that can adversely impact sexual experiences.

The Role of a Sexologist Doctor in Bhopal:

A sexologist doctor in Bhopal plays a vital role in helping individuals overcome relationship issues that may be hindering the development of genuine intimacy with their partners. By seeking the expertise of a sexologist, you can be assured of receiving the best treatment that will truly transform your life in a positive manner. Dr. Sunil Patidar, with his empathetic approach and vast experience, provides personalized guidance and solutions tailored to your specific needs. He aims to foster open communication, empower individuals, and restore sexual well-being.

Addressing Sexual Concerns:

Sexual concerns can manifest in various ways, ranging from performance anxiety to low libido, erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, or difficulties in maintaining intimacy. Dr. Patidar adopts a holistic approach, taking into account physical, emotional, and psychological factors contributing to the issue. Through thorough assessments and discussions, he identifies the root causes and formulates a comprehensive treatment plan to address your unique concerns.

Treatment Options and Support:

Dr. Sunil Patidar offers a wide range of treatment options and support to individuals seeking help for their sexual health concerns. These may include counseling, therapy, medication, lifestyle modifications, or a combination of approaches based on individual requirements. With his expertise, Dr. Patidar guides patients towards regaining their confidence, improving their relationships, and experiencing a fulfilling and satisfying sexual life.

The Top Sexologist in Bhopal, Dr. Sunil Patidar, is dedicated to empowering individuals and couples to overcome sexual challenges and achieve optimal sexual well-being. With his compassionate approach, extensive knowledge, and personalized treatment plans, he strives to create a safe and supportive environment where patients can openly discuss their concerns. Don't let sexual issues hinder your happiness and fulfillment. Take the first step towards a vibrant and satisfying sexual life by consulting the best sexologist in Bhopal, Dr. Sunil Patidar, at Patidar Homeopathic Clinic.

[shantiratnrehabilitationcentre]

To fight addiction join Rehabilitation Centre in Delhi.

For the best Rehabilitation Centre in Delhi ,contact the Shantiratn Foundation helps individuals in starting another life liberated from enslavement. The basic issue is fixation, which should be killed from society. Fixation adversely influences your physical and mental prosperity as well as the existences of the individuals who are near you. Subsequently, signing up for the top restoration office is vital. Above all, our analysts utilize a portion of their leisure time to independently take care of patients who require it. a brilliant choice of relaxation exercises. Our Rehabilitation Centre in Delhi likewise offers various extracurricular exercises. A rec center, pools, running paths, jungle gyms for both indoor and open air games, and so on are completely included. Furthermore, every patient's particular eating regimen is followed by our dieticians. Furthermore, we give the patients at our Rehabilitation Centre in Delhi with a nutritious, new, natural feast. Our way to deal with treating medication and liquor fixation is exhaustive, all encompassing, and all around arranged. We have a staff of qualified experts close by, including specialists, medical caretakers, specialists, instructors, and clinicians. Our faculty is caring and polite, and they help a patient whenever of day. We give you the best climate for solace, warmth, and energy.

Rehabilitation Centre in Delhi makes sense of the normal and basic results of enslavement:

●  Enslavement will really set you back large chunk of change. At the point when you are snared, you have an unquenchable hankering for medications, liquor, or tobacco, which are all costly. ●  There are occurrences where individuals' addictions drive them to fail. ●  Consuming these hurtful mixtures could hurt your organs and just outcome in serious afflictions. ●  Weighty fixation can prompt any psychological illness, and it is entirely expected for associations with loved ones to self-destruct because of this way of behaving. ●  Fiends habitually lose their place in the public eye and have lost their positions because of their fixation. Seek dependence treatment from the best Restoration Place.

The Treatment Interaction

Recuperation is an interaction that has a few phases and includes various administrations that are covering. For example, after the finish of detox, bunch treatment might be momentarily acquainted with you. You'll probably partake in extraordinary gathering treatment while getting short term therapy and less serious gathering treatment while getting ongoing treatment. As an individual maneuvers through the periods of treatment, the recurrence and strength of the cure reduce. Aftercare The non-clinical benefits given by recuperation focuses are alluded to as "aftercare," which is an expansive expression. In spite of the fact that habit is a sickness, restoration from it isn't just dependent on clinical help. Significant components in forestalling backslide incorporate social help, business, packaging, and different components.

Support Gathering

Various recuperation programs are based upon peer help. All through the entire course of your treatment, you'll probably partake in bunch treatment and self improvement gatherings. For quite a long time subsequent to leaving recuperation, most of individuals go to help bunch gatherings consistently. One of the ShantiratnFoundation is our medication recovery Rehabilitation Centre in Delhi . It likewise has a few extra branches, one of which is fundamental in freeing society of medications. We are taking part in practices of superb quality and involvement in the essential objective of absolutely serving society.

[mikazuki-juuichi]

Reading diary.

- Come Closer. Sara Gran.

Amanda has the perfect life, or so she believes: A six-year marriage, a loft, a good job as an architect, about everything a thirty-something might want. Despite the inexplicable bursts of violence, like the time she smashed a cigarette into her husband’s bare knee. Or that strange tap-tap that seems to follow her now and then. She is openminded, despite her views on minorities —but surely she can’t really be possessed! Surely it’s just coincidence that she’s been dreaming of that imaginary friend she used to have as a child, the one who sometimes felt all too real, all too physical…

An intriguing horror short novel (about 196 pages long) that draws from the subtler examples of classic horror. Charlotte Perkins Gilman (The yellow wallpaper) and Ira Levin (Rosemary’s baby) first and foremost. A dab of Henry James (The turn of the screw) and Shirley Jackson (The haunting of Hill house) as well, perhaps even a very lite bit of Richard Matheson (Hell house) or Daphne du Maurier (Don’t look now). Draws from those venerable sources and delivers a story that is only simple at first glance, with so much suggested rather than being delivered in-your-face.

Much has been made about if the haunting here is literal or psychological. Is the demon Naamah, second wife of Adam between Lilith and Eve real or is it Amanda’s heavily repressed hate bubbling to the surface? The supposed spiritual experts Amanda visits feel more like charlatans —even if they DO recognize Something besides her, as a child does. Some of Amanda’s acts of violence seem that they would require more strength than she could possibly have… Except, Amanda is in blackout for the most extreme of them. And when she is conscious she details perfectly plausible cruelties (near-drowning a child and in such a way that nobody would believe said child if she told about it. Throwing homophobic slurs at her boss in a way that can easily be blamed on a faulty photocopy).

Except, even before the possession, Amanda’s life is anything but perfect. She tells of her mother dying when she was three, her stepmother being a woman who never wanted children, herself keeping an imaginary friend based on a sexually liberated neighbor —and keeping this friend until Amanda was nine, and then father and stepmother dying and leaving her with nothing at all. She talks of her husband, who lifted her up… while also demanding she do things exactly as he likes it and to get rid of any habit he dislikes. She gushes about her beautiful loft… that is placed in an area so desolate even thieves don’t bother with it.

And then there is Amanda’s casual bigotry, up to classifying a middle Eastern man as a woman-hater (and possibly murdering him) or her description of a Brazilian salesman as a “flaming homosexual” —balanced with her dislike of husband Ed’s posh friends. Pointed details for a 2003 novel.

…and on the other side there is the disturbing intimacy that several people around her —physician, psychologist, colleagues, strangers, Ed’s possible mistress —all are already possessed themselves. And all, we are told, invited and indeed welcomed demons. Why not? Somebody who says they love you and will never leave you alone —who will let you do whatever you want.

An intriguing, thought-provoking short novel that is slightly marred by its reputation as a “Super scary novel” or a “Surprisingly literate possession tale” (no doubt from critics quite unfamiliar with horror history proper). A better method is —read and decide for yourself.

*

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Cracking the Cult Code for Therapists: What Every Cult Victim Wants Their Therapist to Know

by Bonnie Zieman 

June 16, 2017    paperback   142 pages    ISBN-13: 978-1546894681

After being born into and raised in a cult that masquerades as a religion, Bonnie Zieman left the cult and obtained the education she'd been denied while in it. Training in two schools of psychotherapy (Gestalt and Psychosynthesis) and obtaining a master's degree in education, Bonnie then became a licensed psychotherapist. She worked in private practice for over twenty years. Once learning about this new phenomenon of the constant stream of people now exiting high-control groups and cults, and understanding the toll the cult abuses take on lives (isolation, rampant depression, PTSD, and suicide) she wanted to apply her education and experience to help. Writing cult-recovery-related books seemed like the obvious course. Bonnie has written: “Exiting the JW Cult: A Healing Handbook”; “The Challenge to Heal After Leaving A High-Control Group” and its accompanying volume “The Challenge to Heal Workbook & Journal”; as well as “Fading Out of the JW Cult: A Memoir” about her thirty years in the cult, the struggle to leave it, and the challenges faced trying to create a new life once out. You can learn more about Bonnie Zieman and her work at her website,   https://bonniezieman.com/

Contents

Foreword

Introduction

Chapter 1 Cult — Definition & Description

Chapter 2 Why People Join a Cult

Chapter 3 How Cults Recruit, Control & Retain Members

Chapter 4 Working with Cult Victims 

Chapter 5 Love-Bombing & Belonging 

Chapter 6 Indoctrination

Chapter 7 Isolation

Chapter 8 Personal Reality & Personal Identity

Chapter 9 Doubts & Questions

Chapter 10 Learned Helplessness

Chapter 11 Individual Freedoms

Chapter 12 Control & Automatic Compliance

Chapter 13 Elitism & Exclusivity

Chapter 14 Higher Education & Careers

Chapter 15 Threats & Punishments

Chapter 16 Fears & Phobias 

Chapter 17 Overview of Most-Used Cult Controls

Chapter 18 Repression of Basic Human Needs

Chapter 19 Challenges of Being Born & Raised in a Cult

Chapter 20 Dissociation

Conclusion

Cult Strategies Used to Control Members – 1

After-Effects of Cult Strategies on Members – 2

Recommended Reading

Educational websites

Cult Victims’ First-Hand Accounts of Control & Abuse are from the Following Groups & Extremist Religions

About the Author

Note to former cult members: While some of you may dislike seeing yourself referred to as a ‘victim’, the reality is that while in the cult we were ‘victimized’. The goal for any of us who were members of a cult is to move from ‘victim’ to survivor to ‘thriver’. If you feel you have already moved beyond being classified as a victim, I applaud and support you. That is evidence of your hard work on the path to recovery. I use the word ‘victim’ throughout the book in part to accentuate to therapists not yet familiar with cults, how damaging and destructive membership in a cult can be. You know where you are on the road to recovery. Please do not let a word define or disturb you.

Conclusion to the ‘Cracking the Cult Code’ book

Part of the purpose of the mixed cocktail of control and indoctrination in any cult is to convince members that while being psychologically and spiritually captive, they are actually free – free because they are among the few on the planet who are in possession of the truth, free because only they have been liberated from the delusions, depravity and immorality of the rest of the world, free because only they would be exempt from the fate of the world of non-believers, etc. These are, surely, the ultimate cult deceptions.

Once an individual does leave the cult they may wonder how they could ever have allowed to themselves to buy into such blatant lies, and perhaps then doubt their ability to make rational assessments and decisions. There may also be self recriminations – anger at the self, disgust at allowing oneself to be duped, outrage at having wasted so much time – which can result in despair, demoralization and depression.

The ex-cult member may wonder if they can trust themselves going forward and, therefore, proceed gingerly to make choices or decisions while trying to rebuild their values, worldview, life, and relationships outside of the cult. It may be challenging for friends, family and social workers to help motivate someone fresh out of a cult. The after-effects of so many deceptions make it hard for the ex-cult member to trust anyone – including social services or mental health professionals – for a time.

While believing they were free and exclusively chosen to engage in work that would better the world, cult members forfeited their real self, their values, their autonomy, their agency, their family and any support system outside of the cult. Cult victims forfeited their financial future, a sense of competence, their self esteem, their well-being – their life. Listen to the following recollections and reflections of two ex-cult members:

“When your own thoughts are forbidden, when your questions are not allowed and our doubts punished, when contacts with friendships outside of the organization are censored, we are being abused, for the ends never justify the means. When our heart aches knowing we are we have made friendships and secret attachments that will be forever forbidden if we leave, we are in danger. When we consider staying in a group because we cannot bear the loss, disappointment and sorrow our leaving will cause for ourselves and those we have come to love, we are in a cult… If there is any lesson to be learned it is that an ideal can never be brought about by fear, abuse, and the threat of retribution. When family and friends are used as a weapon in order to force us to stay in an organization, something has gone terribly wrong” – Deborah Layton

“I could not undo overnight the damage that had been done to my psyche over many years. The only way over was through – I knew that – but it was still debilitating and stressful. All I could do was face the fear and keep going.”  – Carolyn Jessop

Cult expert, Madeleine Landau Tobias, in the book, “Captive Hearts, Captive Minds” says: “More often than not, leaving a cult environment requires an adjustment period, not only to reintegrate into ‘normal’ society, but also to put the pieces of yourself back together in a way that makes sense to you. When you first leave a cult situation, you may not recognize yourself. You may not know how to identify the problems you are about to face. You may not have the slightest idea who you want to be. The question we often ask children, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ suddenly takes on a new meaning for adult ex-cult members.”

After reading this book it should be clear that people leave cults or any high-control group have been traumatized by multiple losses, betrayal, thought control, deception, coercion, exploitation and abuse. Once out of the cult, victims have a long road ahead to reclaim their suppressed identity and to build a new, self-directed life. They need help and support and many hope to find it with a prepared, competent, understanding, non-judgmental therapist.

After taking the daunting step of finding a therapist, ex-cult victims need to sit across from a clinician who has “cracked the cult code” and understands what the ex-member endured in the group and what they will face trying to reclaim the self and the life they had to abandon to be in the cult.

I hope that after reading this book, clinicians will now have a better handle on what cult victims want their therapist to know, so that their work together can be more open, collaborative and productive.

The therapist who has cracked the cult code will surely be enriched by the privilege of viewing the determination, courage and resilience that manifests before them as they work with cult victims to release the beautiful human being unduly encased in the cold, unyielding stone of cult constraints.

“The long day wanes: The slow moon climbs; The deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, Tis not too late to seek a newer world.”

– Tennyson, Ulysses

[linastudyblrsblog]

Burnout, unfortunately, is everywhere. If you haven’t experienced it personally, you probably know someone who has self-diagnosed.

 Defined by the World Health Organization as a syndrome “conceptualized as resulted from chronic workplace stress,” it causes exhaustion, “feelings of negativism or cynicism,” and reduced efficacy. That’s a big umbrella, and the condition has become something of a catch-all for chronic, modern-day stress. 

Here are 11 of our favorites to help you create your own escape plan:

1. Figure out which kind of burnout you have.

The Association for Psychological Science found that burnout comes in three different types, and each one needs a different solution:

1. Overload: The frenetic employee who works toward success until exhaustion, is most closely related to emotional venting. These individuals might try to cope with their stress by complaining about the organizational hierarchy at work, feeling as though it imposes limits on their goals and ambitions. That coping strategy, unsurprisingly, seems to lead to a stress overload and a tendency to throw in the towel.

2. Lack of Development: Most closely associated with an avoidance coping strategy. These under-challenged workers tend to manage stress by distancing themselves from work, a strategy that leads to depersonalization and cynicism — a harbinger for burning out and packing up shop.

3. Neglect: Seems to stem from a coping strategy based on giving up in the face of stress. Even though these individuals want to achieve a certain goal, they lack the motivation to plow through barriers to get to it

2. Cut down and start saying “no.”

Every “yes” you say adds another thing on your plate and takes more energy away from you, and your creativity:

If you take on too many commitments, start saying ‘no’. If you have too many ideas, execute a few and put the rest in a folder labeled ‘backburner’. If you suffer from information overload, start blocking off downtime or focused worktime in your schedule (here are some tools that may help). Answer email at set times. Switch your phone off, or even leave it behind. The world won’t end. I promise.

3.  Give up on getting motivated.

With real burnout mode, you’re too exhausted to stay positive. So don’t:

When you’re mired in negative emotions about work, resist the urge to try to stamp them out. Instead, get a little distance — step away from your desk, focus on your breath for a few seconds — and then just feel the negativity, without trying to banish it. Then take action alongside the emotion. Usually, the negative feelings will soon dissipate. Even if they don’t, you’ll be a step closer to a meaningful achievement.

4.  Treat the disease, not the symptoms. 

For real recovery and prevention to happen, you need to find the real, deeper issue behind why you’re burnt out:

Instead of overreacting to the blip, step back from it, see it as an incident instead of an indictment, and then examine it like Sherlock Holmes looking for clues.

For example, you could ask yourself: What happened before the slip? Did I encounter a specific trigger event such as a last-minute client request? Was there an unusual circumstance such as sickness? When did I first notice the reversion in my behavior? Is some part of this routine unsustainable and if so, how could I adjust it to make it more realistic?

5.  Make downtime a daily ritual.

To help relieve pressure, schedule daily blocks of downtime to refuel your brain and well-being. It can be anything from meditation to a nap, a walk, or simply turning off the wifi for a while:

When it comes to scheduling, we will need to allocate blocks of time for deep thinking. Maybe you will carve out a 1-2 hour block on your calendar every day for taking a walk or grabbing a cup of coffee and just pondering some of those bigger things. I can even imagine a day when homes and apartments have a special switch that shuts down wi-fi and data access during dinner or at night – just to provide a temporary pause from the constant flow of status updates and other communications…

There is no better mental escape from our tech-charged world than the act of meditation. If only for 15 minutes, the ability to steer your mind away from constant stimulation is downright liberating. There are various kinds of meditation. Some forms require you to think about nothing and completely clear your mind. (This is quite hard, at least for me.) Other forms of meditation are about focusing on one specific thing – often your breath, or a mantra that you repeat in your head (or out loud) for 10-15 minutes…

If you can’t adopt meditation, you might also try clearing your mind the old fashioned way – by sleeping. The legendary energy expert and bestselling author Tony Schwartz takes a 20-minute nap every day. Even if it’s a few hours before he presents to a packed audience, he’ll take a short nap.

6.  Stop being a perfectionist; start satisficing.

Trying to maximize every task and squeeze every drop of productivity out of your creative work is a recipe for exhaustion and procrastination. Set yourself boundaries for acceptable work and stick to them:

Consistently sacrificing your health, your well being, your relationships, and your sanity for the sake of living up to impossible standards will lead to some dangerous behaviors and, ironically, a great deal of procrastination. Instead of saying, “I’ll stay up until this is done,” say, “I’ll work until X time and then I’m stopping. I may end up needing to ask for an extension or complete less than perfect work. But that’s OK. I’m worth it.” Making sleep, exercise, and downtime a regular part of your life plays an essential role in a lasting, productive creative career.

7.  Track your progress every day.

Keeping track allows you to see exactly how much is on your plate, not only day-to-day, but consistently over time:

Disappointing feedback can be painful at first – research shows that failure and losses can hurt twice as much as the pleasure of equivalent gains. But if you discover you’re off course, reliable feedback shows you by how much, and you then have the opportunity to take remedial action and to plot a new training regime or writing schedule. The temporary pain of negative feedback is nothing compared with the crushing experience of project failure. Better to discover that you’re behind and need to start writing an hour earlier each day, than to have your book contract rescinded further down the line because you’ve failed to deliver.

8.  Change location often.

Entrepreneurs or freelancers can be especially prone to burnout. Joel Runyon plays “workstation popcorn,” in which he groups tasks by location and then switches, in order to keep work manageable, provide himself frequent breaks, and spend his time efficiently:

You find yourself spending hours at your computer, dutifully “working” but getting very little done. You finish each day with the dreaded feeling that you’re behind, and that you’re only falling farther and farther behind. You’re buried below an ever-growing to-do list. There’s a feeling of dread that tomorrow is coming, and that it’s bringing with it even more work that you probably won’t be able to get ahead on.

List out everything you need to do today. Try to be as specific as you can…Next, break that list into three sections. Step 1: Go to cafe [or desk, a different table in your office, etc.] #1. Step 2: Start working on item group #1…Once you finish all the tasks in group #1, get up and move. Close your tabs, pack your bags, and physically move your butt to your next spot. If you can, walk or bike to your next stop…When you get to the next cafe [or spot], start on the next action item group, and repeat…

When you’ve completed everything on your to-do list for the day, you are done working. Relax, kick back, and live your life. Don’t take work home with you because that won’t help you get more done – it will just wear you out.

9.  Don’t overload what downtime you do get.

Vacations themselves can cause, or worsen burnout, with high-stress situations, expectations, and sleep interruption. Use it to help in recovery from burnout instead: 

Make a flexible itinerary a priority. [A] study from Radboud University found that effective vacations give you the choice and freedom to choose what you want to do. That means two things: Try to avoid structuring your vacation around an unbreakable schedule, and plan on going somewhere that has multiple options to pick from depending on the weather, your level of energy, or your budget.

10. Write yourself fan mail.

Seth Godin uses self-fan mail as a way to keep motivated instead of burning out on a project that seems far from completion:

I define non-clinical anxiety as, “experiencing failure in advance.” If you’re busy enacting a future that hasn’t happened yet, and amplifying the worst possible outcomes, it’s no wonder it’s difficult to ship that work. With disappointment, I note that our culture doesn’t have an easily found word for the opposite. For experiencing success in advance. For visualizing the best possible outcomes before they happen. Will your book get a great testimonial? Write it out. Will your talk move someone in the audience to change and to let you know about it? What did they say? Will this new product gain shelf space at the local market? Take a picture. Writing yourself fan mail in advance, and picturing the change you’ve announced you’re trying, to make is an effective way to push yourself to build something that actually generates that action.

  11. Break projects into bite-sized pieces.

Taking a task on in one entire lump can be exhausting and provide little room for rest in between. Breaking up your projects into set chunks with their own deadlines provides a much healthier, and easier, way of completing a large project:

The default take on deadlines is typically to consider them to be cumbersome and stressful. Yet, from another perspective, a deadline can be viewed as a huge benefit to any project. Without the urgency of a hard deadline pushing a project to completion, it’s easy for you, your team, or your client to lose focus. We’ve all worked on agonizing projects where the timeline just bleeds on and on, merely because the flexibility is there…

It turns out that the manner in which a task is presented to someone – or the way in which you present it to your brain – has a significant impact on how motivated you will be to take action. A study led by researcher Sean McCrea at the University of Konstanz in Germany recently found that people are much more likely to tackle a concrete task than an abstract task… It seems to me like the difference between being handed a map versus following the step-by-step instructions of a GPS device. Not everyone can read a map, but everyone can follow the directions. By breaking your project down into smaller, well-described tasks, the way forward becomes clear and it’s easy to take action.

[oberlincollegelibraries]

Weekend Edition: Novels With a Trans or Nonbinary Character(s)

March 31, 2021 marks the 12th annual International Transgender Day of Visibility, so why not pick up novel this weekend that features a trans or nonbinary character (or better yet — characters)? Below are a some titles available at OCL and through SearchOhio.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin Guin's groundbreaking work of science fiction--winner of the Hugo and Nebula Awards. A lone human ambassador is sent to the icebound planet of Winter, a world without sexual prejudice, where the inhabitants' gender is fluid. His goal is to facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own views and those of the strange, intriguing culture he encounters... Embracing the aspects of psychology, society, and human emotion on an alien world, The Left Hand of Darkness stands as a landmark achievement in the annals of intellectual science fiction. Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl’s Confabulous Memoir by Kai Cheng Thom "Fierce Femmes and Notorious Liars: A Dangerous Trans Girl's Confabulous Memoir is a coming-of-age story about a young Asian trans girl, pathological liar, and kung-fu expert who runs away from her parents' abusive home in a rainy city called Gloom. Striking off on her own, she finds her true family in a group of larger-than-life trans femmes who make their home in a mysterious pleasure district known only as the Street of Miracles. Under the wings of this fierce and fabulous flock, she blossoms into the woman she has always dreamed of being, with a little help from the unscrupulous Doctor Crocodile. When one of their number is brutally murdered, our protagonist joins her sisters in forming a vigilante gang to fight back against the transphobes, violent johns, and cops that stalk the Street of Miracles. But when things go terribly wrong, she must find the truth within herself in order to stop the violence and discover what it really means to grow up and find your family."-- Provided by publisher

The House of Impossible Beauties by Joseph Cassara 1980, New York City. Burned by her traumatic past, Angel is new to the drag world, new to ball culture, and has a yearning inside of her to help create family for those without. When she falls in love with Hector, a beautiful young man who dreams of becoming a professional dancer, the two decide to form the House of Xtravaganza, the first-ever all-Latino house in the Harlem ball circuit. But when Hector dies of AIDS-related complications, Angel must tend to their house alone. She recruits Venus, a whip-fast trans girl who dreams of finding a rich man to take care of her; Juanito, a quiet boy who loves fabrics and design; and Daniel, a butch queen who accidentally saves Venus's life. The Xtravaganzas lean on each other as bulwarks against a world that resists them.

Confessions of the Fox: A Novel by Jordy Rosenberg "Set in the eighteenth century London underworld, this bawdy, genre-bending novel reimagines the life of thief and jailbreaker Jack Sheppard to tell a profound story about gender, love, and liberation. Recently jilted and increasingly unhinged, Dr. Voth throws himself into his work, obsessively researching the life of Jack Sheppard, a legendary eighteenth century thief. No one knows Jack's true story--his confessions have never been found. That is, until Dr. Voth discovers a mysterious stack of papers titled Confessions of the Fox. Dated 1724, the manuscript tells the story of an orphan named P. Sold into servitude at twelve, P struggles for years with her desire to live as "Jack." When P falls dizzyingly in love with Bess, a sex worker looking for freedom of her own, P begins to imagine a different life. Bess brings P into the London underworld where scamps and rogues clash with London's newly established police force, queer subcultures thrive, and ominous threats of an oncoming plague abound. At last, P becomes Jack Sheppard, one of the most notorious--and most wanted--thieves in history. An imaginative retelling of Brecht's Threepenny Opera, Confessions of the Fox blends high-spirited adventure, subversive history, and provocative wit to animate forgotten histories and the extraordinary characters hidden within"-- Provided by publisher

The Black Tides of Heaven by JY Yang The Black Tides of Heaven is one of a pair of unique, standalone introductions to JY Yang's Tensorate Series, which Kate Elliott calls "effortlessly fascinating." For more of the story you can read its twin novella The Red Threads of Fortune , available simultaneously. Mokoya and Akeha, the twin children of the Protector, were sold to the Grand Monastery as infants. While Mokoya developed her strange prophetic gift, Akeha was always the one who could see the strings that moved adults to action. While Mokoya received visions of what would be, Akeha realized what could be. What's more, they saw the sickness at the heart of their mother's Protectorate. A rebellion is growing. The Machinists discover new levers to move the world every day, while the Tensors fight to put them down and preserve the power of the state. Unwilling to continue as a pawn in their mother's twisted schemes, Akeha leaves the Tensorate behind and falls in with the rebels. But every step Akeha takes towards the Machinists is a step away from Mokoya. Can Akeha find peace without shattering the bond they share with their twin? Detransition, Baby: A Novel by Torrey Peters Reese had what previous generations of trans women could only dream of; the only thing missing was a child. Then her girlfriend, Amy, detransitioned and became Ames, and everything fell apart. Ames thought detransitioning to live as a man would make life easier, but that decision cost him his relationship with Reese, and losing her meant losing his only family. Then Ames's boss and lover, Katrina, reveals that she is pregnant with his baby-- and is not sure whether she wants to keep it. Ames wonders: Could the three of them form some kind of unconventional family, and raise the baby together? -- adapted from jacket

A Safe Girl to Love by Casey Plett Eleven unique short stories that stretch from a rural Canadian Mennonite town to a hipster gay bar in Brooklyn, featuring young trans women stumbling through loss, sex, harassment, and love. These stories, shiny with whiskey and prairie sunsets, rattling subways and neglected cats, show growing up as a trans girl can be charming, funny, frustrating, or sad, but never will it be predictable.

[sherwoodland]

The Codependency myth.

A liberating and counterintuitive text from the book Attached, by Amir Levine, PhD and Rachel Heller, MA. We need connections, not detachment. Codependency does not exist, it's not an accepted diagnosis and never will be. Romantic love is an attachment bond. Pop-psychology gives you the wrong answers because it's not scientific.

“Emotional dependency is not immature or pathological; it is our greatest strength”.

Sue Johnson, PhD.

THE CODEPENDENCY MYTH

The codependency movement and other currently popular self-help approaches portray relationships in a way that is remarkably similar to the views held in the first half of the twentieth century about the child-parent bond (remember the “happy child” who is free of unnecessary attachments?). Today’s experts offer advice that goes something like this: Your happiness is something that should come from within and should not be dependent on your lover or mate. Your well-being is not their responsibility, and theirs is not yours. Each person needs to look after himself or herself. In addition, you should learn not to allow your inner peace to be disturbed by the person you are closest to. If your partner acts in a way that undermines your sense of security, you should be able to distance yourself from the situation emotionally, “keep the focus on yourself,” and stay on an even keel. If you can’t do that, there might be something wrong with you. You might be too enmeshed with the other person, or “codependent,” and you must learn to set better “boundaries.”

The basic premise underlying this point of view is that the ideal relationship is one between two self-sufficient people who unite in a mature, respectful way while maintaining clear boundaries. If you develop a strong dependency on your partner, you are deficient in some way and are advised to work on yourself to become more “differentiated” and develop a “greater sense of self.” The worst possible scenario is that you will end up needing your partner, which is equated with “addiction” to him or her, and addiction, we all know, is a dangerous prospect.

While the teachings of the codependency movement remain immensely helpful in dealing with family members who suffer from substance abuse (as was the initial intention), they can be misleading and even damaging when applied indiscriminately to all relationships. Karen, whom we met earlier in the televised race, has been influenced by these schools of thought. But biology tells a very different story.

THE BIOLOGICAL TRUTH

Numerous studies show that once we become attached to someone, the two of us form one physiological unit. Our partner regulates our blood pressure, our heart rate, our breathing, and the levels of hormones in our blood. We are no longer separate entities. The emphasis on differentiation that is held by most of today’s popular psychology approaches to adult relationships does not hold water from a biological perspective. Dependency is a fact; it is not a choice or a preference.

A study conducted by James Coan is particularly illuminating to that effect: Dr. James Coan is the director of the Affective Neuroscience Laboratory at the University of Virginia. He investigates the mechanisms through which close social relationships and broader social networks regulate our emotional responses. In this particular study, which he conducted in collaboration with Richard Davidson and Hillary Schaefer, he used functional MRI technology to scan the brains of married women. While these women were being scanned, Dr. Coan and his colleagues simulated a stressful situation by telling them that they were about to receive a very mild electric shock.

Normally, under stressful conditions the hypothalamus becomes activated. And indeed this is what happened in the experiment to the women when they were alone awaiting the shock—their hypothalamus lit up. Next, they tested the women who were holding a stranger’s hand while they waited. This time the scans showed somewhat reduced activity in the hypothalamus. And when the hand that the women held was their husband’s? The dip was much more dramatic—their stress was barely detectable. Furthermore, the women who benefited most from spousal hand-holding were those who reported the highest marital satisfaction—but we’ll get back to this point later.

The study demonstrates that when two people form an intimate relationship, they regulate each other’s psychological and emotional well-being. Their physical proximity and availability influence the stress response. How can we be expected to maintain a high level of differentiation between ourselves and our partners if our basic biology is influenced by them to such an extent?

It seems that Karen from our example instinctively understood the healing effect of holding her partner’s hand under stressful conditions. Unfortunately, she later gave in to common misconceptions and viewed her instinct as a weakness, something to be ashamed of.

THE “DEPENDENCY PARADOX”

Well before brain imaging technology was developed, John Bowlby understood that our need for someone to share our lives with is part of our genetic makeup and has nothing to do with how much we love ourselves or how fulfilled we feel on our own. He discovered that once we choose someone special, powerful and often uncontrollable forces come into play. New patterns of behavior kick in regardless of how independent we are and despite our conscious wills. Once we choose a partner, there is no question about whether dependency exists or not. It always does. An elegant coexistence that does not include uncomfortable feelings of vulnerability and fear of loss sounds good but is not our biology. What proved through evolution to have a strong survival advantage is a human couple becoming one physiological unit, which means that if she’s reacting, then I’m reacting, or if he’s upset, that also makes me unsettled. He or she is part of me, and I will do anything to save him or her; having such a vested interest in the well-being of another person translates into a very important survival advantage for both parties.

Despite variations in the way people with different attachment styles learn to deal with these powerful forces—the secure and anxious types embrace them and the avoidants tend to suppress them—all three attachment styles are programmed to connect with a special someone. In fact, chapter 6 describes a series of experiments that demonstrate that avoidants have attachment needs but actively suppress them.

Does this mean that in order to be happy in a relationship we need to be joined with our partner at the hip or give up other aspects of our life such as our careers or friends? Paradoxically, the opposite is true! It turns out that the ability to step into the world on our own often stems from the knowledge that there is someone beside us whom we can count on—and this is the “dependency paradox.” The logic of this paradox is hard to follow at first. How can we act more independent by being thoroughly dependent on someone else? If we had to describe the basic premise of adult attachment in a single sentence, it would be: If you want to take the road to independence and happiness, first find the right person to depend on and travel down it with them. Once you understand this, you’ve grasped the essence of attachment theory. To illustrate this principle, let’s take another look at childhood, where attachment starts. Nothing better demonstrates the idea we’re conveying than what is known in the field as the strange situation test.

THE STRANGE SITUATION TEST

Sarah and her twelve-month-old daughter, Kimmy, enter a room full of toys. A friendly young research assistant is waiting in the room and exchanges a few words with them. Kimmy starts to explore this newfound toy heaven—she crawls around, picks up toys, throws them to the ground, and checks whether they rattle, roll, or light up, while glancing at her mom from time to time.

Then Kimmy’s mother is instructed to leave the room; she gets up and quietly walks out. The minute Kimmy realizes what has happened she becomes distraught. She crawls over to the door as quickly as she can, sobbing. She calls out to her mother and bangs on the door. The research assistant tries to interest Kimmy in a box full of colorful building blocks, but this only makes Kimmy more agitated and she throws one of the blocks in the research assistant’s face.

When her mother returns to the room after a short while, Kimmy rushes toward her on all fours and raises her arms to be held. The two embrace and Sarah calmly reassures her daughter. Kimmy hugs her mom tight and stops sobbing. Once she is at ease again, Kimmy’s interest in the toys reawakens and she resumes her play.

The experiment Sarah and Kimmy participated in is probably the most important study in the field of attachment theory—referred to as the strange situation test (the version described here is an abbreviated version of the test). Mary Ainsworth was fascinated by the way in which children’s exploratory drive—their ability to play and learn—could be aroused or stifled by their mother’s presence or departure.

She found that having an attachment figure in the room was enough to allow a child to go out into a previously unknown environment and explore with confidence. This presence is known as a secure base. It is the knowledge that you are backed by someone who is supportive and whom you can rely on with 100 percent certainty and turn to in times of need. A secure base is a prerequisite for a child’s ability to explore, develop, and learn.

[whatwashernameagain]

The Dreamer - Chapter 2

Summary/prompt: The hero shows up at the villain’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the villain, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the villain’s arms.

Pairing: Logince

Word count: 7232

Notes: After meeting the terrible Utilitarianist and learning about his manifesto, we get to see the origin story of the Dreamer. (Without a beta. Sorry bout that) It looks like he has a long way to go if he wants to free himself from the propaganda he grew up with.

Warnings: internalized homophobia, republican brainwashing, manipulation, mentioned pedophilia, violence, threatened sexual abuse, critical comments on traditional values and capitalism

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

Young Roman was shaking with righteous anger. How dare this – this fiend targeted the company of his father? He was the hardest working man in the world! His idol, his hero! He was donating to charity, pursuing a career in politics to support the attempts of the republican party to protect this great country’s safety and now he had to deal with an investigation into the state of his breeding facilities!

He could understand the wish to treat animals well, of course he wanted them to live a happy life, but his father was doing the best he could, he was a good man! The caramel colored Highland cow he’d given Roman for his twelfth birthday attested to that. It lived in a huge stable and was brushed daily and was still hand fed and braided by Roman himself. It showed how much his father loved his animals!

And now this upstart maniac was terrorizing his father and other facilities of hard-working Americans and instead of catching him, law enforcement investigated the outrageous claims this terrorist had made against his dear father. It was victim blaming!

Roman could not stand for this! It was gross injustice! He wanted to help, to support his father and show him that he could trust him! He was almost twenty now – a man – and it was time he finally managed to prove himself!

Admittedly, he hadn’t managed to do a very good job of it yet. He lacked the sense for business and asked the wrong questions about wages for the workers and made stupid suggestions about the wellbeing of the animals that embarrassed his father in front of his colleagues. Shame rose into Roman’s cheeks as he remembered his silly question about fencing in a meadow for their calves in their Laredo facility to play in with their mothers. He’d just remembered how much Nugget had always enjoyed jumping around with them. Of course he should have known they needed to be separated from their mothers after the first day to avoid losing the milk they sold. It was necessary, he guessed. So they’d said.

He really knew nothing about business.

His father had it hard with him. He was the only child of the family, the only hope to continue their empire, yet he lacked a sense of ruthlessness a strong man needed to improve the world. He was a bad hunter, had the wrong interests, sometimes he spoke too softly, sometimes too loudly, or too effeminately, and somehow couldn’t bring himself to fit in with his peers. All he wanted was to make his father proud, though! There must be something he could do to stop this maniac from causing more trouble! He’d shown up out of nowhere, disabling factories and leaving made up accusations behind and it looked like he was only getting started.

Roman had one thing going he was good at, though. He was strong, brave and determined. Someone needed to put a stop to this renegade liberal, and it might as well be him. It wasn’t like all the other things he’d tried and failed at. This time, he felt a calling to fight the war of the righteous!

Astonishingly, his father hadn’t scoffed at him as he’d passionately pleaded his case. The paper in his hands had been filled with speculations about the black clad silhouette barely caught on camera. The elderly republicans rightfully arguing against him had been banished to page eight, pushed aside by the intriguing puzzle the anonymous terrorist presented.

He’d looked at Roman as if he’d never truly seen him before. As if he was something of value. For the first time in years, the young man had his father’s full attention. It was like being in the spotlight he’d secretly dreamed of – bright and warm and exhilarating. He felt worth something for the first time as his father rose and walked around him, taking in his tall frame, filling in well from the workouts he tried to burn frustrated energy with, the sparkling, green eyes, the luscious curls, the strong cheekbones and attractive features. There was no denying that Roman was handsome. A figure to be displayed, as long as he kept his mouth shut. This time however, he’d found a tone his father wanted to listen to.

Over the course of the next months, the extremist’s deeds grew more frequent. The liberal media was lapping up his speeches, stilted and uncreative as they may be. He seemed to be gaining support online as well – lonely, misguided souls as his father put it. His destructive agenda was threatening to destroy the moral of this good society and plunge them all into anarchy.

There was no cause for fear, though! The good people of the greatest country in the world were once again showing why their resolve would not be stopped by anything. A revolution was on its way.

His father had created a community of wealthy, caring American patriots ready to sacrifice whatever it took to counteract the threat to their traditional values. Their researchers were using the latest, barely tested military technology to strengthen their soldiers for the fight for America’s future. It would be a great risk they were taking together, but Roman, their first (and only) courageous candidate, would not back down from the challenge.

They needed someone his fellow citizens could look up to. Someone who would stand up to the terror caused in these insecure times. Someone kind and strong and good to give them hope for a better future. A future Roman believed in with all his heart. Humans were amazing creatures! The feats they had accomplished awed the young man and deep down, he believed they could solve their problems together. He trusted their combined creativity, love and unity to save this planet in the end. There were problems his father always complained about they needed to face – terror and hostile foreign countries, leftist propaganda and the lying media trying to divide them, but he believed they could conquer the world and their fears if they could only work together instead of being torn apart by a monster like this terrible man! Roman wanted to unite the world. He wanted to give them something to believe in. He wanted them to know they needn’t be afraid, like he told them to. They could trust their government, their leaders, each other. Peace was a possibility if they only believed. And he knew he could give them this belief.

For months, he subjected himself to test, procedures and surgery with no complaints. He saw no daylight for almost half a year as his father’s and his partner’s scientists, the people who worked for the Conglomerate, did their best to make him worth putting their faith in. His bones were infused with crystallized carbonium, his muscles strengthened with steroids and drugs and his healing capabilities increased with experimental stem-cell therapy.

It was agonizing.

It was glorious.

Finally, Roman could be something his father could look at with pride.

As he saw him again, months after being sent to the research facility (his father was a busy man after all), Roman had become someone worthy of carrying the name Prince. His origin story had only begun, though. The moment he was able to walk without obvious pain, his grooming for the media began. He wanted to get out there and stop the villain from hurting people as soon as possible, but he was given to understand by Karen, the leader of his supportive team of experts, that the psychological damage he was inflicting on America’s soul was much greater than the wounds he tore into their economy.

Roman humbly accepted the choices of those smarter than him. He worked hard on his enunciation, his posture, his all-American accent, so they would deem him ready faster. The terrorist was growing more and more dangerous every day. His acts were growing more sophisticated, his public appearances increased from flashes of a tall, slender form caught by cameras, to manifestos read in a passionate, though clearly untrained voice over the internet. And now, he’d killed for the first time.

Roman could barely be held back. The man who’d been killed, Richard Snyder, had owned the largest chemical production company in the world and had been blamed for the death of a large amount of people in Vietnam due to a herbicide that had leaked into the phreatic water.

He’d also been a father of three girls and felt behind a grieving wife.

Roman had been upset about the news of the many deaths overseas, but he also grieved for the people this terrible crime had left behind. Accidents were a terrible thing and he was sure Mr. Snyder hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. People were good and cared about each other in his opinion. After the public blame the terrorist had put on his shoulders before – there was no other word for it – lynching the poor man, the media reacted to the crime in a manner that deeply shocked the sensitive young man. Instead of condemning the horrifying acts harshly, they discussed the accidents that had caused the unfortunate deaths in Vietnam and demanded consequences to avoid such accidents in the future!

Of course people needed to be protected, every life had value and had to be treasured, but to besmirch this victim’s life work, so soon after his execution – it left Roman angry and terrified for the state of the world he loved. He needed to stop this man, right now! He was strong enough to do it, why must they keep holding him back?

Tortured by grief and pressured by his need to prevent more loss of life, Roman pleaded to be allowed to do something, yet his team of intelligent, professional experts hired specifically to make him the best possible hero he could be, demanded he wait for the right moment.

“You’re just not quite ready yet, dear. We mustn’t risk making the wrong impression with a young stallion like you.” Karen had told him gently, patting his cheek.

He’d woken in agony after having his muscles cut open all over his body and suffered through a truly terrible withdrawal after a failed test of a drug that was supposed to improve his durability but had instead corroded the lining of this throat and stomach, yet nothing had ever been as difficult as enduring this waiting for Roman.

Finally, after more than a year of changing and preparing him, of whittling away at the inadequate shell that had been Roman Prince, the odd, weak disappointment of a son, a new man was revealed to the world. A man who was confident, brave and kind. A man who spoke clearly and showed the frightened society the way to a better world. A hero.

The terrorist was executing his greatest, and most terrible crime yet. He’d rigged a factory producing military equipment for the protection of their brave soldiers overseas with explosives. Painting himself as the vigilante and avenger of the suppressed masses in war-wracked countries, he’d given fair warning to the workers to escape, but had shown his true colors in the end after all. The board members of the armament manufacturer had been kidnapped and trapped inside the building to be executed for their supposed crimes of trading with dictators.

It had been the day the terrorist had stepped from the shadows into the light of the cameras to blame his victims in person before they met their end. He’d exposed their alleged crimes against the helpless, suppressed minorities the weapons were used against – lies and exaggerations as his team had assured the young hero – and had finally shown himself to the world. Part of him, at least. Like a true villain, his body had been clad in a skin tight, black suit and his face had been masked from the light of truth and justice. He’d named himself the Utilitarianist.

Yet, at his greatest moment of triumph, a hero rose to meet him. Stepping from the ashes of the detonated building, the Dreamer emerged, leading out the disoriented victims of the Utilitarianist’s terrible plan. Showing his handsome, young face to the camera, unmasked and alight with his passion for the defense of all that was right, he’s faced the other head on and finally gave the just and good Americans a hero to believe in. The time of fear and helplessness was over. He had risen from the dust of his nemesis’ destructive acts to beat him.

Their battle, caught from every angle in high definition, had been dramatic and terrifying. The Utilitarianist had grown into a formidable enemy while Roman had been prepared for him. He was lightning quick and fought dirty, twisting out of his hold like a snake. Narrowly, the villain escaped the young hero.

Roman had felt defeated even as he’d stood in the rubble to be celebrated. He’d been supposed to put an end to the terror and lead the world he loved so dearly to a kinder, better future where people trusted and supported each other once again. He knew it was possible, he wanted it so much he ached with the need to bring it about. Hadn’t he suffered so much so they wouldn’t have to anymore?

Yet he smiled bravely at the awed masses and aided their attempts to secure the scene and calm the frightened onlookers. A hero must never show his inner struggles. He wanted them to know they needn’t be afraid anymore. He would fight for them. He would bleed for them and die if he had to.

Karen had reassured him afterwards. He had done well. The tone in the newspapers had changed. Everyone was looking at him and listening to his voice. He could give them the stability they needed. Interviews were planned for him and he was briefed extensively for all of them. He was to portray a hero that had chosen to fight on his own volition, because it was the right thing to do to stand up and protect the suffering people. He would be there to shield them from this terrible violence. There was no need to worry and listen anymore. The good, hard working people of America could sleep calmly and focus on their lives and families again instead of getting involved in the danger the Utilitarianism tried to drag them into with his ruthless calls for action. He was a threat to the love and kindness their country was built on and the Dreamer would not let him get away. He would take care of it all.

Despite his wish to brag with his father’s great plans and the selfless efforts the other CEOs, lobbyists and republicans had invested, they asked him to never mention the Conglomerate that had created him and steered his actions. The public needed a legend to put their faith in now, they said. Not a bunch of old men bumbling about. Though he felt selfish when he claimed to be acting by himself with nothing but the help of volunteering patriots, he trusted their knowledge more than his own. Though the Dreamer was a great hero, Roman would not forget that he was just a young man trying to be good enough for his father’s love he’d failed to deserve before.

In the coming months it became clear to Roman that catching the Utilitarianist would be no easy feat. Many of his plans were carried out in secret or committed over the internet, where his brute force had no power. Whenever he managed to face the cowardly villain, he rudely evaded his demands to bring this rivalry to a dignified end and attempted to ignore him like a fly buzzing about his head. The outrage!

While his organization grew into a network over the globe, the Dreamer was left to calm the suffering public in interviews and entertain them with photo shoots for calendars and merchandise. Though he’d always dreamed for being a star and acting at a Broadway production as everybody’s darling as a child, he found the publicity work hard to bear at first. His team reasoned they needed to create a brand that represented the American values they tried to preserve. His fans would find it easier to act with the kindness he tried to preserve if they had an ever present, well defined idol. Saving the world in the age of Instagram and twitter worked differently than it did in his comic books.

Chastised, Roman had deferred to their expertise.

The Utilitarianist used Discord, Tumblr and the darknet the same way after all. Groups doing his dirty work popped up all over the web like toxic mushrooms. Roman was starting to worry there could never be enough magazine covers to keep up with his vile influence.

In the face of such inspiration, it was hard not to be discouraged sometimes. Yet, he preserved. Tirelessly, he tried to remind the world of what mattered, using bold words to paint a bright and colorful picture of the future he truly believed in. A future of unity. They mustn’t lose sight of what mattered – standing together, fighting the hate the Utilitarianist spread with his extremism that called to simple solutions. To violence. Being kind was harder, almost impossibly hard, but Roman would not lose himself in hate, and he knew his fellow Americans wouldn’t either. Breaking the law and turning to murder would not save the planet, it would turn them into monsters. Many people followed his example and joined what generation z called Team Dreamer, yet even as Roman got to shake the hand of the president, he felt he was not doing enough. He should be out there, fighting harder.

Even after chasing him for almost a year now, Roman felt those things as strongly as ever. He was right, gosh darn it! How could this irritating man not see the merit of a peaceful solution? Who didn’t want peace?!

Finally, despite having been cautioned repeatedly not to get involved in arguments where his scripts couldn’t help him, he confronted the other with his anger. The wind created by the rotor blades of the approaching helicopter whipping at their clothes on the roof-top almost carried away his words.

“Why must you be so impossible?” He’d cried, completely at the end of his patience while he tried to untangle his foot from the steel cable he’d caught Roman in. He wished he could stamp his foot in childish anger. The McDonalds headquarter? Seriously? This man would be the death of him! He’d kill him with exasperation. The unbelievably dramatic di- person had flooded the topmost floors of the almost finished new building with used frying oil through the sprinkler system and set it on fire. Roman smelled like fat and was covered in grease and ready to tear his own hair out.

Startled, the villain had stopped in his tracks.

Half turning to him and staring at him through the mask covering most of his pale features, he seemed to struggle to find the right words. His voice was as deep as he remembered from all of the horrifying videos put together by his team he’d watched obsessively, yet, it held an incredulous edge to it.

“You cannot be serious. How dare you refer to me as impossible, you simple fool?”

Deeply offended, Roman forgot about his struggles with the cable and instead flailed his arms in outrage.

“I am not the one constantly ruining everyone’s day by kidnapping people or setting things on fire or blowing up perfectly good structures or almost drowning me in frying fat!” He’d screeched. The ever-polite voice in his earpiece was quickly going from asking him to stop to begging him to.

Flabbergasted, the Utilitarianist fully turned from the helicopter hovering above him where he’d usually would have swung his body up gracefully to make his escape.

“I am not executing my plans in order to be a mere nuisance to you, you selfish welp. My organization is attempting to save the planet from the certain destruction our thoughtless actions are bringing about. You ought to return to your cameras to perform your monkey dance for the press and allow the adults to bring about the revolution we are in desperate need of.”

Monkey dance?

Never, in his whole life, had Roman been this insulted.

“You- you unbelievable, impossible, infuriating villain – how could you dare to- I am attempting to save the world! You are trying to destroy it!” He’d howled, flailing uselessly with frustrated energy.

His righteous claim seemed to rile up the terrorist even more. Taking a few steps towards him over the cement that was starting to heat with the flames beneath them, he jabbed his finger at him.

“How do you manage to be such an irritation while having no idea what it actually is I am doing? Your stupidity awes me!”

“My stupidity?! How is it not stupid to claim to want to save the world and then divide it by causing fear and hate? Don’t you know how to be nice or are you just pathologically evil?!”

“Are you seriously insinuating you believe I am the stupid one? You must have suffered a concussion during your infancy! I will not be lectured by a man who believes the world will be saved by selling topless calendars and who attempts to catch me in heeled boots!”

The villain’s rant was interrupted as a sneaker hit his head from above. His supporters were exasperatedly waving at him to climb into the helicopter they had been screaming over before the police managed to arrest them, just as Roman’s operator had frantically urged him to free his leg and catch the man standing mere feet from him.

Needless to say, Team Utilitarianist vs Team Dreamer was trending on twitter the next day, along with the hashtag #savetheworldtopless and #justpathologicallyevil.

Also, his poor operator quit.

Roman felt guilty for getting into an argument and behaving unprofessionally, but somehow, he felt like it had also gotten him closer to understanding the other man. He wasn’t a faceless monster but a person one could talk to – if a truly irritating and rude one – and people could be changed. Roman was good at convincing others of his position. His bright, attractive smile, warm and sweet manners and his polite reasoning had brought plenty of people around. Despite the continued threat of an escalation between the Utilitarianist’s supporters and his opposition, most people still liked Roman.

He brought the idea up at a team meeting, believing he’d finally found a way to work more effectively. However, he was turned down gently. They gave him to understand that he had misjudges the villain and that his attempts to negotiate with terrorists could have disastrous consequences. Chastised and feeling like a child make a dumb suggestion at the dinner table, he gave up. Still, despite his best intentions, he wound up arguing with the other again and again.

Their rivalry came to a crescendo when one of their fights once again distracted both of them. He had no idea why this man managed to make his blood boil this much with his talk about superior logic and necessity. Necessity his ass. (Roman would of course never say such a thing out loud, but still.)

They’d gotten caught in their argument about the effect of the Utilitarianist’s crimes on the families of the victims – a topic that made Roman especially passionate – when a heated pipe transporting steam from a coal-fired power station burst above the villain’s head, threating to burn his skin right off.

Acting on pure instinct, Roman had jumped the three meters separating them after the runway had been blown to bits and pushed the villain to the ground, shielding him with his body. He hadn’t even known he could jump this far, but he knew the painful burns over his back would heal on him. On the Utilitarianist, they would be fatal.

He’d regained consciousness in the ambulance, learning that the villain had apparently carried him there. His sneer had chased everyone away. Before the police was able to gather their courage to apprehend the man who had become more legend than person, he’d disappeared in the shadows.

They had been fighting each other for almost two years now.

While he recovered, his father visited him. He hadn’t seen him in months. Roman understood he was doing important work, though. It was alright. Sadly, his father had not been as pleased as he had so desperately hoped.

“Son, I want you to explain something to me.” He’d demanded. Despite being the strongest man in the whole facility and a beloved hero, Roman felt like a frightened child immediately.

“Of course, father.” He’d muttered, drawing his knees close in his sterile hospital bed. His back burned terribly, yet he showed no pain, like he’d learned.

“What on earth were you thinking when you saved this terrorist? You had him where you wanted him. This could all be over but instead you’re damaged and he’s running free.”

The rebuke hurt sharply. Swallowing, Roman tried to explain his reasoning he’d never thought he’d have to defend. The place was filled with people who were supposed to support him, yet he felt entirely alone.

“Yes, father. I’m sorry. But… he would have died. I- I mean- the Dreamer is supposed to be a hero. He has to save people and bring criminals to justice, not-”

“You’re not a police officer, son. You have one task to perform, and that is not to save random people but to stop the Utilitarianist. You can’t kill him – that would make you look bad, but if you can’t catch him, you’ll stop him another way. This would have been the perfect opportunity. You need to decide if you have what it takes or if you weren’t the right choice after all. Next time this chance presents itself, you let this god damn terrorist die instead of spreading his filth from a luxury prison.” His father had barked at him before leaving him alone to fear losing everything he’d bled for. Everything he’d become. Without the Dreamer, he had no idea who he was.

He’d hugged his knees to his chest and tried to breathe through the terror.

He couldn’t stop wondering, though. Was this really what the Dreamer was? He’d tried too hard to keep the peace and catch the Utilitarianist when there were other things he could be doing. They’d told him to leave the crime fighting to the police. His image was the most powerful thing about him. Superman couldn’t concern himself with petty thieves either, after all.

Wonderwoman would, he thought defiantly.

And yet, the Utilitarianist had made him think. He hadn’t left him to die either. Could he be a hero that allowed the villain to die when he’d saved him in return?

His doubts wouldn’t leave him alone until eventually, he chose to do what he was most afraid of. He went against the advice of his team.

He’d been sitting around for months, while the Utilitarianist had been busy attacking the Hong-Kong Stock market. Roman quietly wondered why he was never dispatched to other countries to help. His nemesis had stopped limiting himself to the States long ago. Just last week, he’d wrapped the Burj Khalifa in a huge, blood-red banner that apparently refused to come off as a statement accompanying his latest attacks against rich, emirate capitalists keeping immigrants as modern slaves and straining their buildings with their metaphorical blood. The following riots had filled the city for days.

Yes, he knew America’s intervention was not popular and had couldn’t cause a diplomatic mess, but there were people there who needed him too! Perhaps his team was worried he’d upset someone by remarking that the conditions of those workers truly were less than glittery.

He could keep his mouth shut though, if that meant he could help! For example the civilians stuck in a hostage situation in a bank in Mexico. There were children there, and a pregnant woman with her wife! The standoff with the police had lasted for two days already, with no end (or a bloody end) in sight. Finally, he proposed a tactical plan to his supervisors he was quite proud of. It would work, for sure! His ill-mannered, ill-tempered new operator Virgil had grumpily hacked the bank’s database and gotten him the floor plans as well as control over the security systems and cameras. He could be in and out in less than half an hour, dragging some hostage takers with him. The longer he’d uselessly chased the Utilitarianist, the more helpless he felt. His powers were growing every day Roman was idle. People coordinated and acted for him all over the world. Even without his interference, his idea was taking flight. Roman may be America’s darling, but he was growing more impotent and useless every day he spent as a glorified symbol of American values. This was the right thing to do, he felt it. He had to breathe new life into the idea of the Dreamer. He had to be a proper hero again.

The idealistic young man felt like he’d been punched in the gut when his plan was discarded like a child’s idea once again.  

Being denied was something he could handle, he was used to it, yet this time, there was something different about it. Instead of the usual, fatherly patience and kind amusement at his misplaced enthusiasm, he was told off curtly. Without results, Roman was losing their favor.

Feeling unsteady, he shuffled onto the cold light of the corridor of their underground base. Despite his terror of losing the place he called home, the reporting about the children held hostage would not stop replaying in his head. He’d been told watching the news would only upset him and he should rather rely on the updates they cut together for him, but he was starting to think he would only have found out about the situation far too late when irritated reporters would have asked him where he was when the children were shot. He couldn’t let it come to that!

“Slinking home with your tail between your legs?” The scathing voice of Virgil growled at him from the shadows. Roman jumped, startled despite his extensive training. He swore the emo acted like he was aiming to become a villain himself. He certainly disliked Roman enough. Despite trying not to show it, Roman had always dealt badly with being disliked. It made him anxious and insecure. He wanted Virgil to like him, despite his manners.

Puffing up his chest like a proud peacock, Roman readied himself to defend his honor, when he noticed the disappointed slump of the other’s shoulders. Though he’d complained, he’d worked hard on their plan. A new resolve warmed his insides.

“No. I’m not backing off. I’m taking a running start.” He’d promised, before striding down the corridor and grabbing a startled Virgil’s wrist on the way. He still needed that one.

Leaving the facility on his own, without planning or permission, felt oddly like breaking out of prison. They had a lot of sneaking about to do, but once they were safely over the border, he felt… freed.

*

The armed robbers were no match for the quiet, cat-like stride of the trained hero. He caught one after the other, knocking them out with ease. This was far simpler than fighting a man like the Utilitarianist.

Claudia, the pregnant woman, was in urgent need of medical attention, so Roman carried her out of the building in his arms. One of the little girls hung off his shoulder, pulling on his costume in awe, while the other hostages followed his tall form into the sunlight and flashing lights of the cameras. Surprised exclamations greeted them, before the crowd erupted in ecstasy. Roman barely managed to calm them. He hadn’t been greeted with such honest joy in so long, he was utterly baffled by their adoration. When he finally managed to speak, his voice was thick with emotion.

“Fellow citizens of the world, I have realized that the time for borders is behind us! In these frightening times we must understand that our differences are mere illusions, stand together and give each other hope. Our love and belief in each other shall prevail over evil!”

“Fuck yeah!” Virgil whooped in his ear. It was the first time he’d heard the other sound happy.

Real, honest pride filled him. Finally, he was what he was supposed to be.

*

The atmosphere in the underground compound changed. Roman felt the shift, the tension around himself clearly and suffered it with disappointment. It was like being home again. A child whose childishness was barely tolerated. Quiet and shy and feeling unwanted.

Despite the repeated attempts to impress the importance of following his team’s directions, he planned and executed more mission with Virgil. He was his one saving grace. Since he was actually starting to make a difference, the two men felt more at ease with each other. Though they were mostly bickering with each other, Roman had found someone to rely on. His fluttering nerves around the moody man calmed, allowing him to fall back on the safety of the Dreamer’s personality less and less. They were a team of two now, instead of the pride of the Conglomerate. It was alright. He was one more person than Roman used to have.

The success they had encouraged him further. The Utilitarianist had published information about a human trafficking ring and left the rest to the public to deal with. How irresponsible! People would take it upon themselves to play vigilante and get hurt!

Virgil ran the data through his clever programs and determined the most likely targets for Roman. Together, they rescued a group of Philippine women from an armed gang, saved a child from the hands of their parents taking money from strangers to spend time with her and captured a number of members of organized crime selling kidnapped women to the highest bidder. All but one of their targets were apprehended within the week.

The Dreamer became a hero again. His global popularity shot through the roof.

The renewed attention softened his team and superiors to him. Slowly, he could feel their mood changing. They tried to support him in his quests.

“You two have been doing such a good job on your own. But it’s about time we step up again and help guide you, dear. We can’t have you unintentionally support the Utilitarianist again and validate his message, can we?” Karen had told him kindly. Roman hadn’t considered the fact that he’d unwittingly cooperated with the Utilitarianist by acting on his intel. Already, people were taking up the idea of them growing to be a team. He was an idiot. His team could have prevented this mistake.

Discouraged, Roman tried to follow their advice more closely again. He was truly glad to be back in their good graces and have their support again.

“It’ll be alright, my gloomy friend.” He’d assured Virgil. “We convinced them of our ideas, now we can all be together again and avoid silly mistakes. We can do good things together!”

“We were doing good things, man.” He’d growled, hunching his narrow shoulders. Roman had sworn to himself to help him feel more accepted in the team. He’d never wanted anyone to feel as isolated as he had most of his life.

To his horror, the mistake he’d made was developing a life on its own, though. The Utilitarianist was already a favorite of the LGBTQ+ community and soon consolidated his place by rescuing a group of gay rights activists from a Russian prison. The images of him pulling a pink haired woman into his helicopter while an androgynous person proudly raised a large rainbow flag billowing behind him was taking over the internet by storm. The Utilitarianist was becoming a gay icon and he wasn’t doing anything to contradict the claim. The outline of his masked image painted in rainbow, asexual, lesbian or bisexual flag colors was sprayed on walls all over the word. And because Roman kept being drawn into discussions, because Roman had saved him and because he’d now acted on his behalf, following his direct call for action, a lot of people had started imagining them to be more than they were. They were publicly ‘shipping’ them.

Roman had been beyond horrified and humiliated as his sympathetic team had put together a dossier of the things people on the internet thought he’d do. They truly believed he’d subject himself to be the Utilitarianist’s pet or that the older man could overpower and capture him, tie Roman up and-

He’d been unable to keep looking at the pictures and horrible, humiliating stories published for all to see. How could he allow this to happen? This was what people saw in him after he’d allowed himself to be experimented on, cut apart and be put back together and worked so hard to give them something to believe in?

Deeply mortified, he’d fled to his room. The dossier of sinful, deprived actions people thought him capable of was saved on his tablet and seemed to burn a hole into his confidence even as it innocently sat on his desk.

A knock on his door made him flinch. He couldn’t be seen right now!

Virgil had never cared about politeness, though. Letting himself in despite the lack of a reaction, he’d settled on the bed next to the curled up hero.

“Hey. Um, so I saw the dossier.”

Roman groaned, hiding his burning face. He’d never even looked at porn, so seeing himself pictured on his knees, the villain’s hand in his hair, about to- oh god. This was out there. The Utilitarianist would see it and think- irrational fear of things he hadn’t ever considered the other capable of mixed with the humiliation and made Roman tremble.

“It’s not like that, dude.” Virgil promised softly, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“What’s to misunderstand?” Roman growled bitterly. “I know you all think I’m not smart enough to understand, but there’s really nothing to mix up this time!”

“Don’t say something like that, man! You’re much smarter than they make you believe! They just want you to stop thinking for yourself!” A frustrated growl escaped Virgil. Pulling uselessly on the powerful man’s shoulder, he tried to get him to look up.

“They showed you the worst of the kinky shit horny people come up with, but most isn’t like that. Shipping isn’t about subjugation and- and bondage porn. It’s about liking two people and rooting for them, despite any opposition. People just care about both of you, even if you’re on different sides. It just shows that most of them aren’t as black and white as they all say. They aren’t the perfect, traditional families on the cereal boxes and they aren’t the masked activists throwing Molotov cocktails either. They’re just people who like some of both of your positions and they like you and him and what they like most is the idea of you two burying this feud and stop fighting. They want what you want, when it comes down to it, dude. For the arguing to end and people to just get along. I’m not making this up, look!”

Finally, his energetic pulling made Roman have mercy on him and miserably and fearfully look at the tablet he was shoving in his face. If he had to see another drawing of himself struggling in chains while the Utilitarianist groped him he thought he might throw up.

It really wasn’t like that, though. The Ecosia search bar simply showed the search for Dreamer/Utilitarianist and the pictures were… cute, actually. Feeling his rabbit fast heart slow down, he tentatively scrolled through the images. There was a photoshopped argument of both of them before the rainbow flag under the caption #married.

Next to it, Roman spotted a dynamic he hadn’t found in the dossier at all. It was him, draw with glitter in his hair and perfect, gleaming smile, dipping the Utilitarianist in a dramatic pose. A flush was painted on the older man’s pale features under the mask.

Beside it, both of them were drawn out of uniform, dressed like ordinary people with Roman in a lovely shirt and scarf and his nemesis in an honest to god sweater vest. They were strolling through a park, holding hands.

Another picture showed Roman reclining on a couch, cuddling the other between his legs. The Utilitarianist was battling papers and a tablet and complaining about something while Roman was ignoring him in favor of the music playing on his headphones. His expression was indulgent.

A large, detailed full colored digital painting divided in two halves portrayed the Utilitarianist on one side obviously arguing passionately in front of a wall of pictures, maps and red string while Roman stood on the other side, gesticulating in front of an equally cluttered wall containing cute postcards and balloons and a unicorn pinata. Again, #married titled the picture.

He found an interpretation of their fights depicting them as a golden retriever and a sleek black shepherd, yapping at each other.

Then, a picture of himself standing proudly before a group of happy, butch lesbians next to his nemesis who was accompanied by cute, femme ladies giggling and holding onto his arms. #lesbian.icons was scrawled sideways between them. Roman felt a surge of protectiveness for these women immediately. He was awed that they actually wanted him to be there for them.

A little smile lit up his features quite unconsciously.

The pencil drawing on lined paper clearly made by a child showed both of them simply hugging.

A t-shirt was printed with photos of them cut together before a bright, starry universe.

Comic panels made their younger versions bump into each other at a college library, dressed as a football player and nerd respectively.  

There were screenshots on gray background about short, funny dialogues they never actually had.

Roman’s gaze got caught by a digital drawing in soft hues. It was him, leaning over the villain, his hand cupping the angular jaw, kissing the attractive, masked man as the other melted against him. Both of them were drawn with such attention to detail, almost lovingly.

None of the search result showed Roman degraded, captured, used.

Aside from the one where he was dangling upside down, flailing at the villain who was apparently attempting to show him a detailed power-point presentation about his plans. Roman laughed wetly through the tears he’d been suppressing. It looked like something the arrogant know-it-all would try.

“I don’t understand.” He muttered, glancing at his own tablet, filled with data carefully compiled for him.

Virgil’s gaze was worried.

“I guess there are things they’d rather you don’t see, for whatever reasons. Maybe you’ll let me double check the info they give you from now on, man. I get unrestricted internet.”

“Oh. I didn’t know the internet here was restricted.” Roman muttered softly. His head was buzzing. He huddled closer to Virgil, gazing at the images without really seeing them. He felt like everything he knew was shaken in its foundations.

‘****************************

Roman is starting to realize how much his information was manipulated, how exciting! The next chapter is promising to be a lot more fun (and angsty), actually! There will be bickering and romance! I already got started on it. Please let me know if you want to be tagged! And remember, reblogs help writers ;)

(Spoilers from after I wrote the next chapter - it wasn’t more fun. BUT it will be)

Next Chapter

[benchgenderstudies]

Opening Letter to Labor Secretary Martin Walsh//

Disclaimer: This letter was originally slated to go through the White House email form as it could not be left for understaff prone to market loyalties. The matter relates to the physical abuses of laborers in the fashion industry and the protection of women in the marketplace. One runway model summarized her experience in the runway fashion industry as ‘ what most people called sexual harassment, we called compliments”. .. 

As was written for the White house email form. 

Dear President Biden, Enclosed is a letter I have prepared for your new US Labor secretary. The reason I am sending it through this venue is because M Patricia Smith, Labor Solicitor/assist to secretary is likely to trash it. Smith is a loyalist to a misogynist fashion industry and cannot be trusted to assure the Biden administration is made aware of significant problems. Problems that I found the Pennsylvania House and Senate delegates were too incompetent to handle.

Dear Labor Secretary Martin Walsh

Congratulations on your appointment to the US Secretary of Labor. It is a post with many opportunities of advancement considering its previous inhabitants have done so little to advance it. OSHA's budget is only limited by the initial investment in staff so that dangerous workplaces can be fined . David Michaels, Edwin Foulke Jr, and trumps appointee were not prepared of the bankroll they were leaving on the table by keeping the agency understaffed.

Ever since 2008 I have called on OSHA to regulate the fashion industry , specifically the fashion modeling agencies; to stop the industry anorexia that exists in its coven. One of your very own employees : M Patricia Smith, solicitor actively enabled the sex trafficking industry within NYC fashion to flourish by circumventing regulation aimed at ending eating disorders. How would that be linked? Agencies such as Elite Models go along with haute couture's demands because they can prescribe upon a female an emaciated frame by which she is no threat to them. She is no threat to demand her due pay for her commercial estate as the person the luxury brand uses to parade their diseased prescription of 'the female”. She is not female, usually, not for them.. rather she's typically pictured the androgynous prepubescent frame suited to turn on pedophiles as they are.. even if she's technically 16-22yo.  That alone is a public health danger no matter who calls it art. Luxury fashion exists to be callous by its exercise of Bourdieu's Habitus: the arrogant exercise of trashing others for not wearing their clothing well or talking under the luxury parameters/terms of the Veblen good.

Every time I contact DOL, somehow the entire explanation bores them into inactivity. So , I'll tell you ahead of time.. if you dont understand what I'm telling you .. ask. The Department of Labor ,especially OIG and OSHA are far underperforming in protecting American workers. It is not only OSHA's duty to adopt the body mass index to regulate industry but also to adopt ALL health standards accepted by NIOSH/CDC in the effort of assuring a safe workplace. That is OSHA's duty as an agency.   Is it not the Department of Labor's duty to avoid protect workers despite how the market might recontext them as contractors as a financial convenience. It is the goal to protect the rights of workers as they are in each industry and not by that industry's cowardice or vanity to exploit them in all the ways they will and do.

In this debate you're going to hear all sorts of nonsense about “Feminism' and “ Homophobia” as a defense for what the luxury fashion industry does. All you have to do is ignore their lawyers and their excuses and instead protect the public from the models and from becoming “ their kind of fashion model”. You're going to probably ask “ how can I prove the fashion industry causes eating disorders?”  It does. But be real clear that just like murder you can kill a man with a sword or a gun. I am not saying all eating disorders are caused by the fashion industry; an industry who models malnutrition as a class status repeated back in the time of the “Gibson Girl”. All girls colleges reported worry that their students looking like worn dark eyed zombies was not a healthy state for students to be in.

A gay male fashion designer is neither an expert on anatomy nor gender studies, or gender psychology simply because he has a front row seat to his experience. He is open to be criticized and prodded exactly what about the female body he is aware of in physiological terms. Whether he protests by barking back “ you're just homophobic” avoids recognize he has nothing to respond. Dolce and Gabbana's designers failed out of fashion school so would hardly be the candidate to have a graduate or even bachelors degree in basic biology.  Bluntly, just because he prefers his sex as a penetration by penis in his orifices doesn't mean he can appropriate the Cis Female identity and preferences for his own; for his microphone to redesign her; to artify her as an object of his creation. She is not his creation. So lets start at the reality that if a fashion model emaciating herself from age 16 onward AWAY from her natural fillout.. by the same championed methods as anorexics.. (stimulant abuse, strict calorie restrictions, exercise abuse, drug escapism) that she too will become injured no differently than the diagnosed anorexic the Usgov/NIH currently confuses themselves to be 'a mental disorder”. Its not a singular set of incidences. Its a tragic mistake of LGBT fashion designers and agencies to abuse a girl into their standards of sizing when said sizing is injurious to her.

I am going to close on these points: No matter if a foolish girl moves from Wyoming to New York City to chase her Vogue dream of being a runway model... her sense of liberation to be that model stops being 'feminist” when she forgets herself as an object set infront of youth and the public.  When she is made a model to others.. her liberty is zero. Her occupation is not an ideal circumstance no matter how she smiles or how many magazine covers shes on. She is not an ideal female nor feminist to allow herself be made a 'hero' and 'celebrity' infront of young girls while  she secretly is only in the industry to settle a fraudulent debt against her. These agencies recruit girls on the image of prestige. They hire limos and other image related services at her expense without telling her... or so the scam goes. Even if I detest the model herself for being a foolish stooge ,.. she has a right to grow up physically as a case of health no matter what her occupation is.  Her identity does not owe the industry a duty to stunt itself to 'be its girl' . “It” doesnt know what a real girl is nor how to correctly respect her. If we really were talking about 'gender bending”, then the bulldyke butch female is absent on the range of imagery. The guys might wear the dresses but the females just look angry and spent.

Due to couture labels like Balenciaga, Gucci, and Dior.. the luxury fashion market clusters around them as a cult of personality.  It is not merely fashion. Dior built his name on trying to repopularize the waspwaist.. and so we must also realize the practices of body modification (ie tattooing, piercing, corsetry) are also not for people below 18; an age 16 & 17 year old girls should not be allowed or expected to oblige. Couture's waif is body modification in a most anti female way of things; so.. neither CFDA nor its couture industry are feminists at all.   Balenciaga is actually more famous than Dior  in that the original models were 14 year old girls in place of models. Now the fashion critics are all gaga for 'the androgynous' norm not calculating that a girl too young to have one gender isn't either old enough to split the difference between two. The artification of gender is not its study nor its protection as an asset of classism.

The fashion industry is arguing that the “ Body Mass Index' is an inaccurate measure of health. As a paper chart, it was never meant to be a clinical test measure; Strike one. When skin calibers or hydrostatic weighing become part of the actual measure of body adiposity then BMI is plenty fair. More the point, a female below 18.5 even by the paper chart shows a lack of care for herself in weight training and metabolism maintenance. By trying to be a model or imitating model prescribed crash diets.. the youth and females of the public injure their metabolism in three ways : 1) they are incapable managers of any crash diet. 1a) they dont know to reset their reward food choices. 2) they indulge multiple crash diets and for far longer than the plan itself advises 3) the crash diet look is not the same look offered from hard training and a mere weekend worth of fasting for a judged event. These females are acting like the ideal body is maintained daily and weekly. Its not. The fashion industry tries to cheat its way to looking like the hard work of elite athletes concealing all the cheap taste addictions/ 5 star lard cuisine its fine dining jet setters choke down their throat between events.

The fashion industry also doesnt realize that body composition is larger than the height/weight chart. Body composition is small piece of Anthropometrics and Goniometry of the Movement studies field; Not Psychology. I actually find the female led psychology field in the study of eating disorders has enabled young girls to remain getting injured by market forces.  This is not a day camp for women to console each other as victims.. Its a mockery of gender and sex education that its archetypes are paraded as ambiguous fads on the runway There are finite limits to the health of the female body that the industry is not protecting ; worse.. they indulge these 'international standards” so that the females and males applying for these jobs are worn out and too tired to fight about due credit. The broken mirror on the industry is they worship youth only so the youth cluster for easy fame.. and much easier exploitation; knowing nothing about the industry's dangers. New models are especially vulnerable to prostitution, forced drug addiction, rape, and the long term effects of eating disorders due to the silence of the current models and organizations like “ The Model Alliance” that try to legitimize the profession.  Fashion designers have no say what eating disorders. They hesitate incriminate their own “homoerotic imagination” as diseased. Neither Fashion designers nor talent agencies have a soapbox on which to defend their exploitation of the models (mostly female).. in that 'she can leave whenever she wants... except she cant” . Due to the debt scam held over her.. she is forced to crash diet continually (malnourishment) until she is either out of debt, dead or in a hospital. She'll remain in that hospital taking small checks to shut up.. and take blame for 'her self made diets”.. instead of connect that no matter how self managed her disaster.. the primary cause of her illness ; her PHYSICAL EXHAUSTION; is by the compulsion to 'fight hard for her fame” and the agencies income.. no matter how unlevel their commitment is to her safety or industry legitimacy.  

TO BE QUOTED:”Eating disorders victims are bonded by physical exhaustion that cannot be mistaken as a mental symptom to be bandaided by antidepressants.” -Michael Bench.  Eating disorders are a physical ailment resulting from the queer fetished 1)calorie restrictions AND 2) food combination/pairings  that set her GI tract and immune system into a downward spiral. 3) When the female dieter decides the first crash diet didnt work, her move to another plan ( of weird diet combos like grapefruit and baconbits) adds to the confusion of the GI tract. The GI tract biome is set off balance by these diets... and so too is an injury to her metabolism.. An injury of the public occurs through these extreme and fast results diet motivations as much as the fraudulent diet instruction itself.

The problems of the Department of Labor effectively advocating for employee safety are also complicated by its unwillingness to address NIOSH- NORA as a bunch of deadbeats.. They're too worried if a Christmas tree bundler was risky instead of keeping young women away from molesters, sadists, human traffickers and embezzlers among the industry protected by the Council of Fashion Designers of America. CFDA's primary error is that it only wants to defend the designers broken visions instead of the whole industry's aspirations to forward interesting art-as fashion. The Androgyny fad is a lie; its an artification of the female body by MALE models and designers to wear.. without concern how its prescriptions are unhealthy to her. The Fashion industry and HHS are going to retort  “ anorexia” is a mental health problem.. not an employment/labor problem. So it happens uniformly in all industries then? Its image is promoted in fashion but not taking fault for? A female prescribed to look as though her growth curve recessed on itself.. to a size she was at age 12 or 14 is not only unhealthy.. its negligence  and injurious damages owed to her by the brand and the agencies defending it.

Again. If you have any questions or wish to hash out more of a detail about these matters, do not hesitate to contact me. However.. after these many years that Department of Labor has done nothing to protect women from the fashion industry's bad actors.. its about time the whole executive branch find a conscience. Where there is a gender wage gap there also exists here a lack of care whether any industry abuses women or the public of females. There is only the President and the Vice President to conference on this .. I can tell you first hand the Labor OIG have failed repeatedly to act in forcing OSHA to perform its duty in adopting and enforcing HHS/ CDC health guidelines whether developed by NIOSH or otherwise. When Howard Shapiro was acting OIG legal he exclaimed “ we have no mandate to regulate fashion modeling by Bmi because its not in the 1970s founding of OSHA”. Of course it wouldnt be if BMI was adopted in 1998. Here I have to emphasize Shapiros lame excuse wasn't just that he didnt want to address BMI as a health metric but that he was refusing all health research and standards that were available ever since OSHA and NIOSH were founded. Shapiro owes the government his salary back. I hope your service in US LABOR determines you deserved every dollar of your office salary.

the regulation of the fashion industry is a necessary act of responsibility for all workers and to protect women. If the equality of women is a central pillar of President Biden’s campaign , this is not a matter to ignore. Please recognize my effort carrying on ever since 2008 has always stated “a prescription upon women that makes an ideal of a male cut/toned physique will not be healthy for a female to sustain. In the cause of artified androgyny and not accurately presumed gender swapping,, the female model is being physically abused for a norm ambivalent to her health”  And this is why the gay male fashion designer is not credible to be designing for women in the frame of presuming himself gifted to those ends. The cult of personality around Dior and Balenciaga are not merely poorly aware of the female body. Couture is actually stubbornly refusing a majority of women in its pathetic aversion to sewing around curves. They are selfish to actually recognize any curvy female frame as it takes attention away from the slim “androgynous” ideal .. most like their mirror. Cosmosexuals vanity is toxic.   

Cordially , Michael Bench , MEP, WGSGC

Exercise Physiologist

Gender Anthropologist

Author of Native Supremacy

[sexologistbhopal]

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[grandhotelabyss]

My Year in Books, 2020

Introduction

I don’t want to waste your time, dear reader, with a list of all the books I read in 2020—you can track that on my Goodreads, if you care—nor even a list of all the books I wrote about on my site. But I would like to take the occasion of New Year’s Eve to revisit some of my favorites. Please click below for the list. Happy New Year!

1. Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

Reading old books can help us understand the present better than reading new books, which are often too caught up in today’s doxa to offer a true perspective on today’s world. Austen’s first major novel is a good example; what can help us understand class and gender better than this 19th-century narrative? As I wrote:

Marianne Dashwood (or Lily Briscoe or Sula Peace) has triumphed: today, she issues defenses of desire on podcasts and Patreon and posts pictures of her swollen ankle and putrid tonsils for the fetishists among her OnlyFans subscribers. If Elinor still functions as her conscience, she does so in the administrative bureaus of the corporation and university—human resources, diversity and equity—where her job is to intercept and interdict threats to the untrammeled unfolding of Marianne’s consciousness. This metamorphosis has undoubtedly liberated the individual from the stifling convention of bourgeois domesticity, but is the place where it has installed her now, where she must sell soul and body by algorithm just to stay alive, any less a prison?

I thought I’d get cancelled for that one, but nobody seemed to notice. Here’s another chance, cancel crew!

2. Giovanni Boccaccio, The Decameron

Like everyone else and for obvious reasons, I read The Decameron in 2020, but it didn’t make much of an impression, besides its historical interest. This might be the problem:

The late medieval personae and settings are different from the postmodern ones: clergy in place of technocrats, princes in place of corporations, and a network of land and sea routes where fiberoptic cables now run. But Boccaccio himself, in writing a comic prose work that has, according to the scholar Robert Harrison, been called “a mercantile epic,” did much to prepare the way for our world.

I’m sure this is a mix of presentism and philistinism talking, but a literary culture divided between Dante and Boccaccio would seem to have something wrong with it. The best writers earlier and later—Homer and Sophocles, Shakespeare and Joyce—seem capable of synthesizing what in Dante’s divine comedy and Boccaccio’s human comedy are held forcibly, artificially apart. 

3. James Miller, The Passion of Michel Foucault

I review a scandalous biography of the theorist who may or may not have made our contemporary world:

His identification of a new oppressed class, and his observation of oppressive power structures working in precisely those institutions meant in the modern period to correct the “barbarities” of ages past with their torture chambers and ships of fools, would change the western left forever. The “abnormal” subject (rather than the worker) was now the protagonist of history, power (rather than exploitation) the mechanism of oppression, and modern scientific and liberal institutions (rather than capitalist economics) the enemy. Foucault’s anti-psychiatry stance is now in abeyance—a recent viral Tweet promised that “under socialism all men will be sent to therapy,” an old chestnut of Stalinist terror that redefines political dissent as mental illness in an instance of exactly the thinking Foucault meant to challenge. But the drift of his thought, toward the emancipation of western reason’s underside, still defines for many what it means to be on the left today. If the left once promised, per the Internationale, “reason in revolt,” Foucault offered unreason in revolt.

4. Plato, The Republic

A much misunderstood book, in my view:

Socrates clearly describes the defects of the soul’s non-rational divisions; by contrast, reason, ordained as it is to apprehend the perfection of the idea, is presumably faultless. Yet I would suggest that Socrates’s forgetting that divine inspiration is the source of poiesis, even as he utters poetry in praise of reason, is a flaw. If the fault of the soul’s appetitive part is an insatiable quest for more and more physical satisfaction, and if the fault of the soul’s spirited part is a desire for victory or conquest without limit, then might we not theorize a parallel danger in the soul’s rational part? And doesn’t Socrates exemplify this danger when he follows the autonomous logic of his argument past all experience, including the poet’s experience of divine inspiration?

What if we took up the hint and patterned contemporary novels on Platonic dialogues?

5. Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

I have mixed to negative feelings about this cult classic, but I had fun introducing its conspiracy-laden plot with some paranoia of my own:

Finally, canvassing the Wikipedia entry on the novel before I read it, I found that among the endless occult paraphernalia Eco packed into the text was “[a]n obscure one-time reference to the fictional Cthulhu cult through a quote from The Satanic Rituals—‘I’a Cthulhu! I’a S’ha-t’n!’. The words closed a ritual composed by Michael Aquino.” Aquino was a high-ranking Satanist and a psychological warfare expert for the U.S. military; he co-wrote the notorious Pentagon position paper “From PSYOP to MindWar: The Psychology of Victory”. Understandably, he recurs again and again in the annals of American conspiracy theory: the politically paranoid on the right abominate him for his Satanism, while those on the left loathe his anticommunist and militarist commitments. Through a vector I’m not at liberty to disclose, I am only two of the proverbial degrees of separation away from Aquino, though I have obviously never met him or had anything to do with him or even discussed him with anyone who has. I imagine conspiracy theorists will promulgate this curious fact widely on the Internet to discredit me whenever I finally become as famous as I deserve to be, considering that I am one of America’s great writers. (Megalomania and paranoia: like horse and carriage.) 

And no, I still won’t tell you how I’m connected to Michael Aquino.

6. Thomas Mann, Mario and the Magician

Writing on this classic semi-anti-fascist novella, I wondered whether “anti-” is always the solution:

It is an old problem: how not to become what we behold, how not to transform into one’s enemy—how to be sure anti-fascism doesn’t become fully indistinct from fascism itself. Given our psychology, with its tendencies toward projective and dichotomous thinking, and given political realities, which often make violent confrontation seem fated, this may be an insoluble problem. Perhaps every anti-[X] is doomed by the occult law of similarities to become [X]; perhaps our time is better spent in simply not being [X] rather than defining ourselves against and therefore by [X]. 

7. Cormac McCarthy, The Orchard Keeper

I took the opportunity of McCarthy’s preternaturally eloquent first novel to clarify a point of political economy:

As I insist on reminding everyone from time to time, even at the risk of repeating myself, Lenin argues in Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism (a book I don’t claim to understand in every particular) that the monopolization of capital is the necessary and final stage of history before communism. Monopoly represents “a new social order, a transitional one from complete free competition to complete socialisation”—i.e., let the corporations do the work of centralizing production so that the biggest corporate body of all, the state, can easily assume the economy’s commanding heights. Marxism, therefore, is not really a challenger to neoliberalism but only the loyal opposition. Hence the chief theme of McCarthy’s corpus: how the inherent flaws of humanity and nature, those organic defaults that make the marketplace a necessary evil in both serving and curbing self-interest, immeasurably worsen when magnified to the scale of organized planetary warfare in the very name of their correction by rationality—or, as a pair of unorthodox Marxists called it, the dialectic of enlightenment.

Conclusion

Speaking of the economy, though, my most important literary event of 2020 was the publication of my novella, The Quarantine of St. Sebastian House, my attempt to turn contingent crisis into permanent art. With that, I leave you. Let’s hope the poet had it wrong when he said, “Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.”