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bloggerblagger · 6 years

Text

87) Blank space. (And the profound questions deriving therefrom.)

I was there. ______________________________________________________________________

I am looking for a film.

I have hunted high and low and I can’t find it.

I don’t mean a roll of film - who has those these days? Unless you’re living in the dark ages. Or in Hackney or Stokie or Lewisham and have a beard, tatts, nose ring, possibly a lip disc - and that’s just the girls, tee hee. (Sorry, I meant cis gender women.) (And trans women too of course.) (Maybe I shouldn’t have started this.)

Anyway, no, I do not mean that kind of film, I mean a film as in a movie, a flick, a picture, a cinematic experience. I have lost one - no. 45 to be precise - and being a bit anal about these things, I am quite disturbed.

To explain: a few weeks ago we had the London Film Festival. As a one time titan of the airwaves, and now the the author of this estimable blog, I am, in exchange for an ever increasing fee - forty five quid this year - able to blag a press pass.

And very grateful I am. What better way to fill a retiree’s days as the autumn chill begins to bite.

The trouble with joy

Ah! If only simple pleasure were enough for me. I am, as Woody Allenonce described himself, ‘anhedonic’. As I understand it, that means incapable of having a good time for the sake of it.

Something - somewhere inside my amygdala or frontal lobe or wherever such impulses lurk - insists that I must have an aim, a goal of some kind. It’s as though standing before the Eiger, it would not be enough for me to admire its magisterial beauty. I would feel an irresistible compulsion to grab some crampons and leg it up the North face. (Okay, possibly a slight overclaim there but you get the idea.)

And thus it is that, each year, my principal purpose at the festival really has nothing to do with appreciating the glories of world cinema. As with the mountain that must be climbed because it is there, I hear an irresistible call to a completely pointless course of action.

My personal Eiger (it really should be Everest but I’m stuck with the Eiger now) is to pay an average price of less than £1 per screening that I enter.

Rules of the game

And lest you think that’s dead easy - and that all I have to do is walk in, get the person with the BFI badge and the little hand held recording doobery to record my press pass number, and then walk straight out again - you are most seriously mistaken.

Rule 27 subsection b, clearly states that I have to see enough to be able to write some kind of review for each and every film.(See below.) (And further below.) (And much further below.) Furthermore, although I am permitted to walk out if I think the film is really shite, I have to stay for at least half an hour.

It is a feat that I have, for one reason and another - typically, violent vomiting brought about by a surfeit of Gallic pretentiousness or a crippling attack of wobblycamitis - never previously managed to accomplish. And inflation makes it an ever more daunting prospect. It’s like the Eiger growing another couple of thousand feet every year. At the 2018 price, it would mean I had to see at least forty six films.

Reaching for the stars

The one thing that gave me a tiny shred of hope was that this year I would be in London with a more or less empty diary for the entire period of press previews, beginning Sept 24th, and for the actual festival, which ended October 21st. Forty six films in twenty nine days. Obviously tough, but at one and three fifths a day, it did seem just about doable.

In fact, a bit like Mo Farah, who is happy to ease himself into the race and hang about at the back of the field for the first lap, I saw only one film a day for the first week and gradually stepped it up so that by the beginning of the final week I still had twenty three films to see. Yes, as the bell sounded for the last lap, I still had an immense amount of ground to make up.

But I was honed, oiled (a steady diet of oatmilk lattés) and up for the challenge. Saw four films a day Mon to Fri, except Wed when I saw five - my first ever 5 a day! Saw two on the Sat - but, as much as it stuck in my craw, paid - PAID! - for a ticket for one of them (will explain later) so only one counted. And then three more on the final Sunday. Meaning I had seen forty eight films overall with forty seven eligible - forty seven for the price of my forty five pounds press pass. Average cost: 95.744 pence.

NINETY FIVE POINT SEVEN FOUR FOUR PENCE!!!! Cue tumultuous applause, wild cheering, caps being hurled into the air, my modest, slightly sheepish acceptance of bouquets thrown at my feet, headlines in the dailies, in depth analyses in the Sundays, a billion tweets, Facebook breaking down through worldwide overload, invitations to appear on Breakfast TV, The One Show - rejected - Graham Norton - maybe - James Corden’s Carpool Karaoke - okay - and The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon - accepted if whole show is devoted to me.

Let the naysayers nay

Of course, I knew there would be doubters. Small minded types consumed with envy - very possibly like yourself - and conspiracy theorists who would insist that, like the landing on the moon, seeing forty eight films (forty seven eligible) in twenty nine days was simply beyond the reach of humankind and that the whole enterprise was some kind of epic confidence trick.

So I knew I would need proof. And so I kept notes. Contemporaneously. Each film I saw, I noted down on the yellow notebook thingy on my i-phone. From one to forty eight (forty seven eligible) they went in and were consecutively numbered. And then, at the end, it was my intention to review them. (Too busy resting in my bivouac - aka the cafe in the PIcturehouse Central - to write them as I saw them.)

That was the plan and the plan was put into effect. All went swimmingly, if several tads slowly - at the time of bloglication it’s already the thick end of a month since the Festival finished - until I reached no 45.

And then - disaster.

YIkes!

44 was clear enough: ‘Ollie and Stan.’ And 46 was there: ‘Girl’’. But beside the number 45, there was nothing. Just blank space. (And though Blank Space could easily have been a film, perhaps based on the song Blank Space by Taylor Swift - ‘I’ve got a blank space baby, And I’ll write your name’ - and there was actually a film called Blank Spaces made in 2010, the blank space in question was just in fact, no more than that, a blank space.)

The reader - if there still is one - will be easily able to imagine how distraught I was. I was - and I remain - convinced that I had seen forty eight movies (forty seven eligible) but I could only identify forty seven ( and therefore only forty six eligible.)

How could this have happened, I wept and beseeched the God in whom I do not believe? As expected, no answer, but retracing my fingers I concluded that in writing the reviews beside the numbers, I had unwittingly deleted the name of the film that had been beside the number 45.

An absence of proof

I grabbed my dog-eared copy of the Festival Programme and cross-checked all the gazillions of titles with those on my list, to see if there was one that I recognised that might have been no.45. But when you are as anal/OCD/idiotic as I am, you have to be punctiliously - obsessively - honest and I have to confess that I couldn’t find anything. I delved into the settings of my i-phone’s yellow notepad thingy several times to see, if I had by any chance, inadvertently made a copy of the original entries before I began the review, but nada.

Eventually I had to accept that, like Shergar, the name of the film that should have been beside no.45, would never be found. My only consolation was that this fascinating tale would be the basis for a fantastic movie, which I shall, one day, star in, write, direct, and produce: ‘And the winner of the Academy Award for Best Actor/Writer/Director/Motion Picture goes to: Richard Phillips, Richard Phillips, Richard Phillips, Blank Space!’)

Other than that, I am left with nothing but a terrible quandary. Do I insist, despite the missing movie, that I saw forty eight films (forty seven eligible) and that the price of 95.744 per film stands? Or do I say, since I cannot name film no.45, that, for the official record, I shall accept, albeit grudgingly and bitterly, that only forty seven films (forty six films eligible) can be counted, which increases the average price to 97.827pence per film. Yes, still inside £1 but unarguably by a substantially narrower squeak.

But that is not proof of absence.

As you will imagine, I have, before sending this blog post off into the e-ther, fought an epic battle with my conscience. I have tossed and turned in the night, spent days in a monastic retreat - well, sitting on the loo, as good as - before deciding that, one missing title notwithstanding, I did indeed see forty eight films (forty seven eligible) and will claim, until the moment I have taken my last breath that the average price per film was 95.744p. Indeed, given the importance this has assumed in my life, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that these will be my actual last words - though hopefully not right now.

However, my rigid insistence on complete honesty demands that I confess that there is another reason for choosing the 95.744 option.

It is this: There is another rule - 39, clause iv - that has to be obeyed. And to explain that properly, I need to go out of order and begin my reviews with no.22

Ignorance is not always bliss.

Rule 39, clause iv, states that I must see every film ‘completely cold’ - by which I mean, knowing as little as conceivably possible about what I am about to see. I make a point/fetish of never reading the Festival programme blurb before I go in. When going to the cinema in the ordinary way, that is to say paying a proper price, I do everything I can to avoid seeing a trailer, usually by timing my entrance so I miss them, but if not, I cover my eyes and stick my fingers in my ears, and I would go ‘la la la la la’ except I would be bombarded by popcorn and soggy nachos.

And I never, ever so much as glance at a review until after I've seen the film, and not just because I think all reviewers - except me - are tossers. I want to make a judgement of my own, uninfluenced by the half baked opinions of others. I want to witness the story unfold exactly as the director intended that it should. Of course my determination to be so pure has its drawbacks occasionally, and never more so than in this case.

Thus:

22 Little Drummer Girl

I went in with high hopes as the director Park Chan Wook, who made the astonishing Korean and Korean-ised version of Sarah Waters’ fantastic (I thought) novel Fingersmith. (His film was called The Handmaiden, not to be confused with The Handmaid's Tale.)

TLDG started intriguingly and then, after about an hour, the end credits rolled, seemingly half way through the film. I sat there thinking, ‘how very odd’, but, given my admiration for this director’s previous film, I decided this must be some uber cool directorial device and carried on watching regardless. Then an hour later the same credits rolled again, this time, as it turned out, at the conclusion of the performance. Even odder, for there seemed to have been no clue - at least none that I’d picked up - as to why the credits had been run the first time.

So whatever uber cool trick the director was trying to bring off, it was clearly way too cool for me. Moreover the story was left completely unresolved. It seemed as though there was a lot more to be said and the audience had been left high and dry. The whole thing was completely baffling. Until, that is, I finally referred to the programme blurb and discovered this wasn’t a film at all but the first two episodes of a new BBC series. (Now showing.)

Why should this be shown at a Film Festival, especially when the TV series is to be broadcast only two weeks later? Answers on a postcard please.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.0* (Not a film.)

So, you can see the problem. This wasn’t strictly a film - as in a movie that you might see in a regular cinema - at all. So should it count? If the Rules Committee (me, myself and I) took a really strict view, they might not allow The Little Drummer Girl through even though I had thought it would be a proper film when I went in.

You can see where I am going with this. If I had not refused to back down on the missing no.45, I could have been in serious trouble. Because If I hadn’t and the Committee put their black caps on in regard to no.22, I would be down to forty six films viewed and only forty five eligible, meaning the average price of entry would be £1 exactly.

Still a formidable achievement but, whichever way you look at it, £1 cannot be simultaneously less than £1. I would my miss target for yet another year.

Agonisingly close but no cigar. And you can’t really plant the flag unless you’ve reached the summit.

Let the record show

As I have said, I am not a believer but sometimes one simply has to invoke the name of the so-called creator because it is the only word that will do. So thank God that after long, and sometimes hotly contested deliberations, the committee voted by a majority of two to one (myself and I for the motion, me dissenting) to take a lenient view and admit no 22. What’s more they didn’t even raise the subject of the missing no.45.

So, all’s well that ends well. Will 95.744p ever beaten? One never knows, but my guess this is a Bob Beamon Plus Plus Plus sort of record.

One final note before I get to the other forty six reviews. I am the reviewer who is absolutely, positively guaranteed never to give the game away. No plot spoilers, no tedious Kermodian descriptions of every tiny thing. In fact, sod all apart from the odd detail such as the title, occasionally who might be in it, its country of origin and the briefest reference to the skeleton of the story.

Reading one of my reviews you will never learn who dunnit. You won’t even know wot they dun.

The rest of the reviews:

1 Asako 1&2 (numbers are part of the title)

Japanese romance with a clever plot twist. Inoffensive, watchable - a slightly different slant (shamefully politically incorrect pun but impossible to resist) on familiar themes. 3*

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

2 Petra

An incoherent Spanish film about a young woman and a small daughter in search of something or other. Complex plot which asked too much of this audience. (By which I mean me.) Tiresome.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1.5*

3 The Guilty

Highly unusual and thought provoking thriller of sorts. Although nothing remotely like it, except in its ‘message’, it reminded me of the celebrated Guardian commercial - celebrated if you lived in the advertising bubble, that is - which showed one scene from different points of view, each one altering your assumptions about what was going on.

A lot of concentration required for ‘The Guilty’ - slightly more than I had. A few irritating plot flaws but worth your time.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

4 Wildlife

Thanks to British Rail’s time honoured uselessness, I was 10 minutes late but I don’t think I missed anything crucial. This was the very first film I saw but I can still just about remember it which says quite a lot for it I suppose. Carey Mulligan who I usually don’t like is very good in this 50s Americanadrama. Ed Oxenbould as the teenage son in the midst of a family crisis is impressive.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

5 Crystal Swan

The lesson to be learned here is that under no circumstances choose Belorussia for your next holiday unless unremitting bleakness turns you on. But the story of a rebellious young woman desperate to get a visa to America is intriguing and persuasive.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

6 Shadow

Another of those Chinese warrior films which involves all sorts of leaping about and balletic sword twirling. Not my cup of Lapsang Souchong but if it’s yours, go for it.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

7. Arctic.

Icelandic. Very snowy. A man lost and hungry and not a happy bunny (not that any bunny would be) in the eponymous frozen somewhere. In short, All Is Lost on Ice. (A brilliant line if I say so myself. If you haven’t seen All Is Lost, you should because it’s better and also because you will then appreciate the brilliance of the line which will otherwise be wasted on you )

On the other hand if you don’t see it, Arctic will probably seem more original and interesting than it did to me.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

8 Jinn

Awful, unlikely story about a black Californian teenager who wants to shake her booty and her controlling TV weatherwoman mother who discovers Islam.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1*

9 Manto

Worthy but tedious biopic about a famous writer caught up in the cross border chaos of Indian/Pakistani independence. I lasted for about 3/4 of it, then decided to get a sandwich instead.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1*

10 After the Screaming Stops

Where else but at a press screening at the London film Festival would you find yourself watching a documentary about a Bros reunion? Interesting in that it showed what an incredible jerk Matt Goss is. And sometimes funny in the laughing-at as opposed to laughing-with sense.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

11 May the Devil Take You

Walked out. Hated it. Apart from that I can’t remember anything.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.0.5*

12 Mandy

Never got all this cult film bollocks. Never liked Russ Meyer or got George Romero or John Waters and this film which appears to be in this ‘cult’ category was , as far, as I was concerned, simply unbearable. Left after an hour. Yes, I know it’s had fantastic reviews from all and sundry but then remember, fengshui proves that a billion Chinese can be wrong.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating. - (minus) 200*

13 Ash Is Purest White

A Chinese melodrama about low level gangster life centred on the life of the moll. (I mean morr- ha ha ha.) (Is it racist to make pathetically obvious jokes, if you can call them that, about Chinese/ Japanese pronunciation issues? Probably yes, so why do I keep doing it? Discuss.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2.5*

14.Widows

The gushing reviews it seems to have received (judging by the number of stars on the posters on the underground) baffle me. It was nothing more than a highly polished turd. The original television serious was completely implausible and this film is no improvement. In the trailer that I advertently failed to miss, ‘12 Years a Slave’ director and, in another life, Turner prize winner, Steve McQueen - the new one not the dead one - appears himself to claim this is the film he always wanted to make.

Personally I think it might have been about the money.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2*

15 Thunder Road

A curious piece, written and directed and starring the same person, all about the disintegrating life of an American policeman. Tonally it was partly black comedy and partly unalloyed tragedy. A tour de force of sorts creatively, but not quite sure what to make of it.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

16 Border

A love story with knobs on - but not necessarily in the usual places - this is a quite brilliant piece of filmmaking which questions the very nature of attraction. ‘Border’ has a very contemporary story but one which is drawn, apparently, from Nordic mythology. One of the two or three best films I saw in the festival. Highly recommended.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4.5*

17 Colette

I started by being irritated by Collette. Keira Knightley has had a bit too much onscreen rumps pumpy to be a convincing teenager in plaits skipping through the grass. And there was early dialogue referencing toothpaste and the top line on an optician’s charts. In 1892? Did they have those in 1892? (The answer it turns out is yes - toothpaste invented in the 1850s, Colgate producing it in jars in 1873 and in tubes in the 1890s, and opticians have been around since earlier than that - so one in the eye for me. And one in the mouth.)

But all this became quickly irrelevant anyway. Because I stopped being picky and submitted to the charm of this film, seduced by the bravura performance of Dominic West - who seemed made for his twinkly eyed, moustache twirling part and by the surprisingly nuanced Keira Knightley - never been a fan but I am now. As it turned out, after that first slightly jarring note, she was perfectly cast as the country school girl who goes on to be a revolutionary in the fin de siecle culture war in Paris.. But above all it was the astonishing, and very well told, story of Collette - nothing of which I knew - which fascinated. In short, a damn good night at the cinema.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4.5*

18 Beautiful Boy

Film about parental angst over teenage son’s descent into drugs hell. I found it interesting, if for no other reason than it made me realise the blindingly obvious fact that each viewer sees a film through the prism of their own life experience and that must affect their appreciation of it. In this case, as a father I couldn’t help but see things from the father’s point of view but if you you were in the first flush of youth you would, I think see it from the son’s.

The casting of Timothy Hutton as the expert to whom we see Steve Carell talking caught my eye because he was, about 40 years ago, the Timothy Chalomet of his day - remember ‘Ordinary People’?- and then looked a little like him.

And here’s another curious little factoid about Timothy Hutton - perhaps something to thrill the table with if Christmas lunch is flagging. He also appeared in a 1996 film called Beautiful Girls.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

19 Sometimes. Always.Never

Light, low budget British comedy with Bill Nighy; painstakingly made and clearly a labour of love. A little twee at times but very well played and with something semi-profound to say - though at a distance of a few days, having seen so many films since, I can’t remember exactly what it was.

It had a particular appeal for me because the hero had spent a life in the menswear business, as my father did, and the title refers to how one should button a three button jacket, from top button downwards - something I learned at an early age and have never forgotten.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

20. Roma

I would say that Roma was a faultless recreation of 1970s Mexico City except that I wasn’t in Mexico City in the 1970s so how could I know? It did however ring completely true to me - apart from a shower head which looked suspiciously modern - pedantic? moi? - and demonstrated the astonishing versatility of the director, Adolpho Cuaron, who also made ‘Y Mama Tu Tambien’ 'Children of God' and ‘Gravity’ - that’s some CV - films which could not be more different to this. ‘Roma’ is a sort of upstairs downstairs story and has wonderful performances from all the actors but most particularly from the main character, the young servant girl.

If I have one caveat it is that it didn’t quite ‘speak to me’, apart from making me queasily guilty that I have a cleaning lady.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

21 Non Fiction

One of those literary French films purporting to be profoundly intellectual (even if, in this case, also supposed to be ironically amusing.) All about writers and publishers and their existential angst in the digital world. But then aren’t all French films like this about existential angst - whatever it means? This is the sort of thing I viscerally loathe and after about half an hour, je sort, and gave ‘Non Fiction’, the General de Gaulle - ‘Non! Non! Non!’

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.1*

23 Life Itself

Not everybody loves this film; in fact, the reviews have generally had the whiff of a blocked drain, but I claim my right to vigorously demur - up to a point. Directed and written by Dan Fogelman (the guy who does ‘This Is Us’ on Netflix or somewhere) it begins with a story about familiar Noo Yorker angst but approaches it from a surprising angle - at least to me. ‘Life Itself’, comes in four labelled acts, something I don’t like in movies usually but the first three worked for me. The last seemed like a rather - make that very - tired cliché.

My main issue with the film was that, whereas with Roma I couldn’t quite understand what it was trying to say, here the message was triple underlined in upper case bold. Not yet quite at the stage of jibbering senescence where I need to be spoon-fed.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

24 Wild Rose

Have to declare an interest here. The film’s star, Jessie Buckley, is someone I know a little, and whose career I have watched with interest since she was about 18 when she appeared on a TV talent show and after which I interviewed her. I am a massive fan. She is an astonishingly gifted singer and a damn good actor. (Brilliant in her earlier non-singing role in last year’s ‘Beast’, which I thought was an exceptional movie, better than this to be honest, and which may yet prove to be a bit of a sleeper.)

‘Wild Rose’ is about a single mother from the badlands of a Scottish estate who has a yen to be a Nashville diva. (A bit like Lady Gaga in ‘A Star is Born’. C&W seems all the rage at the mo.) ‘Wild Rose’ has a few credulity stretching moments but the feel good peaks make you want to ignore those. It will make the Saturday night popcorn go down with a tear and a cheer. And it is a wonderful showcase for Jesse, who, If there is any justice, is destined for Hollywood mega stardom.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3.5*

25 Sunset

Lazló Némes, who made last year’s wincingly convincing Auschwitz film ‘Son of Saul’, now comes up with a wobbly cam evocation of verge-of-World War One Budapest called ‘Sunset’. By a complete but happy coincidence the person sitting next to me turned out to be an old pal, Saul Metzstein, who is a movie director himself.

I was gratified to learn that he was as mystified by this film as I was. No idea what the point of it was - went straight over my head. (Which, admittedly does not require much intellectual elevation.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2*

26 Dogman

Loved this. One of my Festival top three or four and likely, I read, to be a runner in the Oscar Foreign Film race. It’s a modern tale of the little man in a hostile world and takes place in one of those seedy parts of Italy that you find everywhere if you stray very far from the tourist trail. It is already on release - in fact, by the time I get around to posting this blog, it may already be finished, but try to catch it if you can. (Beware of violence though, if that bothers you.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4.5*

27 The Kindergarten Teacher

Never been much of a Maggie Gyllenhaal fan - always seems a bit cold and distant to me - but she is exceptional in this unusual contemporary New York drama about a thoroughly decent middle aged woman who, for reasons which may or may not be valid, finds herself out of step with those about her. Intriguing and thought provoking and better the more I think about it.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

28 They Shall Not Grow Old

Everyone is raving about Peter Jackson’s colour and 3-D reincarnation of genuine old World War One footage but it left me pretty cold.

It may be - no doubt is - an astonishing technical feat but after so many books and plays and films and so much TV and radio devoted to the subject I am afraid to say that I have a touch of World War One fatigue and this didn’t relieve my symptoms.

Last year’s wonderful remake of RC Sherriff’s ‘Journey’s End’ packed far more emotional punch, for me at least. Yes, the colour pictures of corpses and lice and rats and trenchfoot were ghastly but I wasn’t shocked and I wasn’t surprised. Who doesn’t know that World War I was unspeakably awful? Or rather, who amongst those who might go to see a film like this, doesn’t know? (‘Venom’ fans, I would have thought, are unlikely customers.)

My biggest complaint, though, is about the soundtrack: I found the unrelenting stream of voices irritating and soon switched off and stopped listening to what they had to say. Easily the most powerful piece of sound in the film was, I thought, the accompaniment to the end title, the marching troops singing ‘Mademoiselle from Armentiers’. (Sung of course, as Ah-men-tears’.) Nothing seemed to me to sum up the pathos and suicidal naivety of the cannon fodder as much as this.

Perhaps more music of the same intensity and fewer quotes might have made them more memorable.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.2.5*

29 Rosie

An Irish version of a Ken Loachy sort of film about decent people caught in the poverty trap. Persuasive and faultlessly done. But I am not sure what it told me that I would prefer not to know but unfortunately do.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.3*

30 El Angel

A highly original and sometimes very funny, blood soaked, true story about a teenage boy with decent, law abiding parents and a head of blonde curls which is set in Argentina (where, typically, people are swarthy with black hair) in the 70s, and who determinedly but very merrily sets about pursuing his ambition to become a ruthless murdering gangster. If there seem to be a few contradictions there, that is the joy of this film.

Remember to search for it on Amazon or Netflix in a few months if it doesn’t get a release.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.4*

31 Florianopolis Dream

Was really struggling to remember anything at all about this film and, until I checked, I thought it was more of the seedy Italian seaside and the story of two women battling it out to claim maternal rights over a small child. But now I realise that was another film entirely, which was....

32, Daughter of Mine.

Okay but in the unlikely event of it ever getting a release, I wouldn’t worry about FOMO if you can’t manage to see it.

And, now that I do remember it, likewise Florianopolis Dream, a Brazilian effort about a family’s seaside holiday in a place where it seemed to be perpetually cloudy. (Just to be clear, the cloudiness was nothing to do with the plot, which was largely non-existent, but the obviously very low budget. I am sure the director would have preferred the sun but couldn’t afford to wait.)

BloggerBlagger Star Rating.

Florianopolis Dream 1.5*,

Daughter of Mine 2.5*

33 Capharnaum

A close second, that well might have been first had I not seen the winner afterwards in the race to be my top pick of the festival. Timing is everything.. This is the heartbreaking yet ultimately uplifting story of a boy of about twelve brought up in abject poverty in the slums of what I presume was Beirut.

The performance of the boy is magical and though a two hour journey through the world of the Lebanese dispossessed (or rather, the would’ve been dispossessed if they had ever possessed anything in the first place) may not sound like a fun Saturday night at the pictures, do not be put off. Whilst not so much pricking your conscience as repeatedly firing a Kalashnikov at it, it somehow manages to be a feel-good movie at the same time.

My only quibble was that the editing around the clever device upon which the plot is built, slightly confused me at the end. Oh, and also, what’s with the title? Could they have found anything more obscure? Or maybe there was a clue in the film but, if so, I didn’t pick it up.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4.5*

34 Birds of Passage

Think of this as a pre-prequel to Narcos. Drugs and grisly murders mixed in with a bit of ancient dream interpretation in Colombia in the sixties, when it was the Native Americans (or one of the 87 tribes of Pueblos lndigenas as they call them in Colombia - isn’t Google marvellous?) and not the Sicarios who were cashing in on the medical benefits of the local cash crop.

Judging by the gore in ‘Birds of Passage’, they could have taught Pablo Escobar a thing or two about effective persuasion - blowpipes were out and sub machine guns deffo in. Clear and solid storyline, good pace, convincing acting, and lots of ketchup - what’s not to like? Another probable Oscar Foreign Film contender.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

35 Carmen and Lola

Good late Sunday night on BBC4 type film in which two young gypsy women in modern day Spain confront the fixed ideas of their incurably misogynistic families. One fascinating side effect of seeing this film was noticing in the sub-titles that the Roma in Spain (who are not shown as travellers but living in permanent homes) refer to the wider Spanish community as white people.

To me, the man and woman in the Spanish Street and the Roma all looked pretty much the same - dark haired and sallow skinned, and hard to differentiate from each other. I mentioned this in the Q&A afterwards and Spanish members of the audience - and remember, film festival goers are usually predictably right-on - seemed a bit put out. Perhaps I was being tactless and/or naive. Prejudice runs deeper than you might think.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

36 The Quake

I correctly interpreted the title as heralding a thriller about an earthquake and looked forward to some light relief from the intense social commentaries that are the bread and butter of the festival. I have rarely seen a bad Norwegian film but I did this time. Ludicrous plot, wildly overdone CGI including a slowly toppling, and clearly named Radisson hotel - very odd product placement. Avoid.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 1*

37 Girls of The Sun

A no punches pulled war film from a French woman director about Yazidi girls fighting in the Kurdish army in Iraq. Couldn’t help but be struck by the casting of far and away the prettiest girl as the group leader and main character. A curious - commercial? - decision in such a feminist piece.

A decent enough effort otherwise but I feel that Henry Naylor’s plays which have done so well at Edinburgh and in New York in recent years (Borders, Angel etc, a couple of which are on at the Arcola, Dec 4-22) and which deal with similar themes do so much more effectively. A rare case - for me- of the cinema being inferior to the theatre.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3*

38 The White Crow

Quite nteresting without being competely fascinating, watchable without being riveting, this is a tale of the early days of Nureyev directed by Ralph Fiennes, who also appears, thankfully not as Rudy, but as his teacher, giving a performance which I found somewhat distracting as he strongly reminded me of Paul Whitehouse. Nureyev Is portrayed as an unsympathetic character, driven and selfish, which could well have been true, so ‘The White Crow’ ticked the ‘seems authentic’ box, although his chilliness doesn’t help you love the film.

I would semi-enthusiastically recommend it, but I doubt it will be shown very widely since I can’t see it doing brilliantly at the box office - not sure that the world of ballet is a place the Saturday night popcorn crowd want to visit. And who under 50 will know much - or indeed anything - about Rudolph Nureyev and his place in the sixties zeitgeist? But then who cares? It wasn’t my money.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3.5*

39 Burning

There seemed to to be a bit of a buzz about this film amongst the so called press (aka the vast number of liggers who, like me, and with no less right, had managed to blag a press pass) but I have no idea why. It’s a strange story about the homecoming of a rather disorientated young Japanese chap with a father in gaol and another contrastingly self assured young fellow who is doing jolly nicely thankyou. Plus, for some reason, there are burning glasshouses. Utterly mystifying - to me at least - and so slow it made the average glacier seem like Usain Bolt.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2*

40 Yommedine

A road movie about an Egyptian leper and a runaway orphan. (One of the many surprisingly good things about this film is that there it unlikely to be a Hollywood remake.)

An astonishing achievement to have made such a simultaneously upbeat and yet deeply moving film about people one would normally think of as being at the very bottom of the heap if, that is, one gave them any thought to them at all. Brilliant performances that take us beneath the skin that so many are terrified to touch.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

41.Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Stands a pretty good chance of coming to a cinema near you and I don’t you think will begrudge the price of a ticket. Melissa McCarthy gives a masterful - if that’s the right word to use - performance in the true story of surly, lonely, habitually rude 51-year-old biographer and lesbian Lee Israel and her extraordinary and ingenious attempts to make money in 90s New York.

Richard E. Grant plays her camp hoppo with all the Richard E. Grantness that you’d expect and Dolly Wells does a nice little turn as a guileless bookshop owner. (To be frank I might not have mentioned her, but coincidentally her mother was my Airbnb guest on the day I went to see this film, so I thought it was only fair to give her a shout out, and I did think she was pretty good.) Amusing, touching and very watchable.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

42 The Hate U Give

Based on a ‘young adult novel, this is the story of a young black girl living in a rundown, violent, gang ridden district because her father, whilst allowing her to be sent to a private white school doesn’t want to make the move into a middle-class world. (Sounds fairly unlikely but on this occasion, I wasn’t in one of my usual hole picking moods so I went with it.)

A series of regrettable incidents force her to come to terms with the conflicting aspects of her identity. Not quite sure if this film was actually intended for my demographic group, but, despite it’s improbable plot turns, I thought it had something useful to say. And hear.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 4*

42 The Sisters Brothers

Saw this on the day that I actually managed to attend five screenings. A notable achievement but knackering and while I was supposed to be watching this - I think it was my fourth of the day - I have to admit I nodded off more than once. I have a strong feeling it was probably rather good - featured Joaquin Pheonix, Jake Gylenhal, John C.Reilly, so a promising cast - but I’m not really sure. Anyway, it’s cowboy film with a slightly Coen Brothers tone of voice, but isn’t one of theirs.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3.5*

43 A Private War

Like Maggie Gyllenhaal - see The Kindergarten Teacher, above - Rosamond Pike has never been a favourite of mine. and for similar reasons. I’ve always found her ice queen manner slightly off putting. Here she is playing legendary war journalist Marie Colvin but I never believed her. Lots of actoring with cigarettes and an eyepatch and her unruly wig flapping about but it just seemed like dressing up to me. I kept wanting to scream at the screen, ‘Put a bloody helmet on!’.

For all that, I can’t deny that ‘A Private War’ held my attention and had the odd moment.The sort of thing that might not seem a complete waste of time when it makes its inevitable appearance on BBC2 late on some future Sunday night. Otherwise not really recommended.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2.5*

44 Stan and Ollie

As a child in the er ah ahem um er nineteen whatevers I use to love Laurel and Hardy and here John C. Reilly and the make up artists do a great job of recreating Oliver Hardy on screen and Steve Coogan is more than passable if less impressive as Stan laurel.

A fascinating story of their later years but for me, let down by the stagey, artificial representation of fifties England. Also very odd casting and playing of legendary impresario Bernard Delfont. Was Lew Grade’s brother really like that? No idea but not how I imagined the man who brought us Sunday Night At the London Palladium. Still, all in all, a pretty decent night out at the flicks.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 3.5*

45. (As previously discussed.)

46 GIRL

On the final Saturday I went with some friends to see the announcement of the result and the screening of the film which had won the best first feature award and I had to pay so I could sit with my pals. A little bit of a gamble as there was a chance I had already seen the winning movie,.

The winner turned out to be Girl, a story about a Belgian boy of 15 who wanted to be a ballerina. (Note: Not another Billy Elliott - he wanted to be a real ballerina.) When the announcement of the award was made, the good news was that it was a film I hadn’t already seen but the bad, I glumly thought, was that I had consciously decided not to see it earlier in the week because, to be honest, I have grown a little weary of the entire LGBTQ I XYZ trans-gender, cis gender, gender fluidity, gender whatever, what? WTF!, what-do-THEY-do? thing.

Only it didn’t turn out to be bad news at all. Girl is an absolutely extraordinary film, deeply touching with an astonishing performance by the young boy playing the young boy who wanted to be a girl. Not only was it riveting viewing but it made me completely rethink my attitude to the whole transgender thing. Whereas previously my attitude might have been summed up as ‘all these boys wanting to be boys and girls wanting to be boys - perlease!’ I felt afterwards that I had at least a small but sympathetic understanding of the predicament that Victor/Lara and his family faced. And by extension, others like them. A really good film can do that - open your eyes and mind to a different world.

So, from being a movie that I hadn’t wanted to to see, Girl became my personal pick of the festival and recipient of the Palme d’bloggerblagger

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 5*

46 Blaze

Went to see this because I noticed that Ethan Hawke was the director and I am a bit of a fan of his work both as an actor and as a writer - he once wrote a very good novel, the name of which now escapes me. Unfortunately this film, a story, supposedly true, of a singer and songwriter in the sixties - I think - failed to stop me from making short but frequent visits to the land of nod.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2.5*

47 The Fight

The very last film I saw, A low budget British film about a fortyish woman in a racially mixed marriage with a bullied child and a dark secret and a bad relationship with her own mother and who, for some reason that I never quite got to grips with, takes up boxing. I might have appreciated this film more had my hearing been better. I discovered in post movie conversation (with one of the other members of the press/ liggers ) that I had mistaken the spoken number 30 for 13 and that had a significant bearing on my misunderstanding of the story, and consequent confusion and mild dissatisfaction.

BloggerBlagger Star Rating 2.5*

PS Anyone with so much time on their hands that they have waded through this nonsense until the end will have noticed, as I have only just done, that there were, in fact, two no 42s. Which I take to mean that, joy of joys, we have found the missing no 45. (Something obviously went awry with the numbering system in my i-phone’s yellow notebook thingie. Or possibly, though obviously improbably, it was my fault.)

Delighted to have been vindicated in my claim that I did indeed see 48 films (47 eligible.) Or, if there were an appeal against the present ‘Little Drummer Girl’ decision (unlikely but you never know) and it were to be upheld by the Rules Committee (even unlikelier) I would have seen 47 films (46 eligible.) And in even that remote eventuality I would still have officially reached the summit of my personal Eiger (Everest).

But it also means 80% of the first 1500 words of this post are completely redundant.

I could start again, I suppose. And I probably should. And yet….really?

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briteboy · 7 years

Photo

(circumstantial name by @earnoodle)

IT’S FINALLY TIME FOR THE POST YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR (or maybe just that one anon)

there’s a LOT in here, newer questions are generally first so if you asked something a while ago and you’re only interested in that, scroll towards the bottom. also doing wcifs separately (errr i’m gonna try my hardest to ok don’t crucify me)

this mass anons post includes topics ranging from Very Sweet Things Said To Me That I Don’t Deserve, nitpicking stranger things, crying over ramona, lou theories, Cillian Is A Fucking Creep theories (true), and completely unhelpful reshade advice

let’s f0cking do this

You're right, apart from carrying his stupid brain, Santi's head didn't do anything to any of us. I apologize for anon.

I'm pretty sure I said that already but I love Rooney and Santi's relationship so much I literally have no words for it

ME TOO LIKE IT’S JUST SO PURE TWO NOT-KIDS SCARED OF THE ADULT WORLD TRYING TO FIGURE THINGS OUT WITH THEIR WEIRD BRAINS TOGETHER ;__; i love them

YO i didnt know u were a demigirl!! im a demiboy nb Buddies

hell fuckin yeah dude!! we are starting a demi club

Ok but like I really want werewolves. Like I know it sounds stupid but we have vampire and while yes I love my bat babes, I want a giant pupper friend. I have story written out and plans for a cabin to build. Now I’m waiting for EA to give me my big hairy babes.

DUDE i want more supernatural stuff too, mostly witches like I NEED MY WITCHES AGAIN!!! ts3 witches were so good. i didn’t like ts3 werewolves much but i feel like they’d be super cool in ts4, knowing how the vampires came out. i NEED it

hihi! i've been very quietly (??) following your blog for some time now and i just fawn over your characters way too much ?? anywho, i've been wanting to start my own little simblr story but ,, i'm not entirely sure where to even start? i have so many stories that i'd love to get out there, and i have the means.. butt, how did you go about starting out?? so sorry this is so long but i look up to you a whole ton!!! ty ily! :-)

i’m the (??) lmao that’s me always but ahdhghdfkshg thank you so much!!!!! i’m so glad you love them, it means the world to me ;-; and listen, that was me, i had no idea how i was going to do it because i’d only seen ts3 stories up to that point and i thought there was like a set Way to tell stories but i had no idea what i was doing so i was like y’know what...i’m just gonna do it how i feel comfortable doing it and i’m gonna figure it out as i go along. so honestly try to roughly plan out what your stor(ies) will entail and if you get stuck on planning and can’t figure it out, just jump right into it, try to make a few scenes or get the ball rolling somehow, even if it’s just random posts (i mean that’s all my blog was until i decided to commit to santi’s story.) it’s always gonna feel weird and awkward at first, but you’ll get comfortable the more you do it and it’ll figure itself out, trust me!

I read through most of your story posts the other day and now I’m rereading it again just to torture myself some more (and maybe catch up on some posts I may have missed). I honestly don’t think I’ve come across a sims story that’s so beautifully written & includes such evocative pictures as yours. I’m really at a loss for words, it’s all so stunning. & after a nearly two-month long creative block, it’s planted the smallest seed of inspiration in the back of my mind, so thank you for your art.

AHHHH AHSDHKGKDSJG WHAT!!!!! it’s always crazy hearing that 1) people actually care about my stuff, and 2) that it inspires them. like i really cannot believe that, stilL!! thank you so so much, i’m so happy you enjoyed it (as torturous as it was, lmao) it seriously warms my heart that you’re getting your groove back in the creative world, that means more to me than ANYTHING!! good luck with your art or whatever you decide to do with that inspiration!

can i pls have your editing skill please and thank you

i owe most my editing at this point to reshade so honestly get reshade and u will probably become better than me

o added u on animal crossing and when you added me back i was so happy,, your little person is sooo adorable ((:

OMG!! thank you!! everyone’s person on there is adorable i cry i love them all so much i’m so mad tho it won’t let me add any more friends!!! it probably cuts off at like 100 friends or something STUPID

First of all, I love you. Secondly, I love your photos so much. I'm legit about to just ditch sims 3 for 4 now because of your amazing posts. 😖

LMFAO no but really THANK YOU I LOVE YOU!!! if you can manage playing both i admire u, i’ve invested too much time and effort into ts4 to ever fully go back to any other sims games tbh

The new patch made my game unplayable! I'm crying, I miss my doggos...

NOOOOO!!! hopefully by now you’ve found a fix, i’m prayin for u

long time listener, first time caller yoooo. i like everyone love your stories and your sim aesthetic so so so much and just tbh i was offended on your behalf about that ask from that person wanting to novelize your stories. like you were way too nice. this is your intellectual property and it's fucked up that someone would think it'd be okay to duplicate it as long as they used a different medium. this is prob a bad one to repost just wanted to you to know you're an awesome, singular voice

omfg lmao this is a radio show now *z100 voice* tellem why ya mad euhhh first of all i can’t believe someone even ASKED that, i’m in shock because like what this is so foreign to me. people want to write about MY characters WHAT! like that alone...takes a long time to process. and like i know i should say no but then i feel mean but they’re also my creations so like idk. it warms my heart that you feel so strongly and would stand up for me like that i’m cryin thank u for calling in i love u

I JUST FINISHED YOUR ENTIRE STORY AND I'M NOT OK WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE PUTTING ME THROUGH THAT SHIT IT'S AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER AND I FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE ABUSED MY (NON EXISTENT) INNOCENCE WOW

I’M SO SORRY U HAD TO GO THROUGH THAT ALSO I APOLOGIZE FOR STEALING YOUR INNOCENCE I NEVER MEANT FOR THIS TO HAPPEN OSDAFKJDSK BUT THANK YOU FOR READING I’M GLAD YOU ENJOYED IT EVEN IF IT HURT YOU!!!

I've been up all night and it's now 11am. I'm completely binging on your stories bc I am in LOVE and need a Molly in my game asap. Do you think you'll ever upload her?

omG my freaking story inciting insomnia i’m so sorry for ur sleep schedule first of all, but at least that makes you identify with santi even more omg tho ;___; (how many times will i say ‘omg’ i wonder) i don’t think so because she is so dear to me and makes my heart ache, she is just so special, i dunno if i could ever release her into the wild like that lmao. i haven’t even shared her with my friends (not that i really ever had a reason to) but like yeah. maybe in the future that’ll change but right now, no, i’m sorry <3

To change the topic: Idk if you watch stranger things but I only managed to get to episode 3 of season 2 before I stopped watching lmao it was so bad and Billy (a certified Cunt) ruined the whole show for me

YEAH I DID! omg. i have a LOT of issues with this season (mostly in how badly they tried to retcon nancy and everyone else not caring about barb’s death, how bad the writing was in the realm of nancy and steve breaking up and then her and jonathan getting together...holy fuck it was so uncomfortable with that 40 yr old conspiracy theorist guy i couldn’t even enjoy my ship getting together lmao) also ur right, max and billy honestly did not offer anything to the story...like i loved max too but what was the point...billy acted like their presence and the reason they had to move was so dramatic when it was really nothing...unless they’re saving that for season 3 but like. the whole situation with billy was so anticlimactic. he was like a walmart version of henry from IT. like boohoo ur dad’s an asshole and then he beat up steve. good character arc. i liked max standing up for herself but really...that whole thing was so lackluster, i didn’t care about it at all. ALSO I HATED THAT THEY DIDN’T LET MAX AND ELEVEN BE FRIENDS!! i’m sure it’ll happen in season 3 but like c’mon...that would’ve made the max character feel a little more important to the story. anyway yeah fuck billy and i don’t get why everyone is lusting after him or his actor they’re both ugly! thanks for listening

I just got the sims 4 + city living and I’m so excited! I was really inspired by your stories and style in general... I was wondering what packs do you have and also what are your favourite sims 4 hairs? I’m having trouble finding ones and I love your style!

YAY I’M EXCITED FOR YOU!!! omg aww it warms my heart so much when people say i inspire them because i never anticipated that kind of response, thank you so much <3 hmmm i think i have all of them except glamour stuff and fitness stuff. and pretty much all the hairs i download are here or here. (or the subsequent ‘tf’, ‘cf’, ‘tm’ and ‘cm’ tags as well, according to age)

UHM a 19 year old and a 13 year old? Poor baby Lou... Also youre a brilliant writer i cant

😬😬😬 stay tuned ajasdhjhjsahd thank you so much!!!

My stan levels for you have increased so much? like thanks for being a good ally, clAps for femmesim!

lmao thank you, i don’t really deserve praise tho i’m just passing on the knowledge of those patient enough to teach me. just trying to do what i can with my privilege u know. ily

How do you have teeth showing in so many of your pictures of Lou and Molly, do you PS them in?

i’ve gotten this question before and it’s usually just the poses used! i do have some lipsticks that have teeth on them but i mostly use them for just rooney.

Honestly, a fight between Santi and that new guy (srry, forgot his name while typing this) would be so hot. Like, I hope Santi would win but like just watching Santi fight him for Lou would make me happy!! Also, I live for your stories💞

omG i’m about to call up vince mcmahon they both need to fight on smackdown it’s gonna happen. they’ll both be shirtless too ok and THANK YOU ILY

boi poc can be PREJUDICED against white people but there is no such thing as reverse racIIIIIIiiiiIIIIIiiiIIIIsm

Lemme just say that you must be feeling so stressed rn. I love you and your simblr!!! Your posts light up my day!! <3333

OMg kind of. this week has taken A Lot out of me and i really just want to chill at home and play my freaking GAME but obligations. u know. here’s hoping i get a day off this week. i’m mad i’m probably gonna miss gianni’s birthday too (it’s on tuesday) and i wanted to do something for it!! i’ll probably do it late like i did last year too lmao i’m so sorry baby g ANYWAY u didn’t ask to hear about any of this...thank you for this sweet message i love you <3

why,,,, are people... coming to your blog to discuss race you are a fucking simblr WHAT

the real question is why do people go to you like its your job to educate them lmao like theres so many resources out there

SHAWDY u aint wrong reverse racism is literally a joke i am so sorry you have to go through all of this keep stepping on white feelings we deserve it

I was wondering would u consider Asians to be POC?

yes

I just finished Strange the Dreamer and it was fucking amazing. I cried so much and I laughed and I sat in absolute amazement at the world Laini Taylor has created. 100/10 would recommend

ahhhh i really need to read it apparently!! i’m like 10% away from being done with a dance with dragons (and then i have to wait for the next book like a peasant HURRY UP KING GEORGE) anyway this one is definitely on my list!

omgomg!! I just met this girl in my class who has eyes just like ramona's!!! But like instead of being brown w/ a little bit of blue, they were blue w/ a little bit of brown!!! Dude I was so shook I rlly didn't think ppl had eyes like that!

OMG!!!! that’s amazing! and yes heterochromia is a real thing haha. i’ve only met one person with it and he had the same color combo as ramona too, only his was full heterochromia, not sectoral.

*me in the background screaming* nO yOU LEAVE HER ALoNE baD-DAD-MaN!

ME TF TOO

every time i read some of your stories i get an ache in my heart that doesn't go away until i either cry or sleep so interpret that as you like

OMG ;_____; ok me too tho my heart literally hurts thinking about my characters sometimes...mostly santi...i hate him (no i don’t :{ )

hey uhh idk if you've answered something like this before but do you have a spotify or something bc your music taste is GOLD

THANK YOU!! you were the first person to ask about this haha and hopefully you saw my answer to the other question about it! i just made one and it’s here!

hi hi ! i’m seeing all the drama on da blog and i really want to read the whole story but i can’t get to it on mobile so i was wondering if you could link the beginning and tell me what the best order to read it in is ( i’m so confused because i’ve seen sm people y’all about a parallel story so idk if i’m being dumb !! ) i hope this isn’t any inconvenience also your sims are so beautiful sjajsjajs

hey on mobile the link is just: http://femmesim.tumblr.com/tagged/story/chrono i would honestly just recommend that order haha, it makes things simpler and it encompasses ALL story posts, or posts that give context. there are parallels in my story, lou’s is kind of a parallel of santi’s, only different...well...you’ll see. but yeah sorry this is so late! and thank you!!!

TU HISTORIA ES TAAAAAN BUENA POR DIOOOOS (YOURE STORY IS SOOOOO GOOD OMG) <3 <3 *OO* *cries in spanish*

MUCHAS GRACIAS ENCANTADORA PERSONAAAA <333

lou is wendy right? i mean, a wendy complex is someone who is overly mothering to partners, and lou is already a mother and ik that doesn't really count as foreshadowing but it seems like it could be a link to me. it'd make sense too, considering guys that go after younger girls (ew) are usually immature ie peter pan complex. it'd make the most sense that those two go together then.

heheheheh that is a VERY good observation...that’s all i’m gonna say!!

This has nothing to do with what's happening in the story rn, but whatever. I was wondering if you were going to mention lou's struggles with being a single mom and the stigma surrounding single motherhood? As a single mother myself I'd really enjoy seeing you take on the issue. Personally, my biggest problem was overcoming the generalizations people put on you when you're a single mom. People always assumed that I that I was stupid and uneducated because I had my son when I was 17.

yes! that will definitely come up. i will focus a lot on her struggles as a single mom. so far i’ve mostly just peppered in some stuff about money troubles, and that will come up again, and the issues you mention will be pretty central to her character as well. i’m sorry you have to endure that, it’s not fair. people don’t even realize how strong and dedicated single mothers are.

when you say Peter Pan, do you mean the Disney stuff or the og creepy stuff?

i mean the general themes of the story and how that translates into a peter pan complex: boy who never grows up, feels like he fits in more with younger people (haha...yikes), read the message above because that anon described the other half of the equation better than i could

Wait, hold up. That dude is cute but I feel like he’s coming onto Lou way too strong. I have a bad feeling.. Lou is like 13 there and he is 19 I mean I’ve seen bigger gaps between people, but she is not legal yet.. Where are you going with this? 🤨😅

yyyyyyep that feeling is warranted! i am going a way i don’t think you guys expect me to go...i think you’ll be very confused at the end of this part lmao. that being said, i’m not putting any of this in for shock value or to romanticize inappropriate relationships like this. (i’m probably going to be repeating that a LOT for this story but please just keep that in mind)

Hey mom wanna hear a fun as hell story? I just got back from the ER bc I fell on my razor after showering, and practically cut my nipple in half. (I am in so much pain hELP)

OMFG NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOUR POOR NIPPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’M SO SORRY I HOPE IT FEELS BETTER PLEASE UPDATE ME ON THE NIPPLE STATUS

U gotta watch sense8!!! Apart from the v awkward sex scenes it's v good, has a lot of representation and shit Just watch that shit show, u won't regret it (And if you do I cut your throat oops)

i’ve heard it’s good! i remember when it first came out and everyone was like Wow The Representation so honestly anything with diversity has already got me hooked pls don’t murder me.

I'm calling it now. He's Fi's dad. and he's a FUCKING CREEP!! Bitch you are 19!! LOU IS 13!! BACK THE FUCK OFF YOU PERV!!

no spoilers or anything but honestly i’m with you @ cillian die

Are they gonna fucc, o no

right now? no. that would be Very Bad

bABY ITS COLD OUTSIDE

oh same

Hi ! Your lastest edit (graveyard girl) is truly amazing, how did you make that bokeh behind her ? 😱😍

thank you so much!!! it’s reshade (with matso DOF)!

You've probably got this question a lot of times but i can't find the answer for it. What reshade do you use?

i gotta add this to my faq, it’s one i created myself but i started out with this one (it totally doesn’t resemble that one anymore but i think it’s a good starting point)

how do you make good looking male sims? mine always look the same and kinda girly..

hmmm longer faces, prominent chins and jaws, smaller eyes, bigger noses...generally yeah

What do you mean 9 + alt?

you gotta turn bb.moveobjects on and then press alt + 9 when an object is selected to move it upward. so what i did with those poses i made was, i selected a teleporter and pressed alt + 9 until it was at a spot i liked on the roof. that’s why releasing those poses would be tricky, ‘cause every build is different so there’s no set way to place them, you just kinda have to play around with them

You mentioned GoT so naturally, I have to chime in and express my love for Jon. Honestly, he won me over ever since the first season? I'm at season 5 now and people have already warned me so now i'm silently weeping, waiting for something to happen to my precious bby help

JONNY BOY!!!!!!!!!!! i loved his emo ass since the beginning but his arc with qorin halfhand (was he in the show??) was probably the best arc in book 2 and then his book 3 arc was just...SO GOOD, SO MUCH happens to him and i just felt like i was watching my son go through it all...i love that boy so much ;-; i’m almost at the end of the last book and i’m scared for him because of the one spoiler i know lmao and you’re at that point too so GET READY we’ll go through it together ok

So there's this game I'm playing where someone talking about another character says 'maybe you can break him from his ouroboros of self-fladulation' (I know I probably butchered those spellings but I'm not a bright egg and autocorrect isn't helping rip) and tbh it made me think of Santi. (Also I'mma scream of you get this reference jsyk)

OMG THE FACT THAT YOU THOUGHT OF HIM ;-; and it’s okay u are the brightest egg in the bunch to me. I’M SORRY I DON’T GET THIS REFERENCE BECAUSE I’M NOT A VIDEO GAME PERSON BUT I’LL PRETEND I DO KNOW WHAT UR TALKING ABOUT anyway yes santi is currently in the process of breaking his self-flagellation and embracing the oneness of the ouroboros (as opposed to letting the cycle repeat itself until he’s worn down to nothing)

do you have any favorite pose creators?

answered

do you have any tips for taking good screenshots in game? like how to get the good angles and good quality? i play on ultra but i think when i zoom in and then use the arrows on my keyboard to move around, the pictures gets less clear and looks kinda blurry. how should i do this?

well if you’re already using ultra, there’s not much you can do lmao. sims 4 is just bad with textures in general. it also depends on the objects as well, some are better quality than others. if i zoom in far on a sim’s face, i generally know there will be some pixelation and i can clean that up in photoshop with topaz clean and the smudge tool. i am very reliant on photoshop sometimes lmao. it sounds like you already have the basics of taking good screenshots, it’s just sometimes you have to fight and work with sims 4′s less-than-hd quality.

burn it down by daughter reminds me of santi & i'm in pain

ouroboros!!! death! birth! death again! birth again rinse repeat! also santi breaking the cycle because third time's the charm

The tattoo is an Ouroboros. It originated in Egyptian iconography, and it symbolizes recreation. My boy's recreating himself, I'm so proud.

ouroboros, the dragon eating its own tail. it's a sign of eternal renewal

i saw the post of child molly and just started BAWLING i miss her what the fuck she's my fave character i'M CRYING

ME TOO BICH!! ME FUCKIN TOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i just read all of A Serious Case Of The Novembers so far and theres still tears on my face. some of the best stuff ive read in a while, great job on everything

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! ALSO I’M SORRY FOR MAKING YOU CRY

every time you write about molly and her in heaven it makes my heart swell, like the characters were answering asks and someone asked her what heaven was like and even though it was so small short lil answer it still pulls at the heart strings, basically what im trying to say is that your writing is so good! <3

omg ;_______; me too, i feel like she has such a simple way with words and although her descriptions of heaven are brief, they are also complex and beautiful, and even just writing it chokes me up ;-; thank you so much tho i’m so glad you like it!!

Molly: out Molly tatto: also out

why did this remind me of this post:

How did you edit in the fire in the last post? Looks cool

i searched things like “bonfire” and pasted parts of it that i wanted on the pic to make it look more realistic, then put a layer mask on the pasted pic and erased the edges and stuff to make it blend in better. the sparks and stuff i added by pasting it onto a new layer and changing the blending mode to screen!

idk if you have every watched grey anatomy but Lou's backstory is starting to remind me of Jo (Jo is a character from the show) like Jo was in a abusive relationship and she is married to the guy but she cant get divorced or he will come and find her. So like if Lou didn't tell Fiona's dad he was a dad and Lou was married to him and cant escape the marriage (cause abuse), plus it would explain Lou's kink with being choked ;) full circle *god-like heaven music with tiniest violin is playing now*

ooh no i don’t but that’s interesting and i’m excited you even made a connection like that! i will say that it’s not lou who likes to be choked (the very opposite actually lmao) but otherwise the situation does kinda fit. i’m the violin

I have a freakin bio pre ap test tomorrow on photosynthesis and i have no idea what it is im going to fail save me

I’M ANSWERING THIS VERY LATE BUT I HOPE YOUR TEST WENT WELL!!!!!! *spongebob voice* photosynthesis

last time I installed reshade I couldn't get it to open the controls or shaders or anything in game :///// any tips?? I love they way reshade looks too!!

hmmmmm well i know the control panel opens when you press shift + f2, and then you check the boxes of the effects you want on them. i haven’t heard of this problem so i dunno what other advice to give i’m sorry :{ if it’s your first time installing it, you might have to wait a little to get it to load up.

Da puppy is so cute!!!

That dog and Romona are so adorable, I might cry

Ramona's cheeks are so big im in love

NAJKSDJGKJSD THANK YOU i love her and her chubby cheeks ;-;

OMG TOTORO IS SO BEAUTIFUL I LOVE GHIBLI UGH FKSJFJANFB

SAME!!!!!!! if i could only watch ghibli movies for the rest of my life i’d be totally fine with that

THE DOGGIE HAS EYES JUST LIKE RAMONAS IM GONNA FUCKIGN CRY

ME FUCKGN TOO!!!!!!!!!! it was fate (aka me creating the wolf pup to look just like her shh i am fate)

Hope I'm not bothering you but i wondered if you knew how to make Tamo sims eyebags work on a toddler? Do I just click in s4s to work for toddler on the "age and gender flags" when looking in My CC or do I have to do something a little more than that please? Thank you.

for any skin detail or makeup, you have to go into s4s and open the package up, go to one of the tabs (honestly i don’t remember which one because i don’t have it open rn lmao) and you’ll see the different age groups and you check the box for toddler. and then save it of course. (there’s probably a better guide on how to do this somewhere lmao)

Hey :) Sorry to take up your time, I was wondering if you use win7, win8 or win10? I'm trying to decide on one and people seem to have very strong feelings about it. Also what web browser do you use? I've used Firefox, but I had some problems on CC websites. Thanks<3

i use windows 10 because it came with my laptop lmao i honestly don’t know much about windows systems at all!! and i use google chrome because it’s never failed me (even though windows keeps pressuring me to use the new internet explorer called “edge”)

i just finished all of novembers in a sitting and 1. i'm Sobbing, 2. your music taste is bomb

THANK YOU!!! my music taste is like one part indie shit, one part rap and hip-hop, twelve parts emo middle school bands

what is the size of the original unedited screenshot?

1920x1080

For reshade when your first install and select the reshade you want to use do you have to edit the settings? Cause last time I tried to (I didn’t know what most of the things meant lmao) but it kept saying error or something so I couldn’t play the game so I ended up taking out reshade

do you mean the preset you want to use? i mean no you can just play with that preset, you don’t have to change anything about it. i’m not sure what you mean but i followed this guide for setting it up

Will you ever share your preset?? Or maybe a preset made be you??

i’ve answered this before but the answer is Maybe

Hi!!!! How do you make the rays of light you have in your photos?? THANK U BBY <3333

that’s actually in my editing tutorial but here you go <3

is reshade only available on windows + do we need to pay for it

yes and no

Hello love! I was wondering (and maybe it's a dumb question, idk) but what life span setting do you use? I would assume you turned off aging for your story but maybe I'm wrong ;w; Thank you!!

i do actually have aging off ‘cause i’m a coward lmao even in the ts3 days when i wasn’t doing story stuff and literally just playing i had it off for the most part and just aged sims up when i wanted because i like to be in control of Everything (aries)

I really just wanted to say that I’m new I your tumblr but your stories are amazing and I love them so much!!! Keep doing what you’re doing💞👏🏼

hey thank you!!! you are so kind and i’m glad you’re enjoying everything!!

In your reshade settings where have you set it to save your SS's to and which key please? I can't find mine after setting it to desktop/screenshots :(

i just set mine to ts4′s screenshots folder because it’s what i was used to and it works for me haha. hmmmmmm did you copy the exact address or whatever it’s called of your folder’s location and then paste it into the reshade box? try doing that with another location and see if it works. if anything you can do what i did ‘cause it worked for me

ok SO i came across this music video for this like spanish/english speaking indie band called The Marías and the song was déjate llevar and literally everything about the music video reminded me of rooney and gianni

OMMMGGG i love this so much, i cry @ music suggestions and this is so them ;-; i think i’ve heard of this band before actually!!

a little life is going to fucking ruin you,,, just a warning

great! i look forward to it

can a steal ur talent

have it i don’t need it

What app are you using to make them cool edit things??

i tagged it but it was doodle face

omg Strange the Dreamer is so freaking amazing! It’s literally one of my favorite books of all time; You’ll love it. The writing is absolutely delightful

you guys are really singin the praises for this book!! i have so many dang books to read i swear

#nonsims #saviorhide #anonymous #sunny answers #it is done and i never want to see another anon message again #i retire

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xtruss · 4 years

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We’re Approaching a Level of Manufactured Mass Hysteria and Herd Mentality That Not Even Goebbels Could Have Imagined

"There comes a point in the introduction of every new official narrative when people no longer remember how it started"

— Covid-1984 | CJ Hopkins | Anti-Empire.Com | May 5, 2020

“It’s all right there in black and white. They aren’t hiding the totalitarianism … they don’t have to. Because people are begging for it. They are demanding to be “locked down” inside their homes, forced to wear masks, and stand two meters apart, for reasons that most of them no longer remember”

There comes a point in the introduction of every new official narrative when people no longer remember how it started. Or, rather, they remember how it started, but not the propaganda that started it. Or, rather, they remember all that (or are able to, if you press them on it), but it doesn’t make any difference anymore, because the official narrative has supplanted reality.

You’ll remember this point from the War on Terror, and specifically the occupation of Iraq. By the latter half of 2004, most Westerners had completely forgotten the propaganda that launched the invasion, and thus regarded the Iraqi resistance as “terrorists,” despite the fact that the United States had invaded and was occupying their country for no legitimate reason whatsoever. By that time, it was abundantly clear that there were no “weapons of mass destruction,” and that the U.S.A. had invaded a nation that had not attacked it, and posed no threat to it, and so was perpetrating a textbook war of aggression.

These facts did not matter, not in the slightest. By that time, Westerners were totally immersed in the official War on Terror narrative, which had superseded objective reality. Herd mentality had taken over. It’s difficult to describe how this works; it’s a state of functional dissociation. It wasn’t that people didn’t know the facts, or that they didn’t understand the facts. They knew the Iraqis weren’t “terrorists.” At the same time, they knew they were definitely “terrorists,” despite the fact that they knew that they weren’t. They knew there were no WMDs, that there had never been any WMDs, and still they were certain there were WMDs, which would be found, although they clearly did not exist.

The same thing happened in Nazi Germany. The majority of the German people were never fanatical anti-Semites like the hardcore N.S.D.A.P. members. If they had been, there would have been no need for Goebbels and his monstrous propaganda machine. No, the Germans during the Nazi period, like the Americans during the War on Terror, knew that their victims posed no threat to them, and at the same time they believed exactly the opposite, and thus did not protest as their neighbors were hauled out of their homes and sent off to death camps, camps which, in their dissociative state, simultaneously did and did not exist.

What I’m describing probably sounds like psychosis, but, technically speaking, it isn’t … not quite. It is not an absolute break from reality. People functioning in this state know that what they believe is not real. Nonetheless, they are forced to believe it (and do, actually, literally, believe it, as impossible as I know that sounds), because the consequences of not believing it are even more frightening than the cognitive dissonance of believing a narrative they know is a fiction. Disbelieving the official narrative means excommunication from “normality,” the loss of friends, income, status, and in many cases far worse punishments. Herd animals, in a state of panic, instinctively run towards the center of the herd. Separation from the herd makes them easy prey for pursuing predators. It is the same primal instinct operating here.

It is the goal of every official narrative to generate this type of herd mentality, not in order to deceive or dupe the public, but, rather, to confuse and terrorize them to the point where they revert to their primal instincts, and are being driven purely by existential fear, and facts and truth no longer matter. Once an official narrative reaches this point, it is unassailable by facts and reason. It no longer needs facts to justify it. It justifies itself with its own existence. Reason cannot penetrate it. Arguing with its adherents is pointless. They know it is irrational. They simply do not care.

We are reaching this point with the coronavirus narrative. It is possible that we have already reached it. Despite the fact that what we are dealing with is a virus that, yes, is clearly deadly to the old and those with medical conditions, but that is just as clearly not a deadly threat to the majority of the human species, people are cowering inside their homes as if the Zombie Apocalpyse had finally begun. Many appear to believe that this virus is some sort of Alien-Terrorist Death Flu (or weaponized Virus of Mass Destruction) that will kill you the second you breathe it in.

This is not surprising at all, because, according to the official narrative, its destructive powers are nearly unlimited. Not only will it obliterate your lungs, and liquidate all your other major organs, and kill you with blood clots, and intestinal damage, now it causes “sudden strokes in young adults,” and possibly spontaneous prostate cancer, and God knows what other medical horrors!

According to all the “scientists” and “medical experts” (i.e., those that conform to the official narrative, not all the other scientists and medical experts), it is unlike any other virus that has ever existed in the history of viruses. It certainly doesn’t follow the typical pattern of spreading extensively for a limited period, and then rapidly dying down on its own, regardless of what measures are taken to thwart it, as this Israeli study would seem to indicate.

Also, “we have no immunity against it,” which is why we all have to remain “locked down” like unruly inmates in a penitentiary until a vaccine can be concocted and forced onto every living person on earth. Apparently, this mandatory wonder vaccine will magically render us immune to this virus against which we have no immunity (and are totally unable to develop immunity), which immunity will be certified on our mandatory “immunity papers,” which we will need to travel, get a job, send our kids to school, and, you know, to show the police when they stop us on the street because we look like maybe we might be “infected.”

Germany (where I live) is way out in front of this. According to the Süddeutsche Zeitung, the federal government plans to introduce a coronavirus “immunity card” as part of its “Infection Protection Law,” which will grant the authorities the power to round up anyone “suspected to be contagious” and force them into … uh … “quarantine,” and “forbid them from entering certain public places.” The Malaysian authorities have dispensed with such niceties, and are arresting migrant workers and refugees in so-called “Covid-19 red zones” and marching them off to God knows where.

Oh, yeah, and I almost forgot … the germ and chemical warfare researchers at DARPA (i.e., the U.S. military’s Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency) have developed some new type of fancy blood test that will identify “asymptomatic carriers” (i.e., people who display no symptoms whatsoever). So that will probably come in handy … especially if the “white supremacists,” “Red-Brown extremists,” and “conspiracy theorists” keep protesting the lockdown with their wives and kids!

And these are just the latest additions to a list of rather dystopian examples of the “brave new normal” official narrative that GloboCap is rolling out, right before our very eyes (which the OffGuardian editors have streamlined here and here, and which continues on Twitter). It’s all right there in black and white. They aren’t hiding the totalitarianism … they don’t have to. Because people are begging for it. They are demanding to be “locked down” inside their homes, forced to wear masks, and stand two meters apart, for reasons that most of them no longer remember.

Plastic barriers are going up everywhere. Arrows on the floor show you which way to walk. Boxes show you where to stand. Paranoid Blockwarts are putting up signs threatening anyone not wearing a mask. Hysterical little fascist creeps are reporting their neighbors to the police for letting their children play with other children. Millions of people are voluntarily downloading “contact tracing applications” so that governments and global corporations can monitor their every movement. In Spain, they bleached an entire beach, killing everything, down to the insects, in order to protect the public from “infection.” The Internet has become an Orwellian chorus of shrieking, sanctimonious voices bullying everyone into conformity with charts, graphs, and desperate guilt-trips, few of which have much connection to reality. Corporations and governments are censoring dissent. We’re approaching a level of manufactured mass hysteria and herd mentality that not even Goebbels could have imagined.

Meanwhile, they’re striking the mostly empty “field hospitals,” and the theatrical “hospital ship” is now gone, and despite their attempts to inflate the Covid-19 death count as much as humanly possible, the projected hundreds of millions of deaths have not materialized (not even close), and Sweden is fine, as is most of humanity, and … just like there were no WMDs, there is no Virus of Mass Destruction.

What there is, is a new official narrative, the brave new, paranoid, pathologized “normal.” Like the War on Terror, it’s a global narrative. A global, post-ideological narrative. It’s just getting started, so it isn’t yet clear how totalitarian this show will get, but, given the nature of the pilot episode, I am kind of dreading the rest of the series.

Source: Consent Factory | Russia Insider

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astermacguffin · 7 years

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Anti: The Death (and Rebirth) of The Author

#SepticArt + #AntiTheory = THIS AMALGAMATION

Since I am not really that great of a visual artist as I’m more of a wordsmith, in honor of the #SepticArt movement that Jack started, I would like to try something different. I'm gonna incorporate both artistic (visual) and academic (textual) elements in this post.

All the theories I have seen about Antisepticeye so far are “lore-based”, focusing on deciphering Anti’s plans, behavior, background, and all that juicy stuff. So to freshen things up, I would like to call into attention the genius of the Antisepticeye fandom that Jack nourished well and explore how all this craziness really works in an academic perspective.

To start off, I’m gonna say this right away: Antisepticeye is a creative genius.

And not in the ways you are probably thinking of right now. Although the idea of Anti is the same as Darkiplier and any other “shadow personas” with some sort of a fanbase, what makes him stand out is the way the fandom makes him “grow”.

As an intellectual, I love theories and frameworks that help me understand the machinations of complex concepts, which is why I’m gonna remove my “conspiracy theorist” goggles for now and put on my academic glasses.

(I’ll be borrowing a lot of ideas from literary criticism, semiotics, sociology, and psychology. If you don’t like that stuff, this might not be for you.)

Okay. Let us begin the examination.

The Creative Machine

The Antisepticeye community is one big, living machine that is self-sustaining. We could never know if Jack intentionally created it to be like this or not, but that matters not. What you just need to understand is that Jack managed to make an engine that makes its own fuel.

Let's break down how this works.

Step 1: A Spark

An idea. It's really hard to tell exactly when and where the concept of Antisepticeye started and who formulated him, but we all know that he must've originated somewhere. Jack says it all the time in vlogs that the idea was created by the fandom, so that could be a good start.

Regardless of his exact origins, what matters is that we have this spark of a flame. People can interpret the idea of Anti whatever way they want because there is still no canonical concepts about him just yet. However, there is one uniting idea about him that everyone at this point agrees upon: that he is an exact image of Jack.

Step 2: A Flame

A solid concept. The spark became a flame when Jack started canonizing Anti through his entire October Halloween scheme last time. Because of that, Anti finally had some canonical attributes we can identify (the throat slit, the gauges, the Zalgo text, and the iconic glitches). It was a flame fueled by the sparks from different minds, as evidenced by Jack confirming in his vlogs that Anti’s characteristics were based on multiple ideas from the community.

Step 3: Interpretations of the Flame

In literature, when an author releases a piece of work, its meaning no longer belongs to them; it belongs to the audience. There is no “proper way” to react and experience a piece of work; no individual will react and experience a piece exactly the same, which is why people appreciate different types of stuff.

This same principle applies to Anti, which we can interpret as a “character” in a narrative. People have their own theories in their heads when reading/listening/watching narratives since meaning-making is a very instinctual and integral part of a person’s experience of a piece.

You might not be aware of it, but creators just provide us blueprints of a piece’s meaning and we, as the audience, have to build it in our heads with our own materials and own interpretations of the blueprint’s instructions. They communicate this “blueprint” through language, may it be the language of film, of music, of gestures, of text, or whatever form of language.

We can get incredibly close to what the original creator intended for us to perceive and understand, or our interpretations might be incredibly far-fetched. Either way, none of that truly matters since YOU made your own theory and you get to keep it in your head. You can’t ask the author what they mean and they can’t force you to experience their work a particular way. The way you see flame may be similar or completely different to mine.

Art interpretation is collaborative, but at the same time, one-sided.

Step 4: Clash and Union

Things start to get interesting when people share their theories and interpretations to other people. Obviously, some interpretations would contradict one another while some will complement. This “clash and union” of ideas gets even crazier when the subject piece is ambiguous (i.e. the narrative of Anti).

Let’s tale Romeo and Juliet for an example. (I assume everyone already knows how this story ends. If not, then SPOILERS AHEAD.) If the story just ended openly with Juliet contemplating suicide instead of actually doing it, the audience can interpret it in different ways. Some may say “Juliet lives and carries on with her life” while some may say “Juliet will totally kill herself.” Perhaps someone would even be crazy enough to say “Romeo gets reanimated into a vampire and they live together happily through eternity.”

That last one may sound way too unlikely, but since the hypothetical Romeo and Juliet had an open ending, all three theories I mentioned are just theories with no real confirmation. The same goes with all the theorizing about Anti. They all have truth-values, but just like Schrödinger's cat, without someone/something to collapse both possibilities into one, these theories would remain simultaneously true and false.

Step 5: Intertwining

After a repeated process of clash and union, like natural selection, some theories would die off while some would remain triumphant. These surviving theories then intertwine to form a narrative of its own based on both canonical aspects and theoretical aspects.

It is important to note, however, that these theories would remain in this stage without confirmation from the original creator, may it be direct (actual statement) or indirect (solid clues).

Step 6: Communal Agreement

The group reaches communal agreement when the intertwined theories finally acquire a solid foundation through confirmation from the original creator (as mentioned in Step 5). However, just because a particular group has reached communal agreement about a certain subject doesn’t mean the group communally agrees to all the other similar aspects.

Nonetheless, a group that has united strong enough to form a communal agreement is not a small deal to be brushed off that easy. At this point, it’s not just the people that are alive; the theories are now living and breathing, too. With a mind of its own.

An Unlimited Creative Source

If there’s a Holy Grail of artistic creation, Jack might be onto something. You see, at this point in the Anti fandom, Jack could just tease us with anything Anti-related and the community would spit out TONS of theories and artworks. And you know what that means?

Harvestable content.

Jack provides us content, but in a sense, we provide him content to work on as well. It’s this amazing, collaborative, mutually beneficial relationship between a creator and his community that makes this whole thing unbelievable.

I actually strongly believe that the current climate in the Antisepticeye community was never intentional. If I’m not mistaken, all the craziness started when Jack started playing Epidemic and Bio Inc. Redemption. Ever thought if maybe Jack just wanted to play these games? Nope.

Well, the community blew this way out of proportion by vomiting out theory after theory. Judging from the origins of Anti, Jack used the ideas of the community as inspiration for the pandemonium we are in right now. The timing of this Anti stuff is too sudden and unprepared to be intentional but since we inspired him to pursue this craziness, we got what we wanted.

R̡̧̛̻̟̜̰͔͙̙̄̓͂̓̓̑̀̕͝ͅḛ̸̼͖̜̑̋͂̎̇͐̅̉͟t̢̡͍̮̻̞͕͖̠͉̿͒͛̄̂̅̈́̐u̶̢̡̞̪͍̘̣͗̅̌͂̐̌͗̀͒͜ȑ̴̞͎͇̗̂͂́̚͞ͅņ͇͕̹̺̊̈́̍̔̈́͑͑͞ ô̡̦̻̯̝̎̀̄̀͠r̮̞͇̝̪̳͓̣̮̀̽̾͂̚͡ͅ R̴̡̢͈̻̖͈̹͚̔́̂̎͐̐͝ͅe̵̡̠̹̳͈̠̜̥̦͒̌͑̀͐̌͒̀̌͒b̶̢̥̻̩̰̲̓̍̿̎̽͞͞ǫ̷̹̼̥̞̟̦̖̌̂̀̊̀͋͛r̶̡̗̦̟͆̿͋͛͛͜n͈̞̯̱͇͉̳͎̮̊̍́́̄̀̏͂̐

Before you reached this part of the post, you were probably wondering about the relevance of the title: The Death (and Rebirth) of the Author. Well, The Death of the Author is basically a concept that originated in Roland Barthes’ essay of the same title where he argues that the writer and piece of work are two separate entities. Although the essay actually goes deeper into The Intentional Fallacy and how the author’s biographical background and intention should not be used in interpreting a text, I’m using it here just for the elegance of the term.

When Jack released his canonical version of Anti, the moment it reached us, its meaning no longer belongs to him (as I said earlier). The author is, in a sense, “dead”. We cannot just ask him what he meant and even if we do, it shouldn’t even matter anymore. We create our own meaning. However, since the community’s concept of Anti acts like a self-sustaining creative engine, the author is “reborn” as Jack reclaims his grip of the content by releasing new canon stuff based on the products of the machine.

This creates the conundrum of whether Jack’s authority over the concept of Anti was ever really “dead” (and now reborn) or just “lost” (and now reclaimed). We all talk about Anti controlling Jack and the other Egos when in reality, this entire chaotic masterpiece is all just Jack pulling the strings and controlling Anti (and inadvertently, us).

And so I leave you one final question: is Jack an accidental creative genius or is he a masterful strategist all along?

#septicart #jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #fan theory

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nooneaskedyoulauren · 6 years

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Fighting with people seems like a waste of time to me. Unless you’re doing some kind of wacky fighting sport where everyone’s on the same page, and it’s just sparring. Actual conflict? Thumbs down.

I prefer to pick fights with huge things. HUGE.

“Are you saying you like fighting with fat people and fat people aren’t actual people because that’s what it sounds like.”

I suppose it does kind of sound like that. I actually do apologize because I literally mean huge things, like, today for example, a pharmaceutical company. Also my fighting style is both passive and fairly ineffective. Basically run up on whatever the threat is, say/do a bunch of off-the-wall stuff, flee somehow, then just see how it plays out. Also a simple non-sensical meme misappropriating a company’s logo on a blog that truly doesn’t see the light of day.

“Good thing no one reads your blog then because that seems pretty futile. Also, stupid. And ineffective, as you mentioned.”

Thank you for that! Also, to circle back to your original comment don’t fucking fight with fat people they will kick your ass. Pound for pound you don’t stand a chance, for real. Savages. The cool kind. Except when they take it a little too far and they’re miserable or having major fucking issues about it then seriously don’t fuck with them until they work through that.

Anyway.

Most pharmaceutical companies are branches of other companies that do other stuff. Johnson & Johnson, for example. They do all kinds of stuff.

“Like what?”

It’s too long of a list. Just Google it and see whatever you find and run with it. I’m sure you’ve heard of Johnson & Johnson before. I hope this is a good writing prompt for a conspiracy theorist working on what this could possibly be kind of implying.

“Oh here we go.”

Luckily, for those who just simply cannot with conspiracy theories, I am very selfish and although I truly do care about other people and the good of the world or whatever whatever, I am most concerned about myself. The 100% truth. I realize things suck, I have experienced a few things, I have helped people through tough times and they have “helped” me. At the moment I’m pretty riled up about my own life and my own bullshit.

“Ok well I can’t believe I even read this far, if this doesn’t apply to me then I’m going to go do something else.”

Ok, byeeeeeeee! 👋

If anyone is still reading, this is specifically for anyone who has taken an atypical antipsychotic for one thing when perhaps you were dealing with another issue. And maybe that medication was later said to treat that correct issue but maybe your dosage was just maybe not quite right because at the time it was given for this other thing because of whatever reasons.

NOTE: PHARMACEUTICAL DRUGS AND RECREATIONAL DRUGS CAN HAVE THERAPEUTIC AND EFFECTIVE USES FOR DIFFERENT PEOPLE DEALING WITH DIFFERENT THINGS. Surround yourself with a supportive and trusting network and take some time to educate yourself on whatever your issue(s) are so you don’t have to deal with making things 1000 times worse for yourself versus better. If you are having trouble building a strong support network, keep chipping away at that, but in the mean time education can help.

If anyone is familiar with medications, side effects can occur. In no way am I saying doctors are stupid, I am just saying they are just looking at the facts at hand and doing their very best to treat whatever your goddamn issue is.

“Hey, there’s no need to be so aggressive!”

True. I just can imagine the frustration, from both sides. The fucking patient and the fucking doctor.

Let’s say a doctor is treating someone who is unable to express the issue in a way that can be understood.

“Well I suppose they become a veterinarian at that point, am I right? Hahahaha!”

Clever, however not helpful, at the moment.

I’ve personally been on the patient side and it’s very concerning when your doctor clearly is less knowledgeable about your specific issue than you, it really breaks down the trust. The nurses always seem to know what the fuck is going on and watching that whole power dynamic is entertainment in itself however, generally, when someone actually goes to the doctor they have an issue requiring treatment not a ticket to the live action soap opera show.

“That’s why they have specialists you stupid bitch.”

Yeah, but what if I can’t get the referral from my primary care or what if the specialist is not in my area or fucking the insurance is a PPO vs. and HMO because my employer...

“I gotta go.”

Again, byeeeeeeeeeeeeee! 👋

Anyway, sometimes drugs you’ll take and then have an issue with will later resurface in a class action lawsuit and then you can at least have something.

“Well that’s cool! Money! I mean how bad are the side effects?”

Oh, you’re back. What can I say that will...

“Sorry this is getting a little interesting!

Look. Hormones are a thing. Those are regulated within the human brain and the reproductive system. Also, environmental (as in a person’s person environment, what they are eating and drinking and their tolerance to people that are genuine assholes and living space, etc. etc. etc.). So, you could possibly infer from all this that hormones play a factor in the presentation and effective treatment of different mental illnesses that came about for whatever reason.

“This is getting pretty sciency and also, you are not an actual doctor so why should I even listen to you.”

Thank you!!! All of that is correct. Also, in no way have I backed up any of my statements above with any previously-done research. Is there a works cited page? Nope! This is going to end in a basic white bitch-worthy health and fitness tip spiel.

“Ok, I’m leaving again but I’m still listening because I need to lose some weight.”

I. Hear. You.

If you’ve taken a medication and your body is now ravaged from a combination of a lot of things I have said above get to a place where you are safe and secure. Gather yourself together. And get back to basics.

“🙄.”

Go vegan.

“You did not just go there.”

Oh I’m there.

“You can’t sustain yourself on that diet.”

True, if you don’t know what the fuck you are doing you absolutely will get malnutrition and things will get so much worse, you don’t even know.

“Well goddammit! How is this helping me?”

Three words for you to mull over: Hormones. Safety. Trust.

“Dammit this is just giving me anxiety!”

There you go! You’ve identified something! Go learn about anxiety and if you have that go see a doctor who deals specifically with anxiety and then go seek all the treatment option...

“I can’t deal with this!”

I hear you. Look, you gotta go figure your shit out I am just sharing my experiences.

“Well, what about that hormone stuff?”

Yeah all that is tricky, which is why I mentioned the vegan thing. Here’s what I’m doing having not given you any of my medical background so, again, just blindly applying what someone else is doing given your situation should be done AT. YOUR. OWN. RISK. I have been taking a step back from animal products other than egg whites, regulating my schedule with regular exercise and sleep, I could go on and on. I have gone on and fucking on. There’s another blog specifically outlining the entire goddamn thing.

“But just tell me real quick a few tips because I don’t really have time.”

Go Google discipline and figure out what that means to you, specifically, independently of anyone else that is the last thing I can possibly suggest at this point. What are you doing in your life, right now, that is making your issue better or worse? Identify that, adjust that.

“You’ve done nothing but ramble. Not one person gives a shit about the pharmaceutical blah blah blah whatever you even started talking about to begin with. You didn’t even give me any concrete or specific tips on what you promised earlier. Why did you even fucking write this?!”

Are you a little bit riled up about your own health and maybe going to look into that for yourself and just kind of go back and give some consideration to whatever your own personal and unique situation is on your own because maybe there’s some merit to all that and you didn’t really think about all that previously because you were so busy worried about everyone else?

“Well, I mean, maybe I guess?”

Cool. Ok now I gotta go. BYEEEEEEEEE 👋

*If you are looking for one on one diet and fitness counseling there are so many talented and knowledgeable fitness experts locally. Do you have a drug issue? You may think you know Pablo Escobar him/herself but you need to determine their motivations prior to seeking wisdom on the intricacies of MDMA if you are actually being fucking serious right now with that bullshit. If you have a genuine medical issue, there’s experts out the ass up in this area. Go to one. Educate yourself. Are you someone that actually thinks I have something to say that is of value and merit? Go search through a dizzying array of blog posts I’ve written beginning in 2009, and just pick something that speaks to you and run with that. Thank you.

0 notes

qqueenofhades · 8 years

Text

i know you [i walked with you once upon a dream]: four

Post-1x16 canon divergence. When Lucy Preston, a history professor at Stanford University, is visited by a strange man who tells her that her entire world is a lie, she is drawn into a mystery more dangerous than she could have dreamed, and a hunt for a past she can’t remember. But who, or what, is she going to find – or lose – along the way?

chapter three/AO3

Lucy spends the rest of the afternoon searching up and down for Lorena. She supposes that the thing to do would be to find the local police precinct and file a missing person report, but she can’t help but wonder if that would make it worse. It doesn’t seem at all likely that Lorena was actually intending to just pop out to the shop and has somehow forgotten to come back, but. . . Lucy doesn’t speak Croatian, would already be identified by the barista as the stranger who came in looking for Lorena, is evidently also known as the woman Lorena’s estranged husband wouldn’t shut up about, Lorena assumed she was there to flaunt their new relationship in her face, and Garcia Flynn is clearly, to say the least, a man with a checkered history. Lucy’s not a cop, but she doesn’t need to be to see how bad it looks. Like she distracted Lorena so Flynn could arrive, put a bag over her head, throw her in a car boot, and otherwise make sure the divorce was final, or that Lucy herself killed her, slipped rat poison in her tea while her back was turned and then had to scramble to hide the body, or. . . she doesn’t know. None this is of course what happened, but Lucy has heard of the Amanda Knox case. She’s not about to take chances with being a young American woman accused of murder in a foreign country, where all the evidence already helpfully points in her direction.

Finally, though, she decides that however suspicious it might look to bring this to the police’s attention, it will be several orders of magnitude worse if she doesn’t, and she didn’t come all this way just to shrug and head back to Stanford when a woman is missing. A woman who has a young daughter, and who was, if anything in Flynn’s deranged version of events is true, was at least targeted, if not killed, by a shadowy crime syndicate of some kind that clearly has no problems playing dirty. The obvious difficulty, of course, is that they might then feel perfectly entitled to do the same to Lucy, but before she left Istanbul, she sent an email to Amy explaining that she had just made a big mistake, and done exactly what she shouldn’t have. If for any reason she hasn’t gotten back or made contact in three days, Amy should call the police, the papers, and otherwise make a stink. These bastards (because Lucy at least cannot deny that there is something going on here) are not going to get away with vanishing her without a trace.

It takes her a while, but she finally finds a station and a cop who speaks English, and makes her report. The basic details are simple enough, but they quickly run into trouble with anything more. “How exactly did you know the victim, Mrs. Preston?”

“It’s Ms., just Ms. Preston.” Lucy has spent a lot of time recently correcting people on her title. She isn’t so full of herself as to insist on being addressed as Dr. Preston outside an academic setting, and she does have on an engagement ring, so it’s a logical assumption about her marital status. She almost wonders if she’s made a mistake insisting so swiftly that she’s not, if perhaps she should have thought to take it off. Lorena already thought Flynn up and ran off to randomly marry her one day, and to judge from the look on the cop’s face, at least part of that idea has also occurred to him. “And I – I didn’t really know her. Her husband came to visit me at Stanford – California, in the States, Stanford University, I’m a professor there. You can call and check if you want. Anyway, he – he wasn’t making much sense. I thought he might not be well. He mentioned Lorena’s name, so I tracked her down on Facebook and I flew, uh, I flew here.”

The cop raises an eyebrow. “That is quite a favor to do for a stranger, Mrs. Preston.”

“It’s – ” Lucy bites her tongue. The more she points that out, the more he’s going to think she’s hiding something, more than he clearly already does. This of course is the truth, but she can hear how utterly flimsy it sounds. “It was. . . it was an unusual encounter.”

The cop flips to a new page in his notepad. “Unusual how? Can you give me the details of what this man Flynn said or did to you?”

Lucy watches his face, to see if that name is any more familiar to him than he’s letting on, but she can’t tell. And there is, of course, no way to condense anything of what happened on an otherwise unremarkable Monday morning into something that won’t spawn a hundred more questions with progressively more impossible answers. “He. . . wanted my help. With a research project he was doing. He had a few dates in history, places where he had dug up some interesting stuff and wanted me to take a look.”

“And you don’t know why he chose you to approach, of all the history professors in America.”

“No.”

“Which dates were these?”

“1754, colonial America, something to do with the French-Indian War.” Where that comes from, Lucy doesn’t know. It startles her. “And Houston 1969, the Apollo 11 moon landing, and – and Washington 1972. The Watergate scandal.”

“Ah,” the cop says. “So he’s a conspiracy theorist, yes? To prove the moon landing did not happen, anti-government paranoia, this kind of thing?”

“I. . . I don’t know. It was a short meeting. I didn’t think I’d be able to help him.”

“But it left enough of an impression on you that you decided to go find his wife?”

Lucy doesn’t have any idea how to answer that. Not when this makes no sense even to her. “I wanted to help them,” she repeats, steadily as she can. If she talks about secret agents and dead drops and strange phone calls and everything else, she is definitely in for an unpleasantly close-range inspection of Croatia’s formerly-Soviet justice system, which isn’t likely to be a good time. “Their daughter, is she all right? She must be home from school or wherever by now. I don’t want her sitting alone, wondering where her mother is.”

“The girl is staying with a neighbor. They phoned to report Mrs. Flynn missing shortly before you arrived.” The cop considers her again. “Are you familiar with the daughter?”

“No, I’ve never met her.” Lucy twists her fingers in her lap. For the oddest and most inexplicable moment, she had some kind of – flashback, hallucination, memory, what? Reading a file. Something about Flynn’s family. Something related to something he did in 1969 – but how does that even make sense? He’s probably in his mid-forties if she had to guess, he would either not yet be born in 1969, or only a very small child. Even more bewildering and alarming is Lucy’s momentary conviction that she was there too. In 1969, when she definitely wasn’t born. The moon landing. She just mentioned that, not knowing why. Jesus, what is happening to her?

It must show on her face somehow, and this, obviously, is not the thing to convince the cop of her status as a reliable, sane, well-balanced, and definitely not-murdery individual, and he briefly looks as if he’s thinking about keeping her for more. But it seems he can’t do that without formally arraigning her or filing a charge of some kind, and there is nothing concrete to do so with. “Very well, Mrs. Preston. While this is going on, it is a good idea that you do not try to leave Croatia. We will have to find you if we have more questions.”

“I – I have a job, I need to be back by Monday – ”

The cop gives her a look that clearly says that if she didn’t want to fuck up her life, maybe she shouldn’t have jaunted off here and whacked the wife of the man she may or may not be illicitly involved with. But after Lucy signs an affidavit (all the alarm bells going off in her head about signing documents you don’t understand without a lawyer present, but not seeing any other way she’s going to be allowed to leave tonight) she is finally released, not feeling at all better about that decision than she did at the start. She could call Noah, especially if she might be about to need bail money, see what the dollar-to-euro exchange rate is going at these days, but. . . as much as she tries to wrestle away her inexplicable reluctance to do it, she can’t. She still can’t remember when exactly they got together, or how. These gaps and flashes in her memory, as if someone has taken a pair of scissors, cut out bits, and badly stitched in others, are terrifying.

Pulling up her hood against the chilly evening wind off the water, Lucy starts to walk. She has no idea where exactly she is going. There has to be a cheap and reasonably non-skeevy guesthouse around here somewhere, and considering her current circumstances, she really does not want to be alone on the streets after dark – especially as a young woman in a foreign country where she doesn’t speak the language. It’s hard to feel more vulnerable, and she reaches into her purse in search of the pepper spray she usually keeps in there, in case she needs it. Then she remembers, of course, that she had to throw it away going through security at SFO, and groans out loud. Bang-up job, TSA. Really keeping America and its citizens safe.

She should at least buy a cheap phone of some sort. Is anywhere still open? She doesn’t want to get socked with international roaming charges every time she turns on her own, even just to use the wifi, and besides, it would be detrimental to her aims of avoiding contact with her worried family. This is so unlike Lucy, the girl who always asked permission to go anywhere in high school and actually worried about breaking her curfew, that she has to wonder if she has somehow had a personality transplant. All these flitting, ghostlike half-memories, the inability to remember the most intimate details of her life or Noah’s. . . like she’s changed bodies with someone, like another version of herself. Or in other words, exactly what it sounded like Flynn was talking about, and she thought he was crazy, the first time they met. And according to him, the last. Of course he’s disappeared, right when she needs to actually talk to him, right when Lorena has too, when –

Just then, headlights fall over the street, a car rattles down the cobblestones, and slows next to Lucy. The window hums down. “Dr. Preston?”

It’s a woman’s voice, American. Yes, because this has not happened nearly enough in recent days, a random stranger wants to talk to her. At least this one has gotten the title right. In the low glow of the streetlight, Lucy can see that she’s older, silver-streaked black hair tidily cut to her shoulders, dark eyes, and a commanding manner. “Dr. Preston,” she says again. “Is that you?”

Lucy debates making a run for it, not that she can outstrip a car on foot, and this is not a wise thing to do when she is already the prime suspect in a missing-person case. But she somehow trusts this newcomer more than she did the other ones, and she isn’t exactly overflowing on options to start with. After a moment, she turns. “Yes?” she says warily.

“Agent Denise Christopher.” The woman holds out a hand. “I’m with Homeland Security. You can get into the car, Lucy, it’s all right. You’ve had an eventful few days, haven’t you?”

Lucy balks. “Have you been following me?”

“We had someone keep an eye on you when you left San Francisco, yes. Why don’t you get in, and we’ll talk.”

Never get into a car with someone you don’t know, the fourth-grade “Stranger Danger” VHS tape drones unhelpfully in Lucy’s head. But Agent Christopher doesn’t look like a hitman (or rather, hitwoman) – not that that means anything, as she probably wouldn’t. And Lucy is tired, sore, shaken, very confused, and very much in need of an answer or five.

She gets into the car.

Denise – Agent Christopher, why did she seem familiar, first-name, for a moment? – smiles and swings behind the wheel, evidently pleased that Lucy decided not to make this difficult. Lucy glances into the back seat, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone else there, just them. Agent Christopher shifts into gear, and they roll down the street to the main ring road, then out onto the motorway. They are clearly going somewhere, and Lucy bites back the inane impulse to object that she isn’t supposed to leave Croatia. She still somehow fears getting into more trouble, though that event horizon seems to have been passed a while ago, and all of this is so utterly, unrelentingly bizarre that she has finally given up fighting it, is just going to have to throw up her hands and go with it. Alice woke up eventually, and discovered that Wonderland was just a dream. Lucy only hopes she’ll get to do the same.

At last, when they have been driving for almost forty minutes and have left Dubrovnik well behind, Agent Christopher speaks. “Do you know Garcia Flynn?”

Lucy had a hunch that question might be coming, and she still has no idea how to answer it. She mulls her words carefully. Christopher wouldn’t be asking that unless she already knew that Lucy met and spoke to him, and denying it outright is clearly not going to work. At last she says neutrally, “He seems to think I did.”

Christopher glances at her swiftly sidelong. It’s difficult to say if this was the answer she expected or not. “Do you want to confirm that you saw him in the morning of Monday, February 20? On the Stanford University campus, I believe?”

“I. . .” Lucy is getting tired of law enforcement officers thinking she’s in cahoots with this nutjob. “Fine. Yes. He came to visit me. We spoke briefly. Then he left.”

“Did you know that Garcia Flynn is wanted by the United States government, on suspicion of unprecedented terrorist activities and connections?”

That catches Lucy like a bag of rocks across the midsection. She should have guessed, and indeed she had more than an inkling that something like this was the case, but maybe she really has had an unfathomably lucky escape. “Unprecedented?”

“Yes. This isn’t just a matter of blowing up a building or driving a truck through a crowd or gunning down some innocent people on a beach or anything like that. This man is a danger to our very existence.”

“What – what is he supposed to have done?”

“That,” says Agent Christopher, “is the difficult part.”

“I work at Stanford. I’m pretty sure I can handle difficult.”

Again, that oblique sidelong glance. “So you don’t have any idea?”

“Would I be asking if I did?” Lucy’s frustration shows in her voice. She can’t help it.

“I suppose not.” Christopher overtakes a dawdler in the fast lane. “It’s complicated, because strictly speaking, we can’t prove any of it. But in the short version, he was responsible for destroying a unique, priceless, and irreplaceable machine made by a company called Mason Industries, in – you’ve heard of them?”

“I.” Lucy swallows. “I only saw the newspaper article. He – Flynn – asked me if I know someone named Rufus Carlin. I don’t.”

One of Christopher’s dark brows arches. “Rufus Carlin, in fact, shared some very disturbing data with Connor Mason, the CEO and founder of the company, and the inventor of the machine that Flynn destroyed. As a result, this data made its way to my colleagues and myself in Homeland Security, and believe me when I say that the apprehension of Garcia Flynn is now the highest-priority case on the entire federal counter-terrorism docket. If you have any idea or lead on his whereabouts, now would be the time to share it.”

“I don’t,” Lucy insists, with something close to panic. “I don’t know where he is.”

Christopher evaluates her a moment more, finally decides that she’s telling the truth. Then she says, “Well, as it happens, we might. It seems he has an older half-brother named Gabriel Thompkins –which is strange, we went through his files several times and there was never any mention of him before. It’s like he just appeared out of thin air. At any rate, he lives in Paris. Given Flynn’s recent pattern of trying to make contact with a list of personal or family targets, we think he might next attempt to check in on Gabriel. But this man is trained and dangerous, backed into a corner, and is certainly expecting to be tailed, as well as prepared for a fight. We need an incentive for him to show himself, draw him out of cover, and put him off his guard.”

“And?” Lucy doesn’t like where this is going. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Come now, Lucy.” Agent Christopher exits the motorway onto a country road, takes a few turns. It’s only as they pass through a jungle of barbed wire onto a dark airstrip, with a private jet sitting on the tarmac, that Lucy realizes they must be at some kind of hidden black site, and that that, right there, is their ride. “Do you really think he’s going to miss the opportunity to talk to you?”

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

Paris, France – City of Lights, home of poets and artists, legendary romantic destination, etc. etc. – is a fucking shithole.

To be fair, Garcia Flynn’s current low opinion of the place might directly and inversely correlate to his level of anxiety about why he’s here at all, and the unpleasant encounter he just had with so-called French customer service (he hates to stereotype, especially as someone from Eastern Europe who gets plenty of that himself, but sometimes it just fits). He has been trying for the last forty-five minutes to see if his brother is here or not, not even sure if he wants to find him, existing in a sort of terrified exhilaration and mind racing too fast to wrap around the consequences. This, he supposes, is what he gets for shooting scientists, instead of asking their advice on what destroying the Mothership might do to reality. But he remembers Anthony, at one point, describing the space-time continuum as similar to a piece of chewed gum. Pull on it from either end, and it first starts to split in the middle. That’s where reality is starting to tear back into what already happened, the changes that Flynn and the trio made, despite the attempt to reset it to the original template by saving his family. He’s been keeping an eye on history, and 1969 – that was about the middle of the expeditions that they went on, yes. That’s about where the hasty patch job would start to pull out its stitches. The official account of the moon landing has suddenly altered, explaining how there was a mysterious attack on NASA’s computers and Katherine Johnson helped save the day. And that means the other change Flynn made back then, saving his half-brother’s life, might have returned into history as well.

Flynn can’t help but think of the fact that if the rips are going to start cascading back into existence, like a chain of knocked-over dominoes, that means everyone who is alive and present right now who shouldn’t be – Lorena, Iris, Anthony, Lucy’s sister Amy, just to name a few – is going to start disappearing, depending on when the correction hits. If his half-brother is back, that means it’s happening. That means this time, there is no Mothership to fix it, and trying again might just make the temporal destabilization even worse, riddle it with holes and contradictions until the entire thing collapses, like a sand castle gutted by the waves. That means that he might lose his family again, right before his eyes, with absolutely no way to stop it.

Flynn swears, banging his fist against the wall of the telephone booth, as a few passersby give him a funny look and walk faster. It’s already bad enough that he has pissed off Rittenhouse to a degree unseen in the organization’s sordid history, that they’ve warned him to stay away from his family and Lucy and everyone else, and yet he needs to do something, he needs to warn them. He doesn’t dare go back to Dubrovnik, as the place is probably saturated with agents already, happy to shoot Lorena and Iris through a long-range sniper rifle if he so much as shows his face, but he thinks madly that if he could just kill those ones, the ones threatening them now, then they’d be safe, they’d be –

For another, oh, five minutes. Until Rittenhouse sends more. Sends their entire fucking private army.

Is he planning to shoot those too, and think there will be no retribution?

It never stops.

Fingers shaking, he dials the directory again, waiting. It takes a while, but this time he finally gets an address for a Gabriel Thompkins. It’s in a tony, upscale part of the city, second arrondissement, not far from the Louvre. He slams down the phone and pulls his jacket straight, checking that it covers his sidearm – he is really not in the mood to be dragged into the gendarmerie just now – and starts to move fast. What he’s going to say, if anything, he has no idea. I’m your half-brother, who technically you never met, because you died before I was born? Is it possible this is like a badly tuned radio, and Gabriel will flicker out of existence again before he gets there, reality caught between two competing parameters, battling to decide which one is going to take precedence? Jesus. What has he done.

Flynn makes it across the city in record time, turning into the narrow street, shoving past the inevitable brigade of Vespas, delivery vans, and sidewalk café chairs, up to the flat. He rings the bell, looks behind him shiftily, and then hammers on the door. Someone shouts something that sounds unflattering from the second-floor balcony (Flynn’s French isn’t quite as good as his Spanish, but more than sufficient in this case). “Come on,” he growls under his breath. “Don’t you need to go get your single espresso and smoke your cigarette and read Le Monde?”

His interesting ideas about what constitutes a typical Parisian’s life aside, this does in fact get a response. There are footsteps in the hall behind, and the door opens. “Oui? Puis-je vous aider?”

Flynn opens his mouth, then shuts it, because he’s momentarily spellbound. It’s looking at himself, about ten years older. Dark hair considerably shot through with silver, square glasses, smile lines, sweater and corduroys. Gabriel Thompkins looks like a retired college professor or a successful novelist, the kind of man who has spent his life creating things, not tearing them down. There is a wedding ring on his finger. He has a family. A good life. Flynn remembers jabbing a shot of epinephrine into a small boy’s arm, a muggy July day in 1969, looking into his younger mother’s face, telling her that he only ever remembered her being sad. That he wanted to fix it. It was good to see you again. He tries to answer, but he can’t. It sticks raw.

“Can I help you?” Thompkins repeats, this time in English, as if Flynn might not have understood the first time. His brow creases, as it’s not every day a shifty-eyed stranger who looks very much like you turns up in a fluster on your doorstep. “You look – sir, have we. . . have we met?”

“A long time ago,” Flynn says by reflex. He still feels punched. “I – I can’t really explain, I’m sorry. I just – I probably should not have come.” He wants to ask, wants to know what it was like to grow up with their mother, happy, but doesn’t know if Gabriel’s memory includes him or not. He doesn’t know how this works. Lorena and Iris only remembered three years of his absence. “I – I’m sorry for bothering you. If someone comes by, you – I was not here.”

With that, leaving Thompkins utterly baffled, Flynn whirls on his heel and retreats, thinking far too late that he’s likewise pointed out someone else for Rittenhouse to target, that if a team of commandos arrive tonight to drag Thompkins out of his tidy flat and shoot him in the head, there will be nobody to point the finger at but himself. He blunders down the Rue Bachaumont in complete distraction, half-seriously thinking of jumping into the Seine to put an end to this unqualified disaster, this burning dumpster fire, that is his life. They ordered him to disappear, and perhaps that is the only helpful thing left for him to do. Will that buy his family’s safety, once his corpse washes up in some river grate weeks from now and they have to identify him by his dental records? From Rittenhouse, perhaps. But if the timeline keeps buckling in under the weight of its contradictions, if people disappear and reappear, if –

Flynn turns the corner, and walks straight into Lucy Preston.

Shock is not a sufficient word for either of their reactions. They collide, start into the usual apologies for knocking heads with a stranger, then stagger backward, get a good look at each other, and blanch. Neither of them appear capable of thought or movement or speech. Then Flynn grabs her by both wrists, jerks her bodily off the sidewalk, swings her around under the cover of a low market awning, and hisses, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Belatedly, it occurs to him that if he wants to convince her of his noble intentions, this is a piss-poor way to start, and it would not be best for someone to see it and get the wrong impression (and, he supposes grimly, this isn’t the first time he’s kidnapped her). She pulls at his hands, trying to loosen his grip, and he lets her down. The two of them are still standing close together in the small space, and he feels an odd lurch in his stomach as their eyes lock. She takes a moment to catch her breath; if she was expecting to run into him here, clearly it was not nearly that dramatically. Then she says, “We need to talk.”

“Do we?” Flynn glances edgily over his shoulder again.

“Yes.” He has to give her credit, she doesn’t back down or flinch, staring him in the eye, which sometimes not even grown men have been able to manage. “And we don’t have much time. Is it true? Are you – ” She hesitates, but only briefly. “Are you a terrorist?”

That’s quite the icebreaker to go for, Flynn thinks. Though he does, by any objective metric, deserve it. He knows she doesn’t remember, but he has a brief moment of useless longing for when that meant she would touch his hand gently and tell him she was sorry for his loss, not revert to seeing him as the hulking monster determined to wreak havoc on her nice ordinary normal world. “Who have you been talking to, Lucy?”

“People.” She looks at him defiantly. “And they’re here. In Paris. Looking for you. They’re using me as bait to try to draw you out. They’ll be here soon.”

“Wh – ” Flynn’s hand goes by reflex to his gun. He grabs Lucy by the wrist again and pulls her backward into the crammed alley, her ending up almost against his chest. “Who’s looking for me?” he hisses at her. “Who?”

“Homeland Security.” She pushes herself off him and glares. “You know, I’m more than slightly tempted to let them catch you.”

“Homeland Security?” Flynn swears. “You mean Rittenhouse? They’ve infiltrated every level of that department, it’s a nightmare, it’s – ”

“What?” Lucy is exasperated. “Rittenhouse?”

“Yes, Lucy! Rittenhouse!” He almost yells it at her, the same conceit observed by someone trying to make someone else understand, as if saying it louder and louder will make a difference. Absolutely nothing about this new timeline is the way he wanted it to be, and he hates himself for almost wishing that he hadn’t done it. He can’t regret that Lorena and Iris are alive again, but otherwise, it is the very epitome of being careful what you wish for. “Do we have to go through this again? You didn’t believe me when I told you that they existed last time either!”

Lucy stares at him, lips white, and he belatedly thinks that if her interest in hearing him out, and buying them a little time, is the only thing stopping Homeland Security from moving in to nab him on the spot, it would possibly behoove him to have more tact about this than a Panzer brigade. “Rittenhouse,” he repeats, more levelly. “Ask your friends about that.”

“They’re not my friends.” Lucy is scurrying to keep up with him as he barges down the alley, hoping that this does not come to a shootout in the middle of a nice Paris neighborhood – the city has too much unfortunate recent experience with that kind of thing – but also not planning to be taken quietly. He doesn’t know why. Ten minutes ago he was prepared to drown himself in the Seine and put an end to it, but now he’s seen her again, she’s here, she doesn’t know the danger she’s in, what happened to all of them and might still, and somehow, something in him isn’t quite ready to give up the fight after all. He pushes open an unlocked back door, pulling her in after him. They appear to be in the stock room of a patisserie, which smells delicious if nothing else, and he briefly wonders that if he’s already a wanted criminal, if stealing a brioche or a pain du chocolat is really going to make that much of a difference. He reaches behind her ear, fingers brushing her hair, and finds the small crumple of a smart-foil GPS tracker, peeling it off her.

Lucy stares at him, clearly wanting to ask how he knew that was there. “How did you get to France?” she demands instead. “They have a warrant on you, they – ”

“I used to work for the NSA, do you really think I don’t know how to get out of a country with the authorities looking for me?” Flynn hisses, peering through the crates. Seems clear, but he hopes the baker does not come in unexpectedly; his trigger finger is a little itchy right now. He leads the way around, Lucy following him almost despite herself, drawn into his orbit like a star devoured by a black hole. “I don’t suppose you did anything useful, and read that file I gave you?”

“I’ve been a little busy!” Lucy remembers to keep her voice down, but that is one of the more scathing whispers Flynn has ever heard. “Your wife’s missing!”

That takes him like a skillet in the back of the head. “She – she what?”

“I went. To Dubrovnik.” Lucy’s eyes meet his, half guiltily, half defiantly. “I met your wife. She told me what you think happened. And then she. . . she vanished. I don’t know how or why.”

Garcia Flynn knows several languages. Quite a few, in fact. English, Croatian, Russian, Spanish, German, and some French and Italian. But there are not enough curses in all of them to adequately convey what flashes through his head just then. He wants to shake her, to demand what on earth made her do that, even as he is horribly aware that all of this, every bit of it, is his fault. He was the one who insisted on seeing her one last time, introducing that element of chaos and danger into what otherwise would have been her boring life with her boring fiancé and boring problems. And nor can he know if Lorena has been taken in strategically by Rittenhouse, to hold as hostage against him – which would be bad enough, but still allow for the possibility of rescuing her – or if she’s vanished more permanently, a casualty of the ripping space-time, the world remembering that she is supposed to be dead and adjusting matters accordingly. He presses a hand against the wall, struggling to control himself. He should not be surprised that by trying to save everyone, he’s losing them dramatically and spectacularly instead. And more. And worse. This is going to gain momentum. It’s not going to stop.

Just then, there’s a thump in the next room, and Flynn remembers that they’re still standing here like idiots, right next to Lucy’s tracker – even if he’s taken it off her, that does him no good unless they get away from it. He grabs her, practically tucking her under his arm like someone stealing a valuable vase from an antique bazaar, and pulls her back out the door into the alley. Just as it bursts open after them, and someone yells, “Come out with your hands up!”

Flynn responds to that by shooting, which is how Flynn tends to respond to most things in general. He doesn’t think he’s hit them, unfortunately, as there is the sound of shattering glass but no yells or cries of pain, and Lucy stares at him with her mouth open. He thinks blackly that she’s getting her answer as to whether or not he’s a terrorist, all right. Then he grabs her again, pushing her up the alley in front of him, and wheels to fire one more time from around the corner. Then he jumps onto the nearest of the ubiquitous Vespas, pulls Lucy down in front of him, and reaches around her to hotwire it, gunning it to life within thirty seconds (he might admire the efficiency, if there was time to do so). Kicks off, and races away down the street at top speed.

Lucy is too involved in clinging on for dear life to scream at him, though Flynn is sure she will get to that part soon enough. He more or less knows Paris, though it’s not the city he spent the most time in, and he also has a few tricks up his sleeve. He knows they won’t risk shooting at a moving target in the middle of boulevards and plazas packed with tourists and civilians (or hopes so, at least) and they’ll have to catch him first if they intend to take him down.

He does not intend to let them. He dodges and weaves and throttles still harder, earning more than a few French obscenities and succinct gestures thrown in his direction, but he doesn’t care. Half the other Vespas are driving at the same pace, anyway, and without the tracker, it will be difficult for their pursuers to get a bead on theirs particularly in a city packed with the stupid things. Lucy is probably sorely regretting the moment she ever thought this was a good idea, but likewise, Flynn will have to worry about that later. He wants to tell her that if she trusted him to take her home through time, this should be nothing, but – for the third time in his life – this Lucy Preston is not the Lucy he has known. You’d think he’d get used to it.

He isn’t used to it.

They zip and dart and zigzag across Paris like a demented bumblebee for God only knows how long. At last, when they have gotten far enough away that the sirens have faded, all seems more or less tranquil, and nobody appears to be looking at them, Flynn lets the stolen scooter coast to a halt in a side alley. Lucy is gasping, clinging to the handlebars, and there is an excruciatingly tense moment as they stare at each other. The silence becomes overwhelming. Then at last, eyes flat, lips set, Lucy wipes her brow with her forearm and throws her shoulders back.

“Right,” she says quietly, furiously. “Talk.”

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #timeless ff #once upon a dream #or: garcia flynn is an absolute disaster of a human being #film at 11

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