#unfortunately time is of the essence for this one cannot add it to my mothers india trip list like the other shit 😤 alr white ladies go go

[elizakai]

RADIANCE REPUDIATION

A Dreamtale Poem (word dump?)

from an entity who believes their an angel, fallen. 🌙

to an entity they believe to pose as one. ☀️

(aka written from Nightmares pov towards Dream, somewhat)

⬇️⬇️ UNDER THE CUT ⬇️⬇️

isn’t it funny? How Time changes Or rather, refuses to

Time doesn't change, in actuality Such is only perception on the part of lower beings Mortals The acute minds of smaller entities

Time Continues steadily Time knows only one loyalty Yes, Time is faithful

For you, the same cannot be said.

It's funny.

You spawn of Regret Regret, a curse that can be escaped Or, alas, could have been, had hindsight not hidden her naked body from your youthful eyes

Irony, too, plays with it's food But, of all this you are aware.

Or…are you? Do you regret? Do you grieve?

…of course not What am I thinking Of course not.

…It's funny

Nurturing such questions

It's…funny

Fate has laid her pieces out And you have made your moves Woe to you, it seems, one who is set in their ways

One who is set in stone.

Hardened is your soul, your essence Why is it we were placed wrongly on this scale? Alas, it seems your longing for mercy goes unanswered Alas, we've fallen from what little grace we'd attained

That is the nature of things This world rewards those who reap misfortune

A bittersweet misfortune, it is

It's funny.

What pride have you, to rebel Fate and her peons?

What arrogance do you cling to? That you may set things right?

Though, I suppose… That, we shall share always. Eternity till Entropy Until one or the other crumbles

Remember, chimera, stone is brittle. The blood of a companion is thicker than the waters of birth. Of this I am relieved… For you've long since tainted the streams of our youth. No tree can grow in a parasitic wasteland.

That is, none that will last.

No, long gone is the person I once thought to know Long dead, are they, and no requiem shall I hold.

Loathe am I to the sowers of our misfortune

Loathe am I to the mother of our wakefulness. It would have been better to have never existed.

To have never known you To have never held you To have never loved you To have never lost you

But Solace is my lover, for she reminds me that it is not I, nor myself, nor him to blame, but you.

Her and them and you and you and you and-

It's funny.

Scramble up the hill A hill of graves Tombstones upon tombstones, add as many as you will. Will it ever be enough for you? Their downfall will not be your upbringing The ladder is unstable Your goal is unattainable.

Claw, fight, scream

Not an ear will turn to you in pity

Humorous, Karma and the bubbling brooks of her laughter

Where is your control?

When did you pass it to me, pray tell?

…unfortunate fool. Not an ear will turn to you in compassion

Forever out of reach, as long as free will remains mine

Time changes not But every person does, will, must! Oh the pained naivety! Does rock abstain one from growth? Silly me! Silly you!

w h y a r e n ' t y o u l a u g h I n g ?

…I can't hear her laughing anymore.

I can't hear her at all.

The laughter is him. Always him. Us? us.

You were never needed, were you, oh iridescent zephyr?

Acceptance.

A weapon I've obtained A defense you've yet to claim

Illusion of the unconscious mind, feeder of false hope, luminous liar of the night. Dearest delusion of grandeur.

Rest now, in what grief you can muster

Rest now, in the act of sorrow you play

You're 500 years behind.

It’s 500 years too late.

[parcai]

can't wait 2 b rich not bc i need 2 b just bc i have expensive taste 🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂

[wreathedinscales]

Happy Father’s Day to Eldritch Din Djarin!

I listened to Halsey’s Control while writing this

()

Here is what Moff Gideon sees in an empty hallway:

Din Djarin reaches for his spear. His hand stops. His breath shortens, shakes.

"Surrendering already?" Gideon says, flexing his hand on the Darksaber's hilt. "I thought you were Mandalorian."

Breath turns to coughing. To hissing. To a...strange, snarling thing. And words.

"I don't...have time...for this."

Gideon's eyes have narrowed, spine tensed. "Oh really? And here I thought I was your goal."

Moff Gideon sees Din Djarin's head wrench to the side.

"You," the Mandalorian whispers, "you did this. You made me—I can't—"

More words. Words that are not, cannot be words.

"Ygnaiih..." Din Djarin's body jerks, doubled over. "Ygnaiih...thflthjh'ngha..."

He reaches for his helmet, but the movements are halting, as if Gideon's eyes can't quite register them in time.

"You go against your Creed?" he asks tightly. He has taken three cautious steps back.

The visor snaps up. It looks the same and completely different. As if...as if something else is there.

"Y'bthnk," Din Djarin—is this Din Djarin?—gurgles, "h'ehye...n'grkdl'lh..."

The Mandalorian removes his helmet.

()

Here is what Bo-Katan Kryze sees in a too-small camera feed:

A mass. An oppressive, enormous mass, stretching wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Eyes, too many to count, rolling independently of each other. Some irises have teeth. Some have the void. Some have things that no one should see.

It moves fast, this. Thing. Far faster than she'd expect for something so large. It uses dozens of oddly-bent legs and arms, scattered haphazardly along its body, to propel itself through the ship. That is how Bo-Katan knows it's playing with Gideon: compared to this Thing, the man is a helpless snail.

Here is what she hears:

Screaming. This is human, at least. But the roar that swallows it—there is nothing in the galaxy that can utter such a sound, grating and guttural. It's the kind of roar that devours planets.

Something primal shudders in Bo-Katan, forcing her to stagger away with tears in her eyes. She has not cried since childhood. It's as if her body is trying to expel the sight of the Thing and whatever its presence incites in her.

"What the hell was that?" Fennec demands.

Bo-Katan grabs her arm before she can take a look. "Don't."

Everyone turns to her with wide eyes.

"Bo?" Koska murmurs.

Bo-Katan can only shake her head and repeat, "Don't."

The roar again. Closer.

Cara slams her hand on the panel. The blast doors shut. Bo-Katan does not feel safe.

An eye slams against a camera, rolling, twitching. Bo-Katan knows, instinctually, that it can see her beating heart.

Gideon tries to use the Darksaber. It cuts, but the Creature only growls more not-words.

He runs to the Darktroopers' chamber. There is nothing there, but that means nothing. They will be back. If he can just hold out, they will be back.

In the meantime, there's only one option. It's a long shot. It's all that's left.

This is what Grogu sees, left in a cell:

His captor sprinting in, terrified. The Darksaber swinging, stopping just short of his tiny throat.

Then, his father, freed of his armor. Eyes, eyes that Grogu always knew were there, focusing on him. Mouths salivating for the flesh of his captor. Writhing limbs snapping to the walls, the floor, the ceiling, bending metal, ready to strike.

Here is what Grogu feels, facing an impossible Thing:

Safe.

Gideon fails to tame the fine tremor in his body. "One move, and I cut him to pieces."

Some of the eyelids are horizontal, some vertical, some diagonal, some absent altogether. Half roll to Gideon, the other still fixated on Grogu.

Grogu, who has felt the Force that his father is forced to manipulate, though he doubts he knows it's the Force. His father tries so, so hard to contain himself to one beating heart that supplies breakable bones and knowable flesh. He is human, to an extent, but there is a Gate under the skin he maintains—perhaps due to his own father being a Gatekeeper. Beskar's ability to block the Force provides a counterbalance, energies that constantly clash to keep his father on two legs.

He is human, to an extent. And so he has limits. Grogu has awakened something in him that he has never felt, and Grogu was taken. Din Djarin's flesh couldn't hold, and the Rest of him cried out for, and to, help.

The energy choking the ship and soothing Grogu is something beyond human concepts of Light and Dark, though it has both. It simply is. Gideon's human mind cannot comprehend it. But Gideon's sanity hardly matters now.

Father's eyes tilt, so slowly it takes a moment to realize they are sliding down. The mouths converge in their place, forming a maw with an eclipse for a tongue. Grogu watches as Gideon is devoured from flesh to essence.

Father retreats immediately, disappearing so fast he leaves black spots in Grogu's vision. Grogu blinks them away.

"Ah?" he calls.

Grinding sounds, like rusty machinery. Grogu feels the disturbance in the Force: his father cannot turn back.

It's a bit difficult with the cuffs, but Grogu manages to get down from the bench. He waddles as fast as he can to the door, cooing. What is his father scared of?

He turns the corner and shakes his arms. "Buh!"

Father recoils. The maw is once again small mouths, eyes narrowed in their previous spots.

Grogu pouts. "Mm?"

The eyes widen. Some blink, some don't.

Grogu approaches. Father continues to stare. There's something like fur, black as pitch, covering his Form, and Grogu finds out it's as soft as it looks. He snuggles close, wondering if he can climb all the way to the roots and sleep. He is very tired.

"Gr'uh," his father growls, "gr'uh...Grogu..."

"Buh," Grogu replies.

With a few crackling noises, a paw and something like a hand embrace him. They're followed by a rasping usually heard from the dying, but Grogu knows his father is just trying to express his joy, his relief.

The limbs retract. Unfortunately, the fur goes too.

Din Djarin forces his helmet on, and the Gate closes. He coughs wetly, getting black sludge on his breastplate he quickly uses his cape to wipe off. Maybe that's what his blood really looks like, or maybe it's just leftovers from his Form.

He breaks the cuffs, no longer hiding his strength. It makes Grogu happy. "You okay?"

"Patu," Grogu says.

A choked laugh. Grogu is lifted in human arms now. Grogu snuggles against his father's shoulder, patting the armor. His father holds him close.

"You're..." Father stops to take a shaky breath. "You're very special, kid."

"Mm."

Father sighs. "Guess I should take the laser sword. Looks like the Darksaber Bo-Katan wants."

He's just picking it up when something stomps down the hall.

"You gotta be kidding me," Father mutters. He huffs when Grogu pats his helmet eagerly. "No, that's done."

He looks at the Darksaber.

"Maybe we should see what this thing is capable of."

Father doesn't bother to hide his speed either. He cuts the droids down one-handed, Grogu laughing from his other arm as they spin and slide and slice.

Once done, Father starts walking. Grogu yawns, earning pets. They reach blast doors.

Father activates his comm. "It's me."

(There's a double-meaning for those on the bridge. It's me. It was me.)

The doors don't open. Grogu burbles in confusion. Can't they see everything's okay?

Father speaks again, but his voice is subdued. "I'll met you on the ship."

He still waits another moment. Then he sighs and turns.

The doors open.

"Djarin," Cara snaps, "What the fuck was that."

Grogu turns to look at her. Everyone is tense, fear so thick he can almost smell it. He frowns.

Cautiously, Father enters the room. "I was...more tired than I thought. Couldn't keep it together."

"'Keep it together?'"

"...my father—the father that I lost—wasn't biological. Just my mother. I don't know if you'd recognize the name of my blood father."

"That's it?" Fennec snaps, "A family trait?"

Father feels sad. Grogu burbles in distress, earning more pets.

"That's as close as I can get. It's. Hard to explain. But it's still me," he adds hastily. "With the beskar, I can handle it. Today was just an exception."

"You call that an exception?" Bo-Katan says. Grogu doesn't like her tone. It sounds like she wants to fight.

Father holds Grogu tighter. "Listen, we got what we came for. You don't have to see me again. Here." He holds out the Darksaber.

Bo-Katan's jaw works. "I can't take it." The words sound like they're yanked from her.

"Why not?" Father asks flatly.

"It must be won," Koska says.

"I yield. Take it."

"That's not how it works," Bo-Katan says, "It must be won."

"Come on," Father says lowly, "just take it."

"No."

This sigh goes through Father's whole body. "Fine. Find me when you're ready. But we got what we came for. Let's—"

Proximity alarms go off. Grogu raises his head.

He's here.

[kategrainger]

Suggested Solutions for Those Who Struggle with Self-Love

Happiness can be a fleeting thing, especially if you’re tired or over stressed. Today in this busy world it is ever more important to take the time for self care.

Neglecting and ignoring your needs is not noble. It’s not a badge that you should wear proudly. Putting everything and everyone else above your physical, mental, emotional or spiritual health is a sign of martyrdom, low self-esteem, and workaholism. It is not selflessness or a good work ethic.

We need to teach ourselves how to care for our needs. Why? Because no one else is going to do it for us!

Self-care means taking steps to look after yourself and your physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual needs.

Self-care starts with the acknowledgment that you are responsible for your wellbeing.

Self-care is an integral part of self-love which is the practice of being kind and compassionate towards yourself.

Here are signs to identify warning signs that you are neglecting self-care:

• Constant tiredness and fatigue • Irritability (little things annoy you) • Poor sleep quality • Muscle tension • Chronic illnesses (e.g. colds, flu, infections) • Anxiety and worry • Paranoia • Neglecting family or friend time • Obsessive rumination (mind won’t shut off) • Constant low-grade depression • More dread than excitement • Disconnection from your body • No time to do what makes you happy • All work and no play • Feelings of emptiness • Negative and self-sabotaging thoughts • Low self-worth and insecurity

There can be many other signs, but determining if you experience any of the above is a good place to start.

Why are we resistant to self-care?

You’ve probably heard it before. “I’m too busy to do that,” “I have too much on my plate right now,” “I’m inundated with work.” I’ve been guilty of using these banal excuses more than once, let me assure you!

Self-care, to many people, is also unfortunately associated with selfishness. There is an old and outdated perception that taking care of your needs first equals being self-centred. How are we able to take care of others if we cannot take care of ourselves?

Poor self-esteem is another reason why some people are resistant to self-care. The belief that “I’m not worth it” is so pervasive in our society that it’s an epidemic. Inevitably, poor self-worth results in self-neglect, sometimes even as a form of self-punishment. So I encourage you to practise the self-care ideas below. The more you incorporate them into your life, the better you will feel about who you are - at a core level.

Self-care suggestions for those struggling with self-love

If you struggle with stress, feelings of being overwhelmed, a mind that just won’t turn off, grapple with low motivation, negative mindsets, self-defeating habits, tend to be cynical, neurotic or highly-strung … this list is for you.

The best advice I can give you is to take it one step at a time. Don’t rush. The advice presented below is the work of a lifetime – not the work of a week. So be realistic and do the best you can.

Self-Care Ideas for the Body

1. Sit somewhere in nature. Feel relaxed by the scenery, the fresh air, and the birds singing.

2. Have a soothing bath. Put some essential oil in the bath to unwind and let go.

3. Take a deep mindful breath. Oxygenate your body, reduce the tension, and refresh your energy.

4. Have a nap. Find a comfy place and drift off into dream time. Set a timer if you’re worried about sleeping too much.

5. Make yourself some delicious food. Eat a tasty salad. Cook some comfort food. Make something just for you.

6. Dance to your favourite song. Get in touch with your playful side and enjoy a good workout while you’re at it!

7. Drink some herbal tea. Make yourself a soothing brew with whatever tea you have lying around. If you like experimenting, try holy basil, damiana, chamomile, and lavender.

8. Give yourself a massage. There are many self-massage techniques which you can easily find online that require nothing but your hands. For a deep tissue massage, you can use an old tennis ball and roll out the kinks in your muscles.

9. Eat your leafy greens every day. Nourish your body with the vitamins and minerals found in leafy greens like spinach, broccoli, and kale. If you don’t like the taste, add them to your smoothie or soup.

10. Take a walk in the sun. Get some vitamin D. Clear your mind. You’ll be exercising while you’re at it.

11. Create a physical space that nurtures your wellbeing. Get rid of the clutter, dirt, and dust around you. Create order in your environment as this will create more order in your mind.

Self-Care Ideas for the Heart

12. Give yourself a big hug. Stand somewhere quiet and hug yourself. Feel held and comforted.

13. Have a good laugh. Watch or read something entertaining even if that means a silly video of baby goats in pyjamas on YouTube.

14. Have a good cry. Let out all your feelings. Watch a sad movie. Have a tissue box and a blanket to snuggle in handy.

15. Show gratitude. Find something to be thankful for in your life.

16. Look at yourself through the eyes of a loving parent. Be the best mother or father to yourself that you could possibly be. Treat your inner child with love, gentleness, and respect.

17. Say kind words to yourself. When you’re angry, sad or scared, gently tell yourself, “It’s OK,” “I understand,” “I forgive you,” “You can do this,” “I believe in you.”

18. Learn how to self-soothe. Feeling anxious or upset is normal. Find little rituals or practices that make you feel calm such as drinking a cup of cocoa, heating up a hot pack, listening to music, colouring-in, or cuddling a soft toy.

19. Go on a date with yourself. Go somewhere special and spend a day with yourself. Spend time thinking about the qualities you most love and appreciate in yourself.

20. Check in with your heart. Regularly explore how you’re feeling on an emotional level. Does something feel uncomfortable or wrong? What emotions are currently dominating your inner landscape? By gently acknowledging these emotions you’ll be able to practice self-care.

21. Spend time around people that support you. Find people who believe in and uplift you. Keep away from those who seek to drag you down and infect your life with negativity.

Self-Care Ideas for the Mind

22. Feed and expand your mind. Learn something new. Read up on different topics and open your mind to new perspectives. Enrich your understanding of the world.

23. Journal and self-reflect. Record your journey with self-care and write down your key discoveries. Reflect on your progress and feel proud.

24. Still your mind. Find a way to calm your mind each day. Meditation or mindfulness are two excellent practices. Pay attention to the present moment and get out of your thoughts.

25. Take a break from social media. Clear the stream of your mind for a few days. Give yourself a break from the comparison, egotism, and drama that stems from social media. Delete social media apps from your phone and spend time doing something else.

26. Create a routine for your day. The mind thrives with structure. Create clarity and order by setting in place clear habits and routines. Just ensure that you are flexible and allow these structures to shift and evolve through time as need be.

27. Create an achievements folder. Whether on your computer or in a physical folder, set aside a place where you can record all of your proudest moments. What obstacles have you overcome? What projects have you completed? What struggles have you managed to learn from? Record all of your successes to reflect on when you’re in a funk or feeling like a failure.

28. Simplify your to-do list. Ask yourself, “What is actually necessary?” Identify the things on your mental (or physical) to do list that are wasting space. Not everything is vital or important to do. Minimising what you have to get done can reduce a tremendous amount of stress. Use a technique such as the Eisenhower Matrix to assess what is vital vs. unimportant.

29. Put your phone on airplane mode. Airplane mode stops all calls, texts, and annoying distractions from interfering with your life. Free yourself temporarily each day from the mental slavery of perpetually checking your phone. For example, after 6 pm take a ‘mini holiday’ from your phone until the next morning.

30. Set yourself small, manageable goals. Set yourself one or two major things you want to accomplish each day that will bring you a sense of success or fulfilment. This could be as simple as cooking a nice meal to as big as writing a chapter in your book. Simply feeling like you’ve achieved one of your goals is a wonderful feeling that you can experience daily!

31. Do something outside of your comfort zone. Even if that means going a new route to work or walking your dog along a new street! Enjoy the sense of self-confidence and empowerment that comes from knowing you can do something a bit uncomfortable and different.

32. Set clear boundaries. Stand up for yourself and say “no” even if your voice shakes. Set clear limits on your time and energy. Safeguarding your energy is a form of self-care and self-respect. Give energy only to that which you consciously agree to invite into your life.

Self-Care Ideas for the Soul

33. Light a candle and watch the shifting light. Indulge in some relaxation with a scented candle. Watch the flickering of the light against the wall and connect with your inner self.

34. Ask for help and guidance.If you’re feeling confused, lost, sad, stressed or depressed, reach out to someone. Asking for help is a sign of courage and intelligence. Find a trusted friend, advisor or professional to help you out.

35. Connect with your soul’s guidance. There are countless ways to interact with your soul essence. Prayer, meditation, visualisation, oracle reading, and dream work are all fairly simple ways to get back in touch with your core.

36. Be receptive to beauty. Beauty opens and expands the soul. Beauty can intoxicate and fill you with awe. Find at least one beautiful thing every day to enchant you. Nature is an easy and nourishing place to find all things beautiful and wild.

37. Connect with another person. Find someone to have a heart-to-heart conversation with, even if that person is online. Express your deepest thoughts and feelings and reciprocate that with another who is on the same wavelength as you. Human connection, when it is authentic and raw, is uplifting to the soul.

38. Be your own best friend and soulmate. Treat yourself as you wish to be treated. Enjoy spending time with yourself and fall in love with who you are. Celebrate your messy humanity and divinity and the strange paradox of who you are.

39. Creatively express your deepest feelings. Write, draw, sculpt, scrapbook, paint, sing or dance your rawest feelings. Creatively express yourself in whatever way feels most appealing and natural. You don’t have to be an artist to do this! Self-expression and creativity are universal balms for the soul and have tremendous healing energy.

 How to Use the Suggestions Above

Some final thoughts on the self-care suggestions I’ve just shared: pay attention to any that jump out at you. When reading through this list, which ideas tug at your attention? Focus on those first. Remember, there’s no need to rush! That would be contrary to the point of this article. So go at your own pace. Do as much or as little as feels comfortable to you. Most importantly, be consistent. Self-care is a habit and with a little stubbornness, it can become a wonderful way of life.

© Kate Grainger 2020. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Casey Carlisle with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

[sweetness-doesnt-touch-my-face]

I excuse myself if this tangent is a little incoherent, I’m running low both mentally and physically. I felt the need to explain myself because I know there’s a select few with raised eyebrows at the girl who’s seen Joker four times. In all honesty, I really shouldn’t give a fuck. For the most part, I don’t. But alas, I thought it would be a good opportunity to introduce the notion of all art mediums being a freeing solace for just about anyone. It should be obvious but whatever.

I spent a good portion of this year struck down with seasonal depression. The suicide attempts made another special appearance. I was convinced that I was just reliving last year and in some ways, I was. However, this depression was a little more alarming to me. It immediately concerned my soul as I had never been face to face with such a tumultuous blow in my life. Music stopped helping me. Music was as good as silence. It was no longer a solace and I cannot tell you how incredibly fucked up it was for me. 

Music is the only solace for most of us, including myself. It had been a stable patch throughout my entire mentally ill existence. But it was gone. It had nothing to it anymore. Even the voices I loved most. It was just white noise. Where the fuck was I supposed to turn to? at the time, I had no idea that I was already heading down another lane. One which I hadn’t used since 2016. Television and film. I’m gonna be honest, I’m not a movie person or a tv person either as a matter of fact. My attention span fails me during movies and there’s literally nothing on modern television that catches my eye let alone gets me invested.

The last time I saw a movie was three years ago, excluding the one movie that I saw in 2018. I happened to see at least six movies this year. This is the most I’ve gone to the cinema in a single year within the last decade, lol. This year had somewhat of a selection that sparked my interest. Half of them I wouldn’t see again so maybe I just wanted to get out of the house. Anyhow, back to my main point. There is a ginormous amount of people who escape their lives through fictional worlds. Even if certain ones happen to be more chaotic and twisted.

For the first part of this year, I subconsciously ran away from my shit and into the family of a mafia mob boss. The Sopranos. It shockingly did wonders. It gave me something to look forward to every night. I even related to a character quite heavily and while there were some definitely triggering scenes that resonated a little too well with me. It still managed to uphold a solid solace for me. After two months, I was alone again. I didn’t have to wait too long. Thankfully after winter, music returned with its comforting sound. So I had my love back.

That being said, I wasn’t finished with the silver screen. As I mentioned before, it takes a lot for me to enjoy a movie let alone sit through one. Before October dawned upon us, I had only ever seen one movie twice at the cinema. That all changed when a film called Joker came out. So here we are, I just saw it for the fourth time (unfortunately my last time) yesterday and it still isn’t old nor boring to me. How ever could this be?!?!! Is the clownfucker craze taking over all our souls? Lol, not completely. Sure, Joaquin Phoenix adds A LOT to the equation.

But that’s not the main reason why I saw the same god damn movie four times. I remember seeing the very first trailer many months ago and it was enough for me to decide that I’d more than likely see it. I loved the Joker from The Dark Knight. A movie all about the clown prince of crime himself? hell yeaaaah. Welp. It was not what I expected in the slightest. I actually first saw it blind (forgot my glasses). 

Then I saw it with my mother. Then I saw it alone again. Then with my brother.  It didn’t lose its essence to me. I still felt a jolt of excitement every time the old fashioned warner brother’s logo popped up with the sound of the latest news broadcast.

Above all, I loved the dedicated craftsmanship within every aspect of this film. The cinematography, the backgrounds, the makeup, the wardrobe, the soundtrack, the acting. But the escapism in this is just as fucked up, if not more. If I didn’t overwhelmingly relate to the mental health of Arthur Fleck, if I didn’t see the symbolism behind certain scenes, if I didn’t understand the truth. I wouldn’t have liked it. It’s a messed up world to find solace in. I don’t fully understand it myself but what it comes down to for me is that I rarely ever come across shit that makes me feel grateful enough to say “well, I’m glad I didn’t kill myself.”

I don’t love movies. It’s not my thing. Sure, I have favorites but I don’t sit around to binge them anymore. That’s why this shit is extraordinary to me. 

This never happens, aha. This isn’t normal. But it’s a difference that I whole-heartedly adore. Shit like this is rare. Hiding within a fictional world that frighteningly bears resemblance to the real world, it makes it easier for us to endure as human beings. Because there’s a daydream inside there. In some way or another, all of us dream of being somewhere else. 

Even if it’s literally in New York City circa nineteen seventies. Society may be evil but there’s at least one person who understands. Sometimes, that’s more than enough. So to the people who are judgemental towards those who favor this film with obsession, let ‘em fucking live. As long as they’re not hurting anybody. Everything is okay. It’s just a movie. Live your life and we’ll live ours how we want to. This has been a TED talk by Liliana Torre.

[ansu-gurleht]

36 lessons of vivec, annotated: part 4

(part 3. unfortunately do not know how to edit the first 3 parts so can’t add links to them, but you can find the others by searching “36 lessons of vivec” on my blog.)

it’s been a while, but here we go. sermon 5 is another mostly “autobiographical” sermon (i use the term VERY loosely), so there isn’t terrible much to say. i highly recommend @bitchwhoreofastorm​‘s “egg of time” fic on her ao3, which approaches a lot of these events from a more “realistic” angle, which is REALLY good. but i’ll summarize:

vivec comes upon a merchant caravan. one of the guards in the caravan is none other than indoril nerevar. nerevar wants to take vivec to almalexia, because he (and another unnamed member of the caravan) senses something important about hir. but the captain wants to sell vivec to “the red wives of dagon,” which is probably some kind of slave-brothel devoted to mehrunes dagon. the dispute ends with nerevar killing the captain and taking vivec to mournhold anyway.

okay, now something a bit juicier: sermon 6. this is the first of a few sermons that take a similar format, being some cryptic shit vivec tells nerevar, presumably on the way to mournhold. from the beginning:

There is an eon within itself that when unraveled becomes the first sentence of the world.

ze’s talking about the dawn era. it’s an “eon within itself” b/c it’s mostly devoid of cause and effect; it’s a recursive period of time where, essentially, nothing matters - yet. but then it becomes unraveled, and “the first sentence of the world” is spoken.

we know the dawn era ended when auri-el (a.k.a. elven akatosh) established linear time at convention, which was an assembly of the gods atop the first Tower, adamantine tower. but i’ve got a bit of a theory about this “first sentence of the world.” 

we know it was atop adamantine tower that trinimac slew lorkhan and ripped out his heart, and when both trinimac and auri-el tried to destroy it, to no avail. in altmeri tradition, it is said that, in response to the attempt, the heart said: “This Heart is the heart of the world, for one was made to satisfy the other.”

i believe this was the “first sentence of the world.” it was immediately after this that auri-el shot lorkhan’s heart across tamriel, and then held convention. not only is this likely a very close contender for literally the first sentence spoken in linear time, it’s also the first sentence of the world, in the sense that lorkhan’s heart is the heart of the world.

Mephala and Azura are the twin gates of tradition and Boethiah is the secret flame.

The Sun shall be eaten by lions, which cannot be found yet in Veloth.

Six are the vests and garments worn by the suppositions of men.

i’ll admit, the meaning of these lines elude me. the relationship between the anticipations as “the twin gates of tradition” and “the secret flame” doesn’t strike me as obvious. i’m not sure what the sun and lions have to do with anything. i don’t even know where to begin with that third line. let’s just move on.

Proceed only with the simplest terms, for all others are enemies and will confuse you.

don’t bog yourself down with lengthy explanations and words. concentrate what you believe into “the simplest terms,” and you’ll always know where you stand.

Six are the formulas to heaven by violence, one that you have learned by studying these words.

ah, here’s an interesting line! i forget if we’ve heard mention of them before, but this is probably the first mention of the six “walking ways!” these ways to “reach heaven by violence” are essentially ways to achieve godhood, or at least some sort of divine importance! these are tricky to extrapolate from the sermons, to say the least. some of them are obvious, some of them.....much less so. we’ll dig into this as we continue on our journey. and after we’ve finished looking at this sermon, we’ll see if we can “study these words” and find the one vivec has hidden in this sermon.

The Father is a machine and the mouth of a machine. His only mystery is an invitation to elaborate further.

The Mother is active and clawed like a nix-hound, yet she is the holiest of those that reclaim their days.

The Son is myself, Vehk, and I am unto three, six, nine, and the rest that come after, glorious and sympathetic, without borders, utmost in the perfections of this world and the others, sword and symbol, pale like gold.

this is about the tribunal! thankfully, not terribly difficult to interpret. sotha sil is the father, “a machine” who constantly wants to understand the world more and more; almalexia is the mother, a holy matron but as fierce as her anticipation; and vivec is the son, and of course ze goes nuts describing hirself. (in case you haven’t noticed thus far, vivec is kinda just full of hirself.)

There is a fourth kind of philosophy that uses nothing but disbelief.

For by the sword I mean the sensible.

For by the word I mean the dead.

the “fourth kind of philosophy that uses nothing but disbelief” is that of the dwemer, who did not believe in the gods at all, or at the very least doubted their power.

“by the sword I mean the sensible” refers to vivec’s belief that to achieve your goals, you must use violence. “by the word I mean the dead” refers to hir belief, which we’ll hear more about later, that language is necessarily dead. once something is said or written, ze says, it no longer holds as much power as something done. you must act instead of talking about acting.

before i move on, i’ll clarify something about my terminology. vivec absolutely could simply be talking specifically about actual violence, about murder and war and assassination and all that. but there’s also a “lesser” violence, i think, which could refer to imposing your will on the world at all. any “action” is inherently “violent,” in the sense that it changes the world in some way - and change always necessitates a destruction before a creation.

I am Vehk, your protector and the protector of Red Mountain until the end of days, which are numbered 3333.

vivec certainly has protected morrowind quite a bit - from the empire, from baar dau, from the blight (via the ghostfence). but most interesting, i think, is this mention of “the end of days, which are numbered 3333.”

now, of course. three is vivec’s favorite number, so this could very well just be hir reminding us, for the millionth time, that it’s hir favorite number.

but i’ve got a bit of a crack theory. bear with me.

first: i’m assuming these are years, and not actually days. there’s a few things “the end of days” could be referring to. a true end of the world? unlikely. the oblivion crisis, or the pursuing red year? maybe. however, for the sake of this experiment, i’m going to assume it’s referring to the events of morrowind, which takes place in 3e 427. that certainly could have been the end of the world, had dagoth ur succeeded.

here’s what i’m thinking: what if we start from that date as our endpoint, and work our way backwards to discover when the lessons were written? (this conversation almost certainly did not actually take place, so vivec wouldn’t have mentioned this number at the time. so we’re assuming this number only makes sense given when it was written.)

well, if we add up the years of the 3rd and 2nd eras, then subtract that from 3333, we can figure out in what year in the 1st era the sermons would have been written. the number i came up with was 1e 2037 - smack dab in the middle dawn, the thousand-and-eight year long dragonbreak.

i know this is a shaky theory, and all i’ve got to back it up is an admittedly non-canon piece from kirkbride (yuck), wherein vivec seems to understand a lot about the dragonbreak, and what it signifies. i think it may be possible that a lot of what vivec talks about could only have been known to hir in such a chaotic period of time and untime. so hir having written it in the middle dawn not only fits with the number in this sermon, but might also just make sense.

anyways! take that with a heavy dose of salt. moving on.

Below me is the savage, which we needed to remove ourselves from the Altmer.

Above me is a challenge, which bathes itself in fire and the essence of a god.

“the savage” below vivec is the early days of the chimer, when they were all basically ashlanders, just trying to survive in the inhospitable lands of resdayn. ze claims that this period of “savagery” was necessary “to remove [themselves] from the Altmer” because one of the key issues the velothi dissidents had with altmeri culture was, well, the “stick-up-their-ass”-edness. they were very high-and-mighty and stuck up, and so caught up in their own bullshit they refused to really see and appreciate the world (given to them by lorkhan) for what it is. by living so roughly in the lands closest to lorkhan’s heart, the chimer distinguished themselves by becoming closer to God.

“the challenge” above is the pursuit of God, or godhood. it is a trial by fire one must go through in pursuit of divinity. within the timeline of the “plot” of the lessons, vivec technically hasn’t become a god yet. (the way vivec refers to hir godhood is weird, claiming to have always been a god, even though we know ze only did when the tribunal used the heart to get divine powers. but we won’t worry about this too much.) so as of the sixth sermon, the challenge of becoming divine still awaits hir.

Through me you are desired, unlike the prophets that have borne your name before.

vivec, again being very full of hirself, claims that it is through hir divinity (and hir divinity alone) that nerevar is loved by his people. ze really downplays nerevar’s agency all throughout the sermons, often depicting him as sort of a bumbling idiot, completely lost without hir counsel. in reality, nerevar was actually a really great, powerful, and wise hero and king, made greater and wiser by the counsel of vivec, sotha sil, and his wife, almalexia. (absolutely still a war criminal tho.)

truth be told, i’m not sure what the “prophets that have borne your name before” bit means. perhaps it’s referring to house indoril? i haven’t the faintest.

Six are the walking ways, from enigma to enemy to teacher.

it’s those pesky walking ways again! from the way this is worded, it seems like “enigma,” “enemy,” and “teacher” all refer to different walking ways. i think “enigma” refers to the psijic endeavor, “enemy” refers to the walking way the enemy of the chimer, the dwemer, attempted, and “teacher” refers to the one vivec hirself (as “teacher” of nerevar) attempted and supposedly succeeded at. 

“what the hell are those?!” you may ask. don’t worry about it right now! just about every one of the walking ways are covered in their own sermon. we’ll talk about “enigma,” “enemy,” and “teacher” later, with better context!

Boethiah and Azura are the principles of the universal plot, which is begetting, which is creation, and Mephala makes of it an art form.

unlike the other line about the anticipations’ relationships and purposes, i actually understand this one! (at least mostly, as with anything vivec says.)

boethiah is the prince of plots, so is obviously a “principle of the universal plot.” she’s all about the kind of action that vivec’s all about, secret murder and the sword and all that. azura is the prince of dawn and dusk, the in-between, the transition. boethiah initiates change, azura oversees change, and together they oversee “creation” of new social and religious paradigms. 

mephala the webspinner does the whole change thing too, but she “makes of it an art form” by just going overboard with it. she is less overt than boethiah and azura, just tending to her strings, one little thing here, another little thing there, all in the shadows. she can make big things happen by just changing little things, like a butterfly effect type situation. that sort of finesse makes it “an art form.”

For by the sword I mean the first night.

For by the word I mean the dead.

oh hey, it’s this sword/word thing again. the sword cuts things in twain, so the first night cut the first day into night and day. and guess who oversees the cutting of night and day? dawn and dusk.

and again, the word being dead. we’ll hear more of this in a later sermon, but vivec believes language is dead and of limited use.

There will be a splendor in your name when it is said to be true.

this is somewhat interesting, because it seems to somewhat contradict the whole “language is dead” thing, dunnit? if reverence comes from it being “said to be true,” doesn’t that mean the words held meaning? could the words hold meaning even if they had no action to back them up?

i’ll leave you to ponder that one. it’s a very interesting question for vivec’s character.

Six are the guardians of Veloth, three before and they are born again, and they will test you until you have the proper tendencies of a hero.

There is a world that is sleeping and you must guard against it.

the “guardians of Veloth, three before and they are born again” are the anticipations (azura, boethiah, and mephala) and the tribunal (almalexia, sotha sil, and vivec) respectively. 

it’s important to remember: this sermon is addressed to nerevar. and when vivec is speaking to nerevar throughout the lessons, it’s safe to assume ze is also speaking to the nerevarine. so the “guardians of Veloth” testing nerevar really means testing the nerevarine, so that the nerevarine can prove they truly are nerevarine, and a “hero” - the latter of which is a topic i should probably make a separate post about some time.

“the world that is sleeping” is none other than house dagoth, the house of dreamers, who will threaten morrowind in the time of the nerevarine’s coming. the nerevarine will be tested to prove they can protect morrowind from that threat.

For by the sword I mean the dual nature.

For by the word I mean animal life.

For by the sword I mean preceded by a sigh.

For by the word I mean preceded by a wolf.

here we have these sword/word couplets again. i’m actually going to keep these in my pocket, for now. when we get to sermon eleven, i’ll bring them back out, so we have the proper context.

so, vivec said this sermon contains one of the walking ways, and i said we’d try to figure it out. well...

i’m not sure what it is. 

there’s been a lot of attempts to list the six walking ways. some call the first “the prolix tower,” but...i’m not sure how much sense it makes. and yeah, you’re probably like, “the prolix tower? what in oblivion is that?” i don’t know where they got it from, either. and the explanations of the prolix tower never seem to really refer to this sermon. 

i promise, the other walking-way sermons will be a bit clearer, but as for this one....i have no idea, and i don’t think anyone else really does, either.

okay, so that’s one big long post. maybe the next one will come, like, not several months later. like this one. oh well! 

as always, the ending of the words is ALMSIVI

[theeverbloomingdarkness]

Marluxia in KH3- UPDATED

Here it is folks. Everything about Marluxia/thoughts in KH3 under the cut. Get ready.

***Spoilers. SPOILERs. Spoilers everywhere. Whole game spoilers***

ALL RIGHT. To Begin, I’m going to go through all of Marluxia’s lines. After that I will go into my personal opinions and such. This is going to be a hot mess of a post but I hope everything is understandable:

“Missing someone?”

“She’s such a precious gift. Allow me to assist you in getting her back.”

“Has-beens?” Now why would you say that?

“My name is Marluxia, and yes, that is correct.”

“How interesting it is to see you again, Sora.”

“A shame you’ve no memory of me, because I remember you exceedingly well. Although… It’s /those/ memories I’d soon erase.”

* This one is interesting only because I found it confusing I couldn’t tell if he was talking about himself or Sora. Second opinions?

“Nor should you. Nor will you ever, for that matter.”

“Now, if you’ll permit me, I’ve come to ask a favor.”

“Please hear what I have to say.”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed… Well, perhaps not. But you should know that maiden with you, Rapunzel, is the very light of this world. I would see you guard her from its dark horrors.”

“All the Organization seeks is balance.”

*Is this what you sought/seek though? Unfortunately KH3 did not give the Marluxia answers that I was hoping for. We still have no idea what Marluxia was ever seeking/ no idea what he ever wanted. Motivations remain unknown.

“You must understand, our ultimate objective is not to clash with the light. We seek to complement it.”

“Use that keyblade… To keep Rapunzel safe.”

“Oh dear… He’s run off with the crown and forgotten you.”

“Forget Flynn Ryder.”

“You know where you belong, and it’s not with him. Now…”

“Show some decorum. The girl has found her dear mother. You should let them be.”

“Because Rapunzel is far too important. Atop her tower, she must remain out of sight, and live out her days with Mother Gothel.”

“That is /exactly/ what it’s like.”

“Rapunzel’s hair holds the powerful magic of healing. And yes, Mother Gothel wants it for herself. As do others.”

“And, if Mother Gothel’s actions will protect Rapunzel, preserve her… then she is doing the Organization a favor.”

“Let’s say she’s keeping Rapunzel on the shelf for us. An extra pawn in case you fail to find the remaining guardians of light and we have occasion to call on other hearts of light instead. A new seven hearts to fill out the ranks.”

“Yes. Seven who inherited the princess’ light after their role was fulfilled.”

“Hmph. I just knew you would go and make a scene.”

“Very well, then it’s lights out for you.”

“You always were such a sound sleeper.”

* An odd line for Marluxia to make. Could be referring to Sora’s year in the pod that he learned about or DDD, seeing as all the black coats were indeed there at the end

“Fallen to darkness… We can’t allow her near our pure light now. Her presence would only cast a pall over it.”

****With the Rapunzel world there is the obvious similarity to what happened at Castle Oblivion with Namine and that she was too useful/important for Marluxia’s plans to release and was therefore kept imprisoned as a means of making her do what they told her to. 

Marluxia also seems to display that, once again I say, he operates under a very ‘for the greater good’ mindset.

Like I stated earlier, it is unclear if Marluxia himself is/was seeking the “balance” he mentioned. It’s possible, but there are reasons for and against this that come into play later, and by that I mean amnesia. 

-----

“So, why are you back?”

“Xehanort doesn’t care about you or me. To him, we’re nothing but empty husks. The old Organization was the same. Xehanort needs thirteen vessels to hold his essence.”

*This is a biggie, because even though I wouldn’t say it’s perfectly clear-- It’s saying Marluxia knew/knows what the old Organization was planning. This could be a reason for his plan to overthrow Xemnas, but OF COURSE they still didn’t tell us exactly why Marluxia started the rebellion or what his plans/motivations are. Marluxia is woke here. He knows what Xehanort’s plan is, now and then, and he’s telling Larxene for the first time.

ANOTHER THING they didn’t bother to tell us is why the hell Marluxia went along with Xehanort for this entire game.

“Saix brought Vexen on board. They must be planning to use replicas.”

“Vexen’s latest replicas are no mere puppets.. The Riku replica we used in Castle Oblivion was just a prototype. The next replica, the one crafted from Sora’s memories, was real enough to join our ranks.”

*He remembers Xion? Plothole detected?

“And Vexen claims the new ones will be human in every way. If he ever finishes them.”

“Oh… so /now/ it all comes back to me. *Laughs* Yes… My heart is remembering how to feel. And now, I am on the cusp of reclaiming my identity… My purpose for being…”

*********Amnesia confirmed? Marluxia didn’t remember his past (possibly) but at this fading moment, his memories start to come back, thus leading him to “remember how to feel”. He’s so close to remembering who he was and “his purpose for being”. Which is theorized/implied to be resurrecting/finding Strelitzia, his little sister.

Although I say amnesia confirmed, the confusing part about this is that when Xemnas is like, you four have a bigger purpose because of your big secret that you’re all ancient keyblade wielders-- I can’t tell if they’re like ‘How does he know?’ or surprised because WTF is he talking about, ancient keyblade legacy? Marluxia in particular just narrows his eyes. It could be his way of showing suspicion/surprise or it could be because Xemnas just spouted out his secret.

But this directly contradicts the Marluxia Amnesia moment when he’s fading away and says his memories are returning.

(Xemnas claims that the four of them have a special purpose, yet we never hear or see anything about that at all for the rest of the game -___- I guess the Norts were defeated before they could get to it? I wish I knew what their special purpose was supposed to be.)

Curse this series for being so unclear.

“Thanks to you, Sora.”

Marluxia had a real, positive laugh. And a real smile at the end. I never thought I’d see the day. Great moments. Likely overlooked by many, but to me I’m like, wow. Just think about everything about his character up until this point. He’s one of the most emotionless members of all the Org. I joke about him being dead inside or stone cold because of this, but he finally got to feel something when his memories came back to him, remembered feeling.

In the past games it was explained that even though Nobodies don’t have hearts, they have their memories and remember the feelings, but Marluxia with amnesia wouldn’t remember anything, no feelings at all- Couldn’t remember a time he ever felt anger, joy, or sadness.

And upon death he finally got to start remembering some things about his past and felt emotions- And to add tragedy into the mix, is starting to remember his “purpose for being” which has got to be about being Union Leader and Strelitzia’s murder, and his desire to find her and bring her back.

HOWEVER, rather than amnesia, it could be purely that he forgot how to feel specifically rather than forgot all his memories- and even though he remembered his past he didn’t care anymore/feel anything toward it because of the disconnect with his past self as Lauriam/not remembering how to feel.

HOWEVER, against the amnesia theory is that if Marluxia had amnesia, how would he and Larxene remember each other? Larxene is the one who says she was just along for the ride with him, and it seems like they remember their past together. I could be wrong though, maybe she is just referring to their time in the Org. specifically and they got along so well naturally because of their past even though neither remembers. But if Marluxia lost his memory and Larxene didn’t, you’d think she’d fill him in, unless she lost her memories too, which we got no indication of except MAYBE her reaction when Xemnas says they are ancient keyblade wielders. Unclear reactions in that scene, could go either way.

--------

***BIG THING. You can actually miss two cutscenes in the Final World if you don’t investigate every star, and one of them is theorized to be Strelitzia. It is only Namine’s star and this star who get their own cutscenes”

*Nameless star: Strelitzia?

Upon Sora asking if someone’s coming for her/to save her, she says:

“I cannot be certain. His heart’s been changed beyond recognition—his heart replaced with another’s.

“But, were he to regain his old self again, he would be distressed by my absence. So I choose to wait here, where he can find me.”

Sora asks what their name is so he can tell that person where she is if he ever comes across them, so the star floats up to Sora’s ear and whispers a name we cannot hear and says, “Our secret.”

It is thought that she must have said Lauriam if this is indeed Strelitzia, because if she said Marluxia you’d think Sora would FUCKING MENTION IT THE NEXT TIME HE SEES MAR. 

Also, like I said, you can miss this scene entirely (because I did lol as well as the Namine one). Because it’s an optional scene, naturally it isn’t going to be brought up again in the main story, so the thinking here is that she did not say Marluxia because Sora would have said something, therefore she would have had to say Lauriam. Further evidence of this being Strelitzia is that when asked if Heartless or Nobodies did this to her she says no, it was a somebody.

***MY GRIEVANCES:

- Marluxia’s COM actions remain unexplained. We do not know why he did the rebellion or what his motivations were, although now we can say that it is likely he probably knew about the vessel plan during that time.

- Marluxia’s boss fight got totally shafted. I AM glad that Lord of the Castle played, but I still wish the fight had been more MORE. Each of the characters only had like 3-4 moves they did. Marluxia and Larxene’s team attacks were cool though. I realize that this game/saga was about all the actual Xehanorts and BBS trio and yada yada so I knew Marluxia wouldn’t be at the forefront of anything too big or involved or have a big later game boss fight compared to the actual Norts.

- Why. Why. Why???? WHY? Why did Marluxia go along with Xehanort? They NEVER give an answer to this. Larxene does, but we don’t get anything about Marluxia in this game at all. It doesn’t make any sense for Marluxia’s character. Larxene and he even straight up talks about their rebellion and Larx is like want to do it again? Marluxia doesn’t answer because the scene continues on but we never go back to Marluxia after this.

The plot was all wrapped up pretty nicely, and then there’s THIS. 

This is what grinds my gears about Marluxia in KH3 the most. It never made sense why he would go along with being Nort and it still doesn’t make sense why he would. They didn’t even bother to try coming up with a reason.

Solution: It should have been Marluxia and Vexen who teamed up instead of Demyx. I mentioned this in my read more post where I talked about what a legend Vexen is. It would have solved the above problem and been believable, would have had a great dynamic between Marluxia and Vexen because of their past together and Vexen’s hatred, as well as the fact that Vexen himself is now a hypocrite rebel type :P And considering how easy it was for Vexen and Demyx to just leave without any consequences, why the fuck wouldn’t Marluxia?

The game doesn’t supply any answers. Honestly I think Nomura just wanted Marluxia to be be involved in the fight, and that’s the reason for this writing choice. And that’s it. 

The ONLY maybe acceptable reason for why Marluxia went along with it is because Xehanort had too strong an influence over him and he couldn’t. This is supported by Streltizia’s star(?) saying that “His heart’s been changed beyond recognition-- his heart replaced with another’s. But were he to regain his old self again he would be distressed by my absence”  

She’s saying that he’s not himself, and this also further supports the amnesia theory and him not remembering her.

((Reading the Secret Reports. The mystery girl can be either Skuld, Ava, or Strelitzia . I don’t think it’s Strelitzia however for obvious reasons. IE I think she is the Nameless Star/is ‘dead’. Also Xigbar has her apparently because she went with him when Ansem the Wise released her. 

Secret reports also confirm that Young Xehanort appeared to and took Vexen with him in Radiant Garden and that from the very beginning Vexen was planning betrayal/wanted to atone. He did it to gain easier access to his old replica stuff.) Secret reports also reveal that one of the Dandelion Leaders is a fake, a “virus”, IE Blaine 95%, and is attempting to allow the Five of them to escape into another worldline. AKA how Marluxia got to our time most likely. ALSO the report states that the girl remembers four friends and a keyblade. Strelitzia DOESN’T have friends/ has no four friends!

The mystery girl is either Ava or Skuld. Though it seems odd it would be Ava due to what Xigbar said in the epilogue about her not joining them, but I won’t write it off. This means Mystery Girl cannot be the Nameless Star btw because she is alive and was released/is said to be with Xigbar. Could be Skuld due to fact Xigbar says Blaine/Virus planned to send the five Union Leaders into a different world line, so Ventus, Lauriam, and Skuld wound up in ours.

Due to mystery girl (Skuld?) having amnesia and Ventus having amnesia, it makes sense for the Amnesia theory to hold true for Marluxia as well, since they all traveled to the future by the same means AKA something Blaine did.

Also want to point out that Nameless Star floats up and whispers in Sora’s ear like Marluxia does in KH2 data fight, which could be nothing, but it is an interesting similarity.

- THE FUTURE. A new chess board with Seven evil pieces, five being the old union leaders and xigbar (no ava), leaving two open spots. I REALLY HOPE they don’t throw Marluxia into yet another Organization baddie team.

Marluxia, Larx, Lux, and Demyx are almost certainly going to be involved in the next installment, particularly Marluxia as the old Union Leaders are returned and with Xigbar, and mainly the fact that Marluxia still has to bring Strelitzia back.

We’ll see what the future brings (In ten years), but that’s my thinking. The next installment seems heavily based on the MoM and the story/characters of Union X, so I think Marluxia has to be hugely involved because he is the most involved out of the four of them.

Pieces: Unicorn, Goat, Leopard, Snake, Heart with wings, Bear, and what seems to be a Fox(?)

In summary: We didn’t get any solid answers about Marluxia. We did get some small things, but they contradict each other, so it’s all unknown.

((I hope I didn’t forget a point somewhere but if so I will update the post))

[allysacademicadventures]

“I love you but I can’t accept this”: On Parental Challenging of a Child’s Trans Identity and How it is Unproductive and Harmful

On first coming out, and, unfortunately still, my mother was of the persuasion that this is not something she can accept, at least – at the very least – without challenging. She questioned why every authoritative source or guide on dealing with your child coming out as trans said that the first thing one must do is accept one’s own child as they are. She didn’t, and still can’t, understand why one must accept it without challenge, and I feel she is missing the point if she believes challenge doesn’t exist (she has and continues to challenge this at every opportunity, I think she doesn’t see why she should accept this), though I appreciate that the types of challenging of this identity change varying on the age of person.  I will discuss the effects and outcomes of challenging over affirmative parental behaviour towards their trans children at three different age intervals: young child (pre-puberty), young teenager (puberty), young adult (late puberty/post-puberty) [these are rough ambiguous categories to be taken with a pinch of salt and some of things are universally held between them]

If a young child identifies as trans, the parents’ priority should be the child’s health and wellness, and more often than not this should be managed through affirmation, social transition, and facilitating gender therapy; the challenging here comes from both therapy, where the gender therapist will be able to help the child understand their own feelings - there are many types of gender therapist and, as you are the parent, most likely it will be you choosing and you may choose one that aligns more with your thinking, and if the idea of a child being trans is unacceptable for the parent then they may seek someone that encourages repression over affirmation. However, what I would caution is that ‘reparative’ therapy prioritises the parents’ comfort over the child’s happiness, whereas, affirmative therapy works only to prioritise the child’s happiness and health - and allowing the child to explore their identity socially and psychologically with no real and tangible commitment to it. By allowing the identity to be lived by the child we are prioritising the child’s physical and psychological health. If we deny the identity of the child not only do we put them through unnecessary stress, but we also deny them the opportunity to experience, live, express, and either challenge or affirm their identity.

If someone in their early teenage years identifies as trans, once more the parents’ priority should be the teenager’s health and wellness throughout the turbulent time of puberty. At this point we should acknowledge that the young teenager has greater agency and understanding of how they identify, that is not to say that young children don’t, but it is to say that young teenagers have gone through the formative years of social understanding. If a parent wants to challenge this identity they should understand that if someone of this age is identifying in this way challenging will most likely not change any outcome, and their challenging and rejection of the identity is more likely to damage the young teenager over actually helping, though in a warped way parents may see rejection of the identity as a way of expressing care for the child, but once more rejection is prioritising the parents’ comfort over the child’s happiness and physical health. As we enter these important and turbulent years of puberty the parent must acknowledge the damage rejection of the identity could cause and mustn’t be surprised if their child suffers from poor mental health, reduces familial communication, reciprocates the rejection, or attempts suicide as these are the lived and protracted consequences of rejection. The ideal approach to a young teenager coming out as transgender would be socio-familiar affirmation of the identity and seeking an appropriate and affirming gender therapist to facilitate the medical intervention of puberty blocking hormones to facilitate a reversible exploration of their identity and prevent the pain of a dysphoric puberty. The effects of puberty blockers are reversible and give the young teenager more time to think about their identity, the effects of not intervening are, to be blunt, horrendous, not only does no intervention force a child to go through the psychologically damaging event of experiencing an unwanted puberty, but also increases their risks of experiencing violent crime when they transition as an adult as they are seen to transgress gender boundaries to a greater degree.

If a young adult identifies as trans, once more the parents’ priority should be to their child’s health and wellbeing, and at this point challenging the identity is nothing but futile as the young adult will have not only been thinking about this for a long time and come to a strong conviction in their identity but also may well have started the processes of coming out to friends to develop a support network who seek the happiness of the child and thus have some hard earnt social conviction on which to stand on. Challenging their very identity is fundamentally harmful, and if a parent is to continuously do this then they mustn’t be surprised when relationship with the child deteriorates or when the child is no longer in their life, either through leaving them through reciprocal rejection as an unaccepting home environment becomes unliveable and unbearable, or through suicide, in which, to be blunt, I would argue the parents become culpable in manslaughter for such abject familial rejection which leads to this. I am by no means saying parents should not ask questions of their child, which is in a very broad sense challenging the identity, as that allows the for the parents to understand the needs of their child and what they should do – that is if they are willing to prioritise their child’s happiness over their own comfort and way of thinking – but what I am saying is challenging which either begets or is intertwined with rejection, or anything which does not affirm their child’s identity, is the most ill-advised approach and I would contend that this, in a protracted sense, is equitable to abuse. The ideal reaction, naturally, is an acceptance and affirmation of their child’s identity, one which allows the child to take charge – as they are a young adult – and in which the parent is supportive of the journey their child chooses to take socially and medically.

Lastly, as there is a trend with some formerly authoritative – a polite way of saying now discredited – figures pedalling a pedagogy of gender variability in autistic people, if an autistic child comes out as trans, please see above for the best approach. It is ridiculous to believe that autism renders trans identity a rejectable variable to some, which, if the autism is supported, will go away; this is preposterous and there has been no compelling evidence to suggest the validity of this. Moreover, if a parent is to hope that their child is not trans, rather they have some other diagnosable issue which will, if ‘treated’ and/or supported, reduce the child’s performed gender variance, then they have a perverse hope. They have a hope in which their desired outcome is developmental difficulty on their child as they find that more comfortable than their child’s gender variance, and that is a perverse hope. Moreover, parents that use things like autism to simultaneously show the ‘source’ (obsessive tendencies leading to a fixation with gender) and invalidate a trans identity in a child, they are unlikely to be supportive of any special needs the child may have for autism, and I question both why they would have children and their own moralistic ground in which they stand as they use a developmental issue for their benefit, placing themselves before their child.

Overall, a parent should accept and affirm their child’s trans identity as it prioritises the child’s health, happiness, and wellbeing, it is, medically speaking, the most sensible approach, and it mitigates against the risks and damages rejection and aggressively challenging parental behaviour can cause. If parents want the happiness of their child, they must understand that by rejecting, dismissing, or aggressively challenging their child’s trans identity then they are telling their child, ‘yes, I want you to be happy, but only in a way that is palatable to me’. Although the parents’ love may target the authentic individuality of their child, the parent is telling the child that they love them, but they can only love them in an ‘ideal’ image of them which they have assigned to to the child (this is usually a preconceived notion of what you want your child to be and in this case lacks contingency and fluidity), and if the child cannot be that ideal the parent is thus telling the child that they are not loved, they are telling them that in order to have the parents’ love and support the parents get to define the child’s essence and it mustn’t vary from this preconceived vision they have, and in this circumstance the child sways from this vision and the parents’ notion of love will result in mutual damage. Thus, don’t ask your child to compromise for your own comfort or idealised vision of your child, rather accept and affirm your child, watch them blossom into happiness.

NB: I shouldn’t have to say this but please remember that not all experiences of trans youth, their households, familial relations, their development, and coming out are the same. This is representative of both lived, shared, and studied experience, primarily focusing on experiences in western Europe and North America, though some principles are universal, some remain contingent on a certain social context which I have experienced. If you feel anything needs added or omitted please let me know, and if you can add things more relevant to a different social space please do!

[widestares]

itchy head

11:00 a.m. //  23rd April

Yesterday was a sunny day. The kind of sunny that does not itch your head. After an outing with the gulmohar morning I sat down to bask in the afternoon sun and that was when it occurred to me that I had never lived my life fearlessly. I could not reminisce a single moment, in none of my adventures, in none of my mishaps, neither in the mistakes I chose to make, nor in the crimes I accuse myself of committing, nowhere was I ever completely purely open to life.

Never was I comfortable with life the way it is . . . with how it unfolds. I was always awkward, always overtly conscious to not pull the wrong string. It appears always a responsibility ghost had hovered over my head, always a set standard had existed for every minute activity of my life that I had to meet.

I realize I have always felt responsible for a multitude of things like the position of my parents in family power dynamics, the amount of pride in their lives,  like the level of contentment blooming in the living room and for the how much of its air stinks in disappointment. If the disappointment barometer was not at 0, it was all my fault. The responsibility was mine and solely mine to bear everyone was doing their parts except me. But how did it not occur to me that when I do not demand perfection in others’ doings I need not  take significant burden in mine either. Why did I take everything so seriously?

I felt responsible for things that are not generally associated with responsibility like how presentable I look because that was a compensation for not having been organically pretty. And that was important, it was important to look good, to not be shabby and greasy and sweaty; it was more than just how I looked to people, it was how I assumed that would make my mother feel. And I felt responsible for how she felt.

12:12 p.m.

2:29 p.m.

To conclude most of this thought war is my dissonance with the idea of “ambition”. I have hated it. I have never been compulsively competitive. I have never truly yearned to lead in spite of having naturally fallen into leadership roles most of my life. Ambitions, in its essence, did not really matter to me. Yet, it was one of the most significant feelings I grew up with. The desire, the need, to be successful, to have power and control and voice. It started when I was barely 5 but it started strong as it was a child’s idea of getting herself heard, that was all she wanted.

A decade later, here on this paper, I am still fighting myself; the self that has the stupidest, most bizarre, worthless ambitions and the most stringent standards of doing things all defined by societal conventions which I obviously cannot meet. And it is unfortunate that this self is what has had higher dominance in my life. It is the one that has been in control. Being aware and rationalizing adds all the more tragedy to it.

I often times catch myself wishing for the ability to live life simply, an ordinary life with ordinary goals. But I am ordinary so what’s stopping me from being that. Again, the same kid, the extraordinary kid, who had to do be the best, do everything extraordinarily and still feels shitty about life in the inability to do so anymore.

3:23 p.m.

But this is a wake up call. To truly let go of those bizarre ambitions. To stop fighting. To accept the ordinary. To walk barefoot. Live one day, one sunrise, one sunset at a time. I am here to witness the grandeur and the tenderness of this life. I am here.

[lizabethstucker]

Some of the Best from Tor.com 2019 Edition

This was a free collection on Amazon at the time that I stumbled across it while browsing science fiction selections.  While I’ve always liked both Tor and Baen publications, I was amazed by how very much I enjoyed almost every short story and novella in this collection. Such high quality, and some authors that have been added to my TBR list.  4.5 out of 5.

CURRENTLY FREE ON AMAZON AS OF THE DATE OF THIS POSTING!

“Deriving Life” by Elizabeth Bear

Marq Tames is contemplating suicide or becoming a Host, unable to cope with being alone again after their spouse dies.  Tenants bring many benefits, including being pain-free, living a bit longer, making better decisions for themselves.  Unfortunately the Tenants ultimately consume their Hosts.  Unlike most potential Hosts, Marq is healthy.  Wow.  A really detailed look at grief, cancer, loneliness, and the choices we might make for happiness.  Intense.  Could be triggering for some who are themselves dealing with grief.  4.5 out of 5.

“For He Can Creep” by Siobhan Carroll

The Great Jeoffry the Cat helps keep the demons away from the humans in the madhouse.  His favorite is the Poet who is trying to finish the most important Poem for God.  If only his creditors would leave him alone, stop pushing for the satiric content he once wrote.  Then Satan himself comes to speak with Jeoffry.  Satan deems the Poem to be out of favor style-wise, and not very good.  He wishes to have the Poet write him a poem, one that will drive religion out of the minds of the masses.  To do that, he needs to speak with the Poet without Jeoffry’s interference.  It is, as they say, a devil’s bargain.  Jeoffry may, for the first time since kittenhood, lose.  He must consider and consult.  The fact that this is based on a real poem written by Christopher Smart, who was incarcerated in St. Luke’s Hospital for Lunatics, circa 1763, adds an extra layer of interest and curiosity to the story.  Needless to say, I spent the evening researching the poet online.  3.5 out of 5.

“Beyond the El” by John Chu

Connor struggles to recreate his late mother's dumplings, never quite reaching that bit of perfection. He really doesn't need the stress of his cold abusive sister back in his life.  Although maybe he does.  Very low key.  The relationship between Nick and Connor was more interesting to me.  As to the use of magic to prepare foods, was it really necessary?  3 out of 5.

“Zeitgeber” by Greg Egan

Sam is searching for why his daughter Emma's sleep patterns are suddenly and radically off phase.  It isn't long until this issue with sleep cycles begin spreading throughout the world.  At first it was just puzzling and annoying.  Now there are more and more accidents and deaths.  Life moves on, people adjusting as best it can, with cures both fake and possible appearing.  

Truly fantastic tale.  Scary as well, especially considering how we are waiting for a cure for COVID-19 with trepidation and distrust of the very organizations, such as the CDC and FDA, that are supposed to protect us.  Add on top the discussion of just how much conformity society demands of us.  4 out of 5.

“One/Zero” by Kathleen Ann Gorrnan

The war made its way to Vida Zilan's home in Kurdistan, ending with her parents, aunt, and grandmother dead.  Now Vida is on the run with her three year old brother, traveling with other terrified and displaced children.  Mai Davidson has retired in Washington D.C. after years of helping with various issues through the agency she had given her life to, until her husband died and she began to look for something different.  Her life is becoming increasingly regulated as the AIs begin taking control of medicine and senior care and transportation, among other things.  Or are the SIs, the rumored super intelligent computers now moving out into the world?  Be careful what you wish for has always been what is said in regards to those who can grant wishes.  Perhaps with the right teachers, the right guides, the SIs can help fix the world for the children, with the assistance of the children.  If only, if only.  Magnificent look at how Hal might not be the villain of the piece.  After all, he just wanted to save both himself and his astronaut charges.  4.5 out of 5. 

“Skinner Box” by Carole Johnstone

A trip to Jupiter and back, scientists caught up in their personal cycle of pain and hatred, an engineer who brings some comfort and support.  And a Skinner box filled with nanites.  There are layers upon layers upon layers in this intense story of experimentation and conditioning, the cost of freedom and, ultimately, love.  In essence, there are three reveals.  The first was expected almost from the start.  The second was almost suspected after we met Boris.  But it was the third that, for me, saved the story from the coldness.  3.5 out of 5.

“The Song” by Erinn L. Kemper

The world is moving from beef to whale meat, expensive as it is, taking abandoned oil rigs and converting them to whale meat processing centers.  As the ecowarriors grow increasingly violent, killing those involved in killing the whales, the people on SeaRanch 18 are stranded without relief personnel.  One of the last new scientists to arrive is Suzanne who is staying the changes in communication patterns among the whales.  She tells Dan, a deep sea diver and welder, of attacks by the whales, how humpbacks and blues were congregating for the first time ever seen and apparently communicating.  Whales and dolphins are so very intelligent, yet humans think they can do whatever they want to them.  I don’t understand.  Needless to say, I was primed for this story.  I thought I was prepared, even hopeful.  But the ending was beyond tragic.  4 out of 5.

“Articulated Restraint” by Mary Robinette Kowal

(Lady Astronaut 1.5)  After an accident leads to a lunar rocket slammed into a space station and the airlock jammed, the moon’s astronauts must figure out how to rescue them before their air runs out.  First, they’ll need a plan of action and see if the plan can work on their mockup rocket.  They need a way to get them more oxygen and a way to get a life raft to the vehicle.  Complicating procedures is Ruby’s nasty ankle sprain, especially after she needs the foot restraint which requires her to twist her feet to get into position.  Something snaps, but she perseveres, unwilling to let her injury prevent the rescue of her friends.  In some ways this reminds me of old time science fiction, a neat adventure with threads of backstories I want to know more about, such as the Meteor and what’s going on back on Earth.  Luckily I discovered that this is part of a series, so there is a possibility of learning more.  Although I have a few other of Kowal’s works in my TBR pile (freebies back in the day), I hadn’t as yet read any of her works.  Definitely want to read more based on what I found here.  4.5 out of 5. 

“Painless” by Rich Larson

Mars is a child when he is first found by the men who have been searching for someone like him, a genetic mutation who cannot feel pain.  There’s an organism put inside his body, that can make him stronger and able to repair himself, even grow body parts back.  He is trained to be a soldier, a mercenary, a killer.  He yearns for freedom and someone to be his friend and family.  The story jumps a bit from present to past and back again. It took me a while to get into the author’s rhythm, but once I did it was well worth it.  I can see so many countries and organizations who would kill to have someone like Mars under their control.  Good read.  3.5 out of 5.

“Seonag and the Seawolves” by M. Evan MacGriogair

Seonag was considered strange almost from the moment she was born, but she still loved her homeland.  So much so that she hides when her parents make plans to sail to Canada, unable to afford the croft rent.  Once they leave her behind, Seonag goes to the town bard for help and advice.  She is told about the wolves that were driven out of Ireland.  He tells her to swim west until she can hear the wolves.  The advice is cruel, certain suicide.  Knowing all that, Seonag still decides to do so.  An old style story, a myth, a fable, a fairy tale.  A story about those who only want to belong, yet are different enough to be pushed to the sidelines.  Mystical and magical.  4 out of 5.

“Any Way the Wind Blows” by Seanan McGuire

The Cartography Corps explore and map the parallel universes in order to determine if any ever go missing at a future date.  In this Manhattan, they find an intact Flatiron building, but no killer pigeons in this universe, so win-win.  Then a group of locals ask to meet the Captain.  This should be a television series!  I’d watch each and every episode and cackle at the crew’s adventures.  The only thing I was disappointed by was the length.  It was too short.  4.5 out of 5.

“Blue Morphos in the Garden” by Lis Mitchell

Vivian does love Dash and Lily, their daughter, but she continues to refuse to marry him, unable to deal with what his family goes through upon death.  If she officially marries into the family, she will become a Karner in all ways.  When it appears that Viv may be dying, she will need to make a decision sooner than she had hoped.  Stay, but remain a terminal.  Marry and, once she dies, become something else.  Leave, with or without Dash and Lily.  There's a beauty to having one's death transform into something useful or beautiful or both.  Frankly, I don't understand Vivian's concerns about that.  4 out of 5.

“His Footsteps, Through Darkness and Light” by Mimi Mondal

Love comes in many forms, some never spoken out loud.  Binu had found a home and a job with the Majestic Oriental Circus.  He became a trapeze master, soon heading his own team.  He also continued playing Alladin in Shehzad Marid’s illusionist act.  He was happy and content.  Until he helped the wrong person.  There is so much hinted at and more left unsaid.  But it will always be known that Binu was a good man and a loyal friend.  Bittersweet, yet in that time and place, perhaps the happiest ending(?) one could hope for.  4 out of 5.

“Old Media” by Annalee Newitz

John was as free as he had ever been under his latest Master, a lady scientist who provided him franchise papers that granted him full rights within the city before she went into hiding.  Med, a fan of John's journal on Memeland, becomes his friend and roommate.  She is also a robot and professor, as well as the lady scientist's research partner in the project that caused the woman to flee.  John and Med try to navigate the idiosyncrasies of living among humans, both clueless and bigoted.  3.5 out of 5.

“More Real Than Him” by Silvia Park

Morgan Ito is working on her own robot, one that resembles her favorite actor who is currently doing his two years of military service.  This is the first story in the collection that I struggled with.  Frankly, it read like bad fanfiction, and I'm a fanfiction reader and writer.  I didn't like any characters except Stephen, but he was barely in the story.  I finally gave up, not caring what would happen to pretty much anyone.  DNF

“The Hundredth House Had No Walls” by Laurie Penny

The King of the country of Myth and Shadow is incredibly bored after five hundred years on the throne.  He does what any ruler does in his situation, he decides to travel incognito to the imaginary land of New York City.  There he runs into the Princess of Everywhere and Nowhere.  

I had a hard time at first dealing with random phrases, words, and letters made bold.  This was a strange story.  Once I got past the random bolds, I quite liked it.  Feminist overtones with a message about freedom and allowing each individual to write their own story.  3.5 out of 5.

“The Touches” by Brenda Peynado

Life is separated into clean and dirty.  Clean was living virtually, locked into a tiny cubicle from birth, cared for by an assigned robot, and hooked up to an all-encompassing system for hours at a time.  Dirty is the real world, filled with plagues and viruses and what the narrator calls filth.  Things get more complicated as robots glitch, an accident puts the narrator into quarantine, and a phone number leads to something scary.  There's a layer of disconnection due to a lack of physical contact that cannot be fulfilled by robot hugs and virtual touches.  Add to that the narrator's extreme fear of the dirty world.  She actually has counted the number of real physical touches in her life.  Very intense, more so during our current Pandemic and the separation of friends and family.  Also extremely weird.  I don't know what to say about this one, but I suspect it will linger in my memory for quite a while.  3.5 out of 5.

“Knowledgeable Creatures” by Christopher Rowe

Investigative dog Connolly Marsh is hired by human Professor Thomasina Swallow after she kills a coworker who was threatening blackmail.  Things become increasingly screwy.  The body is missing, the learned mouse who is also Sparrow's adopted father believes historical research into the history of knowledgeable creatures and humans shouldn't be forbidden, and Marsh can't make himself leave the case alone.  Huh.  Another strange story with a lot of dangling threads left behind and even more questions.  Yet this isn't a set-up for a longer story or even a series.  It is complete within itself, with a somewhat sad ending for one character.  Intriguing, almost a noir type of story.  Fantasy with just a touch of science fiction.  3 out of 5. 

“Blood is Another Word for Hunger” by Rivers Solomon

Anger boiled in the heart of fifteen year old slave, Sully.  When she heard that her master had been killed during a battle, she drugged all five of his family members, slicing their throats.  Her actions cause a rift in the etherworld, drawing Ziza to her.  Sully is a product of her life, the cruelty of her upbringing.  She may also hark back to a creature from the country of her ancestors.  Sully shouldn’t be a sympathetic character, but she is.  I wanted her to find, if not happiness, at least a form of peach.  And maybe she will with her revenants, especially Ziza.  Be aware that this isn’t an easy read by any means, but I found it surprisingly satisfying.  4.5 out of 5.

“The Last Voyage of Shidbladnir” by Karin Tidbeck

Saga learns the ship she serves on is a living creature who is outgrowing her shell of a high-rise building.  Saga and Novik, the engineer, are determined to save Skidbladnir from being sold for meat.  She needs a new shell, so they'll find her a new shell.  This gripped me the moment I realized Skidbladnir was alive.  I'm a sucker for stories like this.  So enchanting.  I wish it had been longer or had a sequel, but that is just me being greedy and not wanting to leave Saga, Novik, and Skidbladnir behind.  Lovely from start to finish.  4.5 out of 5. 

“Circus Girl, the Hunter, and Mirror Boy” by JY Yang

Lynette first saw Mirror Boy the night she was almost killed after fighting off a rapist when she was barely 16 years old.  After she survived, Lynette found a friend to unload her pain, her disappointments, and her dreams to the boy who appeared in place of her own reflection.  Once she left the circus she had grown up in and worked for, Lynette had never seen him again.  Until now.  The boy is worried that a serial killer is after her.  A perfect story for the month of October, with a wraith, a witch, and a supernatural hunter who made assumptions that led to so many innocent deaths.  An ending that, while I guess it might be coming, was also so satisfying.  4 out of 5

“Water:  A History by K. J. Kabza

The surveyors badly judged how compatible the colony of Isla would be for the humans who left Earth on a one-way trip there.  The colonists adjusted, but being outside too long led to cancer deaths during the early years.  Marie, in her 50s, is now the last person who has direct memories of Earth.  She has been extraordinarily lucky in that her frequent trips outside hadn’t led to an early death.  A younger colonist, born on Isla, longs to go outside as well.  She wants to smell the planet’s dirt and feel the breeze on her face.  Lian finds a friend and support in Marie.  But no one can expect the good times will last forever.  Deeply emotional and tragic, yet somewhat hopeful as well.  Yet the story needed more depth, more content.  Good, but not as good as many of the others in this collection, in my opinion.  3 out of 5.

“As the Last I May Know” by S. L. Huang

Nyma was just ten years old when she was selected to be the Carrier.  In order to impress the consequences of using seres on another country, the Order choses to hide the codes in the body of a child.  To obtain access, the President must personally kill the child Carrier and rip her heart open.  AS the enemy forces draw ever deeper into the country, Nyma waits.  Oh, this one was gut-wrenching.  Seriously gut-wrenching.  And yet, the logic behind the Order's idea was extremely logical.  Force the President to basically live with the child he must kill to get access to the seres that will kill millions, make it real.  And Otto Han is disgusted by the Order, but it is what it is.  Again, the idea makes sense, but that doesn't mean that it isn't horrifying.  Not to mention torturous for the child who must live with the idea that they can be killed at almost anytime in order to kill millions of other people.  4.5 out of 5.    

“The Time Invariance of Snow” by E. Lily Yu

When the Devil's mirror splinters, it enters the hearts and minds of mankind, spreading hate and violence despair and depression.  G and K are in love, but G is wary of the violence of men.  When K makes a comment on how he would kill her, she protests his cruelty.  He leaves.  Despite knowing how the story will end, G goes on a quest to save him from the Snow Queen.  

A subversion of fairy tales and a treatise on both them and the treatment of women.  I have to admit that I was annoyed by the use of footnotes in this fictional short story.  I barely tolerate them in non-fiction books.  That said, as I struggled on, once G and K came onto the scene it became an easier read.  I think I would've enjoyed this more if it had been expanded.  My least favorite in the collection, but still worth reading.  3 out of 5.

[renegadesrpg]

Dark Angels: Creation. Part 20, Consultations. Sin.

-Solo- As Declan and Celia go off to get her outfitted for her sojourn in the mortal world I went to tend my own preparations. Walking to the lanai, I kneel before a trunk and open it. Carefully, I remove a brazier and mat I have used countless times before. I need to speak with Freya, and as I am tired of the protests of my “bodyguards” over travel, I shall do it this way. I am loathe to ask her to come here. Unlike some gods, she prefers to remain in her realm. The disaster that saw the Ancients all but annihilated left its mark on both of us. That she left Asgard to walk the etheric plane to warn my lieutenants speaks to how distressed she was. I fear she will be even more so at the request I am about to make. As will Danu, Kali, and Bastet, but it is the only way, and as I wish to have this discussion only once, I will ask them all four to join me, in their fashion. We shall speak tonight on a different etheric plane, a psychic one that requires only our spirits to manifest. Unfortunately my mental ability to speak with others only is effective with the deceased, such as the reaper corps or my ghostly bodyguards, so asking for my former lovers’ attendance will require a bit of magic on my part. Mentally selecting the proper candles for this venture, I materialize them on the lanai. Three white candles scented with sage, rosemary and myrrh were placed in a semicircle. Sage, as I sought clarity and wisdom, both sorely needed if we are to win this war; rosemary as an aid to drawing me back to myself when the time comes; and myrrh to send me deep into the meditative state and consecrate this endeavor to purity of purpose. I place the brazier in the center and sink down onto the mat, crossing my legs fluidly and lighting the candles with a thought. For the spell I weave tonight I will need some special ingredients. Bowing my head, I call them to me. They appear neatly aligned on the floor in front of me. Vervain, to protect my spirit as I roam; Yarrow to increase my power in the other realm as I travel; dandelion root and lobelia to call them to the etheric plane; patchouli to remind them of our physical connection, copal resin to protect us all; pine to ground me to this realm and aid my return; and dragon’s blood resin to strengthen all the others. I place the sage in the round brazier and light it with a glance. The fragrant scent surrounds me as I begin the spell: “Goddesses Freya, Danu, Kali and Bast, I call to thee first and last Tonight we walk the paths of power Past, present and future hour, Former lovers and Goddesses four, Attend me before I go to war. On the psychic plane I await your presence Come to me in your essence.” One by one I add the herbs and resins to the brazier, the fire burning a little higher with each until only the Dragons Blood remains. Its addition causes a flare and I close my eyes and allow my soul to roam the dimensions until I find the level I am looking for. It is a gray, colorless world when I arrive, but as is its wont, it soon ascertains the place the person using it finds most peaceful, in this case, the beach in front of my Hawaiian home. Within seconds there is white sand extends all around me, the ocean waves gently lapping at the shore. The moon is setting on the water and the fragrance of the sea is in the air. I myself am sitting cross-legged on the sand in front of a fire, no longer in my black leathers and armed to the teeth, but rather shirtless and barefoot in my favorite board shorts. One by one the goddesses appear. Freya is the first, the statuesque blonde with the body of a Valkyrie appearing with a sword in her hand and a shield on her arm. As she realizes her surroundings, the sword and shield disappear and her wartime apparel is replaced by a blue bathing suit top and shorts. As she sits down on the other side of the fire from me Kali and Bastet come forth from the darkness. Kali’s long dark hair falls to her waist in a sheet of shimmering night and Bastet’s short thick black hair ruffles in the breeze. Much as Freya has done, they match their attire to the surroundings and take seats on the sand beside Freya. Danu is the last to arrive. Her auburn hair is bound in a long braid that trails down her back. She alone does not change. The voluptuous mother of the fae is at home in her long skirt and loose blouse. In acknowledgement of the sand, she bares her feet and then joins the other. Placing my hands together in prayer position, I bow my head to them. “Thank you for attending me this eve. I have much to tell you, to thank you for, and to ask.” Freya’s eyebrow rises, her blue eyes meeting mine. ‘We have been in touch with your lieutenants. We are aware you are laying plans and are assisting as we can.’ “And you have my thanks for it. The preparations are laid in your realms?” Kali answers first, ‘The word has gone out that a festival to celebrate the harvest will be held soon. All preparations have been made.’ ‘Anubis has made a palace ready for those who come to us. When the word comes that it has begun, they will be secure until an outcome is known.’ Bastet looks at me with sadness in her eyes. ‘It is the most I could persuade him to do. If you lose, I fear he will surrender all to the Horseman. I will try to get them away before that happens.’ “If Sin loses, we all lose,” Danu spits it out, angry that Anubis could be so blind. “This is not /about/ Sin. It’s not just about the Horseman’s fear of him or a corrupt God’s grudge against him. This is about a power-mad narcissist who would dominate all the worlds and all the paradises if he could instead of letting death be a natural passage way to the afterlives. This is about a fallen angel who is manipulating both the Horseman and the so-called White God in an attempt to overthrow the Creator and rule in his stead. And it will not /be/ the benevolent rule we have now. We will not be allowed to function as we were intended to, souls will not be allowed to pass to new lives nor to ascend. Souls have power. They will be consumed to keep Lucifer in control. And in the end, he will bring his war to all of us and we shall all fall!” She looks directly at me now, “Sin, Tir Nan Og is open to those who cannot hope to fight this scourge the Horseman has created. If you fall, they may fade into the forests and remain. Tir Nan Og, like Valhalla, will be among the last of realms to fall. Our wards are powerful and our warriors strong. But fall we shall in the end. You /must/ win.” I dip my head in acknowledgement of their words, “That is my intent. I vow my existence to achieving it. I will do it or die trying and if I die, I will take the Horseman with me.” Freya has been silent until now. “It would all work out much better if you did NOT die, Sin. There would be chaos and the power vacuum would leave Lucifer an opening. And,” she smiles softly, “it would make the four of us very sad.” She heaves a breath, and continues. “Now, you have not told us what you would ask, which is, I have no doubt, the actual reason you asked us here.” I bark out a laugh. “Freya, you do know me well. Although, I did wish to convey my thanks and to have the opportunity to say goodbye to you, should this go badly, there is indeed something I need, and only you can give it to me.” Her eyes cloud in suspicion. “Just what is it you need of me, Sin?” Taking a deep breath “Knowledge. I need you to tell me how to remove the Inguz rune from my soul.” And the protests erupt from all four of them simultaneously. I am not surprised. All know that the mark Freya placed on my soul is all that dams the Horseman’s connection to me. Without it he could find me in a matter of heartbeats and, though he owns not my soul, attempt to drain my power from me through the connection. Finally Freya shouts “QUIET!” As they subside, all glaring at me, she continues. “What madness have you come up with this time Sin? Putting it there was dangerous enough. The act of removing it would be no less painful and makes you vulnerable to him once again!” For a moment I focus on the fire, ordering my thoughts before I reply. “We are preparing a place to fight this war, Freya. But if we are to win, it /must/ be in this place. And I need bait to lure him and his minions into it. I am the bait. The only bait strong enough to draw both the Horsemen and his forces to one place. The rune works both ways. It blocks him from finding me and drawing off my power, but it also blocks me from doing the same. The moment it lifts I will reach out and begin to draw his power. He will be forced to come and as he is a coward, he will first send in his forces. When he continues to lose strength he will be forced to come himself. And then the trap will be sprung. We will have them all within our grasp if it goes as it should. Think of it. Over in one thrust. Victory in one pitched battle.” “And if you lose?” Her question comes quietly. “Then you all will have time to prepare to defend your lands as best you can. It is all I can offer. A drawn out guerilla war would only give the Horseman time to consume more souls and become more powerful and to create more of his band. Lucifer could become more open in his alliance and lend demons to the fight. This is the only way.” The others have grown silent as we spoke. Bastet worries and I can see Kali mentally ordering her strategy. Only Danu projects quiet confidence at me. “Sin…” Freya begins, then stops and begins again. “Sin, it can be done, but you cannot do it. You have power. You have magick. But you do not have enough of either. I’m not sure I do. But I will join you on your battlefield and attempt it at the appointed hour. Stop.” She lifts her hand as I begin to protest. “Your witch is powerful, as is your Gregori, but this is the power of a god. Your Gregori could attempt it with her help, as his magic is very akin to a god’s, but he will not be strong enough and besides, I suspect your battle plans do not call for him to be at your side. You will send someone for me when all is in place and I shall come.” Frowning, and once again mentally swearing at the stubbornness of women, “You will not stay. If I do not survive, your complicity cannot be hidden if you are seen there by the enemy.” She simply smiles serenely at me and say, “We shall see.” With that she rises, the others with her. As she turns to leave, she stops and looks back. “And Sin? The sooner, the better.” Giving me an enigmatic smile she vanishes. Kali and Bastet nod, as they shimmer away, leaving only Danu. She looks at me, her emotions in her eyes. “We’ve shared a great deal Sin. We’ve comforted each other in sorrow, we’ve saved one another’s behinds a time or two and we’ve laughed a great deal. We’ve been friends, then lovers, and finally friends again. And I regret none of it. It’s just sorry I am it’s come to this, but you always knew it would, didn’t you?” I bow my head to her, then meet her eyes. “I believe I did.” She nods. “As did I. The Fates laid plans for you that even the gods could not predict. The choices they gave you, the turns you took, even an Oracle could not have foreseen. Not unless they knew your character. But I did. And so did Freya. We two knew you had a destiny to fulfill. Do not let this battle be the end of it.” She takes the few steps around the fire to me as I rise to meet her and places a hand on my shoulder as she kisses my cheek. “Take care out there. And refuse help from no one.” Stepping back, she to fades away into the darkness. My hand goes to the cheek she had just kissed as I watch her disappear. I feel the weight of her farewell as I too let my spirit fly back to its physical body and come to myself. Rising, I walk to the edge of the lanai and look upon the sea so like the one my mind had created on the psychic plane. So much rides on the next steps. I cannot fail. #TBC

[sirestoffels97]

Can Bacterial Vaginosis Cause Ovary Pain Prodigious Cool Ideas

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Can Bacterial Vaginosis Cause Nerve Damage

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Bacterial Vaginosis Causes Cramps

Simply clean the mushroom thoroughly before using it.Hence, it is by using any type of treatment is sought as soon as you can be resolved by restoring the vaginal condition.You can also apply yogurt inside the vagina even the possibility that certain bacteria in the vaginal area, is because in most cases; bacterial vaginosis home remedy methods?The reason that the levels are all good places to start looking for bacterial vaginosis go away on its own without any intervention.Vaginal douching also increases your risk of infection.

Femanol happens to cause infection in matter of fact, these remedies and treatments, without having to spend a fortune on over the counter medication is proving to be one of the environment of the natural oils around the internet, these are indication of bacteria to thrive and serve to feed the bacteria.Both are effective ways to get through to the vagina.Many women out of nowhere or without evidence that untreated bacterial vaginosis with antibiotics and other strong foods should be no sugar or other synthetic items.First, take tea tree oil or the symptoms worsen immediately consult a doctor might prescribe are antibiotics.You do have another case of bacterial vaginosis and embarrassed to discuss with your sugar diet.

[nakedfullmonty-fr]

i rememebered i wrote this a month ago and never posted it like i intended to, so have some actual albiet vague lore in the form of one of the letters Temahae sends home to her father Kolya, in another clan

The package is a large wooden box, though it has been wrapped carefully with brown paper and string, and has been marked as fragile in several places. It is in great contrast to the accompanying letter, which is written on fine parchment, in an envelope sealed with wax. The letter's handwriting is elegant, but looks forced in places, much like some of the language used; a handwriting that was learnt, rather than a handwriting that forms naturally. It reads: 

Dearest Father, I hope this letter finds its way to you and mother, and I hope it finds you well. Regrettably, it’s been some time since I last wrote, and for that I can only apologise. I promise that I haven’t forgotten about you, I could never, but in recent times things in Ogygia have been…un-permitting. As it stands right now, I cannot share details on the recent events that I have borne witness to, but perhaps it is for the best. It seems the more I learn about the world, the less I wish to know. There are things out there that are the stuff of myths and legends and children’s cautionary tales alike, that surely should not exist, and yet they do, as if they simply walked right off the pages of whatever dark grimoire they were written into. I pray you do not encounter them. Nowadays I take the legends of the Wendigo Winters more seriously than ever. I suppose, more importantly, an update on myself is in order. I have stories, of things that have happened and the people I have met, that are far too numerous to fit into a mere letter. Over the years, Ogygia has continued to grow and grow at an astonishing pace, and just recently has found itself established as fully recognised city-state (Can you believe? Niet, a Queen, and myself, an illegitimate Princess!). For the most part it’s a pleasant place to live, although admittedly I mingle with the common clanfolk far less than I should, and dragons from all across Sornieth have found themselves drawn to it. As you, and mother, are still alive and recognised as my parents, I am not accepted as a true heir to Ogygia, but quite frankly I’m fine with that. High titles come with high responsibilities, and I am not afraid to admit that true royal life sounds like a complete bore that only serves to draw me away from my books. I have, however, found one particular duty that I will always gladly partake in. Though infrequent due to the small numbers of Ice dragon in Ogygia, occasionally it falls upon me to read the Preservation Recitations for those who partake in such religions even outside of our Flight boundaries. Even though I have not been to the Icefields since my childhood, it still fills me with pride to have the honour of filling such an important role within our culture. On that topic, if luck is on my side, then this letter should come with an accompanying parcel – please treat it carefully, it contains the bones of an Ogygia resident - named Jorlias - who, in the days prior to his death, asked that his bones be cleaned and sent back home to be preserved and buried where they belong; in the Icefields. If you would be so kind as to comply with this request, it would be greatly appreciated. My time in Ogygia has served my magic studies well – if not for my eyes, I doubt I would be distinguishable from the natives. The mixing of cultures within the city, and our various ties with other clans, has permitted that I learn the basics of Light magic, however such magic is so far removed from the Ice and Water magic that I’m familiar with, that I find progress is slow. I think perhaps this brings me to the true subject of this letter. After a great deal of self-reflection, I have come to realise that I have…settled. The Southern Icefields are my birthplace, but after living here for so long I know Ogygia is my home, it is where I belong. This is not new information, what is new to me is the realisation that I lament this fact. I left home with the goal of studying every form of magic Sornieth has to offer, for to do otherwise would be to squander the potential that I was so lucky to have been born with. I reached Ogygia very early on in my life, when I was still a child, and so perhaps stayed initially because I missed the warmth of company and family so far away from my home. For a time this worked for me, because Niet and Yastrebok were more than happy to tutor me in Water’s magic. But I had a plan. I’d always had a plan, even back then, to only spend a few years at most within one territory. To master the magic within and then move to the next, because the world is a big place and to study and master all magic I come across would take a lifetime even then. Except I became complacent, I discarded my plan and stayed because I loved these new people that I’d found, and I was happy. I understand that my existence in Ogygia is part of an allyship pact. I do not know the rules of such pact, but now, as an adult I am sure I am permitted to make my own way in this world. I have decided to move on from Ogygia. In truth, I am unsure of where I will go. The Sea of a Thousand Currents is a very central point, so any journey I undertake will be a lengthy one. Most likely I will travel North towards the Viridian Labyrinth, to study Nature’s magic, a logical next step considering its close ties to the magics of Ice and Water. That said, perhaps now is as good a time as any to take that long overdue trip back to the Icefields. It would be most lovely to be able to see you all in person again, and like I said, I have too many stories to fit into writing. I think perhaps what brought about this change in mind, is that I feel I am no longer happy. 

Midway through the letter, the text changes. A significant portion of the letter is not written in common, and instead switches to the native Ice script of Warden-Tongue. The elaborate handwriting and extensive vocabulary seem to vanish as it continues: 

It is most likely foolish and horribly irresponsible of me to share any of this with you, but you are my family, however distant, and I know I can trust you. In recent years, things in Ogygia have not been going well. The city itself and its citizens are fine for the most part, most are none the wiser, but up top, there are chips in the foundations. As I mentioned previously, I cannot currently share details on the exact events of recent times, but the most important takeaway is this: Lockheed, founding council member and head of Ogygia’s militia, has fallen heroically in battle. Mind you, she is not dead, not yet, but it is inevitable, and most unfortunate. She deserved a swift and painless death, not this. In a last attempt to save those involved, including myself, she reached within herself and tapped into the purest form of magical essence known to dragons – the soul. Such an act is rarely done, and as such there is little known of its effects and even less known on a cure. The major Gods we have reached out to have not responded, and the minor deities say it is something far beyond their power. She will die a hero, will be remembered as one, but this is not a death befitting of a paladin, a defender of good and protector of innocents. It is slow, and it is painful, for her and for us. Nowadays she is a bedridden, her sight is failing, and she sleeps more often than not – a blessing perhaps. When she wakes, she is no longer herself. Every day she loses her grip on her identity a little more. Her husband, Bermuda, does not leave her side, even though she has long forgotten him. Her wife, Magpie, has become bitter and angry, and spends most of her time on the hillside just past the gates of the city, watching only for the return of their daughter, Europa, who is away from home and blissfully unaware. Her other daughter, Io, has been doing her best to keep face as a military general herself, to hide the situation from the public, but the already aggressive flame inside her burns only brighter. It has been a long time since anyone has seen her son, Ganymede. Lockheed was as much an older sister and mentor to me as any other member of the Ogygian counsel, and to pretend that I am unphased by this would be a terrible lie. But it is not my time. I must hold my composure until her passing, because the city relies on its counsel. We must do our best to hold through the passing of one of our members, and the devastating grief of two more. We cannot afford to crumble. As the face of the city, Niet knows this, more than any of us. As her younger sister, figuratively, I can see through her well-practised straight face better than anyone. We have faced many losses through the years, but this is the first time loss has hit so close, and it has rattled her. Unfortunately, this is not the only dilemma she faces, and as things continue to pile up my worry increases. The military has a strong but generally positive presence in Ogygia – We are small, with enemies on all sides, so we value those who defend us. Sooner or later the public must learn of Lockheed’s fate, and without a doubt it will cause unrest among the people. The hints of civil unrest are already taking root in some places. As a primarily Water based society, we are no stranger to prophecies, especially ones pertaining to death and doom, but these are easily dismissed as misinterpretations of visions, or simple scams. But recently, more and more prophets have been making themselves heard, all calling on the same vision – That there is a great beast in a deep slumber, but soon it will awaken and drag Ogygia to its blackened fate. I know not what it means, nor if I believe it, but it is become harder to ignore, and soon people will want answers. Yastrebok, Niet’s mate, has been riddled with similar prophecies for all the years I’ve known him, to add to the mystery. But the people of Ogygia will not turn to him, they will turn to Niet. The people have no faith in Yastrebok – the Absent King, they call him – and for good reason. Yastrebok has always had the awful habit of simply vanishing at times. Years and years ago, it’d only be for a day or so, but as time goes on his trips become longer and more frequent and now he disappears for weeks on end. When he returns he says he remembers nothing of where he goes or what he does. I’ve attempted to use Water magic to scry on him, to find where he goes or to tell if he lies, but every time I find my power blocked, whether it be by him or some external force. It puts a strain on their relationship. Niet mourns the loss in private, but when he returns, they no longer have civil words for one another, they just fight. Mostly verbally, sometimes physically. In the old days, when I was young and they loved each other, when they disagreed they would spar their frustrations away until they were tired, and then they would lie in the golden wheat fields and talk until it was better. Now they just fight for hours and hours, and then go their separate ways without a word. Niet confessed something to me recently, a grave something, that she said she has never spoke a word of to anyone else before. I will not share it, I cannot, but knowing that and then looking at the problems she faces now fills me with dread. I have no doubt that she is strong, but everyone has a limit, and I worry she will reach hers soon. I worry what will happen to her, to the counsel, to the city, when she does. Please forgive me, Father, for unloading this unto you. I know it is not your cross to bear, and most of this means little to you. Now that I think about it, I’m unsure why I felt the need to write it all down to begin with. Perhaps I just needed to share it with someone. Yes, I think I’ve found it a little cathartic, my heart feels just a little lighter now. Previously I shared things like this with my younger sister Ricin, but she feels the stress as much as I do, and her mental health is deteriorating. In all good conscience, I cannot burden her with this. If I can ask you of this, Father, once you have read this letter, and shared it with Mother, I request that you burn it. Or, if you simply must keep it, you ink out the parts pertaining to the inner workings of Ogygia. It is foolish of me to have written it at all, but it would be disastrous if our political weaknesses were made public, even in the Icefields so far away. We are small, now more than ever, and cannot afford more enemies in this state. I trust you to do this, and thank you Father. 

Once more the text changes, and for the last few lines the text reverts once more back to common, and elaborate writing and vernacular return: 

I understand that one clan leader such as yourself would find yourself terribly busy, but if you ever find yourself with but a spare moment, if it is not too much trouble, perhaps you could write back to me? I feel selfish to have written so much about myself – Truly, I would love to know how you and Mother fare back home, and in what endeavours my siblings, Lyudmila, Faris and Tsvetanka find themselves in. And if you could, please tell them that they too are welcome to write to me, or to come and visit any time. As I mentioned previously, if at all possible, I wouldn’t hesitate to return home, under the knowledge that you have the availability of course. I am unsure of when exactly I plan to vacate my home in Ogygia; it will not be an easy feat, and my heart will undoubtedly be heavy, heavier than it’s ever been. However, once the deed is done, and I find myself on the road once more, I’m sure that through various couriers I will find myself able to write and send more letters, for I truly regret my lack of recent contact. Oh, and one more thing, if you could keep this part a secret Father, but I have found that for a Fae, I have grown rather tall, and I will admit I’m somewhat proud of it. It has been so long since I’ve seen you, I would love to keep it as a surprise for Mother. Ever yours, Temahae

[sidpah]

Sutra of the Magick Kingdom Part 3 – Turmoil and Socialization

1.

I crave for everything to be as it once was when I ate to gluttonous satisfaction and felt neither sickness nor guilt, when vacation meant retreat from responsibility. When each realization of waking proved a wonder to still be here in the land of contentment and autonomous youth.  There’re no more vacations. There’s only one life – one consistent set of factors transposed over a colorfully lurid backdrop.  I cannot escape my karma.  

“Discontent is the first necessity of progress,” said Edison.  “If necessity is the mother of invention, discontent is the father of progress,” said David Rockefeller. But it needn’t be this kind of progress. Rather the mother of spiritual yearning.  All things are in their right place and all people need just what they have. The symptoms are themselves, cure for our ills. If we can only recognize them. These are my most valuable souvenirs...  

2.

It was merely my suppressed aspirations for romance and a fairy tale future, a myopic life with dream wife who had no personality or will distinct from my own.  A half-mill dream mansion with studio in which to record my award-winning compositions for happily ever after.  In this fantasy I never age, there are no bills, no illnesses, no injuries, no quarrels, no politics or society, none of the simple but sad growing apart that real people always do.  No accidental pregnancies, no prostate cancer, wrinkles or colostomy bags. Just the certainty that it was my fate. That these years were simply preparation for the spectacle.  

Part of the Magic was music. The internal metronome wound down, gears stripped silent by theory and repetition. There’s no more music left in me. It’s all just muscle memory and fading echoes. Repeating fragments of melody, humming lonely cadenzas to hear themselves one last time.  To reminisce the years when they were fresh and vital. To prove to themselves their own waning validity. Rather than humor them, put an end to this roving mind!  Put an end to this callused body!

The essence of each microbeing is the same as the macro comprised of the myriad micros.  

3.

Fast rides, puffy steam train smoke, hangliding toes snapping twigs off tops of animated trees. Arms so full of fluid they split where the seams would be. Parents touching their vacant ghost.  Digging for reassurance; bleeding the anemic hole. Finding a response I don’t know to look for.  Dead-burden cleaving them in two, faces splitting at cheekbone and temple to reveal sad withered mask.

I misread the girl’s love for her frail big sister. Her joy in relieving an ounce of her parents’ load. The joy in her mitzvah. The near car crash, side-swipe, airplane falling through bible-belt homestead roof. Does she wonder why she escaped? Does her big sis wonder why she’s the one confined to her battery chair? Why her sister walks on skinny little candycane legs? Did one nearly drown in the amniotic bath? The sea of vacant wonder?  

Amphibious mermaids, pulling rabid souls under the skin of American streets, grilled on American barbeques, shredded on American teeth, digested in American acid, American nitrates reborn as footlong tumors, thick as 70s porno cock, undigested in capped, false-front porcelain dental work paid for by America’s favorite guilty pleasure – the new American pastime – jerking-off in a dark basement wishing you were the specimen of male virility glorified on your strident television set.  Scarred starlets bowing to your immensity in all its muttony prowess. You are god to her dakini – you are sultan to her concubine – you are slave master to her field-working back striped with discipline. A lasting record of her misconduct.  

White spires or antennae of blinking scepters in the murk, ladders to an A-Frame heaven. The baby sleeps under canopy and rolls herself to her vacant room.  The pageant docked for the evening…

Against the pale reflections of battalions, cadets and generals presenting arms and flashing with pinpoint spotlight accuracy at the switchboard operator’s command, socks brown and thick with sloppy mud.  Ears filled with foghorns blasting brain pulp from the inside out. Helmet cracks down its seam and falls impotent on the tarmac.  

Castle covered in chameleon skin shimmering with pixie dust spells an adolescent dream.  These families remind me of fatherly arms around meager shoulders. “I think most of the ones in that category are unbalanced anyway.” Balance is a mirage. Static crackles and EMTs on the verge of their own private heart attacks unclasp chains and plastic pressure straps.  I have my broom and smiling Hispanic gentleman on a rolling wastebasket wiling away the evening passing pleasantries with strangers.  

Two rolling tongues nearly entwined in empty hallways.  I’m taking sides again.  I don’t care about being right. I care only about the other person, the antagonistic person, being debased.  Being shot down and struck impotent.  

Why does every corridor of recollection bring me to conflict and confrontation when those are the things I despise most? The picturesque scenery is epic, finding myself contemplating the explosion of a distant hotel, filling the horizon with dust and severed heads – Air pressure due to the acceleration of an incoming monorail blew out every window and imploded each unfortunate eardrum deafening the best technicians in the world.

4.

A nondescript woman stalks a small vending machine… No one’s around to see her… coin relinquished to slot – Ratchet grinds – Belly swells… Candy-coated babies emerge?

 5.

I dropped a penny.  Stamped down to end its roll but glared up at me tails. Shit luck.  Better to turn it around before it gets maleficent. Picked up the bad-luck coin and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger, sinking all my negative evil energy into the copper face. Then to cast a pure spell, I transmuted all that negativity into good luck, and left the penny on a counter heads-up for someone in need of a miracle.  As so many of us here are. Who would hope to find such an oasis in a hospital?

6.        

Today I became a brethren Muslim simply by donning a new hat. Funny the power of accessories. No hat and everyone mistakes me for Jew. Add a kufi and even Muslims bow to me with reverent “Salaam.”

7.

Only for a second could he understand his own inner monologue. Adding conscious subtext is like typing a story on canvas and then painting over it in hopes of subliminally catching the observer’s imagination.

These curls and slashes are positively meaningless. Not only to any non-English speaking personality, but even to many of the “White Picket Fence” persuasion. For the droll dripping structure is the antithesis of clear iconoclasty. It’s anarchy due to the love of personal back-story. No one else could tell your story but you can interpret it like me and you, and all who encounter the fleeting tale. Drop anchor and battle in its delicious warmth. Cinnamon flatbread warmth. Toasted almonds tossed with sugar and cardamom.

 8.

Riding bus – near window – vacancy on my right. Thirty, forty bodies file in, very few stand out in my eye. Consider rising to give a broken couple my seat, and with it, a fleeting chance at togetherness, when a young thing in black dress, both low and high at the correct ends, slides in at my side. With a flutter I’m not proud of, I opt to stay my ground and enjoy the ride.

Not ten seconds later, the good Samaritan she turns out to be, drifts to the rear to make room for a large mass of woman, a great gristly bursting mountain of human skin. My hopes dashed even before they’d fully formed. I sulk, squishing against the glass, hoping the bus driver is on amphetamines.

A few minutes into the ride the woman resurrects the age-old ice-cracker – “Where are you from?” By accent, I’m informed she’s not a local. I respond congenially and return the serve. “Wales” she answers. Her hubby emerges from the shadow of the rear stairwell. He introduces himself with a similar tongue.

In truth, it was a wonderful conversation I likely never would have managed with the pretty thing who was kind enough to do that which I wasn’t. Her and I would have shared little more than awkward silence in the intermittent lamp-lit dark. Trying not to touch one another’s arm, lest it be misconstrued, or lay our hands on the same inch of seat, and not breathe too loudly or throatily or fart or sneeze or snort or let our stomachs groan. Or maybe only I would worry about those things while she remained entirely unaware of the horny specter to her left.

[urbanpaints-blog]

Pipilotti Rist: Pixel Forest, The New Museum, Marilyn Minter: Pretty/Dirty, at the Brooklyn Museum

REVIEW 

by: Noel Caban - Art Criticism, Professor Kaneda – 112816

Pipilotti Rist: Pixel Forest, The New Museum

Pipilotti Rist was born 1962 as Elisabeth Charlotte in Grabs, a municipality located in the foothills of the Rhine Valley in Switzerland. The artist currently lives and works in Zurich, and according to the New Museum, this is the first full survey of her work in New York City. The Pixel Forest exhibit spans three floors of the New Museum presenting the viewer with a series of immersive exhibits and displays that allow the audience to momentarily lose themselves in the visceral and visual power of Rist's work. The artist's installations employ a variety of media, digital and analog, with generous use of videos, projections, and music. The artist’s work is composed of colorful, textured, kaleidoscopic worlds that engulf viewers with sight and sound. By projecting video into vast dark spaces, Rist's staged environments invite the viewer to engage with her work, by walking into it, peering up or down, or kneeling over it. 

My first encounter with the artist's work was on the 4th floor of the New Museum. Mildness (2016), is by far the largest and most ambitious work in the entire show. The installation captured my immediate attention, as the spectacle of seeing dozens of bodies strewn on beds, and floor across a cavernous dark room was ominous and inviting. I suspended disbelief, removed my shoes, and found a spot on a bed. Within a few minutes, two strangers laid down next to me. My awareness of their proximity was uncanny; I think that was Rist's intention. I focused on the visuals and the soundtrack and felt the weight of my body shift, and gently drift. The sensations that the work created were palpable, and closing my eyes added to my feeling of drift through time and space.

15 minutes later, I found myself touring the rest of the exhibition, comparing and contrasting Mildness (2016) against the other installations like Pixelwald - Pixel Forest (2016), Mutaflor (1996), and Massachusetts Chandelier (2010).

Pixelwald - Pixel Forest (2016), is the second largest installation in the show. In this part of the exhibit, a cascade of crystal shaped lights hang from the ceiling and surround the viewer with a soft, colorful, undulating light. The effect is quite beautiful, as the viewer is bathed in a glow of lights into what feels like the branches or roots a giant Christmas tree. Impulsively, I ruined the moment and pulled out my phone, too a selfy and posted. Mutaflor, (1996) was also conceptually engaging, as the implications of using medical photography to explore the innards of the body from one opening to the other are perversely voyeuristic. In comparison to Rist's use of technology, projections, and sound, Massachusetts Chandelier (2010), located in the adjacent gallery, was quiet and subdued. This sculptural work affixed to the museums ceiling sported a variety of underwear upon which the artist projected her images. An incandescent bulb inside the structure felt anachronistic, given the mix of technology driving this show. If there was a broader context in this sculpture, it was quickly lost on me, as crowds made it almost impossible to engage with this work in any intimate way. 

Rist's aesthetic plays in the innocent space of possibility and wonder, and while this artist's world does not use the obvious sexual trappings and conventions of Marilyn Minter, Rist's work is colorful, lush and speaks to a coolly detached sensuality. 

The artist's reliance on technology to accomplish her work put these works in a different class of their own, as a viewer, I am confused as to how some of these works should be seen and judged. Are they art or are they entertainment? Rist tells us in an interview with Kenneth Baker of the San Francisco Gate: "I call everything entertainment when, after you've seen it, you say it was good to have spent time with it," Rist continues: "For me, it is not connected with production rules. I feel more on the side of the consumer, more on the side of the TV watcher than on the side of the producer. I think it's important that artists use something as pervasive as video and use it for other purposes”. (1)

As I think about Rist's comments, my mind reels at the current condition of criticism that facilitates the ease with which an artist uses marketing speak and business consumer language when referring to their work. For me the entire mythos and construct of what the artist has created, is put into question, as I wonder; are we looking at an MTV production, or is there something more?

As the voice of pop culture, MTV puts it: “To even contemplate the distinction between “video art” and “music videos” within Rist’s career feels silly these days… The line between the two forms is a distraction from what Rist and so many artists strive to do now: for a brief moment, create and immerse people in a small, musical universe“. (2)

Like Minter, Rist uses the apparatus of marketing, production, and technology to re-enact, stage and shape her work. However, unlike Minter, Rist’s images and presentations obscure the reliance on the instruments of technology, as we are instantly sucked in by the hypnotic spectacle and razzle-dazzle of the production.

The tools, digital devices, software, projectors, cell phones, blue screens, LED’s, and cameras needed to transform architectural space into dreamlike environments are substantial. Coupled with the enhancement of the work by hypnotic musical scores, and you've got a persistent reminder of how interdependent Rist's aesthetic (and for that matter the needs of the representing institution) is on the objects of technological control.

In this way I sense, Rist's themes of freedom, carefree sensuality, unencumbered dreamlike worlds are subverted and conditioned by the reliance and dependence on technology, and a spectators awareness that without the technical infrastructure to support these works, the show won’t go on. 

Marilyn Minter: Pretty/Dirty, at the Brooklyn Museum

On a different note: If there is a natural way to transition into a review of Marilyn Minter's work, I am still searching for it. Marilyn Minter works now on display at the Brooklyn Museum are a kind of a circus sideshow, the works and subject matter in this show left me empty, on a sugar high and a little queasy.

If Rist's works made me feel a sense of isolation and remoteness at how existentially alone we are in this dark universe, Minter confirmed for me the cruelty, superficiality, and shallowness of work whose essence skims and delights in presenting the artifice of the multi-billion dollar beauty industry.

While the following interview is not part of the Brooklyn Museums restaging of Minter's work, I believe it adds a level of discourse and dialogue to the exhibition, as a way to contextualize the fits and stops, the quirks and jumps of this work.

The artist describes the reception of her early student work, Coral Ridge Towers, (1969) which prominently headlines the Pretty/Dirty show.  

Minter recounts: “My mother was a drug addict. She never really left the house and almost always wore a nightgown. Once in a while, she’d lunch with friends at the club, but she rarely went out more than once or twice a week. I have high school friends who told me, years later, that they never saw my mother in anything but a nightgown.” (3)

If were a child psychologist, this passage would be a minefield of therapeutic work. If you are a parent, it begs the question what were the influences, personal experiences, and catharsis that drove Minter’s artistic and creative decisions during her career?

Minter appears blinded by her relationship with her mother that she cannot see what others her age saw in the pained photographic expressions of her mother’s condition in the Coral Ridge Towers photographs.

She recounts: “Waves of shame came over me. I kept wondering: what do you see that I don’t see? My mother was definitely not June Cleaver, but nobodies was. June Cleaver was a figment of somebody’s imagination”. (4) 

As I worked my way into Minter's exhibition, the transitions began to unfold, the subject matter became shallower, like the moiré patterns on the comic strip painting, Big Girls, (1985), and her interest and obsession with linoleum floor tiles.

The copy on the Brooklyn Museum’s exhibit paints a historically different picture, as in, “… linoleum tiles representing domesticity, and a site of traditional women’s work, or the unrecognized labor and its everyday details”.(5) Like all historical revisionism, I sense the museums attempt at signification and meaning in this early work, when quite simply this work suggests that Minter was and is, an obsessive-compulsive painter (how else can one explain the tedium necessary to cover a painting in black moiré patterns). Unfortunately, this ground has already been covered by Lichtenstein, and in the case of the floor tiles paintings, Minter may have found a visual problem with a built-in grid system that she enjoyed, and pursued it until she got what she needed out of it. I understand this description does not sound as rich and laden with meaning as the curators' statement of the work, but how else can one explain the next set of work transitions to the subject matter of penises and vaginas followed by the 100 food porn series?

One of the descriptions I found on Minter’s work recounts that Minter “…wasn’t embraced by feminists in the ‘80s. She was rejected by the art world as unserious, rejected by the fashion world as too grotesque, and rejected by feminists for her portrayal of pleasures that might be considered oppressive or unsavory.” (6) That must have been difficult for an artist whose work embodies the supreme use of sign painting technique, coupled with cropped close-ups of female body parts.

If Minter’s early works had the critical rigor, they should have been acknowledged, not because she is a “female,” or a “feminist artist,” but because the work had criticality. So, it begs the question what has changed, does the web make this work passé or less risqué? And if that is the case, does it belong in a museum?

How does one address a body of work where the language and form are about the multi-billion dollar glamor industry? How do you step outside of your comfort zone and address questions of consumption and material excess? I am guilty and party to this work. I have supported it and encouraged it by my obsessions with looks and clothing. And as parent desiring my daughter or wife to look pretty, dress up and put on makeup.

This is the conundrum I have with Minters work as she forces me to confront these questions head-on, and either be repulsed or engaged by the excess of what I see.

According to Minter, this is what I am supposed to feel, as she told Ms. Parul Sehgal of the New York Times last summer: “I’m not trying to define or criticize culture, I’m trying to make you feel all these things when you look - the pleasure of looking but also the shame, because you want to look even though the images make you hate yourself.” (7)

So, as someone who gives a shit, I’ll ask the question, does the exposure to this work improve our understanding of ourselves, and our relations to each other, or does it alienate us further from each other by appealing to our basest of instincts? And if this is in fact what is happening, where do we go from here, does the evolution of Minter's work take us further into darker and unsavory aspects of the human condition, or will this work perpetually stay in this mode as its highest form of expression?

Has Minter's work elevated the dialogue for women in America, or has Minter, like so many others cashed in and let the markets determine the worth of her output by glorifying, and exploiting the very things that keep women subservient to patriarchal power?

I don't have a clear answer on this, but as one wise feminist said not so long ago: “The point is not for women simply to take power out of men’s hands since that wouldn’t change anything about the world. It’s a question precisely of destroying that notion of power.” (8)  

 In a way, Minter is doing just that.

Notes:

1.     Article: Some say Pipilotti Rist's video works are too close to MTV. That won't stop her from crossing boundaries, by Kenneth Baker, http://www.sfgate.com/entertainment/article/Some-say-Pipilotti-Rist-s-video-works-are-too-2786412.php

2.     http://www.mtv.com/news/2957119/pippilotti-rist-new-museum BEYONCE FANS WILL LOVE PIPILOTTI RIST’S REVOLUTIONARY ART, (aka), PIPILOTTI RIST’S REVOLUTIONARY GAZE, THE SWISS FEMINIST VIDEO ARTIST’S IMMERSIVE POP-MUSIC AESTHETIC HAS ALWAYS BEEN AHEAD OF ITS TIME, by HAZEL CILLS,  

3.     http://www.americansuburbx.com/2014/12/marilyn-minter-coral-ridge-towers.html,              by The ASX Team on December 20, 2014. “My mother was a drug addict. She never really left the house and almost always wore a nightgown. Once in a while, she’d lunch with friends at the club, but she rarely went out more than once or twice a week. I have high school friends who told me, years later, that they never saw my mother in anything but a nightgown.”

4.     http://www.americansuburbx.com/2014/12/marilyn-minter-coral-ridge-towers.html               by the ASX Team on December 20, 2014. “Waves of shame came over me. I kept wondering: what do you see that I don’t see? My mother was definitely not June Cleaver, but nobodies were. June Cleaver was a figment of somebody’s imagination.”

5.     The Brooklyn Museum, Clay Polaroid, Curators Notes: The linoleum floors and spills suggest the domestic spaces-the site of traditional women’s work. Minter’s meticulous representation asks the viewer to consider this under-recognized labor and its everyday details.  

6.     http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/28/books/review/marilyn-minter-pretty-dirty.html Marilyn Minter: Pretty/Dirty’ by PARUL SEHGAL, JUNE 25, 2015

7.     http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/28/books/review/marilyn-minter-pretty-dirty.html Marilyn Minter: Pretty/Dirty’ by PARUL SEHGAL, JUNE 25, 2015

8.     http://sites.dartmouth.edu/brison/files/2014/09/B.9.-Beauvoir-Essay-and-Interview.pdf The Cambridge Companion to Simone De Beauvoir, Chapter 9, Beauvoir and Feminism: Interview and Reflections. Interview with Susan J. Brison