#what matters is the divide between my perception of myself and others perception of me and how the two clash

[wolverinedoctorwho]

when people tell me i'm pretty - vent poem

when people tell me i'm pretty i think we're looking at two different people.

when people tell me i'm pretty i think they couldn't possibly mean me. they mean the idea of me in their head. they mean the me that comes out of my mouth, my traits, my personality. i'm funny enough that they find me attractive.

when people tell me i'm pretty i think they're looking at me from a completely different angle. like watching a show on a monitor where the colors are more vibrant than they should be.

even on the days when i feel pretty, i couldn't tell you what features of mine are actually desirable. undesirable, sure. i wish i was in better shape, i wish my hair wasn't a mess all the time, i wish my face didn't just look "wrong" in photos without great lighting and effort.

when i wear skirts i feel the least feminine i've ever been. when i try to do my own makeup i feel like the kid in the movies everyone made fun of for putting on his mom's dresses. i feel like someone trying to do what's expected of them, and failing, miserably.

when people tell me i'm pretty, i want to tell them they're wrong. i want to tell them they don't have to say that, that it's ok for me not to be pretty, that it's fine if i'm average at best. i want to tell them it hurts more to hear that than it would to just not talk about my body ever.

whenever i dress up and try to do my own makeup i feel like the ugliest person alive, and when people tell me i look pretty that way or smile and compliment me on stepping out of my comfort zone i want to cry. why are they so invested in me getting a passing grade in gender expression?

when people tell me i'm pretty, i wonder why it bothers me so much. is there another word that would suit me better? or is it simply my own anxiety and dislike of my body that makes me uncomfortable? is it because growing up i was never remarked on positively, only chastised by my mother for my messy hair and my stretch-marked thighs and my small chest and my stomach that sticks out no matter what i do? is it because nobody my age ever told me i was pretty, only old people who would have said that to me no matter what?

my ex-boyfriend used to call me sexy. we'd be in his bathroom, nude in front of the mirror, and he'd smother me with compliments, and i would stare at myself in the mirror and wonder what he saw that i didn't. it's hard to leave a bad relationship when they're the only one who's ever found you sexy.

when people tell me i'm pretty, i wish for a moment that we could swap. that i could see the girl they think is so pretty, and they could see the me that i think is not. maybe then we would understand each other. maybe then i'd *get it*. maybe i'd think she's pretty, too.

when people tell me i'm pretty, i smile, and i thank them. like you're supposed to do when someone compliments you.

and then i change the subject.

[checkmatein3moves]

noir // halloween?

"Just call me useless and inept and an idiot for doing this to myself. Please do it. I want to hear it from the mouth of someone smarter than me. I'll feel better."

"I may be smarter than you, but you're underestimating your own superior deprecation ability," Raven says, annoyingly.

Noir glares at him, mouth a hard line. "I am not. I would never. Thank you for acknowledging one of my few talents, though. Even if it's not what I asked for."

His assistant only looks up through his eyelashes, not moving his head while he types away at an email. "Insulting you is not what you're paying me for. The more miserable you are, the more abominable the vibes in this cage with you."

He does have a point. Noir's office is a single room on a busy floor in a building owned by the president, thus it is surrounded by hundreds of others who believe they can build their own empire.

It's not their fault. They buy what they're sold. And he'd be hypocritical to judge, he's buying into the same delusion to cope. Raven's intelligence and dedication are all but wasted on him but the difference between Noir and the rest of the ants in the nest is the salary he can afford to pay his help. A fancy office would be naught but a corporate tomb for someone like him, a pretty place to sink.

Really. The office is the least of his reasons to be miserable. He'd never share such a pitying sentiment with Raven, but keeping someone so clearly destined for better cooped up in here weighs on him more than any claustrophobia.

He chuckles. "So you're not going to call me an idiot? You'd rather hear me do it to myself? Over and over..."

"You're a clever idiot. You should know you're never going to win."

Noir sits up in his grey armchair, mouth open. "You just—"

"A useful idiot. Watching your love life founder like this is making me very happy about the non-existence of mine." Raven smirks, forefinger and thumb resizing something on the screen in front of him.

Noir gasps, all but delighted to hear the beratement. "I knew you liked me, after all. And not just because I pay you. Though I'd take what I can get, at this point."

"If that were true, you'd be swanning about that estate now, probably moaning about the streamers not being a dark enough shade of black," Raven points out in his same lifeless tone, though the shift from concentrating on their work to dividing his attention is perceptible; long hair is pushed back behind a stylishly protruding ear.

It's enough of a cue for Noir to stop being considerate about distracting him. He gets up out of his comfy chair, plopping down on the cushion on the plastic chair in front of his desk, meant for visitors but seeing little use.

This is enough to earn a sideye.

"You seem to be under the impression that we'd be...courting, if I was still with them. I'd be their date, but I certainly wouldn't get a say in the decorating. And I wouldn't dare complain about their choices if I did. Not until later, anyway, to some innocent person who had no say in the matter." He has a belated realisation that he is still invited and planning to go. He has no choice; not going, sitting in his apartment or at work with their face plaguing his thoughts, would be the only thing worse. "My word, Raven. Tonight's gonna be like stepping into a minefield. You have to watch me."

"I'll keep you alive, but I won't keep you from throwing up on yourself," Raven says with the first ripple of laughter in his voice. "I could suggest you keep a clear head and find an opening to approach them to apologise, but I could just as soon grow a flower garden out of concrete."

Noir rolls his eyes. "Apologise? It's far too late for that. I can hardly go back and beg them to take a coward back. No, they deserve better, Raven. They shouldn't have to deal with the added stress of trying to prop me up alongside the empire they're already managing."

There's a moment of silence in the conversation; Raven thinks. He doesn't try to mindlessly pacify. Noir has the realisation that he's actually talking about his feelings to somebody and curls in on himself, crossing one leg over the other and squeezing his own upper arm. He's been vulnerable since the day he was born, always feeling exposed and flayed, but he balked as soon as a potential protector actually expressed an interest in him.

Bedsheets softer than his own, draped over his lover's waist as the last breaths of summer air mingle with the cooling heat of bodies. Noir's fingers trace their shoulders, their spine. His lips get jealous and press a kiss between their shoulderblades, and in turn his fingers turn desperate and grip their arm instead. They gasp, but it sounds delighted, and he has to initiate a crushing kiss when he flips them over so he doesn't have to see their tired eyes sparkle. It's guilt. He's making every second last, leaving them with every bit of proof that his body wishes he could stay. But by morning he's gone, short note left detailing that he just can't keep distracting them anymore.

"You don't understand a whole lot about relationships, do you?" Raven chases away the ghost that haunts him, though it never goes very far. "Not that anybody could blame you, of course. But I don't think abandonment issues help much more than...well, what's the worst effect you have on them? Bad optics? Getting in the way of prospects that they don't really need?"

Here's where he can't go any further; he can't confess to anybody that a fear of his own dependency was slowly creeping up on him. He was craving them all the time, seeking comfort hiding behind their skirts, at risk of becoming even more useless.

He redirects. "Funny you should bring up my understanding of relationships. I'm curious about yours. It isn't a lack of wisdom stunting your ability to find love, then?"

"If you hadn't noticed, I spend most of my time sequestered in a tower analysing reports. Full time work, it tends to...kill off the desire," Raven responds dryly, not seeming surprised or offended by the question.

"What if you found someone who understood, though? Like...someone you had enough chemistry with that you'd actively enjoy taking it slowly with?"

Raven's eyes narrow suspiciously now. "It sounds like you're—"

"I met Vinteren's assistant, Sunny. Only the once, but—"

"You roll that sentence back right now—"

"What's wrong with—"

"No. No, no, no—"

"Raven!" Noir snaps exasperatedly, noticing that he's covered his ear back up.

"My boss is not trying to matchmake me. It's not happening. This is all a terrible misunderstanding."

Wondering if he's crossed a line, Noir hesitates. "I can point him out to you, tonight, if you want. But if you really don't..."

"Perhaps," he says tautly. "Perhaps. But I assure you, this is mere curiosity. Do not mistake my acquiesence for interest."

Noir smirks, feeling like he's hit the jackpot of things to distract him from his own anguish. There's no way Raven's actually worse at this than he is.

[rollercoasterwords]

your fanfic doesn't need to be Content

ok so thanks to this lovely anonymous message i've been motivated to organize my thoughts on the increasingly common phenomenon of fanfic writers treating their own fics like Content for consumption, the way an influencer on social media might (all of this is in the context of the marauders fandom specifically -- no idea how or whether it might apply elsewhere)

what i mean by that is, essentially, instances of fanfic writers playing into the idea that fanfiction is a product created for the consumption of readers (and thereby the idea that fandom is a community that can be clearly divided between "producers"/writers and "consumers"/readers).

some examples i've seen: people "advertising" their fics on platforms like tiktok, sometimes even before they've started writing said fic ("hey guys i'm going to start writing a fic with x y z who's interested??"), or making posts asking outright "if i wrote a fic with x y z would people read it??" i've also seen people share concerns that if they write a certain thing they want to write (i.e, heavy smut, heavy angst, etc) then it will make their fic less "accessible" to a broader audience ("i want everyone to be able to enjoy my fics!")

another recent example that comes to mind is the "jegulus strike." while i'm sure it was largely well-intentioned, a strike is a form of protest tied inextricably to a consumer economy, and positioning writers as laborers who are standing in opposition to readers demanding that labor reinforces the framework of a consumer economy in which fanfiction is a product for consumption.

something i want to make clear here--i'm not saying that any of these behaviors are like....Moral Failings deserving of Ridicule. i think we are all very much conditioned by late-stage capitalism + algorithmic social media to view everything, even our hobbies, within the framework of a consumer economy. this is just me observing some of the ways i see that mindset creeping into fandom spaces.

like. i think there's this unspoken assumption that art is only worthwhile if it has an audience; that creative pursuits only matter if you can profit from them. if people are applying this mindset to fanfiction, then it makes sense to see this impulse to advertise fics the way authors advertise their books on tiktok, or twitter, or whatever. it makes sense for writers to become preoccupied with audience perception, perhaps changing their stories to make them more palatable for a certain audience or even going into the writing process with the audience already in mind--an overhanging and ever-present anxiety, asking yourself "how will this be received?"

the problem is that fanfiction doesn't fit into this model. it has always been meant for a niche audience, never the mainstream, and it has always existed outside the profit economy. trying to turn fanfiction into broadly consumable content is antithetical to the medium itself, and, in all likelihood, will fail. the vast majority of fanfiction is never going to be read by hundreds of thousands of people. if you go into writing it with an audience as your end goal, you will likely be disappointed.

what makes fanfiction so wonderful and unique is that it is meant to be written, first and foremost, for the writer. fanfiction as a medium grew out of personal joy in creation, out of individuals who thought "I want to see this story for myself" and then wrote it. because fanfiction is specific, catered to individual tastes and niche audiences, it lends itself to a unique sort of community in which your work attracts other people with that same niche taste, making it easier to strike up a conversation or start a friendship by saying, "hey, i love this story you wrote for yourself! it just so happens to be the exact sort of thing i wanted to read."

so i guess at the end of the day, my question for other fic writers is: if nobody was ever going to read this, would you still want to write it?

and if the answer is no...i think that's something that calls for reflection! where is your motivation rooted? is it rooted in a desire to create, in the joy of creation? or is it rooted in a desire to be seen, to be validated? wanting to be seen and validated is entirely natural, and it is by no means a bad thing. oftentimes, both these impulses--creation and validation--will be part of the decision to write + post a fic. but if validation is your primary motivation, and if you have internalized the idea that validation means getting as many people as possible to look at the thing you're making and click a heart button, then you will probably end up disappointed. you will probably end up feeling like your writing isn't good enough, no matter how many people end up reading it--because no audience will ever be big enough to validate you if you aren't able to take pride in your creation independent of any metrics of consumption.

i'm not saying that you should never share your fics on social media. like i mentioned above, community is one of the best parts of fanfiction--but are you posting in search of community? or are you posting in search of an audience? i know the line can get blurry sometimes, but i do think those two things look different, and i do think it is productive to look inwards and ask what you are truly seeking when you throw your writing into the void of social media posts. and i think as writers it's important not to fall into the trap of acting like our fics are a product intended for audience consumption, because to do so contributes to the deterioration of a fandom culture that is separate from the profit economy. plus, i just think all of us would be happier if we started trying to actively unlearn the idea that art is only worthwhile if it manages to amass a huge audience.

[erisolitudediaries]

Cups of Coffee and a Pile of Books: The Truth About Becoming an English Major Becoming an English Major means a chain of cups of coffee and a huge pile of books. This is often the representation of others when they hear about this course – my course. While this isn’t always true, at least, for the most part, I can’t help but feel like the perception of people that becoming an English Major is just essentially - to teach, has some veracity in it. However, for people like me, that is to say, you guys who are also taking this major, know very well that being an English Major is more than meets the eye. It’s more than its face value, and far deeper than just teaching grammar and educating kids about the universal language. Hence, stay with me for a few minutes as I share four hard-earned lessons that I experienced first-hand, as we dive deeper into the real spirit of becoming an English Major. 

Words can tire you out for real.

I remember the time when I first entered one of my major subjects’ class. I thought, “this is it; I’m finally coming closer to understanding what my course really is”. I later found out I’d spend most of my time drinking unlimited coffee just to reach a deadline for thousand-word essays and scanning through pages and pages of books. One would think it’s easy and enjoyable, and all you do is write and read, but let me tell you, words can be exhausting and repetitive. Imagine writing throughout your college, I mean, that’s what it felt for me. Yet, as time passed by, you learn that just because your course is a repetitive cycle of words and pages, means it ends there. Yes, I’ve been burnt out countless times, but the skills and knowledge I’ve earned from these seemingly endless words, made me realize just how improved I am now with the language and how important English really is.

2. What’s so important about English, anyway?

I often ask myself this before too. I get it, English isn’t our first language, so why dedicate an entire degree for it? Let me share a deep insight regarding this. Communication is most likely the single most important skill that man has ever developed. It will always be vital in our co-existence, especially now with so many cultures and politics dividing us all. Hence, being able to understand each other, no matter the race and culture, will build lasting bridges between nations. This being said, with English being the universal language that all nations are, in some sense, required to learn, it probably is the most significant language to mankind today, and I couldn’t agree more. You see, learning English has global implications, and through endless flow of words, we, English Majors, nurture this huge bridge that develop understanding and comprehension.

3. People are asking: “What is your future with your degree? Become new generation of teachers?”

Yes – and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. As I’ve mentioned earlier, learning, and developing English as a language has global implications, and being able to share this knowledge with the youth, will hone the future of nation building. Teachers are often underrated. Indeed, we do not win Noble Prizes for curing diseases, and we don’t carry arms to fight for freedom, but let me tell you, there won’t be genius scientists and world leaders without education. Every profession starts with us! We don’t just teach you how to read and write, or develop skills and intelligence, but also compassion, emotional development, and inspiration to “rule the world”. Teachers are called our second parents for a reason! This in itself gives pride to educators. Imagine seeing that one mischievous student you’ve spent so much time teaching in grade school, become the next President someday. That means the world to us.

4. We aren’t just valuable inside the classroom; we are community builders too!

Not because we spend so much time writing reports and visual aids for teaching, it means we’re only important in schools. There is so much more opportunity for English Majors outside the classroom too. I’ve seen journalists, news writers, published writers, and leaders that stemmed from our degree as well. With our knowledge in words and story writing, the scope of what we can do is endless. We study this language for years, so you can just imagine how we can contribute to the future of our society, especially with humanity relying solely on communication for its evolution and progress. I mean, what good is a discovery or an invention if you can’t translate it into understandable words, right?

Yes, I get the presumption about English Majors. You see us gulping through countless cups of coffee and scanning through endless pages of books every day, and that we are being equipped to essentially – teach. However, with all these being said, I hope I have imparted with you a very special lesson. English Majors aren’t just teachers, we are nation-builders, developers of the new generation, and principals of communication. There is so much more I can share with you about my course and experiences, and there is a mountain of lessons I myself still have to confront in the near future. I guess, after earning the degree and facing the outside world, I can share with you my new knowledge then. For now, let me clean up my spilled coffee and put a bookmark on my pile of books, I’m yet to see that light at the end of this tunnel too.

[skaldish]

How do you feel about models of spirit work where entities represent facets of the self (while also representing universal facets expressed through more than one person at a time, such as across a culture)

Like to summon up and bind a demon is to seek internal control over that darker facet of yourself

And to form a strong mutual bond with a deity is to reflect upon your relationship with others and the world in some facet

Where these entities can be Magically Literal while also being entwined with Internal, Psychological Work on the behalf of the worshipper or magician?

I’m somewhat on the fence because I’m certain that at least SOME spirits are definitely entwined with the summoner/creator/manifestor. Like a house spirit to a newly built house. But I’m not sure if that’s anthropocentric to say that all spiritual entities exist in some way as a reflection of our relationships with ourselves and others.

Thoughts?

As someone with dissociative problems, my answer's going to have a pretty pragmatic bias to it:

You have to learn the rules before you break them.

Basically, what you described is a form of narrative play—specifically, this is a way to play with the narrative of the Self, as a means to understand the self in relation to the world.

Narrative is terrifyingly powerful. Powerful enough to change the course of history and alter people's perception of reality. It's a devastatingly effective psychological tool, but it's something so incredibly easy to be diluded by if you're not keeping tabs on the meta or using it appropriately. (The current state of conspiracy theory provides a great example of what happens when narrative is left unchecked.)

Using narrative as a psychological tool requires recognizing things as they actually are, as opposed to what we think they are or want them to be. But doing this allows me to find the right metaphor and a clear idea on how to use it. (For example: I'm human, but also the monstrous Other. The metaphor of monstrousness is a way for me to reflect on the condition of being human; it doesn't stand in opposition to my humanity but is in fact a byproduct of it, and knowing that meta allows me to use it appropriately).

Now, as for spirits being a product of the mind or autonomous in their own right, and the divide between those two things...I'm a hard polytheist and animist, and not because of faith, but because I've experienced deities and spirits as autonomous beings outside of myself. In the way we're conscious matter, they're conscious ideas.

There are things like thoughtforms and egregores, which exist only as long as we put energy into them. Some believe that these things can develop a life of their own if certain conditions are met, but I can also see these being roles that energy steps into. Couldn't tell you what conditions are involved in that though.

(Due to dissociative and ethical reasons, I avoid making thoughtforms out of what can easily be attributed to myself.)

The relationship between "material" and "metaphysical" is mysterious. All I know is that keeping track of "self" and "not self" is critical in how I measure it all without getting too lost in the sauce.

I'm not sure if this answers your question, so let me know if you need me to clarify or expand on anything!

[lunarmote]

Thoughts on grief...

Grief is such an isolating thing to experience. I say jokingly to my friend that I’m tired of having people in my life die. It reads as a joke because there is no space in our culture for a matter-of-fact statement like that that does not exist as a joke. Death is a joke just like Beethoven was born in 1770 is a fact.

My world is in shambles but it’s also not. Grief is not like a mound of bricks that topples over all at once and makes a clamor. I think this is what most people think grief support should be — that the way to support someone is to “make space” for them to cry for 2 hours, get all that pain out of their system and return to baseline.

I used to feel a divide between myself and my college peers and I had all kinds of reasons for it. Social anxiety, a lack of friends growing up, depression, awkwardness, not dressing the right way. I’ve come to realize none of those are true at least in the sense that they present actual barriers. The real divide I think is that I’ve experienced deep grief in my 25 years of living and I feel irrevocably changed because of that.

There is a cliché that can be made here — that it is only through understanding death that we understand life. Perhaps this is not true of every bereaved person and I do think my way of processing grief is a bit unique, but there’s a lot of truth in this statement.

I think the idea of seeing a person every single day and then them suddenly not existing is impossible for human beings to really grasp on a metaphysical level. For me the question has always been “Where do they go,” they as in the essence of them, their nature and dispositions and processes and preferences and habits and patterns of beliefs, so miraculously compact and reliable in this chaotic universe, how can it just not exist one day. The medium of memory is so strange. Do you have any memories of you and your grandma having afternoon tea and you’re telling her a joke and she reacts in such a predictable old-person way and that afternoon is “sealed” in memory, so special because only the two of you have it. And when the other person perishes, you are the sole vessel of that memory. Where does their copy of the memory go? It makes me terrified of losing my memory because then all copies of that memory will disappear, forever. I wish memories were things that were tangible and could be externalized because they are a thing of beauty.

I think so much about time and memory because of my experience with grief. I think that we are all biding our time but none of us is really conscious of it. How often we exist in the future because we think we have to meet a certain requirement before we start living. I think about how reliable and placid our idea of future time is, as if it were measurable, as if you were gazing out at the ocean, an endless stretch of blue. But one day you find yourself without solid ground and the entire ocean disappears all at once.

I think sometimes about our perception of time. I think about if time exists at all outside our perception. Calling our relatives is sometimes a begrudging act of duty rather than one of love. There is reluctance and laziness associated with every call. Calling once a week makes us feel these bad feelings 4 times a month, 12 times a year. What happens when one day you can’t call anymore because the person is not there? Do you feel the sum of all those times you hated to call or do you lose the ability to feel anything but longing and guilt?

I think so much about empathy and how important it is. I may not show up the best in every interaction, but a pervasive sense of feeling-with grounds my experiences. When I meet a person for the first time, I am extraordinarily sensitive to what makes them laugh and what makes them upset. I think about the details in their actions and the things they share with me and I wonder what the topography of their life’s map looks like. The fact that my heart has been broken allows me to seek out other broken hearts. As Arthur Frank writes in the Wounded Storyteller, one day we will all become wounded storytellers.

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

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[idreamtofmanderleyagain]

Five years ago, the women on this site who treated me like trash over loving Labyrinth and shipping Jareth/Sarah were almost always obliviously consuming Radfem propaganda, or were out and out Radfems/Terfs themselves.

They were the types of people who casually threw the word “pedophile” around against grown women who shipped an adult Sarah with Jareth, aka literally one of the most popular ships for women in fandom for 30 years.

Pretty much invariably, these women had serious sex-negative anxieties, which included a severe paranoia about any and all kink and fetish, and porn in general. I saw a lot of shocking, fear-mongering propaganda surrounding sexual expression. Pretty much invariably, their method of approach involved immediate personal shock-value attacks on anyone they perceived to be “bad.”

Today, you can look at the way some people react to other popular so-called “problematic” ships and recognize the same toxic, fear-mongering rhetoric coming from women who consider themselves regular, trans-inclusive feminists. Sometimes it even manifests in the words of very well-meaning people (including myself here), who feel the need to talk about specific issues that pertain to their own experiences of trauma and oppression.

The people who shit on Labyrinth often seem to not really be able to comprehend that the Goblin King, like the film itself, is canonically a representation of a teen girl’s psyche, a soup of fears and anxieties and desires and dreams. He’s not a literal human adult preying on a literal child, and to read the film that way seriously undermines the entire point of the film. 

When I (and people of many fandoms) say “This is fiction, calm down,” I’m not just saying it’s not real so it cant hurt you and you can’t criticize me. I’m trying to call attention to what fiction actually is - artistic representations of feelings and experiences. The Goblin King is Sarah’s fiction. Therefore, he can be anything she or any woman who identifies with her wants him to be, including her lover when she’s grown and ready for such a thing.

I once took an alarming dive into Beetlejuice fandom to see what content was there (the cartoon was a favorite when I was little). Chillingly, what you’ll find is an extremely wounded fanbase, with a sharp divide between the older women who had long been shipping BJ/Lydia because of their love for the cartoon series (and whom were previously the vast majority of the Beetlejuice fandom), and a massive amount of young people riding the wave of the musical fad who had decided that the entire old school Beetlejuice fandom was populated by literal pedophiles. 

I saw death threats. Suicide baiting. Constant, constant toxic discourse. It did not matter how the BJ/Lydia fandom dealt with any particular issues that would exist in their ship, in fact I’m certain that the people abusing them cared very little to even consider if they were trying to handle it at all. The only thing that mattered was that they were disgusting subhuman scum asking for abuse. If you have at any time reblogged recent Beetlejuice fan art or content from fans of the musical, you have more than likely been engaging positively with the content of someone participating in toxic fandom behavior.

Nobody is really sticking up for them, either, as far as I saw. It’s really hard to imagine how painful it must be to have such a large group of people explode into into your relatively private fandom space to tell you that you are evil, vile, and deserve constant abuse, and also you are no longer allowed into the fandom space to engage in it’s content. But I think there’s something very alarming indeed about this happening specifically to the BJ fandom, and I’ll explain why. 

The pop-culture characterization of Beetlejuice, which is heavily influenced by the cartoon series to be clear, has always in my mind been a vaguely ageless being who matches with the psychological maturity of whatever age Lydia is supposed to be. He’s more or less like an imaginary friend, a manifestation of Lydia’s psyche. In fact, I would argue that i think most of us who grew up with the cartoon or it’s subsequent merchandizing before the musical ever existed probably internalized the idea as BJ and Lydia as this ageless, salt-and-pepper-shaker couple beloved by the goth community, similar to Gomez and Morticia. In each version of canon he may be a creepy ghost in the literal sense, but any adult who is capable of identifying literary tropes (even just subconciously) would read cartoon!BJ as an artistic representation of a socially awkward outcast girl’s inner world. Lydia’s darker dispositions and interests, which alienate her from most others, are freely accepted and embraced by her spooky magical friend. BJ/Lydia in the cartoon were depicted as best friends, but to my memory there was always an underlying sense that they had secret feelings for each other, which I identified easily even as a small child. In fact, their dynamic and behavior perfectly reflected the psychological development of the show’s target demographic. They are best friends who get into adventures and learning experiences together, who have delicate feelings for each other but lack any true adult romantic/sexual understanding to acknowledge those feelings, let alone pursue them.

Though I haven’t seen the Musical yet, I’ve read the wiki and I would argue that it embodies this exact same concept even more so for it’s own version of the characters, in that Beetlejuice specifically exists to help Lydia process her mother’s death.

This is not a complicated thing to recognize and comprehend whatsoever. In fact, it looks downright blatant. It’s also a clear indicator of what BJ/Lydia means to the women who have long loved it. It was a story about a spooky wierd girl being loved and accepted and understood for who she was, and it gave them a sense of solidarity. It makes perfect sense why those women would stick with those characters, and create a safe little space for themselves to and imagine their beloved characters growing and having adult lives and experiencing adult drama, in just the same ways that the women of the Labyrinth fandom do. That’s all these women were doing. And now, they can’t do it without facing intense verbal violence. That safe space is poisoned now.

Having grown up with the cartoon as one of my favorites and been around goth subculture stuff for decades, I was actually shocked and squicked at the original Beetlejuice film’s narrative once I actually saw it, because it was extremely divorced from what these two characters had evolved into for goth subculture and what they meant to me. It’s not telling the same story, and is in fact about the Maitland's specifically. In pretty much exactly the same way two different versions of Little Red Riding Hood can be extremely different from each other, the film is a different animal. While I imagine that the film version has been at the heart of a lot of this confused fear-mongering around all other versions of the characters, I would no more judge different adaptations of these characters any more than I would condemn a version of Little Red in which Red and the Wolf are best friends or lovers just because the very first iteration of LRRH was about protecting yourself from predators.

I would even argue that the people who have engaged in Anti-shipper behavior over BJ/Lydia are in intense denial over the fact that BJ being interested in Lydia, either as blatant predatory behavior a la the film or on a peer level as in the cartoon (and musical?) is an inextricable part of canon. Beetlejuice was always attracted to Lydia, and it was not always cute or amusing. Beetlejuice was not always a beloved buddy character, an in fact was originally written as a gross scumbag. That’s just what he was. Even people engaging with him now by writing OC girlfriends for him (as stand-ins for the salt-and-pepper-shaker space Lydia used to take up, because obviously that was part of the core fun of the characters), or just loving him as a character, are erasing parts of his character’s history in order to do so. They are actively refusing to be held responsible for being fans of new version of him despite the fact that he engaged in overt predatory behavior in the original film. In fact, I would venture to say that they are actively erasing the fact that Musical Beetliejuice tried to marry a teenager and as far as I’m aware, seemed to like the idea (because he’s probably a fucking figment of her imagination but go off I guess). The only reason they can have a version of this character who could be perceived as “buddy” material is because...the cartoon had an impact on our pop cultural perception of what the character and his dynamic with Lydia is. 

We can have a version of the Big Bad Wolf who’s a creepy monster. We can have a version who’s sweet and lovable. We can have a version that lives in the middle. We can have a version who’s a hybrid between Red and the Wolf (a la Ruby in OUAT). All of these things can exist in the same world, and can even be loved for different reasons by the same people.

I’ve been using Beetlejuice as an example here because it’s kind of perfect for my overall point regarding the toxic ideologies in fandom right now across many different spaces, including ones for progressive and queer media, and how much so many people don’t recognize how deeply they’ve been radicalized into literalist and sex-negative radfem rhetoric, to the point where we aren’t allowed to have difficult, messy explorations of imperfect, flawed humans, and that art is never going to be 100% pure and without flaw in it’s ability to convey what it wants to convey.

This includes the rhetoric I’ve seen across the board, from She-Ra to A:TLA to Star Wars to Lovecraft Country. We don’t talk about the inherent malleable, subjective, or charmingly imperfect nature of fiction any more. Transformation and reclamation are myths in this space. Everything is in rigid categories. It is seemingly very difficult for some of these people to engage with anything that is not able to be clearly labeled as one thing or another (see the inherent transphobic and biphobic elements of the most intense rhetoric). They destroy anything they cannot filter through their ideology. When women act in a way that breaks from their narrative of womanhood (like...not having a vagina), then those women must be condemned instead of understood. Anything that challenges them or makes them uncomfortable is a mortal sin. There is an extraordinary level of both hypocrisy and repressive denial that is underlying the behavior I’m seeing now. Much like toxic Christian conservatism, these people often are discovered engaging in the same behaviors and interests that they condemn behind closed doors (or just out of sheer cognitive dissonance). As an example, one of the people who talked shit to me about Labyrinth was a huge fan of Kill La Kill, which to my knowledge was an anime about a teenage girl in like, superpowered lingere (hence why I stayed the fuck away from that shit myself). Indeed, they even allow themselves plenty of leeway for behavior far worse than they condemn others for, and create support systems for the worst of their own abusers. 

Quite frankly, I’m tired. Instead of talking about theoretical problematic shit, we need to start talking about quantifiable harm. Because as far as I can tell, the most real, immediate, and quantifiable harm done because of anybody’s favorite ships or pieces of media seems to consistently be the kind that’s done to the people who experience verbal violence and abuse and manipulation and suicide baiting and death threats from the people who have a problem.

[itsuki-minamy]

LIMITED KINGSHIP, WAR STORIES:

CHAPTER 2: HEKIREKI & SENDEN

* Mini Episodes KFCN (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Suddenly he realized that the enemy was gone.

The surroundings were full of the dead. Most of the folded corpses belonged to members of the "Purgatory" clan who wore black clothes. Fifteen minutes ago, a hasty force led by Gouki Zenjo raided that warehouse after being contacted by the intelligence department. And then the warehouse turned into a terrible battlefield.

With "Hekireki" bloody on his shoulder, Zenjo started looking for the next enemy to attack. But that no longer existed.

The battle was over and the remnants were hunting. There were still some in black who resisted, but it was only a matter of time before they were crushed or smashed. While he was thinking that, Bado's iron spear pierced one of the black ones, and Azuma's twin sword stabbed another. The "Purgatory" clan member, who had decent fighting ability, didn't seem to be staying anywhere.

"How boring."

He hit the field in an unsightly way and lowered "Hekireki" to the ground.

The next moment, the pile of corpses exploded.

"Zenjo!"

Fresh blood came out from the sword wound all over the body, and flames came from both feet, the one in black clothes was good at fighting. A deadly surprise attack that hid the corpse of a colleague. Long before he understood it, Zenjo tried to shake "Hekireki" with his own super reaction.

He could not.

According to a later investigation, it was an inadvertent collaboration between those in black. One in black that lay behind Zenjo was dying, but was still breathing. With the last of his strength, he grabbed the "outside" blade, regardless of whether his fingers fell.

That caused a delay of a few seconds. Zenjo was just looking at the flaming fingers approaching in front of him, holding "Hekireki's" fixed handle.

But he just grabbed Zenjo's nose.

"You need more than that..."

The one in black clothes who attacked Zenjo stopped in midair. Blood poured from the edge of his mouth which opened and closed with bloody eyes wide open. A thin saber protruded from his chest, and the saber that pierced his chest diagonally from below suddenly stopped the one in black clothing.

"Ah!"

A cheerful voice that did not seem to belong to the place, resounded behind the one in black clothes.

"I'm sorry I made a mistake! Zenjo-san, can you take care of it please?"

It was as easy as asking him to take the remote there. After blinking, Zenjo passed by "Hekireki" and frequently shook the ones in black clothes.

The flames that clung to both feet disappeared.

The body of the man in black, who had lost his neck, was thrown to the ground. A young man standing there waved his saber and wiped off the blood. The friendly look reminded him of a laughing dog.

"No, I made a mistake. If you tap it, it can't be the case, huh? Hahaha…"

"Kuze. You saved me."

Young Kuse laughed cheerfully and waved.

"I just did something extra. Zenjo-san, you could have handled it with a margin."

"No, I couldn't react now. I would have been 'without a nose' at best, because it was aiming at my head."

"Well, is that so? That's good. Soon it's new soba season!"

Zenjo smirked as he tapped on Kuze's shoulder, saying that he was out of focus.

"This season's buckwheat noodles are pretty good too. I'll use chopsticks when I get back to the barracks. Thanks for your help."

"Oh then, make it soba."

"What? Are you going to ask me to make arrangements again?"

Kuse was smiling. Zenjo saw the smile as if he was amazed. Not suitable for a bright appearance, this young man had a very persistent character.

"Well, I wish I could go home."

"Oh, thanks!"

As Kuze struck a gutsy pose, Zenjo shrugged and walked towards a group of hurrying troops who had begun to take care of the remaining work.

++++++++++

The war was escalating.

Kagutsu Detention Center "Red King" crackdown operation. The attack from "Scepter 4" intended to kill Kagutsu Genji was unsuccessful in retrospect. Although the force of "Purgatory" was greatly reduced, the original purpose of the operation was not finally achieved, and Kagutsu left his territory and fled, and the remaining clan members divided into thousands and went into hiding. The hive was destroyed, but the queen bee and the soldier bees were flying now.

The activities of the scattered members of the "Purgatory" clan were almost the same as before. Whenever something happened, there was a danger that they would explode. "Scepter 4" chased after them and they were incapacitated as soon as they were discovered, but "Purgatory" wasn't just silently hunted to death. The damage caused by a fierce counterattack who did not care about his own life was turning into a social problem that could not be covered even by "Tokijikuin".

There were two pressing issues.

One was the search and murder of Kagutsu as soon as possible. As long as that "King" will continue to exist on earth, this war would never end.

And the other was to increase the strength of "Scepter 4".

The battle with "Purgatory", who burned the people, burned the city and even burned themselves, was slowly shaving the staff of "Scepter 4". To make up for the loss, they touted that they had the cause of the war and recruited a large number of talented personnel from the relevant ministries.

Shuichiro Kuze was one of those supplemental staff members.

Originally a police officer, he achieved outstanding results on both his aptitude and skill tests, and joined the "Scepter 4" running unit at exceptional speed. He was a rare human resource who had already been dispatched several times and was not afraid to fight the deadly "Purgatory", but instead displayed a simulation as if he was enjoying it.

For some reason, Kuze teamed up with Zenjo.

Even now, Kuze and Zenjo were undergoing simulated one-on-one training in the training ground of the "Scepter 4" barracks. Except for the fact that the product was a bamboo sword, it was a form of training that came as close to the actual battle as possible. Even attacks on key points were tolerated wherever they were covered by armor.

Kuze raised the bamboo sword to eye level and turned its blade towards Zenjo.

Zenjo carried a large bamboo sword on his shoulder and was about to attack him.

Kuze's specialty was "pushing". His stab, fired by explosive acceleration with a different ability, was roughly equal to the speed of a bullet. It would be impossible to react if it were the perception of an ordinary person.

But, of course, Zenjo was not an ordinary person.

"Let's go!"

The next moment that Kuze said that, the figure disappeared.

An extraordinary light that glowed fluttering blue like the tail of a meteor. Before recognizing it, Zenjo's body was moving. The speed God's sword judgment darted into the void on the right.

Zenjo's bamboo sword touched Kuze's sword that jutted out without fail.

"Ah!"

As he wielded the sword of pursuit, Zenjo was impressed. Viewed from above, the location of the different abilities would have looked like a rank "nine". A blow from outside the field of vision due to explosive acceleration, but it did not exceed Zenjo's reaction speed.

"Che!"

Kuze sped up again, leaving a childish click of the tongue. As he repeated sharp turns ignoring the laws of physics, he jumped incessantly. He was like a spring-loaded toy that swept across the training ground.

Zenjo stopped chasing him with his eyes and closed his lids.

Behind.

Before he felt it, his body was still moving. He turns and cut the space behind him. The cut that was shot deflected Kuze's thrust horizontally upward and hit him like he was a face shield.

"Damn!"

With a stupid voice, Kuze struck and fell to the ground of the training ground. If he had been serious, he would have lost his nose.

"This is the ninth."

Carrying the bamboo sword on his shoulder again, Zenjo said that without pride. Kuze, who had stretched out into a large shape, lifted his upper body as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I thought I could pull it off now... Zenjo-san, do you have eyes behind you?"

"Well, it's clear. You can understand it even if you can't see it."

"Mm... Zenjo-san, another one! Please."

When Kuze lifted his index finger, Zenjo was truly astonished and showed the training ground clock with his chin.

"It's closing time. It will be tomorrow."

"Really? Absolutely tomorrow!"

"I wish they hadn't sent me."

Saying that, while he was a bit crowded, Zenjo headed for the exit. Kuze also put the bamboo sword in a bag and bounced after him.

After taking a shower together, they had dinner later.

The barracks cafeteria was quiet, probably because it was late. Zenjo ordered a hazaru soba and Kuze a kitsune udon, and they ate together.

Kuze talked to Zenjo all the time while he ate.

"Zenjo-san, are you attached to the army?"

"Hmm?"

" I belonged there. There are a lot of people like that in 'Scepter 4', right?"

Surely it was so. The personnel of "Scepter 4" came mainly from other security organizations. Unless they didn't lack combat training on a daily basis, they couldn't withstand the battle with "Purgatory."

However, the situation was different for Zenjo.

After slurping his soba, he said...

"I am from a mountain."

"Mountain?"

"When I was waving a stick in the mountains, I met Habari, so I followed him."

Kuze blinked twice as he pinched the fried food with chopsticks.

"Well, what was that? What kind of situation?"

"Thanks, like I said."

Answering only that, Zenjo took a sip of soba again.

Kuze stared at Zenjo for a while with a surprised face, and then...

"Fu…"

He shook his shoulders and started laughing.

"Hahahahahahahaha! What's wrong, did you meet the commander in the mountains and follow him? Hahaha, Zenjo-san, are you a youkai?"

Zenjo was disappointed in Kuze, who bent over his body and laughed like a child. It was surprising that he was laughed at, although it was not his intention to make him laugh.

"No, sorry, I'm not going to make a fool of myself. But that was very interesting."

"Is it interesting?"

"It's incredibly interesting! I've never met such a person!"

"Mmm...?"

He wondered if that was the case. Originally, Zenjo was a guy who didn't understand many things. If they told him it was interesting, it would be true.

"No, you're good at 'Scepter 4' after all. It's not boring."

As he cheerfully said that, Kuze drank the udon from him. As Zenjo ate the soba noodles, he looked at Kuze as if he was looking at something strange.

"Bored?"

"Yes. The workplace in front of me was already boring. Anyone can do it, such as document preparation, on-site verification and traffic control. More like this, a fierce car chase with the criminal! Fighting battle! Shooting! I was imagining it."

He lifted the bowl and drank the soup.

"So it's so boring that I shouldn't do it. When I was thinking about it, they asked me and I came to try it. I can do what I want every day! It's a lot of fun, right? That's why I think you adapt very well to "Scepter 4"!

Zenjo scratched his cheeks while Kuze drank, wiped his mouth and clasped his hands with a "Thanks for the food!"

"Uh..."

"Isn't that the case with Zenjo-san? Don't you do it because it's medicinal?"

"Eh?"

He wondered if that was the case. Was he enjoying the battle with "Purgatory"?

There was no doubt that he was elevated during the battle. On the battlefield where a momentary judgment divides life and death, that feeling that inspires all cells cannot be experienced anywhere else.

But he didn't think he was struggling to taste it.

When he swung his sword under Habari's command in "Scepter 4", he felt that he was breathing properly. It seemed natural to do so and it "fit." He didn't know if he could describe it as funny.

"Well, that's correct."

It became difficult to think of the way and Zenjo answered that.

"That's right! Well, I'm glad you feel the same way as me!"

Kuze laughed in a friendly way and then a mysterious light fell on his eyes.

"But lately, it's more fun practicing with Zenjo-san than interacting with 'Purgatory'."

"Really?"

"Yes, because Zenjo-san is much stronger than them, so it's fun to do it. Hey, Zenjo-san. Someday, with me…"

Kuze cut off the words when he suddenly remembered. After blinking several times, the mysterious light disappeared. Then suddenly he stood up and held the bowl of kitsune udon in his hands.

"Sorry, it's nothing! So, good night!"

With a smile, Kuze went to the place where the dishes were being returned.

As he drank his soba, Zenjo rebelled against Kuze's words.

(Well, I'm glad you feel the same way as me!)

Maybe it wasn't.

Although they belonged to the same "Scepter 4" and wielded a saber, he felt that something was decisively different between him and Kuze.

He didn't know what it was. He didn't want to think until he knew. Thinking again that he was okay, Zenjo dropped the green onion seasoning into crushed chunks.

++++++++++

Three days later, the hidden member of the "Purgatory" clan in Minari-cho, Fengze-ku, was discovered.

According to the information department report, there was only one member. However, the problem is that he was hiding in the houses of common people. They threatened the inhabitants and parasitized their lives themselves. A bully lurked in his house and behaved inattentive. The father of the family, who could not bear such a situation, rushed to a public institution and discovered his existence.

In response to this, "Scepter 4" quickly formed a unit that rushed over. They ran to the site to "exterminate" the abominable parasite.

However, this time, it was not possible to get through the gate with the transport vehicle and cut it randomly. After all, the other party was alone and the detained hostages were a mother and two young children, according to the father's information. If they took action inadvertently, it would have the worst consequences.

The operation required speed and stealth. "Scepter 4", the deputy director, Gen Shiotsu, selected the appropriate personnel and devised a strategy.

Shuichiro Kuse was included in the staff, but it was boring for him.

Kuze was toying with that idea while biting his yawn in the car.

It had already been three hours since they arrived at the place. Because "Scepter 4" stood out in a transport vehicle, they used an ordinary sedan type and stopped from hiding to blind spot. Kuze sighed softly, looking at him stagnant out the window.

He wished he could rush in and kill him.

It would be easy. He would jump out the door, go through the second floor and invade, and drive the saber into the heart of the guy in black. That was all that was needed.

Kuze understood why he was selected as a runner. The small body was suitable for infiltration, and the "Senden" saber he had was also a slim custom-made one, so it should work effectively in a small room.

So he wanted to do it as soon as possible.

Finally, the long-awaited command came from insiders.

"The target has taken the hostage. I enclose the location."

"Yes!"

He sprang to his feet, grabbed the saber, opened the passenger seat door, and Kuze broke into a run.

In seconds, the target house came into view. When he was hiding behind the wall of a neighbor's house and observing the situation, the transmitter spoke a voice again.

"The target is in the bathroom on the second floor. The children cannot confirm the whereabouts of their mother in the next room. Each member must pay the utmost attention and do everything in their power to secure the hostages."

"Kuze, ready!"

With a light tone, Kuze pulled "Senden" out of the scabbard.

He held his breath and waited for the moment. The plan of the house is engraved on his head. All the images of how he would move, what kind of path he would take and how he would kill the one in black clothes were created in Kuze's brain.

Kuze himself did not know that there were no hostages there.

"Fast!"

By the time Shiotsu's voice echoed, Kuze was jumping.

He jumped off the wall, landed on the ceiling, and ran. At the edge of the field of vision, he could see a blue trail that went through him in the same way. There were a total of four runners, all their own competitors, who aspired to the life of a single man in black. Kuze licked his lips and accelerated to the point where the shingles broke.

He jumped with the same impulse, he broke the second floor window with his body and ran inside.

"Eh?!"

He heard a high-pitched voice. Kuze invaded the children's room on the second floor. According to the information, two children who were less than elementary school students were shaking in a corner of the room.

Kuze ignored it.

The problem was that of black clothes. If he killed him, everything would be solved. So that should take precedence. Kuze thought that way and stepped out into the second floor hallway.

Their eyes met.

There was a figure in black clothes in the bathroom that was left open. However, when Kuze found him, he was strangling and using the children's mother as a shield.

"Stay away, blue clothes! This woman will die!"

He could barely see the one in black who was angry. Very firmly, he was hiding behind the woman. The scared woman shook her head, while she shook her head, he looked and disappeared his face burned in black.

Before thinking of anything, Kuze was kicking the ground.

If he killed him, that would be it. That was the only priority, and everything else was wiped from Kuze's head.

Many things happened at the same time.

"Kuze, stop!" One of the rushing staff members yelled.

"Damn it!" The man in black's burned face turned red, and the flame-filled woman screamed in tears.

Time seemed to flow slowly. He could feel precisely the extraordinary light of "Senden", the heat of the flames that sprouted from the face of the man in black and the smell of the flesh that enveloped her.

In the slowdown time, Kuze analyzed various factors and...

(Oh, this person can't be helped anymore.), he thought.

Too easily, he cut off the hostage's life.

This being the case, the hostage's body was no longer a problem. It was just a corpse, a wall of flesh less than 8 inches.

It did not hinder "Senden".

With a half-smile, Kuze stabbed hard forward.

A bright blue tip pierced the woman's chest, and the heart of the man in black was skewered and glued to the bathroom wall.

"......"

The woman opened and closed her mouth. Kuze tilted his head and looked at her face, thinking that she looks like a dying goldfish.

When Kuze drew the saber, the woman and the one in black fell one on top of the other. Their bloods mixed.

The bodies clung to each other and wet Kuze's shoes.

He takes a breath and inform the others.

"We have deactivated the objective. The mission is complete."

At the same time, an angry sound rang out from behind.

"Kuze! Damn! What did you do?!"

He thought, and looked at the owner of the voice as if he was confused. It was Shinohara, who belonged to the same group as him. He was yelling something when he flushed with anger, but Kuze couldn't understand the meaning of the word. He turned his neck and face away to keep them from flying off.

The frozen facial expressions of the two boys, looking through the door, were reflected in Kuze's field of vision.

++++++++++

"Do you know what you did?"

"Scepter 4", Shiotsu made a heavy voice in the barracks interview room.

Shuichiro Kuze, standing in front of him, replied as if nothing had happened.

"I killed the member of the 'Purgatory' clan. I think it was an unavoidable decision in that situation."

"Right now, 'Purgatory' is not the problem. The problem is Kuze, you stabbed the hostage and killed her."

"I did not murder her. At that time, the woman had already been killed by the one in black clothes. Should I be so reprimanded for damaging her corpse?"

Shiotsu had various reports in front of him.

"Shinohara's report is different. At that time, Shinohara said that the woman was still alive. However, he testified that you ignored the warning and approached the black-robed one and went through him."

"In my eyes, she looked dead."

Kuze spoke clearly.

"I think it would have been difficult to help her, even if she had a break. Is it the right decision to leave the dangerous clansman to help a dying woman? If the action was delayed, hers, two of her children and I could have been euthanized."

"It is not you who should judge whether the woman would be saved or not."

"The judgment of the site should be left to the members of the site."

Shiotsu groaned softly.

What Kuze said was correct in some respects. In the battle with "Purgatory", a momentary misjudgment could be fatal. And that moment came innumerably. It was not enough to have many lives if they were all compared with the regulations of the body and the current law. Above all, Kuze said that a certain amount of excessive acts should be allowed to protect one's life.

But…

Shiotsu watched Kuze's expression.

There was no expression floating there. Self-blame, regret, remorse. He couldn't read any of the emotions the one with the almost innocent human hands would have.

Shiotsu muttered to himself that that was the real problem.

"Kuze..."

At that moment, Shiotsu silently inhaled, and then...

"Where do you think the meaning of 'Scepter 4' is?"

"Eh…?"

"Answer it. What's 'Scepter 4' for?"

For the first time, the color of hesitation reached Kuze's expression.

As he listened to Shiotsu, Kuze replied.

"Kill the enemy. Annihilate "Purgatory" and bring peace to society."

Shiotsu sighed deeply and said.

"No. You are definitely misunderstanding."

"......"

"Our mission is to protect the general public. The sword to protect those who cannot resist the weapon of incompetence, that is 'Scepter 4'."

"It's the same as I said, right?"

In the words that Kuze muttered, unprecedented emotions appeared.

He was frustrated.

"Killing those in black clothes is to protect the general public. If they are left unattended, tens or even hundreds of people will die if they are not treated well. To avoid that, isn't it natural to leave two people alone?"

"Still, we should not be the ones to kill. We should be the ones to protect the people. If there is a defenseless civilian, that is why we have the power to protect ourselves."

"It's stupid."

Kuze laughed through his nose. His dark and bright gaze seemed harsher, as he generally had a friendly gaze.

"Why do we have to do that? It is so stupid for a good person to be sacrificed for an inferior person."

Shiotsu closed his eyes.

What swirled around his chest was not anger at Kuze, but responsibility for himself.

He may have been too impatient to make up for the personnel lost in the battle with "Purgatory". He had hired a person who lacked the most important qualities, distracted only by the ability to fight. He should have known well what would happen if that person had a different ability and special power.

People who cannot control themselves will eventually use their different abilities as they wish.

How is it different from "Purgatory"?

Shiotsu slowly opened his eyes and said in a low voice,

"Shuichiro Kuse. Say goodbye to "Scepter 4" from now on."

++++++++++

Kuze, who came out of the interview room, was looking vaguely at the ceiling of the hallway.

(I blew it.), he thought.

With that in mind, he sighs. This time, he looked down at the ground and started walking.

When he was called by Shiotsu, Kuze had decided what he should do. That was a field decision and he didn't think he had done anything wrong. He intended to stick to that statement.

It is the members of the field who exchange lives. However, it was not uncommon for him to be blamed for a later trial. It was a common feeling not only for Kuze but also for the ER personnel.

Shiotsu was smart and looked closely at the members. That is why he thought that he would not give such a severe punishment based on his thoughts.

"He was telling me something strange."

Kuze lied and looked at his hand. When he focused his consciousness there, the blue glow of the extraordinary shimmered.

It was proof that he was an excellent person and a chosen one.

Kuze couldn't respond well to Shiotsu's words asking the meaning of "Scepter 4". That was because Kuze didn't know. Therefore, he got a rag out of there. It didn't matter if the general public died or lived, he knew that his true intentions would probably not be forgiven within the organization, so he hid it.

The important thing for Kuze was to use that power in all directions to fight. Fight "Purgatory", bypass the momentary deadline and end the life of the enemy. Never in a dull life until now, was it a bright day.

That was stolen from him.

Because he took a boring life from a boring human.

Kuze sighed again and suddenly raised his face.

A familiar giant was walking down the hall. Kuze laughed and raised a hand.

"Hey, Zenjo-san."

"Oh, Kuze?"

Zenjo's eyebrows widened when he noticed that Kuze was there for the first time.

"What are you doing in a place like this? Is it training?"

"No."

Kuze laughed bitterly and...

"Hey, I've been preaching to the vice principal. I'm here for that."

"Oh, Shiotsu? It's loud."

Sympathy reached Zenjo's eyes. Seeing that, Kuze's smile changed to a natural one.

That person knew himself.

He had always felt that way. Zenjo, like himself, rejoiced in the fight. He was a person who should have the nature of killing people rather than helping people. So, Kuze was sure that if he talked about the situation, this person would be on his side.

"But you're almost right."

Zenjo simply denied the idea.

"Eh?"

"Shiotsu is loud, but he's always right. If he claims something from you, you're wrong. I wonder what he was. Apologize properly."

"......"

Kuze looked at his toes.

"Yes, what is that?"

"If that is all."

"I see."

Kuze scratched his head again with a bitter smile.

"In a way that's correct. I thought it was suitable for 'Scepter 4', but surprisingly, isn't it?"

"Eh?"

Zenjo mysteriously shook his head, thought for a moment and then nodded.

"That's right. You said you were the same as me, but I think you are different from me."

"......"

"I can't put it right. You might not be good at 'Scepter 4'. You should stop in time."

Zenjo said that in a wonderful and irresponsible way.

Kuze was about to start laughing. Interestingly, he didn't get mad at all. This was because it had been broadcast that Zenjo was saying that from the bottom of his heart without any malicious intent.

After all, Kuze didn't dislike Zenjo. He was clean, natural, and stronger than anyone. That's why he liked dealing with this person, because he could fight without shackles.

He regretted thinking that he couldn't do that from now on.

Then, Kuze suddenly glowed.

"Ah!"

"Hmm? What's wrong?"

"Sorry Zenjo-san, I just remembered my errand now! I'm done!"

In a hurry, Kuze ran down the hall. Zenjo said, "Oh...?", and gave up, but Kuze suddenly stopped and looked back.

"Please help me again later!"

Zenjo laughed and nodded.

"Oh, I have to be sent."

"Still, please!"

Kuze ran away, saying just that with a smile.

It was that night that Shuichiro Kuze disappeared with "Senden".

++++++++++

When he got out of the transport car, a warm wind caressed Zenjo's cheeks.

The policeman raised his face and smelled a faint smell on the wind. He was delving into the battlefield with "Purgatory". He smelled like sticky, burnt blood.

According to the map, the back alley where the discovery of the men in black was reported was divided into T-shapes. The unit split into three hands, blocking all exits. The most important thing to prevent was that those in black clothes escaped. They had to make sure to capture or neutralize them, even if they took some risks.

At that moment, in front of Zenjo, the entrance to the back alley was black and open.

"Over there."

At random, Zenjo entered an alley.

The back alley was narrow and dark. Polyethylene buckets and outdoor units blocked the street, and the walls of the building that approached from the left and right blocked the sunlight. If one in black clothes came out of the shadows and emitted a flame of extraordinary skill, there would be no way around it. It could be said that this was also a dead place.

Still, Zenjo was not afraid and advanced slowly.

The process suddenly stopped.

Shinohara, who was following Zenjo, said groaning.

"What is the situation? What is this?"

One in black clothes was dead, as if his back was against the wall of the building.

Wide-eyed and in a pool of blood. The burned right hand was soaked in the blood clot, burning and producing black smoke. This was probably the cause of the smell.

In the first place, it was a mystery from the initial discovery report.

It was said that several of the black clothes were fighting. At the time, there were no "Scepter 4" units deployed nearby, and since the Hiiragi incident, the police had been told to stay away from the men in black. Most likely it was a fight between those in black, but in the current situation where they were hiding in a scattered way, he did not think they would do such an outstanding act.

So who was fighting the ones in black?

Zenjo, who was inspecting the corpse in black, said the answer.

"It's Kuze."

"What…?!"

"It is pierced all over the body. This is due to 'Senden'."

Saying that, Zenjo stood up.

Since that night, Kuze's whereabouts have been known to be uncertain. Kuze's legal status was the same as an "Illegal Strain" since he was fired from "Scepter 4". They had to capture him and put a skill suppressor on him, but there weren't enough personnel to track him down in "Scepter 4".

Kuze killed the ones in black and, perhaps, he was still hiding in that place.

"But why is Kuze here?"

Shinohara said that, and suddenly closed his mouth.

Someone slowly emerged from the darkness behind the alley.

It was also one of black clothes.

"Oh, fufu...!"

His face was distorted with anger and hatred, and blood was pouring from his entire body to the point that his black suit was still drenched in red and black. Legs wobbly, the one in black slowly approached.

"Gah!"

The tip of the saber protruded from his chest.

The saber was instantly pulled out and the one in black collapsed to his knees.

Zenjo spoke the name from behind him, standing there.

"Hekireki."

"Oh, Zenjo-san!"

Dressed in a dark green raincoat, Kuze smiled at his face, which had been bathed in blood, and called out to Zenjo cheerfully.

"No, I'm lucky! I can't get it all of a sudden!"

"What are you doing?"

"What?"

Eyes blinking, Kuze looked around him, and mysteriously at himself.

"What's wrong? It's not a job. I got fired from 'Scepter 4'."

He shook "Senden" to spill the blood.

"But if you look for the black clothes, 'Scepter 4' will come, right? Maybe Zenjo-san is there! I thought it was good."

While he smiled, Kuze,

"I never thought we could meet at once! I'm lucky! So…"

He crouched down and pointed the tip of "Senden".

"Let's go."

Before Zenjo thought of anything, Kuze was kicking the ground.

The glow of the blue genie was diffusely reflected in the narrow back alley. He bounced off the ground, scaled walls, emergency stairs, he went up, down, left and right, and hit everything, drawing an unpredictable trajectory like a pinball.

Shinohara, who was behind Zenjo, couldn't even follow Kuze with his eyes. But Zenjo reacted.

It was also an action before thinking. The thick blade of "Hekireki" flipped up as the wind scattered.

The dark green raincoat split in half.

Kuze was no longer there. He twisted in midair, tossed his raincoat, and landed on the ground.

Zenjo kept "Hekireki" jumping and stopped in an unprotected posture. Looking at his empty torso, a fierce smile appeared on Kuze's mouth.

(I caught you!), he thought.

With extraordinary power in his legs, Kuze tried to strike a stroke of luck.

He felt the shock in his chest.

"Eh?"

He lost the strength of his leg. His soles did not separate as if they were stuck to the ground. Interestingly, he looked under his feet and saw a saber thrust into his chest.

"Ah?"

When he coughed, a blood clot spilled from his lips.

Kuze slowly looked at Zenjo.

Zenjo was flipping "Hekireki", with just his right hand.

Before he knew it, he held another saber in his left hand. That pierced through Kuze's chest.

"Oh, wow...!"

Kuze distorted the edge of his mouth when he heard Shinohara make a panicky voice.

"Hey, Shinohara. It's a pay cut to have a saber stolen from you."

When Zenjo drew the saber, Kuze sank into place.

The blood was overflowing. The color of his face was white and transparent. It was clear to everyone that it was no longer useful.

Still, Kuze was somewhat satisfied. He looked at Zenjo and laughed weakly.

"After all... you are amazing, Zenjo-san. I couldn't get over you."

"Kuze."

There was no anger or sadness in Zenjo's expression, just confusion.

"What did you want to do?"

"What?"

Kuze shook his shoulders and laughed. Eventually the laughter turned into a cough and the exhaled blood created a series of stains in the alley.

"I wanted to. A real and potentially deadly battle with Zenjo-san."

Breathing out, Kuze fell onto his side.

"It was fun."

That was the last word from him.

Zenjo, holding a bloody saber, shot a confused look at Kuze's corpse.

[theonceandfutureking6481]

BBC's Merlin Season 1 Episode 5: Lancelot Analysis

It's Lancelot's first episode which is tremendously exciting. I remember the first time I watched this show (last year- I really make it sound like it was much longer than it is), I wasn't particularly attached to him but on my second rewatch I loved him, I loved his and Merlin's friendship and I loved his sheer nobility and decency. Lancelot is of course typically one of the most central characters in telling's of the Arthurian legend, so of course his appearance is exciting. Also excitingly an episode where I talk about someone other than Arthur! Yeah, if you can't tell Arthur's my favourite character. I'm not sure how clear my point is throughout all of this, its hard to articulate but I hope I've done it justice.

"Sir Lancelot, the bravest and the most noble of them all"

This is a quote from much later in the show but it explains something very fundamental about Lancelot's character. Lancelot is supposed to be the chivalric ideal, in most versions of the story he is portrayed as such, as the only knight who really comes close to fulfilling it. Lancelot's fault that puts the dent in him being the true epitome of the noble chivalric knight is his love for Guinevere, and its actually his son Galahad (who doesn't exist in Merlin) who achieves this ideal. However, the point remains that Lancelot is almost there, his character is typically about a person who almost achieves this ideal of chivalry, and they run with this in Merlin, out of all the knights he is the most knightly, the most committed, the one most devoted to its ideals.

Lancelot talks like our idea of a knight, its kind of hard to explain but the way he talks is straight out of chivalric romances, out of films about knights. You notice it because everyone in this show talks in quite a contemporary way, its an Arthurian legend for people of today and the characters talk like it, but Lancelot just doesn't, he talks like a knight from a fairytale. It's just a small detail, but it really plays into the perception of Lancelot as the epitome of chivalric honour.

I'd argue that he represents a knighthood Arthur believes in, before he even realises it himself, a kind of honour that's about devotion to one another and helping others and fighting injustice. Arthur and Lancelot do get on extremely well, despite the fact that Lancelot, in Arthur's own words, doesn't sound or look like a knight. His passionate defense of him to his father, as well as the fact that Arthur releases him from prison without his father's approval is because Arthur respects him and admires him and probably because he sees him as a friend. King Arthur's court is often the ideal representation of chivalry, stories like these about chivalrous knights were very important to aristocratic culture in medieval times, and Arthur's court was at the center of it. The thing is that there is a code of honour and chivalry before Arthur in Merlin, the knights of Camelot already exist, and they are often honourable. But Arthur's task will be to reset the idea of chivalry and honour on new grounds, in new ways and Lancelot in many ways exemplifies this ideal

There is a huge emphasis in Lancelot's character in serving with honour:

"It's not my freedom I seek. I only wish to serve with honour."-Lancelot

"He laid down his life for me. He served with honour."- Arthur

"He meant no harm I am sure of it... he only wished to serve."- Arthur

I'm not exactly sure how to define honour, its kind of an abstract concept but I do know what it means, its acting with integrity and respect and honesty. It's a concept central to the Chivalric code, that knights should behave with honour, so its inclusion here further cements the idea of Lancelot's character as representing the ideal of chivalric knighthood. Also the concept of servanthood comes up again, Merlin emphasises (through Merlin most of all) the honour in being a servant, you don't need to be great or noble or a great leader, the world needs people who are willing to serve and that is just as noble as leading.

Chivalry as a concept is inherently bound up in the concept of nobility. The etymology itself is from the French word for knight/horseman, of which only nobles could be. However, one of the points of Merlin through many of its characters is upsetting this class divide so prevalent in Arthurian stories, not just in also including the stories of those who aren't noble but in setting up a code of honour that applies to everybody. Lancelot epitomises this, he is the knight who most represents the ideal of chivalry to Arthur, he's also not a nobleman. Just like making Gwen and Merlin servants, making the most noble knight not a noble sets up this shift, highlighting the capability of everyone to the kind of goodness and nobility that Camelot's ideal will represent. Because fundamentally what's the point of an ideal if it only applies to some people, ideals should inspire everyone to be better, they should make everyone's lives better not just a small subset of people.

As Gwen says that in Arthur's knights "we need ordinary people like you and me."

Arthur and Uther

Importantly Arthur realises the injustice of laws in his father's kingdom and you see the contrast between him and Uther.

"The code bends for no man."

"Then the code is wrong."

Uther is stubborn, we know that, he's unwilling to admit the fault in his rules, in his ideas even when the evidence is right in front of him and that is a fundamental fault, you can see it in his treatment of those who use magic. Arthur by contrast is someone whose views haven't been set, partly because he is still young, but also because he is a better person than Uther in the ways that matter. He's not going to purposefully blind himself to the truth. For Uther he is also one with a worldview of absolutes, all magic users are bad, laws are laws there is no room for argument or nuance, and I'm sure Uther would see accepting argument or nuance as a weakness.

It is also important that in recognising that the code should bend, Arthur recognises the essential flaw in Uther's construction of society and chivalry. The idea that knights should all be noble, Uther literally says that it is the fact that all knights are noble that binds them together, and this is emphasised by the fact that Uther created the first code of Camelot (also the fact that its the first code- makes this seemingly small law much more important). This is a premise Arthur does not agree with it, this episode proves what it really means to be a knight in Lancelot, its a willingness to do your duty and act with honour and self-sacrifice. It is not confined to class, and thus plays into merlin's wider subversion of chivalry as only being for knights, its a code of honour and behaviour that all people can aspire to, and the ability to live and die for noble causes should not be the sole preserve of knights. The Arthurian ideal is so premised on nobility, for the rest of the kingdom, yes they have a just king and presumably they are protected and safe but they are kept from the dignity of being allowed to be noble, being allowed to be considered a part of the nobility and goodness of the Arthurian ideal. It's significant that the first figure to represent this isn't noble.

Other Stuff

"I owe Lancelot my life and I am paying for that in the only way I can."- Merlin--> This is the worldview of knights and debts of honour in its own way as well

Gwen and Lancelot are just awww, like so sweet

"Merlin would do anything for anyone."- Gwen--> True and I love that about Merlin, even as he becomes more jaded as the seasons go on this doesn't change that much—>he's wonderfully decent

"You're the only thing I care about in this world."- Gaius to Merlin--> That was just sweet and kind of sad He's encouraging Merlin to put himself in danger and Merlin reacts with anger because its like does anyone care what happens to him—> but the point is Merlin can help Arthur and no one else can so he has to do it because its his job and its his job because he's the only one who can do it--> Duty is doing what you have to do, doing the right thing even when you don't want to

"It's my duty knight or not."---> Similar to Merlin—> Lancelot believes in being a knight so whether or not he actually is one he has a duty to act like one—> he is a swordsman he is skilled and (theoretically- if they weren't creatures of magic) could defeat a Griffin so he has to do it—> because he can and its his duty to his worldview And Gwen's response- "You really believe that don't you. I don't think I've ever met anyone like you."

"You've already proven that to us"- Arthur "But I must prove it to myself."- Lancelot--> Isn't there just something very noble in that- In the desire to prove your ability to yourself above all others- to hold yourself to a high standard not just to expect things to come Will parallel Arthur in later seasons as he tries to prove his right to be king to himself--> It's funny the scene when Arthur pulls the sword in the stone (much later) is the moment when he proves his right to be king in every version of the story- but usually its proof to others- In Merlin it was trying to prove to himself

"Till next time then, Sir Lancelot."- Merlin- wonderful way to end the episode on an acknowledgement of Lancelot's role in the wider story- he is a legendary figure

[mysterious-crimson-lotus]

Froggie

Just a short drabble? thing. Naruhina, of course. A little bit of practice, I guess. Something new. An experimental piece? Style switch? Enjoy? 

Also, sorry if you like frogs, I guess. 

Her sigh was everything, a deep, satisfied breath that soothed the embers of excitement attempting to catch flame. 

I smile against her neck. I pull her closer to me, wrapping my arm around her belly and tightening my hold on her. Feeling her foot rub against my own, I kiss her gently on the back of her neck. She shudders. My smile grows brighter, and I readjust myself to make it more comfortable for both of us. We're spooning, basking in the afterglow of our earlier, more... physical activities. She asked if I wanted to be the little spoon earlier, but that's the last thing I want. She's said before that she feels comfortable and safe in my arms. I want to maximize that, make her feel more secure and cozy than she had ever felt before. Besides, I always feel more comfortable sleeping or resting with something -- a pillow, a teddy bear -- to hold, cuddle and squeeze.

She is better than any teddy bear or pillow.

Cuddling with her, or even simply holding her, is quite possibly the most satisfying sensation that I have ever had the fortune of experiencing. Imagine a frog, lounging under the shade of a palm tree. The shade of the palm tree would protect it from the intensity of the massive star; yet the amphibian would still experience the sun's warmth and heat, feel the light that brought life and energy to the world whilst also feeling the gentle, invigorating breeze of the beach, the soothing, gentle sounds of the ocean, and the freedom and tranquility of a day at the beach. The frog would have the vast world surrounding it, have the freedom to explore, while also having access to the wonderful comforts of the beach.

That's what it feels like, being with her. Freedom from my worries and strife. Gentle warmth and serenity that bring a calm so powerful that everything slips away like sand in your hand. Time and all the evils of the world are washed away with the tide.

Why a frog? I have acknowledged my weaknesses; I have taken steps to understand the divide between reality and my perception of it, as well as the doubts that made that divide become less clearer. But it's not an easy journey, and doubts rarely leave, just as clouds rarely leave the sky. With her, though, it doesn't matter. No matter how gross, or ugly, or grotesque I consider myself, or might feel that day, her presence would radiate like the warmth of the hearth. The beach doesn't care if it's a frog or a seagull or the most beautiful human in the world on its land. The sun doesn't care; it shines it's light equally upon all the life that lives on Earth.

I could be a simple frog, and still enjoy her affections.

Pressing my lips upon the top of her head, I smell the faint traces of the smell of shampoo in it. Despite her protests that sparring under the hot sun made her sweaty, and that she probably smelled gross now, I could still catch a bit of it. Perhaps it was in my mind. All I knew was that she could be drenched completely in sweat, and I wouldn't care. Lifting my head up a bit, I lightly rub my nose against her ear.

"You should sleep," I hear her mumble, a bit of a laugh in her voice.

"Mmm, too comfortable to sleep," I respond, kissing her earlobe.

"How?" She laughs slightly at this, then shakes her head so as to rub her head against my cheek. She places one of her hands on my forearm -- the one wrapped around her waist -- and moves the other one so as to grab the arm she was using as a pillow. "And how are you not tired of kissing me?"

"Getting tired of kissing you would be like getting tired of breathing. Or getting tired of ramen." My super witty reply is accompanied by a series of small kisses from her ear to her cheek. It's hard to shift around to do it, considering one of my arms is pinned under her head, but she subtly shifts her head to give me access, and my smile is a bit too wide at that.

"Hmm. As always, ramen’s on the forefront of your mind, isn’t it."

"That and being Hokage."

The hand that grabbed my pillow-hand slides to my fingers, and she laces hers through mine. It was strange how the act of holding hands while spooning could feel more intimate that anything of the stuff that we had done, considering that those stuff would have had her father, sister and clan try to rip me limb from limb if they ever found out.

"Shhh."

I pull her in closer, squeeze her waist, squeeze her hand, and finally rest my head against the bed. I give the back of her head one more kiss.

“And you, of course,” I whisper. 

Then I relax. Just a frog enjoying a day at the beach.

Everything feels right

I begin to drift into the realm of sleep, and it feels like sinking into a bed of cotton. I hear tranquil, comforting melody of the water lapping in the ocean -- or is that her breathing? Her hair tickles my nose a bit, and I can faintly hear the sound of the city through the open window, but it doesn't matter.

Nothing does, but the sound of her breathing, and the hand holding my own.

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

So yeah, nothing overly elaborate. Just trying to switch me writing from “essay mode” to “fanfic mode” I guess. 

[collection-of-puzzles]

I am the queen of knowing you are threatened by my freedom. I am a king of compassion and resilience. You want me shaken or stirred by your fear. You want me to match your energy. Be little myself to fit your comfort level. Keep my mouth closed when spilling too much truth. Close my eyes shut when I start to see connections and hidden meanings. Wipe my hands clean of all the dirt gathered around you. You ask me my name but don’t care for the story, you ask me where I’m from but careless for the roots, you wonder how I became me but refuse to believe the wounds and work it took to build me. You want my gifts but don’t think I deserve a fee. If you are finding my journey relatable it’s because we sit in the chairs of generations of duct taping classified documents, classified by someone who only has their perception of the case and heaven forbid they feel/show emotions on peaking within. Gathered around tables and chairs of generations using whiteout on situations they deemed unsuitable for history books in America. Attacking first and then asking questions upon the aftermath. While chanting no matter who or what we give up. Diversity and freedom go hand in hand. Our down fall is not laying in another’s hands, such as our opposition. Our lack of balance in our communities represents the imbalance between power of government and power in the hands of our people. This is all about a country who is the biggest stereotype in our world. That we remain so different from one another that the only possible solution is to divide from or destroy the other. This is about freedom for Everybody. Our problems are getting stronger, and so we need to remember to adapt just as strongly. The old days of revolution are upon us. It is up to us people to do better than the last ones, the country I know and tend to love or value… was founded on this very thought… that we could be better. Better than great, better than before and even stronger as a planetary contender is a vast universe and world. It is not to encourage the universalizing of cultures or people, America, was intended but as normally, falls victim to our innately flawed human ability to not be fearful, greedy or selfish. I hope we do better, I hope we start to help each others in life. I hope we make it easier for one another. I know we can, I believe that we can. I write this so we will.

[knightofchrist]

Earlier this week, a follower of mine had sent me a message. At the time I had read it I simply shrugged and discarded it, but the more I think about it the more it reminded me of a homily my spiritual father gave the Sunday immediately following January 6th. I think there is something of value here for all of us (not just Orthodox Christians, but Catholics and protties as well) so I will share my recollection and the core of Fr.’s sermon.

The message said something to the effect of “I too am an orthodox Christian, but I’m afraid you are a right-wing nut job and can no longer follow you!” I won’t share the gentleman’s name, because that is not what this is about. I will note though that he was clearly an older gentleman.

And you know, perhaps he is right. I’m sure he is not the only one who shares that perception of me.

But I do not believe that I am. Many of you know that I do not shy away from politics. I certainly have my opinions. I do not feel like they are overly conspiratorial or particularly egregious. I don’t like or trust a lot of what I see happening in my country at the moment.

But that’s all fine.

What this gentleman reminded me of was that I am and have always considered myself a Christian first. That is my primary affiliation and identity. I am not a registered republican, or some sort of internet-crypto-nazi. My political stance can be summed up by “I believe in one God, the father almighty, maker of heaven and earth...” etc.,. Now that does incidentally put me on the right side of the spectrum. I am after all a traditionalist of sorts, because my Christian beliefs inform me that this modern world we find ourselves in is on many accounts quite evil, because it has made it normal to disregard many traditional Christian teachings that our civilization was built on. In some cases, our culture is now outright hostile to the foundation of our lives and lineages.

The homily that was given at our church after the events in D.C. was one of concern and regret, and of heeding our duty to each other as the body of Christ. Our priest of course saw what happened in the Capitol, but more importantly he saw many in our congregation interacting with others online after the fact. He was quite taken aback and was speaking about his responsibility as our spiritual father for our spiritual wellbeing. But then he said something that really struck me;

“Our enemy is not the republicans or democrats. Our enemy is not Donald Trump or Nancy Pelosi. We are Christians. Our enemy is Satan and the legion of demons that seek to destroy us, and part us from the love of Christ and the crowns promised to us in Heaven in the end. We especially as Christians, rather than as countrymen, should have no discord between us. We are all part of the family of Christ, and the way we bring others to Christ as is our duty is not to convince people with our words. We cannot convince people with words. It is to show them ‘how those Christians love one another.’ So do not divide our house. Christ is our king and God, and our duty is to Him rather than these worldly leaders.”

I was reminded how much more important our house is than anything that goes on in this world. How much more precious the Church is than any country, or political party, or ideological cause. And not even just for the sake of spreading His message, but also to not soil the glory of what Christ has created in this world that is His Church. The holiness and light that we are supposed to be in this world is the most precious charge any of us could possibly have, and to sow discord among ourselves is a grave sin indeed.

Despite my outward appearance in the above picture, despite the combat gear and the weapons, I am not a man of violence. I never want to harm anyone, and I would never harm another brother or sister in Christ. I do not condone violence in any way, shape or form. I especially denounce any sort of political violence in its entirety. I do, however, believe in being prepared to defend yourself and the people around you, especially your loved ones. I don’t think anyone could fault me for that, and I believe that is consistent with our faith. Love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice as our Lord’s passion taught us.

I do not hold it against the gentleman for finding fault in our political differences and seeing that as a reason to get rid of the connection we had. I do find it regrettable in the same way our priest did that that happened to be the reason though. We are Orthodox Christians. We have the True faith, and we should instinctively know in our hearts that that binds us together in an inseparable way. I pray for him and for all of us that we may overcome this demonic division that seeks to rip us apart from one another and our Lord. I pray that we may always remember in the front of our minds and hearts that our first loyalty is to Christ and His Church. This does not mean we cannot have our opinions, simply that we remember what is truly important and what really matters above all else.

Thank you.

[underworldobsessed]

Tired of Being Treated Like a Pawn ll Bo-Katan Week Day 3 Force Sensitive Bo-Katan

Title: Tired of Being Treated Like a Pawn Rating: T Ship: None Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, Satine Kryze, Obi-Wan Kenobi (mentioned) Series: This Life is Mine (Bo-Katan Week 2021), Who I Used to Be (Force Sensitive Bo) Summary: Bo is the rightful ruler of Mandalore, and she is preparing to give her first speech to her people as their Mand’alor (or sort of). Yet, she can sense the discontent from her people, and needs a little bit of a boost to remind her that she is ready to take up the mantle. ll Bo-Katan Week Day 3: Force Sensitive Bo Author’s note: So I wasn’t initially intending to continue my Force Sensitive Bo universe, but seeing the alternative prompt as an option and me not feeling ready to write Ursa motivated me to continue this series. Who knows, I may continue to write in this series in the future. Force Sensitive Bo is such a cool concept that I love expanding on.

Tagging: @bokatanweek​

Read here or under the cut.

Bo took a deep breath as she looked out towards the crowds of Mandalorians, her people. She was preparing to make a speech for the first time as the leader of Mandalore, and she could only feel the anxiety swirling inside her. She was never one for public speaking, giving addresses to people… That was always Satine’s specialty. She had been the one trained in politics and trained to do things like this. Bo usually did her talking with violence. 

She sensed her sister’s approach before she felt the hand on her shoulder. With the help of Kenobi, Bo spent a lot of her time sharpening her abilities with the Force. She had learned exactly how to pick out individual force signatures to know who was around her and if someone was a friend or a foe. It wasn’t easy for her, beginning some form of training as she was older, but at least when it came to her sister, she could recognize her anywhere. 

“Are you ready, Bo?” Satine stood at Bo’s side, resting a hand on her shoulder. She tried to shut herself off, create a shield so she wasn’t feeling other people’s presence in the force besides her sister, but she could feel her people’s anger and anxiety about her taking over. Most of her life she had been doing that without knowing, but now that she was conscious of it and now that she herself was nervous, she couldn’t manage making a shield to others around her. She didn’t say anything, staring out to where she knew everyone was waiting.

“Bo,” Her sister moved around so she was blocking Bo’s view outside. It didn’t block out the feelings of everyone else but it did prevent her from seeing the crowd she would be speaking to. “What’s going on, you seemed ready to speak to them this morning? What changed?” 

“I was alerted by your jedi that the rumor has spread through Mandalore that I am force sensitive. A former Death Watch member or Almec might have spread it around, and now I can feel their anger towards me. I feel how much the people don’t trust me. They remember the war between the Jedi and the Mandalorians, or at least the stories shared of the war. They think between my abilities and your ties to the jedi that I am not fit to rule Mandalore.” She rested her hand on the Dark saber at her side, starting to wonder herself if she was actually a fitting ruler for Mandalore. The people’s perception of her was definitely getting to her, at least because she felt their distrust. 

“Bo, you rebuilt Mandalore after Maul destroyed it,” Satine gripped her sister’s shoulder, imploring her to focus solely on her. “You’ve fought for our people since the beginning, you focused the rebuilding efforts on what mattered, And most of all, you kept our neutrality in the war by doing it all on your own. You didn’t ask for the republic’s help. You utilized what you had and the neutral connections of Mandalore to rebuild. You didn’t need help to come up with any of that. You are a born leader. You are no longer subject to how Death Watch treats you. You are a leader.” 

Bo didn’t know what to say, looking around briefly but she could feel her sister’s confidence in her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, remembering what Obi-Wan had said about finding peace when it was hard, shutting emotions out and focusing on the flow of the force. It wasn’t easy. She spent her whole life allowing anger to rule her, having her toe the line between the light and the dark, but after seeing fully what the dark side could do to someone… seeing Maul almost kill her sister, she was working on eliminating that part of her. Or at least doing her best to control it. She wouldn’t become like that. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw Satine smiling warmly at her, felt her pride and she stepped away, resting her hand back on the dark saber. “Okay, I’m ready.” 

She took one final breath before she walked out onto the balcony of the palace, ready for her first speech to her people to be heard. 

“People of Mandalore!” Her voice rang out, technology around her amplifying her so all could hear her. Cameras were around as well to record this moment. “I stand before you after rotations of preparation to rebuild our home. Civil war has left it’s scars once again. We were, and still are, people divided. New and Old Mandalorian ideals, my sister’s beliefs and Death Watch… all these titles divide us, when we are all one group of people, we are Mandalorians!” For a moment, she glanced back to Satine, who nodded at her with encouragement, knowing what Bo was going to do. 

“I know what you have heard, although I do not know who spread it around our planet but I stand before you to tell you that it’s true.” She took another centering breath. “I am force sensitive.” Nervous chatter rang out through her people, and she knew she had to quell it now before she lost control or lost her nerve. “However, just because I have these abilities does not mean I am a traitor or that I believe in the Jedi. First and foremost, I am a Mandalorian. I have fought besides many of you as our world was torn, first by ourselves and then again by outsiders. Just because I have these abilities does not make me any less of a Mandalorian than the rest of you, just like my sister’s ideals of nonviolence did not make her less of a Mandalorian. While many of our battles were waged in blood, hers were waged in politics, in words. She never stopped fighting for our people, and many of us seemed to forget that, myself included. I say this because we must not forget that just because I have certain abilities, does not make me any less of a Mandalorian. I stand before you, in my full beskar’gam, to prove that to you. I will not allow outsiders to control our home any longer, but in the same breath, I will not allow our own people to tear apart our world either. I am not my sister, I do not believe that being without violence is the answer, but we must not spark another civil war as our planet will not survive. We are a warrior people, and I know that we must keep our traditions alive, but we also have to be realistic.” 

Without a second thought, she unclipped the darksaber and lifted it into the air, igniting it’s blade. Cheers erupted from the crowd at the sight of their leader wielding the weapon that marked the Mand’alor for so long. She waited a moment as the crowd quieted before continuing.

“This weapon marked someone as the Mand’alor, as a warrior strong enough to lead our people. And while it is true, this weapon has been in the wrong hands for far too long. Too many people who held this weapon and paraded around like they were the true Mand’alor without thinking about what our world needed. Our world needs more than one ruler, someone who fights battles on the battlefield and someone who fights battles behind the scenes, in the political world to ensure that we do not fall to Republic or Seperatist rule. So I will not be the Mand’alor, because I will not be ruling alone.” She gestured towards her sister, and Satine came out, looking every inch the duchess that she was. “My sister, Satine Kryze, will be ruling by my side, but I warn you. We will not be the pacifist government that she had, nor will we be the blood soaked government we were that burned our world and left our people scarred. We will be our own people. We will be the rulers that Mandalore needs, that you, our people need.” She put her helmet on, and for the first time since she held the darksaber in her hands after killing Maul, she felt like she earned this role. She earned herself the right to stand here and rule over her people. 

She allowed her walls to fall, allowing herself to feel what the crowd did, and all she felt was their support, their belief in her. Beneath her helmet, she smiled. From her sister, she felt pride and love, pride in all Bo had accomplished and love for her despite all she had done in the past. This was where she belonged, and she could be true to herself.

[alivingstillness]

Awareness and the thought-web analogy as a communicative foundation

An analytical view on communicatio through the lenses of Advaita philosophy.

1. INTRODUCTION

Throughout the life of a human being, there is a complex communicative process taking place within and without ourselves. When we view communication as a tool to meddle within perception, we are likely to think of one source exchanging information with another in the form of subject to subject. But if we are to imagine an internal conversation (monologue), we can think of the communicative process to be held within one subject.

To discern within the internal process of thinking, I will divide the subject into two parts: I (the thinker or perceiver) and thought (the perceived). Perception itself can in a sense be said to be two or-threefold, either in the form of perceiver-perceived or perceiver-perceiving-perceived, (the last part: perceived, can, for example, be an object and the perception (of) it may differ from perceiver to perceiver. A perception is a form of communication even if it is completely internal. But who or what is actually the communicator when we start to investigate our intimate process of thinking and is it possible to distinguish the meeting-points within perception by becoming aware of our conscious and subconscious mechanism of thinking?

Neuro-linguistic programming (NLP)

Is an approach to communication where the human psyche has a central focus. NLP deals with techniques and exercises in sort of reprogramming our mind, which works with our communicative language in such a way that negative experiences of behavioral patterns can give us insight into how to transform our responses to have a positive effect. NLP holds an extensive amount of theories relating our senses with mind, behavior, and thought patterns. I will not investigate all branches within NLP, but I will in this work focus on the parallels between its science and that of self-inquiry and meditation and how self-awareness relates to communicative conflicts.

For our heart to function properly there is constant communication taking place within our body and importantly in our brain that we don’t pay much attention to. I will present an investigation into our ability to become more aware of our internal language in the form of thinking, and how it could relate to emotional, cultural, and other forms of psychological factors.  

From an internal investigation into communication, I will further develop how this can function as a window of perception towards a better understanding of our communication with other people, and attempt to discern between conscious and subconscious reactions.  

I hope that this work can aid as a help to better understand conflict and the build-up of our persona through our multi-layered language.  

2. PERSPECTIVE

I have chosen to investigate communication through the lenses of self-inquiry and will use the example of becoming a witness to our internal thought-pattern. My field of interest in this communicative process comes from a non-dual yogic perspective (Advaita philosophy, Trika Tantra, Tao, or Zen Buddhism).

All paths regarded as non-dual in their teachings points towards the realization of an underlying cause or witness to the tendencies of the mind. I will in my investigation too, point towards the notion of this witnessing aspect beyond the individual psyche in the hope for the reader to expand their view upon their own communicative behavior.

This written work is solemnly analytical and theoretical, and shows my personal cognitive understanding towards the subject, through the lenses of my own thought-pattern formed by my yogic view.

3. ANALYSIS  

Awareness and the thinking of being

Within direct-realization non-dual teachings, the doing of meditation and distinction of spiritual practice becomes concepts from the perspective of the individual, who ultimately is considered to only exist as one window into Self-perception through the action of thinking. But who or what is really the doer, or the witness to thinking?

Our experience of duality is apparent in all its subtle and grosser layers. Non-dual teachings point towards the relationship between the unmanifest and manifest as simultaneously present within all beings and creation (Shiva-Shakti, Alpha-Omega). “Awareness” or “pure consciousness” are commonly used terms to describe the nature of the Self that is the core of non-dual teachings.

To easier understand how this applies to communication and language, it would mean that instead of there being subjects and objects/or matter, there would ultimately just exist one grand subject that is pure consciousness, and perception will in its truth not be divided into parts. This non-dual consciousness has, by its own will and movement, given birth manifest form, within and from its own being.

It is a complex philosophy that has been recorded in some of the oldest eastern scriptures and later given birth to many schools of philosophy, religion, and western free thinkers. In its teachings, the laws of the universe are highly dependent on vibration and energy, yet there is always an underlying cause that binds the sprouting of expansion together: The Self, that can be said to be awareness aware of itself, pure untainted consciousness, or even mind absent from thought-quality.

“If you want to find the secrets of the Universe, think in terms of energy, frequency, and vibration.” ― Nicola Tesla

The world as we perceive it is said to be largely stored in the collective and forgetful nature of Self-activity (shakti) because of the sprouting of creation. We can think of the terms “Awareness” vs. “Awareness of”, meaning, that as soon as we become aware of something, the “something” is externalized and divided from our being, making us see ourselves as separate from the perceived. Some yogic teachings provide us with techniques to help us reverse and zoom out to witness the play of perception taking place within ourselves, and to finally let awareness become aware of its own awareness.  Here a parallel to Jung’s collective unconscious and karmic patterns suits to be mentioned. 

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it faith.” 

“So far as we have any information about man, we know that he has always and everywhere been under the influence of dominating ideas. Anyone who alleges that he is not can immediately be suspected of having exchanged a known form of belief for a variant which is less known both to himself and to others.” ― C.G. Jung, “The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious”

If an individual uses practice to investigate Self-awareness by exponentially becoming more aware of what is perceived and perception itself, eventually the practice has the potential to dissolve by itself. I have developed an analogy for the purpose of self-inquiry that can be used as a technique to strengthen the conscious relationship with yourself as a witness of yourself. The idea behind the technique I shall present is largely inspired by Jnana yoga and the teachings of Ramana Maharshi, who encouraged the thinker to constantly question oneself by the words of: “To whom has this thought occurred?”

The thought-web analogy, (a practice in self-inquiry)

If I am immersed in a relaxed state of being and a thought pops up in my awareness, I can say “I am aware of this thought”. Now, if I were to follow this thought by asking: to whom does this thought appear?

I would find another thought “to me”, yet it is not enough to say that the one thought came into existence by one other. It is though more correct to say that the thought came into existence by a trillion or so other thoughts, creating the space-time constructed individual consciousness of myself.

If I was to picture this bundle of thoughts making me, me, I would picture something like an intricate bundle of complex patterns, sort of like a multidimensional web of thoughts as strings, being held together by each other.

Each string has itself a complex patterning of other types of subtle phenomena, relating cognition to aspects of emotions and memories, etc. So through these layers the pattern thought-connection makes can vary from one layer to another, making this web of thoughts a hell of a mess to un-tie.

So, since I started my investigation I have found that not only am I aware of these thoughts when they appear, but I have found myself to be aware of a hopeless thought-maze, and the finding of an exit within it seems like an impossible mission.

I can now see that my persona is not only related to this web, but that it is held within the substratum of it.

A new question then arises: Am I just what I think myself to be, and do I even have any control over it?

If it is so that the sum of my individuality is held by a belief system of what I think myself to be, am I not a mere puppet then, held together by invisible strings meticulously tied in ways too complex for my own understanding- which would also be the sum of the very same pattern.

At this point, I have not yet realized the potential of my awareness, for this is where I decide to bypass this bundle of what I think myself to be and decide to take a leap of neglect in the sense of a short-cut straight to the first connective thought-tissue that birthed the sense of “I am”.

Somehow a three-fold perception must have come into existence in the same bundle of primary individual thoughts of myself through perceiver-perception-perceived. This is when awareness becomes really interesting, for you see, as soon I have experienced this leap in my own awareness, awareness itself may become aware of itself and the three-fold perception will explode into new meaning.

But I will not develop this any further, yet I encourage you to play with the investigation mentioned. I will, though, sprout for the idea that the foundation demonstrated above can be seen as a microcosm to a macrocosm creating our collective consciousness, bound in the web of samsara until awareness prevails.

“I think 99 times and find nothing. I stop thinking, swim in silence, and the truth comes to me.”  ― Albert Einstein

Speech of silence

Words are problematic by nature, because language as a way of communication, description, and discernment can perpetuate our understanding of the known (perceiver, perceived, and perception itself), and let us deepen our conceptual understanding. Yet in reference to non-dual view, Self-realization does not come forth through word-language. It reaches us first in silence (which is incomplete in its statement because the word “silence” is referenced to from the concept of sound), before totally permeating even spoken language with its foundation as the absolute. 

Word-expression is potent and can point us inward because of the layers of cognition and emotion intertwined with content and meaning given to it, making our experience of a word or a piece of poetry very intimate. Even though there might be a common understanding of the language used, the layers of viewing differ from individual to individual. 

Words can act as powerful seeds when integrated and can point towards self-inquiry. In the same sense, they can wake feelings within, allowing us to follow towards the root of the perceived feeling. Japa mantra is a powerful tool to infuse our minds with the desired scent or meaning of the word. For example, if we often recite AUM 108 times internally or externally, we will eventually taint our being with our understanding of the meaning of AUM increasingly. Its vibration will affect us, and relations to our personal layers of the word AUM will steer our minds in the directions intertwined with it. Your mind is a magnet that attracts your reality. 

But as much as language is fantastic in its tremendous depth that goes beyond the examples just mentioned, there comes a point in journeying towards the end of spiritual searching, where words will take you no further. In the crown of your being, sounds emerge in absence of senses.

“It is only in alert silence, that truth can be”  

― Jiddu Krishnamurti 

NLP and Meditation

I have in my analysis, described a method for investigating one's thought pattern, and pointed towards how this web of thinking relates to cognitive and emotional layers within ourselves. 

When there is an expansion in our awareness and we are abiding in a state where we can calmly observe our internal language and reactions, it is called meditation. By realizing how thought-patterns build up and relate to our persona, we naturally have the opportunity to distance ourselves towards our perceived thoughts and emotions. This realization regarding our internal

language will permeate how we react when we communicate with others, and it will influence our understanding of others’ responses. In a sense, we can say that one naturally becomes more forgiving towards conflicts with others or even within ourselves. We might also develop the ability to recognize the build-up of a conflict in action, and then use language more consciously.

Because of an increased level of awareness and witnessing, of the many layers of individual persona, there is the opportunity for recognizing the immensity of influences that have played part in creating the individual consciousness at any given moment. Anything from social construct, environment, economy, politics, childhood trauma, relationships, ..well anything that has affected our persona has had some effect on us, and therefore, our internal and external communication. 

These layers or pattern-buildups must influence our being similar to how we influence that which is perceived to be outside of us. By practicing awareness and abiding in our inner stillness we can become less reactionary. In a way, we can see that much of our communication happens in effect to subconscious influence by our language towards, or within ourselves. Through this recognition, we have the opportunity to become more conscious of the way we communicate. It is a form of reprogramming our being to communicate more consciously by increasing our awareness of our subconscious or, more consciously using the potency of language. This is an effect of meditation or self-inquiry. 

Neuro-linguistic programming works similarly. But as meditation and self-inquiry naturally affect ourselves and others as an outcome of it, NLP actively intends to reprogram people’s behavioral patterns. The method of NLP deals with noticing the negative behavioral patterns of a person, and then, using the qualities of the behavior to become a beneficial aid for reprogramming. An example: someone who suffers from anxiety, and has a vivid way of experiencing it, usually has a strong relationship between memory and visual thinking. The Neuro-linguistic programmer could then decide to treat the patient using visual tools of reprogramming, because of the visual imprints already affecting the patient’s wellbeing. Visual NLP therapy could include the “movie theatre technique”, a technique that allows the patient to imagine watching their traumatic experience on a screen. The patient fasts forward, rewinds, and plays their experience several times to gradually disassociate themselves from the trauma. This disassociation happens on a subconscious level while the patient consciously revisits an experience. By using the movie theatre technique the NL-programmer can together with the patient tweak the negative thought patterns. This can be done by first becoming aware of thoughts, feelings, and behavior relating to a traumatic memory, and then imagine them to include a more positive experience. One can think of NLP in comparison to meditation/self-inquiry as a treatment to be considered doing vs. allowing effect. 

Both NLP and meditation regard our experience to be subjective, and should in that sense be treated by an investigation into the subject of experiencing. 

4. CONCLUSION

However we choose to view an individual's linguistic or communicative factors, it is obvious that there are grosser and more subtle forms, as well as there are conscious and subconscious. 

Since much of our communication and personal patterning happens at the subtle and subconscious levels of our being, our external communication is equally affected. 

The outstanding factor linking NLP and meditative practice is awareness. If a person increases their awareness of their behavior, the person gains insight into the mechanism of themselves and their communicative language. This increase of individual awareness allows for the individual to realize themselves apart from the behavioral patterns present, and therefore allowing for more conscious behavior, and dissociation from a negative experience. 

When we act from a more conscious mindset and abide in a meditative state, the reactionary web of our persona becomes slower and less potent in stirring our emotions. Meditation and Self-inquiry can both be helpful for the person who is hoping to become more conscious of his or her behavior or psyche, and for the seeker looking to go to the very depth of the immensity of their being. 

I acknowledge that NLP can help treat specific behavioral patterns. Yet I believe that the keys towards understanding and affecting the persona and its communicative patterns lays within awareness and consciousness itself. And to experience the fruits of action, one has to go within, where one can experience not only one's internal language but the absence of it. 

I would also like to point out that since experience is subjective, there exist numerous tools, techniques, or therapies besides NLP or meditative practice that lets us investigate into communication. This work only shows one window of perception among other possible viewpoints. 

Trace one thought and find another, dismiss them all and find yourself. 

/Alexandra 

[polaristranslations]

The Tenth Box

   ■   ■

By the way, Torai Kudaki.

When do you feel that you have "lost"?

When do you become conscious of your defeat, become aware of your inferiority, and recognize your loss?

Ah, you look as if you're wondering why I'm asking something so obvious, but this can be a pretty fundamental question in life—to the extent that whether or not you can prepare a good answer to this question can have great influence over your life. And I'm not exaggerating.

We should think of it not in terms of losing, but winning?

It's not defeat, but victory that has great influence over your life?

Indeed.

Or rather, that's an excellent point.

That has to be the case, Torai Kudaki, especially for someone in your position—it's fundamentally the right thing to do to look at things optimistically. No, I don't have any ulterior motives in using the word "fundamentally".

Don't flare up at me like that. It's the right thing both fundamentally and practically.

In the first place, it's not like you can perfectly divide right from wrong, and thus the world is quite hard to understand—it may be correct to define things based on winning rather than losing, but if you only pursue what's correct, you'll end up like me.

You don't want to end up like me, right?

Of course, you probably don't want to end up like Kumagawa Misogi, either—well, it's basically all about balance. A person that thinks only about winning should also think about losing, and a person that thinks only about losing should also think about winning.

Let's return to the initial question.

When do you feel that you have "lost"?

Unlike the Formation Game that I played with Chinu Namaji at this point in time, the real world is not made up of such easy-to-understand rules—there didn't exist any umpire that could definitively lay down judgment as to who the winner was and who the loser was.

You could think that you emerged victorious, but other people may see you as having lost. You could be filled to the brim with a sense of defeat, but other people may think that you were clearly the winner.

That doesn't happen?

Well, I don't know about that.

However, in the case when you learn from your defeat, then you could say that defeat was necessary for you to win later on, and thus that defeat was an integral part of your victory—and, on the other hand, if you grow too arrogant after winning and decline because you stopped putting in the effort, then you could say you lost because of that victory.

That's right.

It's an extreme example—however, there aren't very many examples that aren't extreme, in the same way there aren't very many lives that aren't extreme. My life is certainly rather extreme, and, Torai Kudaki, your life is rather extreme as well.

Well, even so, I'm definitely not saying that you shouldn't be concerned with short-term wins and losses and instead focus on the long-term—after all, there's no one that concerns themselves with short-term wins and losses more than me.

How can we be concerned with future wins and losses without being concerned with short-term wins and losses? The most important thing is to have a perspective that can see both the near and the far.

In what? Well, in life, of course.

And in a competition, as well.

Speaking of which, for reference, I think that I have lost when I think that I have lost. No matter how I try to force logic and requirements on it, that would be the ultimate conclusion I arrive on.

No matter how much someone explains to me that it will benefit me in the future, no matter how much I am told that it is practically like winning, no matter how much I am told that I lost the battle but won the war—to me, I lose if I think I lost.

In life, and in a competition.

The one who thinks they lost is the loser.

It's not really logical, is it.

So, in accordance with those words—against Chinu Namaji, I lost in that illogical way. Not to mention, it was an overwhelming defeat.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't that I lost, but that I was made to feel that I lost—that was what happened.

   ■   ■

The Formation Game.

I shouldn't need to explain the rules of the game that Chinu Namaji presented to me—a perceptive person should not only be able to predict the details of what kind of game it would be, but perhaps even make up the appropriate rules themselves.

Well, if I had the chance to nail down the details of the game, then it could have been even more thrilling, making my skin crawl with excitement—but in that situation three years ago, the rules were only based upon what Chinu Namaji thought of.

In hindsight, I feel like there was room to be a bit more creative with the rules, but for now, this was what it was—although, for her, there was probably no need to be creative.

There was no point in making the game interesting.

Chinu-senpai—it wasn't like she wanted to just play around with me.

"The rules are, let's see..."

I'll abbreviate Chinu-senpai's explanation a bit.

She said something along these lines.

"Within an hour from now, each of us will choose five team members—well, let's go with having no alternates. You can only choose from the students that are still here at Hakobune Middle School. I'll make it so that it's against the rules to call or text a student who's already left the school to come back—that randomness will make it more like a game."

"......"

I listened quietly.

Naturally, I was able to more or less predict the rules based on the name of the game, but that didn't mean I wanted to make a careless mistake by skipping the explanation. I wanted to be serious when it came to matches like these—I wanted to be sensitive.

"As for gender... Hmm. Well, it would be more interesting if we could mix it up... Like, you can only have up to three boys, or you must have at least one girl, or something like that. However, when it comes to sports, mixing boys and girls together can lead to accidents, after all. Since this is just for fun, let's limit the players to girls this time, seeing as both you and I are girls."

From her tone of voice, it seemed like Chinu-senpai was making up the rules as she went along, but it was hard to tell if that was really the case or not. She was a clever girl, so I wouldn't be surprised if she'd already come up with this much as soon as she told me the name of the Formation Game.

Well, there was no point to being too distrustful of her.

I just had to be careful to not get caught in a trap.

"In exchange, it won't matter what year they're in. You can make a team of all third-years or all first-years—of course, you can mix it up, too. But let's try to avoid any professionals—in other words, any former basketball team members cannot be scouted."

"......"

That was a bit of an unexpected rule.

It should be easy to understand why it was so unexpected—after all, Chinu Namaji herself was a former basketball team member... Really, it wasn't clear to me at all what happened to the girls' basketball team, but it seemed for certain that there was some sort of connection, some history, between her and the other former basketball team members, which meant that she would have had an advantage when it came to the game.

Well, who knows.

Since this was just for fun, I could understand the logic behind excluding those specialized in basketball from the possible team members. In the same sense that pros couldn't enter in amateur matches—however, I felt that the rule was a bit too strict for something she supposedly thought up just now.

Strict... Or perhaps, rigid.

That's why, at this point, I interjected.

"Couldn't making amateurs play basketball against each other also lead to accidents? This may be a bit of a foolish thing to say, but I think that some, if not all, of the members should be people that have at least gone through proper training..."

"I'm not saying that you can't get people with experience. I don't mind if you find someone who's played mini-basketball in elementary school, or someone who plays street basketball out on the town—but, but but, former girls' basketball team members are not allowed."

Because it's awkward for me.

That's what Chinu-senpai said.

"......"

Well, I didn't know what to say to that—if I tried to delve too much into the matter, it would probably make things even more awkward. After all, I needed to win this game in order to figure out what was going on with the girls' basketball team. That was how I felt.

Well, if I had to guess, it would be that there was some kind of internal conflict within the girls' basketball club, which led to the club splitting up and ceasing to exist in a near-catastrophic way—since it was practically devoid of people now—so it would be "awkward" to meet again because of a game like this.

If it was like that, it wouldn't just be awkward, it might even be depressing.

I was guessing on my own and convincing myself on my own, but even if I was on the mark, my way of thinking had been a bit shallow—I probably could have been thinking a little more deeply about the situation facing the girls' basketball team and the incident that occurred.

"...So can I understand it as, choosing your acquaintances is not allowed?"

"No, no, not that. I'm not saying that, I'm just saying that choosing former members of the girls' basketball team is not allowed. Specifically—"

After that, Chinu-senpai listed the names, classes, and seat numbers of some students. They used to be in the same club, so it made sense that she remembered their names, but it was a bit discomforting to learn that she completely remembered their classes and seat numbers as well.

Well, it was a discomfort I could ignore.

"—Those students are out. Other than them, anybody you get is fine. Ahaha, well, they'll have to be girls, so it won't be just anybody—Japanese sure is hard.[?]"

"......"

"It doesn't matter to me how you decide who to scout, either—you can choose your friends, or you can feel free to bring completely unrelated people, if you manage to come to an agreement on the conditions."

"Conditions?"

"Well, it's not like someone you don't know will agree to come with you just because you asked them, unless there's some sort of condition, right?—maybe you'll take over cleaning duty for them, or you'll do their homework for them... You'll probably have to pay some sort of price in exchange."

"Uh-huh... I see. Basically, compensating them for agreeing to be scouted for this game."

"Right, compensation. Of course, if there's some benevolent student who'll agree to come for free, then you won't need to pay compensation then... But anyway, let's be wholesome about this."

"Wholesome?"

"When scouting for members, unethical behavior will not be allowed."

"......"

Unethical.

It was somewhat ambiguous wording, but I could guess that it probably meant that violence and anything illegal was prohibited—Chinu-senpai was essentially proposing a sportsmanlike game.

"Five people in an hour... Scouting five people, huh? It'll be pretty close."

As I said those words out loud, I could feel my heart becoming agitated at this game that I was experiencing for the first time—although, it was inevitable that a restless person would get tripped up.

"So, what happens after that? The match between Team Chinu and Team Kurokami? Would we be playing a normal game of basketball?"

"Well, how would you define 'a normal game of basketball'? No, they'll be people unrelated to our situation, so I don't want to get them too involved—let's set the rules of the game to be something that can fit into a break period. A five-minute game without halftime? Since the people you can scout aren't limited to those with sports experience, I think we should cut it down to a short length of time. Since there are no alternates, there will naturally be no substitutions allowed, and no time-outs, either—on the off chance that someone gets injured, we'll put a stop to the game right then and there. I don't want this to be an unreasonable game. We'll use the full court... No, maybe we should go with the half court? Ah, but actually, it might be harder for amateurs to understand half-court rules..."

From then on, Chinu-senpai began fleshing out the smaller details, but I think I can spare you the rest—in the Formation Game, the team formation was the main part, so that was up to where I could participate as a player.

My and Chinu-senpai's role in the Formation Game was not even that of a coach—since scouting the players was the main stage of the game, a closer comparison would be us being recruiters.

Finding players.

Discovering players.

Inviting players.

And forming the team—if I had wanted to, I would have included training the team in the content of the game, which would have made the game even more exciting, but Chinu-senpai provided neither the time nor the rules to do so. Whether she thought it would complicate the game more, or she thought it would be an unnecessary waste of time counting backwards from the time school closed for the day, or she didn't even think about it at all—it wasn't very clear.

"—Something like that. Any objections?"

After her explanation, Chinu-senpai opened it up to questions—although, it wasn't like I could ask if there was enough leeway for a change in the rules. Other than that, I didn't have anything in particular to ask—it was simple.

There were no objections.

If anything, I was beginning to feel as if I wanted to get into this fresh new game as soon as possible.

"I have no objections. Then, let's begin."

"Let's begin?... Whoa, whoa. There's no need to measure it precisely, but... All right, let's say the thirty-minute mark is our starting point. From there, we'll gather members for an hour. And at the next thirty-minute mark, we'll have them play a five-minute game... Is that okay?"

"Yes."

"If you manage to win, or rather, if your team manages to win against mine, then I'll answer any question you have—whether it's about President Kumagawa, or about the girls' basketball team, or anything."

"Yes. I'm fine with those conditions."

I consented—a ready affirmation.

And, naturally, I didn't ask at all about what Chinu-senpai would demand from me if I lost, nor did I even begin to imagine—that was the ready affirmation I gave.

   ■   ■

When do you recognize that you've lost—when do you feel as if you've lost?

It's a question that has great influence over your life.

However, if you think about the trick to competitions in life—and rather than this being what I think, it's more about how Chinu-senpai thought—then it's important not to think of winning and losing, and especially losing, as self-centered.

Chinu Namaji.

Chinu-senpai would later say this.

She would say this without sounding too proud or too condescending—as if it was a matter of fact, just as if she were stating the fact that the ground would get wet if it rained.

"The best way to win—is to win without letting your opponent know that you've lost. Ideally, it's wonderful to make your opponent think you've won even though you've lost. If you think you've lost, then you've lost—but if you don't let your opponent think you've lost, it doesn't necessarily mean that you didn't win."

"Winning" and "losing".

Aren't opposites, you see—

So said Chinu-senpai.

Those would be the last words I would hear from Chinu Namaji.