#which is!!! so fucking cool to me!!!!! we are able to reconstruct languages that we have never heard that were never written down

[mcmorare]

that w.wdits clip where colin is trying to drain joh.n sl.attery but it isn't working bc john keeps on being fascinated by colin's specific regional accent and going on tangents about accents and dialects. just like me fr

[randomvarious]

Today’s compilation:

Bravo Hits 32 2001 Pop / Europop / Hard Trance / R&B / Pop-Rap / Pop-Rock / Euro House / Euro Trance

OK, so, Bravo Hits is, like, a Central European equivalent of Now That's What I Call Music!, specifically focused on the DACH region: Germany (D), Austria (A), and Switzerland (CH). Bravo, the largest German-language teen magazine in the world, puts out four double-disc sets of these fuckers every year, and each DACH country gets their own edition. Each edition's essentially the same, but they also have two or three songs on them that are exclusive to their own edition. And I was able to get my mitts on every song from all three editions of Bravo Hits 32, which came out in February of 2001 😎.

Comps like these from the 90s and 2000s always make for fun trips down memory lane, but from the perspective of a different region of the world. Our top 40 charts in America share a lot in common with other places, and that leads to a nice nostalgia rush for everyone involved, but there's also a lot of music we don't share in common at all. So the goal when listening to these ephemeral things is to get some of that good nostalgia, discover a few sweet tracks that you weren’t previously familiar with, and then hopefully find something so patently absurd and terrible that you can't help but smile at how ridiculous it is. I was able to check off those first two boxes with this release, but unfortunately not the third 😔.

So, all the shared nostalgia between the US and DACH countries is really packed into the first disc here: "Independent Women, Part 1" by Destiny's Child, "Country Grammar" by Nelly, "Who Let the Dogs Out" by Baha Men, and a song that honestly feels a tad bit memory-holed at this point, "Gotta Tell You" by Samantha Mumba. And then there's some good songs on that same disc that were pretty popular in the DACH region, but made little to no inroads in the States: "Overload" by UK girl group Sugababes is an awesome piece of pop that even fucking Pitchfork included on their list of the Top 500 Songs of the 2000s, "Higher & Higher" by Milk & Sugar is a sweet German disco-house bop, and "Things I've Seen" is a song by a rap group from Philly you've probably never heard of called Spooks, whose chorus sounds like it's on a sort of proto-Amy Winehouse lounge singing kind of vibe and whose music video also has fucking Laurence Fishburne in it?!? What?!?

Second disc of this is just plainly awful from top to bottom though, and not in any kind of ironically fun way. It's just boring. Nothing insane, just a bunch of bad and overly sentimental pop-rock and pop and a whole lotta disposable giant Euro-rave hard trance schlock. There's a song on here called "No Alternative" that ironically sounds like an alternative to that awful "Kernkraft 400" song by Zombie Nation. Miss me with all of that!

Disc 1's a really fun ride though. Always love digging into these things in order to see what another part of the world was bopping to at a certain point in time. It allows you to compare and contrast and also find some good music you've never been exposed to before.

Highlights:

CD1:

Sugababes - "Overload (original edit)" Destiny's Child - "Independent Women, Part 1" Nelly - "Country Grammar (Hot ....) (new radio edit)" Baha Men - "Who Let the Dogs Out (single version)" A★Teens - "Upside Down" Samantha Mumba - "Gotta Tell You (single version)" LL Cool J feat. Kelly Price - "You and Me (album version radio edit)" Milk & Sugar - "Higher & Higher (David Morales reconstructed radio mix)" Spooks - "Things I've Seen"

CD2:

No highlights.

[cellarspider]

If you could instantly be fluent in 5 languages of your choice, no need to practice, which ones would you choose?

oh hi time to get Special Interest-y up in here. I have three answers.

First- If we're limited to known languages, then I'd want to hit as many unrelated language families as possible, but keep to dead languages with poor documentation. Then sit down with a whole pile of professional linguists and interested parties just document E V E R Y T H I N G. Like for example: sure, I'd love to learn Navajo/Diné bizaad because it's a beautiful language with an intimidating grammar, but learning it would only help me achieve a personal goal. It's a living language with a lot of educational and academic materials available. There are other Athabaskan languages that are extinct and there aren't enough surviving details to ever attempt a language revival. I can't generate a list of just five without a lot of research, though.

Second- Dead languages with undeciphered scripts, and I actually have a list for this one. Minoan with Linear A! The Wadi el-Hol inscriptions! The Indus script! Rongorongo! Olmec!! ESPECIALLY Olmec, I fucking love mesoamerican scripts and learning about where they came from and how to speak the lost languages that used the oldest ones would be SO COOL.

Third- If we're not limited to languages we have names for, then I'd go with the five oldest linguistic common ancestors of extant world language families. We can create language reconstructions that reach back thousands of years, but after a certain point we don't have enough evidence to reconstruct their connections to other language families, if they even descended from a common ancestor at all. The oldest proto-languages we've reconstructed only go back 12-18 thousand years ago, and humans are theorized to have had the physical and mental capacity to speak... well, since before Homo sapiens were the only game in town! This is information that is so lost that we can't even make projections about how these languages would have sounded! Being able to magically retrieve it would be AMAZING.

[arrivalation]

2020: An Account

This year has been a nonstop, off-the-rails bullet train ride into what looked at first like chaos, but ultimately was a tearing down and reconstruction of my entire being. Because I know myself and I know I won’t remember much of this later, I’m recording it here. It’s hard to put some of this information out, but the universe regularly urges me to be more open. So here I go.

January

I got married.

It was, without contest, the absolute best day of my life. I’ve known since I was real little that I wanted to be married, that I wanted to be loved the way M loves me and to love someone just as much. I don’t know how to explain the feeling of having achieved that, and being able to share that with my entire circle. @abyssalsun​ made it down!! (my only regret is that @ladyoriza​ couldn’t make it, but I’m still so glad we got to make it to theirs). As often as I can, I revisit the memory of going to @chromecutie​’s house afterward, thinking it’d just be the four of us there, and opening the door to find a whole impromptu surprise party happening. Everyone cheered for us when we came in. I played CAH with Mordred, my brother and his wife, and several friends from out of town. By all accounts, these people would never have been in the same room together, but they were, and it was transcendent. It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t recovered from all the planning and stress; but now that I’m past it, I can say with relief that it was 100% worth it.

February

We bought a house.

Up until this point, I’d been planning a wedding, participating in house-buying stuff as best I could, interviewing for a job I ended up not taking, and dealing with life-long mental illness that was festering and reaching critical mass. But then stuff started wrapping up. The wedding happened. The house was ours. We moved in. I could finally fucking breathe. LMAO bitch you thought.

March

The pandemic reached us.

I guess by this point it had probably already been in the US for a couple months, idr. But it wasn’t until March that things really started happening. People started dying in droves. New cases spread like wildfire. I remember thinking that this would be the zombie apocalypse, because at this point, I don’t think the CDC knew much about the virus. In my anxious mind, that was a completely reasonable assumption. My boss had us all start working from home. We all thought it’d be just a couple weeks.

April

I settled into working from home.

It didn’t take me long to get used to it, maybe a week. I hadn’t yet gotten used to my new hour-long commute from the new house to work, and so working from home quickly became my new normal. But I didn’t know yet why working from home was so good for me. All I knew was that I now had the brain-space to process things. I had the energy to do yoga and cook and do hobbies, and the time to appreciate and care for the home I lived in. I could think more clearly because there was no one else around to distract me. There was sunlight I could bask in. I felt human for once, and that became vitally important and infinitely valuable to me. Despite that, I still struggled with extreme anxiety, panic attacks, and some of the worst depression I’ve suffered through since I was a teenager. Outside my house, everything was a fucking mess and no one had their shit together.

May

I went back to the office for a few weeks.

There was a lull in pandemic activity. My boss had us all start coming back to the office again. At this point, I couldn’t make heads or tails of reality anymore. Everything was changing, nothing was stable. I desperately needed to stay working from home, because that was the one thing that felt Good and Right, but I had no real argument other than, 'I just need to.' So imagine me, at this point a soggy, run-over sloppy joe, attempting to return to normal. As you might think, it was... bad. I cried and hurt all the time. I think I really freaked out my boss with the way I reacted to coming back to the office. But then the second wave hit, and we all went back to working from home again.

June

Uncle Mike died on the first day of the month.

My uncle had been sick for a while, but no one was expecting him to die so suddenly. None of us were ready for it.

I also died that day.

It might sound dramatic, but I mean it quite literally and honestly. Over the years, I had gained suspicion that I was on the autism spectrum. M graciously found me a psychiatrist that took my insurance (and happened to be right next door). I wasn’t even going in for that - I was seeking treatment for my anxiety and depression. But I had amassed a (very long) list of my symptoms, and I brought it with me and read it to my doctor. I wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the list when he stopped me. I’m paraphrasing here, but in effect, he said, “No, yeah, you’re definitely autistic.”

I remember the way my body felt. Like someone had detonated a bundle of TNT in my chest, and I was burning from the inside out. At the time, I didn’t realize this emotional immolation was purposeful and executed by the universe to get rid of this old structure and build a newer, better, stronger one. For about fifteen seconds after he said that, I was relieved that it had been that easy, that there was an explanation for everything that my ADHD didn’t explain. It made a ton of sense why my environment was so important to me. And then I felt something unnameable. It was obvious to my doctor that I was autistic. Had it been obvious to everyone else? Why hadn’t it been obvious to me? I read the rest of my symptoms to him in a daze. I don’t remember how the rest of the appointment went.

And then I burned quietly and ungracefully until I was a pile of ashes. I didn’t know this at the time, but apparently it’s common for newly-diagnosed autistic people to have such dramatic and painful reactions, especially if they weren’t well-informed on the condition. Which I wasn’t.

I started therapy.

I also started learning about my “flavor” of autism. It was arduous, embarrassing, isolating, and ugly. I became aware that I had been masking my whole life, and I was astounded by just how often I did so. What really crushed me was knowing that I’d always have to mask to protect myself. I also became hyper-aware of the things that made me Feel Bad. Inexplicably, I stopped being able to react to those things the way I used to. Previously, if something made a loud and unexpected sound, I would suppress my reaction, because it’s not cool to get mad about it. But I found I couldn’t do that anymore. I had no choice but to react the way I needed to react. I realize now that this was to make me aware of what things make me feel a certain way so I can either avoid them or learn better tools to deal with them.

The therapist I saw wasn’t specialized in autism, and she wasn’t any help in that area, but she did teach me some important things. Like, “Is it reasonable for me to feel ____?”

July

Black hole.

I don’t remember a whole lot from this month, except sifting my own ashes through my fingers and crying. Every day brought a new revelation, a new thing that clicked. All of it was helpful and very painful. My psychiatrist recommended medication, but I’d had a bad and long-lasting experience with medication as a teenager, so I suffered through the pain on my own.

I shouldn’t have. I got so low I didn’t want to be alive anymore. But I think it took reaching the bottom and feeling that much pain for me to get over my fear of pharmaceuticals. 

I got into astrology.

I had been interested in it for most of my life, but it wasn’t until this point that I started studying it in depth. I discovered it was a language that I could use to translate so many things about my own life that I didn’t understand. It was a rulebook in a time when I desperately needed rules - but one just flexible enough that it taught me how to stop thinking in binary.

August

I got medicated.

There was a big adjustment period, of course. It didn’t cure me. But it did start to make things easier. And it helped to know that, even if I didn’t believe it at the time, I deserved to rest. I deserved not to feel so much emotional pain all the time.

I turned 30.

It was easily the second best day of my life. I learned a lot of important things, like that it’s important to be present, that I’m seen and loved (just the way I am!!), and that I deserve good things. M planned a whole day of surprises:

I woke up at my leisure and we had coffee on the couch. He got me a cute card with one of our inside jokes inside - I still have it.

We went to our favorite combination lunch place and bakery, which I believe was our first real outing since the pandemic started.

We stopped by a tattoo place. I almost got a tattoo.

He set me loose in Texas Art Supply.

We got dim sum for dinner.

We had a lovely virtual cocktail hour with @chromecutie.

He bought me an ipad!!

I became Spiritual™.

I had been agnostic for the past decade or so, slowly and subtly slipping into nihilism, without realizing how detrimental those ideas were to me. I’m not sure what I thought spirituality was before, but I wasn’t into it. I had always rolled my eyes at people who talked about “a higher power”, auras, and spirit guides, until I became that person.

My psychiatrist introduced some powerful ideas to me, ones that meshed well with my previously-existing idea of how the universe worked. I won’t get into details here. That’s a whole other post. Ask me though - I’d love to talk about it.

Anyway, I started (intermittently) meditating. I learned some exceptionally powerful stuff. I felt my scaffolding being erected.

September

I started learning who I am and why I am this way.

I started seeing a new therapist. She thinks like me. She follows my erratic, forking trains of thought. She sees me and offers real, actionable feedback and solutions. Working with her, I’ve gained the ability to see my life from a 30,000-foot view. I can see now why I’ve felt so lonely my whole life. I understand how my family’s dysfunction has shaped me. I know now that I have the opposite of a victim complex - by default, I believe I am so awful that I feel sorry for everyone who has to deal with me. Because that’s what I was taught to believe. Learning that I deserve to take up space, set boundaries, say no, and be wrong sometimes is still a hard lesson for me. But most days, I believe it now. It takes other people believing it and convincing me. I still need that reassurance often.

My parents sold my childhood home.

Mentally, emotionally, I still lived there. I was still the inverted victim, still beholden to my stepdad’s whims and my mom’s complete cognitive dissonance. This was a blinking neon sign from the universe that it was time to move out. My mom told me when the closing date was so I’d have time to drive down and look at the house one last time. I didn’t go, and I still don’t regret it.

I started learning my boundaries.

After my spiritual move-out, I learned I don’t have to jump when my stepdad holds out the little circus hoop. When he otherwise shows zero interest in my life but still baits me with passive-aggressive texts, I don’t have to answer!! What a concept! I don’t have to feel guilty for not talking to my mom more than I do. We have very little in common, and I still have a lot of things to work through regarding her.

I learned how not to be so reactive.

Or rather, I’m still learning. Something else I learned in therapy is that over the course of my life, I’ve developed a desperate need to defend myself and to justify every action or thought I have, even to myself. It’d been especially troubling at work. My RSD led me to felt stupid, incompetent, and unseen daily; if my boss complimented someone, I believed it also meant he thought I was stupid and bad and wrong, otherwise he would have complimented me too. If my boss said something that even remotely sounded like I’d done something wrong, I’d race to build an impenetrable defense: “This is the reason I did that. Here’s my line of thinking. Do you understand? Can you please understand?”

Now I know that so little of what everything everyone says or does at work is about me. I can appreciate a coworker’s accomplishment and also realize it doesn’t take away anything from me. I’m not stupid or incompetent, and I’m a valuable part of the team. A lot of times, my boss and I are on two different wavelengths - that’s because I think a lot faster, which can be frustrating for him sometimes. He doesn’t fully understand me, but that doesn’t mean I’m doing anything wrong.

October

I let go of an old friend.

This was especially hard, because I had known this person for years. We’d gone through a lot together, and we’d shared some really important and emotional story plots and characters. I had agonized over whether I was truly important to her or not. It didn’t matter how much I loved her as a friend, or how badly I wanted us to be close again and remain close. I had learned to read the universe’s signs, and it was clear it was time to move on.

November

The election happened.

I was expecting things to turn out badly, but I still hoped for something good. And then something good did happen. I cried watching Harris’ speech. I felt a tenuous hope that things might finally start looking up, societally. I still haven’t really let myself fully embrace that hope, but every time I see a court shoot down another lawsuit, or hear about trump’s own conservative republican supporters tell him, “Okay, buddy, it’s time to step down,” I feel a little better. 

M and I went non-monogamous.

There’s so much I want to say about this, but it’s for another post. Suffice it to say that like every other experience this year, it has been unexpectedly challenging and ultimately a catalyst for  priceless growth. I’m unfathomably grateful that we’re doing this together, for the things we’ve learned so far, and for how much closer this experience has made us, even when I didn’t think we could get any closer. 

Turns out I’m not gray-ace.

I had identified as such for a couple years, which was why we wanted to try non-monogamy in the first place. On the surface, it perfectly explained my sexual personality. But every time I told someone my identity, I felt inexplicably sad. When I read about others having “normal” sex drives and “normal” relations with their spouses, I felt jealous.

Turns out I’m just traumatized, lol. Walking along this non-mono path has unearthed a lot of things, including this gem.

December

This was our first married christmas in our new house.

One of the handful of good things the pandemic has done for me was allowing me to back up my boundaries with hard evidence. It’s been difficult dealing with my stepdad bullying me about not coming over for thanksgiving, and having my mom subtly guilt me into making plans for next year already. But what I needed this year was a quiet holiday, instead of the usual weeks-long chaos, and I got it. And it was fucking delightful. I’ve dreamed of days exactly like that one - spending a tranquil morning with my spouse, sipping coffee and listening to music and eating treats. Deciding exactly how we want our holidays to be, because we deserve to.

I’m scared of what’s to come in the new year. I’m still an anxious mess, and some days I’m not strong enough to pull myself out of the spirals I throw myself into. I’ve gotten used to the pandemic holding my hand, allowing me to shelter in my home, helping me enforce my boundaries, teaching me who I am. When it’s over, I don’t know what will happen or how I’ll react or what I’ll learn next. I’m not finished rebuilding, but I don’t think that’s the point. I’ll never be fully rebuilt. But at least I’m figuring out the new layout.

[ober-affen-geil]

Riley, you are one of the few people I know who loves Shakespeare as much as I do. Which makes me want to ask you the tough question: do you have a favorite play? Or a favorite memory associated with a play? Do share 😁🤓

*vibrates a normal amount*

Hnnngggg ok. Ok so I said before that my first, my very first, introduction to Shakespeare was Romeo and Juliet in 9th grade and I hated it. It left me with the impression that Shakespeare was just another one of those things that people liked because it was old and therefore A Classic and I didn’t get what was actually compelling about a story where two kids died in such a preventable way. (Again please also recognize I was a baby aroace who Super Did Not Get It and still Does Not because it’s fucking dumb ok.)

I remember liking learning about the language, because again, this was our introduction to “Shakespeare” as a whole and while we only read one play we also were taught about iambic pentameter and the sonnet form at the same time. I remember thinking that part was cool but disliking the actual play. And we did even watch a version in class, this wasn’t a question of “oh I didn’t get it because I couldn’t see it acted” (we’ll come back to that) we watched the Zepherelli version in class and actually had the option of staying after school to watch the Leo DiCaprio one too. I saw both and still didn’t like the story.

But. 

In 10th grade we read Macbeth. And crucially, before we got to it in class, my mom decided I was old enough she was allowed to start using me as an excuse to see plays that she wanted to go to. This included the production my high school drama club was putting on which was a dinner theatre style play called “A Banquet at Dunsinane”.

What it was was essentially the last half of Macbeth starting at the banquet scene where Macbeth sees the ghost and everything starts going to hell in a handbasket. The “dinner theatre” part of it was that the audience functioned as all the filler guests at the banquet; we were set up in the school’s cafeteria arranged in a long rectangle with a “head table” for the actors and the stage space in the middle.

I know there’s been plenty of stuff written about how live actors feed off the audience energy in the room and how live performances are unique and charged with a special kind of energy that’s only able to be there because of the relationship and the implicit trust between the performers and the audience but the fact of the matter is, live theatre hits different. 

You can read the stage directions for Lady Macduff running off stage from her son’s murderer and you can see an actor do it on screen but when you are sitting in the room when she runs for her life literally screaming bloody murder (the stage direction is “Exit Lady Macduff crying ‘murder’ pursued by murderers” and the girl doing it in the version I saw had a hell of a set of pipes on her, she also actually physically exited the building through the cafeteria doors and the SLAM of the push bar when she hit it was An Effect let me tell you) it just hits different.

After that I was absolutely hooked, so if you want my opinion it’s this: if you want someone to get into a play, any play but Shakespeare especially, watch it before you read it and make sure it’s a live performance. Either actually attending one or finding a recording of one works imo, but the live aspect of it makes all the difference. Now. This is the part where I link a bunch of Shakespeare stuff I think is cool lol.

This is the YouTube page for the National Theatre in Britain, they’ve been putting some of their past Shakespeare performances up for free (temporarily) because of COVID so if you keep an eye on it you might be able to see some really cool shit. They just had “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” up, that was awesome. 

This is a short video with a linguist and his (actor) son talking about “original pronunciation” in Shakespearian works and how they’ve been able (more or less) to “reconstruct” the “accent” that Shakespearian works “should” have been performed it; the accent that makes rhymes actually work and reveal puns (filthy puns because this is Shakespeare ofc) that we’ve lost to time because pronunciation changes. It’s really fucking cool and I highly recommend.

This is The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, Abridged which is imo a must-watch for every Shakespeare fan, it is absolutely hysterical and is clearly written and performed by people who love and appreciate Shakespeare. I’ve seen it live twice as well as this version, 10/10 recommend.

Other Shakespeare things I recommend: - Slings and Arrows, a Canadian show about a theatre company trying to put on Shakespeare plays while hijinks ensue, each season arc ends up loosely mirroring the play they are putting on. (s1: Hamlet, s2: Macbeth, s3: King Lear) - Bill, a comedy/satire about “Shakespeare’s beginnings” done by the same people who do “Horrible Histories”. It’s witty and referential and includes a trans character (if you would like details on that please message me). - Shakespeare in Love, a movie (romcom mostly but also kinda not) about Shakespeare writing Romeo and Juliet while also lowkey living it. A lot better than the title suggests imo and I love it for the audience at the end reacting to the death scenes because it’s the first time anyone has seen how Romeo and Juliet ends. - ShakespeaRetold, a mini series the BBC put together that is modern adaptations of Macbeth, Much Ado About Nothing, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Taming of the Shrew. (This is the version of Macbeth with James MacAvoy and the “when pigs fly” thing which is great, and the version of Much Ado where Hero is played by Billie Piper and at the end she’s basically like “no fuck you, you’re a dick” which is HELLA GREAT.) I recommend it because this particular adaption actually made me LIKE Taming of the Shrew because of how they played it which is a MASSIVE accomplishment because that show is pretty controversial. This is the clip I show people as an example of why I love it.

Anyway I love Shakespeare a normal amount, why do you ask.

[buildingrelationshipsinanarchy]

On Celibacy, Platonicy & Venus (Part 2)

In my post, Dear Luna, I reflected on how my sexuality was impacted in the aftermath of my romantic relationships with more former partners. That sex in the ways I had it, knew it, was able to experience it, was something so deeply intimate, spiritual even. That I was so knee deep in bonds like those, but now I have nothing like that. That I am needing a nourishment, and yet feed myself pizza.

I realize that I have been using the casual sex a way to help cope and not hurt so much after I lost them. I haven't came once with any of my sexual partners in this entire year. I realize that I do sex for other people, and while I receive pleasure from providing pleasure, I haven't been able to connect emotionally to anyone, to be vulnerable, experience love with any of them.

This is not the sex I want to have. These are not experiences I want repeating. I miss the depth, the moments, the eye contact, the fucking rapture of it all. I miss the tears, the breaths the clear your chest, the way the bodies exploded into release. I miss hearing 'I love you' whispered on repeat in my ears during missionary, I miss believing that when they're cumming, screaming, 'I'm yours' they mean it. I miss falling in love each stroke, not wanting to take my eyes off you, the way your lips taste like both like a future I want to unfold in and the memories of my youthful heart.

I am still healing. I have not been respecting my mourning process, not so much of my relationships ending, but that I am unable to reach that same space of connection within myself, because it's still under reconstruction, and I won't stop picking at the forming scabs.

Until I heal, the depth I desire is unreachable, mainly because of my inability to exist in that space. Am I not doing intimate harm to myself and others, acting as if I am able to receive something I'm not ready for? Unable to reciprocate something I don't even have in my possession to give; misleading others into an experience I cannot commune or participate healthily in?

I'd decided earlier this year that I was t going to allow my flirty ass to end up in another relationship, because I needed to heal, but also mainly to focus on my growth and goals and direction. That I didn't want to give all my attention to another partner only to undercut myself and my potential for my own progress again.

I'm deciding, for now, a vow of celibacy is an important step toward my healing, toward my focus, toward my future desires. Back in May, I became a vegetarian. I use it as an identifier, because it represents an active process I've undertaken as a commitment to personally treat my body more mindfully and healthily. The label is reminder to myself to remain accountable, but also to remind me that what I want is in a direction I haven't been down before. That my own instincts will betray me because they have no experience here in this unfamiliar territory. This is how I'm holding my celibacy, to remind myself that what need and desire are unachievable in my current state, that when I am horny, or am becoming aroused by another, or even just down right being tempted or invited, I'll have the strength to say no; to not settle, to not undercut myself, to not disrespect my sexuality.

When I was with my partners, I had mentioned the possibility of being Demi-sexual. Though I dismissed it because I was having a lot of fun doing casual sex stuff with some of our friends. But in retrospect, the title still feels applicable because our friend group felt more like a community, or a tribe. There was so much closeness between everyone in varying degrees of intimacy. It never felt like the emptiness of fucking a stranger, or being used by someone for their own gratification. It felt simply fun and connecting in weird platonic-sexual way, where we're better friends after the act.

I think it's also important for me to note that I build rapport and create depth and experience intimacy rather quickly. All of my friends, partners, playmates, teachers, have made note of this. Even when I interview for work, I have the guy cracking up. I've been told that my charm is the first thing that shows up, that I am disarming, that something about me makes people want to be open, vulnerable, intimate with me. Meaning it doesn't take months for me to feel someone out, or be able to resonate with their core energies, to know how I feel when we are around each other. There is no substitute for time when a relationship is unfolding, but that time is used to necessarily on determining my feelings or attraction to this person, but on creating a dynamic that makes expressing and experiencing our shared feelings more natural, comfortable, smooth.

In the context of my celibacy, it is that I want to focus on cultivating. With sex and romance currently off the table for me, I want to just sit in platonic spaces with the connections I make. I want to just experience the laughter of a friend that feels so close, of love that feels so simple, yet deep. I've formed a couple friend-crushes this year. I had a platonic girlfriend earlier this year, and currently have a platonic submissive/slave. My life feels more open to love, but less tolerant of the drama and messiness that comes with the inherent, yet lovely chaos of romance and sexual attraction.

I just more friends that connect me closer to God, The Universe. My roommate and I are both astrologers, and he calls me Venus, for pretty clear reasons. I want to cultivate that, a Venusian quality to platonic encounters where I can be ravished by the beauty of their existence, style, taste in music, pizza places, personal library, and creative endeavors. Love is inherently attached to our sensibilities and perception of a metaphysical Beauty/Aesthetic.

Friendship is not a box in which to designate people I'm kinda-sorta cool with but don't make much of an impact. Friendship is a territory to map and navigate, a trek and journey to embark on with someone worthy of the title, worthy of the space. I use the term friend flippantly and loosely in language, but in practice, 'If I see you and I don't speak, I don't fuck with you.' I only keep people worth keeping around, around. Quality or quantity, depth of experience over breadth of scope. I don't just need more friends, I need more more amazing friends.

I'll update y'all with my adventures and insights.

[spiteandalice]

Judas Touch Pt 3

Alright. This is a bit on the shorter side but it’s mostly angry smut so maybe that makes up for it?

As per request :3 @beautifulramblingbrains and @beltz2016

PART ONE    PART TWO 

Warning: contains language, violence, smut and… violent smut

It’s astonishing how the initiates behave like blind monkeys in a ball pit during training but seem to be able to do just fine when they get into a fight while unsupervised. Two boys, Erudite and Candor, are busy reconstructing their faces when we walk in and for once Eric has to shove his way through the crowd instead of watching it part for him. Nobody really breaks up fights here unless it’s getting too close to losing a member over a cup of chocolate pudding, but these aren’t members,  they’re initiates. There is no emotional attachment whatsoever and the morbid curiosity we all have has time to shine. Humans are extremely fucked up, if you think about it, I had months to reflect on that.

I grab the Erudite by the hair and yank his head down while simultaneously kicking the legs out from under him so I can straddle his back, pinning his arms down with my knees. Thanks to the shock of someone actually knowing how to hurt him he doesn’t put up much of a fight, even after he is pinned and had time to process what I did to him. It gives me plenty of time to watch Eric handle the Candor, who is so in the zone that he’s trying to take on a Dauntless leader. Again, we seem to get not only the brave but also the reckless and that usually equals stupidity. Eric sighs, dodges a sloppy punch with barely any effort and draws his fist back to knock the guy out with a punch to the face. And he didn’t even put much weight behind the movement, which in turn doesn’t help the fact that I am still soaking wet. Moments like this fascinate me because he is always so calm and controlled but if you look closely you can see the turmoil behind his eyes. Not just controlled anger, which is a beautiful sight to behold all on it’s own. He would have been a perfect Erudite and sometimes I do wonder how he ended up here, in spite of the obvious embodiment of what Dauntless now stands for. And why that Matthews woman was so interested in him. Still is. 

Maybe I’ll ask him one day.

After I’m done beating the shit out of him for leaving it up to me to figure out why the hell those two were fighting, he has to go visit his old faction and cozy up to their leader. During my time as ambassador I only had two official visits to the brainy faction, both things Eric couldn’t be bothered with. The other times he took care of matters and I have to say that I wasn’t really eager to deal with that woman - she doesn’t like me, and the dislike is mutual. She once alluded to me being a possible distraction for him and she does not appreciate any kinks in her well manicured plans. I laughed at her and left, because there is absolutely nothing on this forsaken planet that can stop Eric once he is set in motion. It’s one of the things I admire about him.

“So,” I spit, walking in front of the Candor with my hands folded behind my back, which seems to be an automatic leader gesture, “care to enlighten me why you thought it would be a good idea to try and murder your fellow initiate? A very pathetic attempt, may I add, but one nonetheless.”

The Candor is still beyond pissed, which is why I decided to interrogate him first, while the anger is still fresh. Once he had time to cool down and the anger turned sour he’ll just turn into a sarcastic little shit and I really don’t feel like slapping him around much today. I’m saving that for Eric.

“He was talking shit about my sister,” he growls and I stop in my tracks, unable to keep myself from shooting him an incredulous look. What exactly is it about faction before blood that these morons don’t understand? Every damn year someone is howling about their damn family like they’re all special little babies that don’t actually have to listen to a single damn thing we have been telling them and it drives me insane. This faction is far from perfect but if these inbred degenerates come in and refuse to even try we might as well throw in the towel and pick up a nice little retirement hobby. Maybe Eric can crochet or do a little bit of woodwork. I know he’d tell me he has some wood for me to work on because all men are secretly twelve.

But back to the task at hand. I chew the guy out for his transgressions and leave him to the kitchen staff for some serious cleaning duties,  I know that the place needs it badly. The Erudite fucktard can go clean toilets across the compound and that leaves me facing a wall of reports when I get back to my office. I could swear I heard Max giggle through the door of his office. He’s dead.

It’s way past ten and I’m in the middle of a little cardio on the living room floor when I hear the door. I’m not even bothering to acknowledge his presence because I’m still pissed, but if there’s something Eric hates it’s being ignored. Or disrespected. Or losing. Or people who lack ambition. Meatloaf Fridays. The list could go on and on.

I’m on all fours, pumping my right leg up and down in spite of the way my body screams at me. Pain can go suck it, I will win this. A different kind of pain digs into my hips and pulls me back against him, which is his way of demanding my undivided attention. I snarl and kick his thigh, which should hurt even though I’m barefoot. With a grunt his grip on my hips tightens and he lifts me up to turn me over, which I gladly accommodate, my legs wrap around his neck and I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his head. If I thought I had him I’m way too cocky and need a reality check, because he grins wolfishly and nips at me, grazing my clit with his teeth through the thin fabric of my shorts.

Using my abdominal muscles I push my upper body upwards, not my best move because my crotch is now pressed right against his face and Eric lazily trails his tongue over the fabric, causing it to soak through in mere moments which admittedly is not all him. My hands lift to yank at his hair but he knows what I’m up to and grabs my wrists, pinning then to my sides.  As far as brute strength goes he is always winning, especially right now, and he knows it. Suddenly the world around me tilts and because I was distracted by his mouth I’m not prepared for my impact on the floor. It stuns me for a few moments while I try to breathe and that’s all it takes for him to shred the shorts that I just bought.

With an angry growl I kick at his chest and send him on his ass, he didn’t exactly go flying but that’ll have to do for now. I pounce after him and twist his shirt collar just to cut off the circulation a little. My other hand reaches under me to find his damn zipper but he decided that I had enough time to enjoy myself and stands up,  his arm wrapped around me tightly.  Before I can bite at his neck more than once he turns me around and holds me in place by wrapping his arm around my throat, so if I struggle too much I’m cutting off all circulation and I can’t breathe. I still twist and kick, he slips his hands beneath my legs, humming appreciatively at the fact that even my thighs are slick and wet by now.

“How come you get so violent and wet at the same time, hm. Almost as if you’re some sick little bitch that gets off on it.”

Eric runs a wet finger over my lips, spreading my own juices across my mouth. I growl and bite his finger, hard, and he chuckles but I can feel his cock twitch where it’s pressed against my ass.

“Takes one to know one,” I grind out between gritted teeth, I’m angry because he so easily pins me, even though I know it’s due to my injuries, lack of training and malnutrition. He seems to really enjoy himself though, I suspect there aren’t that many women who can keep up with him even if they want to. I hear the sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor and it sends a shiver of pleasure through me. That belt has played quite the role in our relationship so far… 

My moment comes when he pulls off his shirt, his grip on me loosens enough for me to twist around and jab him in the ribs. Using my full weight I push him down and he hisses when he tumbles backwards and pulls me with him so I’m straddling his lap. One quick snap of both our hips, perfectly synchronized, and he’s inside me. It’s almost eerie, sometimes, to see how we seem to think the same things, at the same time and then act the same way. It’s probably where the secret twin rumor comes from.

Not willing to give in to him so easily I bury my hand in his hair and yank, wanting to expose his throat to my teeth, but before I can lean forward his hand wraps around my throat and he squeezes. We stare each other down, I’m pulling, he’s squeezing and I rock my hips against his in a frantic rhythm, knowing that the release I’m looking for will be just as violent as this is right now. And oh so satisfying.

My muscles tighten around him and Eric hisses, his grip around my throat slipping slightly. It’s those little moments where his control slips that I’m looking for, that I absolutely fucking live for, because I know that he hates it when it happens. And maybe, just maybe, I’m arrogant enough to firmly believe that I’m the only one that’s capable of doing this to him.

We’re both slick with sweat and my skin slides against his, I let the nails of my free hand rake down his throat since he won’t let me bite him. His hand tightens again and my vision begins to blur around the edges, just slightly. Eric knows exactly how much pressure to use and when to stop, and I hate to admit it but it’s fucking hot. Just a little more and I gasp, I’m not sure if it’s the lack of air or the orgasm that suddenly slams my body out of this world that is responsible for my temporary loss of vision, but I don’t care at all. I want to scream but I can’t, all that comes out around the pressure of his hand is low and strangled and I’m vaguely aware of my nails digging into his throat. As I come down and my tensed up muscles begin to relax so does his hand around my neck and I take a deep, shuddering breath, moaning again as my lungs fill. I look at him, his eyes never left mine for one second since I slid on his cock and I grin, lifting my hand from his neck to my mouth to suck on every single finger to clean them, I did draw a little blood. Eric shudders and grabs my hips, his fingers digging into my bruised flesh once more. He keeps me down and grinds me against him, once, twice, before he stills and bites down on my shoulder with a guttural sound that makes me smile.

Without a word I get up and gather the tattered remains of my clothes, that I just bought by the way, and head for the bathroom, absolutely intending to lock the door on him. I’m still angry at him for disappearing to Erudite once more and for generally being an asshole, even though I can’t really fault him for the latter without being a complete hypocrite.

“Have you been to the infirmary yet?”

To my credit… I manage not to stop dead in my tracks, I manage to hide my shock fairly well and I keep walking away from him.

“You know that I haven’t, you’re keeping tabs on me. I’m going tomorrow, want to come watch them make sure you can’t knock me up?”

Eric mutters something I can’t understand and I roll my eyes, which he can’t see so it’s purely for my own pleasure. What an idiot. I slam the bathroom door shut behind me and make sure to lock it so he can’t follow me into the shower. Serves him right. I’ll probably pay for it once I get out, but that’s a risk I am more than willing to take.

PART FOUR