zaffreberries

[zaffreberries]

(by Thomas Yohei)

[zaffreberries]

It wells up inside of me, almost like an eruption or a flood, threatening to burst, to overwhelm me, to drown me in misery and burn my face with shame at having expressed myself so freely. I can feel it in my chest building, frothing, rising. I can feel it in my face, slowly leaking out my eyes, seeping out like poison. I can feel it behind my eyes and in the corners the growing pressure, the hint of pain sneaking in and the slight tremor of my eye lids.

I become instantly aware of how I must look, the grotesquesness I have put on display. My face yearns to come apart and yet, and yet. My face scrunches, it contorts into painful configurations that are humiliating for me to imagine and my shame deepens as my body tries to relieve the pressure that has built up inside of me. My body tries to force the issue, it must purge itself of this poison. My faces contracts, as if trying to squeeze the sorrow out, my nose bunching as close to my eyebrows as possible.

My breath shudders, from the pain within or the war currently occurring on the surface or the disgust above I do not know. This unseemly display has mortified me, how dare such weakness be exposed for others to see, even in the emptiness of my own home s we here there is no one else to see or hear me, even in the cold dark hours of the early winter morning of my empty home I have bathed myself with shame and disappointment at what is occurring. What new poison I have added to this flood, not even the wasteland of my home is safe for me, not even I am safe for myself.

I choke it back, I swallow it, I breathe it out as I force myself to recover. Shame sets in, regret, and sadly triumph. I have beaten myself again, I have succeeded where others failed, I have beaten the crying child to silence and I didn’t even raise my hands. I am now the bars of the cage that I cruelly encase myself in.

A slight trickle of tear seeps out, the meagre fruits of my painful labour, I feel it’s progress and my upper lip recedes in disgust, I think to myself how pathetic that a single tear escaped, how all this discomfort only yielded two singular tears on my face. I wipe them away quickly, my red face will return to normal, the evidence will disappear, but I’ll know. The ocean has only grow, the well has been poisoned, more toxic emotions added by the bucketful and the sea of my feelings will once again surge beyond the shores. There is no safeness from this flood, no secure place to allow the poison.

Also I made a ton of Blueberry Scones and they are really nice with Blueberry Jam.

[zaffreberries]

(by Christian Crocker)

[zaffreberries]

I love Superman. And whilst I have loved the movies and shows, not all of them have really captured the essence of Superman, they ask theoretical questions of superheroes in modern society, they explore different possibilities and alternative realities, they change the character and tweak the mythology to suit their vision, they have a unique twist on how they think that such a figure should be portrayed. They want to make the character “cool” to revel in the glorious spectacle that such a powerful character creates by sheer existence, but in doing so lose sight of the true spirit of Who and What Superman is. But let’s start this rant somewhere and go off course into somewhere hopefully related.

When I was a kid I watched the Superman movie from 1978. I liked the movie, and watched the second one immediately after and enjoyed it well enough. Even as a child I still realised that it was “an old film” and that the effects were…dated, but those effects weren’t what made the movie special. As a child I couldn’t tell you what that was, it wasn’t something I could quite put my finger on, it was like that wholesome charm of eating into a fresh baked cookie from my grandmother, that wholesome charm that America has unfortunately seemed to have lost in recent years. I was too young to properly appreciate the sheer goodness that film was imbued with. I would revisit it much later as an adult, each time gaining a new appreciation for the sheer warmth and brightness that the film exhibits. This film fundamentally understands the character of Superman and created the archetype of a Superman film and is in my mind the absolute Pinnacle of Superhero Films. Superman is powerful, but even in the face of defeat, he does the impossible (spins the earth back on its axis to reverse time) to save the day and get the happy ending. There is no overt violence, his power is so far beyond that of his enemies that whilst he can do whatever he wants physically, he instead chooses the option that causes the least amount of damage to both his enemies and the surrounding infrastructure. He is wholesome, he is humble, he is modest, he sends parts of his paycheque to his mother back in Smallville. The movie doesn’t end with a sunset it ends with us the audience following him as he/us fly into the sunrise. It doesn’t gloriously revel in the sun of this godlike entity showcasing his abilities trying to cast its shadow on every other hero, it makes time to have him get a cat out of the tree, to add little quotes about statistics on travel safety, even when he is in his Superman persona, he is confident without falling into the trap of being smug, he is humble, he isn’t aggressive or glorified destruction. Superman loves humanity, you get the impression he doesn’t want to fight, he wants to talk them into a peaceful solution, it wants wholesome and healthy entertainment, it is a family movie that welcomes you to enjoy it, not demands your attention.

Smallville. Oh boy oh boy. When I watched that tv series I was going through a bad break up. I won’t go into detail about the break up, or the relationship in question, but I started watching it on a whim and it became my comfort show. Smallville is a tv show about a teenage Clark Kent BEFORE he becomes Superman. It explores his pivotal years and sets him upon the path to becoming the worlds greatest hero. It also features him getting torn apart in the trials of being a super powered alien and having to keep a secret from his high school crush and friends, leading to intensely frustrating moments of Clark selflessly saving the day whilst not being able to reveal how much he cares about his friends and loved ones as he wrestles with this secret and they inadvertently punish him for his mysterious and seemingly closed off nature. The symbolism of him romantically desiring Lana Lang whilst she wears a green kryptonite necklace (green kryptonite acts as a “silver bullet” to Clark and gives him intense pain when he is near it) resonated with my own internal misery of wanting someone I couldn’t have, of trying so hard to be with someone and having it fail constantly. I won’t pretend it was “peak cinema”. But it became a comfort show and I watched it many, many times. The character of Clark Kent is played by Tom Welling, he has his moments, both good and bad, as he grows into the roll. This series is a fitting tribute to the character. He is learning, he is growing, he isn’t yet that glorious beacon of hope, he is stumbling, walking, striding and then finally flying into tomorrow. He makes mistakes, he isn’t refined, confident and fully accepts himself. He wrestles with insecurities and fears, he fails (sometimes quite hilariously) in his growth. He even has an edgy phase (or two) that we can ALL relate to. In the pursuit of perfection it falls short, but greatness is still achieved. It styles itself after the movies, it follows along with their design, the crumbs of that wholesome cookie still on the counter as they make this cake for you, the taste is familiar, but not entirely the same and not in a bad way.

Man of steel is something I liked. But not as a Superman film. It’s a good Superhero movie (in my opinion) but not a good Superman movie (in my opinion), I’d go so far as to say it’s an amazing Superhero movie and probably part of the reason that it’s so good is because it features Superman, purely because you can’t do the same things with other heroes to get the same effects, they don’t have the right weight to them. In “Man of Steel” Superman is forced into somewhat moralistic quandaries, he is forced to untangle ethical dilemmas that a real superhero would be forced to untangle. Unfortunately Man of steel asks questions we don’t need to be answered by Superman. To go deeper in depth about this, I’m going to have to talk about the 1978 Superman movie again and the soft reboot/ Homage sequel Superman Returns.

Superman Returns understood the assignment. Superman returns is a movie that understands what the character of Superman is fundamentally about and reverently portrays that character along the same lines as the two earlier movies (we are going to conveniently ignore Superman 3 and Superman 4). Superman isn’t about huge glorious cataclysmic fights that turn cities into devastated wastelands, it’s not about exploring him in moral and ethical puzzles or making him make tough choices. Superman is about “the dream of tomorrow” the wholesome hand offering to lift you and your dreams up into the future. The one who’s greatest strength is being able to lift your thoughts dreams up, your aspirations. Superman is built not just to withstand bullets and bombs, but to withstand the harsh world we live in and keep fighting against the impossible weight. He doesn’t live in reality, he lives in a dream of a better tomorrow, showcasing that he is powerful enough to ignore the tough questions and instead find a better way, or make a better way. His power is expressed with a subtle tenderness, he doesn’t just catch the car careening out of control, jerking it to a sudden stop, he gently lifts it into the air. Just as he gently lowers the plane to the ground and then adds in his “statically flying is the safest way to travel” line. Although the movie is a somewhat melancholy return, it doesn’t feel too deep to escape, it feels like we feel some of that melancholy that Superman feels, being the last of his kind, yearning to be a part of humanity, to take care and lift it up, his gentleness when using his strength only serves to highlight his power, not diminish it. He is not seen as an avenging destroyer, a righteous angel of justice or any of the usual monikers used to describe heroes, instead Superman embodies the name, the character and the essence of what being a Superhero should be. Superman doesn’t create explosions when he uses his powers, he doesn’t glorify or revel in destruction and he isn’t callous with his powers. Superman Returns is remembering how nice your grandmother’s cookies tasted and deciding to make your own, you follow the recipe, you make the first batch, you do it a few more times until you get it down, it’s not exactly the same, but it’s still got that special something. It doesn’t taste like a happy glimpse of yesteryear, it tastes like a happy glimpse of today. (it tastes like a happy glimpse of 2006 instead of a happy glimpse of 1978 but I can only stretch the anology so far)

Man of steel forces Superman to make hard choices, to succumb to our dilemmas. That isn’t what Superman is about, his power is that he can’t be forced into these situations, he doesn’t have to make the sadistic choice, he makes HIS choice, the better than best choice. When a disaster strikes, Superman is the opposite. He isn’t a messiah, he isn’t a god, he is a dream that can’t be shot, a beautiful tomorrow that is always going to rise. Superman doesn’t kill because he is weak or his moral code prevents him. he is simply so powerful so unrelentingly good, that he makes a way to resolve the situation without getting his hands covered in blood. Even against other Kryptonians who have the same physical powers, he is smarter, more cunning and has the sheer indomitable spirit to win. He isn’t just a physical unrelenting force for a better tomorrow, his thoughts and smarts are beyond us as well. It doesn’t matter if he needs to use brains or brawn because sometimes he is going to get help, the hidden joy of Superman is that he can rely on others to help him rise when he stumbles. Superman is going to find a way to save the day, because that is what Superheroes in essence are, expressions of our dreams, or desires and our wants, the yearning for the ability to fly, to endure, to be able to not just have to settle for making a hard choice but to be able to make a better choice unavailable. To be able to handle things with gentle kindness, with quite confidence, to be strong enough not for yourself, but for others. To not just save someone, but to help them save themselves.

Man of steel is an awesome Superhero movie, it however paints a picture of Superman that didn’t need to be painted. Superman doesn’t need to answer these questions, the same reason why Superman doesn’t live in New York or go stop Russia from its brutal invasion of Ukraine. Superman is an example, a guiding light we can’t physically touch, but can follow. To get really meta about this. Superman himself is the Hope we should follow, the fictional character itself the symbol of a better tomorrow that it aspires to uplift in the comics, as it hopes to uplift us the viewers. Superman flies to the sunrise to leads us to a better tomorrow, both in fiction and in reality from the movie.

This is why, when people ask me who my favourite Superhero is, I say Superman, because he is the example, the archetype, the one we should strive to emulate, not because of his alien powers, but because of his human goodness. He isn’t trying to just save us today, he is trying to save tomorrow, one cat at a time if needs be.

[zaffreberries]

Primarina ex (2025) - Eevee Grove Illustrator: DOM

[zaffreberries]

Feelings are weird, trying to describe them to someone else, to explain how this situation, this chain of events made you feel for me feels clumsy. Like when you discover that the different cultures had different words for things, that don’t directly translate to English but we understand the sentiment. I’m often trying to explain the sentiment, to lay out the ground work and slowly introduce this giant picture, a detailed with references and annotations scribed into the corners to properly and hopefully allow myself to be understood.

Sometimes my feelings are big. They are too big to manage, like eating to much food and feeling sick, having the discomfort in your stomach as it struggles to digest the blueberry scone you added to desert because the one you had at lunch was so damn good and you couldn’t stop thinking about how good it was and so you had it and now you regret it because you were full but not totally full and now that Blueverry scone has put you over the edge and now you are more than full and have to stand up and slowly and carefully move around the house because you’re afraid you’ll burst and you have strange stomach aches and your furiously googling to check how concerned you should be because you don’t usually eat this much and you never really knew what happens when people eat to much food and your panicking because your worried something will burst or tear …..but I digress. Big feelings. I struggle to digest them like I eventually managed to do with the blueberry Scone. So I let them sit, or more accurately I bury them very deep and now with the application of lots of therapy I try and sit with them and work my way through it with calm breaths and being gentle with myself when I’m able, which is usually a week or two AFTER the event. I could write about it, and I do and I am, but I have this problem where how I’m feeling isn’t something I can put into words easily without…lessening the feelings.

I have spoken about it, the difficulties inherent in translating our unique feelings into words and trying to use those same words to communicate our feelings to someone else. It’s made worse for me when the emotions are too BIG for me to properly grasp, to understand. Instead I am overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of what I’m feeling and instead bury it deep where I can unpack it in the shower or at 4:00 in the morning when I should be sleeping. Muttering it under my breath when I’m cleaning is another opportunity for me to slowly parse out my emotions, to take stock of this…mass. And with this new fangled therapy I’ve turned the process into something healthier and more efficient. Until we get to the Blueberry Scone at Desert problem and we have overloaded ourselves and now have retreated back into old habits such as going on long walks, crawling into bed and getting under the covers for long stretches of time.

It’s strange how we express our emotions and what and how they are allowed to be expressed. In public we can’t be too angry or sad or at best have to wait for particular circumstance for when we are allowed to express these taboo moments in front of others. Even in this day and age we invent new language that to me feels restrictive, as if acknowledging that the feelings we have an express are taboo. We use “vulnerable” and I hate that word, as if expressing ourselves is showing weakness, as if having emotion is weakness. It’s not vulnerable to be happy or annoyed or tired, but it is to express sadness or anger or sorrow or humiliation or a myriad of other completely normal emotions. It’s weakness to feel overwhelmed by things, to talk about the monolith of emotions that tower above you and demand your attention as you try to go about your daily life in its shadow. We have such a toxic view of the very fundamental workings of what makes us human that we all share.

I’m trying to fix that, I’m working through therapy, learning to sit with my feelings, identify the emotions and understand them and me better. It’s not easy. It’s not something that comes intuitively to me. Unfortunately unlike my over indulgence in blueberry scones, I can’t rattle off the identities of the things I’m painfully trying to digest, The truth is too abstract, not tidy and known like my beloved scones. I can’t point and say “yes, this is the stimulation that led to my being overwhelmed, my reaction was based on this previous event in my life that also is unprocessed.” It’s not something as solvable as “well next time we won’t eat as much at desert now will we” and all future crisis are resolved. It’s me trying to navigate in a world that no one ever could prepare me for, that I am struggling to cope with the brutal onslaught of emotional artillery being fired upon me. That I’m trying to understand my feelings in situations that no one warned me I would be in. That there is no media that badly tackled these issues in a direct to Netflix special that has some really good moments amidst all the quagmire of dull it’s surrounded by. There is just me, a notes page on my phone and a discreet tumblr account I will refuse and deny the existence of.

That’s why I write this, why I agonise so long to write something I feel so deeply. Because the feelings are there, they are unavoidably present in my life, spoiling my otherwise normal processes with their omnipresent form casting a pall over my every day activities. I must and will continue to dredge up these feelings, to drag them from the earth I have buried them and plant them somewhere else, to sharpen my skills as a writer, to force myself to identify the emotions and feelings I have and tend to them in a way that allows me to move on from them, so I can build a garden of life instead of a graveyard of decay. I will use the rotting corpse my feelings, breathe new life into the seeds of my despair and try and nourish them with words and language until something, SOMETHING, positive grows in their stead. Anything but this wasteland of broken dreams, anything but this mausoleum of emotions, silent, cold and inimical to life.

[zaffreberries]

Do I replace my non Shiny squirtle starter Pokémon with a shiny gigantamax squirtle with better stats?

For those who are unaware of the intricacies of Pokémon Go or just don’t care, the question essentially boils down to “do I replace something that has sentimental value to me, with something that is arguably better?”

I as a person don’t like hoarding. I don’t like having “things” in my house, it has to have a purpose, even if that purpose is vanity (my new hand knitted navy blue scarf has a purpose beyond keeping me warm). I can’t take them with me when I die, and as the world grows ever more…unstable? Uncertain? As prices rise and new things are shoved in our faces and advances in technology are made and support for older things are discontinued we are thrust into a world that both encourages us to horde everything and also yearns and begs for us to mindlessly consume and upgrade and move ever onwards to the next shiny new thing. Just as I dislike hoarding, I’m also wary of mindlessly bowing before capitalism and its goal of endless consumerism. This however presents us (or to be honest ME) with a problem. A minor problem that keeps echoing through my mind as I look at the numerous amount of cups I have in my cupboard, as I look at my ever growing collection of Squirtles, as I look at my growing collection of diaries and books. Some “things” I can happily discard without a second thought, I have no emotional attachment to them. But what about the ones I do have an emotional attachment to? When does attachment become an anchor and when does that attachment need to be cast aside, to have the proverbial link cut? Should I have an emotional attachment to materialistic things? They are just “things” after all and they don’t feel anything in regards to me or care about being discarded or replaced. I imagine if I ask people I’d get a wide variety of responses, especially when it comes to their own things. The question isn’t echoing through my mind because I’m completely obsessed with Pokémon, more it echoes because it represents a wider issue I have as I begin to declutter my life, as I simplify my surroundings. Of course if something is broken you try and get it fixed…and if you can’t then you replace it…until you don’t. Until for emotional reasons, you can’t.

I still have my old Blue iPhone 5c, the one I started this Pokémon Go journey on, the one that was my first new phone and not a hand me down, one that was entirely and completely mine. It doesn’t work. It doesn’t even turn on. But I still have it in my drawer. It means something to me, something intangible that I can’t equate with logic. I liked the colour, I liked the feel of it and I liked how small it was, not some gargantuan thing that I struggled to fit into my pockets because it’s screen was so big.

But phones are more than just tools! We use them to access the world, to connect, to remember. I do my banking, emails, talk to friends, use it for reading (and writing these…things), spend way too much time on social media and take photos to commemorate things I have seen (I can already feel another topic brewing about phones coming along). so it makes sense to hold some emotional attachment to it, our lives have been markedly improved by this tiny communication devices, this little library of the world in the palm of our hand. It represents freedom from the purely physical world and is a portal to the vast and chaotic digital sea with have crafted. It also tells the time.

I need a new phone. The current phone I have is outdated, the battery needs to be replaced and after 5 years it has started to gather more than just a few scratches. It still works though….but I don’t have any attachments to THIS phone. I don’t have that same link to it that I do with my old blue iPhone 5c. Do I wait until my current phone is broken? When is the right time to “upgrade” our technology? The old adage “if it’s isn’t broken don’t fix it” comes to mind. There isn’t a problem per say with my phone. It’s old and out of date, the battery needs replacing and the charge port is damaged so I have to fiddle around to try and get the right angle to even begin charging my phone. But it still functions.

My clothes need updating. They aren’t broken so to speak, but they don’t represent me as they once did, they don’t create the image that I wish to present to the world. It’s less so about societies perceptions on what I should look like and more along the lines on what I WANT to look like. Maybe we would be better off with uniformity, everyone wearing the same articles of clothing, the same colours, no emotional attachment, just pure form and function. How far down that rabbit hole do we travel, of possessing only what we need, of casting things aside when they no longer function as desired. Where is that line?

For now I have my Shiny Gigantamax Blastoise and the blastoise I started my Pokémon go account on, the one that is not shiny or able to take a dynamax or Gigantamax form. A decision is coming and will soon be made and it seems that the path I tread down upon is one not shackled by sentiment. But still…these thoughts linger.

[zaffreberries]

12/03/2025 the end of an Era.

Niantic has sold Pokémon go to Scopely. I won’t go to in-depth about my feelings into THAT but I do intend to write more about Pokemon Go. I could talk for a long time about it to be honest, I have been playing it for over 9 years, countless hours spent staring at my screen as I walk around various places playing it, have changed plans and devoted my time and energy into this game (and money). Even though my feelings about the game grow more conflicted, how I feel the direction of the game is being taken to a bad place due to its enslavement to producing endless profit for its corporate idols. Even as I grow more aware of my unhealthy relationships with “Things” and not people, at how I need to stop spending so much time staring at a screen and start looking around me and the world. Even as I’m aware of the links to the Saudi government through Scopely. I’m still on the fence in regards to continuing to play this game or not and ultimately I might still decide that to close the app and never re open it.

Since that fateful day all those years ago when I began playing Pokémon go I have always known something like this would happen. It wasn’t an ever present thought in my head, but something that seemed obvious when someone brought it up in conversation. Regardless change is coming to Pokémon go. In a way it had already changed so much from the game I loved as soon as I began playing it. Updated models, changes in gameplay and even different phones I used to play it on. The game evolved, it became something more and now it becomes something less. Will it become something better or something worse is the real question. I remember a line from an old movie, “would you rather live in a civilisations ascendancy or it’s decline” i originally chose its decline, because and though it’s not a civilisation I imagined that the decline would be surrounded by the comforts of advancement, that even as it whittled itself down that it would still be something I could enjoy. I can attest that I played through pokemon Go’s ascendancy and now I can say I am also playing in its decline and the key difference is hope and optimism. There is less excitement about the future, more dread. I don’t have Hope for Pokémon Go’s future, just dread.

It was July 22nd 2017 and it was the day of the first public Legendary Pokémon raid Articuno. Previously that month there had been a physical event where participants had paid to go to play and take part in specialist activities that would have rewards for the greater player base around the world. The event ended in shambles as the game kept crashing and the players were unable to finish the activities. Activities that would have enabled them to take part in the first legendary raid to catch a Lugia. As a by product of this event though, one of challenges were whichever team caught the most Pokémon during this time frame would be rewarded. The reward? The teams mascot Pokémon would be the first public legendary raid. And so on that morning I was upset because I was stuck at home and had no way of travelling across town in time to attend the raid, the raid my friends were all excited about and posting about in a group chat. Until my sister called and asked if I was going, if I wanted to be picked up in her car and go with her. This was and still remains a precious memory for me. I remember standing with her and almost 40 other people at this obscure Pokémon gym, waiting with baited breath as the time ticked down and we could start the raid. I didn’t catch the Articuno, nor did I catch the second one a few minutes later, but it was still a happy memory, driving in a long convoy to get to the second raid, seeing all my friends and meeting new people. My dissapointment was washed away by the joy of being part of something bigger and more fun, a shared sense of camaraderie, everything hurts a little less when you are in a group that feels the same way.

I have fond memories of those days, of walking for literal hours catching whatever Pokémon I could, of the joys of a new unregistered Pokémon to add to my Pokédex. Of learning about the new things they were adding in the future. That brief hit of endorphins when the shiny Pokémon animation begins and you realise you got lucky. It felt so social, groups of people gathered together in the parks, walking around together, sharing in the excitement. I remember people would set up picnic blankets and chairs in the middle of the park, somewhere to briefly return to as they left to walk around for hours at a time, stopping briefly for a break and some water, returning with a large order of dried chips and sauce to share around with strangers. There was ,for a few years at least, a real sense of community, of belonging despite us being on different teams, of having no social connection outside this game, different ages and professions. In those times it was just those of you who played and everyone else. I remember a fond friend I had, walking around town with them as we caught Pokémon together, usually we would sit in the park and talk, but now we had something else, we would wander and talk whilst playing, a perpetual multitasking exercise as talked about our favourite books, pla yed the game and briefly interrupted each other to switch back between our two simultaneous conversations. Another friend and I driving around late at night taking over gyms and putting level 10 Magikarps on, So many memories, bright little glimmers of warm cozy feelings held in my brain brought into being through this game. Not just old friends I already had, but new friends I made through the game. A key moment in making new friends was during August 2018 during the Pokémon community Day, which ended up being more of a weekend really since it took place over two days. It was on the second day that I (through the common occurrence/randomness of Pokémon go interactions with strangers) found myself to be walking around the town with two strangers as we caught Pokémon together. For the better part of the day I spent walking with them, chatting and playing. I’m still friends with them to this day, still talk to them regularly.

There is always someone to play with, even now as even more of my friends have stopped playing I have managed to find yet another group to walk around with. Part of the problem is that I live in a rural area, the amount of people who do play the game is small and the number that will group together to do the higher level raids that require more than a few people is high. So certain things in the game aren’t feasible for me. Shadow raids for a chance to catch certain shiny shadow legendary Pokémon, gigantamax raids to catch the alternative giant forms of my favourite Pokémon are also unavailable to me. I watch in envy as streamers and YouTubers showcase the large groups they are able to organise and co ordinate with. I feel a twinge of jealousy at reading about large groups who meet up and play together regularly. Surely that will change in the coming months with the change in ownership.

From the start Pokémon go was something different, it’s been said by the developers that they are more passionate about the Augemented reality part of the process then they are about the actual Pokémon brand themselves, one content creator even stated after meeting the director of the company that if he was as passionate about pokemon as he was about AR then Pokémon Go would be a very different game. This new company is about money and throughout Pokémon go’s existence there has been a tnoticeable slide into micro transactions. Added benefits for spending a little bit of money here and there, predatory tactics to incentivise you into making a small purchase. This was unfortunately always going to happen, it was inevitable and now the cynical voices from the past are now rendered into prophets with how vindicated they were. I’ll be honest, I would have spent money on the new changes they implement, they aren’t bad changes (in some cases) but I refuse to spend any more money whilst it benefits a bloody handed regime. Is this the end? Already my interest is waning, my goals achieved and my excitement lessened by the new reveals. I have made peace with this possible eventuality, that the game will be unplayable without spending money and thus my morals will lead me to stop playing this game rather than contributing to the horrors of the Saudi government. The memories I have of this game are enough, these beautiful memories and shared moments amongst new friends are enough. I am content with what I have, happy even at the time and money I have spent and if the time comes will happily walk away from the game knowing that the time and money I invested into the game was worth it.

Here is a picture of me humble bragging about my lucky shiny costumed best buddy Vaporeon.

[zaffreberries]

Greed. Blood money, the slow forced decline of quality in the name of capitalism as these men get down on their knees and pray to the false idol of profit and create a wasteland of broken dreams.

Originally this was going to be solely about Pokemon Go, but now it’s turned into a capitalist rant that’s been slowly building up for a while so buckle up and let’s go on this vitriolic journey that could possibly end up with me on a list somewhere. Unfortunately I’m not entirely joking about that.

Everything i love is slowly been taken and poisoned, the dreams of others that I have come to enjoy, come to love, the beautiful worlds they paint with their minds and imagination that they and others have laboured to build into a semblance of reality for others to enjoy are being smeared with greed and filth until they are nightmarish parodies of what they once w were. In an age where we have such wonders of technology available at our very fingertips we are shackled to this pointless and detrimental futility of capitalism and instead lock away utopia behind a paywall. The more I think about it actively the more upset I get about this entire situation, this entire society, this entire servitude to an idea that the vast majority of us are so ready to walk away from. We must look so overwhelmingly stupid to outsiders. Imagine if you will, the sheer mind numbing absurdity of telling someone how private healthcare works, or that we have to pay for food, or that we horde knowledge and force people to pay for the privilege of learning and how it is good we perpetuate this horror show of a society. How utterly idiotic, how sanity stretching and soul crushingly stupid is it that we have managed to so thoroughly lock such basic human needs behind a paywall. It’s not just entertainment I mourn the restriction of, it’s the basic necessities of life are also bound in these chains. But for this piece of writing I will focus my impotent tempest of rage and rail against the poisoning of dreams in regards to entertainment and not how we have allowed ourselves to be so carelessly led to this hell of our own making. Make no mistake, I thoroughly detest what we have done with society and there is a deep well of poisonous rage in regards to capitalism in all its forms

To start Niantic has sold Pokémon Go to Scopely.

Scopely Inc. is an American video game developer and publisher that is currently owned by Saudi company Savvy Games Group.

Savvy Games Group is a Saudi multinational video game investment, development, publishing and Esports company based in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Established in 2021, the company was founded by the Saudi Arabia's sovereign wealth fund Public Investment Fund to foster the growth of the gaming industry in Saudi Arabia and to invest in foreign video game companies.

I don’t need to regale you with all the numerous human rights abuses that the Saudi Government are responsible for. For a better explanation on the topic I’ll include a link to esport caster Sideshow’s YouTube video where he delves into the subject more thoroughly and eloquently than I do (https://m.youtube.com/#searching)

The the tl;dr is that the Saudi Government is using blood money to try and buy influence and ignore it’s sordid history by buying the things you love in hopes that you’ll see them in a positive light and/or overlook their past. It wants you to stay silent on its wrongdoings, it’s wants you to be their friend…and it wants you to get comfortable with them and share in some of that blood money to feel complicit in their blood drenched human rights abusing scheme. They intend on bribing us with the things we love rather than stop committing horrific human rights abuses. Bribery, leveraging the huge amounts of money they have to either bribe you into silence, or to buy the things you love to force you into that connection. Fans of international football are not new to this, the buyout of their favourite teams, favourite players getting payed money to promote the wonders of their regime and stay silent as opposed to using their platform to raise awareness and apply pressure.

The usual response when someone brings up this kind of moral dilemma is deflection instead of reflection. What about America? What about China? So let’s reflect on this, let’s address these deflections and reflect on them as well. First is that the Saudi government who makes the laws and controls the wealth is intrinsically linked to these corporations, the same people who are ordering the murdering and detaining of innocent humans are the same people making laws and deciding on what the public investment fund is going into, the people in charge of the wealth, the people profiting and the leaders of the regime, the people in government and the people ordering the human rights violations are one and the same. The American company Niantic is not the Trump government, their views are not the same and Niantic has no control on whatever moral or ethical failures of the U.S government. I dont have twitter for this reason What about China? They are also guilty of doing this same thing, buying huge ownership stakes in various entertainment companies in order to directly influence storyline’s. Their companies ARE linked to their government and the companies themselves use slave labour in deplorable conditions. So I don’t buy from temu or shien, and where I can I actively boycott using their products despite how cheap and available they are.

But this brings us to another problem which is trying to navigate an increasingly capitalist hell hole whilst being able to live with ourselves amidst the numerous moral and ethical dilemma’s presented to us. Misinformation and suppression of information are leaving us ignorant of the true depths of depravity these ghouls are descending into. They want us to be blissfully unaware of the depths they gleefully plunge their fists into in search of that next gold coin, tweeting on their nazi social media platform in triumph at their blood soaked trophy as they stand on the backs of the poor and dig their heels in, shocked and outraged that anyone would dare question the need for such callous disregard for human, animal and environmental health. How do we draw the line at what we can and can’t interact with when it’s all ends up benefiting the same greedy and wretched individuals, when we run out of avenues of protest, to boycott to raise awareness and talk about, when the list is so long and the filth of these hollow men and their soulless corporations cover so much, which do we prioritise? We find ourselves compromised by so much without even being aware of it.

It’s hard to stay on target, to stay focused when this is such an expanding web of rot that has afflicted our society, that we are constantly climbing towards the bright future whilst this hateful idea has constantly held us back. I will never spend money on Pokémon Go again until it changes ownership. I have played this game since it launched (for Australia that was in 6/07/2016) I have made so many friends, it’s helped me exercise, get out of the house, socialise and meet with new people. The cost in time and money is something I don’t regret, for the memories I have are something I treasure and will continue to do so into the future. I am not blind to the fact that Scopely has a reputation for shameless money grabbing, for using insidious tactics to try and squeeze out that extra bit of value, tactics Niantic had been engaging in more and more in recent times. At this point I’m still considering deleting the app itself, I hate the position I am being forced into, deciding to engage with something that tangentially possibly benefits a brutal human rights violating regime, or giving up something I have loved and benefited from for almost 9 years. I have conferred with others, I have bored others with my “pointless” moral quandaries, my needless dramatics about something insignificant. Neither option feels perfect. To treat this situation as of it weren’t a situation and carry on as before is not something I feel good about, it doesn’t sit right. in that same vein, punishing myself for something I didn’t do also doesn’t feel like the correct response. This feels like an unhappy medium and feels like the sun is setting on my time with this game.

So where do I travel with this rant into the void? I boycott these products, I publicly shun them and decry them and I implore anyone and everyone to do so as well. I refuse to spend any money on them and whilst my pointless single objection to their greed is not enough to topple their blood soaked ivory towers, if enough people were to boycott these shameful practices, to take a stand where and when they can then action would be taken. Look at Elon Musk and Tesla, the active boycotting and refusing of his products, it’s hurting his profits and it’s the only thing these wretched individuals care about.

This is me, objecting to this blood money, to this cruelty, to this capitalist nightmare, to these billionaires and their parasite like hold they have on society.

[zaffreberries]

The fall of Rome.

My grandfather is sick. It’s not something that is going to get better. It is something that is going to get worse over time until death. Years ago he had an operation, surgery after he had broken his leg. There was a problem and as all things go when “complications” arise during surgery, damage was dealt. Irreparable damage. Of course no one really knew at the time, it was one of those insidious things that lies in wait, slowly almost gently unfurling itself after years have passed by to strike. My grandfather is being hollowed out and eroded away by dementia and we are all powerless to stop it. I can tell you about the symptoms, but a simple google search can tell you what to expect and Reddit threads are full of people sharing their experiences of what happened to family members. It’s not pretty, it’s not quaint, it’s not comedic. It’s horrifying and painful. The movies and shows lied about the reality of the circumstances, sterilised it, made it palatable for the masses. It’s bits and pieces of their identity, their personalities everything that makes them them, slowly but surely being taken away. We are our memories, our thoughts and actions dictated by the experiences and knowledge we have gained over our lifetime and when they go, what are we? It’s not one big dramatic moment, it’s dozens of small deaths that slowly add up, that are small enough to escape easy notice, until suddenly you see the change. Until suddenly you are looking at a ghost.

I’m trying not to dwell on the ongoing tragedy of it. I’m trying to manage the grief as someone I love is taken away from me. It’s not a sudden death, it’s an ongoing one. It’s an ever occurring “someone I love is gone” it’s watching someone I know, someone I care about slowly but inevitably disappear as chunks and holes in who they were start to go missing. There are so many pretty euphemisms to write, so many things we can use to dress up the problem, to make it more palatable, to make it bearable. To package it nicely as the movies do, to sanitise the situation. Some piano music in the background as i silently but aesthetically cry into my pillow, some innocent but sad moments of confusion and bewilderment, and then we promptly forget about the situation for a few scenes, maybe bring it back up later in the movie. We aren’t quite at the end though. Not yet.

I remember hearing about an old man that “escaped” the nursing home. God that sounds ominous, like something out of a horror movie, an old man slowly losing himself to a degenerative brain illness escaping the confines of a miserable prison designed to hold old people as they depressingly waste away till death out of sight of their uncaring families, but I digress. He had gotten up, chad breakfast, brushed his teeth, combed his hair, put on his shoes and socks, buttoned up his shirt and fastened his tie properly and then promptly made his way into town…without pants on. The story was related to me at work with some measure of hilarity, as if it were a joke, a humorous incident to regale friends with. At the time it seemed pretty amusing truth be told, now I shudder in horror as the reality of the situation sinks in. The sadness of it all. A long life of memories and knowledge and competence reduced to an amusing take to briefly share with people at work who have no idea who the man was before this single event occurred.

They don’t know that they don’t know. They don’t always fully realise that something is missing, or when they do they can’t fill in the missing pieces, an absence has taken the place of a sure thing. Sometimes they are aware that something is missing and so they stare vacantly into space as their minds search for that missing thing, their brain unable to form the necessary connections. Other times their brains fill in the missing pieces, or they try to remedy the situation in a completely new way. Or like the old man above, they are completely oblivious to the missing pieces, almost blissfully unaware that they missed putting on pants as they walk outside. If they had known, they would be mortified at the situation, the humiliation of forgetting something so trivially important. We know though, we know how they WOULD have felt if they had been aware of the situation. In a way that seems worse, another nail driving into the hearts of those that care for them, we know who and what they were, we can remember and see the change, have to compare what was, what is and what should be and try and reconcile this painful divergence in our minds. With children there is always the hope of learning, each new day is some exciting new treasure to be cherished, a bright new dawn to illuminate them on the wonders of the world and to teach them how beautiful reality is. This is not the rising of the sun, it is the setting, it is the fading of the embers, the cooling of the fires, the descent of darkness.

Is this how people felt when Rome fell? Seeing something so grand fall to ruin before their eyes. To see something so proud, so strong and capable be reduced to ruin before their eyes. We have the histories of this mighty empire, we have echoes of its glories living on in our everyday lives. We discuss the fall of Rome with poetic license, we focus on the glory of its rising, it’s revelry of the lofty heights it achieved and we mourn with exaggerated sorrow at its dying light. I find an echo in my feelings about my grandfather. I can see his decline, but I focus instead on the glory of his life, the triumph of him being a good man, the success of raising his two children. I could write about the cherished memories I have (staying awake at night watching a documentary in the lounge room and drifting off to sleep only to wake to him carrying me to my bed, feeling so comfortable and safe in his arms, almost preferring them to the bed and blanket that awaited me) and fill a book with all the things I love about him. I could lose myself in the fond memories I shared with him, the happiness I experienced, the lessons I learned. How do you do justice to the man who shaped you, shaped your world view so much, that sparked a fire in your eye and showed you how the world still glimmered and glowed with promise? How do you explain to someone how safe and comfortable he made me feel? How every pet we had would instantly love him, try and curl up on him. How when crisis’s occurred he was the fixed point, the island of stability and safety, the ever shining lighthouse that shone through the fog of despair that would descend on our family.

He is still him despite it all. Some things haven’t been erased. His face has slackened and there is more vacancy to his stares, but his smile is still the same and his laugh and sneezes are the same, he still holds himself the same way, still walks and sits the same. Does this make it more painful? To see what remains as more and more fades away, to hear the echoes of his personality but never hear the real voice anymore. The glimmer doesn’t burn quite the same in him anymore, it’s starting to fade as well. I don’t really know where to go from here, I don’t take well to expressing my feelings, trying to express the grief that is welling inside me. He isn’t dead, and part of him remains, but it still feels like I’m watching him die, and that hurts. It hurts differently than being betrayed by a friend, or losing a lover. It’s something deeper, some crack in the foundations of our identity, some civilisation wracking tremor that echoes its way deep into my chest and behind my eyes. Something that lingers on late at night. The light is going out, Rome is falling.

[zaffreberries]

I keep meaning to write down more. It’s not a goal I set for myself or a resolution I have made, just something I want to do more of, to express myself, to get these thoughts and feelings out of my head and onto something else. But aside from the different problems I have spoken about earlier with translating the thoughts in my head to something others can understand, transcribing my inherent madness into logical and flowing thought processes, I lose interest. I’ll start writing, I’ll start “putting pen to paper” as it were and something legible will start to take shape. But after a few sentences or even a few paragraphs I’ll lose the spark, What I’m writing about will become to abstract for me to put into words, the thread will split and fray into too many different places for me to put into a structured piece of writing that I find acceptable to share.

I don’t like New Years resolutions and writing more will definitely not be something I am going to force myself to do. I want this to not be a labour of love, it needs to be a thing to be nurtured, to be allowed to explore, to cultivate with gentleness and sensitivity. I don’t want it to be a labour, if anything I would prefer it to be a thing of sudden whimsy, to make it into something I can indulge in and let out freely without compunction. To do that and to start slowly training myself to structure my thoughts into something I can express for others without diluting the core process behind it. I don’t want to have to agonise over the paragraphs because of some imaginary deadline. But this takes time, it takes patience and it isn’t something I’m going to force. I want to love it for what it is, whatever that may be, than force it into something it isn’t.

Some of the writings I have discarded have been about overwatch, about warhammer, about politics, about feminism, about humanity and society, about books and characters I love. I had a very emotional rant about how capitalism is the bane of human society that was less a flowing thought piece and more a drunken barely legible rant by a manic idealist. I had a too emotional piece about love and loss that was too abstract to describe to my satisfaction. So many different subjects that I yaborted before they could be posted purely because I have my own unique standards for writing that I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing these raw unfiltered parts of myself with people in such an unfinished state. What else is that I need to get them out all at once, if I miss a beat or interrupt the train of thought for too long then I lose my thought process, the train is derailed, the rails have switched, the train cart itself is different and the entire journey and resulting scenery is now different than it would and should have been. I need to remain in that headspace to truly explore the emotions and to bring them forth into the light instead of the dreary attic of my person.

So now once again, I am talking/writing about writing instead of something I am passionate about, which in a way is something I am passionate about. It’s not me excusing myself, more, exploring my thoughts and feelings about this confusing and experimental process of baring my soul to the empty little corner of Tumblr and expressing my difficulties in the entire situation.

As an aside we really should talk about how hard it is to write and stay focused now a days in comparison to earlier time periods. Many authors didn’t have the ease of access to the worlds social networks and limitless data to mindless scrawl through, Kafka had naught but to write and dwell and revel on his feelings as he put pen to paper and sent letters upon letters to his friends. How different those who came before us would be with access to the same technology we have at our disposal. So many distractions, such less need for long drawn out waits in between communications. Really I should be applauded for even making this paltry effort if I’m being completely honest (and faux arrogant).

All in all, I do want to write more, I intend on writing more and I fully intend on doing it. Just not all of it will be posted/shared. I also refuse to force myself to write something I don’t feel, that doesn’t resonate with me. That isn’t to say I don’t self edit, I do and shall continue to do so, but the self editing and deception is more along the lines of me retaining anonymity and presenting a version of myself that is, for want of a better word, still me, just not the entirety of me.

I don’t actually have a good plan to end this so instead here is a picture of some Blueberries I went and picked.

[zaffreberries]

I’ve spoken about how hard it is to transcribe my thoughts into words. Trying to turn something that defies description and somehow put it into words that others will easily be able to understand. How to describe my hyper fixated obsessions and then the accompanying strings of various links to said obsession, how to understand why this thing has managed to ensnare my focus and imagination in the first place, how to explain that this subject is now a black hole in my mind, that it will drag my thought processes towards it with inevitability and how I find enjoyment in lavishing my imagination as it gets swept up in these links where I find enjoyment and wonder.

Which subject do I start with? Dallas Fuel? Blueberries? The colour Blue? Sapphic love fantasy books? The sea? Where does this tangled web begin, where does its origins lie? What was the start and what is the best place to start to describe them? How do I describe my thoughts jumping from subject to subject that are on the surface completely unrelated without losing myself explaining the countless tenuous links between them that only I can see that allowed me to make the connection and forge this complicated web of comfort to revel in?

Blue seems to be the best place to begin..on the surface. It’s the one that, on paper, has the most obvious links. But it’s not the cause of these obsessions. It’s just A common thread, not THE reason. I have reasons for liking these individual things that are aside from the colour blue, for many of them the colour blue is a happy coincidence. Likewise the link is more fragile the more you investigate it. Blueberries aren’t actually blue, they have a “bluish” skin but the juices are purple, I like that they don’t have a strong taste, that they are extremely healthy. The Dallas Fuel wore Blue skins in game, but so do many other teams, I liked the players individually and it could have easily been another team they joined, the synergy I admired so much could have still be evident on a red coloured team. What about Team Mystic? The colour scheme was only a single facet of my many reasons for wanting to be part of that team, I was more drawn to their description of being the “smart” team. Same thing with Ravenclaw, I took the sorting hat quiz (multiple times) and was placed in Ravenclaw (each time) the blue colour scheme (whilst nice) wasn’t even a consideration. Blue Mana in magic the gathering? Merfolk, Jace and it has the play style I like best (draw cards, play artifacts, counter their spells). Sapphire lumineers? Belle from beauty and the beast was/is a strong blue staple and they have a focus on ramping and gadgets/items. Ultramarines legion from 40k? The Unremembered Empire Horus Heresy book and the fact that they are about synergy and organisation. The alliance in Warcraft? I like the races and factions and Jaina my favourite character is part of the alliance as is the Human race that I played so much of in Warcraft 3. Obi wan Kenobi? Favourite character from Star Wars. France? Because I like how the language sounds, their literature and culture. Neuvillette and Furina from Genshin impact? Both are hydro characters from the French inspired region. Ouro Kronii? She has a time theme and I like how her voice sounds. Sailor Mercury? Genius best friend, quite and uses water powers. Sayaka Miki has a good tragic story arc with a strong belief in justice, love and enjoys classical music. Hopefully already you can see that the subjects have more similarities (being smart, synergy, good aligned, water themed) than just wearing or having a blue theme.

What about something I love without the blue theme at all? Rhaenys Targaryen is my favourite character from the House of the Dragon Show, bilbo from LOTR is my favourite character, followed by Gandalf and then Sam. None of these fictional characters have a blue theme. The show Normal people is my favourite show and it lacks any blue theme. The girl with a dragon tattoo is my favourite book (and series) and that lacks a blue theme as well. I love honey and one of my favourite drink flavours is Honeycomb and if I can’t have Blueberry crumble oats (I still yearn for them) than I am (somewhat) happily satisfied with honey oats being the substitute, likewise bees are my favourite animals.

Hopefully you can see the diversion even in this post, where the subjects have taken me off focus and instead on a merry jaunt through the various things I like. We haven’t even broached the subject on music yet (another day maybe) and there is still more I could lose myself in. I guess the point of this post is to highlight that whilst i will explore different (often nonsensical or fictional) subjects that the only true common theme is that they appeal to me in various ways and sometimes the reasons why they mean something to me might be more than just what is obvious or what I am able to explain. I want to explore myself in this blog, create a place to dive into my own depths and show off what things I have found and try and elaborate on them and my feelings about them. I want to practice writing about myself and my feelings, to look upon my works in the comfort of anonymity and (inwardly cringing) see my thoughts. Sometimes they’ll be about a thing I like, sometimes they’ll be about my feelings or thoughts. But always they will be my thoughts, my feelings and my truth.

[zaffreberries]

“Please don’t expect me to always be good and kind and loving. There are times when I will be cold and thoughtless and hard to understand.”

— Sylvia Plath

[zaffreberries]

Have you ever started reading something and become utterly and irrevocably enthralled by it? Unable to stop reading, losing hours of your time in devotion to the story played out amongst these fictional characters? To have your whole world subtly shift until the only way to get back to a sense of normalcy is to finish the story. That’s what happened to me with “The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo”.

I was initially intrigued by the movie trailer, it starred Rooney Mara and Daniel Craig as the main characters and was released in 2011. I hadn’t watched the movie when it was first released, nor did I realise it was based off of a book (let alone a series), I just was looking for crime noir movies to watch and stumbled upon it. Then I found out it was based on a book and I wanted to read the book first before watching the movie. All the reviews had praised the movie in various ways but every review of the millennium trilogy of books spoke of how amazing the series was. My interest had been piqued, my attention was given and so I set out to read this book series.

As soon as I started reading I was obsessed. I barely looked at anything else but the screen of my kindle, I needed to know what happened next. Time happened to fall away as I lost myself in the unfolding story. Thankfully I had gotten the omnibus because I wasn’t sated with just reading the first book. I had finished it that day and I needed more. I yearned for more and could do little else but let myself become lost amongst the story. Some times it’s hard to stay focused on a book when reading, but not this. This, if anything, was the reverse. I couldn’t focus on anything but the story. These fictional characters, mikael and lisbeth, their lives were more important than my own. I cant emphasise how easy it was to read this book. I barely took breaks to eat and sleep, for me the story, the unfolding mystery and resulting drama were all the nourishment I needed. The first book quickly fell away to the second and by the third day I had finished the original trilogy and needed to catch up on sleep and eating. I was sated, I was nourished and I was at peace with the world once more, able to function and live like a normal person without my mind being drawn helplessly back to this fictional place.

Now unfortunately we come to a problem. To elaborate upon the series and its contents and why this problem effects me and why I am choosing to make a point of it, we need to establish a few things. First and foremost is that this book is about feminism. The original title of the book in Swedish is “Män som hatar kvinnor” which translates to English as “Men who hate Women” and a significant theme of this book is about violence against women. Another theme is the noted moral bankruptcy of big capital. Whilst this book focuses predominantly on the Swedish community neither of the themes expressed are unknown to anyone around the world, especially women. Secondly is that Stieg Larsson was a reporter and a noted feminist and his work was on far left journalism and Stieg died of a heart attack in 2004 and his Millennium trilogy was released posthumously. This is where the problem begins. For safety reasons relating to his work on writing about far right extremism Stieg didn’t marry his partner Eva Gabrielsson and he hadn’t updated his will in many years (clearly an oversight). This led to a situation where his possessions were given to his immediate family over his partner, including the rights to the book series. What followed was a he said/she said situation in which his partner Eva who he collaborated with in making the books, was denied any further involvement in the handling and decision making progress of the now best selling series. Eva had in her possession an unfinished manuscript of the fourth book in the series and even offered to finish the series, Stieg’s brother and Father who had control of his estate through legal means were disputing creative control of his literary works. At one point, Larsson's father and brother offered Gabrielsson roughly $3.3 million, but she continues to fight for the literary rights of Larsson's work to this day. Since legally they had control of his works they instead worked with the publisher and a decision was made to continue Stieg’s Millennium series without his or his partners blessing by hiring a new writer to write new books.

I’m not Swedish, I have never met any of these people in my life, nor spoken to them, I don’t speak Swedish and I haven’t been to Sweden. My information is coming from third hand sources who I choose to believe have accurately translated the ongoing issue. Plain and simply I am not a good source of knowledge or information on this issue, I do not have solid facts and this is not verified information and I implore you to investigate this issue yourself. I don’t have any firm idea on who is morally right in this situation or what the whole truth is. I do know that legally it is right that more books were and will be published. But morally…in my opinion (that no one asked for) this leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I haven’t read the sequels to the trilogy, I refuse to. It’s not as simple as a “I refuse to pay for this” kind of stand where I would just go and get the books through “other” means which is customary for when a writer of quality is shown to be lacking in morals. No instead this is something that hits different. It doesn’t feel right. Eva lived with Stieg for 30 years. She knew his mind. She knows him best, knows what he would have wanted and there is something tragically ironic about the whole situation in which a feminist writer dies and the literary control of his feminist book series about a left journalist and hacker who go right wrongs, to two men over his partner of over 30 years in a legal dispute and was immediately whored out for profit by the company. It is the kind of thing that the characters in the book would have been disgusted with, would have fought against. It to me is against the very spirit of the book.

*Sigh*

So for me this means the door is closed. My favourite book series ends in a different sort of tragedy. Whilst the original trilogy itself had an ending that is satisfactory, to know there is more (from a certain point of view) to know there could have been more and to have that not being realised, it doesn’t feel good. One of life’s unfortunate unfinished dreams becomes another of my dalliances into the realm of “what if”.

[zaffreberries]

Before I have written about the coldness of isolation. Now I want to write about the good things about isolation.

The world becomes smaller, a small you shaped bubble that excludes the outside world. Other peoples dramas, the trials and tribulations of the world, the omnipresent panic and stress, the danger, the terror all begins to fade away until all that remains is the immediate concerns. The silence grows, it comforts you. The noise is only what you make. Suddenly everyone else’s problems are back to being their own, and you can slowly start to take care of your own problems. You begin to notice them, begin to address them. Suddenly you are the important thing that needs to be attended to, your life is once again centre stage.

I spent time on a property 20 minutes drive out of an already isolated small town. There was little internet, no phone reception, just some electricity and a small house in the middle of no where. The weather wasn’t good, or more accurately, the weather was perfect for staying inside. There was rain, there was thunder and lightning, grey skies and strong winds. The thunder echoed across the vast open space around me, the rain lashed against the small house relentlessly and I was lost in the cozy comfort of being warm and dry inside during the storm. Everyone else was away. I was on holiday. I didn’t need to get up early (but I did anyway), but I did lay around in bed all day reading, watching movies and just gently restoring the battery that allows me to function in the day to day grinding war of attrition against a superficial capitalist society. Peace and quite from the bustle of society, just the raging lullaby of the storm, the soothing sounds of echoed thunder and roaring rain upon the windows with the cozy warmth of a soft pillow to lay me to rest.

It’s moments alone like this, where you take your foot off the proverbial pedal, where you cease the relentless march forwards and allow yourself the luxury of breathing, that you find peace. These words are a poor substitute for the relief, the deep sigh of relaxation as your shoulders can stop carrying and you can let out that breathe for just a few moments. No one else to impress or judge you, no one to pull you away from the most important thing. You. Just you and your thoughts allowed to be heard for once by the only person that truly needs to hear them. It allows you to live in silent stillness for a while, to relentlessly ponder the joys of existential dread with curiosity. To wallow luxuriously in the throes of your inner mind and to swim through your own melancholy enough to move past the cold dark lake and move to the proverbial greener grass on the other side. Suddenly the little moments are no longer little, they are just moments, as big as they need to be, as important as you want them to be. The extra dollop of cream on your breakfast, the quiet to savour the taste as you can really enjoy each spoonful of oats. Everything has meaning because that is all there is. Everything is a moment to be felt, enjoyed, experienced.

This is the longing so few understand. After the anxiety, beyond the depression and outside the bounds of loneliness is the love of self that comes from time spent alone. I can’t do justice with just words on a screen to the relief I feel when I can cast off the world and instead am allowed to exist as my own entity without the details of the world pressing in, clouding up the waters of my delicate pond. Words can’t equate the clarity, the silence , the stillness that comes from being alone with oneself away from the outside. An island of contentment amidst a world of storms.

A piece of me still lingers in that little island of isolation, my soul yearns for the silence of it all. It’s an interesting dichotomy, to want to be with people, but also to want to be alone. To seek so desperately for others to notice you, to listen eagerly for their call and get excited when you hear it, and to dread that same tone all the same, feel as if it’s some ominous bell tolling about the death of peace. Both worlds can exist and so I struggle between hating isolation and yearning for it all the same.

[zaffreberries]

[zaffreberries]

I love you thunderstorm lullabies. I love you foggy mornings. I love you misty days. I love you birds playing in puddles. I love you raindrop-bejeweled blades of grass. I love you cool breeze.