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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

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Congratulations, NAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE LOVERS with the faceclaim of ASHLEY MOORE. Admin Cas: I think we can all agree that The Lovers is a difficult concept to pin down. It’s a task in itself to balance the devotion they have for The World, her world, while not sacrificing who they are at their core. But, Nay, you were certainly up to the task. There’s something so lovely about Prudence, so beautiful and admirable, but something hungry. So much of her life revolves around The World, but that does not mean that Prudence doesn’t have a story of her own to live out. I particularly enjoyed the way you likened her story unfolding to a caterpillar grows into its chrysalis; to become a butterfly or moth, either is possible. I can’t wait to see what you do with her!

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Out-of-Character.

NAME: nay

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: twenty-two

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: gmt + 5 ; and i’d say my activity ( especially with quarantine, still ) is at a 7/10. lately, i have been trying to write every day, and that means at least a reply every day – even if posted through queue after being written on a better writing day.

ANYTHING ELSE?: i wrote this way too quickly, because i suck at being patient and didn’t want to wait a week to turn in an app, so forgive me for the sinful typos committed in my haste! this definitely isn’t as polished as i wish it were. also? there are possibly too many insect-facts in this and if that shit squicks you, i am so sorry.

In-Character.

SKELETON: the lovers

K E Y W O R D S

UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices

REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

| source: x

NAME: prudence “prue” luna lockhart

→ ETYMOLOGY ;

P R U D E N C E / “intelligence; discretion, foresight; wisdom to see what is suitable or profitable;” also one of the four cardinal virtues, "wisdom to see what is virtuous;" from Old French prudence (13th Century) and directly from Latin prudentia “a foreseeing, foresight, sagacity, practical judgment,” contraction of providentia “foresight” (see providence). Secondary sense of “wisdom” (late 14th Century) is preserved in jurisprudence.

L U N A / “the moon,” especially personified in the Roman goddess answered to Greek Selene; also, an alchemical name for “silver”; from Latin luna “moon, goddess of the moon,” from PIE *leuksna- (source, also: of Old Church Slavonic luna “moon,” Old Prussian lauxnos “stars,” Middle Irish luan “light, moon”), suffixed form of root *leuk- “light, brightness.” The luna moth (1841, American English) so-called for the crescent-shaped eye-spots on its wings.

L O C K H A R T / Scottish: of uncertain origin, probably from a Germanic personal name composed of the elements loc 'lock', 'bolt' + hard 'hardy', 'brave', 'strong'. English: occupational name for a herdsman in charge of a sheep or cattlefold, from Old English loc 'enclosure', 'fold' + hierde 'herd(er)'.

| sources: x & x

FACECLAIM: zendaya coleman ( or ashley moore or natali litvinova — in order of preference! )

AGE: three-&-twenty for zendaya / four-&-twenty for ashley or natali

→ BIRTHDATE: fantasy-equivalent of july 8th; the most cancer baby there ever was!

DETAILS: it took me forever to find a skeleton that made me feel the enduring love i’ve been searching for beyond the ability to see a story, and as it always, unfailingly, tends to happen for the rare occasion where i opt for a softer character, it caught me completely off-guard. initially, surveying the tags, i was leaning towards the skeletons of the wheel of fortune, the hierophant, the devil, the hermit – all of whom, in my opinion, are characters who have been shaped by a darkness, be it inherent or inflicted, that’s rendered them with shadows or edges. with the lovers, that’s not the case. they are tender: like a paramour’s kiss, or a bruise, or an overripe peach you can sink your fingers into. and maybe it’s my unflinching desire to subvert the stereotypical presumption of what it is to be soft, the fragility noted in their skeleton does not translate to weakness or meekness to me; i enjoy that they are both tender, and possess the ability to be chaotic, and manipulative, and impulsive and desperate and vindictive and defensive. what i love most about this particular skeleton is the sheer humanness of them.

that, and their love for THE WORLD. for a moment there, that was definitely what drew me to them; this idea of love as religion had my mind reeling like a siken poem, rhapsodising about a love so powerful, it can alter a person. this is partially because i am the most hopeful and shameless of romantics, and partially because love, its nuances, and its powers and vulnerabilities genuinely, deeply interest me. however, working my way deeper into this application-form, that changed.

it is the love that the lovers — or prue, to me, now — holds for THE WORLD is one that attracted me. it is her own potential for growth that’s kept me in her clutches, besotted, wishing to tell her story. hers is a tale, i believe, of metamorphosis: a question i posed in a later section, as well as what lurks in my mind, is whether that metamorphosis is one that leads to a moth or a butterfly. did you know it is moths who come from cocoons, but butterflies who come from a chrysalis? moths, who are drawn to light. butterflies, who drink nectar, also help spread the seeds to grow more of the flowers. both which come from a caterpillar, whose first meal is typically the egg they come from. what i enjoy is the ambivalence that presents itself — or, as i like to call it: potential. there are several directions that prue’s story could go in, several choices that could define her, and it’s all up in the air until it isn’t anymore.

i wish i could tell you that my EUREKA! moment wasn’t insect-research, but i can’t, because that would be a lie. i’m not even sorry.

BACKGROUND:

☉ CONTENT WARNING(s): infant death, stillbirth, body horror imagery, insects

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek.

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which.

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time.

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered.

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? )

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him.

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival.

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately.

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm.

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lilly-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why…

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

PLOT IDEAS:

❂ “love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like religion. it’s terrifying.” – richard siken

see, i told you: siken’s poetry reeling through my mind. religion is a really interesting ideology to link the notion of love to, because there are so many boundaries one crosses in the name of faith. at times, we call it the lesser evil. other times, we say it’s letting the end justify the means. we’re all trying to be holy.

this is where i want to start discussing potential plots for prue — but i want to, first, preface it by saying that though THE WORLD is very much at the centre of her story, it is because prue’s unparalleled love for them is central to her life-story; i treat it like an experiment, where prue is the dependent variable and her love for THE WORLD is the independent variable that incites action & reaction, placed in different situations. it is, that said, the most potent of variables, and can hardly be called controlled, despite how desperately prue herself attempts to keep it to the corner-alcove they hide the truth of their love in. this love is not a selfish love; it is strong, and all-consuming, and maddening – more than a soldier’s swearing fealty to a kingdom, it is the most devout of prophets bowing their head at the altar of the divine deity they put their faith in. that’s pretty intense stuff, right? i want to see what it elicits.

this can be a double-edged sword, and in fact, i’d be rooting for it to be. on one hand, i want to explore how this love has made prue strong. i want to see how it has made her braver, and more resilient. i want to explore that she took THE EMPRESS deeming her fragile-seeming, and how she’s donned it as armour, because it is that same delicacy that has made THE WORLD love them. i want to explore it through interactions with the royal family foremost — THE WORLD, of course, but THE EMPRESS, THE EMPEROR, THE CHARIOT, and if it works out, maybe even septimus himself. it’s rare for prue to not let things slip, and roll off her back, but that is when it comes to her. her love for THE WORLD makes her want to protect them, fiercely; it lights a fire in her soul that has never been lit before. and fire? yes, it warms – but oh, it burns, too, doesn’t it? it has the power to ruin. and i don’t want to limit that exploration to just the royal family; i want to explore it with the animosity-potential between her and TEMPERANCE as well, but that’s one plot i’ll talk more about further down.

there are little ideas floating around in my head that i would love to explore with the respective players, but i could imagine a friendship between prue ( probably due to her sweet-tooth luring her, too often, to the kitchens ) with THE HANGED MAN – and to explore a bond, that could further be complicated, potentially, by prue not being able to talk about what she and THE WORLD share. or, more chaotically: for her to share it, and for THE HANGED MAN to let it slip to THE DEVIL? how far would prue go to protect this? and would she, if it presented the opportunity for the future where she and her love get to be together is pushed closer by it? how selfless is her love? how powerful would fear be against it?

i’m honestly just a firm believer that, when our backs are against the wall, that’s when we find out who we really are. and that’s the main storyline i want to explore with prue, more than anything else, because i think that she has never been pushed to that edge and, because of it, she’s never copped up to her own identity. she met and fell in love with THE WORLD at such a young age, so quickly and wholly, that it has shaped so much of what her ideal self is. i want to see how her ideal self would differ from the reality of her. and i want to see her confront it.

❂ “you are going to break your promise. i understand. and i hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that i will not hate you.” – catherynne m. valente

very recently, someone put forth an idea to me: love is a promise. that’s what i want to talk about here. there’s a sense i got — both from the lovers’ skeleton, and THE WORLD’s — that both of them know that there is a time-limit on their relationship. or, at the very least, whatever room there is for prue in their future, it isn’t a room where they share the bed. but i also get a sense that they know it, and neither of them talk about it. i think a part of prue feels like the amount of good that THE WORLD has brought her will last her a lifetime, and i think that isn’t true, so much as she’s hoping it is? i want to see the two of them talk about it. i want to see prue wanting them to fight her love. i want prue to admit she wants to be chosen over duty, or a marriage with someone who isn’t her, or fear, and i want to see what something like that would do to their relationship. or hell, i want someone who has power over THE WORLD, like THE EMPEROR, or THE EMPRESS, or THE CHARIOT or THE HIGH PRIESTESS to find out about the true nature of their relationship and force that choice once they even start talking about, so the situation can force their hands even if they don’t force one another’s.

there’s so much between the two of them i want to dissect and play with, it apparently needed to separate quotations. oops?

❂ “all things truly wicked start from innocence.” – ernest hemingway

we all have the occasional ( or perhaps more, no judgement! ) propensity for wickedness. i feel really passionately about softer people not being safe from cravings for chaotic behaviour, even if they might, in prue’s case, justify it through the innocence of intention. a lot of her initial effusion is of a heady amalgamation of sweetness and delicacy; i want to see her display a dash of something that takes leave from that, and surprises even herself. now, though not at all set-in-stone and totally up to be discussed with the respective player, i could easily see it rearing its head in the dynamic between herself and TEMPERANCE. how many times will she be shooed away from a room with a beautiful woman and the love of prue’s life? it terrifies prue, the idea that THE WORLD will slip out of her fingers like the sands of time, so much sooner than she is ready for. i’m curious: would there be a moment where she would not leave? where she would make the nature of their relationship known? would she ever snap back, or continue to smile tenderly, bow her head, and listen?

i’m also dying to explore the potential plot brewing between the lovers and DEATH. part of this is a total shot in the dark, so bear with me, but – imagine this: there is a darkness in them that tugs at the darkness in her; they are hungry, and she is a starving-thing, and what a pairing they could make. imagine prue venturing into lowtown with them, and for the alternative reality DEATH’s hunger dangles that could open a door to an actual future with THE WORLD? i want there to be temptation — towards darkness and chaos, yes, because i am a sucker for moral ambiguity, but also for the loyalist that prue is to be lured by the revolt.

❂ “you cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.” – clive barker

it is difficult for even me, as i delve into prue’s psyche, to be a wordsmith adept enough to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of her love for her lover. let me tell you this, though: it is love that is devout enough that prue would sacrifice herself before it. she would shirk what she believes she knows of herself to fight for THE WORLD. but there is little in the universe free of the shackles of consequence. it feels inevitable to me that, at some point, sooner or later, prue will commit an action or reaction in the name of love — and then, she will have to live with it. it’s even better to me for her to go beyond her limits for this love that is everything to her, and then find herself turning to them to sacrifice for her as freely as she does them… and for them to, perhaps, not be able to. or perhaps, for it to turn prue into a person she herself can no longer recognise. there was a part of me that wanted to already cook something up, and to toss it into the writing sample portion, but i decided otherwise. if i get to write this character, i want to start in a place that is different, and develop my way towards a darker pasture, so to speak.

a darker pasture, however, is where i want her to at least visit. in a setting such as this one, i don’t think it can be helped, truthfully.

❂ “each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – anaïs nin

while i was trying to knit this application together into one whole piece, a recurring concern for me has been that i want this character to have its own story, and the lines of that can get awfully blurry when the character is one the feels as intensely as prue lockhart does. she is such a hypersensitive creature; more than anything, it is her interactions that penetrate her, and alter her, and cause the discord between the sides that are wont to tug at her, who stands in the most Lawful Neutral of spots. i’ve decided to lean into it, though, because i genuinely believe that it poses an intriguing dichotomy between her inherent nature and the nurture that moulds it beyond the obvious, magnitudinal parental hand in it. that said, there are actual several different potential connections i want to toy with here. ( one of which is THE HANGED MAN, but i already mentioned that above, and didn’t want to be repetitive! )

THE MAGICIAN / listen, prue is so used to being the Softest. but this little baby is even softer than her, and every time they flinch, she just wants to help. she tries, at every turn, to be kind and i really want to see her become a friend / confidant for them? maybe learn about their magic. to maybe give them a secret of her own back ;) gal pals, gimme. i need something wholesome; it can’t all be agony & ecstasy, god damn it.

WHEEL OF FORTUNE / it is pure coincidence that throws the two of them together as often as it does. but prue is the sort to believe the best in people, and is never too arrogant to admit where she’s been wrong. this bond is where her feelings towards magic first begins to see development, and i am so, so, so interested in toying with it. even more so when you throw in their bond with THE EMPEROR — does faze prue a little — and his relationship with THE WORLD in there. such potential for growth and drama.

DEVIL / for years, every time prue has seen them, she has walked in the other direction. otherworldliness is unnatural enough as it is, but the proof of what they can do scars them with evidence of it – and so, out of genuine fear, she’s evaded them. and yet, coincidental interactions with the WHEEL OF FORTUNE has made prue think twice. a look at the haunting in their eyes has made her think thrice. i want to play with that dynamic!!!

THE MOON / hers is the only magic that does not scare prue, i think. it is the only one she is not too intimidated to ask questions about, because she truly is extremely curious when she takes an interest in something, and a lifetime of listening in the background has given prue a taste for stories. i feel like she could bring out something adventurous and wild within prue? a part which prue never got to explore, because she grew up with a very, very cautious mother who kept a very close eye on her and treated her like glass because prue really does look fragile. i want a bond to make her feel stronger!

THE STAR / if there is one thing that prue has grown up to be, it is a true romantic. it makes him something of a kindred spirit; something in her could reach out to something in him, creating a kindred bond that makes her feel seen in a way that only THE WORLD has ever given her.

THE TOWER / because she was raised right by it, the sea is where prue feels most at home, and she always has. i could see there being something about THE TOWER’s stories making her feel warm inside, and thus, her braving a friendship with them. i think she could use the wisdom of someone older? and there’s just something about them that made prue shyly scuff her toe at the ground, like – an oliver twist moment of, “can i have more, please?”

THE FOOL / stories talk about princes and princesses. the dragon’s fire, the nobel steed. prue looks at him, and she wonders: where are the stories about them? the princess’ lover, and the king’s soldier – those who fight for the crown, without wearing it. it could make for such an unlikely bond, but such an intriguing one, i think? i got the idea, and i just could not shake it. humour me!

and 0f course, there is potential with literally every other character, too, but i honestly ran out of time before i could come up with something for them too. i’m down to flesh it out~

❂ “we grow. it hurts at first.” – sylvia plath

at the start of her story, prue starts off as a fragile underdog. she turns blossoms into a lover, and it turns her fiercer – which is not the same thing as being fierce, but it’s a start. what i want for her — what any writer wants for their muses, i reckon — is growth. i want prue, who has grown up sheltered and protected, to experience pain and hardship. i want her experiences to call into question what she thinks she knows, flip it on its head, and make her think. i want her to think, and to change her mind, and to change it again. i want her to confront her fears, and her uncomfortable truths, and to experience all the tempestuous emotions she’s spent her entire life keeping at bay, having convinced herself they could shatter her. i want her to unearth her endurance, to test its limits. i want to explore her undoings and remakings. what i enjoy most about her is the volatility of her that most would not see coming, because volatile and tempestuous and emotional is what she is. she is all heart, all the time, everywhere. can you imagine how visceral that has to make every experience?

imagine the potential for growth if she let herself just feel all of it. if she opened herself up, and let the universe rush in, instead of walking on eggshells as she does. just imagine. that’s what i want for her.

CHARACTER DEATH: i could, of course, see prue meeting an end. in fact, there are a couple of circumstances that could make it deliciously poetic, even.

Writing Sample.

They match each other: step for step; right, then left –

Hardly anyone turns to look at the two of them anymore. The two of them, making their way down the hall, with their dark heads leaned close together, like two plants growing towards one another when the sun leaves them for too long. It might be more peculiar to see them apart. There is a strange pride that twists a corner of Prue’s mouth at the unshakeable knowledge of the fact – a hint of tremendous pride at the small, precious claim THE WORLD makes with the statement of their proximity. It is everything to her, and perhaps it is what lends to the smoothness of her gait as they move past the portrait-eyes that scrutinise it, as if they await another of the many stumbles they’ve already witnessed. Prue floats beside them.

Her heart is gone, long-since pressed into the palm of their hand. Does it weigh them down? She could pretend it is why she keeps their fingers curled into the crook of her elbow, helping them carry the heaviness of the heart she’s given away to them; Prue holds fast to that touch with her own hand covering their fingers, unwilling to give up those four pressure-points that burn her flesh through the silk of her sleeve for anything, enough to shield it with the dome of her palm.

“ – Prudence?”

Their hand flinches at the same time as Prue’s grip on their fingers tightens. As if a chill blew in, and froze the marrow in her bones, the girl stills in place. It is not because she recognises the voice. It is because she ought to have done, for what the cant of her head finds is a woman whose gaze mirrors her own: amber-warm, almond-shaped. It is her same mouth that speaks the syllables of a variation of her names that does not belong to her, not as Prue does.

“Mama –” she says, her voice so quiet, she fears it might not reach her.

She is too far away now. Even mere footsteps away, she is too far.

Extras.

✦ INSPIRATIONS → anne shirley cuthbert – from anne of green gables; tiana – from princess & the frog; missandei of naath – from game of thrones; margaery tyrell / house tyrell – from a song of ice & fire; madame lebedeva – from deathless; effie trinket – from the hunger games series; jack pearson – from this is us; patroclus – from the song of achilles;

✦ INSPIRATION TAG → here;

✦ PINTEREST BOARD → here.

#accepted #accepted: the lovers

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ryanellisphoto · 5 years

Photo

#153 — Saturday, March 9th, 2019 — Ryan Ellis Photography - Detroit Street Photography Session #153 — Nikkor 24mm f/2.8

Walking the M-1 Rail on foot - David Klein Gallery - David Bosco Willis - Jazz Man’s Broken Horn Blues - Broken Saxophone - Roy R Rowlands - Pain in the Neck - Batman Forever (But Hopefully For Shorter Than That)

Arrived @ 8:10 AM

Departed @ 4:40 PM

254 photos (and a whopping 36 videos) taken in 8½ hours with but 26 “keepers” among them, rendering a respectable 10.24% “success” rate at a sluggish 29.88 shots per hour (I desire the most at least to achieve a 10% “success” rate and 100 shots per hour).

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PREFACE:

Famed rock critic (and mentor to the man that decides what plays on ClearChannel [which sets the programing for much of the tunes heard on the radio today]), Robert Christgau, has a letter grade system for evaluating musical works he reviews. While calling bad bad and good good, he also sometimes calls bad good. In other words, sometimes an awful piece is so bad that it is good. Getting away from music, a film that might fit that description is Tim Burton’s, “Batman Forever.” Among its flaws, the suits worn by the supers have hard, molded necks that extend up from the shoulders, which hilariously forces the characters to turn their whole bodies in order to look behind them instead of simply turning their necks to do the same (quite impractical if you are trying to save Gotham). That level of rigidness is what I had to maintain today as I took pictures and videos in the city I do not love (but am slowly learning to appreciate). My neck was still in pain, and I babied it (albeit while pushing myself to the limit to see what I could yet accomplish). All in all, it was a good and profitable day.

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PATH TAKEN:

Greektown - I took a prescribed high-dose ibuprofen to mask the deep pain from my recent neck injury. According to the bottle, it is supposed to last eight-hours (and I follow its instructions), but I find it only lasts maybe four-hours in my body. My whole life, I have always been highly-tolerant of pain-numbing medicaments. I half-joke (and half-shudder) that I am terrified of growing old. I fear the inconsolable pain of unpredictable but inevitable procedures approaching me during my especially-aged years.

Monroe Street

Campus Martius Park

The Esplanade on Woodward Avenue

Congress Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Campus Martius (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Grand Circus (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Montcalm Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Sproat Street / Adelaide Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Charlotte Street & Woodward Avenue - I ran into my beloved friend, Devin, here. A portrait of her graces the “top ten” shots of the day. I was following the path of the M-1 Rail down Woodward when I crossed Charlotte Street. I saw a car speeding toward me, coming from halfway down the block. There was a stop sign before Woodward, so I kept crossing and pointed to the car and then to the stop sign to indicate the legal need to decelerate soon (aside from the fact that they might hit me otherwise). I finished crossing ten-seconds before they reached where I walked, and I heard uproarious shouting behind me, which I figured was the driver’s disdain for my firmness. Then I heard something quite unexpected—my name. “Ryan! Ryan!,” they shouted. I had to look back now. The voice registered in my mind a picosecond before I saw the familiar face of my wondrously wonderful companion in this town, Devin. I had not seen her face since the last (or two times ago) David Klein Gallery artist talk that I had attended. We keep in touch via text. In fact, she is looking to upgrade her gear, and Tuesday of this same week, we chatted about what next she should buy. I suggested she get a full frame Nikon DSLR with an external audio input and output (D600 at least, because it is the cheapest [oldest]) Nikon body that fits this bill. She wants to instead get the “Black Magic Cinema Camera,” which currently is the smallest, cheapest, pro-video camera (I think it shoots in 4K raw). I ran up to Devin’s car. Her window was rolled down, so I reached in and hugged her. I was overjoyed to see her. She is a good person. She is a sweetheart. After hugging me back, she exclaimed that that was not good enough and got out of her car and hugged me more properly. Hahaha. We chatted for two-seconds, and I told her she knew what was next. She posed, and I photographed her for a minute. She explained that she is now driving for one of those modern-day taxi-like services for side cash. I wished her well, and we made plans to shoot together when the weather warms up. What a charge to the system that was! I was ready to take on the world (or at least Detroit)!

Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard / Mack Avenue (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Canfield Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Warren Avenue (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Ferry Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Amsterdam Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Baltimore Street (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Grand Boulevard (M-1 Rail [on foot])

Penske Tech Center (M-1 Rail [on foot]) - Having just completed walking the length of the line in just under one-hour, I told a stranger nearby my accomplishment. He smiled.

The Fisher Building - This building is called by some “The Gem of Detroit.” I rather think that the Guardian Building is the gem of the city, but the Fisher Building and the Guardian Building each have immense glory to them, so I accept such a compliment for either. I think the Guardian Building is better than the Fisher Building, because the Guardian (to me) was more thoughtfully conceived on its outside. It also had details (down to the waitresses’ uniforms and the cutlery in the eating areas) chosen by the architect to match the building’s aesthetic. That said, the inside of the Fisher Building is grander than the one of the Guardian. There were stones mined into extinction that made it into the Fisher Building. While perhaps cruel, it is also majestic to see such extreme measures taken to ensure that the Fisher Building was a sight to behold (and one-of-a-kind at that).

The DMC (Detroit Medical Center)

Milano Bakery - I had just walked (and at times jogged [across intersections with fading crosswalk countdowns]) the 3.3-mile length of the M-1 Rail (and then some). Then I walked from City Center, through Midtown, and into Eastern Market. I arrived fifteen-minutes early for my 11 AM meeting with my dear friend, Roy (I was surprised I had kept such a keen pace). After I visited with my security guard pal there, I found a table inside and plugged in my camera battery charger to charge a battery, and I waited for Roy’s arrival, which came at six past eleven. I was dead-tired and famished (I had very little for breakfast, and I certainly had walked myself into an appetite more fitting of a newly-minted marathon-finisher than what seemed appropriate given the distance I had just covered). This hunger suited Roy’s present mood as well quite conveniently.

Tepanyaki Japanese Steakhouse - Roy had a hankering for “Chinese” food. We drove to Tepanyaki in his red Mercedes convertible. The front doors were deadbolted shut when we reached the entrance. As we took a few steps back, we noticed “For Lease” signs on the windows. Roy told me, “I had my heart on that place.” He did not know where else to grab food. I looked up a couple Chinese restaurants on my iPhone that were on Michigan Avenue. He did not like either option. He considered getting pizza at Dearborn Fresh Supermarket, but he decided against the idea.

Greektown

Campus Martius Park

David Klein Gallery - Having been eight-hours since I took my physician-prescribed ibuprofen, I was due for the next pain pill. I held off taking it, wanting to test if I could go without the relief (to see if maybe I was improving and did not need the help). For better or worse (for worse… haha), this was when the artist talk occurred at the David Klein Gallery (3:00 PM [my next dose was due by 3:30 PM]). The talk had began, and I was sitting in the front row when an immense pain came over me, starting at the neck. The pain was localized to the point of the injury, but it seemed to echo through my body at times. I thought about getting up and excusing myself to the bathroom to take the ibuprofen, but this rare artist exchange was underway, and I was in the front row. Haha. The air-conditioning turned off a few minutes in, and I sat in what seemed to be an immense silence feeling the pain pulsate through my neck. The artists were speaking normally, and I was screaming inside. I was not at all going to produce a pain pill from my pocket and pop it into my gullet in front of everyone. That would have looked sketchy, even though it was anything but bad. I learned that with such pain, there is no distracting myself. I pride myself with being quite in control of my emotions and thoughts, but the pain was certainly a distraction too big to put off my mind. That said, I have had so much pain otherwise in my life that I have a pretty solid block face no matter if I desire to look so nondescript or not, so I hope I was not a distraction during the discussion. :—:— I asked a question of each of the two artists, Andrew Krieger and Alisa Henriquez (the third artist of the exhibition, Brad Howe, was in Malibu enjoying the not-cold there). Andrew left art to be a carpenter for a good while before returning to art just before doing this exhibit, so I asked him how his time in carpentry made him a different artist than he was before. He said that his experience with the CNC machine made him more apt (and adept) to build things. Alisa explained that some of her work on display was autobiographical and that she had drawn from images of many women to rewrite what she said was the mishandling of women in art as objects and otherwise lessers by men throughout the history of art. I asked her if any of her works were entirely about her. She said no. I further asked how she might produce a piece in the vein of her recent work that centered around a single woman instead of many women. She said that she would have to choose a female model as her subject that she did not know but who would completely open up to her. She said that that would be the only way to get the material needed to produce a piece as she would desire it. I commented without a response from her that that seemed to leave off looking back to instead look forward (implying a positive view ahead instead of a negative view behind [I thought to myself that though bad existed in the past, we had ought to see what good might be pursued in the present and even in the future]).

Campus Martius Park

Monroe Street (in Greektown, near the First Baptist Church) - “THE MAN WITH THREE FIRST NAMES!” I shouted gleefully and freshly at my good pal, the faithful street saxophonist always playing with a direct musical link to his soul each moment in his performances, Mr. David Bosco Willis! He laughed, and we fist-bumped glove to glove. I asked him how he was, and he said that he was not well. He said, “I dropped my horn today when I got here, and now it is broken.” The lower keys would only produce a squeak, making it impossible to play as he desired. I asked for clarification about how it was not properly functioning. He said that there was a bend in the top that caused the keys on the bottom to have the issue. I always have some gaffer tape rolled around the miniature tripod I always have connected to my street-photography camera body (my beloved Nikon D800). I offered to give him all my tape on the tripod to see if he might be able to tape the offending pipe that was bent out of shape. He accepted, and I mentioned I had the rest of the actual gaffer tape roll in my car. Before seeing if this initial solution worked (the gaffer tape was a little less-tacky than the brand new variety on the roll), I told him I would be back with my roll of tape. He ascended to my journey, and when I came back, he said that the solution would have to allow movement of the pipe when he pushed the keys, which tape would not help, since the tape held to one position without bending back and forth. He still asked for some more tape, taking a shine to the idea of mine to have extra tape on hand in case of emergencies. I told him that a bungie cord might do the trick. He had one on him and said that it would still be too stiff for the instrument. I asked him what he planned to do to maintain his playing schedule despite his broken sax. He said he might rent one, since his cost him $200 (it was worth $700-$800 new). I scoffed at the idea, saying that renting was like buying in slow motion, sans ultimate ownership. He countered, saying it only cost $25 per month to rent a similar sax! I was taken aback! He said he could make back the $25 monthly fee in mere hours and make profit after that to save for his next sax! I pray he is blessed beyond his best bedtime visions in donations in the coming weeks and months!

Greektown

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WHAT WENT ON ON THIS DAY OUT IN DETROIT?

I followed the M-1 Rail down Woodward Avenue with the idea of making a video from clips taken at each stop on one side of the street. I ran into my dear friend, Devin. She is a beam of light in this town. It was a chance encounter, but it charged me for the rest of the day. I also made it at long last to the Fisher Building (for the first time in a long time). I plan to return soon. I went to an artists’ talk at the David Klein Gallery and asked questions of artists, Andrew Krieger and Alisa Henriquez. I ran into my pal (with ”three first names”), David Bosco Willis. The jazz man had the broken-horn-blues (he dropped his sax when he arrived, and it squeaked on the lower keys, making regular playing probably impossible [if that makes sense!]).

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⋰B⋰U⋰Z⋰Z⋰W⋰O⋰R⋰D⋰S⋰

“Inside baseball” concepts talked about in this Detroit Street Photography Session —

● M-1 Rail - This 3.3 mile streetcar line from downtown to midtown to city center in Detroit originally started as a municipally-funded project. The city in all its bureaucratic entanglements took so long to progress the project that the richest man in the city, Dan Gilbert, offered to fund the project himself, provided he take ownership of the line. The city agreed, and in three-years, the three (and some) miles were completed. At first, the line was to go much further than three (and some) miles within a small part the city. In fact, it was to stretch beyond Detroit into Royal Oak and even Birmingham (as of 2011), but voters rejected the idea, with many expressing fear over unsavory folks (drug dealers and the homeless) having easier access to the suburbs of Detroit. The line was completed and running by mid-2017.

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If you like what I do, consider supporting me on Patreon:

https://www.patreon.com/seedetroitlikeido

Check out my YouTube channel:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCmWGEXMZfJn5tutCOgK_dtg

I have a Twitter that has unique content from the rest of my social media accounts:

https://twitter.com/prayforryan

I have an Instagram that I am proud of. It has neat write-ups for my different works that also appear on my YT versions of the same videos. It also has photos and videos that appear nowhere else:

https://www.instagram.com/rellish3214/

✦ If you ever have any questions, feel free to email me. I am here for you. Email: [email protected]

.—.

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d __ _____.-’ ’-. ________b

| [__] /.”“”“.\ _ D800 |

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Lovecraft Country Episode 5 Review: Strange Case

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This Lovecraft Country review contains spoilers.

Lovecraft Country Episode 5

A white woman (Jamie Neumann) wakes up in an unfamiliar place and doesn’t recognize herself in the mirror. She runs away looking for help, and in her distress, bumps into a Black boy. Black folks on the street look on in horror as cops threaten the boy for “assaulting” the woman. She assures them the boy was only helping. She’s shocked at white strangers’ concern for her, and Black folks’ fear of her, and realizes how powerful the weapon of white femininity is. Cops take her back to William, who cuts Ruby out of the white body while explaining to her that magic is real.

We’ve only spent a little bit of time with Ruby over the past four episodes of Lovecraft Country, but she’s made an impression even with her limited screen time. From the jump, she’s established herself as a woman on a mission. In the series premiere, she tells Leti that she’s been applying at department stores for years. In last week’s episode she goes to apply once more, only to find there is already a colored girl, Tamara (Sibongile Mlambo), working there. Ruby knows, like we all know, that there is only so much room for us. There is a reason tokenism is such a well known and well-worn trope. Ruby has been taking classes to build her resume and applying at Marshall Fields, only to miss an opportunity by one day, and worse, to lose the opportunity to someone who applied “on a whim.”

It takes very little convincing for Ruby to take the potion and transform again, this time enjoying the treatment being a white woman affords her. It’s fun, if uncomfortable to watch, Ruby navigate in her new body. She ultimately decides to utilize her alternate form to seize opportunities denied her otherwise. In her white body, she is immediately hired at Marshall Fields as Assistant Manager, a higher position than the job she applies for. At work, Ruby —as her alter-ego Hillary Davenport— disparages Tamara. Ruby has done everything right. She works hard, she’s always learning, and she makes no trouble. Ruby operates from a place where Black folks have to be twice as good as any white person. She can’t help but be critical of Tamara because her entire life is proof that being “as good” is not good enough.

This is some of my favorite storytelling so far in Lovecraft Country. I love the examination of privilege, femininity, and respectability, and how Ruby is allowed to examine these things from different positions of power. I also love that Ruby is allowed to be angry, and to have complicated feelings about Tamara, even if that manifests in ways that aren’t necessarily likable. Hillary tells her white coworkers that Tamara will take them to a southside bar after work. After some drinks, Ruby goes outside and witnesses Paul, her manager, attempt to assault Tamara.

Ruby is angry at so many things, and it’s hard to know where to focus that ire. Her conversation with Christina offers some clarity. “You misunderstood William’s invitation. It wasn’t an invitation to be white. It was an invitation to do whatever the fuck you want. That’s the currency of magic, unmitigated freedom.” With that in mind, Hillary tenders her resignation, pretends to seduce Paul, then finds a creative place to repeatedly thrust a stiletto heel. Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow” plays as Ruby lets her white woman facade fall in pieces around them. She tells Paul, “I wanted you to know a n****r bitch did this to you,” echoing his words to Tamara from the night before. Christina asks who Ruby really is uninterrupted and we get a glimpse of the answer: someone unfuckwittable.

Later, Ruby confronts William, but he begins to writhe in pain. Christina crawls her way out of his skin, in a metamorphosis like Ruby’s. I am interested in an exploration of their attraction, and sexuality, and how those are complicated by changing physical forms and shifting dynamics of power. I also look forward to the dynamics between Leti, Ruby, and Christina when their relationships to one another are revealed.

This episode gives us Montrose at the beginning of a transformation of his own. When Tic discovers his father killed Yahima and destroyed the pages, he savagely beats him, stopping only through intervention— which legitimately scares Leti. Montrose, swollen and dejected, seeks solace in Sammy’s carnal embrace, confirming, definitively, that he is a queer man. At a drag ball, a la Pose, Montrose sulks before being pulled into reluctant dances with some of the queens. Then he begins to dance more freely, swaying and spinning joyously. The queens surround him and physically lift him up. This visual metaphor is a beautiful and affirming scene to watch. This is perhaps the first time Montrose allows himself to be fully free, and wholly embraced. He kisses Sammy publicly, passionately, and unreservedly. Montrose is changed.

Tic dreams about his escape from Ardham lodge, except in his dream, his ancestor isn’t smiling. Hanna says something, and Tic catches fire, then he wakes up. Despite Montrose’s best (worst) efforts, Tic is able to decipher some of The Language of Adam, and what he discovers leads him back to Korea. He dials the number for Ji-ah, presumably, and her answer to his question suggests she’s connected to his magical life. We know that his relationship with her was weird, and that he sees her both as a positive entity (the red princess from his dream) and a negative one (the soldier he fought in Ardham lodge). She is clearly important, perhaps a member of another lodge, and I hope her formal introduction the story broadens the magical world even further.

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This episode of Lovecraft Country is about metamorphosis, about transformation of the body and spirit, and it is a fantastic piece about identity. It empowers Black women, and queer Black men, and introduces more layered storytelling for all of its characters. This episode does not, however, make amends for Yahima’s death, and it remains to be seen whether the character will return or be given the narrative space they deserve.

Additional thoughts:

How much control is Christina exerting in everyone’s lives? Did she manufacture Ruby’s Very Bad Day to take advantage? And is there significance to the form she chose for Ruby (miss “blacks are smart, but not that smart” from episode two)?

Christina tells Ruby about Hiram’s magical doorways, which answers the question of how a tunnel in Boston led to Leti’s basement in Chicago. The answer to most of these questions is “magic” and I think everyone needs to be on board with that at this point.

William picking “Hillary” up in his expensive white convertible is a flex and I wish it had been Ruby in her own body, stunting on these white women. I am not entirely sure if I am for the Ruby/William pairing, but if they’re going to do it, Ruby should thrive in it.

Tic and Leti’s relationship feels more solid in this episode and I hope that stops being a point of conflict between them, they have enough demons to fight… Literally, probably.

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