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The Gothic Flatline and Infrastructure Studies

Mario Ramirez-Arrazola Fall, 2021

Michael Fisch in his book An Anthropology of the Machine: Tokyo's Commuter Train Network outlines an almost surreal picture of the Tokyo metro, which at first glance, seems like a monotonous beast which only serves a utilitarian purpose. This surreal picture constantly includes historical examples of bodily violence and death in relation to riding the train, as well as examples of “living” which calls to reference the common saying that “you die a little bit each day.” In reference to the Tokyo commuter train infrastructure, this death paradigm is not hard to see. The train itself has somewhat of a suicide culture; there are corporate a in line to answer for train suicide; some shuttles are divided by gender in order to help women feel safer from sexual assault by male riders; some news outlets have changed their rhetorical techniques whenever reporting on train suicide; riders have the system “etched” into their physiology, pulsing awake from a deep slumber whenever their exit arrives; there is an ongoing narrative that overworked salarymen are the typical train suicide demographic—the list goes on. For other infrastructural systems, this almost phantasmic interaction between the infrastructure and the life/death paradigm is more hidden, though nevertheless present. The leading question of this paper then becomes: why do humans and non-humans in their interaction with infrastructural systems speak about their experience in terms of death? Or, why can their interactions be framed so vividly in their implications of a more nuanced life/death distinction? The late Mark Fisher in his 1999 dissertation Flatline Constructs: Gothic Materialism and Cybernetic Theory-Fiction theoretically lays out an effective system for this question to be analyzed—Gothic Materialism. Though Fisher definitely expands beyond the first principle of Gothic Materialism, the Gothic flatline, (which we will be focusing on exclusively in this paper) is the most salient to this study, as well as the most important to Gothic Materialism.

My analysis is informed by previous research that tries to extend agency in infrastructure studies beyond humans, or that shows agents coming interacting deeper with the life/death distinction, (the Gothic flatline) but I argue in this piece that our very conceptions of those same agencies will need to be extended to encompass a more nuanced divide between life and death.3 This is because death, as Fisher illuminates in his conversation on the Gothic flatline, is not a binary condition. Rather, agents occupy a space where they constantly flow through the realm of life and death; death is always coexisting with life and one state does not take prowess over the other. Fisher draws a lot of inspiration surrounding the life and death divide from Xavier Bichat. Fisher is unique however in that he provides the necessary and salient theory to bridge Bichat’s theories into a modern/postmodern landscape, and in our case, modern infrastructural systems. I aim to provide a salient historical case study that qualifies the use of a Gothic Materialist methodology within STS. The particular case I will be analyzing through Gothic Materialism is the Tokyo metro system, with a particular look at the acts of bodily violence which happen within the context of the train experience, both inside and outside of the shuttles. I will also be drawing in the various works (those that made me initially interested in this question) which have tried to extend agency in infrastructure studies beyond humans but also those studies which illuminate interesting examples of agents flowing through the life and death divide in their interaction with infrastructure.

In a way, this paper and Fisher’s dissertation can be seen as an applied and theoretical elaboration of chapter one of Xavier Bichat’s Physiological Researches on Life and Death, originally published 1800. Bichat was not generally interested in providing metaphysical details of the body and physiological nuances, rather he wanted to provide research that resonated with the standardized scientific method at his time. Nevertheless, many of his statements were often prolific. There are the two general statements which are most salient to this study and his overall influence, one being his definition of life as a total history of the specific bodies’ resistance against death, translated from French into English: “Such is the mode of existence of living bodies that everything surrounding them tends to destroy them.”5 The second point is Bichat’s division between organic life and animal life. Organic life can be seen as the bodily systems which act without direct control: heart, lungs, kidney, liver, etc. The animal life can be seen as bodily systems which act in accordance with the body's nervous systems and ambitions: limbs, eyes, ears, nose, fingers, etc. The animal life can operate without the heart, which to Bichat was the central organism behind organic life.6 In Fisher’s dissertation he expands on Bichat’s two main statements through Foucault and Deleuze—Deleuze’s interpretation of Bichat will be of more use to this study, but it will still be useful to expand on Foucault’s take. Bichat’s first statement can be seen fruitfully in Foucault’s The Birth of the Clinic, particularly in Foucault’s notion of life as the origin of disease itself, and of death as not a singular point or destiny but rather as a continuing battle against illness and disease in the patient's life, Fisher elaborates: “The Foucault of The Birth of the Clinic encountered the flatline when reconstructing Bichat’s version of death. Rather than being a destiny waiting for the organism at its termination, “death” is the real process the organic-vital is parasitic upon from the start; it is an event, aeonically multiple rather than chronically punctual.”

Fisher then elaborates on Delezue’s take on Bichat’s second statement: “Bichat put forward what’s probably the first general modern conception of death, presenting it as violent, plural, and coextensive with life. Instead of taking it, like classical thinkers, as a point, he takes it as a line that we’re constantly confronting, and cross only at the point where it ends. That’s what it means to confront the line Outside.” Deleuze took up Bichat’s divide between organic and animal life seriously in his lectures. Sometimes Bichat’s statements were so profound that they dumbfounded Deleuze, to the point where he couldn’t make a clear interpretation. Deleuze discussed and struggled through Bichat during some of his lectures/seminars, particularly the lectures on the dates of: March 25, 1986, March 18, 1986, and November 26, 1985. Deleuze believed Bichat to be a modern (as opposed to classical) thinker despite his time of operation because of his incredibly progressive theories surrounding life and death; it is intriguing to Deleuze what Bichat meant and what the implications for his new concepts are on four points. On one point, that death is coexistent to life and that death is not a single point or break with life, this notion is the break away from classical notions of death for Deleuze; second, that death encroaches upon life in a swarm-like manner, affecting different parts of the body at different points of your life time;10 third, the division of life between organic and animal; and fourth, the division of death between natural and violent death. Deleuze’s interpretation of these divisions involve the definition of organic life as the continuous half that you inhibit yourself within a particular place, this is more alongside the conceptions of a classic death, and organic life is not particular to humans but also includes animals and plants. On the other half, at the center of the animal life is the nervous system—this animal life is intermittent because of sleep, sleep is multiple, traversal, and particular, we return to organic life when we wake from these particular sleeps. The distinction between natural and violent life is what confuses Deleuze the most, but nevertheless something he definitely agrees with. Death from old age would be considered a natural death, and to Bichat this is the death most common among animals. This confused Deleuze (for which he makes sure not to blame Bichat) because it seems evident that animals are constantly killed by humans and other animals. Violent death, on the other hand, is much more understandable to Deleuze—violent death is society as a whole. Society wears down egregiously on our animal lives, causing violent deaths.

Here it is nice to finally put Bichat’s idea into practice, this violent death is not a single point, rather it’s different deaths that happen at different times of your life because of interaction with Society: “At any rate, he’s not wrong, either… he didn’t know it, himself, but uh… assault, social assault, is terrible, people who talk too much… people who talk too much, that’s an assault. Uh… [?] Neon lights, neon lights… Bichat didn’t know about them, but neon lights are an ocular assault all the same. TV is an assault, a pure assault. You’ll say… well… yes, anyway. It’s true that society wears on my animal life. He won’t portray it as a supplementary sphere of life; Bichat is too clever for that—he says that society is the acceleration of all the functions of animal life. But animal life is, on the contrary, a life which really needs intermittence, really needs rest, really needs its particular sleeps. But we, as we know, have one big sleep, and yet, unhealthy, we no longer have these particular sleeps. [...] Then, as our animal life is so worn out by such high-tempo rhythm, the our [sic] form of death tends more and more to become violent.

Given all of this context on Bichat, Foucault, and Deleuze, we can now move firmly onto Fisher’s own methodology and elaborations of Bichat’s theories which illuminate the Gothic flatline, which to Fisher is: “a plane where it is no longer possible to differentiate the animate from the inanimate and where to have agency is not necessarily to be alive.” To fully understand what the Gothic flatline is Fisher believes that we will need Gothic Materialism as a methodological approach. Fisher is aware that joining the Gothic—what is originally thought of as ethereal, otherworldly, spiritual, supernatural—with Materialism might seem to be contradictory, but this is exactly Fisher’s aim, to instead be concerned with a: “plane that cuts across the distinction between living and nonliving, animate and inanimate. It is this anorganic continuum, it will be maintained, that is the province of the Gothic.”14 Fisher gives a great overview into why cybernetics is so particularly telling of our modern times and also why cybernetics aims to provoke the life/death paradigm, he terms this cybernetic realism. We will not go into this particular section but it is salient to this discussion as a whole. Fisher designates the first principle (arguably the most important principle) of Gothic Materialism to be that: “The Gothic designates a flatline”15 as a reference to the sociotechnical usage of flatline (what is said when the electroencephalogram reads no activity, indicating brain death). Additionally, to Fisher the flatline is actually where everything occurs: “the Other Side, behind or beyond the screens (of subjectivity), the site of primary process where identity is produced (and dismantled)... It delineates not a line of death, but a continuum enfolding, but ultimately going beyond, both death and life.”16 Fisher goes at length to explain this first clause, but I believe that there should be careful attention to how Fisher illustrates this flatline on its path, borrowing from a passage in A Thousand Plateaus: “the flatline designates an immanentizing line,” a “streamlining, spiralling, zigzagging, snaking, feverish line of variation… a line of variable direction that describes no contour and delimits no form…”

This recalls another methodological technique already being implemented in infrastructure studies (although not in the same scope)—and as is most showing in The Undersea Network by Nicole Starosielski—called transmission narratives. A direct definition of transmission narratives is gave, as well as how it contrasts with nodal narratives: “Nodal narratives use specific locations in the network to track the intersection of different flows; transmission narratives follow a signal or person across an infrastructure system, tracking movement between interlinked nodes.” Starosielski, in their analysis of underground transoceanic communication pipelines, aims to disturb the invisible nature of our concepts surrounding telecommunication technologies by “surfacing” the pipelines (a good example of an unsurfaced infrastructure being the internet “cloud”), as well as using transmission narratives to not merely analyze the start and end nodes of these communication infrastructures, but rather their progressions along these plots, the travel between these nodes, and the muddled context behind their implementation: “Although narratives of transmission follow cable technologies, they almost always do so to reflect on the human dimensions and embodied experiences of these systems” In tracing transmissions and paths along these lines of communication instead of only focusing on the end-nodes where “connection” really happens, Starosielski puts to center the agents, environment, and general history that goes into these undersea communication lines. This reflects the plot of the flatline as envisioned by Fisher—a line definitely not straightforward. The transmissional line bounces around points in time, zigzags around the environment, and is generally chaotic in scope. We will need to envision actors and their interaction with infrastructure in this same manner, as moving along the line of life and death in a fashion that is not “straightforward.” According to Fisher, this spiraling plot emerges from a Spinozistic mindset, the: “refusal to distinguish nature from culture.” The blurring between living and dead, the animate and inanimate, the natural and unnatural, things and beings, and so on. It is my argument that when we study humans and non-humans and their interactions with infrastructural systems we must also pay attention to how their relationship between life and death is nuanced by these same interactions. This illumination is more obviously seen in some specific infrastructural systems than others, but nevertheless it is an ever present factor. Gothic Materialism is helpful when dealing with an infrastructural system that acts as a catalyst for the creation of complex psychological or physiological reflections on the user’s experience with the infrastructure in terms of their experiences with life and death. This is because Gothic Materialism allows the analyzer to devote their time away from trying to find a nexus of reason behind these muddled interactions, rather now for the analyzer all of the experiences act as an aggregate and form into a sort of rhizome which steers away from generalization.

Another great infrastructure study that utilizes transmission narratives and confronts that Gothic flatline is Max Hirsh’s “What’s missing from this picture? Using visual materials in infrastructure studies.” Hirsh confronts the propaganda-like nature of airport visual advertising with a particular focus on the Hong Kong International Airport (HKIA). Whereas those more privileged are allowed an enhanced quality-of-life experience of airport traveling in major hubs, the visual imagery which depicts these hubs does not account for the majority of “non-traditional” travelers, Hirsh states:

“What these scholars don’t tell you is that the facilities portrayed in these images typically accommodate less than a fifth of all passengers flying through major airport hubs. The infrastructure systems used by the other 80% – students, retirees, migrant laborers, low-income tourists – are largely absent from official maps, ads, and brochures; and thus remain unaccounted for in existing discussions of airport infrastructure. Yet it is precisely these non-traditional travelers who have driven the exponential increase in global air traffic over the past 30 years [...]”

Hirsh uses his own ethnographic photographic imagery of these “up-stream” check-in terminals which facilitate all of these other 80% of travelers through their airport experience; the photographs are eerie and grim. The most salient of this imagery being his storyboard of a Filipino cleaning women’s travel through Hong Kong to their home in the rural Philippines. Hirsh utilizes a comic-strip to illustrate their journey: waking up at 6:30am in their Sai Ying Pun flat which they share with five other people, traveling to an unconventional airbus stop, their first in an eight hour journey via the HKIA. Certainly a draining trip, one can only imagine the multiplicities of death which are felt by these unconventional travelers; Hirsh alludes towards these muddled experiences through the narrative he creates, which reflects the transmission narrative—he is quite literally following these people through their experiences and detailing the travel itself rather than focusing on the end or beginning nodes. Though out of scope of Hirsh’s article, it would have been interesting to see an attention to the first-hand accounts of these experiences and what feelings they evoke in the traveler in specific. The Gothic flatline arrives no matter the first-hand accounts because there is an obviously draining paradigm going on at the HKIA. A question then arises on whether or not the travelers realize this deadening routine. Maan Barua, in “Infrastructure and non-human life: A wider ontology,” speaks on a vast array of reasons why agency in infrastructure studies should be extended beyond humans, what is particularly interesting and salient in his article is the discussion on “recombinant infrastructures” and “Non-Human Life as Infrastructure,” particularly the Robo-Roach. Though evident in the title, it seems as if there is another grand narrative arising in Barua’s work—the multiplicity of lives and deaths of infrastructure itself. The vibrant infrastructural system reaches the Gothic flatline by itself because of its web-like interaction with other agents. Barua speaks on repurposed infrastructures with an interesting focus on termites. What was once thought to be barren, soulless, finished, or uninhabited, various infrastructural systems are rebirthed for their new use in possibly even more progressive ways than before. The termite repurposes built infrastructures such as railway sleepers, buildings, bridges, and pilings in a manner which lets them extend their movement and foraging capabilities; they progressively repurpose the substrate in an effort to prolong their lives. Barua does pick up on the new vitality which these infrastructures are presented with: “Termites are thus not just enmeshed or entangled in infrastructures, but enfleshed in that it is difficult to separate where one body ends and the other begins or, for that matter, where the divisions between corporeality and substrate lies.”

What is interesting here for discussion is Barua’s inclusion of the entomologist Lisa Margonelli’s notion of vitality surrounding the new life of these infrastructures: “Rhizomatic trails laid out bytermites generate a ‘sort of external memory’, leading some entomologists to argue that their structures themselves ought to be considered as living.”25 While true that this new life of the infrastructure is evident, there are deeper implications here, the first being that the infrastructure was dead to begin with, or that this new life now takes precedence over the death, a binary. There is a nodal-like narrative happening here where instead of tracing the infrastructure's constant battle between life and death in the total history of its operation, the infrastructure instead occupies a single state at a single point of time, the time when the termites started to incorporate the substrate into their livelihood. Barua, in his section on non-human life as infrastructure, speaks of societies’ attempts to turn animals, insects, and other non-human entities into infrastructure for the benefit of human motives. Barua immediately speaks on the epistemological problems that this anthropocentrism constitutes:

[...]

This anthropocentrism is most evident in the discussion of roaches turned cyborgs. RoboRoaches are “speculative infrastructures” which are made real through venture capital efforts and some are already commercially available; RoboRoaches are technologically modulated with sensory technology to enter destructed buildings and to find any potential survivors in the rubble. Barau alludes to the conversation of cockroaches being typically thought of as disgusting creatures but now being turned into synthetic and futuristic beings, almost miniature superheroes if they do end up finding a survivor; colloquial discussion should be more than enough here to elaborate on the implications of these RoboRoaches. First off, there is a constant violent war against cockroaches as instigated by humans—cockroaches are disgusting, unsanitary, vile, hideous, creepy, and the list goes on—one does not think twice about instantly squashing a bug to the greatest and last of its deaths when encountered. There are microeconomies based on the death of these small insects, whether it be the professional exterminator or a can of Raid bought from a local store. There is no soul to the roach, it is not “alive,” this is why it’s okay to immediately terminate them—or so was thought. I am not saying that we should start taking in cockroaches as pets, but that hopefully our conceptions of these animals, particularly their life and their death, is nuanced or rethought from their new vitality as given by their transformation into a useful infrastructure. One can only imagine the eerie or weird emotion that is evoked when something you never thought twice about murdering saves you from a certain, lonely, and claustrophobic death underneath hundreds of pounds of rubble.

Fisher further illustrates this Gothic flatline through two fictional examples, one is the German expressionist film The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, in which Fisher borrows from Deleuze’s interpretation of the film as a work that makes organic, inorganic, natural, and artificial substances or entities as not able to be differentiated from one another. The second is Neuromancer where the flatline: “functions as both a verb – characters flatline (surf what, for the organism, is the border between life and death) – and a noun – some characters are Flatlines (Read Only Memory data-constructs of dead people).”27 Where infrastructure studies plays a part are the immediate connections, whatever your particular infrastructure of study, to how the system navigates this anorganic continuum, or this Gothic flatline. This navigation may be initially hidden or invisible within the system, or in other systems it may be incredibly apparent; all systems are subject to a spot within the Gothic flatline because of the system’s interaction with entities, both living and dead. Some systems may be seen as able to be analyzed by Gothic Materialism in either an intense or minimal manner, while others may be encapsulated by it entirely and act as something like Flatline Infrastructures (just as some characters in Neuromancer are referred to as Flatlines). This implies that certain infrastructures are incredibly testing of the life and death distinction. I believe that the Tokyo metro system, especially as mechanically analyzed by Michael Fisch, is the premier example of a Flatline Infrastructure.

What is most proper in this flatline analysis is not to impose the theories laid out so far in a strict or rigid fashion in their real world application, both because the general idea of the flatline is enough for the analysis (death as a multiplicity) but also because ethnographic research is most important and is what will serve as the empirical evidence which qualifies the use of Gothic Materialism. I believe the most pertinent thing then is to introduce real world accounts of what Tokyo metro culture is like. The riders will show for us themselves what the experience of riding on the train is like, we will let them speak for themselves without enforcing anything upon them, but their accounts will also illuminate their position within the Gothic flatline. One of the first accounts that Fisch gives is from a Tokyo commuter (who is both a paralegal and a law student) on the physically violent experience of riding on a packed train, but Fisch also extends his account into a detailing on the inescapable fashion of these packed train rides, “You are packed into the train so tight that you feel as if your internal organs are going to be crushed. By the time I arrive at work, I’m exhausted and too tired to do anything. I would do anything not to have to ride the packed train but there is no choice [shōga nai].” Here the Tokyo commuter feels literally suffocated, crushed, and feels as if their organs are crushed or in the process of being killed; they become somewhat Zombified by the time they arrive at work from the train ride exhaustion. Here is another account from a website dedicated to suicide advice on how to effectively commit suicide by jumping in front of a train. Fisch eerily states that a particular suicide on the Tokyo commuter lines at 7:42am, August 19th 2004 may have taken this advice, given the saddening details of the actual event:

“If you are jumping from a platform choose a station where the express train does not stop as the chance of fatality is much lower if the train is decelerating. If you misjudge the timing you might bounce off the front of the train or jump too far and end up on the other side of the tracks. So take your time. As long as the train is within a hundred meters of the station, it is not going to be able to stop in time with the emergency brake. Also, be careful since there have been incidents in which briefcases or other items have flown back and hit someone on the platform.”

This is not only shocking to read, it also implies that these directions are needed by someone, or in the particular case of Japan, that there is somewhat of an active negative culture surrounding death by train. The precautions set up by the various companies in Tokyo to discourage train suicide are extensive, ranging from soothing train music and voices, blue filters on the train windows, mirrors and better lighting to reflect before the act, and even the legal pursuit of a debt that the victims family would have to pay if their family member committed suicide and disrupted the train flow. The entire system is operating within the flatline in this manner, riders are alive in a sense while riding the train, but their suicide or death is somewhat assumed and taken account of before the fact. This is particularly true on the commuter lines which have the Autonomous Decentralized Transport Operation Control System (ATOS) enabled. These lines (operated by the JR East Company) have a cybernetic system which regulates traffic and accounts for disruption to the flow in an automatic fashion. Disruption, of which is commonly suicide, to these ATOS-enabled lines becomes the norm, as Fisch states: “ATOS thinks of the gap as a necessary condition of emergence. It does so by inverting the logic of centralized traffic control, shifting emphasis from controlling the principal daiya to managing the emergent order of the operational daiya.” Here the daiya is a traffic diagram of the train network which is broadcasted through the news, radio, television, and so on. What is even more interesting is that in the early 1990s the terminology for train suicide was sometimes differentiated as either committing suicide (tobikomi jisatsu) or an act of bodily accident (jinshin jiko). Fisch explains the differences:

[...]

It is also useful to see an actual newspaper account of a jinshin jiko: At around 8:45 a.m. on the sixth of the month a 61 -year-old man from the Tama ward of Kawasaki City was struck and killed instantly by the Kawasaki - bound train from Tachikawa City on the JR Nambu Line. As a result of the accident, 14 trains were canceled and there were delays of up to 45 minutes. According to the Tama police, the man was kneeling on the tracks. The area of the accident is 20 meters from a railroad crossing. [July 7, 1996]31 Fisch also gives a great account of the “suddenly awakening commuter,” the phenomenon that is attributed to the event of “when a commuter who appears to have fallen into a deep sleep suddenly awakens at a station and bolts from the train a split second before the doors close.” Fisch asks the question of how the commuter knows, even in this deep slumber, when their stop has approached and jolts awake (the presence of sleep in this discussion of course alludes back to Bichat’s and Deleuze’s discussions on sleep) to exit. He answers through an account of an experienced Tokyo train commuter, Mito Yuko, during their conversation over tea. Yuko states,

“The rhythm of the train is etched into the bodies of the city’s inhabitants.” And further: No matter what train line one takes in Tokyo, the pattern of acceleration and deceleration between stations is always similar. The pitch of the electric motor increases as the train rapidly accelerates when it leaves the station: eeeeewwwwwwww. . . . It levels off for a bit as the train reaches its cruising speed— pweeeeeeehhhhh— and then begins to drop as the train decelerates: dreeweeeeeeeeh, tukatoo, tukatoo. . . . [Then there’s the announcement:] “We’ve arrived at such and such station.” This pattern is the driving curve, and every commuter internalizes it from an early age. For commuters it’s a soothing sensation, lulling them to sleep the moment they sit down on the train. Because the bodily rhythm of the city’s inhabitants is in sync with this pattern, when there is a delay, even if it’s only a matter of thirty seconds, they notice it. If the delay is more than a minute, they might actually begin to feel physiological discomfort [shintai no seiriteki na fukaikan].”

This repetition and rudimentary experience becomes etched into the riders to the point where the entire process becomes somewhat of a lull that begins to wear on the animal life. The typical rider is the salaryman/salarywoman who will have almost no time to spare for anything. Fisch interviewed a Japanese bank employee by the name of Akira who details the typical train experience:

“Japanese salarymen have a fixed schedule. I leave my house every day at exactly 7:05, arrive at the station and line up at the second door of the ninth car of the 7:23 commuter express. Every day exactly the same and always with a Nikkei [Economic] newspaper under my arm. From my station until Shibuya it’s too packed to even lift my arms and hold the paper. But at Shibuya a lot of passengers get off and I have fifteen minutes to read all the important articles in the paper. There is a group of regulars I ride with but I’ve never spoken to them or exchanged a nod or greeting. A salaryman’s energy is at the lowest in the morning. It’s like “ach, back to work again and back on the packed train.”

The metro experience then becomes somewhat of a landscape where unordinary events are compounded in effect because of the intense lull that is active. Fisch has an entire section in his book where he tackles the salaryman suicide by train phenomenon, tracing the problem deeper into Japanese society and problems of representation. These are all interesting, but what seems most salient is a small conversation that Fisch had with another salaryman while in the train station. The trains had just been announced to been delayed because of a suicide, this particularly salaryman in their nonchalant reaction to the news caught Fisch’s attention and they had a conversation in which the unnamed salaryman stated:

“They do it during this time in order to elicit an appeal to their own existence, probably because they want to create annoyance. It’s always a salaryman, and it’s when they just snap, when they can’t take it anymore after failing no matter how much they try and try. There was another accident not too long ago at this station, same thing, same situation, but the guy jumped from the far end in front of the special rapid. There might be more instances [of jinshin jiko] in the summer than in the winter, I’m not sure. At first, when I came to the city from Okinawa I thought that the way people just go on as if nothing happened was cold hearted, but then I realized that they are just used to it. Now the whole schedule is disordered for the rest of the day. And after all that careful calculation. No point in trying to check it from your keitai, maybe not even until they can restart tomorrow morning.”

An overview of the Tokyo metro culture would not be complete without covering the persistent sexual assault incidents which female train riders face from male assaulters, referred to as perverts (chikan). Fisch makes clear that there is a definitive, almost culture-like, environment of heterosexual male fantasies (transgressions) which materialize on the train. Fisch states that there is many research into this problem that women face, but that he does not want to expand on the research and that he himself only has a variety of potential theories on why this environment exists in the first place; in the footnotes he also explains why he did not want to inquire about these cases of sexual assault in specific for a variety of reasons. Fisch did however receive secondhand details into the problems from women commuters, he elaborates: Female commuters with whom I spoke, including both acquaintances and friends, sometimes explained that with the intense compression of bodies in the packed train, they often felt uncertain whether the hand that brushed or grabbed them did so with intention. But it was not the uncertainty that silenced them; rather, it was the silence. As Yuko, a twenty-seven-year-old female administrator at an importing firm who commutes almost an hour each way on the Chūō Line, confided, while there were times when she suspected someone of touching her, she did not feel confident enough to carry out the required action of grabbing the groper’s hand, raising it up, and yelling “pervert.” She was afraid of the effect such an action would have in the silence of the packed train. For Yuko, riding in the women-only train car is not an option because of where it would place her on the platform at her destination and the crowds she would have to navigate to arrive at work on time.

One can then only imagine the horrors and dehumanization which women feel when riding these trains, especially when packed. Their experience is completely different than that of a male, and one wonders what emotional space they must operate within to ride the train. The Gothic flatline as theoretically laid out by Fisher is a sturdy and difficult idea to unravel, but it should be appreciated for its most novel implications of which infrastructural systems constantly encounter in their interaction with agents of all forms. Deleuze showed a worthy struggle through Bichat’s life and death paradigm, of which he applied pragmatically to societal forces: loud people, TV, neon lights, and society in general. Because infrastructure plays such a crucial part in our lives, whether invisible or visible, it should be crucially analyzed for how the system creates situations of life and death indeterminacy in agents. The Gothic flatline is most appropriate for this analysis because Fisher—though much more interested in plotting cybernetics as the premier motif to encapsulate postmodern society—was almost foretelling in identifying this particular dehumanizing nature of society. Fisher withdraws from this study in an important avenue: while he does realize that these dehumanizing affects are a process of something grander, (it is evident that he is blaming capitalism, in essence) he mainly illustrates this through the analysis of fictional works, particularly theory-fiction and cyberpunk. Though he does give an argument that qualifies the use of fiction, in these works the flatline is a zone where revolution happens—it is imminent, but still a place where progressive things can occur. The flatline in these real world infrastructure history is more nihilistic, or at least unrealized. The first step is to realize the potential of the flatline and where it is creeping upon us in our contemporary infrastructural systems—which I hope to have done adequately here—so that the Gothic flatline becomes visible and can be morphed into a mechanism which benefits the masses.

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singofsolace · 4 years

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Here Zelda goes again breaking my heart! She has no self preservation left in her. Zero! The fact that the only part that she warns Mary will weigh on her conscience is the trauma she will be inflicting on two young ‘innocents’ implying that she herself is not innocent just killed me. It’s suits her character and that scene too well. I always thought she seemed resigned to die and you did such a better job with the scene, providing an actual explanation for her lack of defence. When she

(Continued) guides the gun to her chest and instructs Mary on how to kill her quickly right after having thought that being shot was an impersonal and inhumane way to die ugggghhhhh 💔😭 She’s so blasé about nearly being murdered with no chance at resurrection. Someone hug this woman!!!!

I’m so happy you think I did a good job with in cold blood! That scene at the door has always bothered me, and the only way I could justify Zelda not doing anything to save herself when she had ample time to do so was if I explored the fact that she seems to have a kind of death wish---a self-sacrificing urge to lay her body and life down for her family.

We see how resigned she is in Feast of Feasts, and then again when the Dark Lord is holding both her and Hilda and knife point, she has very little concern about herself; she’d rather Sabrina let her be killed than blow the horn and become Lucifer’s “child bride.” She even bargains with her body in Episode Three, wanting to exchange sex for Sabrina’s court case to be thrown out.

That being said, I debated going into the psychological ramifications of the Caligari spell in order to explain why Zelda seems so prepared to die, but ultimately, that got a bit too dark in my brain. The truth is, I imagine Zelda has been abused all her life, based on the way she instinctively flinches upon that initial touch of Blackwood in Episode 3 (despite the whole point of her visit to be to convince him to have sex with her in exchange for Sabrina’s freedom!), and the fact that Methuselah, Enoch, and that other Council guy who grabs her wrist when she hands him the cake all seem to be sexual predators who’ve ascended to such high positions in the Church, makes it clear that sexual abuse is rampant in the Church of Night.

What I’m trying to say it, while the Caligari Spell might’ve been the straw that broke Zelda’s proverbial back, I didn’t really want to get into the idea of her not caring if she lived or died because Faustus took away her will to live. That’s too real, but also I don’t think it’s true to her character, if only because the writers aren’t interested in exploring her trauma, and she seems to “bounce back” extremely quickly after her ordeal.

Anyway, I tried to show the resignation in a way that felt genuine without going too deeply into why she’s so ready to die, and I’m so glad you noticed that the frame of the scene is Zelda thinking about killing Hilda with a shotgun, and how much that shook her, because she’s never shot her sister before. I wanted the parallel to be clear, but you never know if these things will be lost in the shuffle. I’m glad to know it wasn’t!

I’ve also had this strong image in my head for about two weeks of Zelda moving towards the gun, not just standing still. I think I might’ve been influenced by that scene in Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, when Rene Dubois moves into Phryne’s gun, taunting her, saying that she wouldn’t shoot him. I know it’s not a direct parallel, but in my head, Zelda was doing the opposite of him, trying to appeal to Mary’s humanity, so it wasn’t just a death wish that was motivating her. She counted on Mary seeing her so ready to die--even going so far as to help her hold the gun!--and it taking the wind out of her sails. If nothing else, Zelda knows how to gamble, and this time, it worked out for her.

Sorry for talking so much! I just really wanted to talk about my process for this fic, I guess, and your comment got the wheels turning. Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts! I always wait with baited breath to hear what you think.

#zelda spellman #mary wardwell

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judefan828-blog · 4 years

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the whole assembly has been fitted

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mantra4ia · 4 years

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The Rise of Skywalker: Expanded Reaction Episode I (spoilers ahead)

Approaching a Saga that I love and a film that I hate with equal parts passion and compassion.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I must preface my opinions with the one central point of view that has never wavered: You can be a Star Wars fan and a film critic simultaneously. I think the POV where the critics like a Star Wars film and the fans don’t, and people counter with “Critics, you don’t know what you’re talking about especially with Star Wars movies. You don’t know anything. Go away” is absolute garbage. I also think the opposite point of view, Diode if you will, is trash where fans like a film, critics don’t, and “fans don’t know what there talking about.” Those, I believe, are the only trash POVs as it relates to Star Wars. Everything else is fandom.

Likes (from the very big to the very detailed)

John Williams score. John Williams guided us through the film with subtly and passion. Even when things were happening on screen that I didn't like, I felt my feelings soften and shift because of the score. He composed a lot of what would have otherwise been chaos.

C-P3O: comedy comes from character, and Disney SW utilized 3PO in the best light I've ever seen him for that purpose. “Babo Frick, one of my oldest friends” was such a triumphant example. Also, in general, the humor in this film from all ensemble characters landed really well, such as “they fly now” and “what were you going to tell Rey...or is now not a good time.” I also liked the humor in The Last Jedi, but a lot of people didn't. I think that came down to TLJ execution where some of the humor felt too earthly “of the moment” and somehow the conversation turned humor into a taboo, where as RoS kept the humor classic and classy.

The banter between Rey, Poe, and Finn. Finally, I felt invested in the bond of these characters, which gave me stakes to win or lose. It took three films to set up unfortunately, but I the aforementioned Finn and Poe digging at each other and the opening between Rey and Poe – What did you do to my droid? What did you do to my ship? - really sold me on the fact that this movie might have, if not plot continuity, then emotional continuity.

Han Solo. What can I say guys, I'm a sucker for full circle, volta bracket (forgive me if my music theory analogy is wrong) story devices. It didn't necessarily make sense, but poetic beauty won and hit me in the feels. When Ben said “dad” and launched that Red Lightsaber into the stratosphere, it provided such a huge sense of catharsis I was brimming with tears. FULL POST HERE.

The “Dyad” in the Force: Kylo and Rey’s relationship. If the Force was sentient it would have said all along: I've created my own balance in the form of two people, why are you trying to mess it up? That's as close to a direct message as I have ever gotten from the Force, expressed in themes from TFA and TLJ which culminated Luke's lightsaber blowing up in the tug of war thrown room scene. For all the people saying “another hookie, new lore, unfounded concept brought to you by Disney,” no, I feel like that's been fairly consistent. In my opinion, this is just another iteration of a recurring element in all over Star Wars: both Light and Dark side, Jedi Master/ Sith Lord and Apprentice. This is just a first time that its been a light side-dark side pair where neither are masters and all the Rise of Skywalker did was gave it a name and called it a dyad and part of what the force has needed for balance. I felt really invested in the “Reylo” dynamic. and while I was never entrenched in one specific outcome for Ben and Rey, all the possibilities were intriguing. This is perhaps the element in the sequel trilogy that was most consistently addressed in all the episodes, and it paid off for me.

The visual imagery. Say what you will about Force FedEx #that’snothowtheForceworks, but it makes for some beautiful action sequences and incredibly framed, colored, and illuminated still shots, that fired up a lot on interest in the spectacle of Star Wars even prior to IX's release.

Kylo Ren's arc. Full appreciation post HERE. Kylo / Ben Solo is undoubtedly my favorite character of the Disney trilogy, in part due the that fact that his story has tracked the most consistently throughout three films, and also because I've always been a fan of complex antagonists. His arc's been psychologically interesting, to the point where I would have been perfectly fine with Kylo, as Supreme leader, being the main antagonist of RoS instead of Palpatine. Also, Adam Driver acts the h*** out of Ben Solo too, even though after he “turns” he has no dialogue. It's all carried on acting, and its stone cold believable.

The Leia training flashback with Luke. It added a new take on the classic trilogy that was the one big element where this movie swung for the fences on risk-taking and it paid off for me.

The *idea* of Leia being Rey’s training master. Fragmented speech aside, JJ's team did the best they could with what they had of Carrie Fisher to execute a wonderful pairing in the Force. Whether or not the best way to honor Carrie was to use the Last Jedi footage or to pass the baton in order to finish the character that she made an icon, is a healthy debate, but the best intentions were glowing.

Expanding the intricacies of Force visitation. Colloquially, the “Force Skype” from The Last Jedi, has evolved into “Force FedEx.” Even though the stage was set for this in TLJ, when Kylo touches water from the Ahch-to ocean, some people won't like this, and I totally get that. It makes many plot expediting elements easy. But admittedly, I will deal with that because it makes for some amazing iconic fight visuals. The throne room scene is still top of the trilogy, but I have to admit that when you Force FedEx a lightsaber – it makes for a fantastic mic drop.

The lightsaber fight on the Death Star wreckage. This was my favorite confrontation in RoS, ironically no Force FedEx required. The contrast of fighting style is never more apparent, Rey jumping over waves, Kylo walking through them with brute force of will. Then somewhere along the way the styles flip, Kylo's becomes more artful and Rey's more brutal (not unlike Palpatine's aggressive form) when she knows she's about to be beaten.

Kylo Ren's death blow simultaneously with Leia's death, book-ended by the fact that Leia did not become one with the Force until Ben did too. It's creative liberty to be sure, no other Force ghost transition has been like that, but it worked for me.

Best acted movie of the new trilogy overall by all the cast, parts large and small. You can tell that everyone involved made it with love.

The payoff of Finn's force-sensitivity that we got in Force Awakens mostly makes up for the pain of poor, half-retconned broom kid. We get backstory of other storm trooper deserters that we spirited from their home worlds which become broom kid substitutes. I'm also glad at the payoff of Finn joining the resistance culminated in becoming a co-leader with Poe.

Remember that one throwaway in The Last Jedi that a very vocal group (myself excluded) hated because Luke did it in exile and despair? Rise of Skywalker has an appropriate answer. When Ben throws away his cross-guard lightsaber into the waves of Death Star debris, as a mirror image to Luke but with hope, we get a very iconic moment.

Initial Reaction *** Episode II *** Episode III

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self-deprogrammed · 4 years

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The imperial cult

“Another element in the Roman state religion was what is generally referred to as the imperial cult. This cult regarded emperors and members of their families as gods.

“On his death, Julius Caesar was officially recognised as a god, the Divine ('Divus') Julius, by the Roman state. And in 29 BC Caesar's adopted son, the first Roman emperor Augustus, allowed the culturally Greek cities of Asia Minor to set up temples to him. This was really the first manifestation of Roman emperor-worship.

“While worship of a living emperor was culturally acceptable in some parts of the empire, in Rome itself and in Italy it was not. There an emperor was usually declared a 'divus' only on his death, and was subsequently worshipped (especially on anniversaries, like that of his accession) with sacrifice like any other gods.

“Emperor-worship was a unifying factor in the Roman world, practiced not only by army units spread throughout the empire but also by individuals in the provinces, where there were collective imperial cult centres at places such as Lyons (Gaul), Pergamon (Asia) and (probably) Colchester (Britain).

“The imperial cult helped to focus the loyalty of provincials on the emperor at the centre of the empire, and in some regions (such as Gaul), there is evidence that Roman authorities took the initiative in setting it up, presumably for that very reason.”

“The image shown here is that of a sculpted relief from the base of the column of the emperor Antoninus Pius, probably to be dated to AD 161. It shows the apotheosis (transformation into gods) of Antoninus Pius and his wife Faustina.”

“They are shown by the portrait busts at the top of the frame, flanked by eagles - associated with imperial power and Jupiter - and were typically released during imperial funerals to represent the spirits of the deceased.

“Antoninus and Faustina are being carried into the heavens by a winged, heroically nude figure. The armoured female figure on the right is the goddess Roma, a divine personification of Rome, and the reclining figure to the left - with the obelisk - is probably a personification of the Field of Mars in Rome, where imperial funerals took place.

••••••••••••••••••Source••••••••••••••••••••••

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ancient/romans/roman_religion_gallery_06.shtml

••••••••••••••Editorial••••••••••••••••••••••••

FACT:

1. The Romans were experienced at setting up religious cults.

2. No “Christian” group is listed in contemporary histories as being present as victims, refugees or participants in ANY of the besieged Cities in the civil war in Judea 66-73 AD. The contemporary histories include the groups and the leaders of the Priests, Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, Zealots, Samaritans, etc. “Christians” are not mentioned in any contemporary histories written prior.

3. Most Jewish people lived outside of Judea in the eastern parts of Asia Minor that had been 300 years earlier conquered by Alexander. The Jewish were probably 10% of the population of the Empire (Comparison: black people are about 10% of the US population)

4. The Pharisees were popular among Jews and non-Jews. The Pharisees were anti-slavery, anti-taxes, pro-social justice.

5. The Roman Empire was dependent upon slavery and high taxes. The Romans were terrified of a Spartacus-type slave revolt.

6. Biblical scholars see little of the Jewish religion in the New Testament; rather the philosophical positions and terminology are very Greco-Roman. Such as the ascension depicted above. Or Jesus comment about Peter being “the rock” is a pun only in Latin. Or that the Emperors Titus and Domitian were both a ‘Son of God’ as their father, Vespasian, was declared a ‘Living God’. The term ‘Gospel’ is from a Greek term used only for military victories.

7. The three year campaign of Titus between the destruction of the Temple (70 CE) and the fall of Masada (73 CE) takes Titus to the same locations as Jesus purportedly visited in the three year of ministry 31-33 CE.

8. Coincidences?

The Gospels record Jesus allegedly performing a miracle transfering demons to 2,000 swine who are stampeded down a hill to their deaths. In the same location Titus’ army forces thousands of Jews to their deaths. In both cases ‘Legion’ is responsible.

At the Sea of Galilee Roman soldiers are “fishers of men” as they spear Jews they pursued in fishing boats.

The Siege of Jerusalem began just before Passover in April, 70 CE and end in September. Starvation hastened the collapse of the defenders. Incidents of cannibalism occurred including that of a mother named Mary whose son was eaten.

8. The Cities which allegedly had Congregations to which Paul allegedly wrote all had Temples dedicated to Julius Caesar.

9. Caesar’s apotheosis includes betrayal by a loyal friend, death at the hands of Romans while his main subordinate flees, being acclaimed a God after his death & therefore ascending, the suicide of his betrayer. Caesar’s effigy is depicted on a Tropeum - a cross like a small ‘t’.

10. The Cities addressed in “Revelations” all had Temples to Vespasian, Titus and Domition.

11. The Rabbinic Talamud records the agreements reached between Vespasian & Titus by the founder of post-Temple Rabbinic Judaism, Yohanan ben Zakkai. Zakkai escaped from the Zealots in Jerusalem by pretending to be dead. Then is “resurrected” to meet with Vespasian.

12. Christians only begin to appear in history after 100 CE.

SPECULATION (see Joesph Atwell “Caesar’s Messiah” among others)

With the premise that there is not an historical Jesus:

A. Effective Roman propaganda would certainly have wanted to smear the reputation of the anti-slavery Pharisees among the Jews by linking them with the hated Roman state and the puppet king descended from Herod.

B. With the possibility of the ideals behind the Jewish Civil War spreading to the rest of the Empire, effective propaganda would be to neuter aggressive Jeswish activism.

One way would be a miasma of legalistic minutia for the educated Jews by sponsoring and nurturing Talamudic Judiasim.

Another, targeting the working class and enslaved Jews, would be to create a cult of a pacifistic tradesman who advocated peace and paying taxes (“render unto Caesar...”). Revenge on cruel Romans would be deferred to the afterlife.

C. With the help of flunkies from the defunct Jewish royalty the Romans could have drafted the synchronic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke). Written post-73 CE but set in 30-33 CE which would make them very prescient about ‘future events like the destruction of the Temple.

D. Texturally the synchronic Gospels appear to have been initially developed only for the Jews: Jesus sends his Apostles only to the Jews. Salvation is only for the Jews. In then the “Last Supper” coverts the Jewish Passover commemoration into a crude and disgusting commemoration of the starvation of the Jews during the siege of Jerusalem.

E. Later, the Romans could have added the Gospel of John, the Acts of the Apostles, the letters of Paul, and Revelations to broaden the appeal of the propaganda to non-Jews.

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hegagergerk · 6 years

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My reactions to The Last Jedi

I have mixed feelings about The Last Jedi. There are some aspects of it that I loved, but there was a lot that I really didn’t like. I’ve seen it twice, and each time I left the theater thinking, “Well. Huh. I don’t know what I feel.” I felt this uncertain about The Force Awakens, for comparison, but I left Rogue One knowing I liked it.

I also want it known that I am a fan of Rian Johnson and his work. I LOVE Brick, and Looper was pretty great. So I was pretty excited going into this film.

Perhaps, if this had been the first in a trilogy, I might be able to overlook the parts that I don’t like, as I did in The Force Awakens. But this is the second part - the meat of the story. And honestly, the whole thing felt gamey.

SPOILERS (and unpopular opinions) under the cut.

Pros:

It’s a beautifully shot, visually striking film.

Adam Driver shirtless

Adam Driver, period. Love that boy

I love what they’ve done with Luke (the grumpy old hermit schtick), and I loved what little time we spent on Ach-To. The location was beautiful, I loved the Caretakers and the Porgs, and I loved Luke’s take on the Force and the Jedi.

Rey Random is the best answer to her backstory and the explanation I was hoping for. I loved the mirror cave sequence. It’s an even better touch that not only were they random people, but they were awful and neglectful. Ouch. Didn’t think they’d go that far.

I love that Rey and Kylo want to fuck each other. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I’m okay with Luke trying to murder Ben and then regretting it, even though I understand why many people are not. I actually really like the exploration of Luke’s character, and the digging into his personality flaws and weaknesses - namely, that he was prideful of his own legacy, which gave him several blind spots with regards to his nephew, and led to his biggest failure as a Jedi. It’s true - it is, initially, out of character, but I think this lapse in judgment was more horrifying to Luke himself for that very reason, and resolves for me, at least, why he would isolate himself like he does.

I liked Luke’s death. I liked that it’s hinted that he was ready to go, anyway, and he got to go out heroically in the end.

I LOVED Luke and Leia’s reunion. Oh my god. The tears. I just. Can’t get over it. Especially knowing that Carrie Fisher wrote that scene? Fuck me

Cons:

It feels like 3 different films crammed together into 2 ½ hours. One of these films, I very much wanted to watch, but was never given enough of (Rey’s story). Another of these films, I wanted to want to watch, but found myself losing interest as time wore on (Finn’s story). The remaining one - I could have done without entirely, and I ended up resenting completely by the film’s finish (Poe’s story).

Some of the humor worked, but a lot of it really didn’t - especially the gag about zapping dudes into walls at dramatic/semi-dramatic moments (Hux, Poe, and Finn). Granted, humor is pretty subjective, but for comparison, I either loved or had no issue with the humor in both The Force Awakens and Rogue One.

The preachy bits were REALLY. FUCKING. PREACHY. Like, dude, I agree with the points you’re making, but wow, I’d appreciate if you didn’t insult my intelligence by being so god damned ON THE NOSE about it. I thought this movie was about ~ambiguity~ And yes, I’m talking about the “don’t abuse animals”, “it’s a WAR MACHINE”, and “men don’t respect feminine women” thing. I felt like these moments were 4th-wall-breaking and did nothing to serve the story or the characters, not to mention being out of place in a Star Wars film (Star Wars is cheesy, but not THAT kind of cheesy).

Rey’s part of the story ends about 2/3 of the way in. After her battle with Kylo, she pretty much disappears from the narrative, only making a quick cameo at the end of the film. Seriously. The movie pretty much belongs to the male characters after she confronts Snoke.

Rey never truly suffers any lasting consequences for her choices, whether emotionally or physically. Compare this to Luke’s defeat by Vader in Empire, which leaves him physically maimed and emotionally broken and betrayed. Rey is sad when she admits the truth of her parentage, yeah, and she’s not happy when Kylo usurps the First Order command, but even if this betrayal devastates her, we don’t get to see her break down under these revelations. It might be hard for Rey to acknowledge her shitty parents, but does verbalizing this hinder Rey in any way? Does it introduce an obstacle that seems impossible to overcome? Is it truly her lowest point? Ask the same questions of Kylo becoming the Supreme Leader, with regard to Rey’s feelings. Is this betrayal on the level of Anakin to Padme? Hell, even on the level of Obi Wan to Luke? Rey wrestles with Kylo over the lightsaber, nopes the fuck out, and then magically appears on the Falcon, hollering jovially about how swashbuckling and fun it is to be gunning down the First Order. In other words, she feels like she’s had an easy time of it. We really needed a scene where she shows some emotional wounds - whether when Kylo is passed out and she’s about to leave him, perhaps looking down at him with longing and sorrow, deliberating on why she should, but can’t, kill him - or whether at the end, sharing pain with Leia. But it’s like her failures don’t touch her or her story.

I’m a huge Reylo stan, but I’ve got to be honest - Kylo and Rey’s dynamic, while easily the most intriguing thing about the movie, ended up being severely underwhelming. Four conversations, and then she’s ready to go-to-bat for him? When they were touching hands in the hut, I literally was like, “Wait. Is that it? Did I blink and miss something?” They chopped Reylo down to the barest minimum of relationship progression, leaving out a lot of story-telling beats that would have bridged the gap between their antagonism and their intimacy. I felt cheated out of their story, and I really wanted to be on board with them, considering their shared loneliness and character comparison/contrast was something I was extremely excited about going into this film. I’ve read one-shot fanfics with more elegant development than this film.

I’m NOT a Snoke stan, nor was I terribly interested in his backstory or in coming up with random ass theories involving his backstory, but damn. Snoke’s abrupt dismissal from the narrative, despite being an awesome scene in isolation, feels cheap retroactively, and I can empathize with the fans who feel let down about his meaningless identity (especially when they were taunted by LF for giving enough of a shit to come up with theories about said character). The truth is that, since the sequel trilogy takes place within an established universe - and Star Wars, at that - we, the audience ARE owed a bare minimum amount of explanation for Snoke’s existence, his power, and his goals. Where was he 30 years ago, when Palpatine was in power? If you can’t at least give me something, my suspension of disbelief is shattered. And no, it’s not my fucking job, as a member of the audience, to fill in the blanks with regards to basic storytelling. At this point, why the hell couldn’t Snoke have been Darth Plageius? Or Palpatine reborn? Or whoever the fuck. If any further context had been given to him, it could only have added some meat to the story - its not like this information would have detracted from Kylo’s killing of him (if anything, it would have made that moment even more awesome). I mean, you had to hold my hand about “evil arms dealers” and “animal rights” and “she wasn’t interested in LOOKING like a hero”, but you can’t give me some damn context for Snoke? And no, I don’t give a fuck that Palpatine had no backstory in the original movies - right, we knew everything we needed to know about him, which was that he was a super powerful Force-wielder who took control of the galaxy. I wasn’t wondering, “Hmm, I wonder where that other super evil bad guy was 30 years ago while he was coming to power!” about Palpatine, because there was no frame of reference for that - and now, with the prequel trilogy, there’s definitely no need. But hey, for Snoke? Yes. Yes, that sort of information is relevant here. Even your most basic bitch casual fan left The Force Awakens wondering, “I wonder what that Snoke guy, who is most certainly older than 30 years of age, was doing three decades ago?”

Finn’s whole story was underwhelming, as much as I liked both he and Rose together. Nothing of consequence came of their story, whether by plot movement or emotional revelations - save that he decided, somewhat sloppily, to die for the Resistance (because he didn’t want to be an apathetic asshole like DJ, or whatever), only to have his choice undermined at the last minute. Nothing about his arc resonated with me. Perhaps because there just wasn’t enough time devoted to him? As much as I hate the whole “Finn is always sidelined uwuwuwu” discourse, I have to agree with them here. Furthermore, I feel like his prior-stormtrooper-ness is totally irrelevant to the portrayal of his character? It was bad enough in The Force Awakens that he didn’t seem affected by having to kill his fellow stormtroopers, and it has continued to be irrelevant in The Last Jedi. I was really hoping for some sort of moment where he and Rose connected over the deaths of Paige and his stormtrooper brethren, people killed while fighting in militaries, whether by choice or by force. This personal soul searching would have been much more poignant than the preachy babble (none with which I disagree, let it be noted) we got. I mean, the revelation that the Resistance and the First Order both get supplied from the same people who vacation on Canto Bight doesn’t really add anything - stakes, revelation, dimension - to the actual story. Like, do I suddenly not care about the Resistance getting blown out of the sky? Should I actually root for the First Order to wipe them out, so that the war will stop? Does this information seriously tempt Finn away from the whole stupid conflict? Does it change ANYTHING for ANYONE? (Hint: It doesn’t).

I absolutely hate that Poe is being groomed to be Leia’s “good” son. Like, if I could kill something with fire in this movie, it would be this. I absolutely hate that Leia didn’t even spare her son and her brother a backwards glance at the end of the film, when they set off to flee through the caves. Perhaps this wouldn’t sting so much if Carrie were still alive and there was a chance of filming a reunion and reconciliation between mother and son, but that is not to be.

I hate that Poe, who is NOT a main character, who was a perfectly killable side character in the previous movie, actually has the most dynamic arc in the whole film. Somehow, in a film that is supposed to be about a young woman, and in the midst of several intriguing female characters both old and new, it’s the most boring male character who gets the most agency and screentime. (I love that people were worried that Kylo would usurp Rey, but honesty…it was Poe).

Poe also has a higher kill count than Kylo Ren in terms of people who died because he was a Stupid Male, and yet Kylo Ren is the villain whose redemption is merely teased, as opposed to set into action? I mean, Poe was better at wiping out the whole resistance than the actual Supreme Leader, but nobody thinks he needs a redemption arc? oh, I guess he Learned From His Failures, so its all good.

Anytime someone said “spark”, I died a little inside.

“Hope is like the sun” - kill me now please

Leia spacewalking is an idea that I like on paper, but thought it was awkward in how it played out on screen.

Wow, so, Finn and Rey - two characters I was dying to have reunite - have NO actual dialogue exchanges. But we have enough time for Poe to say Hi to Rey but like Poe is the main character now don’t you know Like, what the fuck.

Okay, venting done.

#tlj spoilers #fandom wank #unpopular opinions #the last jedi #reylo #supreme leader snoke #snoke theory #my garbage #tlj wank #tlj reactions

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 4 years

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26th January >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Matthew 4:12-23 for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A: ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’.

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Matthew 4:12-23

He went and settled in Capernaum: in this way the prophecy of Isaiah was fulfilled

Hearing that John had been arrested, Jesus went back to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, a lakeside town on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. In this way the prophecy of Isaiah was to be fulfilled:

‘Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali!

Way of the sea on the far side of Jordan,

Galilee of the nations!

The people that lived in darkness has seen a great light;

on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death

a light has dawned.’

From that moment Jesus began his preaching with the message, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand.’

As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee he saw two brothers, Simon, who was called Peter, and his brother Andrew; they were making a cast in the lake with their net, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.’ And they left their nets at once and followed him. Going on from there he saw another pair of brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John; they were in their boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. At once, leaving the boat and their father, they followed him.

He went round the whole of Galilee teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the Good News of the kingdom and curing all kinds of diseases and sickness among the people.

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 4:12–23

Jesus went to Capernaum, so that what had been said through Isaiah might be fulfilled.

When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali, that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet might be fulfilled:

Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali,

the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan,

Galilee of the Gentiles,

the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light,

on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death

light has arisen.

From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter, and his brother Andrew, casting a net into the sea; they were fishermen. He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him. He walked along from there and saw two other brothers, James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat, with their father Zebedee, mending their nets. He called them, and immediately they left their boat and their father and followed him. He went around all of Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness among the people.

Reflections (4)

(i) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

I visited the city of Winchester once, just an hour on the train from London. I wanted to see the Cathedral there. Work began on the Cathedral shortly after the Normans conquered that part of England, at the end of the eleventh century. Work continued on the Cathedral for the next couple of hundred years. It was completed in the fifteenth century. Since the reformation, it has been an Anglican Cathedral. The woman who was guiding us around the Cathedral drew our attention to a very large circular widow with striking stained glass, above the main entrance of the Cathedral. The story she told about it intrigued me. During the English Civil War in the seventeenth century, the army of Cromwell, who were Puritans, defeated the royalists in Winchester. When the Puritans entered the Cathedral they saw these lovely stained class widows throughout the Cathedral, including the large circular one above the main door. All of the stained glass displayed images of the saints. Because the Puritans were opposed to images in churches, they smashed all the stained glass in the Cathedral. At the time of the restoration of the king, the people of Winchester reclaimed their cathedral. When they entered they saw all the broken stained class still on the floor of the Cathedral. It would not have been possible to put it all back together again in the way it originally was. Instead, they took some of the pieces of stained glass and they put them together in a random way in the very large circular frame above the main door. That is what people see today. When you look at this huge window of stained glass, it is clear that the glass has no discernible shape. Yet, the somewhat shapeless pattern has a strange beauty of its own. I am told that when the sun sets in the West and the sunlight comes through that window, it is a very striking sight.

A great light now comes through that window, the sun’s light refracted in various ways through the kaleidoscope of glass. Those who painstakingly gathered the broken stained glass and then, just as painstakingly, put it together in this new way made it possible for the light to shine into the Cathedral through this wonderful window, inspiring all who have entered the Cathedral ever since. It occurred to me that there is an image here of our own lives, our own calling as followers of Jesus. There are times in our lives when a great deal can seem broken and shattered, just as when the people took charge of their Cathedral again they found all that broken and shattered glass from the wonderful windows that were nearly six hundred years old. Yet, they made something beautiful out of what was shattered, and a great light shone on generations of people as a result. When our own lives seem broken and shattered, we can have hope that something new can be formed out of what is broken and shattered, that allows a great light, the light of Jesus, to shine through us.

In today’s gospel reading, Matthew, quoting Isaiah, identifies Jesus as a great light that has dawned on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death. A little later on in this same gospel of Matthew, Jesus will say to his disciples, ‘you are the light of the world’. Yes, Jesus, has come into the world a as a great light, but he needs disciples through whom this light can continue to shine through time. That is why, according to this morning’s gospel reading, after arriving into Galilee as this ‘great light’, Jesus immediately began to call people to follow him, fishermen initially, then tax collectors and all sorts of other people from all sorts of different backgrounds, women and men. These were to be his light bearers. They were to be the stained glass through which his light would shine. Today, we are those light bearers; we are the ones through whom Jesus wishes to shine his great light, the light of God’s love for all humanity. We may feel that we are not up to the task, that, in various ways, our lives are too broken and shattered to be of any use to the Lord. Yet, there is never a time that the Lord’s light cannot shine through us, as long as we are open to his presence and are generous in response to that presence, like Simon, Andrew, James and John in the gospel reading. It was when Jesus was at his most broken and shattered, as he hung from the cross, that the light of God’s loving presence shone through him most powerfully. Here was the stone rejected by the builders that had become the corner stone, the image of God that had been broken and shattered and yet revealed the light of God’s merciful and compassionate love even more brightly. Every day we are called to be the Lord’s light, even if we feel broken and shattered. Every day we can become that light with the Lord’s help, and with the help of each other. The work of making that Cathedral’s shattered glass a source of a great light was a shared work. It was together that people of faith made this possible. We need each other, the community of faith, if we are to be channels of the light of the Lord’s presence today.

And/Or

(ii) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

There has been a great change in the relationship between the various Christian denominations since the Second Vatican Council. My mother once said of my grandmother that coming out once from a sermon given at a parish retreat, she turned to my mother, then a young girl, and said, ‘God help the poor Protestants’. I suspect that her comments and the understanding behind them were not untypical of the time. Today there is a greater recognition of what the various Christian denominations have in common, and a greater respect for each others traditions. There is an appreciation that, because of our common baptism, believers of different traditions are already in a significant communion with each other, even if it is partial and incomplete. There is a strong desire to give expression to the communion that does exist between us, such as by praying together, and by working together in practical ways for the coming of God’s kingdom.

The source of the unity between Christians of different denominations is the person of Christ. We are all, first and foremost, followers of Christ. St. Paul makes this point in today’s second reading. He was faced with a church in Corinth that was dividing around different leaders. He wanted believers to move from allegiance to particular leaders to allegiance to Christ. That is why he asked them: ‘Was it Paul that was crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul?’ He did not want people saying ‘I belong to Paul’. Christ was crucified for them; they were baptized in the name of Christ; they belong to Christ, not to Paul or to Apollos or to any other human leader. Similarly, in our own time, all Christians, regardless of their tradition, belong to Christ. To the extent that we grow in our relationship with Christ, we will grow in our communion with each other.

At the heart of the ecumenical movement there will always be the call to conversion addressed to all Christians, the call to turn towards Christ more fully. This is the call of Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading: ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’. God’s kingdom is waiting to happen; God is waiting to rule in our lives. For this to come about we need to keep on turning towards the person of Jesus. This turning towards Jesus is a lifetime’s work; it does not happen in an instant. The two sets of brothers in today’s gospel reading respond generously to the call of Jesus to turn towards him and to follow him. However, their initial response was not sustained. In various ways they turned away from the one they set out to follow and, eventually, they abandoned him altogether. They had to be called back again and again to the one they had left everything to follow. The initial call, ‘repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’ is one they needed to hear and respond to over and over again. It was a lifetime’s call and a lifetime’s response.

It is the same for all of us. We constantly need to turn and return to the person of Jesus, the one into whom we were baptized and whom we desire to follow. Christians of all denominations have to keep on making that journey towards Jesus throughout their lives. It is the willingness and readiness of us all to go on making that journey that will deepen the communion that exists between the different traditions. What is most damaging to that communion is for one group to consider that they have already arrived and that it is everybody else that has to make the journey. We are all pilgrims; we are all on a journey; we are all striving to respond to the Lord’s call in the gospel reading, ‘Follow me’. We all need to recognize that we often follow other paths and respond to other voices. In that sense we are not yet saved, we have not yet arrived. If anyone asks you, ‘Are you saved?’ be sure to say ‘no’. God’s work has not yet been brought to completion in our lives. We are very much a work in progress, both as individuals and as communities of faith. Yet, in the words of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, ‘we are confident that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Christ Jesus’.

God never ceases to work among those who desire to follow his Son. We believe that the Spirit of God, the Holy Spirit, is working to bring all Christians into that unity for which Christ prayed. The ecumenical movement in that sense is not a human enterprise; it is an ongoing work of the Spirit. Christians do not create the movement towards unity; it is always there before us. Our calling is to allow that movement of the Spirit to take flesh in our ways of living and relating to each other. It is heartening to see some of the very concrete ways in which that movement of the Spirit is finding expression today. There is an evening course in theology being taught in Edgehill Methodist College, Belfast. It is open to adults from both the Catholic and Protestant traditions; the teaching is done by people from both traditions. Such a scenario would have been inconceivable forty years ago. This is only one of many expressions in our time of the movement of the Spirit to bring together in greater unity those who profess to follow Christ. Today, church unity Sunday, we give thanks for the good work that God has been doing among the followers of his Son, and we pray that we would each in our own way further that work of God in the future.

And/Or

(iii) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

We are still very much towards the beginning of a new year. We are probably more in the mood of looking forward than looking back. It is appropriate then that the gospel reading this Sunday is Matthew’s account of the beginning of the ministry of Jesus in Galilee. Matthew describes the beginning of Jesus’ ministry as the dawning of a great light on a people living in darkness, dwelling in the land and shadow of death. Most of us like the light; we are pleased to know that the days are getting longer, even if it is not very perceptible yet. We are beginning to look forward to the bright evenings when we can go for late walks if we choose to. Too much darkness can get us down and deaden our spirits. Light helps us to feel more alive; it can lift our spirits.

We often meet people who have this effect on us. They lift our spirits and leave us feeling more alive; they are like a light in our lives. Jesus was such a person to a unique degree. In the words of this morning’s gospel reading, he proclaimed good news. Indeed, he was and is good news. The heart of his good news was, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. Jesus announced that, in and through his own person, God is powerfully present to all of us, present as power in our weakness, as life in our death, as light in our darkness. That remains good news for all of us today. It is because God is powerfully present to us in this way that Jesus calls on us to repent, ‘Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’. To repent is primarily to turn towards God more fully, which means turning towards Jesus who is God with us. That turning towards the Lord will often mean turning away from what is not of the Lord. It is only in the context of hearing the good news that God is powerfully present to us as light in our darkness that the call to repent, the call to turn more fully towards God, makes any sense. That turning is not a once off event; it is something ongoing throughout our lives. We have to keep doing it.

That was certainly the case for the two sets of brothers mentioned in today’s gospel reading. They initially responded generously to the call of Jesus to turn towards him and to follow him. However, their initial response was not sustained. In various ways they turned away from the one they set out to follow and, eventually, they abandoned him altogether. Indeed, Simon Peter denied him publicly three times. They had to be called back again and again to the one they had left everything to follow. The initial call, ‘repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’ is one they needed to hear and respond to over and over again. It was a lifetime’s call and a lifetime’s response. It is the same for all of us. We constantly need to turn and return to the person of Jesus, the one into whom we have been baptized and whom we desire to follow. To that extent, we are always on the way; we have never arrived. I dislike the question, ‘Are you saved?’ To answer, ‘Yes, I am saved’ is to suggest that we have arrived. It is more appropriate to say, ‘I live in the hope of salvation’. That is very much the frame of mind and heart of the person who first prayed today’s responsorial psalm, ‘I am sure I shall see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. Hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord’. Because of all that God has done for us in Christ, we hope for ultimate salvation from God. Because God has done so much to bring us this far on our journey, we are confident that he will bring us to our destination. As Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, ‘I am confident that the one who began a good work in you will bring it to completion’. In other words, we are a work in progress.

Paul was very aware that his own churches were a work in progress. It is clear from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, that some of the believers in the church of Corinth thought they had already arrived. Some of them had a very high opinion of themselves, in terms of their standing with God. Paul knew that they were a long way from being the finished product. As is clear from our second reading, there were serious divisions within the community, with one group giving allegiance to one apostle and other groups giving allegiance to other apostles, and each group thinking it was better than everybody else. Those kinds of problems are not unique to Paul’s time. We can have all kinds of divisions with parishes. Ultimate salvation will be about communion, a being together that reflects the communion within God, the Trinity. Until we reach that point, we are still on the way, and salvation is a hope rather than a reality. Today, we remind ourselves that we are still very much a work in progress, and we invite the Lord anew to bring to completion the work he has begun within us and among us.

And/Or

(iv) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Most of us find endings difficult. If we have been in a place or a job for a long time it can be difficult to move on. The difficulty can often be because of the close relationships we have formed over many years. As well as finding endings difficult, we can find beginnings difficult too. We move into a new neighbourhood and we know nobody. We move into a new situation and we struggle to get our bearings. New beginnings can be exciting but they can also be nerve wracking. Many of us will pay special attention to how we begin something, especially something significant. We are familiar with the Irish proverb, ‘A good beginning is half the work’. We want to begin as we hope to continue. We consciously try to set the right tone at the beginning. We sense that first impressions can be lasting.

This morning’s gospel reading puts before us Matthew’s version of the beginning of the public ministry of Jesus. Jesus began his preaching with the message, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. That opening message of Jesus is his core message; everything he says subsequently is contained within it. There are two distinct parts to that opening message. There is the statement, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’, which is a proclamation of good news. Then there is the call in the light of that statement, ‘Repent’. In his opening message, Jesus gives priority to the statement, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. It is because the kingdom of heaven is close at hand that Jesus issues the call to repent. Jesus does not say ‘Repent and then the kingdom of heaven will be close at hand’ but ‘Repent because the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. The kingdom of heaven is close at hand whether people repent or not, but the nearness of the kingdom of heaven calls for repentance from people. Jesus gives priority to the good news that the reign of God is at hand. The call to repentance only makes sense in the light of the good news of God’s gracious nearness. That good news needs to be absorbed first before we give ourselves over to the task of repentance. To give priority to the task of repentance is to turn the core message of Jesus on its head.

That core opening message of Jesus remains the core message of the gospel today, and for that reason is worth further reflection. In saying that the ‘the kingdom of heaven’ or ‘the kingdom of God’ was ‘close at hand’, Jesus was declaring that God was powerfully present in a life-giving way in and through his ministry. He was announcing that the life of the world to come, the life of heaven, and the source of that life, God, was already present in and through his ministry. In the very first chapter of his gospel Matthew indentified Jesus as God with us, Emmanuel. People longed to be with God beyond this life, in heaven. Jesus declared that God is now with them in and through his life and ministry. Indeed the early church quickly came to understand that God was with us not only in and through Jesus’ life and ministry but, even more powerfully, in and through Jesus’ death and resurrection. The message that Jesus proclaimed to the people of Galilee, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’, continues to be proclaimed to us today by the risen Lord. In and through the Lord’s risen presence, in and through the Holy Spirit, God is powerfully present to all of us, to each one of us. God’s presence to us is not dependant on what we say or do; it is a given. There are no techniques we have to learn to conjure up that presence. God has chosen to be present with us in and through his Son and that presence is a creative, life-giving, gracious and merciful presence. In the words of this morning’s first reading, it is the presence of a great light for those who live in darkness. Therein lies the core of the good news. Saint Paul spent his life proclaiming that good news. As he says in today’s second reading, ‘Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the good news’.

It is only when we have allowed ourselves to be touched by God’s gracious presence to us through his Son and the Holy Spirit that the call to ‘repent’ can make any sense. The English word ‘repentance’ doesn’t really do justice to the word that Jesus used. We tend to think of ‘repentance’ as an emotion of sorrow for something we have done wrong. In the language that Jesus spoke, however, ‘to repent’ meant ‘to turn’, to turn around, to have a change of mind, a change of heart. The call to ‘repent’ is the call to turn towards the Lord more fully, to turn towards him in response to his gracious turning towards us. Such turning will often mean taking a second look at our lives and turning away from whatever is not in keeping with the Lord’s will for us. However, the essential movement is one of turning towards someone rather than turning away from something, turning towards the Lord. That is the movement which this morning’s proclamation of good news invites us all to keep entering into.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: [email protected] or [email protected]

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

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jobtypeblog · 4 years

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In The Accelerationist Manifesto, Alex Williams and Nick Srnicek write: ‘Financial crises lead governments to embrace the paralysing death spiral policies of austerity, privatisation of social welfares mass unemployment. Politics is beset by an inability to transform our societies to confront and resolve the coming annihilations.’ This is a point that is brilliantly demonstrated in Adam Curtis’s Documentary, Hypernormailisation (2010)

In a dialogue with Simon Reynolds via Kaleidescope Magazine (2010), Mark Fisher writes ‘The 90′s was at the end of the process that began with the rapid development of the recording industry after the second world war. Music became the centre of culture because it was consistently capable of giving the new a palpable form, it was a kind of lab that focussed and intensified the convulsions that culture was undergoing. There’s no sense of that anywhere now. And that’s a political and technological issue, not a problem that is just internal to music.’

As co-runner of an independent experimental music and visual arts label that operates in the 21st century, my creative work is embedded within the underlying politics of DIY culture, cyber-punk philosophy and and situated within of collaborating on alternative ways of being and thinking through sound and art. Initial thoughts for my dissertation involved investigating the tendencies of industrial consumerism and capitalism to encourage excess, posthumanism, and a sense of disengagement from market reality, framed specifically by a study of conventions within electronic soundsystem music and rave as ecology. What comparisons could be made between the methods and aesthetics of hardcore rave, technofuturism and speculative science fiction and philosophy. What does it mean to search for sonic-technological transcendence in the modern day?

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sciencevsromance · 5 years

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2018 Index: Film

I usually hold off on these for a couple weeks into the year to allow myself time to catch up, but it turns out that I saw almost everything I needed to before the end of the December. Since then, with few exceptions, my ranked list remained very stable since about mid-November.

In general, I think 2018 was a very good film year. I saw and liked a whole lot of movies. However, it might speak less to the quality of 2018 than to the exceptional slate of movies in 2017 to say that I honestly don’t know how many of this year’s favorites would’ve found a spot in last year’s top twelve.

Below, lightly edited versions of things I’d previously written, posted, or tweeted about the dozen films at the top of my charts.

Roma: Alfonso Cuarón’s semi-autobiographical recollection of his nanny in a well-off home in the titular district of Mexico City is shot-for-shot the most cinematically gorgeous movie of the year. Although this is one of Netflix’s showiest acquisitions and may soon be available on your televisions, it deserves to be seen and heard on the biggest screen and most exceptional sound system you can find. Working without his usual cinematography collaborator Emmanuel Lubezki, Cuarón shot the film himself in lustrous black and white. Each frame bursts with life, both from the compositions and from the tremendous performances, in particular from newcomer Yalitza Aparicio. I’ve seen this twice and feel like I could watch it dozens of times. In that respect, I guess that it’s nice that it’s sitting there on Netflix waiting for me whenever I want to dip back into these rich waters.

The Rider: I can’t begin comprehend how this movie is so good. Chloé Zhao found something truly special out west with Brady, his family, the horses and the gobsmackingly beautiful landscapes. Elegiac, yet vibrating with life, sorrow, and hope. By the end, the confrontation with these real lives and their tough choices was deeply moving; and I’m not even that much of a horse- (or people-) person.

Free Solo: Free Solo captures, in vertiginous detail, Alex Honnold’s superhuman attempt to summit Yosemite’s legendary El Capitan. Walking into this movie at Telluride, I naively imagined that climbing a 500-foot summit was itself the impossible challenge. But I quickly came to understand that Honnold was going to try it alone. Without any climbing ropes. Panic and stress weeping ensued, with the following 90 minutes among the most anxious I have ever been in a movie theater. The only things that kept me from fleeing the scene to avoid a massive anxiety attack were a beer and the knowledge that (spoiler) Alex at least survived to be in town to promote the film. Aside from the stunning footage documenting his preparations and climbs, co-directors Jimmy Chin and Chai Vasarhelyi also document his budding relationship, friendships with other climbers, and interrogate the ways he weighs the very serious risk of certain death that would result from one missed foothold. It is an utterly thrilling film and deeply satisfying to watch with a crowd.

If Beale Street Could Talk: No one films people looking at each other quite like Barry Jenkins. This adaptation of James Baldwin tries and does a whole lot, but mostly it just sings.

Paddington 2: Last year’s The Shape of Water left me cold. Throughout it’s Oscar run, I felt like a monster for never really finding myself invested in Sally Hawkins’s fishman relationship, but now I’ve seen her mother a bear and maybe everything’s OK with my internal emotions processing systems. This is nose-to-tail the most charming movie of the year. Hugh Grant is a delight with disguise work. No you’re crying through PADDINGTON 2. Who am I and how did this happen to me?

The Favorite: Like his previous films, this court drama is wickedly funny, off-kilter, visually arresting, strongly acted, but it’s also maybe the first Yorgos Lanthimos joint that I have felt comfortable recommend widely without fear of reprisal.

Shoplifters: Kore-eda Hirokazu won this year’s Palme d’Or at Cannes with a deeply compelling investigation of the meaning of family. The film opens with a father-son duo performing a cute-ish bit of supermarket thievery to supplement the menu for their very crowded multi-generational household on the outskirts of Tokyo. Things become more interesting when the group rescues an abandoned young girl from the neighborhood on a cold evening. In turns meditative, insightful, and surprising, the humanistic portrait is ultimately a revelatory achievement.

Cold War: Loosely about music shaping identity—traditional, national, personal, romantic—Cold War is a bit light on plot, but with images, songs, and performances this strong it really doesn’t matter. Pawlikowski’s camera sure adores Joanna Kulig; her ambitious rise through the state music system and romance with Tomasz Kot, spans decades and countries, all in ravishing black and white.

Eighth Grade: First time director Bo Burnham captures an early-teen sense of isolation and loneliness with such earnest specificity that I was squirming with recognition as breakout lead actress Elsie Fisher bravely forges her way through a last regret- and nostalgia-filled week of middle school, filming motivational YouTube videos for an audience of none (or rather, herself), constantly scrolling through Instagram, and navigating the minefield of a charity invitation to a popular kid’s pool party. This could’ve gone wrong in so many ways, but none of the (many) cringes are played for cruel laughs and the sincerity is brilliantly calibrated. I suppose all of that explains how I feel such residual fondness for something that made me want to chew off my own face out of sympathetic anxiety as the slim ninety minute running time felt like decades.

Leave No Trace: In her follow up to Winter’s Bone, Debra Granik again focuses her lens on families struggling to survive in the face of poverty. This time, it’s an ex-military father with PTSD (Ben Foster) and his daughter (outstanding newcomer, Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie) who have illegally set up camp in wild and wooded public park the outskirts of Portland like a realer, poorer, less insufferable version of Captain Fantastic. I expected something that would be hard, but rewarding, to watch. I was right, but not in the ways that I suspected. A story like this could’ve been filled with melodramatic external obstacles — creepy people in the park, cruel indifference of social workers, or any sorts of dire jeopardy. Instead, the wise and insightful script is one in which almost all of the conflict that they face is internal. The daughter is generally well cared for, incredibly smart, and as well-adjusted as you could ever expect from someone raised in the woods and always on the move. The people they encounter along the way are almost universally kind and generous within reason. All of this serves to emphasize the harsh reality of the utter insolvability of her father’s unspecified PTSD that has kept them essentially hidden from society for much of her life. The resolution is both heartbreaking and a tiny bit hopeful.

Support the Girls: Easily Andrew Bujalski’s very best film. Regina Hall is a wonder as an over-subscribed, too-invested, manager of a Hootersesque bar on a particularly rough day.

Burning: Of the films in my top 12, Burning is among one I saw (second) most recently. When I initially logged it on my ranked list, it was somewhere on the edge of my my top 40. Yet each time I tinkered with the ordering, it moved up little by little, the indelible images and mysterious plot refusing to let go, increasing my esteem for it with each passing week. I think I know what’s going on, but its a testament to Steven Yeun’s supporting performance that I may never know whether his character was just a wealthy chill techbro or Korea’s answer to Patrick Bateman.

#2018 annual report #film #best of 2018

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bittenpath-blog · 5 years

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48cm:Rick Vosper: Welcome to Bike 3.0: The New Reality. Part 1

By Rick Vosper

This is Part 1 of a two-part series exploring the new market dynamic for the specialty retail segment, how we got there, and how the industry can respond and adapt to the new reality. This section is primarily focused on the “how we got where we are today” part of the story.

I note there is plenty of room here for alternative points of view and frankly, I expect a lively discussion.

Bike 1.0: When Schwinn Ruled The Earth

What I’m calling the 1.0 era is the postwar period of relative stability from 1950-75 (more or less). A single market leader, Schwinn, effectively controlled much of both the supply and retail sides of the specialty business channel. Schwinn had a well-organized, well-managed and marketed, vertically integrated supply chain based on domestic production. At the same time, it created, nurtured and maintained a strong network of semi-independent retailers.

The resulting dynamic was a largely stable market and birth of what we would now recognize as the modern independent bicycle retail landscape. But Schwinn’s efforts were so successful the company was subject to a restraint of trade lawsuit in 1957, dragging on for ten exhausting years. As a result, Schwinn abandoned its system of independent wholesalers/distributors, moved to an in-house distribution model and lost much of its control of retailers. (More about the lawsuit and other topics are available in the very thorough Wikipedia article on the history of Schwinn.)

Nevertheless, stability continued though the Bike Boom of the early to mid ‘70s and the death of the Bike 1.0 as Schwinn’s control inexorably declined as the result of a changing situation it failed to adapt to.

Bike 2.0: End Of the Bike Boom, Rise of The Mountain Bike, And The Era Of Perfect Competition

During the Bike Boom, lightweight dropped-bar imports had already claimed significant market share and with them, increasing power for their independent importers/ distributors. The trend continued and accelerated even as the boom turned to bust, with the initial introduction of quality Asian bikes, originally from Japan and later, as value of the yen climbed, from Taiwan and eventually mainland China.

In parallel, a new era of US manufacturing of high-quality bikes from companies like Trek and later Cannondale began to impact the market. The table was already set for the mass introduction of mountain bikes in the early 1980s and all that came with them.

The mountain bike’s success was not merely based on an exciting new product category, but on a new generation of leaner, more agile brands and an entirely new business model, one largely powered by Asian-based manufacturing and finance. Trek, Specialized, Giant, Cannondale, Shimano and every other major industry player today came of age during Bike 2.0.

It was also the Golden Era of the American independent bicycle retailer, eventually peaking at more than 6,100 shop locations (“doors”) in 2001 at the dawn of the 3.0 era.

With the increase in independent retailers and new brands, and fueled by the explosion of mountain bikes and cyclists hungry to purchase them, Bike 2.0 was a wide-open, wild West-style marketplace. To be sure, by the mid-1990s a few brands (notably Trek, Giant, Cannondale and Specialized, in that order) were growing stronger and the market was beginning to stabilize. But the most notable dynamic was that of perfect competition — very broadly, a situation where no one brand or brands can achieve enough share to dominate and thereby control the market. Profits are low throughout the supply chain and consequently, both brands and retailers lack resources to overcome the inertia of a perfectly competitive market.

Bike 2.0 was a wide-open, wild West-style marketplace

The concept of perfect competition is core to the Bike 2.0 phenomenon. There are different definitions, but classically, a perfectly competitive market has four requirements:

A large and homogeneous market. There are relatively large and ongoing sources of supply and demand, and relatively little differentiation of brands or products. For the bike business, this was a time when bikes were defined in the brands’ own marketing literature by the Shimano components group bolted onto them.

Information availability. Consumers know what every brand costs. True with the publication of consumer buyers’ guides and “brand bibles,” even truer with the advent of the internet in the mid-90s and beyond.

Absence of external controls/low barriers to entry. Governmental regulation, limited resources, price controls or lack of capital do not impact the market or prevent new players from entering. Pricing is (relatively) uniform across brands and competing models.

Cheap and efficient transportation. Transportation costs do not create price or brand differentiation. Moving containers of bikes from Asia and around the United States was cheaper than domestic production, and more importantly, all brands’ costs were about the same.

For all this, the mountain bike and post-mountain bike eras were times of rapid innovation, with new designs and ideas cropping up literally every few months — indexed shifting, clipless pedals, titanium and carbon frame and component materials; suspension systems, disc wheels, aero bars for road and bar extensions for mountain bikes; the rise of cycling eyewear and nutrition products — literally hundreds of new developments, many of which still collectively define the current market.

But with notable exceptions like Dia-Compe/Cane Creek’s Aheadset, not one of these new ideas created a sustainable competitive advantage for their inventors because they were easily imitated and absorbed back into the perfect competition maelstrom. Conversely, the sheer rate of innovation made it difficult for any single brand or group of brands to achieve enough market traction to gain ascendancy.

As the mountain bike and then suspension mountain bike markets faded in succession at the turn of the century due to saturation, something had to give. And something — three somethings, in fact, did.

Welcome To Bike 3.0

By 1998, the industry was in contraction. “Flat is the new Up,” pundits chirped (in real terms, it was more like “Down is the new Flat.” In 1999, Bicycle Retailer summed up the industry’s malaise with the chilling three-word headline, “Doom And Gloom.”

The contraction hit retailers hardest and first. With a historical average of just over 5,000 storefront locations between 1975 and 1995, the number of independent bicycle retailers (as defined by the NBDA) plunged from more than 6,000 in 2001 to 4,800 just three years later, a net loss of 1,300 storefronts or more than 20 percent net.

In 1999, Bicycle Retailer summed up the industry’s malaise with the chilling three-word headline, “Doom And Gloom”

The number continued to decline, dropping steadily for the next decade, to less than four thousand retail locations in 2014, at which point the NBDA literally stopped counting.

The current number of survivors under the NBDA definition is unknown. Other sources, which include sporting goods stores, businesses like the now-insolvent Performance chain and less traditional entities in their estimates, put this number much higher.

The surviving retailers almost by definition are smarter, more agile, and more efficiently run businesses

So the first defining characteristic of Bike 3.0 in the new millennium is a finite and presumably declining number of dealers, with more than a third of locations lost over a period of 15 years, and probably more since. The flip side to this is that the surviving retailers almost by definition are smarter, more agile, and more efficiently run businesses with streamlined processes and better inventory turns. This is confirmed by the NBDA’s own Cost Of Doing Business reports.

Instead of simply opening more retail locations, brands had to focus on creating strategic alliances with selected dealers and controlling as much floor space (and therefore, purchase budgets) as possible. (Much) more about this in Part 2 of this series.

The second defining characteristic is contraction and consolidation at the supplier side of the business. This began during the decline of Bike 2.0 in the 1990s with the demise, resurrection and subsequent consolidation of Schwinn and GT under various owners and currently under Dorel; Specialized’s disastrous acquisition of Monolith and short-lived partnership with Ritchey; the various equipment brands and sub-brands of Bell/Giro/Easton and others; Trek’s acquisition and integration of Fisher, Klein, LeMond and Bontrager, and the ill-fated consolidation of Raleigh USA and True Temper along with non-cycling businesses under the now-defunct Huffy umbrella.

The trend continued — and continues today, and doubtlessly will continue to continue in the future — into the new millennium and the Bike 3.0 era. More recent examples include Trek’s acquisition of Electra, Felt’s acquisition by Rossignol and Mavic’s by Amer Sports; SRAM’s consolidation with Sachs, RockShox, Avid, Truvativ, Zipp et al; Pon’s acquisition of Cervélo and Santa Cruz; the emergence, growth, consolidation and now bankruptcy of Fuji/Breezer/Kestrel/Performance by ASI/ASE; Raleigh’s acquisition and rumored pending sale by Accell Sports, and many, many others.

Still other brands too numerous to mention have failed outright and disappeared from the industry radar without a trace as fast as they entered it.

Third and finally, Bike 3.0 is defined by the rise of internet commerce, and with it the integration and subsequent disintermediation of once-discrete global markets and sales channels. Again, examples are both well-known and too numerous to mention here.

None of this is either good or bad. It is simply the way things are. As an industry, we either accept the new reality, or ignore it at our peril.

Next time we’ll explore the effects, market dynamics and strategies of doing business in the era of Bike 3.0, and two more potential disrupters just now beginning to impact the industry.

Number of shops, 1998-2014

#48cm road bike #Bicycle Retailer and Industry News

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romancatholicreflections · 7 years

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22nd January >> Fr. Martin’s Reflection on Today’s Gospel Reading (Matthew 4:12-23) for Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A: ‘Follow me’.

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A Gospel (Europe, New Zealand, Australia, Canada & South Africa) Matthew 4:12-23 Hearing that John had been arrested, Jesus went back to Galilee, and leaving Nazareth he went and settled in Capernaum, a lakeside town on the borders of Zebulun and Naphtali. In this way the prophecy of Isaiah was to be fulfilled: ‘Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali! Way of the sea on the far side of Jordan, Galilee of the nations! The people that lived in darkness has seen a great light; on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death a light has dawned.’ From that moment Jesus began his preaching with the message, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand.’ As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee he saw two brothers, Simon, who was called Peter, and his brother Andrew; they were making a cast in the lake with their net, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, ‘Follow me and I will make you fishers of men.’ And they left their nets at once and followed him. Going on from there he saw another pair of brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John; they were in their boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. At once, leaving the boat and their father, they followed him. He went round the whole of Galilee teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the Good News of the kingdom and curing all kinds of diseases and sickness among the people. Gospel (USA) Matthew 4:12–23 Jesus went to Capernaum, so that what had been said through Isaiah might be fulfilled. When Jesus heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew to Galilee. He left Nazareth and went to live in Capernaum by the sea, in the region of Zebulun and Naphtali, that what had been said through Isaiah the prophet might be fulfilled: Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali, the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles, the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light, on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death light has arisen. From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter, and his brother Andrew, casting a net into the sea; they were fishermen. He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” At once they left their nets and followed him. He walked along from there and saw two other brothers, James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat, with their father Zebedee, mending their nets. He called them, and immediately they left their boat and their father and followed him. He went around all of Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness among the people. Reflections (4) (i) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time We are still very much towards the beginning of a new year. We are probably more in the mood of looking forward than looking back. It is appropriate then that the gospel reading this Sunday is Matthew’s account of the beginning of the ministry of Jesus in Galilee. Matthew describes the beginning of Jesus’ ministry as the dawning of a great light on a people living in darkness, dwelling in the land and shadow of death. Most of us like the light; we are pleased to know that the days are getting longer, even if it is not very perceptible yet. We are beginning to look forward to the bright evenings when we can go for late walks if we choose to. Too much darkness can get us down and deaden our spirits. Light helps us to feel more alive; it can lift our spirits. We often meet people who have this effect on us. They lift our spirits and leave us feeling more alive; they are like a light in our lives. Jesus was such a person to a unique degree. In the words of this morning’s gospel reading, he proclaimed good news. Indeed, he was and is good news. The heart of his good news was, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. Jesus announced that, in and through his own person, God is powerfully present to all of us, present as power in our weakness, as life in our death, as light in our darkness. That remains good news for all of us today. It is because God is powerfully present to us in this way that Jesus calls on us to repent, ‘Repent for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’. To repent is primarily to turn towards God more fully, which means turning towards Jesus who is God with us. That turning towards the Lord will often mean turning away from what is not of the Lord. It is only in the context of hearing the good news that God is powerfully present to us as light in our darkness that the call to repent, the call to turn more fully towards God, makes any sense. That turning is not a once off event; it is something ongoing throughout our lives. We have to keep doing it. That was certainly the case for the two sets of brothers mentioned in today’s gospel reading. They initially responded generously to the call of Jesus to turn towards him and to follow him. However, their initial response was not sustained. In various ways they turned away from the one they set out to follow and, eventually, they abandoned him altogether. Indeed, Simon Peter denied him publicly three times. They had to be called back again and again to the one they had left everything to follow. The initial call, ‘repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’ is one they needed to hear and respond to over and over again. It was a lifetime’s call and a lifetime’s response. It is the same for all of us. We constantly need to turn and return to the person of Jesus, the one into whom we have been baptized and whom we desire to follow. To that extent, we are always on the way; we have never arrived. I dislike the question, ‘Are you saved?’ To answer, ‘Yes, I am saved’ is to suggest that we have arrived. It is more appropriate to say, ‘I live in the hope of salvation’. That is very much the frame of mind and heart of the person who first prayed today’s responsorial psalm, ‘I am sure I shall see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living. Hope in him, hold firm and take heart. Hope in the Lord’. Because of all that God has done for us in Christ, we hope for ultimate salvation from God. Because God has done so much to bring us this far on our journey, we are confident that he will bring us to our destination. As Paul says in his letter to the Philippians, ‘I am confident that the one who began a good work in you will bring it to completion’. In other words, we are a work in progress. Paul was very aware that his own churches were a work in progress. It is clear from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, that some of the believers in the church of Corinth thought they had already arrived. Some of them had a very high opinion of themselves, in terms of their standing with God. Paul knew that they were a long way from being the finished product. As is clear from our second reading, there were serious divisions within the community, with one group giving allegiance to one apostle and other groups giving allegiance to other apostles, and each group thinking it was better than everybody else. Those kinds of problems are not unique to Paul’s time. We can have all kinds of divisions with parishes. Ultimate salvation will be about communion, a being together that reflects the communion within God, the Trinity. Until we reach that point, we are still on the way, and salvation is a hope rather than a reality. Today, we remind ourselves that we are still very much a work in progress, and we invite the Lord anew to bring to completion the work he has begun within us and among us. And/Or (ii) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time Most of us find endings difficult. If we have been in a place or a job for a long time it can be difficult to move on. The difficulty can often be because of the close relationships we have formed over many years. As well as finding endings difficult, we can find beginnings difficult too. We move into a new neighbourhood and we know nobody. We move into a new situation and we struggle to get our bearings. New beginnings can be exciting but they can also be nerve wracking. Many of us will pay special attention to how we begin something, especially something significant. We are familiar with the Irish proverb, ‘A good beginning is half the work’. We want to begin as we hope to continue. We consciously try to set the right tone at the beginning. We sense that first impressions can be lasting. This morning’s gospel reading puts before us Matthew’s version of the beginning of the public ministry of Jesus. Jesus began his preaching with the message, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. That opening message of Jesus is his core message; everything he says subsequently is contained within it. There are two distinct parts to that opening message. There is the statement, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’, which is a proclamation of good news. Then there is the call in the light of that statement, ‘Repent’. In his opening message, Jesus gives priority to the statement, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. It is because the kingdom of heaven is close at hand that Jesus issues the call to repent. Jesus does not say ‘Repent and then the kingdom of heaven will be close at hand’ but ‘Repent because the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’. The kingdom of heaven is close at hand whether people repent or not, but the nearness of the kingdom of heaven calls for repentance from people. Jesus gives priority to the good news that the reign of God is at hand. The call to repentance only makes sense in the light of the good news of God’s gracious nearness. That good news needs to be absorbed first before we give ourselves over to the task of repentance. To give priority to the task of repentance is to turn the core message of Jesus on its head. That core opening message of Jesus remains the core message of the gospel today, and for that reason is worth further reflection. In saying that the ‘the kingdom of heaven’ or ‘the kingdom of God’ was ‘close at hand’, Jesus was declaring that God was powerfully present in a life-giving way in and through his ministry. He was announcing that the life of the world to come, the life of heaven, and the source of that life, God, was already present in and through his ministry. In the very first chapter of his gospel Matthew indentified Jesus as God with us, Emmanuel. People longed to be with God beyond this life, in heaven. Jesus declared that God is now with them in and through his life and ministry. Indeed the early church quickly came to understand that God was with us not only in and through Jesus’ life and ministry but, even more powerfully, in and through Jesus’ death and resurrection. The message that Jesus proclaimed to the people of Galilee, ‘the kingdom of heaven is close at hand’, continues to be proclaimed to us today by the risen Lord. In and through the Lord’s risen presence, in and through the Holy Spirit, God is powerfully present to all of us, to each one of us. God’s presence to us is not dependant on what we say or do; it is a given. There are no techniques we have to learn to conjure up that presence. God has chosen to be present with us in and through his Son and that presence is a creative, life-giving, gracious and merciful presence. In the words of this morning’s first reading, it is the presence of a great light for those who live in darkness. Therein lies the core of the good news. Saint Paul spent his life proclaiming that good news. As he says in today’s second reading, ‘Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the good news’. It is only when we have allowed ourselves to be touched by God’s gracious presence to us through his Son and the Holy Spirit that the call to ‘repent’ can make any sense. The English word ‘repentance’ doesn’t really do justice to the word that Jesus used. We tend to think of ‘repentance’ as an emotion of sorrow for something we have done wrong. In the language that Jesus spoke, however, ‘to repent’ meant ‘to turn’, to turn around, to have a change of mind, a change of heart. The call to ‘repent’ is the call to turn towards the Lord more fully, to turn towards him in response to his gracious turning towards us. Such turning will often mean taking a second look at our lives and turning away from whatever is not in keeping with the Lord’s will for us. However, the essential movement is one of turning towards someone rather than turning away from something, turning towards the Lord. That is the movement which this morning’s proclamation of good news invites us all to keep entering into. And/Or (iii) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time I visited the city of Winchester once, just an hour on the train from London. I wanted to see the Cathedral there. Work began on the Cathedral shortly after the Normans conquered that part of England, at the end of the eleventh century. Work continued on the Cathedral for the next couple of hundred years. It was completed in the fifteenth century. Since the reformation, it has been an Anglican Cathedral. The woman who was guiding us around the Cathedral drew our attention to a very large circular widow with striking stained glass, above the main entrance of the Cathedral. The story she told about it intrigued me. During the English Civil War in the seventeenth century, the army of Cromwell, who were Puritans, defeated the royalists in Winchester. When the Puritans entered the Cathedral they saw these lovely stained class widows throughout the Cathedral, including the large circular one above the main door. All of the stained glass displayed images of the saints. Because the Puritans were opposed to images in churches, they smashed all the stained glass in the Cathedral. At the time of the restoration of the king, the people of Winchester reclaimed their cathedral. When they entered they saw all the broken stained class still on the floor of the Cathedral. It would not have been possible to put it all back together again in the way it originally was. Instead, they took some of the pieces of stained glass and they put them together in a random way in the very large circular frame above the main door. That is what people see today. When you look at this huge window of stained glass, it is clear that the glass has no discernible shape. Yet, the somewhat shapeless pattern has a strange beauty of its own. I am told that when the sun sets in the West and the sunlight comes through that window, it is a very striking sight. A great light now comes through that window, the sun’s light refracted in various ways through the kaleidoscope of glass. Those who painstakingly gathered the broken stained glass and then, just as painstakingly, put it together in this new way made it possible for the light to shine into the Cathedral through this wonderful window, inspiring all who have entered the Cathedral ever since. It occurred to me that there is an image here of our own lives, our own calling as followers of Jesus. There are times in our lives when a great deal can seem broken and shattered, just as when the people took charge of their Cathedral again they found all that broken and shattered glass from the wonderful windows that were nearly six hundred years old. Yet, they made something beautiful out of what was shattered, and a great light shone on generations of people as a result. When our own lives seem broken and shattered, we can have hope that something new can be formed out of what is broken and shattered, that allows a great light, the light of Jesus, to shine through us. In this morning’s gospel reading, Matthew, quoting Isaiah, identifies Jesus as a great light that has dawned on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death. A little later on in this same gospel of Matthew, Jesus will say to his disciples, ‘you are the light of the world’. Yes, Jesus, has come into the world a as a great light, but he needs disciples through whom this light can continue to shine through time. That is why, according to this morning’s gospel reading, after arriving into Galilee as this ‘great light’, Jesus immediately began to call people to follow him, fishermen initially, then tax collectors and all sorts of other people from all sorts of different backgrounds, women and men. These were to be his light bearers. They were to be the stained glass through which his light would shine. Today, we are those light bearers; we are the ones through whom Jesus wishes to shine his great light, the light of God’s love for all humanity. We may feel that we are not up to the task, that, in various ways, our lives are too broken and shattered to be of any use to the Lord. Yet, there is never a time that the Lord’s light cannot shine through us, as long as we are open to his presence and are generous in response to that presence, like Simon, Andrew, James and John in the gospel reading. It was when Jesus was at his most broken and shattered, as he hung from the cross, that the light of God’s loving presence shone through him most powerfully. Here was the stone rejected by the builders that had become the corner stone, the image of God that had been broken and shattered and yet revealed the light of God’s merciful and compassionate love even more brightly. Every day we are called to be the Lord’s light, even if we feel broken and shattered. Every day we can become that light with the Lord’s help, and with the help of each other. The work of making that Cathedral’s shattered glass a source of a great light was a shared work. It was together that people of faith made this possible. We need each other, the community of faith, if individually we are to be channels of the light of the Lord’s presence today. And/Or (iv) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time There has been a great change in the relationship between the various Christian denominations since the Second Vatican Council. My mother once said of my grandmother that coming out once from a sermon given at a parish retreat, she turned to my mother, then a young girl, and said, ‘God help the poor Protestants’. I suspect that her comments and the understanding behind them were not untypical of the time. Today there is a greater recognition of what the various Christian denominations have in common, and a greater respect for each others traditions. There is an appreciation that, because of our common baptism, believers of different traditions are already in a significant communion with each other, even if it is partial and incomplete. There is a strong desire to give expression to the communion that does exist between us, such as by praying together, and by working together in practical ways for the coming of God’s kingdom. The source of the unity between Christians of different denominations is the person of Christ. We are all, first and foremost, followers of Christ. St. Paul makes this point in today’s second reading. He was faced with a church in Corinth that was dividing around different leaders. He wanted believers to move from allegiance to particular leaders to allegiance to Christ. That is why he asked them: ‘Was it Paul that was crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul?’ He did not want people saying ‘I belong to Paul’. Christ was crucified for them; they were baptized in the name of Christ; they belong to Christ, not to Paul or to Apollos or to any other human leader. Similarly, in our own time, all Christians, regardless of their tradition, belong to Christ. To the extent that we grow in our relationship with Christ, we will grow in our communion with each other. At the heart of the ecumenical movement there will always be the call to conversion addressed to all Christians, the call to turn towards Christ more fully. This is the call of Jesus in this morning’s gospel reading: ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’. God’s kingdom is waiting to happen; God is waiting to rule in our lives. For this to come about we need to keep on turning towards the person of Jesus. This turning towards Jesus is a lifetime’s work; it does not happen in an instant. The two sets of brothers in today’s gospel reading respond generously to the call of Jesus to turn towards him and to follow him. However, their initial response was not sustained. In various ways they turned away from the one they set out to follow and, eventually, they abandoned him altogether. They had to be called back again and again to the one they had left everything to follow. The initial call, ‘repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand’ is one they needed to hear and respond to over and over again. It was a lifetime’s call and a lifetime’s response. It is the same for all of us. We constantly need to turn and return to the person of Jesus, the one into whom we were baptized and whom we desire to follow. Christians of all denominations have to keep on making that journey towards Jesus throughout their lives. It is the willingness and readiness of us all to go on making that journey that will deepen the communion that exists between the different traditions. What is most damaging to that communion is for one group to consider that they have already arrived and that it is everybody else that has to make the journey. We are all pilgrims; we are all on a journey; we are all striving to respond to the Lord’s call in the gospel reading, ‘Follow me’. We all need to recognize that we often follow other paths and respond to other voices. In that sense we are not yet saved, we have not yet arrived. If anyone asks you, ‘Are you saved?’ be sure to say ‘no’. God’s work has not yet been brought to completion in our lives. We are very much a work in progress, both as individuals and as communities of faith. Yet, in the words of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, ‘we are confident that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Christ Jesus’. God never ceases to work among those who desire to follow his Son. We believe that the Spirit of God, the Holy Spirit, is working to bring all Christians into that unity for which Christ prayed. The ecumenical movement in that sense is not a merely human enterprise; it is an ongoing work of the Spirit with which we are called to co-operate. Our co-operation with the Spirit can take various forms. The first step is for us to grow in our understanding of and in our appreciation of our own particular tradition. From that secure base we then try to recognize the gospel values that other Christian traditions may have preserved better than our own tradition has. Today, church unity Sunday, we give thanks for the good work that God has been doing among the followers of his Son, and we pray that we would each in our own way further that work of God in the future. Fr Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, Ireland. Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ieJoin us via our webcam. Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC. Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf. Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

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theliterateape · 4 years

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I Like to Watch | Star Wars (like, 90% of it...)

By Don Hall

In preparation for the upcoming Star Wars finale (the closing chapter of nine) I, like so many, decided to watch as much of the saga in order as I could bear. I anticipated that the prequels would still kind of blow, that the original trilogy would rock (except for the closing shot of Return of the Jedi) and that the last two would be good if not perfunctory. I also added some Clone Wars and both Solo and Rogue One as well as The Mandalorian.

Full Star Wars infusion, right?

Keep in mind, I’m the original Star Wars kid. Mom, Vicki, and I were living in Phoenix, AZ in 1977. I was eleven years old. That summer, I had fuckall to do because, as we had just moved there, I had no friends, didn’t really know the landscape, and had a ridiculous crush on Kate Jackson (the smart one of Charlie’s angels) that left me all piney and emotional and listening to Alan O’Day’s “Undercover Angel” obsessively. No one was hanging out with that fucking kid.

Then there was this movie. Robots. Twin moons. Space battles. Incredible music. I was hooked. For the months of June and July, I went to the movie theater two miles from our apartment and dropped my $2.50 to see Luke, Leia, and Hantwenty-five times. George Lucas made this movie for me (at least that’s how I saw things). I loved the idea of The Force, Wookies, Darth Vader. Fuck. I was transfixed and as I came to understand that there were hordes of rabid fans just like me that summer, I somehow felt like I was a part of something culturally bigger than my tiny corner of Phoenix.

Jump to forty-two years later. In preparation for the final installment of the Skywalker saga, I went online and watched the entire canon (or at least 90 percent of it) to relive those moments in the context of the most recent chapters and discovered a few things that left me thirsty for The Rise of Skywalker.

First, the prequels aren’t as bad as I remembered. Yes, Lucas kind of fucked a few things up with the most egregious being the casting of Hayden Christiansen as Anakin Skywalker. The dude sucks up the energy on screen like a Sham Wow soaks up spilled Hi-C punch. The self-seriousness of the prequels is a contrast to the swashbuckling fun of the middle trilogy but one has to remember that when Lucas was making the first three, he was just making Star Wars not STAR WARS.

Is Jake Lloyd any good? No but he’s a kid and how good can a kid be acting against green screen shit? Brie Larson is an Oscar winner but her performance in Captain Marvel isn’t much better than Lloyd’s in The Phantom Menace so calm down, fanboys. Is Jar Jar Binks annoying? Yeah, but he’s not in the film that much and is there for comic relief.

My discovery is that these prequels, while focusing on the origins of Darth Vader, are much more about the development and growth of Obi Wan Kenobi and setting the stage for A New Hope. When seen in that frame, they’re actually pretty good especially in scenes between Anakin and Kenobi in Revenge of the Sith.

I truly dig The Force Awakens. I love Rey, I love Finn, I love Poe. Great characters, and the search for Luke is a fabulous storyline to pursue. Yes, it’s a straight up reboot of the very first film but I believe that was a good call on Abrams’ part and it basically followed the story arc Lucas had envisioned with some tweaks here and there. It gave Han Solo an epic death and set the stage for Rey to become the new generation of Jedi.

Initially, I enjoyed The Last Jedi as well. Upon the revisit in prep for the final movie in the triple trilogy, I found myself enjoying it less so. The humor is more slapstick than character-driven, the choices to be more woke feel more “Lookie here, GenZ!” than simply a part of an ever-expanding universe. While I understood the disaffected and bitter Luke Skywalker, the decision to effectively sideline the character leaves me cold. I like Adam Driver but not Kylo Ren and the focus on the connection between he and Rey seems forced like the killing of Snoke. If Rey doesn’t need Luke why does she need some sort of romantic tie to another conflicted dude?

Still, plenty to like about Rian Johnson’s entry. Finn was much more interesting as was Poe. The forced economics lesson embedded actually worked with the final shot and the promise of more Force-sensitive individuals out there in the galaxy. Luke’s Force Ghost-like fight at the end was remarkable. Unfortunately, Johnson sought to demystify and de-platform most of the best loved tropes of the earlier films, which didn’t leave Abrams much to work with in his final follow up.

Time for Rise of Skywalker.

On the surface, it has everything a Star Wars junkie could want: great space battles, amazing lightsaber duels, bizarre new characters, callbacks to the previous eight chapters. I cried a few times, I laughed some, and I enjoyed the ride.

While I appreciated the use of Carrie Fisher to cap that character like Episode 7 did for Han Solo and Episode 8 did for Luke, it felt awkward in that, if one didn’t know she had passed away before filming, it looks like she was just directed to look sad and detached (hardly the Princess/General we love).

I’ll admit to digging this wrap-up despite Abrams’s requirement to pack as much into every second to answer both long unanswered questions as well as rectify some of Johnson’s departures from the core of the seven episodes that came before. Is it the perfect ending? No. The passing of the Skywalker torch is essential but I wanted more Skywalker than Palpatine (whose bizarre resurrection is poorly explained and seems a bit of a stretch). For the wrap-up of a storyline about Darth Vader and his children, a bit more connection to all three would have been nice.

It seems in hindsight that Abrams tried to reboot the thing by effectively aping A New Hope, Johnson tried to completely subvert the thing by tossing out expectations (TFA Big Moment: handing Luke his lightsaber turns into him tossing it away like garbage; TFA Big Question: Who are Rey’s parents turns into nobody) with The Last Jedi, and Abrams, in turn, ignored most of Johnson’s changes.

In some ways, the interconnectiveness of the Marvel films has spoiled me. The clarity of purpose over the course of years of storytelling is more intentional than a final three films written by fans rather than Lucas. On its own, The Rise of Skywalker is a grand adventure. As the final episode of a nine-part story, it falls a bit short.

Such are these sorts of things because it’s goddamned hard to capture magic that was so unexpected in 1977. Lucas tried to recreate it with the prequels, Abrams tried to recreate it with the sequels but the Star Wars that is cemented in my GenX mind will forever be those first three films sandwiched now in the middle.

Now, those were magical.

#I Like to Watch #Star Wars: Rise of Skywalker

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tinymixtapes · 6 years

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Music Review: Chvrches - Love is Dead

Chvrches Love is Dead [Glassnote; 2018] Rating: 3/5 “A code which no one can explain but everyone understands.” Sound has no narrative. It doesn’t swell and end like love affair or plot like sentence. It doesn’t have a history like our bones or nodes. Its absence isn’t a death. Silence instead, is reaction, a part of the processing of the sound that came before, to the ears that heard a sound. There’s no meaning to that kind of continuum, just what we hear is what we hear. Even when intentional, whether organized into melody or scrambled into noise, sound remains a universal, unknowable and unassailable. Or: “Let the rhythm pull you in — This will touch it/ You know what I’m sayin’ and I haven’t said a thing.” (Kylie Minogue, “Slow”) Still, we wrestle it. We treat it like a lover. What did you say? What did you mean when you said it? Chvrches made a record called Love is Dead. How love? When dead? What Chvrches? It seems it’s all it means. Seems (descriptive) and means (prescriptive) are methods by which ears and eyes ascribe and infuse art with explanation. We take the sounds and images and render the sensation sensed, the ineffable as effigy. And we do it with words, equal parts extrapolation and reduction and voila: narrative. Is it history? In 2013, a Scottish synthpop band made an EP called Recover. A few months later, they released a full-length, The Bones of What You Believe. Both pieces fused the break free of dance-floor with the exaltation of arena anthem. Songs like “The Mother We Share,” “Recover,” and “Night Sky” were sticky: a body felt good moving to these sounds because a body recognized that the songs had room for it to rock with them. Chvrches flecked their songs with a belief in songs themselves, in bodies moving and the power of voice. That sincerity, however broad, felt like a viable antidote to the chilled irony of indie craftpop circa 2013. Chvrches saw how irony positioned itself above and away from beating hearts and so struck out in absorbing, engaging tones. It was “sincerity in spite of irony, which is to say sincerity within irony,” TMT’s Gabriel Samach wrote. It resonated. The band would play in the same earnest hues on 2015’s Every Open Eye in sharper resolution and higher contrasts. “Never Ending Circles,” all arms-aloft and afterglow, was the best Chvrches ever re-sounded. And then, as now, Love is Dead, the same Scottish synthpop band alive in 2018, the third album, the first with outside producers and Matt Berninger cameos. Lots of ears got their thoughts in by the deadline. And the narrative felt pretty set, even from the early singles: Love is Dead is a little flimsy. Pitched as a genuine pop gesture with the aid of producer Greg Kurstin (Adele’s “Hello,” Kelly Clarkson’s “Stronger,” etc.), the album misjudges the line between pop’s universals and specifics. It’s broad in sentiment and unspecific in feeling. Chvrches feel swallowed up in production. The hooks aren’t great and the singles, especially “Get Out” and “Never Say Die,” drift between repetitive, flattened choruses and verses unanchored to any specific image or idea. The heart of earlier efforts beat best affixed to real aches, a tether between renunciation and resolve (hope operates as a line through misery: “The way is long, but you can make it easy on me.”) Love is Dead is formally earnest and it succumbs as a product of its (unearnest) production, an art of sincerity lost underneath. Love is Dead, damnably, is sincerity in place of irony, which is to say sincerity outside irony. It has no world to tease of tense. “Rhythm doesn’t stand for anything. It can’t be proven to be in any privileged relation to the unconscious, and the same is true of melody.” Critical narrative (unlike the unconscious or sound or pop music) is a code no one can understand but everyone explains. Unlike the bolded text framing this review (notes on pop music-politic, Green Gartside and Mark Fisher in discussion), critical narrative is neither aphoristic nor hypothetical. It isn’t excited when it’s proven wrong. Rather, art that bucks the trend assigned to an artist is absorbed into the narrative. We always knew Scritti would disregard post-obtuse punk for pop success/ failure. We always knew Kylie would release a retready country record in 2018; we were laughing before it dropped. We always knew Mark Fisher would kill himself. We’re sorry for that, sure, and we’ll write a tribute, probably, but it’s all there, in the work’s words, right? Critical narrative has already moved on, like it always already does. It lacks the thing that makes Love is Dead flawed and flecked and straining, an exhilarating listen, months later, months after a review could be due. Critical narrative has no time for empathy. And beyond the product of pop (what sound seems to be) and the properness of reading art via product (how Chvrches means), the same narrative sketched above sounds different. Extract explaining, shift back to knowing. Or: “I feel, I feel, I feel/ You know I feel for you” (Kylie, “I Feel For You) “In pop music, we are dealing with a history of production that has made the improper proper. “Do you really believe that you are one of a kind?” Empathy, body to body equivalence, is a system of improper conclusions. In order to wholly feel another body’s pangs and aches, another body has to leave its self behind. Under all the proper production, Love is Dead litter glimpses into pop music as empathy, a force aimed at improper progress. Songs detail broken hearts and lost loves but never weaponize apathy. Like life and death, love and ends, empathy breeds equivalence, “And you could be my remedy/ If you could show me love,” a sound through despondency. “Graffiti” paints the foolishness of an ended tryst while celebrating the feel of being foolish: “I’ve been waiting for my whole life to grow old/ And now we never will.” Why should we sentence our selves to despondency? “Get Out,” the best buzz of the singles, abandons apathy while remaining affixed to our (and other) bodies. Repetition is a fixture of most of these songs, Lauren Mayberry turning and returning to the same words again and again (“Get, get, get out of here/ Can we get out, get out”; “Forever, forever, forever, forever/ I told you I would hate you till forever.”) Repetition highlights a moment almost maddeningly (Green Gartside: “If in doubt, I opt for stupid. I write lots of lyrics, and end up throwing away anything that sounds too clever”), but the madness here is of prizing others like we prize our selves, illogic only in service of something like love. And with “Graves,” Love is Dead shows what that madness is for, detailing bodies on shorelines and mad kings in high castles. It doesn’t bang like “Keep You On My Side” or even “Lies,” but it engages in engaging, even with the monsters: “If you don’t have a heart, I can offer you mine.” Love is Dead fits the complaints of its narrative, sketched above and elsewhere. It is often not as exhilarating as other moments in Chvrches’ breadth. The mode of proper production disservices the trajectory of an improper urge (namely, that bodies can know bodies through singing and dancing.) Pop is at its best improperly, transfiguratively. But seeming to know doesn’t stand for knowing to feel. And to dismiss any pop as broad and derivative means siding with seem over feel, irony over sincerity, apathy over empathy. “Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies,” Mayberry sings, confessing, “I’m not asking for a miracle.” And there as with the rest of a frustrating, exalting album, what initially feels like formal sincerity is revealed to be empathy in place of sincerity, which is to say sincerity through irony. “Out in the general text, resemblance passes for truth. In my little hot house, the appearance of difference passes for truth. And it goes on.” It’s easy to feel despondent. Mark Fisher killed himself, seemingly when he’d found a way through writing to keep living. Green is mostly functionally self-disappeared, no longer making sounds. Kylie’s still around, but in the mostly retro-mode country-impression, Golden. And Chvrches made the overproduced, under-realized Love is Dead The miracle of pop music isn’t its resemblance to truth, but rather its creation of it. Pop bangs best in the empathy mode; the beat moves our bodies when we measure it against our hearts. Empathy, a philosophy of hearing and feeling heard, is paramount to pop, via Gartside (“To do what I should do/ To long for you to hear/ I open up my heart”) and Kylie (“Do you wanna hear me sing?/ Pop, pop, pop, pop”) and Chvrches (“If none of this is real/ Then show me what you feel”). Or: “I’ll meet you there, at the moment where despair end and tactics begin” (Mark Fisher.) Maybe empathy is the tactic and the beginning. Maybe all it is is getting into a loop, bodies in sync with bodies. It goes on. Dancing is still honest, like, “When I go out, I wanna go out dancing” (Kylie, “Dancing.”) The way is long, but you can make it easy on me if I make it easy on you. Or: “You better give up on giving up.” (Chvrches, “Deliverance.”) http://j.mp/2NEXvAm

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 7 years

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22nd January >> Fr. Martin's Reflection on Today's Gospel Reading (Matthew 4:12-23) for Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A: ‘Follow me’.

Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

Gospel (Europe, New Zealand, Australia, Canada & South Africa)

Matthew 4:12-23

‘Land of Zebulun! Land of Naphtali!

Way of the sea on the far side of Jordan,

Galilee of the nations!

The people that lived in darkness has seen a great light;

on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death

a light has dawned.’

From that moment Jesus began his preaching with the message, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is close at hand.’

He went round the whole of Galilee teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the Good News of the kingdom and curing all kinds of diseases and sickness among the people.

Gospel (USA)

Matthew 4:12–23

Jesus went to Capernaum, so that what had been said through Isaiah might be fulfilled.

Land of Zebulun and land of Naphtali,

the way to the sea, beyond the Jordan,

Galilee of the Gentiles,

the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light,

on those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death

light has arisen.

From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

Reflections (4)

(i) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

And/Or

(ii) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

And/Or

(iii) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel reading, Matthew, quoting Isaiah, identifies Jesus as a great light that has dawned on those who dwell in the land and shadow of death. A little later on in this same gospel of Matthew, Jesus will say to his disciples, ‘you are the light of the world’. Yes, Jesus, has come into the world a as a great light, but he needs disciples through whom this light can continue to shine through time. That is why, according to this morning’s gospel reading, after arriving into Galilee as this ‘great light’, Jesus immediately began to call people to follow him, fishermen initially, then tax collectors and all sorts of other people from all sorts of different backgrounds, women and men. These were to be his light bearers. They were to be the stained glass through which his light would shine. Today, we are those light bearers; we are the ones through whom Jesus wishes to shine his great light, the light of God’s love for all humanity. We may feel that we are not up to the task, that, in various ways, our lives are too broken and shattered to be of any use to the Lord. Yet, there is never a time that the Lord’s light cannot shine through us, as long as we are open to his presence and are generous in response to that presence, like Simon, Andrew, James and John in the gospel reading. It was when Jesus was at his most broken and shattered, as he hung from the cross, that the light of God’s loving presence shone through him most powerfully. Here was the stone rejected by the builders that had become the corner stone, the image of God that had been broken and shattered and yet revealed the light of God’s merciful and compassionate love even more brightly. Every day we are called to be the Lord’s light, even if we feel broken and shattered. Every day we can become that light with the Lord’s help, and with the help of each other. The work of making that Cathedral’s shattered glass a source of a great light was a shared work. It was together that people of faith made this possible. We need each other, the community of faith, if individually we are to be channels of the light of the Lord’s presence today.

And/Or

(iv) Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Fr Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, Ireland.

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ieJoin us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.

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