this might be a stupid question, sorry in advance. when you perform analysis on a work like homestuck and excavate these levels of, like, racial and social meaning from it, how does it affect your opinion of the work? do you come to like or dislike it more, or have your feelings toward it grown past that over the years into more nebulous things?
i love your blog and your posts, even though i only started homestuck last year and never made it past act 4; when i read your stuff i always learn new things about how one can interact with texts. just got curious about the above after reading your post on caliborn and disability and such. hope you have a good day.
I continue to like the work, in new ways. The feelings evade summary, so here's a few examples:
I lost my initial fervor for classpect ages ago, when it became clear to me that the categories weren't mutually exclusive (depriving the system of majestic power) and that they were not the ultimate key to Homestuck (meaning a new paradigm would be needed to solve the story's remaining mysteries). But I still admire how classpect induces the audience to engage in symbolic reading, proposing this object or that color has an associated abstract significance.
The manifestation system started out just giving me digestible bits of characterization like Egbert being scared of heights, but within a few months it began giving me weirder shit like racist sex dreams. That was difficult to integrate into my impression of what exactly Homestuck was -- for the time, I was satisfied to conclude that Equius was not as much of an anomaly as he was made out to be, and that the comic might be in some measure a commentary on racism. That the racist thoughts seemed to emanate from particular characters, in a game whose modus operandi is making thoughts real, struck me as a distancing maneuver of sufficient strength to rebuff gentle (and not so gentle) suggestions that maybe this all just meant Hussie was racist. Thus when the ARG got posted, instead of joining the outcry against the abundant bigotry I was laser focused on how the alternate-dimension Obama was a surrealist confirmation of racist birther conspiracies. The psychological framing of Sburb had persuaded me to accept the story as a scare quote around "racism" that could be observed at a remove.
I was excited that the manifestation system meant more characterization for Jade, then shocked when it implied she had been raped, then apprehensive of the apparent perpetrator Grandpa's every move, then supremely confused by the revelation that Homestuck's deployment of pejorative tropes meant that all the above had coaxed me into a simulation of satanic panic. Reconciling my sympathy for Jade's suffering with the knowledge that Jake is by some measure an effigy sending out de-fused signals of DANGEROUS HOMOSEXUAL THREATENS THE CHILDREN, it all gives me a headache. The story's ironic scaremongering demands your disengagement, to view the story as artifice, but the suffering of the victim within the bad-faith narrative is nonetheless visceral. Conflicting demands like that make up much of the story for me now: pathos that I once felt and continue to feel, side by side with the need to question the foundations of the sympathy.
It is very rare that anything holds my attention as long as Homestuck has and that in itself is something I'm grateful for. Trying to get a rhetorical foothold on its weird ass games has been my primary motivation for reading new things -- psychoanalytic film criticism, existential philosophy, and academic theorization of assorted bigotries are probably not things I would have delved into were they not connected to the puzzle box. It became my lesson plan for self-study, and it has (slash I have) made me into a better reader in general... or something, idk.
I like the story. That's it for feelings for now
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‘Beloved master, why do I take myself and everything so seriously?’
Prembodhi, the ego can exist only if you take yourself and everything seriously.
Nothing kills the ego like playfulness, like laughter. When you start taking life as fun, the ego has to die, it cannot exist anymore.
Ego is illness; it needs an atmosphere of sadness to exist. Seriousness creates the sadness in you. Sadness is a necessary soil for the ego.
Hence your saints are so serious, for the simple reason that they are the most egoistic people on the earth. They may be trying to be humble, but they are very proud of their humbleness. They take their humbleness very seriously.
The real saint cannot be serious. The really religious person has to be a celebrant. Just look around… look at the trees—are they serious? Look at the birds, listen to them—are they serious? Look at the stars, the moon, the sun—are they serious? Existence is utterly nonserious; it goes on dancing. It is an eternal celebration, it is a festivity. Only man is serious, because only man has been trying to create a separation between himself and existence. He doesn’t want to be part of the whole, because then he disappears. He wants his own identity, his own name, his own form, his definition. Even if it creates misery it is okay, even if he has to live in hell he is ready for it.
Once George Bernard Shaw was asked where he would like to go after he dies—to hell or to heaven. He said, ‘Wherever I can be the first, I don’t want to be the second’—and in heaven there is no chance to be the first, because so many saints have already reached there: Jesus and Zarathustra and Mahavira and Buddha. Who will take note of poor George Bernard Shaw? He is willing to go to hell if he can be the first there.
Ego wants to be the first, ego wants to put everybody below itself; hence it takes itself seriously. Hence it is perfectionist: it demands perfection, which is impossible. Nobody is perfect; nobody can exist for a single moment if he is perfect. Imperfection is the way of life, because it is possible to grow only if you are imperfect. If you are perfect there is no more growth, no more evolution. If you are perfect you are stuck. Perfection means death; imperfection means flow, growth, movement, dynamism.
The ego demands perfection of oneself and of others too. It asks for the impossible, and because the impossible cannot be achieved it can go on living. It is not happy with the ordinary; it wants the extraordinary, and life consists only of the ordinary. But the ordinary is beautiful, the ordinary is exquisite. There is no need of anything extraordinary.
The ordinary life is sacred, but the ego condemns it as mundane. It demands extraordinary life. Hence all the religions go on inventing stories about their founders which are all untrue: Moses separating the sea, Jesus walking on the water… all these stories are inventions, lies, created by the followers just to prove that their master is extraordinary; he is not an ordinary human being.
In fact, the truth is that you cannot find a more ordinary human being than Buddha, Mahavira, Jesus, Moses, Zarathustra, Lao Tzu. They are so simple! They have accepted themselves as they are. They live in suchness, in TATHATA. They don’t hanker for any perfection. They are perfectly at ease with the imperfect world, utterly contented with it. And they don’t take themselves so seriously that they have to attain to great heights, great peaks, that they have to surpass everybody. They are not insane! They are beautiful people, and their beauty consists in having accepted the ordinary as the extraordinary, the mundane as sacred.
Prembodhi, you ask, ‘Why do I take myself and everything so seriously?’
Everybody takes himself and others seriously. That’s the way of the ego to exist. Start being a little more playful and you will see ego evaporating. Take life nonseriously, as a joke—yes, as a cosmic joke. Laugh a little more.
Laughter is far more significant than prayer. Prayer may not destroy your ego; on the contrary, it may make it holy, pious, but laughter certainly destroys your ego. When you are really in a state of laughter, have you observed?—the ego disappears for a moment. You are again a child, giggling. Again you have forgotten that you are special. You are no longer serious; for a moment you have removed your fixation.
That’s why I love jokes—they are poison to your ego! You would like me to talk about serious things: astral planes and how many bodies men have, seven or nine, and how many chakras. And every day there are questions—esoteric, occult. These are the serious people. They have fallen in a wrong company! I am not serious at all.
I don’t laugh with you because that is part of telling a joke: the person who tells it has to be very serious, he cannot laugh with you. All my laughter I have to do alone. But my approach towards life is utterly nonserious, playful, because in my experience this is how the ego disappears.
Watch when you laugh: where is the ego? Suddenly you have melted, suddenly you are liquid, no more solid, but flowing. You are not old, experienced, knowledgeable.
Listen to this joke and try to find out whether the ego remains or not.
Shortly after arriving at their honeymoon suite, the still nervous groom became worried about the state of his bride’s innocence. Deciding on the direct approach, he quickly undressed, pointed at his exposed manhood, and asked his mate, ‘Do you know what that is?’
Without hesitating, she blushed and answered, ‘That’s a wee-wee.’
Delighted at the idea of instructing his naive wife, the husband whispered, ‘From now on, dearest, this will be called a prick.’
‘Ah, come now,’ the girl chided, ‘I’ve seen lots of pricks, and I assure you, that’s a wee-wee.’
— Osho (The Dhammapada: The Way of the Buddha, Vol. 10)
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The 141 holding their baby for the first time
Can be read as a part 2 to this
Price
This man is so eager to hold his child for the first time, he almost doesn't wait for the nurses to clean him off first. So what if his son is covered in all sorts of blood and gunk? John has dealt with a lot worse before, trust him
So when he has to wait for the little one to be cleaned and then weighed and then dressed first, John almost steams from his ears he's so frustrated
Oh but the moment his child is finally placed in his arms, he just absolutely melts. Goes from a menacing grizzly bear to a harmless stuffed plushie in two seconds flat
With one hand supporting his bottom and the other curving along his back, John gently holds his son for the very first time. As he looks at the boy in his arms – his eyes, his lips, his little button nose – John feels a tickle behind his eyes, and he's quick to blink the tears away before they can form
He sniffs back his emotions and caresses the top of your son's head. “Hairy little bloke, ain't he?” he jokes, referring to the full head of hair the tyke's already been blessed with
Well, what does he expect when he has a werewolf for a father? Your jest gets John to chuckle lowly, muttering to the boy, “Just like your daddy, eh?”
He places the baby against the crook of his neck and softly pats him on the back, bouncing up and down ever so slightly. And when his son lets out a great big burp, John and you share a laugh. “Yeah, just like your daddy.”
Ghost
One thing Simon prides himself on is his sense of humility – knowing when his services are needed and when they aren't. In this instance, as the nurses flit around with his son, he knows it's the latter situation, so he waits patiently off to the side as he lets them work
Though he's sidelined, Simon watches like a hawk as his little boy moves about the room. Every hand-off, every measurement taken, it's all done under the careful eye of his father
But despite how cool he may appear on the outside, inside his heart is pounding, and that only increases as a nurse finally approaches him with his child in her hands
Simon goes to take the baby from her, stretching his arms out, but before the transfer is made, he remembers something. Quickly, he reaches up and strips the cloth mask from his face. He knows the little one doesn't have good eyesight yet, but first impressions and all that, right?
With the utmost caution, Simon takes his son into his arms, putting him in the crook of his elbow like a rugby player holding a ball. He feels like a giant as he holds the tiny boy against him. Like an ant compared to an elephant, he thinks to himself
Despite his size though, Simon is so delicate with his son, treating him like he's made of glass. He tucks him more firmly against his chest, and as the little one naturally snuggles closer, Simon can't help the smile it brings to his face
Rocking back and forth slightly, Simon tries to lull the boy to sleep. Unfortunately, his little cheek rubbing against Simon's chest has the opposite effect, and he begins to mouth at his pec, having accidentally triggered his rooting reflex
“Oh, he's…,” Simon mutters awkwardly, realizing what he's just done. He hears you giggle from your spot on your bed, and that makes him chuckle to himself. “Think he's hungry,” he says before handing the baby over to you
Gaz
From the moment Kyle laid eyes on his son, it was love at first sight. Even though he was filthy, wrinkly, and had a conehead to end all coneheads, Kyle was immediately smitten with the boy the moment he first saw him
He carefully trails after the nurses as they go about cleaning him/taking his measurements, not wanting to get in the way but wanting to stay close
Despite his watchfulness, however, when his son is finally offered to him, Kyle immediately freezes. His arms feel like they're locked down by his sides, like there's some kind of invisible force preventing him from reaching out and taking him
Though he's been preparing for this moment for months, when it's finally time to do it, he finds that he's scared. Scared to hurt him, to drop him, to do something wrong. He has to take a deep breath as he plucks up the courage, then has the nurse hand over his son
And the second the boy is placed in Kyle's arms, the tears he hadn't managed to shed during the delivery start streaming anew. “H-Hi, baby. Hi,” Kyle sobs, masterfully holding his son in one hand as he uses the other to wipe his tears away. “I'm your daddy.”
Though there's still a flurry of activity going on around them, it's like time seems to slow as Kyle admires the little boy in his arms. He leans in to press a soft kiss to the top of his son's head, holding his lips there as he inhales that sweet scent emanating from him
When he finally pulls back, he brushes another tear away, flashing a bright smile as he chuckles wetly to himself. Yep, he's in love alright. Truly, deeply in love
Soap
Johnny feels sluggish as he slowly wakes back up. It takes some effort for him to peel his eyes open, and when he does, he then groggily takes in his surroundings
He's slumped in some stiff hospital chair. Why? Oh, wait. He thinks he remembers. He was here to watch the birth of his first child, but the last thing he remembers was seeing a whole lot of red, and then everything went black
Johnny looks around the room for a moment until he realizes you're sitting in the bed across from him. He stands with a grunt, rubbing his forehead as he walks over to you. “What'd I miss?” he asks as approaches your bed
He notices something in your arms, but it's not until he gets close that he realizes what exactly. That isn't just any little bundle in your arms. That's your son you're holding
He finds he's frozen to his spot as you answer his question. Other than the birth? Not much. Just the first feeding… and the first burping… and the first swaddling
Johnny's lip threatens to tremble as he listens to you list off all the things he missed because he'd passed out. But when you ask in he wants to hold his son, all that sorrow immediately vanishes
Now, Johnny's held a lot of babies in his years (it comes with being part of the MacTavish clan), but there's something different this time as you pass the little boy to him. As Johnny looks at the baby in his arms – his baby – he realizes this is the most perfect, most beautiful, most amazing, angelic, awe-inspiringly wonderful–
There's the sound of a small whine followed quickly by a loud squish, and suddenly, the bum cradled in his hands feels about 2x heavier. The realization hits you before it does Johnny, and you can't help the laugh that bubbles out of you
Congrats, daddy-o! Looks like he woke up just in time for the first nappy change
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nurse!reader and patient!könig
tw: noncon, intoxication, misuse of medication
könig tried to be patient with you. he tried not to force himself onto you, but the more you flaunted your body to him, the more agitated he became. you'd give him medication, ones that made him dizzy and at ease, fucked-out stupid and giggly. he took everything you said either as a joke, or you flirting with him!
it was humilating when he'd grope you unexpectedly, breathing deeply into your ear through stuttered pleas, the tightness in his boxers only growing as he throbbed and ached.
könig eventually took matters into his own hands. he found your water bottle, taking the medication you usually gave him to make him all loopy and fuzzy, and poured it into your drink. you'd sat beside him, with laboured breathing, becoming a giggly mess!
in your vulnerable state, and through könig's pain in his arm, he pushed you down onto his medical bed, tearing your panties off and rolling up your uniform. he fucked his thick fingers into you; pumping them as they quickly got covered in sweet slick. all you could do was shake and sob quietly, feeling scared and weak against him. although, the way he rubbed your clit was driving you insane, moaning sweetly into his mouth between sloppy, drugged kisses.
you didn't even realise his intents at first, ‘til your patient was fucking his hard, big cock into your slicken, wet pussy! his tight balls smacking against your ass with each hard thrust. you gripped his shoulders, your legs pulled and forced over them, giving him a better advantage at fucking deeper into your swollen folds. you felt used; raw and sensitive. he chuckled, seeing you all drugged up on his medication was just driving him closer to the edge. his sensitive, pink tip began leaking more; pearly droplets of white cum oozing out the head of his twitching shaft.
he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't stop; he could only get faster, to release deep into you. tearstained cheeks and dizzy eyes looking into his silver ones, bucking and rutting into his little nurse until he was spurting thick ropes of seed into you, and you were clutching your gummy walls down around his girthy dick and squirting all down his bandaged abdomen.
you only realised what was happening when you woke up, panties soaken with cum and slick. :(((
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