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#WHY has that become the common lexicon I hate it here
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No hate, just a discussion I'm curious to hear others talk about: Is telling people about the 'reptile people' joke's older context of antisemitism worthwhile? If the vast majority of the public aren't aware of that context, has that not taken the power it had away from those who used it against the Jewish? Is taking that power away by it becoming a common joke without the connotation antisemitism a good thing (or possible)? Where would you draw the line on "it no longer has this meaning" vs "it could still have this meaning, therefore we can't use it".
On the macro scale, is it too late to change this part of the lexicon? Can something with negative origins like this ever be "okay to say" because it's too far removed? Just some thoughts on how we approach this situation when the problem is so vast now.
Okay, I know you don't mean any disrespect, so I'm going to try to walk you through this in a way that is gentle but blunt. The fact that you are even asking this question is a reflection of your privilege to have never experienced antisemitism before.
Here is the post the asker is referencing.
I am Jewish. I am telling you that the lizard people joke is actively harmful. It's the same as a Black person telling you that the N word is still offensive when white people say it.
Beyond that, it's true that a lot of people who make the lizard people joke don't know its history, and that's precisely why it's dangerous. This is the kind of antisemitism that slips into mainstream culture and embeds itself in people's minds, and it all builds up until you get stuff like QAnon, which has direct links to the lizard people conspiracy. Link 1, link 2, link 3, link 4, link 5.
Antisemitism isn't a solved problem, it is alive and well and killing people every year. Lizard people will never be okay to use, even as a joke. Especially as a joke. Something that is a direct attack to dehumanize a marginalized people will never have lost its meaning. There's nothing funny about that.
This isn't even a discussion that we should be having. I'm answering this because I know you asked in good faith and I want to make this a teaching moment, but you need to know that it takes a lot of my mental energy to engage like this. It's not your fault, but questions like this are a constant reminder of how blind most non Jews are to antisemitism. How some people would rather us just chill out so they don't have to accommodate generations of our pain and fear and suffering.
So what can you do? Don't question it when someone tells you that something like this is offensive to a minority group. Be graceful about it and just make a mental note to phase that out of your vocabulary. If you're curious as to why it's harmful, do some research on your own rather than putting that burden on someone else by having them explain it to you.
You can also spread the word. Tell this to the next person you hear make a lizard people comment. Being a part of the education movement is one of the best things you can do as an ally.
Finally, I want to reiterate that this is not a dig at you, anon. If it sounds harsh it's because this is a serious topic and I'm not sugarcoating anything.
-Reid
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Thinking about the connections between Frankenstein’s Creature and c!Wilbur and just about ready to burst into tears. 
I’ve talked at length about what I think of the fandom’s general artistic interpretation of Revivebur as having partial zombie/undead features, but with Halloween around the corner, more and more people are dressing him up as Frankenstein’s Creature and … 😭😭😭
The original Frankenstein’s Creature is not the green and bolted silent figure you’re probably more familiar with. He’s a man of letters. He loves words and philosophy. His One Big Thing is trying to connect to other people, to be considered and treated the same as - but being consistently rejected by - everyone who meets him because they refuse to see him as anything but a monster.
He is a living mosaic, built from the people around him both literally and figuratively, and it is this constant rejection and denial of his personhood that eventually drives him to more violent and destructive acts.
Frankenstein builds his Creature because - I mean mainly he builds the Creature because he’s a little bitch with half a semester’s worth of a bachelor’s degree who thinks he knows better than all his professors and God themself - but the Creature is initially built in the blind euphoria of idealism. He builds his Creature to be the most perfect, the most beautiful, being he can. This naive idealism, driven primarily by ambition and hubris, is quickly brought crashing into reality as the consequences of what he’s done, the “catastrophe” that is at the heart of his actions, the living being he has brought to life, stares him down. 
Honestly, there are connections to draw all over the place between L’Manberg, Wilbur, The Creature, and Frankenstein, all with their own delectable nuances and symbolism. They all mesh together in an exploration of identity, creation, and the responsibility we hold for others, ourselves, and what we create, but what I’m particularly drawn to tonight is the idea of a creature, brought into the world beautiful and shining, with all the expectations of success, a creature who grounds their understanding of the world in the books they read and the people they meet, and who eventually, specifically because people refused to acknowledge their humanity - the innate preciousness of the individual life we each possess - that because this creature was not given the right resources, space, or care, to become their truest and best selves, partially through their own stubborness, partially through the neglect and ignorance of others, despite being a fully cognitive, intelligent, and emotionally rich person, so ready to love the world and the people in it, was only ever rejected by that world and called a monster, and eventually gave up, deciding that if the world saw them as a monster, a villain, they would do everything in their power to become worthy of that title. Because what is the use of trying to be a good person if no matter what you do, at every turn, no one will ever acknowledge or see you for who you truly are, and that maybe, if this is how everyone sees you, if this is your true purpose in life, and if you are fulfilling your life’s true purpose, surely, even if you’re not a good person, you can be good at being a person. 
“Tommy are we the bad guys? … Then let’s be the bad guys!”
“If I cannot inspire love, I will cause fear”
And in the end, because in fact you do have a moral code, and you are a good person, and you have actually been holding yourself accountable for the terrible things you’ve been doing this whole time, your self loathing has reached such a peak that you truly believe the world would have been better off if you had never existed at all.
“My unfinished symphony! Forever unfinished!”
“Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me. Phil, stab me with the sword. Murder me now.”
"I shall die, and what I now feel be no longer felt. Soon these burning miseries will be extinct. I shall ascend my funeral pile triumphantly and exult in the agony of the torturing flames. The light of that conflagration will fade away; my ashes will be swept into the sea by the winds."
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bellaslilpapercut · 3 years
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Eclipse reread part 2! This is gonna cover a lot of chapters because I forgot to include stuff from chapters 4, 5, and 6 in part 1 (in my defense your honor, this book is very grating to read). Awayyy we go:
1. so chapters 4-6 really could have been one chapter tbh since the plot is: Bella ditches work at Newton’s Outfitters to hang with Jake and then writes some graduation invites with Angela. She pushes her rusty old behemoth as fast as it can go through driving rain but then hangs outside with Jake the whole time so I don’t really know where the rain went. She also manages to hear Jake gasp through her closed car door! Super sonic! Anyway, Bella insists that Edward is a good guy, Jake makes Bella hold his hand, Jake explains imprinting (yuck we can skip that), and then Edward drives threateningly past Bella while she’s on her way to Angela’s house. Angela reminds Bella that, at his core, Edward is a teen boy who is Totally Jealous of how Ripped and Sexy her 16 year old best friend is. Then Alice kidnaps Bella. Fun times!
2. During the imprinting convo it becomes very apparent that Meyer thinks the worst thing that can happen to a girl is getting broken up with. Somehow Leah got the “worst end” of the Sam/Emily/Leah fiasco despite Sam turning into a “monster” and Emily getting literally mauled in the face. What’s worse is later in the book, during the “Legends” chapter, when Bella wonders if Leah thinks Emily’s scars are a form of “justice.” Yea, Bella, that’s justice. 
3. I love this Rosalie quote but hate the entirety of they way meyer writes her story. Others have mentioned it before but Meyer writes Rose's dialogue there as if Rose is an author and not like...a person telling a story. An easy fix would be to format Rosalie's story "flash back" style rather than have her narrate all the way through. Then you can include all the superfluous details of exactly what everyone's voice sounded like and all the excessive dialogue tags you want.
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I also Violently Abhor this quote here:
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Yea, meyer, the Hot Girl hates your self-insert because her stupid ass brother didn't have the hots for her. It just reads like weird middle school revenge fantasy "I only hated you because you were so Special!!!" Sure, sure. Also "all those females!" People don't talk like that @stephanie
4. I do love the scene when Bella “escapes” from Alice with Jake (I don’t know why i put escape in quotes, Alice could definitely murk Bella) but then that whole adventure ends with Jake telling Bella he’d rather she die than turn into a vampire. And yeah, fair buddy, but also you’ve known Bella for a long time. This should not be a surprise to you at all even a little bit. a) she mentioned it before, b) you knew she would never get over Edward even if your plan in NM had worked, and c) you’ve known that she’s fully obsessed with the Cullen’s since you started hanging out with her again. The last time you guys hung out she went on an impassioned rampage about how lovely and good and fantastic Edward is (footage not found) I really don’t know why you’re surprised that this hard-headed girl is prepared to commit to vampirism for him. She is not normal lmfao.
5. The legends chapter. Oh boy. Stephanie, Meyer, Smeyer. Honestly it might have been less offensive if she had just made up a whole new tribe to give these backstories to, for all that they have in common with real Quileute legends but actually that would still be offensive and terrible anyway. I don’t know how to describe this adequately but if you’ve ever seen G.I. Joe’s portrayal of indigenous people that’s exactly what meyer made Old Quil and Billy’s dialogue sound like. Just absolutely dripping with Mystical Native/ Magical Native trope from the content to the tone. https://mthg.org/ Because it can’t be plugged enough.  
6. The legends chapter ends with this Wuthering Heights quote:
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I have no qualms with it's inclusion, if you really want to push the Edward is Heathcliff and Bella is Cathy agenda, I don't believe it but fine, whatever. But those last two paragraphs are such a dumb way to end a chapter. Every chapter ending should make the reader want to turn the page: this makes me want to shut the book (actually I did take a long break after this lmfao). Anyway, just end the quote on "drank his blood," bold those three words, and end the chapter there. Don't go back and say "the three words that stood out were... Anyway it could have fallen to any page I believe in coincidence teehee!!" That's just annoying.
7. Okay guys I hate to say it but Edward does get a lil bit of ~character growth after the first few chapters. He comes home after having Bella kidnapped (she decides not to be angry, surprise surprise) and is all "so I've been thinking about it and you're right my Beloved Angel Face or whatever, please hang out with Jacob but also wear a helmet on your motorcycle my Beloved Dumb Idiot or whatever" (paraphrase). And he also says this in chapter 12:
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Which is like, man I hate when I agree with Edward but I agree with Edward here. Now I know from MS that he only wants Bella to stay human because he's creating an Unfolding Drama in his head but this bit of dialogue is really sweet. And it's funny that he thought Bella didn't want to marry him because she just wanted to use him for immortality but it's also a Dark Reminder that he's literally only romantic with her because he can't read her mind and can't tell that she's just as obsessed with his looks as the other Teen Girls TM.
8. uuuh Jasper’s Backstory Time. This is so infuriating to read for so many reasons. So we know that smeyer got Jasper’s name from a confederate memorial/ listing (from a New Moon Q&A but the link isn’t secure so I can’t share) so I know that his backstory was always meant to be Confederate Soldier which makes everything else about his characterization just baffling. Again, he was the only Cullen that was genuinely kind to Bella besides Carlisle for the entire first book and he’s still incredibly kind during Eclipse (which is another issue I have though because no one mentions again that Jasper tried to eat Bella and they stand close to each other and hang out and Bella’s never like “this is scary, this dude tried to kill me” but i digress). The point is: smeyer knew he was going to be a confederate from book 1. She never addresses that this was bad, she never has Jasper mention that he regrets his role in the war, he is the only Cullen that’s actually capable of empathizing with humans anymore (Carlisle cares but I would not categorize him as empathetic), it just... None of these pieces fit together. This is a fraught and bloody history that smeyer throws in with no thought to how it might alienate black readers (though tbh she constantly emphasizes “white beauty” throughout the series so I doubt she cares) and the editors don’t question it either. No one, at any point in time, said “Hey, steph, you know confederates fought for slavery, right?” Every black american deserves reparations. White women and men who glorify the civil war should be the first to pay up. 
9. I’m gonna jump back to chapters 9 & 10 here (target & scent, respectively) to say: no tension is being effectively built. I get it, someone stole your clothes. You’re annoyed because you have nothing to wear and Victoria is scary. But where is she? Where is the volturi? Move it along, please! This is one of the challenges of 1st person narrative because the author is stuck in the eyes of, usually, the person who knows the least. Meyer is not a talented enough author to make this interesting. Not to bring up THG again but Suzanne Collins really knew how to work 1st person. Everything that Katniss asserts with certainty throughout the series gets either confirmed or denied by the narrative, keeping it interesting. She assumes the worst of the people around her so we’re pleasantly surprised when people violate those assumptions. We’re kept on edge by how little Katniss knows and SC never gifts Katniss with more knowledge than she could be expected to have. Bella is constantly gifted with knowledge and her assumptions are rarely proven wrong. You can dig into the canon a little bit more, read the lexicon and the guide, and find all the examples of Bella being unreliable or making wrong assumptions. But within the narrative she is rarely incorrect. She doesn’t get opportunities to grow out of her false assumptions (while Edward does, at least in Eclipse). So to keep the Victoria debacle interesting, smeyer has to plant seeds like- during these two chapters- Bella thinking of Laurent and Victoria while the cullens discuss who could have been in Bella’s room. That just doesn’t cut it for me. 
This is hella long and I’m only halfway through the book. I probably should split the second half into two parts as well but based on how talented smeyer is at stretching out the mundane, especially just before the climax, I probably wont need to. 
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harryglom · 5 years
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Present Time (a short story)
It was the weirdest wall in the world.
Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?
One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.
The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.
"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."
She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.
Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?
She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.
Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.
Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.
"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"
This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.
"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.
"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.
"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"
"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."
I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.
"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"
She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?
Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.
"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."
"As seriously as that first time?"
"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."
Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.
"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."
She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.
She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."
I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.
"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."
"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."
Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.
"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"
"Because you're as mad as us?"
"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."
I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.
"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."
She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for a moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grown too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.
I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
   Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream
   Dies at the opening day.
Silvery upon the leaves, beams of gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis.
I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.
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The Lexicon Issue: A Retrospective
by Dan H
Tuesday, 15 March 2011Dan is up to date as ever~So a little while ago a concerned citizen popped up to say that they (I'd say she from the LJ handle but one doesn't like to presume) felt they should tell me that they had “laughed so hard at my cluelessness” in this article. She/he also kindly provided me with some links to discussions of the case, which I duly read and from which I was forced to conclude that, in the language of this commenter “cluelessness” means “being broadly correct about everything.”
What I objected to at the time was the fact that Rowling's objections were stupid and irrelevant, and people who have a better understanding of the law seemed to agree. There's a rather good list
here
of the various points people brought up at the trial, conveniently broken down into “stuff that is legally relavent” and “stuff that isn't”. You might notice that high up on the list of things that aren't relevant is “how lazy, sloppy or inaccurate JKR considers the Lexicon to be”.
Now this is mostly water under the bridge, the verdict is in – although it's possible there's appeals going on. A lot of people had good reasons to think that the court's rulings were a bit shonky in places (several people with actual law degrees were confused by the fact that the court ruled that the Lexicon wasn't a derivative work) but to be honest I think it all came out right in the wash – some decent analysis
here
sums up the key points pretty well and what it boils down to is “the Lexicon copied too much.”
Ironically, the Lexicon was – as the judge observed – a victim of its own enthusiasm. The basic concept was legitimate but it used too much original language (a good example from one blog is describing the sounds made by the “clankers” - the things that scare away the blind dragon in Deathly Hallows – as “like tiny hammers on anvils”). If Vander Ark had been more willing to mess with the Holy Writ, he'd probably have been absolutely fine.
But mostly, what I want to talk about here is copyright law, because I think it's kinda cool, and I'm kind of on a roll here with articles about stuff I know jack shit about.
Derivative Works
One of the most peculiar things about the Lexicon ruling was that it held that the lexicon was not a derivative work. The basis for this is rather obscure, but it seemed to be that a compilation of information about a work was considered sufficiently transformative that it was not considered a derivative work. This seems reasonable to me, but also seems to conflict with US legal precedent (specifically with
Castle Rock vs Carol Publishing
in which a Seinfeld trivia book was ruled to constitute a derivative work, and therefore to be in violation of copyright).
I suspect that this basically comes down to that old aphorism about laws and sausages. The definition of a derivative work is unclear (and the definition of fair use even more so). The strongest interpretation seems to be that even making reference to copyrighted material makes a work derivative – this seems peculiar to me, unless you're going to argue that “derivative” means “contingent upon the existence of”. This seems to be the logic that held sway in Castle Rock - the court ruled that the “fictional facts” of Seinfeld were protected by copyright. This is a peculiar idea in and of itself and one to which I will return shortly.
Of course the weakest definition of a derivative work – a direct adaptation to another medium – is also unsatisfying. Intuitively, it seems reasonable that fanfiction, for example, be considered derivative (in the legal as well as the literary sense), and certainly few people would dispute the fact that only JK Rowling has the right to produce an eighth Harry Potter book.
Where this becomes problematic is that “derivative work” is actually an extremely powerful term in copyright law. Authors are assumed to have an absolute monopoly on derivative works. This is a big deal – monopolies are generally a bad thing and it's relatively rare for them to be protected by law. Given the stakes, it's entirely predictable that while one court feels that Castle Rock Entertainment has the right to control the production of Seinfeld trivia books, another feels that JK Rowling does not have the general right to control books of information about her fictional world. It's a murky area of law and one with no clear right answers. Most people would – I think – accept that JK Rowling has the right to decide who can make movies out of her books (although Derek Bambauer argues
here
that she shouldn't – at least from an economic perspective) but I suspect most people would also accept that she has no right to decide what people write about her books.
Fictional Facts
One of the strangest aspects of US copyright law I dug up in my recent trawling through the intarwebs was the notion of “fictional facts” - this was a key element in the Castle Rock case, in which it was ruled that authors (or in this case entertainment companies) do retain copyright over matters of fact in their fictional worlds.
I have a policy when it comes to matters of law, which is to assume that if it looks like the law is made of stupid that it's probably covering up something else which is even more made of stupid.
Because on the face of it, the idea of “fictional facts” seems – well it seems pretty made of stupid.
We'll leave aside for now the fact that it's an oxymoron of the highest order, and focus on the weird implications. If I'm understanding the precedent correctly, the statement “Harry Potter is a Wizard” (or for that matter “Dumbledore is Gay”) is protected by copyright, due to its being a “fictional fact” created by JK Rowling. Now most uses of that statement will wind up being protected under fair use but it still seems to be based on the principle that authors (at least in theory) have the right to control information about the contents of their books, which seems perverse.
I don't want to go too far into slippery slope arguments here, but it does strike me that treating “facts” as copyrightable puts spoilers in a difficult legal position. I don't actually think that anybody will ever get sued for spoilering, or that any court in the land would uphold an anti-spoilering case on copyright grounds, but by a strict application of logic, spoilering looks a lot like it breaches copyright. A spoiler consists of the repetition of a fictional fact (which is copyrightable material), the act of spoilering cannot be said to have transformative value (indeed many argue that spoilers detract from the value of the original work), and a case can be made that spoilers directly compete with the author's original product (insofar as a person could, quite reasonably, decide not to read a book or see a film as a result of having been spoilered for it). A sign bearing the legend “Snape Kills Dumbledore” is, in essence, a derivative work which – since it consists only of copyrighted material repeated without commentary – may not be protected by fair use.
Again I should clarify that I don't necessarily think this is a problem. In America at least, a Snape-Kills-Dumbledore sign would be protected by freedom of expression, and the constitution trumps copyright last time I checked, but it does highlight some of the weirder implications of this idea of “fictional facts”. I also suspect that the distinction between a “fictional fact” and a – for want of a better term - “factual fact” is a narrow one. Part of the reason that the Castle Rock ruling went against the defendants seemed to be that their Trivia book had focused exclusively on episode content and not on questions about (for example) the cast or sets – such questions would clearly have been matters of factual fact and not protected by copyright. So perhaps what it boils down to is that while “Dumbledore is Gay” is a fictional fact protected by copyright, “JK Rowling declared in interview that Dumbledore was gay” is a factual fact and therefore fair game. This seems like a silly distinction, but it probably matters rather a lot.
For a start, people will in fact pay for fictional facts. One of the biggest points against the Lexicon back in 2008 was the fact that it had reproduced a lot of information from Quidditch Through the Ages and – that one about magical beasts the name of which I can't be bothered to look up – both of which were sold primarily as books of fictional information. The fact is that people do like to know More Stuff about fictional realities, and they will pony up real cash to find out More Stuff. The Harry Potter Lexicon does tell the reader a lot of Stuff about the Wizarding World, and much as I hate to admit it, some people really do read novels purely or primarily to acquire facts about a secondary reality (I think these people are culturally moribund, but they seem to exist) so from a certain point of view it does make sense to see the “fictional facts” of the Potterverse as having value and requiring protection.
On top of this, if “fictional facts” are not protected, then it becomes very difficult to see how the law protects authors from things like unauthorised sequels. If “Harry Potter is a Wizard” is not on some level protected by copyright, then it becomes difficult to see why I cannot write a book about a Wizard called Harry Potter with as much impunity as I could write a book about, say Napoleon Bonaparte or Abraham Lincoln. If we accept the (seemingly common sense) idea that the basic facts of fictional settings should be fair game for use and commentary we tacitly allow people to recreate other people's work from whole cloth. If I have unlimited license to refer to the facts of somebody else's creation, then in practice I have unlimited license to reproduce their work (since after all, any text is just information about the content of that text).
All of this leads to a rather difficult situation. Copyrighting facts seems dangerously close to copyrighting ideas (which would be a terrible, terrible precedent), but not copyrighting facts seems dangerously close to not copyrighting anything.
Who is Copyright For Anyway
Copyright is one of those areas of law that everybody thinks they understand but in fact nobody does. Intuitively we all get it. You create something, it's yours and you get to control it. A lot of people take this as a kind of moral axiom: these are the people who literally believe that JKR has the right to call the shots in all things Potter related, be it the production of reference guides, Dumbledore's sexuality, or whether or not Snape was redeemed. This is the “it's her world, we're just playing in it” doctrine.
The thing is that this is a naïve approach to the law. We can't just say “playing with other people's toys is naughty, so ban it”. Copyright exists for quite important economic reasons and, contrary to popular belief, those reasons have comparatively little to do with stopping people from bootlegging stuff.
Copyright is generally considered necessary because in a perfectly competitive marketplace, the price of any good tends towards its marginal cost of production, the price of creating one more unit. As long as you can sell a unit of a good for more than you spent to make it, you should and somebody will. This works great for bananas, coffee tables, bricks and door handles, but it doesn't work so great for books, music and video games. The marginal cost of producing a copy of a book is very small indeed (and the marginal cost of producing a copy of an ebook is effectively zero). If authors were not allowed a monopoly over their work, they wouldn't be able to sell it, because any price they could sell it for, somebody else could sell it cheaper.
Just to be clear here, this very much isn't about piracy. Piracy is a crime (well actually it's probably a tort, but let's not split hairs here) and crimes, sort of by definition aren't prevented by the law. Copyright doesn't stop people illegally reproducing copyrighted material because, well duh. FACT and its associated bodies would have you believe that Copyright Is Good because it Protects Authors from Bad People. This is stuff and nonsense. Copyright is good because it protects publishers from other, better funded publishers.
Consider: you are Bloomsbury, on the verge of bankruptcy you discover a promising children's author by the name of Rowling. These books get inexplicably popular. You celebrate.
Consider: You are every other publishing company in the world. You notice that Ms Rowling's books are getting extremely popular, you also notice that Bloomsbury, having paid the author an advance, paid the salaries of editors and proofreaders, hired cover artists and so on, has incurred a great many costs which you can avoid, simply by taking their product and reproducing it (using the resources which, as a large and established publishing company, you most certainly possess). The resulting competition drives down prices, which is fine for you but not so great for the company that has paid the substantial setup costs. Every other publisher in the world makes a tidy profit, Bloomsbury goes bust.
Worse, nobody wants to pick up the option on the next book in the series, because everybody knows that their competitors can sell flawless copies of the book more cheaply than they themselves can afford to sell them. Even if JK Rowling wanted to sell her next book, nobody would buy it, because everybody would know that whoever published first would incur large costs for little reward (this is true even given the substantial first-day sales for popular books, many ordinary customers would rather wait a couple of weeks and pay half the price).
Conventional publishing and distribution models are founded on the notion of copyright. The problem is not, as many assume, that people wouldn't write books if they weren't sure they'd make a lot of money from it. Thousands, probably millions of people are working on novels right now with no guarantee of financial reward. Thousands of people put their work online for free as a matter of course, and an awful lot of people actually pay vanity publishers for the pleasure of seeing their work in print. Copyright isn't there to reassure authors that they'll be paid, it's there to reassure publishers that they'll recoup their losses.
Now of course you can argue that the conventional distribution model for novels and the like is inherently broken because, well take your pick, information should be free, corporations shouldn't tell us what to like, whatever. Speaking personally, though, I actually have a lot of faith in the conventional models of publishing, at least for the mass market. Indie and self-publishing is great for niche materials (the indie-RPG industry, for example, works well because it services a small community and everything it puts out is effectively peer reviewed by the community it serves) but not so great for novels and the like. Anecdotal evidence
here at Ferretbrain
supports the observation that self-published books really are less good than those that are published conventionally.
The public interest is generally served by allowing authors, and by extension publishers, to control distribution of their work. This means that the commercial interests of publishing companies are served by seeking out high quality authors (allowing them exclusive control of a valuable resource) rather than by seeking out more efficient means of distribution (allowing them to better exploit the resources developed by others). It is not so easy to see how the public interest is served by allowing authors to control derivative works, particularly if the term is defined so broadly as to include things like reference guides. Put simply, I do not believe that one single person has ever been dissuaded from writing a novel by the fear that somebody might write a reference guide to it at some point in the future. Nor do I believe that any publisher has ever refused to publish a book on such grounds.
From this perspective, derivative works rights are a lot harder to justify. While it feels intuitively right that you shouldn't be able to make Harry Potter tie-in material without JKR's say-so, it's not immediately clear why: sure it might make her upset, but “it will upset people” is generally not a good reason for legislation. A hard economic argument would say that if there is a market for something, and the production of that thing will not be generally detrimental to the public good, then people should be allowed to make that thing. Ultimately, shouldn't it be up to the Invisible Hand to decide whether – say – a fan-made guide to a fictional setting is worth producing? This might lead to a market inundated with trashy cash-ins, but if there's a market for trashy cash-ins then those cash-ins have real economic value. Of course they might harm the value of the individual property but to my (admittedly limited) understanding, that becomes a trademark rather than a copyright issue (I can't go around putting the coca-cola logo on things, but that isn't because it's copyright, it's because it's a trademark which is a subtly different thing).
This article doesn't really have a conclusion beyond “good lord copyright law is complicated and unintuitive”. I shall end, therefore, by sharing the irrelevant tidbit that “uncopyrightables” is the longest word in the English language which uses all of its letters exactly once.Themes:
J.K. Rowling
,
Topical
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Arthur B
at 15:40 on 2011-03-15
One of the strangest aspects of US copyright law I dug up in my recent trawling through the intarwebs was the notion of “fictional facts” - this was a key element in the Castle Rock case, in which it was ruled that authors (or in this case entertainment companies) do retain copyright over matters of fact in their fictional worlds.
This is indeed an oddity, and to be honest I think it's something that could happily have been avoided. UK law has evaded this by and large by looking at the work done by the producer of a copyright work, and considering how much the person producing the allegedly infringing work is freeloading off that.* In the case of someone writing a book, the effort involved entails
does
entail cooking up a bunch of fictional facts if you're writing fiction or researching a bunch of actual facts if you're writing nonfiction, but the key isn't whether you've replicated the same facts so much as whether you're using someone else's brainstorming or research to make your own job easier.
Two cases which help illustrate the point are Ravenscroft v Herbert and the Da Vinci Code case. In Ravenscroft v Herbert, James Herbert lost because
The Spear
was found to have infringed the copyright on a pseudoscientific book of kook history by Trevor Ravenscroft about the Spear of Longinus, because he took the narrative presented by Ravenscroft in the book and used it as the basis for the background and prologue of his novel. How Ravenscroft came up with his facts (a mixture of conjecture and psychic mediumship, as it turned out) wasn't relevant: the fact was that Ravenscroft had put in all this effort to put together this narrative which he put forward as being nonfictional, and then Herbert had simply taken that narrative and copied it wholesale without attribution or permission to get the basis for his novel.
In the Da Vinci Code case, on the other hand, the guys who wrote
The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail
sued Dan Brown on a similar basis and lost because they didn't show that Brown was freeloading off their work - the court deciced that he wasn't simply taking their narrative and replicating it in the book, but was using those facts and combined them with others (from other sources and of his own invention) to come up with his own work.
The point is that the "fictional facts" - or nonfictional facts - aren't the issue, the issue at stake is the effort that authors put into obtaining/inventing those facts and stringing them together. The Castle Rock guys would have probably lost in the UK too because all they did to make their trivia book was to pick answers out of the scripts and they didn't really put in much in the way of original effort of their own. Rowling can't sue you for making a sign saying "Snape Kills Dumbledore" because the amount of effort it actually took her to come up with that fact is trivial. A sign with extensive quotes from the actual death scene? Now you're talking.**
* This is also relevant to derivative works. If Vander Ark was writing all the text in all the entries in the Lexicon from scratch then it would have been extremely unlikely that Rowling would have been able to make anything stick if she'd sued in the UK. If he directly copy-pasted great swathes of her text, he'd be obviously trying to make a quick buck when she in fact had put in almost all of the work in producing the text in the first place. Obviously there's a big grey area between those extremes, which is why these cases are decided by judges and not machines, but one of the considerations would be how heavily Vander Ark relied on the effort Rowling originally put in. If he wasn't very, very clear about where he was quoting from the original text and where he was making up his own stuff that'd probably also count against him.
** It's actually interesting whether you'd fall down on copyright if you wrote a book about a wizard who happened to be called Harry Potter but who didn't actually have that much in common with the actual Harry aside from the name. Also academic, since Rowling would have a much easier time suing you for "passing off" - because you wouldn't be freeriding on the effort she'd put into establishing her characters and setting so much as you'd be trying to freeride on the reputation she had established surrounding the Harry Potter name.
the constitution trumps copyright last time I checked
Actually, it doesn't.
The Constitution in article 1, section 8 empowers Congress to, amongst a whole lot of other things, "promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries". Granted, the First Amendment guarantees freedom of speech and of the press too, but both copyright and free speech are conceptually enshrined in the Constitution; neither can necessarily trump the other. (Also the "limited Times" bit is getting increasingly laughable...)
Copyright is one of those areas of law that everybody thinks they understand but in fact nobody does.
In my professional experience the better someone understands the copyright system, the more embarrassed they are by it. At the moment it is a complete shambles.
Also, bravo for coming up with the best explanation of copyright I've ever seen from a non-IP professional. I'll have to kill you to protect the Guild's aura of mystery but I'll keep it painless. :)
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http://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/
at 23:41 on 2011-03-15
While it feels intuitively right that you shouldn't be able to make Harry Potter tie-in material without JKR's say-so, it's not immediately clear why
Maybe this is a case where it's more similar to a trademark: too many fictional works set in the Potterverse by people other than Rowling could constitute "brand dilution" or however they explain that. Although I'm trying to remember how it works for fictional characters/locations - you can have a cartoon mouse, but you can't make your own Mickey Mouse movie even if you give him entirely different adventures from his Disney* original, because the totality of the character is copyrighted. Or possibly trademarked. I'm not sure which. *really should remember this since I know I learned it*
*Speaking of the limited times bit "getting increasingly laughable..." Disney really, really doesn't want any of their copyrights to expire. And what a coincidence - copyright duration keeps getting extended, and Mickey is still private domain! This makes it even funnier that someone has made an educational film about copyright and fair use entirely composed of Disney clips:
A Fair(y) Use Tale
.
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Dan H
at 18:21 on 2011-03-16@Arthur
Actually, it doesn't.
And the ironic thing is, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. I think it's just that "the constitution trumps copyright" sounded punchier than "the American judicial system is generally pretty strongly invested in the idea of free speech, such that it seems unlikely that they would uphold the precedent that spoilering constitutes a breach of copyright, even though it might be argued to under current legal precedents."
@sunnyskywalker
*Speaking of the limited times bit "getting increasingly laughable..." Disney really, really doesn't want any of their copyrights to expire.
Yeah, so I've observed. It's difficult because I can sort of see that even really old copyrights do definitely have a *value* for Disney - the question is whether it's in the public interest for Disney to retain those copyrights.
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Arthur B
at 18:38 on 2011-03-16
And the ironic thing is, I'm pretty sure I actually knew that. I think it's just that "the constitution trumps copyright" sounded punchier than "the American judicial system is generally pretty strongly invested in the idea of free speech, such that it seems unlikely that they would uphold the precedent that spoilering constitutes a breach of copyright, even though it might be argued to under current legal precedents."
To be fair it is kind of an oddity because the First Amendment says that Congress absolutely isn't allowed to curtail freedom of the press, but then the powers it does invest Congress with to give authors copyright protection can't exactly be exercised or enforced without curtailing freedom of the press. It's almost like the Founding Fathers were fallible human beings who were kind of making it up as they were going along or something.
There is probably precedent law I'm not aware of which settles the contradiction.
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Dan H
at 23:09 on 2011-03-16Presumably a big part of it is that "freedom of the press" is quite hard to define. I mean you could argue that requiring journalists to have any kind of ethical standards at all goes against freedom of the press.
I suppose the thing about it is that "freedom of the press" is all about the government not being able to stop particular stories or ideas from being published, there's a big difference between that, and trying to stop them from being published by *specific people*. I mean it's not censorship for the law to prevent newspapers from publishing articles which have been copied directly from other newspapers.
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http://sunnyskywalker.livejournal.com/
at 17:54 on 2011-03-17I guess that goes back to the debate over whether stopping people from shouting "fire!" in a crowded theater is not really restricting freedom of speech in some technical sense, or whether it is but it's an okay kind of restriction. If one newspaper copies another's articles verbatim, then stopping them doesn't actually kill the articles - they're still out there in the original publication. And sense it wasn't the copier's speech in the first place, their speech isn't being restricted. Or something.
One of the complicating factors with Disney is the person vs. corporation issue. It's much easier to see how an author benefits from a copyright which lasts for a certain percentage of his or her lifetime (or, if it's "life plus x years," the family can pay funeral costs, I suppose). Since individuals have limited lifespans, it's easier to grasp what might be a reasonable limit for copyright. It's a lot less clear when the copyright holder is a corporation which could exist indefinitely, other than "well, it would be better for the public for it to expire... sometime..." Although if they're legally supposed to be treated much like people, then they'll just have to suck up losing their copyright after 120 years max.
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Robinson L
at 15:15 on 2011-06-01
Speaking personally, though, I actually have a lot of faith in the conventional models of publishing, at least for the mass market.
Fair enough Dan, but I don't think much of your reasoning, as evidenced by this article.
Anecdotal evidence here at Ferretbrain supports the observation that self-published books really are less good than those that are published conventionally.
For the purposes of argument, I'll agree self-publishing tends to foster terrible writing a lot more than professional publishing. On the other hand, we've had plenty of evidence here at Ferretbrain that professional publishing also tends to foster terrible writing (check the first theme handle on this article). Professional publishing is less prone to it, but surely we can do better than this.
I'll go one step further. In response to one negative review of “Deathly Hallows” (I think it might've been Mike Smith's recap) somebody posted a link to a guy relating a conversation about editing. Basically, Party A argued that Stephen King's writing has gone to shit in recent years (anecdotal evidence
here at Ferretbrain
supports this observation) and that a good editor could make it much better. Party B rejoins that a good editor isn't going to touch a big name author because they'll rake in the cash anyway, and an editor's meddling might make the author sell less (or might coincide with the author's loss of popularity), or might piss the author off and convince them to take their business elsewhere. So now we have an example of a situation where the professional publishing system as it stands now actively blocks improvement rather than just enabling mediocrity.
Self-publishing obviously is not an improvement, but surely there's another possible system which could do better?
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Dan H
at 15:59 on 2011-06-01
On the other hand, we've had plenty of evidence here at Ferretbrain that professional publishing also tends to foster terrible writing (check the first theme handle on this article). Professional publishing is less prone to it, but surely we can do better than this.
Except that there's actually a world of difference between bad professionally published literature, and bad self-published fiction. Very little professionally published fiction is *actually incompetent* in the way that self-published fiction so often is. J.K. Rowling actually *isn't* that bad a writer - she's written a great many books that I personally dislike, and her writing is often pedestrian, frequenly overwrought and on very rare occasions actively clunky, but it is still genuinely head and shoulders above the vast, vast majority of amateur fiction.
The fact that somebody once said that Steven King had gone downhill and that somebody else suggested that this was because he'd got too big to edit is not evidence of any flaws in the publishing industry.
Once again, I'm very, very leery of any argument which assumes that popular things are only popular because the people who buy them are stupid sheeple. The publishing industry is not broken just because things I don't like are sometimes more popular than things I do like.
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Arthur B
at 16:10 on 2011-06-01@Robinson: If you think another system would work better would you care to propose one? I'd argue that the number of authors who, like King and Rowling, could pretty much dictate terms to their publishers are in fact quite small. And the reason they got that way in the first place was that they gave the reading public what they wanted.
The problem isn't instituting a system which prevents crap books from being published, because you can't, not in a way which isn't totalitarian. The problem, as a reader, is in tracking down books which you personal would enjoy and want to read. The world of professional publication is actually quite good at helping you do that, because publishing houses want to target the books they publish at those sections of the public who'll pay money for them, and even if your particular niche isn't catered to by the major publishing houses there will be niche small press publishers who are more than happy to crank out the sort of book you want. And on top of that, the more widely distributed a book is, the more likely it is that you'll have reviews to use as a guide.
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Robinson L
at 00:00 on 2011-06-02Okay Dan,
that
strikes me as a more compelling argument. I'm not really interested in arguing the the merits of the current publishing industry versus a hypothetical alternative model – I just found your argument as presented in the article rather unconvincing. Thank you for clarifying.
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crawldepth-blog · 5 years
Text
Fisticuffs
You walk into a convenience store. Maybe you grabbed a six-pack or some noms to tide you over till dinner, or maybe you popped in to get some cash from the ATM and you succumbed to marketing fuckery and just HAD to grab those Altoids or a bag of Doritos.
Whatever the case, there you are in line, waiting to pay. Something happens. Maybe you see someone you know, and that person is an asshole. An asshole at the very least; perhaps a stone cold enemy at the other extreme. Considering enemies, it could be a rival gang banger, a bully who fucks with you at school, somebody of another skin color for whom you have a hidden epithet, or even someone you just don’t like and you’re at a mental boiling point to do something about it.
The recipient of your ire is unimportant. What triggers you to escalate your ire to violence is.
Something else happens. Seeing your rival triggers a physical response. Your blood pressure rises. Your heart rate increases. You feel a flush across your face and your chest. In your mind, you’re not inciting anything when you call him or a bitch or shove them or even just pepper them with the stinkeye. However it is you choose to respond to the stimulus, let’s say that your response engenders another response from your target. And the next thing you know, you’re chest-to-chest slinging insults, tightening fists, pointing fingers, and about to serve up a beat-down.
You feel every pore in your body individually light up, tingling and hyper-aware. That’s the adrenalin kicking in, revving up your sadly devolved limbic system with thousands of years of Neanderthal genes that singularly serve to get you ready to kill. The epithets you throw could be nothing more than a bulwark against this genetic disposition to attack, psychological warfare designed to show force and peacock for the audience while also delivering custom-made lyrical barbs to your adversary’s psyche.
However it happens, a punch gets thrown or hands push a body off-kilter. More fists deploy. Sweat pours. You scuffle. The Doritos fall forgotten to the floor as your rage consumes you. Blood trickles, gushes, pours. Fight.
Your descent (ascent?) into violence may tap an ages-old genetic disposition to protect your tribe or to kill your food or even to slay your rival. Those environmental norms have changed a tad in the last couple-few thousand years. You evolved into Today’s Human, streamlined for GrubHub-enabled sustenance acquistion and 911 calls to the police reporting black people in your Starbucks. Generally speaking these days, our predisposition toward violence has more to do with a political will to improve oneself than actual defense and hunting. (Sean Hannity may say otherwise, but that guy can cock-gobble himself into oblivion. Seriously, go watch the John Oliver segment on how much that guy loves to “train for a fight” in case he is “accosted.” For fuck’s sake.) Your friends take up Brazilian jiu-jitsu and krav magra to hone their minds or improve their fitness, right? Hell, even the time-honored process of “jumping in” new members to a gang - where newbies get beaten by their brethren - aims to ensure they know what it’s like to have one’s ass kicked so that it baselines a certain level of violence competence, whether it’s intended for deployment or not.
So what propels you toward violence in this seeming safe and secure civilization where we have so many options for its safe release? In that context, why are there seemingly so many outbreaks of violence these days? More to the point, why are we still so surprised by it?
Let’s think about your threshold for doing harm. “Normals” will only fight if they have to. Their threshold for violence is high. Someone literally has to punch them in the face to convince them to put up their dukes. Many will not even leap to the defense of a loved one or ally in many situations, so pussified has normalcy become. These are your “beta cucks” that alt-right, pro-toxic masculinity voices decry as contributing to the downfall of modern man. Many of these same edge-of-violent individuals have to participate in a group with others of their own ilk before they will employ violence. The Proud Boys behave this way often: getting into fights as a group against a smaller number of adversaries. Often as a group against just one adversary. Seems like pussified behavior to me, but the threshold for these folks is only a little lower than the normals. They have to physically be part of a violent group before launching a kick or a punch of their own. In-group violence. Distributed faggotry.
In another corner of the continuum, think about the threshold for you and your enemy in the convenience store. Let’s say you’re hyper-aware of others that seek to do you harm in some way, not even physically but perhaps mentally or psychologically. Public disrespect from a rival weakens your reputation in some  communities, and by not responding to the disrespect in an overmatched way, your reputation could be permanently ground into irreparable paste in a community in which trust amongst your peers is how you survive. Think about that community as any cliche of urban living on The Street, maybe where that convenience store is the same bullet-riddled shithole where drugs get sold, bangers beat on their girls, and robberies invariably take place. In that community, your threshold for violence is much lower. A disrespectful word could set off the adrenalin kick for attack or at least prompt a heightened, outrageous response to “state prime.” Even the appearance of an out-group, nonconforming individual could incite you toward a wild response of this type. People have been known to attack police merely for being police, for wearing the badge. Of course, where turnabout’s fair play, police have been known to kill civilians for the mere heuristic of being African Amercian.
Malcolm Gladwell has written about how the thresholds for acceptable behavior increase the more that behavior is normed. In other words, the more you see a school shooting happen, the more you come to accept that that behavior is normal, and the more normal it is, the more likely you are to adopt the behavior (given certain triggers, of course). That theory of thresholds totally works. It explains why more people commit violence-based crimes.
It may also explain why we as a society seem to be arcing toward the normalization of violent conflict. Punching a motherfucker in the face may seem like the hoi polloi’s way to respond to bullshittery, but consider other thresholds for behaviors on the same end of the violence spectrum: psychological torture, name-calling, falsified news, intentional misrepresentation, hate speech, casual racism, gender exclusion, discrimination, gerrymandering, you name it. There are more ways to attack someone than punching them despite how awesome the power of bruising someone’s ugly mug feels. How much depravity must you accept to constantly belittle someone? How much more socially turgid, or even sociopathic is it to employ power over a person or a group of people through a disparaging lexicon? If you don’t understand or even believe in that level of power, then I invite you to call the next African American you meet a nigger and see how that works out for you.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., one of the most widely-cited United States Supreme Court Justices (serving from 1902-1932), once wrote, “A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” Excepting the positive notions of expanding the human mind, consider Holmes’ quote as an admonition: experience, perhaps in quantity, changes people. In the context of our little discussion about violence here, perhaps for the worse. Aggregate exprience over time creates new norms or normalizes certain behaviors, even and perhaps especially radical ones. So if the experience of violence gets normed in all its myriad forms - from fisticuffs to shootings to gaslighting to propaganda to hate speech and all ‘round the common ether - then how should we feel about that? Should we be horrified by the march of evolution, the continued genetic perforation of expectation as we discover new ways to violate our rivals? Should we become numb to it, to accept infinitely decreasing thresholds as the the propensity to visit violence on others increases? Should we rail against the march of normalization, to invoke the superhero ethic that there is always a better way? Should we dive into it wholeheartedly, not just accepting the new norms but engaging in it ourselves to understand the appeal?
“Self-improvement is masturbation,” said Tyler Durden. “Now, self-destruction...”
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dontcallmesensei · 7 years
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The Truth About Learning Japanese
(I’m going to start with a random side note: If I ever get a book deal to write Japanese primer, I’m going to call it I Eat Cake Everyday: A Complete Guide to Japanese with Stupid Sentences.)
It’s been a while since we’ve just talked, so I wanted to just take a moment to do that.
I think every Japanese platform at one point write an article about “the deep truth” of learning Japanese, claiming to give you the golden key that you need to become fluent in only 6 months or 1 year or whatever. 
The argument for those kinds of posts isn’t hard to understand: People are fundamentally similar. If people are fundamentally similar, it is very likely that works for me will will work for you. Thus, if this works for me, it will work for you. This does work for me. Therefore, it will work for you (most likely.)
This is why all articles start with something like, “I guarantee you that I’m no genius. [Insert daily task that the writer struggles with on a daily basis.] I’m just a regular person that tried out a few things until I found a winning formula.”
I, personally, want to do my own take on this kind of article. I won’t offer a golden key, but I’ll talk about learning Japanese.
1. Japanese is Coded in the Most Inefficient Writing System in the World
Kanji, the logographs that are the bane of all Japanese-learner’s existence, comes from China. Kanji itself, 漢字, means “Chinese characters.” Kanji were invented to suit the needs of the Chinese language (from way back when, before Mandarin/Standard Chinese was a thing.) Japanese, on the other hand, is a language isolate, and it is not related to Chinese. So the use of these Chinese characters has over time been used in different ways for different words and with different readings- for Kanji tend to have multiple readings, sometimes being just 2 and at other times 8. 
In Eastern Asia, the use of Chinese characters was widespread. It was used in Korea, in Vietnam, in Japan, to some varying extent in Malaysia, and the territories these nations conquered.
Korea developed an ingenious writing system called Hangeul, which now has all but totally substituted Chinese characters. Vietnam adopted the Roman alphabet with many diacritics. Japanese, well, Japanese developed two writing systems based on morae. These two writing systems could be used to write out the entirety of Japanese. Kanji is not really necessary. Further, there is no evidence to suggest that there are so many homophones such that even with context one could not make head or tails out of what was being said. 
So, Japanese does have a potential unique writing system that is easy to learn (it’s easier than Hangeul in my opinion), but it does not use it exclusively because of cultural reasons. Kanji is just hardwired into the culture.
But here’s where my personal opinion and advice come in: If you have to choose between loving Kanji and hating it, hate it. Don’t romanticize it. Don’t go “above and beyond” what you have to know because of your love for Kanji. Just learn what you have to learn, and leave it at that.
“How many Kanji must someone learn?” The official common use Kanji list (the Jōyō Kanji) lists 2,136 Kanji. How many readings are among these Kanji? Somewhere around 3,869. There are also some variations on Kanji that one should keep in mind and some Kanji that one sees only in names, so add around 400 Kanji to the official list and about 400 new readings.
“How many Kanji must I learn for my first year of Japanese?” All of them. That’s my honest advice. Don’t aim to learn only a few Kanji. If you’re going to learn Kanji, learn them all. Think in that mindset. As soon as you decide you want to learn Japanese, work on Kanji. Before you enter a classroom and learn your first few greetings and whatnot, make sure you know all the common use Kanji, or at least that you’re well on your way to knowing all the Kanji.
2. Language Learning is an Intensive Process
Learning a language is a process that scientists haven’t quite been able to describe accurately. We do know, nevertheless, that it’s a heck of a lot different from learning chemistry or carpentry or bicycling. 
In the Western world, there is this idea that one can learn a language in a classroom, normally as a subject period, with periods lasting somewhere from 50 to 70 minutes. Here’s the truth: it doesn’t work very well. (There are historic reasons for this way of learning a language, but we can talk about that some other time.) The success rates of language acquisition in classrooms is ridiculously low. This does not mean that language classes are bad: but it means that it just isn’t enough.
There are many reasons why learning a language in and of itself may be hard. It’d take forever to talk about all of them. 
But let’s talk a bit about lexicons. A lexicon, here, refers to the dictionary in your brain where you store the words you know. If you’re monolingual- you have a standard dictionary in your brain with a word and definitions. If you were raised bilingual, then you have one lexicon with two words and definitions. That is to say, if you’re an English-Spanish speaker, then you have “cat” and “gato” in the same space in your brain and you know that what applies to one applies to the other. Then, depending on your fluency and use, you may have two supplementary dictionaries where you store all the information about words that don’t exist in the other language and idioms and expressions and things like that. 
Now, if you’re an English speaker and, say, you want to learn German, part of what you’ll learn to do is to process your English lexicon entries into German. What that means is that you learn to engineer English words into German. “Father” turns into “Vater,” “to drink” turns into “trinken,” “Love” turns into “Liebe,” etc. So the words that have no relation with English (the non-cognates), turn into a supplementary lexicon and everything else is put through a mental processor. 
Because the brain can do this is the reason why many people in Europe can speak many languages. The fact that someone can speak Spanish, Portuguese, Catalan, Italian, and French is not terribly impressive. The overlap in words (and in grammar) is so immense that what you’re doing is processing one language into another and you’re guaranteed an astonishing success rate.
Japanese, however, is different because it’s a language isolate. You can’t process one language into another. You have to learn words one by one. That takes time. It takes repetition. Memorization is as much an active process as it is a subconscious process. When people talk about the benefits of “immersion,” what they’re talking about most of the time is putting your brain into survival mode, i.e. either you learn all these words (and grammar stuff) or else you will not be able to survive and thus you will die. That is one way of doing it, and if you do not choose this path you have to commit some serious time to this. I believe that if one knows around 5,000 of the most frequently used words in any given language, one is guaranteed to know at least 95% of all the words one will hear/read in a day (given that one doesn’t go read a super technical manual on how to calibrate a nuclear reactor or something like that.) So, the question becomes how will you memorize 5,000 words? How long will that take? If one learns 10 a day, then it’s 500 days, and if one learns 50 a day, it’s 100 days. 
The tradeoff when it comes to speed is that the faster you learn something, the faster you forget. (When you relearn something, it should be faster nevertheless.) So how much time will you commit to learning a language? How will you follow that up? These are important questions.
3. Japanese Media is Considerably Insular
Japan isn’t like the United States. The United States wants every nation to know what music it likes, what fashion it wears, what it believes ideologically and socially, etc. The U.S. is everywhere.
South Korea, recently, is everywhere. K-Pop, K-Dramas, K-SNL, K-Beauty. If you want to know what Korea is up to, it’s pretty easy to find out. They want you know! 
Japan... eh. Japan is pretty good at making anime available globally. People know about Dragon Ball and Sailor Moon and the Mighty Atom and all that. When it comes to dramas and movies and tv shows, they’re not quite interested in that. Ages ago I wrote a post on the misconception of “Whacky Japanese Game Shows,” where I basically explained that most of those shows aren’t game shows but segments on variety shows, the only person in my mind having totally insane game shows being Beat Takeshi.
Okay, fine, what does this mean? This means two important things. First, one’s expose to the language outside of going to Japan or talking to Japanese people will be based highly on anime, which is fine but there are other styles of expressing oneself. One needs a bit of variety. If one goes the information/news route, then one is exposing oneself to something very formal and literary, but dull. Second, it means that when people teach Japanese, they’re going to assume that one wants to speak Japanese for business purposes. This sounds strange to say, but let me put it like this: Japanese is an important part of the world economy and STEM and anime, on the other hand, is not a sufficiently large part of Japanese culture so that the Japanese can figure you want to learn Japanese for that sole purpose. If you want to speak Japanese, then it must be for business purposes (and we’ll consider academics to be within business.) So you learn Japanese through the perspective of honorific and respectful language. This isn’t a bad thing either, but the desire to make you sound nice will often lead to lies about how Japanese actually works at a grammatical level.
(On the other hand, in South Korea the K-Pop/K-Drama boom is such a big deal that people around the world start learning Korean in hopes of auditioning for the big production companies in hopes of becoming actors, singers, dancers, and hosts.)
So here’s my advice: Once you have your feet wet with Japanese, once you know your Kanji and you know how to analyze a sentence (even if the lexicon isn’t all there yet), look at something that isn’t anime. I recommend movies, a lot of which are quite nice. Okuribito (Departures) was a great movie. An (Red Bean Paste) is a more recent film that was wonderful. Look up some movies. Sit down, and watch them. Watch it with subtitles, so you know what the movie’s about. But watch it a second time and a third time without subtitles. Try to see if you can make out a few sentences, read a few signs that appear in the background, take note of expressions or words you keep hearing. No, you won’t be able to understand the whole film all of a sudden, but it’s something new and something good and the more Japanese you learn, the more you will be able to return to the film and make out. Eventually, you will be able to listen to a sentence, pause the film, and look up the words you don’t know.
4. Learning Japanese Doesn’t Happen with One Method Alone
This is rather obvious, but it’s worth finishing this off with. There is an abundance of book series, CDs, cassettes, and even online resources (our own included.)
A language is greater than any method, than any curriculum, than any teacher. No one source has all the answers. One has to be encouraged from day one to look at many resources.
A library is a language learner’s best friend. Why? Because books can be expensive, and you will probably not need all the resources you dabble into for a long time. So, when you begin learning Japanese, look at the entire Japanese section, order a few famous books through InterLibrary Loan, if you have access to that, and sit down and just read the books, as if they were novels. Don’t memorize a thing. Don’t do the exercises. Just figure out their style, their aims, their perspective. Do read the footnotes! The more footnotes a book has, the more useful it tends to be in the long run. Information that isn’t relevant in Lesson 1 may be absolutely vital in Lesson 10. 
Check out some old books if you can. The way people learn a language today is not the same way they learned it 50 or 100 years ago. The most useful Italian grammar book I ever read was written in the 1800′s. Japanese books published before World War II may have some slightly outdated things, such as the /we/ and /wi/ morae, but they will be good for most of everything else. I’m personally dying to get library privileges again somewhere to be able to look into these, so if I find some good book titles I’ll let you know.
Because a lot of language instruction was, until recently, modeled after the way Greek and Latin was taught, reading some of our own material gets you familiar with the lingo, should you heed my advice. So people like to talk about cases and declensions and conjugations and moods and all that. The works of William George Aston are some of the most important books on Japanese historically. So, if you can find originals of those, please do read them.
So yeah, food for thought
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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years
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I Made a Dating App FAQ for Your Parents (You’re Welcome)
http://fashion-trendin.com/i-made-a-dating-app-faq-for-your-parents-youre-welcome/
I Made a Dating App FAQ for Your Parents (You’re Welcome)
In partnership with Badoo
The next time our parents ask us annoying questions about our dating lives — especially when they involve the ever-elusive context of apps and the scary online, we’d do well to remember we asked an awful lot of questions as toddlers. (“Why is the sky blue,” for example. “How are babies made?”) Sure, parents can have a knack for asking questions with answers so obvious our knee-jerk reaction is to nap instead, but technically, after our “Why” years, we kind of owe them answers.
To avoid frustration and repay our parents the insights they deserve, Man Repeller teamed up with Badoo (an online dating service with over 365 million registered members and a name that’s sure to add yet another item to the list of things that confuse mom, dad and grandma) to make an FAQ to forward to your beloved childhood caretakers. Whenever you cannot handle another question without tearing your face off your face, refer them to this guide.
Bold = parental figure Below it = a very calm you
“I always hear people say ‘swipe right.’ What does that mean?”
In the world of online dating with apps, “swiping left” means you’re saying “no thanks” to a potential date. Whereas “swiping right” means you’re saying anything from, “Meh, why not — clearly my dance card isn’t full,” to, “Weird, I think I know this person — I wonder what they think about me,” to, “Yes, please!” The term itself has become part of our lexicon: To “swipe right” on someone IRL (in real life) means you like them, or think they’re attractive.
“How do you know the person isn’t a creep?”
Well, you do your research. All you need are two facts, a search bar, a drink in hand and a mission. But, Badoo asks users to verify themselves through a Facebook profile or a phone number, so it’s harder to catfish potential suitors.
“What’s a catfish?”
When someone takes on an entirely different identity online. If you’ve been chatting with one another for a while, and he or she won’t meet in person or do a video chat date, that’s usually a sign something fishy’s going on. Also, I’ve heard the WiFi’s terrible underwater so that could also be part of the problem. (<-That one’s for you, dad jokers.)
“What if people see you on Badoo or other apps? What if you see someone you know!?”
Well, actually, this is a good thing: you can “vet” people by asking your friends in common all about them. It also provides a great jumping off point if you need some conversation fodder. You probably will see someone you know, so you prepare yourself. And you pretend you didn’t just see your finance class’s assistant professor.
“Okay, so you find someone you like. Then what?”
Then you talk! You start the conversation just as though you were chatting at a bar. Pick-up lines help. “How was your weekend?” is safe, and for the risk-taker who doesn’t mind a little controversy: “Do you prefer to be big spoon or little spoon?”
“Can they see you through the phone???”
Dad, no.
“Don’t people talk about sex on those things!?”
Er, some. Don’t say “sex.”
“Aren’t you scared to meet them?”
No more scared than any other potentially disastrous first date. You tell your group chat the time, place and location just in case — especially if you need an early out.
(Plus, chatting on Badoo gives you a lot of opportunity to vet them properly before you jump in.)
“Can I see your profile?”
Mom, no.
“Do you ever do this together with your girlfriends for fun just to see what (or who) is out there?”
It’s always more fun to swipe in large groups, and it’s most fun when you let those who are not single use the app on your behalf because they take it as a serious, vicarious experience.
“Who does the asking out?”
It depends. It’s democratic, doesn’t really matter, and usually ends up being whoever gets sick of small talk first.
“Sooo have you met anyone off it?”
That’s all the questions we have time for today! Mom, dad, grandma, love ya!
…But if you want to try Badoo for yourself, download it here!
Illustrations by Juliana Vido. 
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djrelentless · 7 years
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“Black Like Me: What It Means To Be African-American To Me”
June 28, 2015 at 6:21am
There's an old saying that I learned a long time ago back in Florida. "I like my racism out in the open." Meaning that in the south (and I know most don't consider Florida the south, but…it is), racists are very clear and you can spot them immediately. Any black person from the south can spot a good ol' boy who hates niggers from ten paces. It's not that obvious or clear once you travel to the north. Racism can be dressed up in kindness and double talk where it can be missed and even forgiven.
Trying to explain this to black people who did not grow up in the south can be very difficult. They often believe they know the experience of Confederate Flag realness, but really have no idea at all. The textbook meaning of racism only skims the surface of how deep the hatred and entitlement runs in their veins. You are taught from the very beginning that you are not as good as a white person. You are made to feel like you are second class and white people will always be in charge and more important (at least this was my experience growing up in the 70s). It seems there's this "academically black" way of thinking about racism and I tend to question it.
So, I recently watched an HBO documentary called "Southern Rites". What was supposed to be a story about a desegregated prom turned into two stories. One about a white man shooting a black boy and the other was about a black man who wanted to be the first black sheriff of his small town. Both stories were controversial. Both had interesting details, but the first story had the most complicated twists.
What would you do if you were disabled and in bed, awakened by a strange noise and the lingering smell of marijuana? You have a gun because you're an older person and you feel like you need protection for you and your teenaged daughter. Then you get up to investigate. You discover that there are two boys in your house. You order them to get dressed and go sit on the couch. Words are exchanged and the boys make a break for the door. You fire one shot (perhaps to scare them). One of the boys lunges towards you. You fire a second shot. The guy is hit. Both male figures make it out of the house. You follow in pursuit and fire more shots but you don't hit either again. The injured one falls. You call 911 and describe what happen and tell them to send someone.
Now….let's erase color and race from this situation. For this instance, let's think about this neutrally. Let's just make it about the facts of the case. Let's just say these are just people…..everyday people. The back story of this situation is that the daughter of the awakened man invited the two boys over for a hook-up. The boys hid their car across the street from the man's house. The man was sentenced one year for the death of the boy. Now…I'm not sure one year is sufficient for the taking of a life, but I definitely don't believe that this man was in the wrong in this situation.
Now….let's come back to reality and the people of this day and age. Let's explain that the daughter of this white man is a biracial child of a niece that he adopted. So, it doesn't seem to me that race plays a big part in why this man shot this black boy in his home.
The other story of the black sheriff pretty much went as I expected it to. He lost to the more affluent and powerful white candidate. Mysteriously after being told he was ahead by about 251 votes, he lost by 100 votes when it was all said and done. The really interesting thing about this documentary was showing these two stories side by side. I'm not sure if the filmmaker wanted to create this obvious look at how the race card is played, but I definitely saw it. Watching how race determined the outcome of both stories really makes you examine how you would react and what would you have done?
My unpopular opinion about when the race card is used and becomes a mentality makes me a bit of an outcast. I often ask the question what was so-and-so doing when the cops stopped them? I often ask why was someone asked to leave a bar or club? I often ask was there a criminal record for so-and-so when this person was being chased? These are the questions that aren't being asked. Yes…. there are bad racist cops out there. Yes, there black men being racially profiled and killed for no reason at all. Injustices are happening all over the world everyday.
The obvious question is what circumstances brought these black men to commit crimes or behave disorderly? Perhaps the absence of a positive male figure in their early lives? The constant oppression and poverty that most black men have to endure? And because we can't all be sports figures or rappers, what are the main images that black males are forced fed through the media and television? And the vicious cycle of racism, prison and fathering more children just seems to keep the black man in his place and in the stereotype.
So, it's no wonder that black people from the south know and understand the ways of the confederate flag oh so well. It is a tough habit to break when you have been conditioned from a child, but it can be done. I didn't know any better or any different until I left Tampa, Florida. New York City was definitely a great place to get my bearings and learn the other side of being black in America. And going to Europe really put everything in perspective. It always cracks me up when I listen to blacks from other places than the United States speak about American Black Culture. They have some interested ideas of what it means to be black in America and what blacks in America are really like. If you go by music videos and television shows I'm sure you would think that most black men have some seedy past with drug dealing and have kids all over the place. Black women are always angry and feisty with a quick comeback. Sure there are many black families in the middle class, but what we are shown and fixated on are the ones who are "keeping real" and dropping the word "nigger" in every other sentence. Why? Because in my opinion this is the new oppression. Let's glorify the latest "ghetto fabulous" and call it entertainment.
When I shared my opinion about this documentary on facebook, a black female friend chimed in with this post "You say some shit sometimes, I just can't with you." I inquired what bothered her and gave an example of how black people cheered when O.J. Simpson got off on a technicality (just as Norman Neesmith did) except I believe O.J. was a murder. She replied "What the hell does that have to do with this? You're need to be extraordinary negro is kinda ridiculous." When she recounted watching the documentary she recalled the Justin Patterson (the boy who died) as being shot while he was running from the man's house. But the truth was that Justin was shot inside the house. I pointed out that this would be a classic example of "Stand Your Ground" (even though this was in Georgia, not Florida). I guess the comparison of Neesmith's case to the Zimmerman's case in the death of Trayvon Martin offended this reader. Her last post ended with "It's embarrassing and sad for me to see you talk this shit but it's your page and your opinion.Thanks for always being so clear about where you stand so no one has to wonder." (as if I were wrong for questioning what were the circumstances that this boy got shot).
Many probably wonder why I share my opinions and blogs online. I do it because I hope that perhaps a different perspective might lead to some different thinking. Maybe ideas will be exchanged and people can learn from another experience than their own. Lord knows I have learned plenty by some of the discussions I have had online. Being an American who married a Canadian I have a really different experience in Canada than the black people who were born here or immigrated from somewhere else. So, many assume that I think like they do because we share the same skin color or we both identify as black. But the truth is that my experiences have made me who I am. Just as each person's experiences makes them who they are. I've been spit at, rocks thrown at me and called "nigger" from a moving car while walking down the street. How many black people in Canada today have had this experience. I have spoken about watching my grandmother getting spit on in a grocery store and she couldn't do anything about it. The humiliation and shame that was on her face haunts me to this day. That's generations of racism.
So, with all this talk of removing the confederate flag from the state capital building in South Carolina. I'm sure many people of all colors are wondering how can these black people live in a town where they have a constant reminders of their place in society (with streets named after confederate generals and that damn flag everywhere). I guess the same question could be asked of all those white folks who live in the mid-west where tornadoes are very common. If you don't know any other life than you don't know any better. You accept your life and you live.
It seems unconceivable that in 2015 there would be a white woman pretending and passing for black. Rachel Dolezal gave the classic movie "Pinky" a new twist and reboot. The idea that a white woman could not only pass for black but also become the president of the NAACP of Spokane, Washington just seems like a movie script or something. But you cain't write this shit! Most say that this is the ultimate cultural appropriation, but is this a sign of the times that some white people have changed their views of black people? I mean…I remember about a decade ago there was the term "wigger". I wasn't thrilled about it, but than again I have many issues with the use of the word "nigger" in today's youth lexicon anyway. Because I am a DJ I am forced to deal with Hip Hop lyrics and white people on a daily basis.
I found it really interesting that the filmmaker chose to interview Daniella (the biracial adopted daughter) last. It was tough watching the pain in Justin's parents' eyes when they talked about their son. It was kinda weird listening to the mother of Justin's child talking about what a good father he was when he was out at 3 AM to hook up with another girl on the night he died. And listening to Daniella talk about the necklace that Justin gave her and how her father is really a teddy bear in personality really showed the complexities of being biracial in the south. When she said that she believes that her father would have gotten a longer sentence if he were black just about summed up the entire southern black experience.
All I know is that if we are going to take the step towards fixing race relations in the United States, we need to pause and think about the other side. Talk about your relationship with other races. Are you open to having relationships with other races (be it friends or something more intimate)? Then how many different races do you interact with on a daily basis? The beauty of a city like New York is that you are kinda forced to be around as many different races and cultures everyday. And I actually loved that. Plus you just never knew who you might meet. There's a whole wide world out there. Why limit yourself to just your neighborhood?
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harryglom · 5 years
Text
Present Time (a short story)
It was the weirdest wall in the world.
Clock after clock stacked floor to ceiling. A chorus of tick-tocking and tock-ticking. Old and gold, ornate and engraved, bare and blank, international, novelty and nautical and a cuckoo clock or two. At the centre, the ones with darker edges of black firs and autumn wood matched with one another in a circle. In the centre of this circle were two lines drawn by a set of clocks of brighter colours, of white edges and silvers. Altogether they built a mosaic of clocks and, drawn as one, became a single giant clock in and of itself. A bazaar of sound, it was like being perched inside a beating heart. The display being so intricate, you have to ask, whose got the time?
One might also think to ask: is it safe for a psychiatrist's waiting room to have such an absurd array of clocks? If reality has become fragile to someone in some way as to lead them into his or her care, they probably shouldn't adorn their walls with displays that could be interpreted as a personal affront to a person's peculiarity. Or, at least in my experience of the room so far, a pointed statement of one's own alienation and madness.
The secretary chewed sourly on her pen, sucking and un-sucking in time with each loudly punctuated second. Her eyes were full of contempt, colourless and glazed over by the poison of her own perceived wasted potential. She looked like the ink had been slowly drawn into her lips and, year on year, sapped into her pale skin and made one with her blood. Her name was Irma Loveless and she didn't seem the person who could appreciate the irony of her name.
"Irma?" I said as jovially as I could "The last Irma I met was a hurricane."
She wasn't amused. She stared blankly through me, threw the pen onto the desk and walked across the room to the bathroom down the hall. The door thudded behind her and left me wondering if she makes that same sour face when she's taking, as can only be deduced by her unwavering demeanour, a powerfully hateful shit. Secretary, a word that used to wear its heart on its sleeve. Now pronounced sek-rah-terry, once was secret-ary: a bank of secrets. Is there any more fitting place for such a title than within ear shot of a therapy session? Perhaps the troubles of the world have meddled their way into her life as sullen ghostly whispers. Or perhaps she's just a cunt.
Sara Simmons leaves the doctor's office. A frail middle-aged woman, Sara can best be described as a blonde perm hanging at the end of a mop. She's always jangling her bag and twitching her taut and bony arms looking for something. I don't think she'd know relaxation if it hit her in the face with rohypnol. She used to come in here with her husband until her madness was deemed by the psychiatrist not to be shared. He was a banker, a big guy who looked at the other patients as if there should be a VIP room to separate him from the riff-raff. He was a man with big money, big decisions and a big dick attitude. He had no time for emotions besides a hunger for domination and a suicidal thought or two. Now she comes in alone, twice a week, with an irrational fear of time. I wonder why?
She told me all this last Tuesday despite my best performance of a certifiably anti-social Grade-A nutjob. I suppose for 200 pounds an hour, you've got to make your moneys worth where you can. I'm not a doctor but from the stolen minutes of self reflection she's inflicted upon the waiting room, I'd diagnose her with an incurable case of a terrible personality. She gives me a weak smile before leaving money in an envelope on Irma's desk. She's stopped charging the credit card: her husband thinks she's at brunch with the girls. Like he'd care, she'd say with a sudden vigour, a crack of pained breath splintering the air, hoping someone or something in the universe would challenge her. The last thing she does when she leaves is tie up her navy blue scarf, a cotton stream beneath the frazzled bolts of sun that comprise her hair, covering the air between her shirt and pale throat and I struggle to not momentarily consider picturing a noose.
Mr Peterson would usually be next, waddling in from his time-machine life of waist coats and romantic poetry memorised verbatim, a stanza or two left to linger in the waiting room like a sudden burst of sunlight.
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Selfishly, the Dickensian odd-ball went and died on us. He joined his husband and Byron in the big clouds in the sky and left us behind in a cultural wasteland, adrift like the boss-eyed soldiers wading through the embers of Dresden. Matching craters in the earth and their skin, concave boils of led and blood, where once joy and life resided in. We're all looking, like Byron said, for the moment where the fates change horses.
Irma returned unchanged and motioned me through to the doctor's office. I'll have to rethink my diagnosis of poisoned blood and bowel extremities and go with what is most simple: a cunt, a total and utter cunt. I nod at her and the curtesy goes unrecieved, her eyes drawn to the floor as she slams the door behind. It was a white fire door-- heavy enough that a slam requires deliberate, rehearsed and methodical engagement. Yes, a cunt indeed.
"Oscar, what can I help you with today?" Doctor Mathis says as she pins her round framed glasses onto the thin bridge of her nose. She sits cross legged in a pallid green skirt suit and her silvery blonde hair hangs above the lightly frayed cotton edges of her jacket collar. She is a vision of grandmotherly serenity and she speaks with a honeyed-glass transatlantic accent. "Been too busy being sane to see me?"
This is a reference to our last session, a month prior, where happiness had coursed easy through me like a summer's breeze. I always get hyperbolic when I'm happy and so the usually pointed words of sane and insane avoided by psychiatrists have become part of our regular vernacular. They probably didn't teach her this when she got her PHD but sometimes, for the right patient, we need to be mocked out of our self indulgence. I suppose, not mocked so far as to stop paying 200 pounds a session to discuss nothing but oneself but who am I to judge? I'm the one who is insane.
"It's all starts and stops with me isn't it?" Springs my voice. It's the first time I've been honest all week.
"That's life, Oscar." She says smiling.
"Is that the kind of observation that separates private from NHS?"
"The best lessons, for a case like yours" She adjusts her notepad into a comfortable position under her arm, "are often the simplest."
I've made a game of deciphering my psychiatrists when I get bored of myself. I play detective, scan outfits for clues, ticks and habits, the rings and life around their eyes. Divorced? Former addict? A late-starter? A sexual maniac who feeds off the madness of others? She's the first one who ever picked up on it, grinning with amusement, noticing me noticing her.
"Its hard being watched for you isn't it? Being vulnerable to observation. Those who feel themselves cast outside their lives, feeling scrutinised, often seek control in casting others in the same place." She never stuttered or paused. She simply removed the purple beaded bracelets she habitually played with, the ones I had been not so surreptitiously eyeing up throughout the conversation. The beads rattled for a moment on the table and she leaned forward like a drawn arrow. "Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?"
She's always like that, audaciously perceptive in a way only a good psychiatrist can be. Sometimes in doctors offices there is a lot of excess data, the human folly of pinning significance on that which has none, wrapped up in narratives perceived to be influenced by everything but that which has truly influenced them. Once we had core experiences and reactions, simple emotional mathematics. Now we have existential self awareness and who needs it, to end up like Sara Simmons? Yet sometimes something slips through the cracks, strikes a chord brighter than lightning, lingers in the lexicon of your brain, rigidly unforgotten like your worst nightmare or deepest regret. Why do you think you feel the need to deflect attention?
Instead in this session we discuss the pitfalls of self awareness, mindful not to mention Sara after the swift and stern rebuke Dr Mathis dealt me the last time I mentioned another patient in her presence. I perfunctorily professed my regret, admitting that I'm a bit of a bastard. She said outside of these walls that would not count as an apology. There's always something being avoided like the remaining broccoli on a sweet tooth kid's plate. Aimless philosophy and scathing observation are my chocolate pudding. I wonder if beneath the frailty Sara Simmons is the same-- using wellness as a pastime, branding Mr Peterson a poof, Irma a piece of work and me a creep. Little did she know that I am all three.
"I'm sometimes not in control of my thoughts." I spring forth, hoping to jumpstart anything other than auto-pilot conversation. She holds silent with her pen poised. "I've told you before, my brain whirs past me. It's like life is happening over here in one part of my brain and me, the real me, is off to the side."
"As seriously as that first time?"
"No, not as bad as since- no." I corrected myself. "The thoughts are as bad; hurting things. People. Animals. Children."
Even in a place as safe as this, the last word hits me like a knife edged boomerang, severing her pleasantries and my dignity at the throat. I can feel her eyes on me, I know they're gentle but even in her profession she must sometimes be afraid.
"We've talked about moral scrupulosity before. It's very common and not indicative of the rationality of people with your condition." She says "Much as popular culture would have you believe otherwise."
She knows I like horror movies. I used to talk about them a lot when I first came here, that they were all to blame; Freddie, Jason and Jigsaw, and of course Hannibal the Cannibal. They danced in my dreams, finger nails, steak knives and masks, bonfires of depravity ablaze beneath my eyelids. Yet in daylight, my thoughts never showed them holding the weapon. It was never them squeezing the life, bubbling bursting cartoon eyeballs left lopsided, pinning fur-skins to the walls. She talked me down from thinking I was one of them.
She joked: "Very few, in my experience, are."
I suppose it is rather funny in a way, those dark corners of thoughts that never belonged to you. A summer's day, cherry blossom and silver maple seed twisting into your conditioned hair and artisanal ice cream when your brain decides to ponder what that short woman would look like hanging from a tree. A building in flames at the slightest shame of a cracked voice, to think of nothing else but the sound of their screams. Or a man who cuts in line at the coffee shop being crumpled by construction, loose scaffolding, metal bolts and beams where his face should be. I suppose it is rather funny. Unfortunately, it's not for me.
"Commonality doesn't make them less pleasant."
"I'm sure it doesn't. But you've made progress: you're now sure these thoughts are not really you. Surrendering to it, as long as they don't flare up any worse later, is the best you can do."
Surrendering, always surrendering. Surrendering to impulses to run away, surrendering to happiness, surrendering to love and for all the money in the world I can't stand the possibility of surrendering to myself. She leans forward again, closer with her hands on her knees, and gestures for me to open up towards her again.
"Do you know why I keep all those clocks, Oscar?"
"Because you're as mad as us?"
"Because for all my medicine, mental tricks and multiple degrees" She takes off her glasses to clean them again. "I don't have the answers to everything. I have only what we all have-- the present moment."
I look up at her, with glistening eyes that say the honey moon is over. Her eyes are calm, still as the shores of emerald green seas. In the silence, the clock ticks enter the from the other room. It doesn't startle me, it becomes a part of me, my brain ticking forward with it, ready to strike a new hour for my life. Of course, this hour has been and gone many times but it rings true as the bells of midnight every time.
"I think- I think it's time for the medication again."
She assumes next week's time before I go, stands and turns her body in a way that seems to indicate that she would like to prescribe a hug were it allowed. A flash in my brain; a hug that crushes her bones, silvery gold locks torn at the root, blood on her matching emerald shoes. I breathe and smile weakly, my fingers mere inches away from hers as I take the prescription. She holds her hand tight on the paper for s moment as I begin to slide it away. She just nods at me in earnest, a distanced yet maternal motion, like an aunt for a nephew who has grew too old for kisses. That's the closest she can give me. I suppose it's funny in a way.
I heave open the fire door and clear out of Irma's way before she gets to take up my space. I don't make eye contact with anyone on the way out nor skirt my eyes over the weirdest wall in the world. I just glare over the empty chair where Mr Peterson would sit. As I walk onto the pavement, the high trills of bird calls replacing the sterile ticking of the clocks, the world rushes back to me. A flash in my brain, for once pleasant, recalled a poem he once said.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
   Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream
   Dies at the opening day.
Silvery gold glistens through the shifting trees onto windows of black taxis. I hail one down and, presently, resume my life.
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