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pinkcrocss · 2 months

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Limoreau #2: No Two Sides

A/n: Yay! Another One-Shot while I continue to procrastinate on my multi-chapter fics lol

This one ended up being waaayyyy longer than I wanted and I'm not really that happy with it, but if I don't post it now, I literally never will. Anyway, here's my second fanfiction ever.

The initial premise was "Villain!Marie", but it turned into something else

Think, Jordan and Marie on opposing sides

4,400 words

Dodging the path of the laser beam headed towards them, Jordan felt sweat drip down their face as they sent another pulse blast towards their would-be attacker. Knocking her off-balance, Jordan slid across the ground, swapping back into their male form just as an ice-shard was hurled towards them. Checking the perimeter of the room, Jordan could see the bodies of Vought’s security forces strung around as well as one or two incapacitated rebel Supes.

Initially, the fight had begun at the entryway of Vought tower, when they had been ambushed by members of a supe rebel group.

Well, an “ambush” was far from what it truly was, as Vought actually received intel of the imminent attack a few days prior. That’s why they had seen it fit to ensure that Luke, Andre, Jordan and the other remaining members of the Seven would be in Vought tower that day, as well as beefing up their security forces around the perimeter.

The group, Bloodbath, had been slowly growing in popularity and notoriety over the past several years. At first, Vought had tried to obscure any knowledge of the group’s existence. A group of rogue supes, turning on the very company that created them wasn't exactly a good look. But after several high profile attacks on both public and secret Vought facilities, it had become an impossible task. With a campaign of freeing all the imprisoned supes from Vought facilities like Elmira, Shady grove and even the recently exposed “woods”; their aim to “expose Vought’s true corruption”; as well as a charismatic leader, Jordan could almost understand why so many dangerous/unmarketable Supes had begun gravitating to the group.

In all honesty, Vought had probably viewed the upcoming attack as a PR win. An attack from a small group of dissatisfied, defective supes that they could paint as supervillains, defeated by the Seven on their home turf. This was much needed in the wake of homelander’s recent “retirement”. After having subdued him using the strength of the re-awakened Soldier boy in order to stop Homelander's plans for supe domination at the White House, what remained of the seven seemed a weak imitation of what it had once been. Led by Starlight as the new team captain, the remaining ranks consisted of A-train, Silver Kincaid from the UK, and 5 new grads essentially plucked from the top rankings of God U; which just so happened to include Jordan, Luke and Andre. This was the exact PR event Vought needed to highlight the strength of the new Seven. Unfortunately, what they hadn’t counted on, was her.

Jordan was sure that the other members of the Seven were still preoccupied fighting off the small, borderline army of rogue supes infesting every corner of Vought tower. It was becoming more clear that that was the plan all along.

Initially the attack had started at the entrance of HQ. A barrage of rogue supes going after every human in the vicinity. But as reports started coming in of similar attacks at every major entry and exit of Vought tower, two things were made clear: (1) Vought had severely underestimated exactly how many supes this group had at their disposal and (2) This was a much more coordinated attack than anybody had anticipated.

The chaotic coordination of the whole thing was what raised Jordan’s suspicions. There didn’t seem to be a goal. They weren’t targeting anyone in particular, nor did they seem to be moving towards any place in particular. It almost felt like a distraction. And that was what led Jordan to branch off on their own and head to the basement, where they knew the archives were held. It would be the most difficult area to infiltrate, seeing as there was no direct entry from the outside.

And that is where Jordan found themselves now, facing off against a more elite delegation of the attacking supes, that had been dutifully attempting to take down the barriers that sealed the Vought archives, for whatever reason, Jordan couldn't fathom.

The security personnel for the archives had already been defeated, and Jordan had managed to take down two of the rogue supes, leaving them to face off with the remaining three: the girl with laser eyes, the guy with ice powers, and a third one that hadn’t done much of anything yet.

Laser girl was once again rising and Jordan had switched back to their female form so they could dodge the projectiles being sent by the Ice guy. Quickly switching to their Male form as they sensed another laser blast coming from the girl, they didn‘t have enough time to avoid the ice sheet that the other supe had created on the ground behind them, before they fell on their back. Slightly disoriented, Jordan attempted to get up, only to feel the ground around them begin to warp. They felt a sudden sharp heat as if they were being surrounded by hot magma.

Thankfully, being in their male form kept them from taking any physical damage, but the pain could still be felt. Jordan looked up to see the third supe, who until that moment hadn’t been doing much, carefully maneuvering their arms. At the same time, the metallic ground around them started to change shape and wrap around their torso, arms and legs, essentially sealing them to the ground.

Jordan hastily tried to maneuver their body up in an attempt to free themselves, but as they had assumed, they were well and truly stuck. For now they would stay in their male form to hopefully withstand the barrage of attacks soon to come their way, as they could only pray that one of their team members would have the foresight to also check down in the archives.

As expected both laser girl and ice guy immediately started laying into them with a flurry of attacks. Jordan’s male form could withstand it for now, but they knew eventually the damage would start to bleed through.

Quickly they closed their eyes to block out any errant ice shards from the bombardment of ice projectiles hitting their torso. They tried to ignore the mounting pressure of the Laser beams at their chest.

“What the hell?? Nothing's working!” Jordan could hear a raspy voice complain. Probably the ice guy, they thought.

A more feminine voice chimed in, “Just keep going. He can't hold out forever.” Laser girl.

Just as Jordan was beginning to lose hope in any actual help arriving in time, they felt both the ice attacks and Laser attacks suddenly come to a stop. They had just enough time to briefly open their eyes before their ears were assaulted with a piercing screech.

They could blearily make out the shapes of various Vought security forces rushing into the room, having finally picked up on the security breach in the archives. The idiots were blasting the high frequency supe repelling alarm, that while having incapacitated Jordan’s three attackers, was also giving them the sensation that their head was going to literally explode.

Unable to maneuver their arms or body in general, Jordan was quickly reaching their breaking point when they saw a sudden flash of red. Turning their head as far as they could, they could see that the Vought security officer that had been holding the alarm device was screaming while bleeding out of a severed arm, the other half laying on the ground, still holding the awful device.

He could see fear and panic on the faces of the security guards that didn’t have their masks lowered as a figure stepped into the room, followed by two other rebel supes. She strode in confidently, arm outstretched towards the currently bleeding guard. Her long, dark red trench coat swished by her calves, she was wearing her locs in a complicated braid going down her back, and of course the red lipstick Jordan always associated with her on her lips.

The leader of the rebel group bloodbath calmly strode further into the room until she was right next to the guard that was still clutching what was left of their severed arm. She then cooly stepped onto the alarm device, destroying it. As she slowly pulled out her ear plugs, even Jordan gave a relieved sigh at the blissful silence, though they knew the danger was anything but lessened.

There was an eerie stillness in the room as the Vought security personnel began full on panicking, terrified to make a single move. Jordan could hear anxious whispers and mutters around the room.

“That's her isn’t it?”

“...Bloody Marie? That’s what they call her!”

“Shit! I heard she can turn a person inside out and strangle them with their intestines…”

Glancing up at her face, Jordan caught Marie rolling her eyes. “Are they still calling me that dumb-ass name?” She sounded almost exasperated. “Honestly, at this point I’m fully blaming Andre.”

The other formerly incapacitated, rogue, supes began to slowly rise as they recovered from the auditory attack of the anti-supe alarm. Seeing this, the Vought guards, having broken out of their stupor, were quick to point their weapons towards the immediate threat in the room, Marie.

Seeing a flash of rage on Marie’s face Jordan tried to prevent the inevitable, “MARIE! NO!”

It was already too late as the room descended into a cacophony of head explosions. The guards were running and ducking in panic, some attempting to shoot her with their weapons.

Marie would simply cause the arms of the guards pointing their guns to explode before turning her sights to more of her victims. Jordan could do nothing but close their eyes as they tried to dissociate from the screams of agony and fear.

Finally, after what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, there was quiet. They could hear heavy breathing and the sound of liquid dripping. As they opened their eyes and took a look around, they could see how Marie’s little group truly lived up to their name, Bloodbath.

The entire area was awash in red blood. Dripping down the walls and pooling around the bodies on the ground. Glancing at Marie's face, she looked completely out of it. Staring ahead as if she was in another place at a different time. Just as suddenly she seemed to snap back into herself, glancing around the room with obviously feigned disinterest before turning her eyes back to the other occupants.

“Mel! Jacob! Great job clearing the scene.” She was smiling and speaking to Laser girl and ice boy.

“Why don’t you head out and stay as lookout while we finish up here. Make sure the corridor stays clear for at least another fifteen minutes.”

The two supes nodded in deference, before quickly stumbling out. Still reeling from the after effects of the noise attack.

Seemingly satisfied that she had the appropriate lookouts, Marie walked over to join the other two supes she had brought along with her.

The first was a thin, small mousy looking young girl with Dark skin and big round eyeglasses. The other was a rather stocky, heavy set white guy with limp, brown hair and freckles all over his face.

Marie was looking at the girl, a gentle hand laid on her shoulder. “Hey, Aisha. You got this okay? Just like we practiced.”

The girl who had been staring at the ground nervously, looked up at Marie with pure adoration. You would think Marie had hung the moon in the sky.

“Okay…” she answered in a quiet, shy voice, before bounding over to the keypad that granted access to the security doors of the archives. Jordan watched as she gently placed her fingers on the keypad before her eyes started to emit a bright green glow and she almost seemed to fall into a trance, muttering an array of fast moving words and equations that Jordan could barely make out.

Turning around to the other Supe, Marie angled her head to gesture towards the locked opening of the main archives. “Marco, you know what to do.”

Giving an affirmative nod, Marco, the bigger supe, calmly headed off to stand where Marie had indicated.

Jordan immediately felt when Marie’s eyes landed on them. The weight of Marie’s gaze had become a familiar sensation now. Of the various encounters they had had when dispatched to handle yet another Bloodbath attack on a Vought center, it was a sensation they always seemed to seek out. Sometimes they felt it, sometimes they didn’t.

In the time that they had been lost in their own head, Marie had managed to saunter over to where they were still melded into the ground. Now she crouched down and gently looked over them.

“Jordan…So sorry, you had to get caught up in this.” Her face slipped into a gentle smile.

“Although, I shouldn’t be surprised you were the only one who saw through our little distraction play.” She let out a humorless chuckle.

“Marie.” Jordan plead. “You have to stop this. Look at all these casualties.”

Here they tried to angle their head towards the dead bodies scattered all around the room. “This can’t be worth it.”

Marie’s face looked blank. Jordan thought back to all the glimpses of her they’d caught over the years as Bloodbath had been growing into a bigger threat. Ever elusive, Jordan and the rest of the seven were never able to pin her down as she and her fiercely loyal cohorts would destroy more and more of Vought's detainment centers, leaving behind mass human casualties and adding more unstable supes to their ranks. Those same supes pledging themselves to Marie with a devotion that bordered on spiritual.

Just as quickly, a different glimpse of Marie flashed through their mind. A young, fresh-faced, doe-eyed Marie. Freshly enrolled in God U, fawning over Jordan as if they’d hung the stars up in the sky, desperately excited to join Brink’s crime fighting course and make her way into the seven.

Jordan hadn’t even thought twice about rejecting her. No social media presence, unmarketable powers, she was probably just some overly entitled freshman, Mommy and daddy’s perfect little hero, Jordan had thought. Probably never heard no before in her life. If only they had known…

If they had known, would it have changed anything? If they had known about Red river.. If they had known brink was gonna frame her for the accident at the Vought tower party… if they had known about Elmira, about the woods, about Brink… would they have intervened? Could they have prevented what happened?

Jordan was brought out of their thoughts by a scoff from Marie. Looking up, they caught sight of glaring at them sideways.

“Jordan… Vought has to be brought down. Whatever sacrifices have to be made will be worth it.”

“Really?!” Jordan was frustrated now.

“Is this what it’s about? Some kind of vengeance kick by just aimlessly slaughtering humans? You think that’s gonna help anybody??!”

Marie actually looked dumbfounded for a minute. “Aimlessly… Ugh, Jordan! Oh my god, I’m not Homelander! This isn’t some fucking supe-supremacy shit. This is about bringing down Vought! I’m not just going after innocent humans.”

Jordan thinks back to that fateful Night at Godolkin. The blood and bodies all over the front entrance to the freshman dorms. As Vought had reported, one of the new freshmen had gone crazy. Lost her mind they said. There were reports that she had been causing a disturbance threatening other students, and when Godolkin had sent security to check it out, she had murdered them in cold blood. 12 innocent humans. Their bodies eviscerated so badly, it was borderline impossible to distinguish them from one another. Then she had supposedly run off, not to be heard from again until a month later when there was a violent break-in at the Elmira Adult facility.

Jordan could remember the somber faces of the family members of the victims at the Vigil that was held at Godolkin. That was a sight they would never forget.

They looked Marie coldly in the eye. “Is that why you senselessly murdered those 12 people back at Godolkin? In cold Blood??!”

“Senseless… In cold bl-” her mouth gave a sardonic twist.

“Wow, Jordan. And here I thought you were one of the smarter ones. You truly drank the Vought koolaid, huh? Was it worth it? Kissing ass? Ignoring what was right in front of you so you could get that cushy little spot in the Seven? I can’t believe I actually..”

Here she seemed to stop herself. Jordan almost questioned her before she suddenly turned to look them square in the eye. Jordan could see nothing but rage in her eyes.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE I’D BE IF I HADN’T FOUGHT BACK THAT NIGHT?!” The other two occupants in the room flinched, and seeing this, Marie tried to compose herself.

“Innocent people? Please.” Here she gave another eye roll.

“Vought sent those thugs to kidnap me. To take me to Elmira since your precious Brink kicked me out. You never questioned why they sent Vought security to handle an “out of control student” instead of campus security? You never questioned why they were wearing tactical gear? You never noticed the fucking van at the crime scene?”

Jordan tried to ignore the growing anxiety they could feel at the back of their mind. Because yes. The story had always seemed a bit convenient. But what else did they have to go off of?

“They would have kept me there indefinitely. I would have never been free again. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, huh? I mean, you let the woods happen right under your nose.” At this Marie sent them a sadistic smirk.

Jordan felt their face go hot. They recalled when the woods had finally been exposed. Marie and her cohorts had broken into the school. Freeing the trapped kids and revealing all the sick and twisted experimentation that had been happening. The newly freed inhabitants had immediately set upon the school, desperate to enact their vengeance.

At the end of the day it had been an aptly named bloodbath. The students at the school and Marie’s group had lost people on both sides. Including Luke’s brother. Luke had been inconsolable.

At the end of the day, Brink, Shetty and a Dr. Cardosa had all been implicated when everything came to light. Jordan had been heartbroken. Contending with the fact that his only father figure as well as moral compass had been mixed up in all of that.

Marie was still speaking. “I mean, when I got there do you know what they were doing to poor Aisha?” At this, she sent a gentle look to the young girl who seemed to be communing with the unseen computer codes within the archive’s security system.

“They had her hooked up to all these devices, trying to see if they could overload her with all the information on the world wide web! She was catatonic for WEEKS after we rescued her!”

Jordan tried to imagine it, and their heart broke a little.

“Jordan.” Marie went on. “This all begins and ends with Vought. Homelander, Soldier boy, Shetty, Brink, me… there’s one common denominator. All the lies, all the corruption, all the bloodshed. If the rest of the world knew what Vought truly was, maybe everyone else could have a chance. Maybe all this misery could actually count for something.”

Now her eyes were looking into theirs imploringly. Jordan tried to think of what to say but was quickly interrupted before they could.

“Marie! I’m in!” Squeaked an excitable little voice.

Marie turned around, a proud smile on her face. “Aisha, that’s amazing! I told you could do it! Now stand back a bit. Marco, you know what to do.”

The girl, Aisha, did as she was told just as there was a muted BOOM sound.

Jordan flinched, but Marie gently reassured them. “Don’t worry about it. Marco’s gotten really good at controlling the range of his explosive output.” You could almost think Marie was just an older sister cheering on her younger siblings at some kind of school competition.

Glancing up, Jordan could see acrid smoke around a hole in the center of the archive doors. Just as quickly Marie got up and began making her way over. Pulling some kind of device out of her pockets, she handed it to Aisha, gently murmuring some instructions to her and sending her off.

Jordan was starting to feel panicked.

“Marie!” They called. “Marie! You can’t do this!”

Marie gave a pause but kept walking.

“I’m sorry!”

That made her stop.

“I’m sorry! Okay?” Jordan continued. “I’m sorry I rejected you from Intro. I was shallow and I made some dumbass assumptions about you. I’m sorry we left you behind at the Vought tower party. I’m sorry I bought into Brink’s bullshit; that I didn’t realize he’d make you take the fall. I’m sorry I let Vought almost take you. I’m sorry I was so fucking blind okay? But please, Marie. I’m begging you. There has to be another way.”

Marie, who had been frozen up until that moment, sighed, looking almost defeated. Slowly, she made her way to Jordan and crouched down again.

“Jordan… you don’t have anything to be sorry for. My fight was never with you or the other supes, or even the Seven. This isn’t about humans vs. supes, this isn’t some personal vendetta, this is about Vought. All of us are just pawns in the system, and the only way to end this, for our kind to be free, is to bring down Vought.”

She made sure to look Jordan straight in the eye. “You're not a person to them Jordan, you’re a product. I’m trying to save you. Us. All of us.”

They were both looking into each other's eyes. Neither willing to break their stalemate, before Laser girl suddenly came bursting into the room.

“Marie! We tried to hold them off but they’ve figured out we’re down here. I think they’re bringing reinforcements.”

Marie turned to face the door to the archive room. “Aisha?”

The timid girl gave a nod. “I’ve downloaded everything we need.”

Marie gave a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

Turning back to Jordan, she gently stroked the side of their face. “Jordan, at some point you’re going to see Vought for what they truly are. And when you do, I’ll come and find you. Believe it or not, I always had a spot saved for you, right by my side.”

And with that she bent down, softly brushing her lips on Jordans cheek before getting up to join the rest of her crew.”

Jordan could only watch her lean figure strut confidently out of the room, feeling something like a pang in their chest. They’d have to address that some other time.

As they lay in their grounded prison, waiting for reinforcements to come and finally release them, they could hear shouting and commotion out in the corridor. The reinforcements must have run into Marie’s group. For some reason, this time as they listened to sounds of screaming and agony and fear, all they felt was a cool numbness.

The Next Day

“Tonight breaking news! As new leaks expose decades of violence and corruption from the highest levels of Vought international. Reports detailing the debauched and downright violent behavior of some of Vought’s most beloved heroes, including years of cover ups. Furthermore, the FBI will be investigating accounts of Vought institutionalizing and holding supes against their will in various-”

Ashley quickly paused the news report as she turned to the members of the seven seated around the table in the meeting room of Vought Tower. All of them were in various states of repair as they healed from battles they had fought the day prior.

Jordan for their part had their arm in a sling, from where it had been bent at an uncomfortable angle for too long and had caused a strain. Other than that, most of their superficial wounds had already healed up. On their cheek, they still felt the ghost of Marie’s touch.

Ashley was in full panic Mode.

“We’re so fucked! Okay, we gotta figure out how to spin this. Homelander’s not around anymore, so we can definitely try to pin the woods and Elmira as his doing. I mean they can’t prove otherwise, he was the face of the company for years!”

Jordan watched as she absentmindedly pulled out a thin chunk of hair.

“Shit! But what can we do about the insider trading and the russian arms deal? Jordan!”

Jordan looked up, the other team members also looking in their direction.

“Jordan this is perfect!” Ashley barreled on. “We need to make sure the younger generations aren’t spreading the mainstream narrative on social media, so that’s where you come in! We’ve been thinking up a new pride campaign for you, you know since pride month’s coming up. This will be a great distraction. You talk about your gender identity, how accepting your parents were, how Vought gave you the confidence to-”

Jordan tuned her out as they watched her ramble with an almost manic smile on her face.

“You’re not a person. You’re a product to them.”

Those words still rattled around in their head.

All Jordan had ever wanted to do was be a hero. But more and more, they were realizing that they no longer knew what that meant. They’d accomplished their biggest dream. They were in the seven, and yet they realized they hadn’t felt heroic even once the whole time they’d been here.

The feeling of this revelation reminded them of how they had felt when they had learned the truth about Brink.

“...at some point you’re going to see Vought for what they truly are. And when you do, I’ll come and find you.”

Jordan recalled those words, as they stared out the large windows of Vought tower, dissociating from the meeting still happening around them.

Perhaps they could take a walk tonight, they thought. To clear their head. No thoughts, just simply see where their feet would take them.

#It's embarrassing how long it took me to write this #You can see the writing quality dip like halfway through lmao #I just wanted it done but it kinda kept dragging out #gen v fics #gen v #jordan li #marie moreau #limoreau

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vintagegeekculture · 1 year

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mr. geek culture, you are truly one of my favorite tumblrs on this website, every post is so unexpected and intriguing, and I always get excited to see a new one on my dash!! I'm so glad you're on here just wanted to say thanks for your work :)

Thank you for reading, buddy!

Tumblr is nowhere near dead at all, although I think the demographics of it are aging up. That's bad for advertisers, bad for the business end, but good for weird and defiantly unmarketable nostalgia blogs and other distinct voices, which are like the tiny rodent mammals that survived the extinction of the dinosaurs.

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awordbroken · 1 year

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truly the very worst thing one could ever do to mr fires IS to turn it into an unmarketable noncommercial handicraft from a free pattern.

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gardenofadonis · 2 years

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Hi! I wanted to save poor @sewis-vettelton from being spammed by me all the time so I thought I'll come to say hi to you over here.

First of all, thanks for letting me know, I truly was under the impression RB is still financing his seat. About the statement, it's a somewhat genuine one I feel like, probably still very PR driven though, but the result still is a bit underwhelming.

But who knows, maybe this is already a little sign he won't be racing with them next year.

Anyway, sorry for bothering you, hope you have a great day! ☺️

Hi! Obviously I'm not personally involved in the industry, but from talking with people who are in the circle, my impression is that Vips was given a heavily discounted deal for his f2 seat (hence the jarring lack of sponsors on his car), presumably because of his RB connections. It's his 3rd year (2nd full season) in F2 and with his performance I think he would be gone regardless of the incident. With his lacklustre on-track performance and the PR disaster (yes it's racist but let's be real - he's being punished because it makes him unmarketable) there's no way another driver academy would pick him up, and his family isn't rich enough to pay for an un-discounted f2 seat. Safe to say he's done with F1 and its feeder series after this season. Hope you have a good day as well!

#f2 #juri vips

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hiriajuu-suffering · 6 months

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Guru Pathik's 7 Chakra Exercise

ATLA is a series that speaks to our sensibilities on life, as well as one of the best coming-of-age stories to be released this century. To help myself, I thought I'd write-up the same process Aang underwent when he opened his chakras for personal growth and self-evaluation.

What am I afraid of?

Failure brought on by a lack of progress. That this point in life will never pass and I will continue to leave things unfinished. I couldn't stay at my first high school. My foreign language requirements kept lingering. I never finished my high school career. I had to take a gap year and go to a different school. I keep getting course incompletes. I struggle to find the motivation to acquire career certifications. It takes me too long to get over anyone. I've been in a stable relationship for years but still haven't gotten engaged. Always made to feel like I'm incapable, when it has more to do with being unwillingly unable. I want to let things flow, but I forget I once knew how to.

Pathik: you are still human, and humans make mistakes, stumble, and fall. When you trip in life doesn't define you, how you get up does.

I failed to meet my potential. My grades never aligned with my intelligence. I could've done more. I don't deserve love if I can't take pride in myself. All I do is let others down.

Pathik: if you let the image you have of yourself be defined by the people around you and your environment, rather than your own actions and character, you let results become your meaning rather than your intentions. You have had many opportunities to be an average, maybe even horrible, person, but you must remember you always chose the highest ground available to you. A lack of success does not mean a lack of good. You are allowed to be happy even though you aren't perfect. You are not a bad person for failing, you become a bad person when you stop learning from failure and let it fester into hate.

What are my biggest disappointments in myself?

I'm never who I set out to be. I was never a good enough son or brother. I didn't make 1st band. I couldn't go past the tipping point to fully dominate as an individual debater. My talent couldn't offset my look being unmarketable to make it in the recording industry. I could never win enough in card games to garner respect. Seeing anyone as worthy of trust became impossible for me. All I will ever get is rejection, within my control or not.

Pathik: Letting your failures undermine your zeal for life is a fallacy. While you experience failure, you still continue you to try to push to achieve something because you never truly fall out of love with the process. Music, Debate, card games are still crucial parts of your life you fall back on: while you have become shy with your talents, converting them into half-effort karaoke, panels, and dulling your edges, you stop committing to yourself. The same is true with the work you need to finish, you always hold out hope you will succeed but you remain too afraid to try to. The first three chakras balance your id, ego, and superego, the three have become warped in the same lamentations. Whatever you do, do your best to not be paralyzed by the changing current, afraid of getting hurt. You must take the risks to obtain something worthwhile.

My grandfather. The only reason I know what a sense of family and community is was my grandfather. I met someone who gave me that same sense of naturalism but she passed on as well. Then my aunt, the final person who was always in my corner left this world again and the isolation from the pandemic hit especially hard for that reason.

Pathik: their love isn't gone, it just takes time for people to convey love to you the more damaged and twisted up inside you have become. Loss and betrayal have become your familiar feelings where security, comfort, and belonging should be. You must remember you are never alone. Even though you may not feel the love reaching you is all that deep, there are still people who would mourn you. Your family would miss you, there are still people that both need, want, and pray for your survival. Part of your identity is your ability to unify, you have never shied away from this responsibility. Whether people say it or not, people do appreciate you for carrying their spirits as a part of your own and see you as valuable. You must be willing to accept love in order to commit to giving it back.

In what ways are you not speaking your truths?

My identity puts me into a place where my life is insignificant to those around me. Straight men of color are given the least compassion of any diaspora, being a member of the most slaughtered racial demographic and religious affiliation means my life is societally more dispensable than my white, female, or non-Christianized background counterparts. While it is a contributing factor as to why I get stifled, there's only so many times I can shake it off. I'm weary. Weary of vehemently androphobic women. Weary of the structural inequality in which the individuals a part of it are ignorant of their own white exceptionalism. Weary my labels on paper throw me into the model minority myth but I receive none of the privilege associated with it. Weary that of any random stranger, I would most often have the most contempt and bile directed at me, even if only implicit.

Pathik: you seek to control your identity in an era people want to assert themselves the most aggressively against their born identities. Asian-Americans and Hispanic-Americans continue to voluntarily whitewash because of a sense of self-hatred they were socialized with for being different. Accepting your difference isn't a weakness just as being cisgendered isn't a strength. Being secure in your expressions is something you ground yourself in, some in this world will attempt to taint the purity of that expression of the self. There is nothing wrong with accepting your own nature. You have a devotion to who you are in ways people can't reconcile, feel blessed you can. Coming off as lacking confidence in your identity to appease other minimizes yourself; you don't do so in front of students no matter how carefully your frame your rhetoric, why should you need to worry about appearing meek to adults to not intimidate them? Humility is not holding yourself back to make sure you never have a stronger trait than anyone else, humility is simply knowing you're no better than another person even though they have insecurities you may not.

I never really knew if my life was my own, Everyone always says anyone is capable of anything if they set their mind to it, but I stopped believing that a long time ago. I tried to convince myself it's because I didn't put forth enough effort and therefore didn't try hard enough even though I gave everything possible. Was I always meant to feel this drained? Living in reality constantly feels as if it comes with a tax, and I have too many dreams to make even an infinitesimal amount of them a reality. The choices I'm making are putting my wheels in motion, but it doesn't feel as if I'm actually going anywhere.

Pathik: at times, the pathway to enlightenment is so treacherously scenic, we often forget and lose parts of ourselves along the way. But to think the suppression of parts of oneself is a method to self-actualization is an illusion, folly of a great order. Humans often define themselves by trauma rather than events being defined by their character. Each action a person takes represents the image of themself they put out into the world. The paradox of life is we think we are defined by our actions and accomplishments when history is only made so by us living it. Everything is connected. Differences in the outcome of human action are only distinctions humans make for themselves, whether you succeeded or failed is not determined by a goal, but the process by which you learned. Life is just as much about the journey as it is the destination; without the journey, the destination is unearned. Even if it feels like you aren't making progress, to have faith is to believe the only constant in life is that change will happen, and to be at peace with that. Stoking change in your favor rather than fearing it is the manner in which you win fortune's favor because fortune favors the bold, not the stagnant. As long as you are doing something, you are achieving something, even if capitalism makes it seem otherwise.

What attaches me to this world?

The thought of making the home for myself I have yet to find, the partner that will care for as deeply or even more so than they care about themselves. Children I will love unconditionally and try my best to impart no expectations on even though they are my blood. Guru Laghima fully opened this chakra and was in complete harmony with his bending because he transcended his mortal coil and became one with air. There's a certain melancholy in knowing how to transcend, to feel alone of your own volition, no one truly grasping your sense of self. Yet, all I feel is pity for Laghima and Zaheer, especially upon P'Li's death. The gift of life is wasted on the living, and there's a particular nihilism that pairs with detachment. Connection to humanity is the meaning by which life becomes worth living. I fight for the sake of others, not to spite their objections. Balance only exists in conflict, not in the absence of it: all that does it bottle conflict up until surfaces. If change is the only constant, we will find new things to be attached to. That sense of novelty is why any singular earthly attachment and its absence aren't the answer. Cosmic power wants me to make deep and meaningful connections, not toss them aside. This is not muck in the swirls of energy within my soul, it is a dam I constructed myself that should only be broken upon death's doorstep. Otherwise, I lose sense of the world and become even more lost than before.

Pathik: in many ways, being attached to all is the same as being attached to none. Seeing value in every little thing, the tiniest components that help balance our world, is a means to connect to the universe, but it does force you to release the pool of energy you build up from time-to-time. Not only will you need a constant flow of new individuals and experiences in life, you will need an equally constant flow of individuals and experiences leaving your life, meaning happiness and sorrow will be at balance. Choosing to live in this strife isn't considered a noble choice within chakra manipulation, but is for a Muslim's relationship to creation. Depersonalizing consequentialism is the only real way for the creek to flow smoothly, but the absence of life indicates no change to the creek at all. Life can be tumultuous but finding peace in life is knowing no obstacle is truly bigger than you are if you get over yourself.

#personal #ATLA #avatar the last airbender

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st-just · 2 years

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I sense you really want to do the book asks: spicy edition. these ones please: 🙄🤢🤧🥺

Oh I don't know, seeing other people give their hot takes can be funner than giving your own, really.

Book Meme

🙄 what's a popular book that you dislike, but you'll get crucified if you say it?

Still no really good answer, sorry.

🤢 what's a popular ship you despise, and why?

Honestly the only book fandom I'm in where there's enough shipping for any of them to be 'popular' is probably the Locked Tomb. And since it's probably bad form to just steal your answer about Camilla (which is 100% correct)

Okay despise is probably a strong word, but Harrow/Ianthe? Honestly when I read the books I just found Ianthe, like, entertainingly shitty, was legitimately surprised about how horny the fandom was for her.

🤧 An overrated book/character trope you're tired of?

Okay, so a carefully nurtured pet peeve I can't actually think of any examples of right now, but I'm dead certain I didn't make up-

-When a culture has very strongly gendered fashions or beauty standards or similar kinda arbitrary expectations tied to romance/attractiveness, and our protagonist either consciously defies them or is simple a complete failure at meeting them, and is mocked and reviled for it and probably gets comforted by their love interest about it at some point.

And by some freak coincidence the ways they fail to meet their culture's expectations of beauty just happen to make them perfectly fit into, like, modern America's!

It just feels like cheating tbh, getting to have your character get all the angst and drama without ever having to risk them being unrelatable or unmarketable or not-hot.

🥺 what's a truly underrated book/series you recommend and wish the whole world would read?

It won a Hugo so there's no real way it can be called underrated, but people don't talk about This Is How You Lose The Time War enough imo.

#reply #books #wearethekat #ask meme

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the-magnus-backlogs · 3 years

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Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.

Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.

You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.

I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.

That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.

Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.

It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.

Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.

You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.

By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.

It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?

It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.

The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.

I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.

The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.

Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.

Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.

Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.

I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.

In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.

Not until they began to rot, anyway.

My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.

It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?

Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.

By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.

Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.

I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.

That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?

I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.

I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare? I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.

Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.

I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.

It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.

The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.

It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.

I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.

I just can’t wait to share.

#submission #the magnus archives #corruption #cw #body horror #insects #obsession #death

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boatexport · 3 years

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EU Hits US made Boats with 25% Tariff

The European Union announced the immediate imposition of a 25% tariff on many categories of American-built boats. The EU said this was in retaliation for the 10% and 25% American tariff on European aluminum and steel. The previous week Canada announced a 10% tariff on American-built boats starting July 1, in retaliation for America’s recently imposed tariffs on its metal exports to the U.S. Canada is the #1 importer of U.S.-made boats.

Boating-industry sources say that American boat sales to Canada, Mexico and the EU account for 70% of all U.S. boat exports. The retaliatory tariffs are expected to have a dramatic effect on the U.S. boating industry, causing the layoffs of thousands of American workers.

In the overall scheme of international trade, American boat exports rank pretty low, amounting to about $1.7 billion – 70% of which is to Canada, Mexico and the EU. Total U.S. exports in 2017 for all products were, reported by Statista, slightly over $1.5 trillion, which means U.S. boat exports accounted for about one-tenth of one percent. That’s less than a rounding error for these kinds of trade statistics.

EU. According to U.S. boating industry statistics, the U.S. boat exports to EU countries amounts to $338.5 million, or 22% of U.S. boat exports. “A 25-percent import tax makes our products unmarketable,” said an NMMA (National Marine Manufacturers Association) spokesman.

Canada. All U.S.-built boats sold in Canada will face a 10% tariff. 100,000 new and used boats were sold in Canada last year, and 65% of them came from the U.S., according to Soundings Trade Only, a U.S. boating trade publication. Canada is the largest importer of U.S.-made boats, accounting for about $700 million in annual sales.

Mexico, which represents $147.4 million or nearly 10 percent of U.S. boat exports, has announced a 15-percent tariff on all U.S. boats effective immediately.

The Targeted Boats

The new EU import duties effectively stop all U.S. boat exports from canoes and kayaks to PWCs to sterndrives and inboard cruisers to megayachts. The only boats that seem to be excluded are outboard-powered boats and inflatables to the EU nations.

Currently, about 111,000 aluminum boats are made in the U.S., including aluminum fishing boats and pontoon boats. Aluminum boats account for about 43% of all boat sales in the U.S. According to an NMMA spokesman, the price of domestic aluminum has already jumped 20%.

The $39 billion U.S. boating industry supports 650,000 American jobs, said NMMA president Thom Dammrich in a statement.

This is an NMMA graphic showing how the current worldwide trade war is beginning to affect the marine industry in the U.S. To this drawing can be added last week’s 10% and 25% tariffs.

It’s a World Economy

We live in a truly global economy and U.S.-built boats are highly regarded overseas. U.S. exports to Europe and Canada can range from 10% to 35% of a boatbuilder’s overall sales. For example, Rob Parmentier, the President of the Larson Boat Group, made up of Larson, Striper, LarsonFX, Escape, and Triumph brands, 20% of its sales are in Canada.

Exports Have Saved U.S. Boat Builders in the Past

During the dark days of the 10% luxury tax on boats over $100,000 in the early 1990s, European sales kept more than a few U.S. boat builders in business. In the late ’70s and early ’80s, when U.S. interest rates were 20%, sales to Europe and Canada saved the industry. And when the financial crisis of 2008-10 hit the boating industry harder than any other, sales to the robust Canadian economy, and other pockets of resilience in the world, enabled many builders to stay on life support.

Echos of Past Disasters

These high tariffs by America’s major trading partners echo the 10% luxury tax imposed on all new boat sales in the U.S. in 1991 by the U.S. Congress. This law was designed to have the political optics that Congress was the friend of the working man, and it was “soaking the rich.” But the rich, the near rich, and those working on becoming rich, simply stopped buying boats – and spent their money on other things or invested in securities. It was the workers at export boats usa, boat companies, both white and blue collar, who lost their jobs – in the tens of thousands.

Many U.S. Boat builders have their own sophisticated upholstery shops that employ hundreds of people industry-wide.

Tariffs Target Workers. These new tariffs will hit shop floor personnel at boatbuilding plants all over the U.S. Blue-collar workers will be the hardest hit by layoffs, because white-collar staffs in the boating industry were taken down to bare bones in 2009 and have remained extremely lean ever since. Fewer unit sales mean less work and fewer workers will be needed.

The Ultimate Discretionary Item

Because boats are at the very pinnacle of discretionary purchases, every ripple in the U.S. or world economy drastically affects sales to a degree far worse than those felt in non-discretionary products or services. For example, the oil embargos of the early 1970s slowed American powerboat sales at a far higher percent than truck or luxury car sales.

20% interest rates of the late ’70s and early ’80s virtually stopped all boat sales, sail and power, even though general commerce (except housing) still continued at only a small decreased rate.

The 10% luxury tax in 1991 devastated the industry precisely because no one needsa boat except a drowning man. General business was doing fine, but builders of boats costing more than $100,000, were shut down, and virtually all of their workers put on the street. Boat builders were forced to make fiberglass hot tubs, windmill blades and the like to keep a small workforce together and have a trickle of income. In this category, the boating industry largely never recovered.

The financial crisis of 2008 brought the boating business to its knees once again, and it has only recently recovered to about 70% of its pre-crisis sales.

The lesson learned here is that the 25% European tariff will result in virtually no sales of American boats in Europe — and that will have significant consequences for the builders involved and their work force. Read more..

#usa boats for sale

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thesportssoundoff · 4 years

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Lists ‘N Stuff: 90s Heavyweights

I've been watching a lot of boxing. A lot. Too much even. Originally it started out of my desire to catch up on fights I had missed after I dipped out on boxing in the late 90s before getting back into the sport around 2007 or so. It eventually delved into a deep dive on what basically amounts to the last 20-30 years in combat sports. Given my love of things like lists, I figured I'd do one. After watching way too many fights in the HW division, I wanted to rank my top 10 HWs of the 90s. Considered by many to be the glory days of heavyweight boxing, the 90s were host to many insane heavyweight fights and some of our more legendary characters. Who was the best? Well...

Honorable Mentions:

Donovan "Razor" Ruddock- Given that he started his career in 1982, it's at least somewhat honorable that Ruddock was still having competitive heavyweight fights with elite guys well into 1995 or so. Ruddock was the sort of guy who mastered the art of AAAA. He wasn't good enough to be MLB but he would casually crush the AAA competition.

Chris Byrd- Seriously! Chris Byrd wasn't always the flashiest or the coolest of the heavyweights but credit where it's due, Byrd was pretty solid in the 90s. He beat some decent dudes like Ross Purity, Lionel Butler and Bert Cooper. Watching Byrd, you could pretty much always tell he was destined to be one of those guys that boxing fans were never going to accept no matter what. Got smelted by ike Ibeabuchi.

Buster Douglas- The most famous one hit wonder in all of boxing. Douglas KOing Mike Tyson will always make him historic but in truth, his 90s weren't too hot. He beat Tyson, got smelted by Holyfield, fought a bunch of cans, took time off and then came back to get smelted by Lou Saverese. Not a good run.

Axel Schulz- Just one of those ultra tough under the radar European heavyweights. Fought Foreman, Moorer and Wlad Klitschko in the 90s and gave both Foreman and Moorer a scare. Was always more of a spoiler-y opponent than anything else.

Herbie Hide- I mean Herbie Hide was a two time WBO heavyweight champ although both times he took any semblance of a step up in competition, he was violently smacked back down to Earth. Wins over Tony Tucker and Michael Bentt don't overcome dominant losses to Vitali Klitschko and Riddick Bowe.

1- Lennox Lewis Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 29-1-1 Record in title fights- 8-1-1 Record against other fighters on the list- 3-1-1

Most people have Holyfield above Lennox Lewis in a "Best HWs of the 90s!" poll but I've got Lewis ahead of Holyfield. Let's start with Lewis on his own before we compare the two. Lennox Lewis' 90's resume features your usual HW fare of dudes you'd know like Frank Bruno (he's all over this list), Andrew Golota, Tony Tucker, Ray Mercer, Razor Ruddock, Shannon Briggs and Henry Akinwande. On this Top 10 list? Lewis has wins over Tommy Morrison, Evander Holyfield and Oliver McCall. He does have a loss vs Oliver McCall but he was able to eventually get that one back down the line. It's also worth pointing out that outside of Ray Mercer and Holyfield, Lennox Lewis finished all of those guys. His resume looks even spiffier if you consider that he was robbed in the first Holyfield fight (I had it 8 rounds to 4 easily) and so he could be 4-1 vs 3-1-1 against guys on the list. Hell if you want to take it a step further, you could argue he forced Riddick Bowe to take an L before he even got in the ring. Of course who knows if Lewis' resume looks differently if he doesn't get the nod against Ray Mercer in a tough fight. So what necessarily puts Lewis above Holyfield? Simple! He beat Holyfield! Could've beaten him twice if judges did their jobs. The best HW of the 90s was a British dude (By way of Canada and Jamaica).

2- Evander Holyfield Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 12-4-1 Record in title fights- 8-3-1 Record against other fighters on the list- 5-4-1

I feel like the most impressive part of Evander Holyfield's resume in the 90s is that at one point during this era, Holyfield fought six straight title fights and was scheduled for twelve round fights seven fights in a row. At one point Holyfield fought four of the guys on this list in a span of five years including two rematches (against Tyson and Lewis). Evander's resume is the stuff of boxing legend and in the 90s, long before he became a parody of himself, Holyfield was insanely good. Wins over Mike Tyson, Riddick Bowe, Michael Moorer and George Foreman is more than good enough to earn a guy a top 3 spot. Even his losses are for the most part insanely good as we're talking about Riddick Bowe, Michael Moorer (in a fight where I do buy the theory that Holyfield was hurt) and Lennox Lewis. Throw in genuinely good tough dudes like Bert Cooper, Ray Mercer and James Stewart and it's hard to find a flaw in the resume of Holyfield. I guess it's maybe a little bit filler heavy with dudes like Bobby Czyz (go to youtube and watch the weirdness that is this fight) or Vaughan Bean? Whatever. Holyfield fights may not have all been action packed but he's got wins galore, big fights galore and a genuine spot at the top of this list.

3- Mike Tyson Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 9-3 Record in title fights- 2-3 Record against other fighters on the list- 0-3

In wrestling, one of the inside jokes is that the theme maketh the man. Have a good entrance? Good entrance song? You're golden! Tyson is proof in boxing that the aura maketh man. Tyson's 90s were....kind of bad in theory. He kicked off the 90s getting smelted by Buster Douglas in the biggest boxing upset ever and then ended the 90s almost getting DQ'd for knocking out Orlin Norris a few seconds after the first round ended. In between that? Tyson lost four years of his career to a rape conviction and beat up on good but not great fighters. Jimmy Stewart, Bruce Seldon and Razor Ruddock were good tough guys but not anybody you'd write home about. I believe in his documentary, Tyson admitted he barely trained after his prison sentence and just skirted by guys due to basically just being Mike Tyson. You could see him vs Frank Bruno and just tell the spark was gone even if he was still so good. In a way that's a testament to what Tyson was but also what he could've been. Outside of the Douglas upset, The Evander Holyfield fights didn't end Tyson's relevancy but it pretty much closed the door on Tyson's reign as a top heavyweight. Even so, it's Mike Tyson. Of course he's in the top 3.

4- George Foreman Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 12-3 Record in title fights- 4-3 Record against other fighters on the list- 1-2

It'd take a whole bushel of effort to discuss George Foreman's history in a paragraph. Just knew he was awesome in the 70s, took some time off and came back fatter and awesome-er than ever. Foreman is like Stone Cold Steve Austin who was told in WCW that he was unmarketable and then when allowed to truly be himself in greener pastures he flourished as a talker and an attraction. Foreman began his comeback at 325 lbs as a way to make some money and in time he eventually put himself into position to fight for the HW title on three different occasions. He came up short vs Morrison and Holyfield before pulling off a historic rabbit out the hat KO over Michael Moorer to become the oldest heavyweight champion ever. In summation? Foreman's 90s are...strange. It's easy to make a case that Foreman could've lost fights against James Stewart (I had it for George) and Axel Schulz (I had it for Schulz)---but it's also easy to argue that Foreman should've gotten the nod over Shannon Briggs as well (arguably the worst robbery of the zillion fights I watched during this quarantine) and he was basically re-retired by boxing politics. Foreman wasn't the guy he was in his athletic prime but he was extra durable, always powerful and smarter than in year's past. He didn't have a lot of flashy wins in the 90s but we're talking about a guy who won the HW title in his 40s and beat enough top competition to be well suited for a top 5 spot.

5- Riddick Bowe Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 26-1 Record in title fights- 6-1 Record against other fighters on the list- 2-1

Riddick Bowe has been the most fascinating watch of this entire series. When I worked a night shift at a hotel in New York, one of the ways I'd pass the time was to watch old boxing fights on a portable DVD player I had. One of the fights I'd cycle through repeatedly was Bowe-Holyfield II and for a large period of time, my extent of my Bowe knowledge was that fight and the two Legendary Nights documentaries on Bowe-Golota and Bowe-Holyfield. Getting to finally sit down and sink my teeth in the resume of Riddick Bowe is something else. If you remove Bowe's fights vs Golota and Holyfield, you're left with a relatively paltry resume of nothingness but with tantalizing skills that make you wonder how good Bowe could've been. Watch Bowe run through the likes of Herbie Hide, Bert Cooper, Jorge Luis Gonazles and Pierre Coetzer and then wonder how Bowe would've done had he taken fights against Lennox Lewis (Bowe threw a belt in the garbage to avoid a Lewis fight) or Ray Mercer (Bowe vs Mercer was in the works about six different times with both guys turning down the fight at various spots) or Mike Tyson (it's believed Bowe vs Tyson was on the table once in 1991 and then once again in 1995) or George Foreman (Bowe vs Foreman was considered a possibility had Foreman beat Morrison) or Bowe vs Michael Moorer (after Moorer beat Holyfield). Bowe's resume is spiffy but the ducking, the weirdness and the weight gain that held him back all left for a faded image in hindsight. Shit I think Bowe's the only fighter on this list who was thrice involved in melees and brawls! Anyways the trilogy with Holyfield and Bowe vs Golota 1 and 2 are some of the best HW fights you'll see and well worthy of your time. On Earth 2, Andrew Golota twice beat Riddick Bowe and on Earth 3, Bowe's the HW GOAT after beating Lennox Lewis, George Foreman and Michael Moorer on top of the Holyfield fights. We live on Earth 1 unfortunately where Bowe's just #5 on the top HWs of the 90s.

6- Michael Moorer Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 21-2 Record in title fights- 5-2 Record against other fighters on the list- 1-2

I'll go to my grave believing that Michael Moorer is a victim of boxing's "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend" methodology. Michael Moorer was a dominant light heavyweight who skipped a weight class and jumped all the way up to heavyweight where he beat the likes of Bert Cooper, Axel Schulz, James Stewart (who had only lost at the time to Evander Holyfield and Mike Tyson) and Evander Holyfield. Moorer's heart and toughness are on full display in the Bert Cooper fight which is one of the best fights in any weight class during the 90s. Moore's legacy is defined by the George Foreman fight and an HBO documentary where we got to see Teddy Atlas yelling at him all the time. Moorer deserves better.

7- Oliver McCall Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 22-4 Record in title fights- 2-2 Record against other fighters on the list- 1-1

At first I wanted to leave Oliver McCall off this list entirely but his resume is low key impressive. Watching McCall fights on youtube, he just seems like the ultimate nuisance of a spoiler. He'd look disinterested in a fight then uncork a right hand and it'd be all over. He was the ultimate tough fight spoiler guy and if you need some evidence of that then consider that McCall took the undefeated records of Oleg Maskaev, Lennox Lewis and Bruce Seldon. He was twice a champion of one of the big four sanctioning bodies and his Lennox Lewis upside is pretty damn historic (and so is the rematch for all the more reasons). Throw in a win over a faded Larry Holmes and McCall absolutely has a worthy spot on the top 10. Imagine how much more spiffy this record would be if McCall hadn't basically taken off 3/4ths of the fight vs Frank Bruno.

8- Tommy Morrison Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 25-3-1 Record in title fights- 2-2 Record against other fighters on the list- 1-1

Watching Tommy Morrison's career in hindsight is something I'd recommend all heavyweight boxing fans do. I have no comparison for him in modern times. TheAntiCool has used the term "glass cannon" before and Morrison is probably the best example of that I've ever seen. He's super fast, super explosive, he hits really hard and was one of boxings better finishers. The downside is that he had no semblance of head movement and was not exactly blessed with David Tua's tank-esque chops and steely chin. He was dropped by guys like Razor Ruddock, Carl "The Truth" Williams and Ross Purrity not to mention obliterated by Michael Bentt and Ray Mercer. His competition is the perfect 90s mix of tomato cans and all time greats and to the credit of Morrison, he fought two of the guys in the top 5 of the 90s. He also had some of the wildest heavyweights fights of the 90s; from his mammoth brawl with Razor Ruddock to his wars with Mercer, Purrity, Williams and Joe Hipp. Morrison sums up the 90s pretty well; he never was as good as his fanboys claim but never as bad as his detractors proclaim. Also Morrison is basically Andrei Arlovski since at one point in three different fights, opposing trainers kept telling their fighters that he cannot get out of the way of any right hand.

9- David Tua Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 35-1 Record in title fights- 0-1 Record against other fighters on the list- 0-1

David Tua as a kid was a mythical figure. A Samoan Mike Tyson with insane power who was blasting people out in a round and leaving nothing remaining in his wake. In truth, I think the better comparison for David Tua is actually Tommy Morrison. Both guys were blessed with absurd gifts from God, both were known for their tremendous hooks and both were surprisingly limited which capped their upside in a tremendous division. Tua had his fair share of fights where he was losing until he won so to speak (Hasim Rahman) or was in close before he pulled it out at the end (Jeff Wooden and David Izon). Tua was fun and deserves his spot in the top 10 but the legend was never quite the fact.

10- Ike Ibeabuchi Record in the 90s (Jan 1st 1990 to December 31st 1999)- 20-0 Record in title fights- 1-0 Record against other fighters on the list- 1-0

Watching some of Ike's fights on youtube are spooky difficult to sit through. Ike Ibeabuchi the FIGHTER was a human tank, an immovable mountain of violence. He was a dude who would just push through dudes crudely and violently with little care for what came back his way. Ibeabuchi was just a mack truck of violence with wins over then undefeated guys such as David Tua and Chris Byrd. Ibeabuchi the fighter was a tremendous display but the reason he never made it farther than #10 is that Ibeabuchi outside of the ring was....well...a problem. Ibeabuchi was desperately in need of help as a victim of undiagnosed bipolar disorder and committed some truly heinous atrocities in his life. From odd behavior such as threatening HBO executives with a knife or having people refer to him as "The President" at all times to scary behavior such as a suicide attempt that left a young man wheelchair bound. Ike Ibeabuchi would never fight again after starching future HW champ Chris Byrd in fight rounds in 1999 and would spend 20 years in jail for attempted sexual assault among a litany of other issues. I often say "People are complicated" and Ibeabuchi is one of the bigger examples of that. Ike Ibeabuchi is a case of "What If?" in more ways than one.

#boxing #90s #hws #lewis #tyson #holyfield #mccall #douglas #ibeabuchi #ruddock #forexmoney

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dartmythcollege-blog · 5 years

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TW: SA

Dear President Hanlon (and also, To Whom It May Concern),

As a sophomore at Dartmouth, I was sexually assaulted after a fraternity party. This experience has impacted my life physically, emotionally, and financially in ways I could never imagine. The alienation I faced from 2005 to 2007 at Dartmouth as a sexual assault victim who reported the attack was harrowing and demoralizing in many ways. Once full of hopes and dreams that I would be a graduate of a prestigious Ivy League college, my experience completely took the wind out of my sails as a young adult preparing to forge my way in the world.

After my sexual assault, which was reported to police but not ultimately prosecuted, my Dartmouth peers wrote horrible things on the Internet about wishing I was dead. I faced regular shame and ridicule which I have internalized for years. At one point toward the end of my time at Dartmouth, I honestly feared for my safety and had to seek refuge in a safe dorm on campus. On graduation day, I barely walked across the stage, teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Part of the reason it took so long for me to come to terms with the level of abuse I accepted at Dartmouth was that I left college during stressful times in late 2007 when it was very difficult for young graduates to find work. It was arguably even harder for a young graduate like me who suffered sexual and emotional trauma and was effectively “cast out” from the Dartmouth network. Ever since, I have had extreme financial challenges for most of the time (and while at school I was on a scholarship and came from a bankrupt family with very limited income). Dealing with this reality while working to recover from abuse has been difficult to bear.

Willing myself to do the typical Ivy League career-building things to land a solid job after graduation proved nearly impossible. On top of it, I was suffering from crippling anxiety and depression stemming from experiencing severe trauma without a safety net. I felt— for good reason, I might add— that it was completely unsafe to speak about my past experiences. When it came time to network and schmooze under these extreme circumstances, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to people’s faces when they asked me about my time at Dartmouth. Many times after a job interview I would be reduced to tears, after having to keep a straight face with an interviewer while simultaneously ruminating about the difficult experiences which scarred my psyche.

People would enviously remark on my Dartmouth education during a job interview, about what a great experience it must have been. I wanted them to know the whole story, about how much suffering and sacrifice was required to ultimately hold that fancy parchment diploma. But it was a story that stayed buried for many years, hidden by shame and a desire to pick myself up by my bootstraps so to speak, to turn the other cheek and find steady work and succeed in spite of the things that happened to me.

To this day I have yet to find a permanent job that has offered me health insurance benefits— my English degree is just as unmarketable as everyone warned me it would be when I was working to obtain it. And on top of it all, I have learned that the very English degree I worked so hard to earn is not even of much use when it comes to speaking truth about all of these painful and terrible things now that the time has come for revelation and reckoning, which is long overdue.

I cannot even use my English degree to define what happened to me as “sexual assault” and “rape” without encountering significant legal risk. Whether I am allowed to identify my attacker as a rapist who committed sexual assault is currently up for debate in federal court. Even though those definitions are clear and defined by the FBI, and even though the crimes I reported to the police fall well within those definitional guidelines.

My prestigious degree should at the very least render me capable and competent to define subjects on clearly defined and cited terms. What was the point of me earning a degree in Creative Writing if I cannot even use it to write about something deeply personal of extreme importance, which seems to be increasingly relevant to the shared experiences of many other victims? What power does my degree have if my very attacker can use the power his own Dartmouth degree has afforded him to effectively render me mute?

As victims we are damned in silence and anonymity, and damned in speaking and emerging from the shadows. We are damned as we are shamed into pretending everything is OK, and damned as we are implicitly asked to hold our lips and make nice anytime anyone asks about Dartmouth. Rather than take this significant moment to truly engage with the victims of the community, Dartmouth has acted to create policies to encourage people to move on and stop talking about the problem, long before it has truly been solved. Dartmouth has explicitly stated that the class action against them should be divided, and to me the strategy for dividing the voices of victims to me seems clear. If we are divided, we cannot stand together. Things can get settled and agreements can be signed to keep quiet. Things can easily get buried once again.

It seems there is no fair path forward for victims to seek reconciliation, as victims seem to be judged more harshly by the community than those who committed heinous acts of sexual abuse in the first place. This demonization comes no matter how we behave as victims, which is why it is no surprise that some victims would choose to remain anonymous in the face of such retraumatizing tactics.

The moment I began speaking out again, I began to face the threat of a very expensive lawsuit. As a result of the limited ways I began writing publicly about my experiences, I am accused in a court of law of being a lying, defaming, and gold digging opportunist, among other things. Members of the homegrown terrorist “incel” community have made statements about how I need “to be raped and burned alive.” One said he wanted to find me and “slit [my] throat,” and fantasized about hurting my family. All because I now face the challenge of my assailant accusing me of defamation, and attempting to put all of my speech and my life on trial as the price to pay for uttering forbidden words shielded under a veil of omertà. I sometimes wonder if the stakes would be lower if I’d joined the Mafia instead of attending Dartmouth.

Back when I was at Dartmouth in the aftermath of my assault, I was unable to receive psychological care at the college because there was an emergency shortage of therapists and psychiatrists available. There was an impossibly long waiting list, and ultimately I was unable to receive the care that I needed and deserved. Which is why the accusations being leveled against the Psychological and Brain Sciences department are, to me, beyond the pale. Abusers were sanctioned and paid by the college to continue academic research in the field of psychology, and meanwhile victims were being swept under the rug and denied psychological care.

To say this is a lost opportunity in the field of psychology is an understatement. For me, poverty and governmental policy kept me from accessing necessary therapy after graduation for several years. It was only years later under the care of many therapists that I ultimately began to fully accept and come to terms with the truth about Dartmouth, which is something I ran from in early adulthood and tried unsuccessfully to forget. I sometimes wonder what my healing process would have looked like if I had been afforded community support and an adequate safety net.

I fear a generation of future female leaders has been lost to the reality of scapegoating and re-victimization. These people could change the world if allowed to come together and given the space and resources to fully heal. We have not been given that opportunity, and we have been divided and silenced to weaken our cause. We have not been treated as stakeholders nor have we been given a seat at the table to foment change.

We are the voices that are needed to find lasting solutions which honor and rectify the lives of victims. Dartmouth can do much more to provide a platform and support to build a strong future for its victims in spite of the wrongs that happened to us at the college. Dartmouth needs to step up to recognize this festering wound at the core of its institution, and recognize the harmful experiences inflicted on its own community members. Professing ignorance, as the administrators do, seems to me almost like a cruel joke.

The first time I went to the mental hospital seeking treatment for a psychological breakdown, I met another troubled former Dartmouth student, Alix LeClair, in the women’s wing with me. She was having similar visions as I was about a resurgence of divine feminine energy, and the need for women to step forward and reclaim the sexual power they had relinquished to society and to others. We bonded over these ideals and compelling dreams and visions of an enlightened future, which the medical community was all too quick to label as sheer madness.

I came to find out she had also been abused at Dartmouth, and during her time there had protested and banged on the President’s door to his mansion late at night, to urgently give her message about honoring the feminine and dismantling the toxic patriarchy within the institution. At the time, I did not grasp it all and was focused on my own recovery. She and I went our separate ways after I was discharged and I never came back to see her at the hospital. I wish I had, because she died suddenly and unexpectedly a few months after we met. My good friend and sex educator Anna Zelinsky ‘06 still has a watch that Alix gave to me in the hospital, which reminds me that the time is always now and that I can no longer afford to avoid doing the difficult work of confronting the scary and difficult truth about Dartmouth College.

I have spent the past thirteen years of my life unpacking everything that happened to me during my time at Dartmouth. This unpacking has sent me several places including the federal court in the Eastern District of New York, cost tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars along with countless hours, and introduced me to dozens of other women who have suffered in ways all too similar to the ways I have suffered. Unraveling all of this has come at a great price, but it has also brought me closer to finding meaningful connections in the face of a lot of pain.

The time has come for Dartmouth to come to terms with the very real lives of the people who have been harmed by sexual violence and grotesque harassment on its campus. Because none of those costs are ever referenced in the marketing materials or the financial aid paperwork— and even with a scholarship, for me the price of losing my sexual autonomy as well as my voice has proven to be far too great of a price to bear.

At the very least, Dartmouth’s victims need representation and support. At the most, actions should be taken in a good faith effort to bring us closer to wholeness. Covering up the past and marching forward with new policy band-aids is not going to solve the problem of institutional rot, nor will it address the plight victims have faced and ultimately still face to this day. Dartmouth needs to take the opportunity to rise to the occasion of this “Call to Lead” they have foisted upon the community, take heed of this “red letter day,” and do better.

Monica Morrison, ‘07

#dartmyth250

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amazinglanadelrey · 6 years

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Ed Millett and Ben Mawson of Tap Management were crowned Manager of the Year at the ceremony, which took place at Printworks in South London, for their work with Rey and Dua Lipa. You can read Lana Del Rey’s speech in full below: "I am very happy to be here tonight to give my managers this award and I wanted to share with you what they did for me that no one else could do. They were able to see in me all of the things that people around 2006/2007 said were unmarketable, not pop enough, too abstract. They were able to see these traits as assets and to have the wisdom to see that some of the peculiarities of my writing style were relatable. They could actually make my record translate in a universal way that other bigger managers and bigger labels that I had met hadn’t been able to understand up until that point. My melodies, choruses and songs weren’t four to the floor, and my sentiments were not always cheerful… like having a debut record called Born to Die! But I was able to communicate my feelings in a way that was different from other artists at the time. I had my own unique vocabulary and I had ambitions to be a great American writer. They saw that value in that. By the time I met Ben in 2009 I had already been playing in local bars and auditioning for major and indie labels for about four years. Although my experiences with open mic nights and playing on the lower east side of New York City was generally positive, my experience playing for labels was mostly the same. Every meeting ended with the question, Where are the hits? To which I would indignantly reply, I’m sharing my life story! I guess I expected people to see the value in that and to have an a-ha moment. On some level I think people did love the music, I got a lot of positive feedback, just no calls back. That was probably because nobody knew what to do with the tone of the project and songs, and they couldn’t really envision what my career would look like long term. But when I met Ben and shortly after I met Ed, I moved to London where they lived, and we did start to get calls back after making the rounds for a few years. They were the first people who could see the big picture and they loved my music as much as I loved making it. Which I think is the most important thing for a manager: to truly love the projects that they are working on and to want to make the personal and professional commitment it takes to make an artist successful. Once an artist becomes famous, it really does become a commitment and a shared life between everybody involved. The artist’s ups and downs and the layers of the complexities in the ways that the managers need to be involved, especially in a younger artist’s life, can be extensive. Crazy ex-boyfriends, complex family histories to work through, previous indie record deals gone wrong, eleven record publishing commitments made at a young age to unwind. All of that before you even think about what the style of the first record should be. The most valuable thing a manager and an artist can share is to be on the same page as each other for the most important things like principles, ethics and goals. Eight years ago I told my managers upfront that there were going to be more parts of me that were not for sale than would be for sale. That having a real private life was going to be as big a priority to me as it was to write thoughtful records. I had to fight that a little bit, but we’ve kept them at the forefront of all of our decision making. On a side note, I’d also just like to say that there is a real cultural shift happening this year with women coming forward telling their stories about experiences in the entertainment business. It’s a real cultural moment. Me and my managers called each other up the same day that some of these revelations started to be divulged and I felt really lucky that we were on the same page about the fact that we felt like this is going to be a really good thing for artists like me and younger. I had a moment in those weeks thinking about how important it is to have those shared principles. So to finish, I really am one of those artists who wouldn’t be where I am now without these two people because it does take a village to make an artist go far. They’ve helped find the right people to support me as I travel around the world sharing my music. I also wanted to say that Dave Chumbley was my booking agent and he passed away this year while we were doing shows in the UK. I feel like if I mention his name, he’d be smiling because he loved stuff like this. So congratulations, you really deserve it, Ben Mawson and Ed Millet, managers of the year."

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acambridgegraduate · 7 years

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Hi Sarah :) I want to pursue English in university just like you did - and I believe I do have the passion for it, always did. However, it's hard to maintain optimism when my friends and family are telling me that an 'English degree is useless and unmarketable'. How did you manage to find the courage to pursue an English degree despite the stigma surrounding it? Did you always trust yourself to find a sustainable job after graduating? Was there anything you did actively to ensure so? xxx sorry!!

Heya,

I definitely didn’t trust myself to find a sustainable job after graduating with an English degree, but I think one thing that made me feel better about it all was a shared, similar perspective from those I actually did English with. I felt less alone. It becomes a bit of an ‘in-joke’, as it were.

The group of us who studied English together at Girton had a bit of a reunion last Saturday in London, for Bonfire Night. Some of us hadn’t seen others since graduation, so it was wonderful to be together again. And you know what? We’re all doing such wonderfully different things. I’m in advertising, some are in further study, others are working for publishing houses, some are doing law conversions, one is a sports blogger, others travelled for the year and are now looking for employment. But the main thing is, there have been so many options for us. It’s scary at times during your degree, and yes, it can feel really unstable, especially in the run-up to graduation - but of all degrees, we’ve been the most diverse in our actions following graduation. And that makes us the most interesting, in my opinion.

If you have the passion to study English - go for it. Please go for it. Ignore what others say (I had to ignore comments from close family members for the same reason! Now look who has a job!)

You say you really want to study it - you’ll regret it if you don’t.

(Plus it’s such a wonderful, beautiful degree that is truly enjoyable).

xoxo

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myhahnestopinion · 5 years

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THE AARONS 2018 - Worst Film

I read quite a few thoughts from people on the internet decrying the idea of a “Worst Films” list as overly-negative. Those people have likely never seen The Emoji Movie. Here are the Aarons for Worst Film:

#10. The 15:17 to Paris

Clint Eastwood’s late career need to commemorate every possible act of American heroism he can get his hands on and his inflexible attitude towards efficient filmmaking, no matter whether another take is called for, reached a breaking point in The 15:17 to Paris. Eastwood’s decision to cast the real-life military men that stopped the attack is admirable, but misguided, as each gives a performance more wooden than the fake baby from American Sniper. The film is clearly desperately reaching for some insightful commentary on heroism and sacrifice, but with its indifferent filmmaking of insignificant events designed to pad the runtime (a scene of the trio eating gelato takes over twice as long as the foiled attack), The 15:17 to Paris is too far off-track.

#9. Show Dogs

As a dog returns to their vomit, so too does a studio decide that Raja Gosnell should have another chance to direct a talking dog movie following Beverly Hills Chihuahua and the two Scooby-Doo films. The movie’s antics contain the same poor CGI, confusing world building, and lazy jokes expected from bottom-barrel family entertainment, but Gosnell has bred something truly abominable in Show Dogs thanks to the decidedly not family-friendly content littered throughout. Gosnell’s first show-stopper is grinding the ostensible kid’s movie to a halt in order to discuss the nature of sexual consent among animals; the second, in quite the reversal, was cut complete out of the film a week into release due to its unseemly implications. If you’re looking for an entertaining talking dog picture this year, maybe put this one down and pick up Wes Anderson’s instead.

#8. The Hurricane Heist

The Fast and the Furious series excelled once it began to play fast and loose with the laws of physics, but none of that franchise’s absurdity can break one’s sense of reality quite like finding out that The Hurricane Heist, which hails from The Fast and The Furious director Rob Cohen, revolves around a sentient storm. Yes, to repeat, the hurricane in The Hurricane Heist is seemingly alive and determined to hunt down a single family over a period of years. It’s the sole unpredictable element in an otherwise rote heist film, riddled with stock characters, hammy dialogue, and repeated visits to the same low-budget sets. Certainly the most predictable part of the cheap and confusing adventure though is that a franchise is certainly not on the forecast.

#7. Slender Man

The boogeyman of internet chat boards everywhere finally crept his way onto the big screen in 2018 by way of middle-aged filmmakers who don’t seem to understand how the internet works. The laughable writing of the teenage girl protagonists indicate an ignorance of the film’s target audience, but beyond that is the film palpable disinterest in its eponymous foe. The Slender Man is a non-entity in his own feature; his undistinguishing features are lost among low-lit cinematography that makes it hard to visually distinguish anything at all. His mythos is missing and the editing is choppy. The man may be slender, but so are the plot, the frights, and almost certainly the sequel count of this forgettable feature.

#6. The Clapper

Humans are socially conditioned to recognize the smacking of two hands together in rhythmic fashion as an expression of praise. Dito Monteil, director of The Clapper, has likely been socially conditioned by years of indie rom-coms to believe that smacking together a socially-stunted male character and a female character with a quirky job will result in an affable picture. But The Clapper is embarrassingly uncoordinated, failing to prop up its quirk with any actual humor or its romance with any actual human openness, resulting in a listless (and thus on this list!) film that flails into a third-act misunderstanding involving not-unfounded stalking allegations and an overall lazy disregard for the love interest’s personhood. So, give The Clapper a hand, everyone; it needs all the help it can get.

#5. Flower

Zoey Deutch is a charismatic actor and, following a great performance in Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some!!, a rising star, which makes it all the more upsetting that her efforts to find exciting roles was hijacked by the gross male power fantasy that Flower grows into. For the first two acts of the coming-of-age drama, its provocation and plundering of “strong female character” archetypes seems to be in pursuit of something profound, before a sudden tonal and plot shift sends the film floundering through successively icky developments. It’s sad seeing Deutch craft such a compelling character only for the film to weed out its good elements and reveal its sensitivity was all a charade for irritating wish fullfillment, leaving Flower to wither and die.

#4. Mute

Mute is the most painful entry to place on this list, as the passion project of the proficient Duncan Jones and the spiritual sequel to his superlative sci-fi film Moon, but just like with his big-budget Warcraft adaptation, Jones trades the sublime simplicity of his early works for confounding worldbuilding and bland characters. The director’s standard visual polish is overshadowed by the film’s discount Blade Runner aesthetic, but even that stands-out against star Alexander Skarsgård, who shrugs his way through his cipher of a character. The film doesn’t appear to care much about him either, choosing to spend an inordinate amount of time following a pedophilic character to no real purpose, just as its noir-influenced mystery comes to a dud of a conclusion. Here’s hoping Duncan Jones can return to form with his next feature, and we never have to speak of Mute again.

#3. The Open House

The infamous reputation of horror films in the January Dumping Grounds has shifted to a new low with the influx of streaming services. The same craving for endless content that led Netflix to finance beautiful works like Roma also leads them to crank out cheap, dispassionate works like The Open House. The Open House’s algorithm driven production is measurable; it’s designed to draw viewers in with a likeable enough lead and the promise of thrills… and then puts no other thought or effort into itself. Dylan Minette bumbles around an empty house and an empty town, with the occasional sharp noise or shifty side character to suggest, but never genuinely achieve, tension. Its ninety minutes of nothing, culminating in a climax that is dependent on none of that nothing, giving an early and clear sign that it’s not worth visiting everything that Netflix puts on the market.

#2. How It Ends

Like The Open House, How It Ends ends where most other movies would begin. Or, at least, movies that put any effort into their conception beyond taking a cheap, marketable genre (here, the apocalyptic road trip) and hiring a recognizable actor who is nevertheless not a big box office draw. How It Ends has nothing to say about the fragility of society, no insight into taunt relationships between men, no twist or turn that hasn’t been ransacked from better films. It’s, again, ninety minutes of nothing, designed to be easily accessible, unchallenging, and instantly forgotten. And how does that ninety minutes end? With manufactured conflict rooted in hardcore toxic masculinity and an anticlimactic cliffhanger. This is how one’s faith in streaming services’ forays into filmmaking ends.

AND THE WORST FILM OF 2018 IS...

1. Seven in Heaven

If the in-house productions of streaming services’ relentless pursuit of content are lethargic, their acquisitions of theatrical studio’s misfires are a never-ending source of fascination. Netflix had several high-profile purchases from other vendors, such as The Cloverfield Paradox and Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle, as well as several dumped onto the service with no warning or fanfare, such as this year’ s worst film, Blumhouse’s Seven in Heaven. Likely, Netflix had as little of an idea how to market the film as its initial owner Universal. It must be hard, after all, to know how to tell viewers what a film is about, when the film’s plotting is so aimless, its rules so arbitrary, its structure so faulty, that as the film rushes to its conclusion, the characters have a lengthy conversation trying to piece together what exactly mattered and what didn’t matter during their adventure. Seven in Heaven, as far as one can discern, sees two teens accidentally travel to a world where everyone follows their worst impulses. This alternate world is, of course, represented by the fact that everyone there is super into heavy metal and black clothing. This is, of course, to contrast with the normal world of non-worst impulses, where the wives in town collectively make a deck of pornographic playing cards for their husbands and then bond with their sons over them. The filmmaker’s worse impulse? Choosing to fill half of its run time cutting back from its central concept of alternate dimension mayhem for a plotline about partying teens waiting out the police that contains no horror elements or intrigue of any kind. It’s all underdeveloped, unbelievable, unagreeable, unmarketable. It’s impossible to make out what exactly they wanted Seven in Heaven to be.

NEXT UP: THE 2018 AARON FOR BEST DIRECTOR!

#film #TheAarons #TheAarons2018 #TheAaronsFilm #worstof2018 #bad movies #worst film #seven in heaven #how it ends #the open house #mute #flower #the clapper #slender man #the hurricane heist #show dogs #the 15 17 to paris

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elizasepistolarytravels · 6 years

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A month on: thoughts on the future, uncertainty, and ‘doing things’.

Dear all,

Indeed, the depressive spiral was, there, as it usually is though. All good though as of today. Now facing up to the waves of the future, I feel myself starting to lift out of the haze. Life has felt unreal. The world seems like it is hanging on fingertips, and university strikes have left me with a feeling that we are in suspension, waiting for a crash. It has also affected my reflection on my work and how to engage with the world, and what the point of my time here is. This strike has been essential, and I wonder what feat of nature or fate has made it land on this last year, giving my end moments here an air of staged performance and reminding me of my past relationship with school.

So yeah, I have been having difficulties getting my feet back on the ground. I can remember a few weeks ago, I had a pretty intense moment, where I was just walking around town, and then I stopped in the middle of the pavement and stared up into space, not seeing a reason to continue walking, or doing anything. It lasted a pretty long time actually, I might have been interesting to my fellow pedestrians and I am glad if I provided a moment of entertainment. I have since moved slightly out of those levels of inertia promise. My descent there has spurred me to re-evaluate what gets me going in life and to re-engage with this project.

I guess my relationship with school and work has always been tense, as it is for many. I have followed the train-tracks it seems for years, but have also momentarily raged against the powers at be, only to be railed back on track some time later. At times, I have struggled to exist inside it: I went to an alternative school as a kid, which looking back probably affected my capacity to adapt to formal schooling- my parents should have seen that coming. I was a sensitive from an early age, and I felt the later homogenisation of school like a violence. Luckily, I saw moments of education for educations’ sake in my first schools, moments of beauty and human connection as being of even greater value, that made me curious and want to engage with the world with passion. The rest of my life has been a search for that golden evidence. I had seen my last school crush the sensitivities of different unmarketable minds, and so in my first time out of education, or on what people call a ‘gap year’ (a gap in what? Life?) I was led to go to Finland by myself to see what the best education system had to offer. My time there was simply spurred by hanging onto the belief that there were other ways of living, because I have experienced them before. And because being in a school like that made me sick. It took time for me to learn how to learn from myself again, and how to engage with the world in truth. In Mexico after, I almost did not go to university.

Now as my time here is running to an end, this type of engaging with knowledge has been difficult and paradoxical to apply to my time here, and I have been looking for escape routes throughout it. I am part of the people who still believe that the ways education is structured are not inevitable, and that attitudes towards work in these institutions are at the crux of power of our ideology. Today, the strikes continue on. I aline with being fed up of being treated like a clog in a factory. My debt making me feel as though I should kill for kind of job that can get me out of this situation (that makes a lot of moneeey in the citeeey), a job that could kill me in the process. My depression stems a lot from here. (As does parts of the epidemic of mental health problems in the UK. hehe). I have often disconnected with my work at university, and felt like that time on the pavement, unable to see a reason to it all, the best result being as quoted above dying in an office job.

Anyway super dark right there, lets bring it back to the start. I have been thinking about what to do after university. This journey I am planning is a last fuck you to a morphing form of violence. This is to the ones who’s worth was not measurable through the education metrics. I am lucky I got pushed this far, and that I will have a degree (usually, I still have a months’ left of work). But what is that for? It is only for a few that this university is really made for, and for the world after. What about those who need to connect to their bodies and minds and hearts, connect to the land, to create a meaning in life. What about if this is a simple human need? When will my work be of enough value in that kind of path? To me as to many, it was only a matter of time before we break away. To do this is to go into the deep end, it is a choice, not one that all can make. It is not risk free, and will have consequences on my future life that I cannot predict. Am I committing myself to a form of defeatism, to a simple life, or was I conditioned to think of a path of discovery and creation of artistic moments as invaluable, as scary, crazy, stupid, as a simple luxury?

Anyway, I find myself again in front of the wall of creating things for their own sake, of needing again to engage into creating things by self-motivation, which I guess is growing up right and the meaning of our time here na?

I only know that I still feel that this is hard, but this is brave for me. It is for the first time in my life a path that I am truly choosing myself. And that the art form I am choosing to engage with will align with how I wish to see the world, and how I believe it is possible for others to do so too. And to maybe change minds about what the priorities of people’s life should be, and those who govern them.

Till then, I will create a Facebook page soon for the project, much to my dismay, so stay in touch,

Love,

Eliza.

On a happier note: here is a quick sketches of how the trailer could look like!!

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boatsalesusa · 3 years

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EU Hits US made Boats with 25% Tariff

Mexico, which represents $147.4 million or nearly 10 percent of U.S. boat exports, has announced a 15-percent tariff on all U.S. boats effective immediately.

The Targeted Boats

The $39 billion U.S. boating industry supports 650,000 American jobs, said NMMA president Thom Dammrich in a statement.

This is an NMMA graphic showing how the current worldwide trade war is beginning to affect the marine industry in the U.S. To this drawing can be added last week’s 10% and 25% tariffs.

It’s a World Economy

Exports Have Saved U.S. Boat Builders in the Past

Echos of Past Disasters

Many U.S. Boat builders have their own sophisticated upholstery shops that employ hundreds of people industry-wide.

The Ultimate Discretionary Item

20% interest rates of the late ’70s and early ’80s virtually stopped all boat sales, sail and power, even though general commerce (except housing) still continued at only a small decreased rate.

The financial crisis of 2008 brought the boating business to its knees once again, and it has only recently recovered to about 70% of its pre-crisis sales.

#boats for sale usa

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