#and we had a spiritual experience with the amount of horror we felt at the idea of a fucking PRINCE LEAVING HIS GODDAMN WALLET

[yuri-is-online]

Missed Connection Section of the NRC Gazette (Floyd, Leona, and Ruggie)

While cleaning the Ramshackle guest room, the prefect occasionally finds items that remind them of their guests. Sometimes that is because those items actually belong to them and need to be returned, other times it's just a happy coincidence. Either way, the item needs to be delivered, might as well invite them over again? Or just chase them down, whatever is most convenient.

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, Yuu is implied to be short, based off the personal items you can find in the guest room and a line from Floyd's dormwear card, title inspired by a country song that has nothing to do with the subject of the fic. I got a request for the 300 followers event, but since it's closed and I had this kicking around for Floyd anyway I added the other two requested characters. If you liked this you can read my other fics here.

Grey Scarf

"Floyd." Azul has a boring look on his face, all grimacy and angry and not worth Floyd's attention. Unfortunately he is very close to his face making it a tad impossible to ignore. "Where is your scarf?"  

"Dunno." He says. "I ain't wearing it." 

"I can see that." Snaps Azul. "You need it for your shift, you look sloppy enough as it is.  You scarf is a part of your uniform!  How can you be so careless with it?"

Because it's ugly.  Sure, it matches his dorm uniform kind of but his socks get to be a snazzy purple with a cute octopus pattern, why'd the scarf have to be such a boring grey?  Rules are rules though, and he does need it to work so he drags himself back over to his room and starts looking around. Normally, he would just steal Jade's and wait tables until he figured it out and forced Floyd to take the kitchen off his hands, but Floyd really didn't feel like cooking today. He didn't feel like waiting tables either, but money was money and Azul paid well. Only if he could find his stupid scarf apparently which was nowhere he could see, and he was far from happy about physically looking. Jade opens the door as he's halfway through emptying his bedside drawer on top of his bed, alongside all the laundry he'd had scattered across the floor.

"Looking for your scarf?" Floyd throws a pillow at him which is quickly returned with a pointed look that dares him to escalate things further just obviously enough Floyd doesn't want to do it. Instead he falls face first into the pile of laundry and nick nacks he'd been sorting through, making Jade sigh in disappointment.

"'s not here." Floyd grunts, muffled by an ok smelling t-shirt.

"Have you tried retracing your steps?" Jade is saying it just to be annoying but it is ok advice. Floyd tries, he doesn't usually wear his dorm uniform outside of school stuff, so it would have to be somewhere on campus. He hauls himself up from the pile and shuffles past his brother, the walk out of the mirror and towards the main campus passing by in a blur. There's a vague memory of club practice, but that could have been from any day this week, and it's not like he wears it to classes. Floyd chews on his lip in annoyance, he feels like he remembers where the last place the scarf was, but his bad mood is keeping him from sorting through his memories intellectually. It also keeps him from looking where he's going, smacking him directly into a very tiny, very familiar looking person who pointedly ignores his angry snarl to shove something in his face. Something very familiar, very boring, and very clearly the only reason either of them had left their dorms this evening.

"Seriously," the little shrimp has to stand up on their tip toes to throw the scarf around his shoulders "you have got to stop leaving your things at my dorm!" He thinks they're angry. That would explain the look on their face, but it's making his heart do weird flips between his chest and his stomach that keep him from thinking straight. A smile finds its way to his face, wide and unbidden coupled with outstretched arms that can't catch them fast enough, like he's reaching through honey even though he finds his mark and tugs them thrashing into his embrace.

"Awww," the words that come out of his mouth don't really feel like his "was little shrimpy wooooried about me?" He should say thank you. That's what Mamma Leech would say, and it's not that he doesn't want to, it's just there's a weird weight to the words he can't quite figure out. Something that wants to be said, but not just yet. They deserve a better tone, a better mood.

"No!" Yuu yells, muffled by his squeeze and unaware of how struggling is only going to make his hold tighter. "You just always burst in and whine about being bored-" Floyd nuzzles his cheek against theirs, trying to ignore the pushing against his chest as he sets them down.

"It's ok little shrimpy, you don't have to be so modest. Good shrimpies get rewards, I'll make sure to bring you something after I get off work, make sure to leave the door unlocked for me~" Or maybe don't, he could find his way in anyway he's sure of that but there's something about the fantasy of them wanting to see him (it's not a fantasy, they've invited him over before he knows that they don't fear him as much as they should) after work that's going to get him through the shift. Maybe he'll ditch the scarf again and make them come running after him on purpose this time, he thinks to himself with an uncharacteristically gentle smile.

Grand Wallet

Contrary to what he would say out-loud, Leona does think that the Ramshackle Prefect is quite smart. You do not survive as a magicless student from a different reality without some flexibility and raw intelligence. The consistency with which they could pick up on things and see through concealed intentions demands respect. But, he supposes as he idly thumbs through his bill fold disappointed to find it just as thick as when he left it, they are also... he decides to go with nice. The concerned way they stare at him is nice, Leona likes positive attention. He just wishes it wasn't from the nicest person he knows, is it so wrong to wish he had some reassurance that there was someone willing to be only nice to him? There's an ugly sort of suspicion they might have refused to steal from him out of fear, he's certainly more of a threat to them than he is to Ruggie.

"Well I guess I owe you a reward huh?" They jump, not helping the accusation (unvoiced) that they're only doing this out of fear.

"No?" Yuu says, looking around them probably to make sure that bratty cat monster isn't within earshot. Leona doesn't care about rewarding Grim, this is between him and the prefect, not some gluttonous bastard who is half the reason he was expecting to be stolen from in the first place. "You- Just stop forgetting things at my place!" He smiles slightly at that choice of phrasing just as they cringe at it. It almost makes him sound like a normal guy, if a Prince was leaving things around someone's place that would invite speculation; and Leona knows better than anyone that speculation invites scandal.

"Real shame no one ever does things out of the goodness of their hearts these days." His voice drawls as embarrassment settles over their face. They look almost mouse-like, if they try to speak Leona just knows they'll squeak and they clearly know it too. "You're really twisting my arm here, pretty shameless, prefect." That does it, the deep breath they take does nothing but really accentuate the harsh contrast of the squeaking to their normal voice.

"I did not," Yuu is so mortified they can barely get the words out, if he can't be the only recipient of their kindness he will satisfy himself with batting them around in his paws until they can pull together some nerves and force him to stop "return your wallet just for a reward. It's yours it belongs to you and now it is back where it belongs. Which isn't my guest room on top of a fucking couch seriously Leona-" Mice still have claws, even if the dent they leave is just a little scratch to such a big cat, he finds himself pleased with the annoyance of Yuu finding their voice. "It was like you were practically begging to be robbed. What if one of the Leech twins found that huh? Would you be getting it back?"

"Only after I paid the finders fee." He can ignore the tickle caused by the unsavory image of an eel inviting itself into your personal space. "Which is what I am doin' now, you're demanding it remember?" He tunes his ears to their footsteps as he walks towards the cafeteria, content with how quickly they jump to follow. The typically steady beat of their heart is skipping in tune with the directions of their thoughts. Good, the mouse is smart contrary to what the trapped lion thinks, so let them; they'll realize the hold they have over him soon enough.

Empty Lunch Box

This was really starting to annoy you, but no matter how much you turned the whole thing over in your mind you couldn't figure out why. You had been tempted to try and ask someone about it, but you could already tell what the general reaction to the situation would be.

The "situation" being that simply put, Ruggie liked to hang out in your guest room. That wasn't the issue. You liked having Ruggie over, it's actually really nice. Sometimes he brings small projects from some odd job or another and you'll work on them together while having a chat. He likes to ask you things about your world, it started as just small talk about the sort of jobs you'd had in your world but evolved into much more meaningful talks about your hobbies and the family you missed. You had even had a lengthy conversation about death and the difference between cultural beliefs about where you go after you die. Yes it was very nice and domestic even but then you made the mistake of trying to be nice.

Ruggie liked to bring a lunchbox with him when he visited. Sometimes it had food in it, and while he hadn't shared it with you at first, but then you started talking about your families and he had slightly warmed up to the idea of sharing snacks. You hadn't taken anything from him until he explicitly offered, and when he forgot the now empty lunch box you had pulled some of your personal savings to get him something from the Mystery Shop. It was supposed to be a cute surprise for him to find when you returned the lunch box, and it worked. Granted you had intended for him to find it after he got back to his dorm, but he had sniffed it out as soon as you handed it over. His reaction was cute, he was cute, it was almost like he thought he was dreaming with just how excited he had been to receive some packaged pastries. When he came over later in the week and left the lunchbox again you had done the same thing. Fair is fair, he gets you jobs and shares his food and you give a little food back in return. Lately though something has been different. Ruggie has still been coming to hang out, he still brings work, you still talk, and he still leaves that damn lunch box. But he hasn't been sharing anything, meaningful; personal information or foodwise.

Maybe it was the death conversation. If you had revealed you were an orphan and that you never knew your mom to someone you had a crush on (not that Ruggie like likes you no matter how much you might might want that) you would be pumping the breaks too. But it still kind of hurt, it felt like a rejection of something that you knew hadn't existed in the first place.

"Y'know you don't have to give me stuff." Ruggie had come over today too, with shitty plastic garbage that needed packed into boxes. He's either read your mind or noticed you brought the remainder of the packaged goods out to snack on while you work. You try to asses him from behind your pile of card stock, he's overly focused on his task. Reflective maybe? He is almost pouting.

"I wanted to." You decide to stick with honesty, sure Ruggie might be sneaky but he deserves that much, doesn't he? "You share with me, I share with you. Fair's fair, right?"

"Right." Ruggie says, audibly disappointed to your confusion. You have never seen him so... gloomy over the concept of someone owing him a favor. Especially one paid back in food. "You do that for everybody, yeah?"

"Yeah?" You say, pausing in your work for just a second to try and collect yourself. Up until a few seconds ago you had been under the impression that had been one of your better qualities.

"So like," he isn't looking at you and his ears are saggy, tugging at your heartstrings painfully though just a tiny part of you is starting to hope- "if Leona left no that doesn't make sense. If Jack left his lunch box here and it was empty would you buy him a snack?" You think for a second.

"Did he share his lunch with me?"

"Yes." Ruggie's looking at you again, like he has a bone to pick.

"Maybe." You don't really have to think about the answer, as much as you like returning the favor Jack would probably just be happy to find his lost item and leave it at that. "If we were hanging out and he wanted something from a vending machine I'd spot him."

"But you wouldn't go out of your way to get him something?" Ruggie's stopped working now, he's really staring at you almost like he is trying to sus you out as if he hasn't been friends with you for a while now. As if he doesn't know more of your secrets than anyone else.

"I-" for some reason what you want to say gets stuck on your throat, maybe it's because Ruggie leans across the couch to get a bit closer to your face. Maybe it's because you are suddenly a lot more aware of what your little actions might have meant to him as your previous conversations play over in your mind "no. You're the only person I've really gone out of my way to get food for. Well except for maybe Grim but he doesn't really count..." You both let out sharp breaths, your eyes fall down to your work, hands going back to the task out of habit and desire to distract yourself.

shishishishi

Ruggie is silent and back in his perch across from you once your head snaps up to look at him. His small grin is intoxicating, his tail is swishing in pride like he's just won a great victory in some war you had no idea he was fighting. It is a smug look, too smug for someone who just put you through a few days of mental torture.

Maybe you'll make him some food next time, you'll see who is smug after that.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #when i realized leona leaves his whole ass wallet at your guest room i screamed #the soul of ruggie bucchi became my stand #and we had a spiritual experience with the amount of horror we felt at the idea of a fucking PRINCE LEAVING HIS GODDAMN WALLET #WAS YOUR DRIVER'S LICENSE IN THAT LEONA? EVER THINK OF THAT #FORGET THE CASH AND CARDS YOUR FUCKING LICENSE??? LEONA???

[freddyfreebat]

Jack Dylan Grazer Discovers Who He Is in Luca Guadagnino's “We Are Who We Are”

After supporting roles in the It and Shazam!, the young actor shifts gears with his turn as a capricious army brat in the Call Me By Your Name director's new HBO series.

by Iana Murray / Photography by Nik Antonio  —  September 14, 2020

A few years ago, Jack Dylan Grazer took a trip to the movie theater. He was in Toronto and it was one of his days off from filming Shazam!, the DC comedy in which he plays the shape-shifting hero’s foster brother. He decided to watch Call Me By Your Name, and he immediately fell for it. Grazer took note of the director’s name that appeared in the credits—Luca Guadagnino—and turned to his mother.

“I want to work with him,” he told her. With eerie prescience, she assured him: “You will.”

Whether Grazer, now 17, has a knack for manifestation, or it was all just happenstance, his wish came true in the form of We Are Who We Are, Guadagnino’s coming of age drama which follows a group of army brats living on an American military base in Italy. Thematically, the show is something of a spiritual successor to Call Me By Your Name: Grazer plays Fraser, a tempestuous 14-year-old with a pair of headphones constantly plugged in his ears. He’s the new arrival at the base with his mothers (Chloë Sevigny and Alice Braga), and quickly forms a deep bond with his neighbour, Caitlin (Jordan Kristine Seamon), as they both wrestle with their sexuality and identity in the midst of domestic troubles and teenage debauchery.

“He’s an enigma to himself,” Grazer says of his character. “He doesn’t really understand a lot of the things he does but he’s so forthright so he convinces himself that he knows everything. He feels like other people don’t deserve his intelligence. But he’s also very volatile and aggressive at times, and not because he’s coming from an angry place but because he’s constantly questioning who he is.”

If Fraser is just beginning his coming of age when we first meet him, Grazer is inching closer to the end. Starring in enormous blockbusters including IT, he became the Loser Club’s resident hypochondriac at age 12 and a superhero’s sidekick by 15. His films have grossed a combined total of over $1.5 billion. Suddenly the stakes are multiplied tenfold during what are ostensibly, and horrifyingly, the most awkward years of your life. Every misstep is now being monitored, examined through a microscope of millions. (See: His 3.8 million fans on Instagram, to say nothing of the countless stan accounts.) Child fame is a disarming transaction like that: a stable career and all the other perks of being a celebrity, but at the cost of normalcy. That unalleviating pressure forces a kid to mature fast.

Grazer is acutely aware of this fact, admitting outright that he’s “not a normal person.” But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I became 70 when I was 7!” he laughs. “I don’t know if I really had much of a childhood. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to grow up really fast.”

Nevertheless, he’s still 17. When we meet over Zoom, his shoulder length curls are damp and disheveled (he just got out of the shower), his black painted fingernails contrast with his brightly-lit, white bedroom as he rests his face on his hand. It’s a Saturday morning and he looks tired: It’s his first week back at school, which has traded classrooms for hours of video calls reminiscent of the one we’re currently on. “It feels like the days are shorter because the teachers don’t want to torture their students by keeping them on a computer for six hours a day,” he tells me. “You do miss the social aspect of being at school.”

If you were to judge Grazer by what’s out there on the internet, you’d expect an anarchic and relentless bundle of energy. A quick YouTube search brings up results like “jack dylan grazer being a drama queen” and “jack dylan grazer being chaotic in interviews for 4 and a half minutes straight.” He trolled a YouTube gamer on Instagram Live. His TikToks are inscrutable.

But here, he’s incredibly earnest, as he excitedly talks about his skateboarding hobby (a skill he picked up after auditioning for Mid90s) and his attempts to learn the flute (“I need to learn how to read sheet music, but it’s like reading Hebrew!”). He’s calm and thoughtful, as if this project we’re discussing requires a shift in sensibility.

For Grazer, acting had always simply been fun. While other kids might take up a sport or get hooked on video games, he performed in musical theater with the Adderley School because he “just wanted to play.” His roles so far have been reflective of his carefree approach to the job: Up until now, he’s portrayed best friends with biting one-liners, or the younger version of the protagonist in a flashback. IT is a prime example of both. In the horror franchise, Grazer plays a neurotic germaphobe running from a fear-eating clown, but in reality, the film felt like “summer camp.” Both films never felt like work; he just learned his lines and got to hang out on extravagant sets with his best friends. Likewise, school amounted to being pulled off set by a teacher in between takes to cram in the mandatory hours.

But with We Are Who We Are, he steps into his first leading role, one that required him to convey longing and confusion through Elio-like physicality and subtext. It’s abnormal to talk about the show as a turning point for an actor who isn’t even a legal adult yet, but Grazer explains that the show required him to radically change his approach to acting. He spent six months in Italy (“It felt like I was in Call Me By Your Name.”) and built up the character beyond what was on the page in collaboration with Guadagnino. “His philosophy is that we know our characters better than anyone else—even the writers—because we are the characters essentially,” he explains.

In many ways, Grazer absorbed that philosophy entirely. He describes the experience less as a performance and more like a “rebirth”—perhaps even an attempt at method acting. Over those months in Italy, the distinctions between actor and character gradually became indistinguishable. “I had no other choice but to act and surrender to Fraser entirely and throw Jack Dylan Grazer out the window,” he says. “I would go out and get a coffee as Fraser and walk like Fraser. That was just me trying to get into [character], but then I slipped at some point and just became Fraser.”

One day on set, he looked at himself in the mirror, and the hardened kid standing there with a bleach-blond dye job and oversized shorts was unrecognizable to him. He could only see Fraser. While talking about his character, he seems to unintentionally switch pronouns, from “he” to “I”, as if the two still remain one and the same.

The process was so transformative that it forced him to re-evaluate himself entirely. “I never really struggled with identity before,” Grazer tells me. “But I think the show opened up my eyes to question myself. Being Fraser forced me to question what I wanted and what I stood for and what I believed in. At some points, the show bled into reality.”

When asked how he has changed, he takes a pause and a pensive swivel in his armchair, unsure of how to answer. “I think I was more ignorant before I did the show,” he says, and he leaves it at that.

Coming of agers are a particularly well-trodden genre, but there’s a naturalistic, raw energy to We Are Who We Are that is distinctive from what we’ve seen before. Each character quietly struggles with their own problems and growing pains—for Fraser, it’s his sexuality. Caught in a fraught relationship with his lesbian mother and an infatuation with another man, his story doesn’t tick off the familiar beats. His personal discovery is instead internal and intimate. "I think every single person born as a boy has this guard. It’s this guard that they don’t even realize they have, where they’re initially like, ‘Being gay? I could never.’ But we’re all born as humans who are attracted to whatever we’re attracted to," he says. "I think that’s how Fraser interprets it as well. Yes, he’s reserved and nervous about it in the beginning because he’s unlocking this new idea for himself. He’s figuring it out, and that’s what you see in the show: him coming to terms with this idea."

As our conversation winds to a close, I ask him if Martin Scorsese ever visited the set—his daughter, Francesca, plays the confident cool girl of the show’s teen cohort—and his eyes widen. “That was actually a really stressful day,” he divulges. Still, he revels in the memory, speaking so fast it’s like someone has put him on 2.5x speed as he shows off his impersonation of Guadagnino. The director was so nervous about Scorsese’s presence that production halted that day.

“Luca was like, ‘I cannot do this today because Martin Scorsese is on my set. I don’t know what to do, this is not good for me. I will have a panic attack before the day ends,’” Grazer says in his best Italian accent. “It’s like if you’re a painter and Van Gogh shows up.” 

Admittedly, Grazer is also a self-proclaimed superfan of the Wolf of Wall Street director, and afterwards, he got to spend several days with his idol, as they went on lavish restaurant outings in Italy and talked about anything and everything.

He takes a second to compose himself. A giddy, Cheshire cat smile spreads across his face. The kid in him comes flooding back.

“...Oh my god!” he yells. “I met Martin Scorsese!”

#jack dylan grazer #fraser wilson #we are who we are #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter two #freddy freeman #shazam! #wawwa #luca guadagnino #hbo #hbo max #sky atlantic #interview #gq #wawwa press

[mostlymovieswithmax]

Movies I watched in June

Now I think I’m comfortably in a rhythm to get these posts out. For one, I’m writing up short reviews either straight after watching a movie or sometimes it might take a few days. But June was a fairly good month in terms of the amount of films I watched. I got to go to the cinema quite a bit which is always fun. Anyway, let’s get on with it! If you’re looking for something good to watch (or maybe even something bad), I hope this list can help in some way to introduce you to new and different movies that maybe you’ve never heard of, or were thinking of checking out. Here is every film I watched from the 1st to the 30th of June 2021.

Bo Burnham: Inside (2021) - 10/10 Everyone was going off about how great this film is. An hour and a half of Bo Burnham in lockdown, singing songs and being upset is definitely a powerful hook and I have to agree with the general consensus because Inside blew me away. More thoughts on this in my podcast: The Sunday Movie Marathon episode 34.

Bo Burnham: Make Happy (2016) - 7/10 After watching Inside, I figured I’d rewatch some of Burnham’s older stand-up shows on Netflix. Make Happy is a lot of fun, injected with a lot of introspection from Burnham that really makes the special stand out, despite a lot of gags that just didn’t land for me.

Bo Burnham: What. (2013) - 6/10 It’s plain to see just how much Bo Burnham has grown over the years and how he has honed his comedy and music. ‘What.’ is a good stepping stone in the comedian’s career, showcasing loads of promise in him from a young age. There are some jokes that haven’t aged as well and some that straight up dragged, but overall the show is still enjoyable.

The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It (2021) - 3/10 Packed theatre for this one, obviously. People love a Conjuring movie, and I’d also say people love a good scare… but this movie isn’t scary, or good for that matter. More thoughts on episode 35 of the podcast.

The Conjuring (2013) - 6/10 After the horrendously disappointing debacle that was the third Conjuring movie, I decided to watch James Wan’s original movie and man, if this wasn’t better in literally every way. I don’t tend to love James Wan movies but I can’t deny he’s got so much talent in how he makes movies and it makes The Conjuring a lot more fun to see competent filmmaking in the horror genre in a way that actually creates an eerie atmosphere with creative uses of camera-work and editing.

A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) - 8/10 Normally I’m not big into the old slasher movies. I appreciate that for the time, perhaps they hit differently, but now I just don’t tend to connect with them. Wes Craven’s ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’ is a bit of an exception. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not particularly scary, though it does employ a lot of interesting techniques and designs. Undeniably, the design for Fred Krueger is a staple in cinema, with the striped jumper, hat, scarred face and knives for fingers not leaving the mind of the general public any time soon. Elm Street doesn’t have too many kills but when it does, it is so effective and fun to watch. Craven was one of the greats, truly.

One Cut of the Dead (2017) - 8/10 This has to be one of the most engaging zombie movies I’ve seen in a long time. There’s a lot to spoil with One Cut of The Dead but I won’t go into that here. It is clever and funny, subverting expectations in ways I really didn’t expect. I really cannot recommend it enough.

Dave Chappelle: Sticks & Stones (2019) - 8/10 Since we’re watching Chappelle's Show for episode 45 of the podcast, I wanted to get an idea for what I was in for, so I watched Dave Chappelle’s stand-up show from a couple of years ago. Yeah, really funny, which I suppose is what you want from a stand-up special, but what makes it better is Chappelle’s commentary on the world at large and how he’s able to combine humour with intelligent criticism.

Fear(s) of the Dark (2008) - 4/10 A few years ago I think I watched this animated black and white anthology film on a New Year's Day when I had foolishly decided to pull an all-nighter and then go out with mates for ice cream. Never again. But I’d forgotten what I thought of this movie and decided to get the DVD for cheap on eBay. Perhaps I am doomed to watch Fear(s) of the Dark only when I am tired because I popped this on when it was nearing midnight. I was lucid enough to understand what I was watching though… and it was quite boring. These short films emulate the filmmakers’ nightmares - an interesting premise in theory, but pretty weak on execution.

The Bourne Identity (2002) - 3/10 We marathoned the first three Bourne movies for The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast, episode 36 so check that out for my expanded thoughts on this, the best Bourne of the three.

The Bourne Supremacy (2004) - 2/10 Immediately after, we did the deep dive into Supremacy, the second Bourne and the worst of the three (albeit by a very slim margin). Check out episode 36 for more.

The Bourne Ultimatum (2007) - 2/10 I really couldn’t care less about these terrible movies. It was a horrible chore to sit through them. Ultimatum was also rubbish. More gripes and discussion in episode 36 of the podcast.

The Father (2021) - 10/10 Another trip to the cinema for this masterpiece. I tried very hard not to sob loudly in the theatre where aside from myself, the audience totalled three people. More discussion of The Father in episode 36 the podcast.

Drag Me To Hell (2009) - 2/10 I’m pretty shocked that Sam Raimi directed this. Usually when I watch one of his films, I can see his staple of fun gore, practical effects, crazy camera movements… but there was none of that here. It just felt like a really bad horror, indistinguishable from the regular affair, with no personality or passion. Drag Me To Hell might even have been one of those movies I’d avoided in the past when I was younger because it seemed too scary but no, it was just boring and bad and I feel like there’s something I’m not getting out of this that other people seem to be.

Moonrise Kingdom (2012) - 8/10 At this point, I feel I have to admit Wes Anderson as perhaps my second favourite director. His movies are just so nice and beautiful to watch. Moonrise Kingdom is a quirky love story between two kids and honestly, with any other director, could have been handled poorly because the story is quite simple. But Anderson injects so much of his signature style and personality into the film. A powerhouse of actors with the likes of Frances McDormand, Bill Murray, Bruce Willis and Tilda Swinton, among a few of Anderson’s regulars, make Moonrise Kingdom a breeze. Good for a dark day to lift the spirits.

Nobody (2021) - 8/10 I needed something to fill an otherwise uneventful day, so I hopped on a bus and booked a ticket for Ilya Naishuller’s new action movie, Nobody. The film started and to my annoyance, the lights in the theatre were still on. When I go to the cinema I don’t really want to see the other people sitting around me, so I got up from my seat, abandoning the first two minutes of the film to find a member of staff to turn the lights off. After showing them that the lights were in fact still on, I took to my seat and watched the movie for what felt like a little while before the lights went off. Nobody is a really fun action movie. Perhaps similar in a lot of ways to John Wick, but with more personality to the main character. More thoughts on episode 37 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast.

The Darjeeling Limited (2007) - 8/10 After procuring the Criterion blu-ray from my local hmv, I delved into all the supplements it had to offer, including a making-of documentary, chats with the director, and a gallery of polaroid pictures from when they were shooting the film in India. The Darjeeling Limited is perhaps not peak Wes Anderson, but I do kind of love it. It makes me want to go on a journey to another country with my brother and sister, perhaps in ten to fifteen years. Here, the main characters are three brothers who travel to India seeking some kind of spiritual experience. Things don’t seem to work out that way, however, because I’m not sure how spiritual an experience you can have when you plan out an itinerary to schedule it. Fantastic performances all round and of course, beautiful direction and cinematography.

Face/Off (1997) - 3/10 Was I supposed to laugh? Maybe I was just too tired but I really couldn’t stand Face/Off. It didn’t feel particularly special and despite a couple of fun ideas, it was mostly quite boring.

Luca (2021) - 5/10 The new Pixar movie leaves a lot to be desired. The animation is really second to none and I can’t fault how beautiful the movie looks, more so when it’s set in this little Italian town than under the sea. The story is so uninspired though, with the basic premise being that the protagonists want a Vespa so they enter a competition to win the money to buy one. Also they’re fish that turn into people on dry land. Maybe that’s enough for some people, but I couldn’t shake the familiarity of Luca. It never went in any interesting directions and basically did exactly what I figured it would do. I don’t believe it’s out here to subvert expectations but I would like some creativity when it comes to the writing. Perhaps if I watched it again, I might like it less. It was pretty dull.

Punch-Drunk Love (2002) - 10/10 I’m a little disappointed with the Criterion blu-ray for Punch-Drunk love. It’s supplements host a couple of low-quality deleted scenes that were clearly deleted for a reason, and some weird artsy music videos that incorporated footage from the movie. I was quite shocked at how low-effort it all seemed. The movie itself is fantastic though and I do believe it to be Adam Sandler’s best performance (and I really liked Uncut Gems). He portrays a man who is constantly put down by his family, clearly has some kind of social disability, and on top of it all he’s getting scammed by a sex line. Amongst all this, he’s trying to navigate a new relationship and it’s so sweet to watch all the interactions between Sandler and Emily Watson. It’s a perfect melding of romance, comedy and anxiety, beautifully directed by Paul Thomas Anderson.

Fargo (1996) - 9/10 Another movie you wouldn’t expect to be so funny, especially since it’s based on this horrific true story about murder, deceit and money. But the Coen brothers know how to handle it. Excellent performances, beautiful colour palette, and a story that just gets more and more insane as it goes.

House (1977) - 7/10 House (or, Hausu) was a recommendation for episode 37 of The Sunday Movie Marathon podcast so check that out for more discussion. Generally speaking, this Japanese horror/comedy was bonkers. Insanely creative and abstract (which at points can detriment the film) with an almost Balamory-esque presentation. I was happy to find that the comedy was not lost on me at all; this is a hilarious film, albeit maybe not all the time.

The Princess Bride (1987) - 10/10 I reviewed this in my May wrap-up but this time around, I had recommended The Princess Bride for the podcast, the discussion for which you can listen to in episode 37. It all clicked this time around. It is such a fun, warm movie with a lot of laughs and superb production.

This Is Spinal Tap (1984) - 8/10 Another Rob Reiner joint, a few years before The Princess Bride. This Is Spinal Tap is lauded as a masterpiece in comedic cinema and I might agree; this movie is hilarious. Shot in mockumentary fashion, it follows a band playing shows and trying to get gigs, coupled with the inevitable screw-ups of live performance and creative disagreements. It lost me every now and again but it’s still a must-watch.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996) - 6/10 A decent Disney flick but certainly not their best. One highlight includes the villain singing a lament about wanting to have sex with Esmerelda and calling her a witch for giving him a boner.

Ponyo (2008) - 4/10 Not sure if I’ve ever disliked a Miyazaki movie before but I did not vibe with Ponyo. It came across as very baby and as such, there really wasn’t much to read into. The animation is fantastic as always but so much of it felt specifically tailored to a younger crowd.

Roman Holiday (1953) - 9/10 Classic romance at its best. I had heard on a podcast that this was the sexiest movie the guest had ever seen and while maybe not in the traditional sense of the word, I do get where they’re coming from. I was tearing up with just how lovely it all was, following a princess who runs away and spends the day with a man she meets in Rome (where it was shot on location), doing all the things she’s wanted to do but never could because of royal responsibilities. Fantastic performances from Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck who sell the chemistry of the characters so well.

F9 (2021) - 2/10 I’ve never seen any of the Fast & Furious movies and after watching the ninth in the series, I don’t want to. This is basically the Vin Diesel show; we watch him drive cars fast and punch people a lot. Wow! I don’t really understand what it (and forgive the pun) driving people to see these movies if they’re all in this same vein. As far as I can tell, F9 is the goofiest of the series so far and I’ll admit I had a chuckle or two at some of the truly implausible moments, such as a part where one of the team gets shot by about ten men with machine guns, yet manages to kill them all without being affected by the bullets… but overall, in this two-and-a-half-hour experience, I was largely bored.

Shaolin Soccer (2001) - 7/10 I love this movie! Shaolin Soccer is so much fun; it is goofy and out there and completely crazy, all by design. Steven Chow knew what he was making when he set out to craft this insane story of a group of guys using Kung-Fu to play football. The basic story itself is nothing new but it’s elevated by the infectious comedy and implausibility of what’s happening. Balls are kicked into space and across fields so fast the very ground is torn asunder. A man eats an egg off a dirty shoe. This is cinema.

Casino Royale (2006) - 7/10 I had seen a trailer at the cinema for the new Bond movie and I have to say, I’ve never really given 007 the time of day, aside from a few of the very first movies I’d tried watching a while ago. But the new trailer kind of got me hyped, so I wanted to watch all of the Craig era Bond movies, starting with Casino Royale. I had a great time! Even though there’s not loads of fighting or weapons or fast cars, the meat of the movie actually comes from this poker game Bond is playing against the villain, played brilliantly by Mads Mikkelsen. I was surprised to witness a bit of cock-and-ball torture in this 12-rated movie but I would be lying if I said it didn’t stick with me.

Quantum of Solace (2008) - 5/10 Immediately after Casino Royale, I jumped into the second of Daniel Craig’s Bond movies, Quantum of Solace. Sadly it’s quite weak, with not much going on aside from the general Bond fare. Mathieu Amalric’s villain lacked a lot of menace or motivation and generally, I’m not super worried about a brilliant story in a Bond movie, but even the action felt weak in this. Quantum of Solace didn’t exactly upset me but it failed to wow me in any way either. The saving grace of the movie is certainly Daniel Craig as the hero, capturing Bond and what he’s supposed to be.

Skyfall (2012) - 6/10 A marked improvement from its predecessor, Sam Mendes helms Skyfall, Craig’s third outing as Bond. Skyfall delves into Bond’s past as he seems to be slipping a bit, not as much the expert operative he once was. It would have been nice to see more of his fall from grace, as they don’t really show us how he’s become less efficient as much as they give other characters expository dialogue telling us how he drinks and does drugs and is haunted by childhood trauma. For me, that’s where the meat of the story lies and I would have preferred more of a character piece if indeed they were delving into that side of the character anyway. That being said, the fights are still better choreographed than the last instalment and the colour grading and scenery is often very visually interesting. Everything in Skyfall is better than its predecessor and it’s surely thanks to Sam Mendes who does a great job at directing.

Howl's Moving Castle (2004) - 8/10 Another go round for Howl's Moving Castle, as this was a recommendation for my podcast, The Sunday Movie Marathon. My opinion, I feel, is unchanged. It's a fantastic film, and you can listen to more of what I have to say in episode 37. The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn - Part 2 - 3/10 A pretty poor end to a poor series of movies. I'm surprised I've watched the Twilight movies as many times as I have but I also know I'll watch them again. Part 2 I watched with the YMS commentary track on YouTube which, again made the experience a lot better. But otherwise the series seemed to get better as it went along… until the last movie. Ultimately my biggest problem with it is that nothing actually happens and the plot feels like a late addition rather than a natural progression of the story. It’s basically a whole movie of set-up to a payoff that doesn’t even canonically happen. A big thing with YA adaptations in this era was making a final book into two movies, regardless as to whether it needed that much time or not. Breaking Dawn does not need to be two movies at two hours each. About ten new characters are introduced here and the film is afraid of killing even one of them off. It's the last movie! We're not going to see these characters again! Kill some of them! There's just no emotional weight to any of it and I hate to say I was disappointed with the ending because I have such low expectations for these films but man, this was so unsatisfying.

Frances Ha (2012) - 8/10 Life is hard. And I hate this movie because it shows me so much of what terrifies me about being alive. And I love this movie because it shows me so much of what I’m alive for. Noah Baumbach’s brutally honest depiction of growing up and fending for yourself struck me in a way I wasn’t expecting and I think it’s because I’m at a point in my life where I’m worrying a lot about how it’s all going to turn out. The titular character is burdened with the stress of working low-paid jobs and paying rent while juggling school and making time for her passion of dancing as she tries to connect with people she’s lost, as temporary friends and housemates come and go. She feels like a lonely character despite often being around a lot of people. Frances Ha is fantastic and heartbreaking and uplifting… but it made me feel bad so I hate it.

#june #movies #wrap-up #film #follow for more #Twitter: @MShukster #bo burnham: inside #bo burnham: make happy #bo burnham: what. #the conjuring #the devil made me do it #a nightmare on elm street #one cut of the dead #dave chappelle: sticks and stones #fear(s) of the dark #bourne #the father #drag me to hell #moonrise kingdom #nobody #the darjeeling limited #face/off #luca #punch-drunk love #fargo #house #the princess bride #the hunchback of notre dame #ponyo #roman holiday

[lunar-fortunes]

Blood, Ink and Shadows

"Blood includes your life essence.  The bond of blood can backfire. Using blood binds you to the intent and outcome of the magick work, in the spiritual sense.  Binding with blood magick is eternal and forever through lives and deaths and time upon time.  Be careful with it.  Forever is an immeasurable amount of time." (Author Unknown)

Three times three times three.

A protection, a binding, a curse.

Two can keep a secret, three's a crowd, and four? A shadow.

Ink:

Don't trust him, the spirits whisper, from beyond that place of blood and bone. The talisman has affected him, more than you could ever know.

The cards speak of a dark haired man, an air sign, a man with two faces. You knew him once: another time, another life. His Mars your IC, his Pluto your Lilith.

He will destroy you, the cards whisper. Again and again. You are already in the pattern. You cannot step out. He has destroyed you before. He will do it again.

You decide you will trick him, deceive him, the man with a thousand faces. You will make him pay for his cruelty, for his anger. You will make him pay for deceiving your trust. Oathbreaker.

He only shows his kind face to you, but to no one else. You collect secrets like graveyard dirt. He is a serial cheater. He abuses his partner. He is a stalker. He is sexually obsessed with you.

Be careful, oh be careful, whisper your spirits. There is danger in the wood. Rapist. Mercenary. Soldier. Illusions. The Devil. The Tower. The Moon.

And then the pattern changes. Or does it repeat itself? Over and over again, making the same mistakes in every life, in every body.

You start joking about book titles with fucking in the title. You suggest you use your own titles -- he is a writer too, you see. Ink flows through his veins. You envision a book made of flying herbs and ink and magick, sex and blood and incantations.

The book is yours, now, he says. You have to write it. You have to make it real. We have to make it real, you hear him whisper.

A man who would defy an empire for you. Isn't it what you wanted?

His desire for you seeps through the screen, it coalesces and becomes a living thing. He watches you, stripping you down to the bone with his inky dark eyes. Write the book, and call me by my secret name... for you know all my secrets, witch, even the ones I never told you...

Blood:

He tells you of the time he took a sickle crop knife and cut his left hand. The blood dripped on the chives he'd made a pentagram with. Someone burst into the cooler and found him with his team looking at him in horror. Their late freight truck had come in, safe.

He is the one you want, the spirits whisper. The guardian of the crops. The harvest king. The young man who works with the growing things.

And you want him. You want him. He sees your light. He is the only one who can make you feel calm, the anchor you hold onto in the darkness.

But you can't stop the tide.

It rises and falls, it ebbs and flows. His eyes change color with the seasons, yours change with every mood. Your emotions bleed into one another's. Your energies intertwine. Everything you talk about, he wants to do it. Everything is the same, the same. You talk and talk, you never sicken of one another. People talk and talk, they say you must be together, you must be lovers, they see the hidden truth of what you both deny.

He is the only other witch you know, the only male witch you've ever met who is like the other half of you, the one who knows you best, the one who can cut you the deepest. He says, I wants to merge into you. After all, you are the same as him, the same childhood, the same experiences, the same witchblood flowing through your veins.

You fall for him in secret, and blame the talismans. How can any of it be real, when there's magick afoot?

I can't do this alone anymore, you say to him. Please don't make me do it alone. You forget. He forgets. But the blood remembers.

And then, it happens. He forgets to charge his talisman on the full moon. With a sickle crop knife, the harvest king cuts his palm. Drip, drip, drip. It falls on his talisman. Drip, drip, drip, it falls on the center talisman of the gard.

Blood on the ink, ink in the blood, bound in the seen and unseen, in this life and the next.

Shadows:

You wake up from a dream, your heart pounding. He is the moon and you are the womb and he'll always be there, in the liminal. You pass him at crossroads, at Y-forks. Always the same.

Hello, Man. - Hello, Woman.

At night he is there is your dreams, sometimes he wears the another man's face and you wear another woman's. The forest breathes. The birds sing but you cannot hear them. There is no sound but the whisper of the wind on the grass.

(Hello, Man. - Hello, Woman.)

Shhh, shhh.

You stand in the cooler. The cooler is a liminal space. You call him to you. Heart to heart. Bone to bone. You open the door and he is standing there, but you say nothing. You pretend as though it never happened. You never speak. After all, nothing can ever happen between the two of you. It can never be.

It can never be.

Years pass. He has a child with another woman. You cannot be near them. When he sees you, he looks away. You want him to be happy. If he's happy, then you're happy. But why are you crying?

Sometimes you wake in the dark of the night, when the moon is bright as a silver coin, and remember walking down the long hallway beside his office. And as you passed the door, you felt a wave of sadness that did not belong to you.

Protect me, you send to him as you lay the gard. One time. Two times. Three times. Four. How many will it take before the pandemic ends?

It can never be. It is forbidden. Don't look back. Turn the Wheel. Why are you crying?

The Star. The Lovers. The Wheel. Make a choice. Change the pattern.

You see him at the time clock. You try to say hello. The words do not come out of your mouth. Instead, they go through the cord between you. You hear his reply in your aura.

Hello, Man. - Hello, Woman.

Three times three times three.

A curse, a binding, a protection.

Blood, ink, and shadows.

Notes: credit to the artists. Not sure who made the red thread pic. Sorry about the long post. Will add a cut later.

#blood magick #my journal #the coronavirus magickal diaries #personal #quantum entanglement #magick #witchcraft #witchblr #traditional witchcraft #sorcery #blood magick sorcery #the ward #my ward

[doomonfilm]

Ranking : Christopher Nolan (1970 - present)

From the moment he kicked the door down on the scene with the breathtaking Memento, the name Christopher Nolan has rung synonymous with high thinking, high level and high entertainment film.  He always finds fresh and unique ways to tell stories, be it visually, narratively, or some combination of the two, and many of his conceptual deep dives have opened real conversations in regards to different aspects of space and time.  For an artist, the impact the Christopher Nolan has had on the populous as a whole is impressive, which is why after recently seeing Tenet, I felt it necessary to take a look back at all of his films and determine where they stood in relation to one another (in my eyes). 

11. Insomnia (2002) As stated with every instance of ranking the work of a director, there’s always one film that’s got to take the bottom of the list hit, and for Nolan, it was Insomnia.  The film in itself is not a bad one, and it does offer some strong visuals in regards to the unrelenting amount of sunlight that one experiences in Alaska, but it does suffer not only from being a remake, but a remake that pales in comparison to the original.  For my money’s worth, Nolan works best with original ideas, with one specific trilogy standing as an exception to that notion.

10. Memento (2000) While not his debut film, this was the film that put Nolan on the map.  The story is unique and intriguing, and the manner in which it is told really makes it work, as a standard A to Z telling of the film would eliminate much of the dramatic tension felt.  That being said, this film suffers from a similar fate to that of films like The Sixth Sense : it’s cool the first time you see it, it really wows you the second time you see it, and then further viewings find diminishing returns in regards to the experience of the “gimmick” (for lack of a better word).  Definitely worth seeing if you’ve never seen it, or are looking for a gateway into the work of Nolan, but underwhelming when held up against his future work.

9. Batman Begins (2005) As previously stated, Nolan (in my opinion) works best as a writer/director of original ideas, so like many, I was slightly surprised when he was tapped to handle the Christian Bale edition of the Batman movie canon.  There wasn’t so much doubt about his ability to pull things off visually, but with such a beloved franchise and character in his hands, there were thoughts about whether or not his style would translate in a way that an already dedicated fanbase would appreciate.  Batman Begins was an effective table-setter for his Dark Knight trilogy, but due to the necessity of having to address an already familiar backstory, many of Nolan’s best ideas would have to wait until the sequel.

8. The Dark Knight Rises (2012) This film found itself the unfortunate victim of an all too familiar national tragedy in the form of a mass shooting during an early screening, forever putting a sort of black cloud over the film as a result.  That being said, the film was a stellar entry in the Dark Knight trilogy, anchored by an instantly iconic Tom Hardy performance.  If this film was attributed to any other director, it would possibly stand as one of their top works, but Christopher Nolan is a man of such depth and style that The Dark Knight Rises merely stands as above average output from a creator who is pulling back a bit to fit the Hollywood ideal (or his version, anyway) of a comic book film.

7. Following (1998) Quite possibly the most personal of all Nolan films, which makes sense, considering it was his first.  It was the buzz that this film generated during the 1997 festival season, along with an already completed script for Memento, that turned Nolan from an aspiring director to a household name.  Following gives us a bit of insight into Nolan’s creative process, presenting us with a highly stylized version of an observational writer, forever receptive to the stimulus around him.  The look of the film displays Nolan’s eye for location and cinematography, and the non-linear nature of the story served as a sneak preview to a format of storytelling he would soon master and manipulate beyond our ability to initially understand.  Though a bit on the short side for a feature film, it is certainly a fun ride with much indication of where its creator was headed.

6. Interstellar (2014) Throughout the 2010s, it seemed that Nolan was hell-bent on warping our brains through the entertainment medium, and after the warning blast that Inception was, Interstellar served as a sort of thematic and spiritual double-tap for our psyche.  Nolan took the basic structure for a story of familial, unconditional love and skewed it by thrusting our protagonist into the uncharted depths of space, skewing his perception of time so radically that the people he loved became old while he did not age, which in itself is enough of a heartbreaking concept to build a film off of.  Add to this the fact that we are presented with (to the best of our knowledge, anyways) the most photo-realistic depictions of a Black Hole and a tesseract, and the end result is a powerful genre-blending journey that stands in rare company, with films like Tarkovsy’s Solaris and Kubrick’s 2001 : A Space Odyssey serving as the closest points of comparison.

5. Tenet (2020) When you have a track record like that of a Christopher Nolan, it is inevitable that people are waiting on your downfall, and with 2020 changing the way we take in films, many tried to seize this opportunity and label Tenet as this moment in time.  To me, this is an absurd stance to take... not only is Tenet one of the most intriguing films I’ve seen in years, but its efficiency in storytelling trims away so much fat that we are left with archetypical characters with subtle amounts of depth shepherding us through a narrative line that folds in and overlaps on itself numerous times.  With this premise set and our characters deeply devoted to their functionality (though not at the expense of performance), we are left with the spectacle of some amazing choreography and in-camera special effects work that makes you really and truly have to stop at times just so you can try and process what it is you are seeing.  Hopefully, in repeat viewings, the “gimmick” won’t take precedence over the film itself, as I believe there is enough going on outside of the visual trickery to keep one interested time and again.

4. Dunkirk (2017) It’s no secret that Christopher Nolan has the talent to build vast, textured and deeply imaginative worlds with his films, but up until the point of Dunkirk, Nolan had not attempted a “period piece”.  Luckily for us film lovers, Nolan decided to try his hand at that style in the form of a war movie, and the result was the extremely moving and powerful experience of Allied troops in World War II caught in a situation where death seemed inevitable.  Despite the vastness of the beach and sea we are shown, the feeling of being trapped permeates through and through, and it is enhanced by stellar cinematography and practical effects.  Even with a cast full of familiar names and faces, the experience of hopelessness created soon eliminates the familiarity that comes with star power, and we are left with nothing but our investment in the story.   

3. The Dark Knight (2008) Simply put, The Dark Knight really has no business being as good as it is.  You’d think that its placement between the two trilogy bookends would give it a transitional nature, potentially only existing to move the story forward to its conclusion.  What we are given, however, is one of the most nuanced looks at heroes, villains, anti-heroes, and just how much those roles can alternate based on the perspective of those applying the title.  For all of the horror that the Scarecrow character brought, or the pure intimidation of Bane, The Dark Knight gives us a complex agent of chaos in the form of Heath Ledger’s instantly iconic (and tragically final) performance as the Joker.  All of the pacing issues that weigh down the other two films are completely absent in this middle offering, and the movie hangs around in your mind well after the final credits roll.  To many viewers, this film set the artistic benchmark for what a so-called “comic-book” movie had the potential to be.

2. Inception (2010) For many, Inception marks the culminative peak of all that Christopher Nolan brings to the table as a director and storyteller.  His ability to coherently weave together a narrative that deals with the perception of time as one goes deeper and deeper into the psyche is impressive in its own right, but the amount of breathtaking nuance, visual effects and mental gymnastics used to tell the story would bring a lesser director to their knees.  If The Revenant and 2015 served as the culmination of Leonardo DiCaprio finally receiving much-deserved recognition as an actor via an Academy Award, then Inception feels like the starting point for that final leg of his journey.  Everyone brought their A-game to this table on both sides of the camera, leaving us with a true visual and storytelling spectacle for the ages. 

1. The Prestige (2006) Irony is a funny thing... I bring that up because Christopher Nolan has literally taken on (and, in some ways, conquered) space, time and perception in his films, all of which would be incredibly lofty concepts to illustrate and visualize, let alone make entertaining.  With all of that in mind, it’s ironic that his best film would be one that does not rely on all of the aforementioned lofty aspects and visual tricks.  The Prestige, at a base level, is a story about jealousy and how it can drive you mad, but it’s the way that this story is told that makes it possibly the best film in the Nolan canon.  Christian Bale’s performance (or performances, at the risk of spoilers) is enough to put this film in a class of its own, but the balance that Hugh Jackman’s performance brings to the overall equation keeps you guessing on whom we are supposed to root for right up until the final frame.  The triangle of love triangles in this film further serve to build up the eventual scale of damage that is presented when everything falls completely apart on both sides of the narrative coin.  Most importantly, like any good magic trick, the film sets you up with expectations, only to wow you in the end.  If you had to pick one Nolan film to watch, this would be the one that I recommend, hands down and without question.

Who knows where Christopher Nolan plans to take us next.  I, for one, would not consider myself clued-in enough to hazard a guess on this, but I would almost certainly put money on the fact that wherever he chooses to take us, he will entertain us and amaze us, if not both at the same time, as he always does.

#ChiefDoomsday #DOOMonFILM #ChristopherNolan #Insomnia #Memento #BatmanBegins #TheDarkKnightRises #Following #Interstellar #Tenet #Dunkirk #TheDarkKnight #Inception #ThePrestige

[porcelaine-whispers]

RED RUBIES OF AFFLICTION | PW

“What a familiar sight of a successful figure, Atty. Fuentes.” A sudden greeting from a woman in a wine-red dress, with jewelry that reflects its stones of red rubies. Her eyes sparkled. She had the sweet smile of an angel. In events like these, meeting familiar faces were no surprise. Her presence was comforting as if her greetings were anticipated. It made me feel safe.

‘Atty. Valentina Ally Fuentes; the only heir of Fuentes Pharmaceutical.’

Spoiled rich girl? Such a stereotype I refuse to be associated with. My mother is publicly recognized as Dra. Amelia Fuentes, the owner of Fuentes Pharmaceutical. As for my father, he is the company’s CLO, Atty. Christophe Fuentes. Our business is the fruit of my parents’ sacrifices. Having the title of being one of the leading pharmaceutical companies in the country, Fuentes Pharmaceutical continues to flourish. Knowing that our family business is a growing company still astounds me, but along with the wealth it brings is a deprivation that silently suffocates.

After passing the board exam five years ago, my father offered me a job to work under the company’s legal department. Years of working experience exposed me to the environment and exhaustion that comes with handling the company’s legal matters. There was no special treatment, for I am an employee of my parents and I wish to keep it professional in that manner. Having to work for my current title was an endless cycle of sleepless nights.

‘Atty. Valentina Ally Fuentes.

Chief Executive Officer (CEO)’

It is a title I have brought upon my name through perseverance. I have always wanted to be known for being Valentina Ally Fuentes and not only as of the daughter of my parents. With determination, I am with pride to say that I have successfully created a name for myself. I proved that I am more than just the heir of Fuentes Pharmaceuticals, that I deserve the company because of my hard work. I am to be remembered as Atty. Valentina Ally Fuentes, a lawyer, successor of the leading pharmaceutical company in the Philippines, and most importantly, a woman of her person.

Being an only child, I grew up in an environment too mature for my age. My parents were often preoccupied with the stress of managing the company. Being in the industry made it hard for them to provide time for me. I have always had a close bond with my mother. Although she used to be the CEO of Fuentes Pharmaceutical, I know how she would consistently check up on me and my state of coping with school. My energy is at its fullest when I am with my mother. She became the source of my motivation if ever I disappointed myself. Her voice gave me the peace that made me realize how valuable her presence is in my life. She is the comfort I will continue to long for.

“I apologize for my mother’s absence. On behalf of Dra. Fuentes, it was a pleasure catching up with you, Dr. Cabrera.”

I flew to Manila to assess the Fuentes Pharmaceutical Laboratory in Makati. My mother usually does the inspections of the laboratories; unfortunately, she is currently unavailable because of her emergency conference at Torres Medical Hospital. Upon arriving at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, I placed my carry-on baggage in the trunk of the car and had Ashton drive me to the laboratory. Ashton is the son of our maid, Agatha, but he is now residing here in Manila after getting married. Even before my existence, Agatha has been working for our family. She worked as the caretaker of my grandmother, but because of my grandmother’s passing, she now works to take care of us.

Our laboratory in Makati is our second biggest after the main laboratory in Mandaue. I met up with Dr. Cabrera, a member of the board of directors and a trusted family friend. He toured me around the offices and introduced me to the staff. I never really introduced myself to staff due to some being intimidated by my presence.

So far, the laboratories are exquisitely designed. All were accessible and had a system that made it easier to inspect, and at the same time keep order and cleanliness. Of course, cleanliness is a sector that I meticulously assess. We are a pharmaceutical company after all, how could we risk the lives of our consumers as well as our staff?

After completing the inspections, I had to immediately catch my flight home to Cebu. It was around 5:35 in the afternoon when I called Ashton to pick me up and drive me to the airport. During the car ride, I felt this fear and uncertainty. I started sweating and trembling, not knowing the reason for my abrupt shivers. I calmly looked out my window, diverting my attention to the towering buildings in the area. City lights remind me of the times I used to come home late with my mother since I would always insist on coming home with her after my student council meetings. If only I could go back to the days where I am in the comfort of my mother’s warmth. I instantly avoided the sight, trying so hard to forget the distinct memories instilled in my mind.

“Oh my god! If I walked to the airport, I would have probably arrived there by now. Is this a sign to stay the night?” I said in annoyance.

The traffic in Manila is dreadful. Imagine sitting in a vehicle for almost an hour, what a hassle. If only I could just spend the night in my condo at Rockwell Makati, which is only a few minutes away from the laboratory. Unfortunately, I do not have all the time in the world especially now that I have duties to attend to back in Cebu. Good thing my secretary, Mrs. Aphelion, booked a flight at 9:25 PM so I do not have to worry about missing my plane. What would I do if I miss my flight due to traffic? At last, we arrived at Ninoy Aquino International Airport before the expected boarding time. Ashton assisted me with the door whilst saying his goodbyes. I boarded the plane, tired from all the wandering I did the entire day.

Upon my arrival at Mactan International Airport, I went to the parking lot and decided to drive myself home. I was on my way home when a sudden buzzing came from my phone. I ignored the call because I was driving, and I did not want to kill someone with my awful driving skills. Driving is not something I would do often. I barely passed my driver's license test. What choice do I have now that I am driving on the road together with reckless drivers?

“Urgh! Who again is calling?!…” I answered the phone when it rang again at the stoplight. It was Emsie, one of our maids. She rarely calls me, why would she call me multiple times now? I was about to speak when I heard her voice of fear.

“Ally, you need to come home right now! Please...” She sounds muffled. Her voice was breaking as if she was restricted from breathing. I felt needles puncture my skin, anxious about the reason for her flowing emotions.

“Madam is—”

“Ally, your mother is—” The call ended.

My mother? Did something happen at the conference? My thoughts were jumbled. I started imagining things I should not be imagining. My mind was too occupied with the thought of what had happened to my mother. From there, I knew it was something serious. I said how driving was never my expertise; but with shock, I drove fast and even forgot to breathe.

As I arrived home, the guards opened the gates with panic seen in their gestures. I ran inside as fast as I was capable of, not even caring about the glass sculpture I broke while rushing to find my father. The staff were in tears, I was confused. They pointed in the direction of the study. When I barged into the room, I saw a group of men talking to my father. They have dressed in navy blue uniforms with one holding a folder; they were policemen. My father’s eyes shifted and met with mine when he saw me, panting from all the running. I could not comprehend what was happening in front of me. I love my mother so much that I did not even bother to ask about what happened; instead, I screamed in pain asking where she is.

“Where is my mother?! Where is she?! I want to see her now...” My vision became blurry, tears filled my eyes. I was trembling, my body felt pain in the numbness; I was paralyzed. I could hardly stand properly when the policeman holding the folder turned to me. He looked disappointed.

“I am sorry for what happened, Attorney Fuentes. Three men have been suspected of the incident; it was an ambush. Dra. Fuentes was shot multiple times, hitting her neck and chest. I am sorry Atty., but Doctor Fuentes died at the scene due to excessive blood loss...”

They handed over a clear plastic bag. It was a set of jewelry with shining red rubies.

My mother’s signature set.

She believed that rubies are stones that can bring happiness and passion into the life of the wearer. Thus, her signature stone being ruby. I remember clearly how she would get ready in her vanity, with a smile on her face as she puts on her earring of shining red rubies. Ruby is a stone believed to protect the wearer from negative entities that leach positive energy, promoting spiritual vitality and wellness overall. My mother is an optimistic spirit. Her words are gentle and comforting; yet what am I now that those words of comfort could never be heard in the same voice ever again?

I collapsed, closing my eyes as a flood of tears gushed down my ashen cheeks.

My mother...is gone. I could never hear her voice, see her smile, and feel her warmth again. All was so sudden that I did not have the chance to say what I wanted to say to her. I felt a pang of guilt in me, it was like she died without knowing how much I loved her. Just like a nightmare, this is the horror that never wanted to happen in my life, yet it did. So many questions came to mind; my thoughts are distorted.

I felt a sharp sting in my chest, a puncture in my stomach, and a bullet through my head. I was in suffering.

“Ally be careful with your dosage! Are you even aware of the amount you intake?!” Hearing the voice of my father, I gradually opened my eyes. I look over to see my psychiatrist checking the bottle of pills. Was it all a vivid flashback?

I then realized how my thoughts took over my body. Driving home and seeing flashing city lights triggered the memories of my mother to flood my mind with thoughts of her tragic death. I felt tightness in my throat, rapid palpitations in my chest. I reached for my medication, unaware of the amount I am taking, hoping that it could relieve the choking sensation that silently suffocated me. With the sound of aggressive honking, I drove drained of strength and energy. Arriving home, my body began to respond to the side effects that came with my medication; It led to my slumber.

After being diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, Dr. Torres prescribed me pills to cope with my sudden anxiety attacks. The death of my mother scarred me. My mother died in an ambush when I was 15 years old, almost 20 years ago. I am now 35 years old, a lawyer, a CEO, and a woman determined to grow my mother’s legacy. I know how sentimental the company is to my mother, so I continue to work hard to make what she started to flourish into a company she sacrificed for.

‘A goal without a plan is not a goal, it is only a dream.

- Dra. Amelia Fuentes.’

When she died, I saw how she still looked glowing. Although she died blood-soaked in a silk dress, her beauty was radiant. My mother is the woman that ensured to raise me with passion in all my works. She has left me with the knowledge that made me grow into the woman I am today. Her wisdom will forever remain with me; the most valuable gift she has ever given.

Even after 20 years, it still haunts me, yet I decide to focus on the path ahead of me, instead of longing for the past that I could never bring back. I may not be able to go back to the days we spent as a complete family, but I gradually accepted that my mother is now home in the heavens. Her presence is something I have been longing for ever since she left. I would even hallucinate seeing her in events, imagining her voice of greetings, her smile of an angel, and her gentle touch.

She is now an angel that continues to protect my father and me from this selfish world. I may not feel her warmth anymore, but I feel her presence.

"My mother will forever be the source of my tranquility.

She will forever be my angel."

-----

[Porcelaine Whispers]

#red ruby #red dress #female #filipino #stories #writing #writer #writeblr #creative writing #my writing #my fic #fiction #fic talk #short story #short fiction #original story #tumblr writers #emotions #my words #philippines #long reads #reading #literature #words of mine #spilled writing #spilled feelings #spilled pages #story #women writers #new writter

[pixelgrotto]

Remixing a tomb plus a highway to hell

Last month I finished DMing Tomb of Annihilation for one of my D&D groups. It’s a campaign that sees heroes adventuring to the land of Chult to stop big bad lich Acererak, who’s made a device known as the Soulmonger that’s emanating a Death Curse and screwing up the world’s resurrection magic. It’s also a spiritual successor to Tomb of Horrors, one of the classic deathtrap dungeons of tabletop RPG history that came about because D&D creator Gary Gygax wanted to screw his players over for opening doors wrong. In short, it’s certainly one of the more memorable adventures for D&D 5e, but the version of Tomb of Annihilation that I ran for my players was actually extremely remixed and hacked apart, as is the case with every official Wizards of the Coast module that I run. 

There were a few reasons for this - my players were coming into this campaign fresh out of Curse of Strahd, and everyone was level 8. One of the players had died early on in Curse of Strahd - in the very first session we played, hilariously enough - and was temporarily sustained by the mists of the Shadowfell only to collapse upon returning to the material plane. With this in mind, I felt that it would be a great twist to have the party venture on a quest of resurrection only to learn that resurrection magic throughout the world had stopped working due to Acererak’s nefarious plans.

Additionally, I wanted to give my players the chance to try out alternate characters if they so desired. In the name of grand ambition, I decided to have my players create two sets of characters, and wove a homebrew story, dubbed “Fiends in Waterdeep,” that would run analogous to and eventually intertwine with Tomb of Annihilation. The first set of characters - consisting of some of the veterans who had survived Curse of Strahd - would investigate the streets of Waterdeep, which was suffering from an invasion of devils and demons that seemed unconnected to Acererark’s dark doings. The second set, consisting of new level 8s, would venture to Chult, the vaguely African-inspired landmass in the south of the Forgotten Realms, to track down the source of the Death Curse. After progressing through seemingly unconnected storylines, at the end of the campaign the disparate plot threads would mesh. The Waterdeep explorers would travel to the Nine Hells only to learn that the fiend invasion was caused by the abduction of the Queen of Hell’s newly born infant - a soul-devouring mass of flesh that could open portals into other worlds with its burps and farts - while the Chult expedition would delve into the jungle to find Acererark, smash the Soulmonger and free the aforementioned child. 

In short, I basically made a complicated D&D adventure even more complicated by layering my own story on top of it and running two campaigns at once. I think I was looking for a challenge, and oh boy, I got one. I probably won’t be undertaking something like this ever again, because it required a lot of planning hurdles on my part. For instance, my players and I usually gamed for about 5-6 hours at most, which meant devoting 2 and a half or 3 hours to both sets of characters. If one battle lasted too long or a social interaction went south, I’d have to adjust this timeframe accordingly, and every DM knows that players will always defy your expectations in one way or another, so there was a lot of improv on the fly to make sure that our sessions stayed well-paced. 

In the name of pacing, I also stripped much of the fat out of Tomb of Annihilation, which is largely composed of a really long hexcrawl. D&D 5e’s hexcrawl exploration and survival rules have never been particularly good, in my opinion, and the rules in the book expect you to roll LOTS of random encounters and deal with stuff like inclement weather, mosquito attacks, hunting, getting lost, etc. I incorporated some of this stuff (the hunting, since we had two rangers in the party), but I pre-rolled all of the random encounters and potential locations the party could go ahead of time, getting rid of some of the ones I didn’t like, and largely handwaved stuff like getting hopelessly lost. Reddit explorations have revealed that by far and large, everyone running this campaign does the same thing - particularly for higher level players trying to get through the jungle without feeling like they’re wasting time. (And from my firsthand experience with Out of the Abyss, there’s nothing worse than going through multiple D&D sessions and feeling like you haven’t accomplished much.)

My approach to streamlining Acererak’s deathtrap lair at the end of the campaign was similar. I skimmed through the entire dungeon with all of its bajillion floors (which could take an average group months to get through) in favor of using the 10 rooms that I liked the most, which was more than enough. Tomb of Annihilation, while probably fairer than Gary Gygax’s Tomb of Horrors, is still in my opinion full of wacky stuff in the final dungeon that just isn’t my cup of tea for D&D, including one trap that can get characters stuck in real-world Victorian London. (Okay, that’s cool on paper, but to actually run it as a DM, especially when your players are in the final hours of their adventure? I’ll pass.)

Additionally, I made Ras Nsi - the warlord-turned-yuan-ti - into more of a developed NPC who was actually willing to help the players slay Acererak. In the book, he’s very much a Darth Maul-type bad guy who looks cool but has a minimum of characterization. This is because Tomb of Annihilation leans into the stereotype that Ras Nsi and the rest of the yuan-ti are all merciless bastards with inscrutable plans, and while this may be fine if you’re familiar with the Conan the Barbarian serpentfolk tropes that inspired the yuan-ti, it’s not great if you’re trying to build a believable world with compelling characters. Much has been written about how Chult stumbles at portraying a fantasy Africa - largely by depicting the characters as foreign saviors and the Chultans as relatively helpless - and while some of this was alleviated in my game by the fact that one player’s character actually was Chultan, I still felt it was necessary to give some of the indigenous races a chance to help undo the curse that, after all, was first and foremost affecting their land.

Switching gears, when it came to the accompanying Fiends in Waterdeep homebrew story, I recycled some material from Waterdeep: Dragon Heist, which I’d previously run for two different groups, and also took inspiration from the Wizards of the Coast module Descent into Avernus. At the time of planning, Descent Into Avernus was the most recent D&D hardcover, and all the reviews I’d read painted it as cool in concept but a major pain in the butt to run in reality. So, I decided to use only the nifty bits - a journey into the first layer of the Nine Hells via Mad Max-style tanks powered by souls - and mixed it with my own tale that was influenced by a profile of Fury, the dragon queen of hell, that I’d read in the third-party 5e supplement Legendary Dragons. It turned into a mildly amusing story about Fury warring against her ex-husband Asmodeus, and the players ended up serving as therapists in what amounted to an interplanar lover’s spat. I’d recently started therapy when I came up with the campaign concept, so this is probably one of those unique instances where real life truly influenced art. And hey, the unpredictable whims of all-powerful, world-shaping deities make for great adventure hooks, and judging by how Greek mythology seems to have re-entered the modern zeitgeist these days (I’m thinking about Hades, one of the most popular indie rougelikes out there, as well as that Netflix series Blood of Zeus) it seems like I was on the nose!

In the end, this two-tiered campaign lasted roughly 70 hours and climaxed with all sets of characters reaching level 10. Acererark’s Soulmonger was smashed, the feud between Fury and Asmodeus smoothed over, and after enduring the eerie mists of the Shadowfell, the hot temperatures of Chult and the flames of Avernus, the story of these motley players - who’d started questing with me back in 2018, and endured a move to online games in the era of COVID - came to a gentle end. I’m a believer in the reality that campaigns don’t necessarily need to last forever, and with real life throwing some of my players (and myself) a few recent curveballs, this seemed like a solid finale point. A consistent campaign running over two years is in many ways a dream for a lot of D&D players and DMs, and I’m glad I got the chance to make it happen.

#pixel grotto #musings #tabletop gaming #dungeons & dragons #d&d #tomb of annihilation

[limited-practice]

Here’s a quick thing I wrote based on the prompt ‘Bumblebee and Cooking.’

My love for random comedy is unceasing, and this was a fun thing to write.

1443 words of Bumblebee trying to follow a soup recipe from a cooking book he bought from Swindle are below the cut.

Follow this simple** recipe and you’re guaranteed*** to create a meal that will startle**** and delight your guests and leave them begging, absolutely weak on their knees with their tongue lolling out of their drool stained desperate mouths BEGGING you for just one more spoonful, just one more sip, just one quick lick around the bowl in case some dripped down the side and is hardening on the bottom and it doesn’t matter that the bowl’s been rolling around the floor because we’ve all been fighting like rabid turbo foxes over it because it’s just. That. GOOD.*****

Bumblebee's arms collapsed to his sides in defeat. He held a cooking book loosely in his fingers.

“Why? Why did I buy this?” he muttered to himself under his breath. “Why?”

He shook his head, appalled at his behaviour. “And why did I buy it from Swindle? I know better than that.”

He raised his voice and looked up at the ceiling as he clenched his fist. “I know better than that!”

The book threatened to slip free from his other hand. He glanced down at the ornately decorated purple and gold book, and couldn’t help but look at the large author’s photo printed on the back. Swindle was wearing a chef’s hat and holding a spoon. He beamed up at him.

“If we get food poisoning from this I’m coming after you.”

The book dangled in Bumblebee’s hand, and Chef-Swindle looked like he was laughing.

“But due to a series of unfortunate and improbable events, this book is the only thing that can teach me to cook soup for my important dinner party tonight.” 

Bumblebee put the book flat on the counter and opened it to the first page.

“‘First of all,’” Bumblebee read out loud from the book, “‘Fill six large measuring cubes with VERY watered down engex distillate. This is the base for your soup, and MUST be watered down and MUST be thin and weak and able to accommodate rapid heating as a precursor for more complex substances.’”

“That...kinda makes sense. And seems simple enough.” Bumblebee’s eyes narrowed. “But what’s the catch? What’s the catch here Swindle? ”

‘That’s it! There’s no catch, I swear there’s not! After filling your pan set the heat to a rapid - and I mean circuit melting RAPID - heat. Blast that engex distillate for approximately 60 seconds until it’s so scalding hot it could melt your plating off if you’re not careful. See the next page for a great deal on emergency medical coverage that includes but is not limited to scald, burns, cuts, dismemberments!’

Bumblebee sighed. The instructions were spread out over a double paged spread, but were squeezed into a few lines at the very top. The rest of the space was taken up by garish advertisements for cooking utensils and measuring cubes and lots of promises to save  ! ! $ $ ! !

“Fine.” Bumblebee poured six large measuring cubes worth of thin engex distillate into a pot and cranked the heat up as high as the cooker would allow. Heavy wet heat filled the kitchen as the liquid bubbled. 

Bumblebee turned the page to the next instructions. 

‘If you haven’t burnt yourself yet, you will soon!’

“What?” 

‘There’s a time in every bot’s life when they accidentally pour boiling engex distillate over themselves. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. But it is painful, so time is of the essence if you don’t want to be in agony. Put this number into your speed dial so you can call your dedicated insurance agent when it happens to you: 0800-PAY-TO-TAKE-THE-PAIN-AWAY’

“Why wouldn’t I call for an ambulance if I burnt myself? What kind of idiot would call an insurance agent first?”

Bumblebee looked at the phone number for a suspiciously long time. As if he was memorising it. The timer on the cooker dinged, and he glanced up in relief. Sixty seconds was up. He was sure he had to remove the pot from the heat now or turn it down, but he turned the page to cheek the next instruction to be sure. 

‘After you’ve set the engex distillate to a low heat to prepare it as a base - and I mean a LOW heat, as if it was practically off - use this very long time to prepare your ingredients. And check out the insurance deals on the previous page if you haven’t already done so!’

“What?” Bumblebee looked between the pan of roiling liquid and the book.

‘You DID set it to a low and gentle heat, didn’t you? Because if you set it straight to a boil you’ve just ruined your soup. Why did you do that? That was stupid.’

Bumblebee swore loudly.

He turned the heat off, emptied the pot, filled another one with the same amount of liquid, and set it on a low heat on a different burner. He looked at the book to find out what ingredients he had to prepare.

‘Back when I was freshly forged and living in a strange city as I sought to make my fortune, I craved the comfort and simplicity of a home cooked meal like my mentor used to make.’

“Oh I don’t care,” Bumblebee said. “I don’t care in the slightest about your obviously made up story that’s supposed to be spark warming and reassure me that you know what you’re talking about. You just told me to set the liquid at a rapid boil and then insulted me when I did!”

Bumblebee turned the page. The story continued. 

‘I also wanted a hearty yet simple meal before starting a day of hard honest labour on a brisk Cybertronian morning.’

He turned another page. 

‘So I turned to a source of great stability and comfort to me; something that continues to provide me spiritual, mental, and emotional guidance in these increasingly trying times - my bank account.’

With a growing sense of alarm, Bumblebee flipped through the next twenty pages. The story marched through them all.

“Oh my god,” Bumblebee muttered.

Brightly coloured adverts infected each page. They surrounded the text of the story and were often embedded within it. At the top and bottom of each page was a headshot of Swindle. He smiled, dabbed his eyes with a tissue, laughed heartily, winked, and held up a copy of his insurance plan. 

“This crap takes up most of the book. I paid for this. I paid actual money for this.”

Bumblebee finally came to the end of the story. He vented heavily. There was one page left of the book.

‘After the ingredients are cooked thoroughly and the liquid has thickened, it’s time to serve your soup!’

“What? What ingredients? What are you talking about? You didn’t give me any further instructions!”

Bumblebee looked at the book in rage. And slowly felt his expression melt into one of horror. 

“You don’t mean that the rest of the recipe is hidden within that story. You can’t mean that. Please tell me you don’t mean that.”

Chef-Swindle held a bowl of piping hot soup in one hand and rubbed his stomach with the other.

“I don’t have the strength,” Bumblebee whispered. 

He glanced up at the clock. 

“And I don’t have the time! I just want the recipe, that’s all. That’s ALL!”

‘Because you’ve chopped and marinated your ingredients two days before, the flavours you’re about to experience will be divine! If you haven’t prepared them two days before, I’m afraid it’s going to smell like burnt rubber and taste even worse. Why would you do that to your guests? Why? What’s wrong with you?’

Bumblebee covered his face with his hands.

‘But chin up! Thanks to my home delivery service, you can still salvage the evening you’ve ruined by calling for a three course banquet to be delivered to the location of your choice. If you call now it will take just ten minutes to arrive. Just ten minutes to prevent your friends and family from hating you!’

Bumblebee looked at the cost of the delivery service. He choked back a sob. 

‘Check out the other recipe books in my series for more delicious meals to perfect! And no, YOU’RE welcome!’

Bumblebee turned the last page. He squinted to read the small print that was squashed underneath the large photo of Chef-Swindle winking and giving a chef’s kiss. 

*A highly subjective term not subject to strict definition

**A highly subjective term not subject to strict definition

***Not a guarantee

****In the good way, not the clutching-at-your-chest-what’s-happening-oh-primus-spare-me-I’m-having-a-spark-attack-I knew-I-should-have-got-Swindle-brand-insurance-because-now-the-medical-bills-will-cripple-me-and-I-didn’t-even-get-to-eat-any-delicious-soup kind of way

*****Adding mind altering drugs as an extra ingredient is absolutely not recommended. Especially not the perfectly legal ones you could legitimately purchase by calling 0800-ABOVE-BOARD-YOU-KNOW-YOU-WANT-TO

#bumblebee #swindle #transformers #my writing #I want to own a copy of this book #what if different characters wrote a recipe for a collection #random #fun #robots cooking #robots trying their best to cook #my post #humor #humour

[husheduphistory]

Dedicated to Death: The End Experiment of Thomas Bradford

When the Fox sisters of Hydesville, New York claimed they contacted the spirit of a murdered peddler in 1848 the ears of the entire country listened. Suddenly there was hope that those who passed away were not truly gone and people from all over began to scramble to find ways to communicate with the dead. Later, with the horrors of the Civil War tearing the country and families apart people looked to Spiritualism and any way possible to find answers from beyond. Hundreds of thousands never came home, countless numbers were never found and the need for closure and communication drove people into the parlors and palms of people claiming they could be their much-needed bridge to the other side.  As many people that believed in life after death, there were just as many who refuted it and the divide grew. As time moved on the division deepened with both sides seeking the ultimate proof that death was, or was not, the end. It is an argument that is still actively debated to this day.

Prof. Thomas Lynn Bradford was a man of many ventures. A one-time electrical engineer, athlete, and actor, by 1920 he had begun studying and lecturing about the occult with a particular focus on the afterlife. The world had now suffered through World War I and people’s spirituality was again feeling highly tested. Bradford was a man of sound mind, but his headspace became more and more filled with his thoughts on life after death and how to prove it. He wrote “…all phenomena are outside the domain of the supernatural." He wanted to prove his theories using scientific fact, but he knew he could not do it alone.

Professor Thomas Lynn Bradford.

In the early part of 1921 Bradford placed an ad in a local Detroit newspaper under the name “Professor Flynn” and stated that he was seeking “someone interested in spiritualistic science.” It was a strange ad, which was exactly why it caught the attention of prominent Detroit native Ruth Starkweather Doran. Doran was not a firm believer in Spiritualism. But, she was an avid researcher and was intrigued with the opportunity to learn about a field so unfamiliar to her. On a whim, she responded to the ad and before long she and Bradford began meeting face to face.

The experiment Bradford presented to Doran would have sent most people running, but for reasons unknown, she stuck with the plan. Before their last meeting on February 5th 1921 Bradford finished typing his latest manuscript and laid it neatly next to his typewriter. There was much to do and once Doran arrived the details were ironed out about how he would contact her when his half of the experiment was complete and how they would then reunite. The deal was made. They bid each other farewell and Bradford shut the door of his rented room. He knew he would not be disturbed, he already informed his landlord, a Mr. Marcotte, that if anyone were to call for him to tell them he was out and would not be back until very late. He turned on his heater. blew out the pilot light, turned up the gas, and laid down in bed until the fumes took his life.

The fact that Bradford killed himself in pursuit of answers about life after death may not have come as a shock to some of his friends. It was later reported that the occult interested him more than anything in the physical world. At one point he told Mr. Marcotte, “When I die my body goes to science. It is to be sent to the Michigan Medical Institute. Anyhow, my body does not amount to much.”

When Bradford’s body was discovered by Marcotte the next day the gas was still pouring from his heater. Upon investigation police found his typewriter, with one final note never removed, “And it is through scientific facts that I propose to demonstrate clearly the phenomena of spirits and prove that all the phenomena is outside the domain of super-natural.” Baffled by the suicide, the Detroit Police Department began to look for an explanation, and the dots quickly led to Doran who escaped any legal action by claiming they had met and discussed proving the afterlife but that she did not know he was planning to kill himself that night. Now, with his lifeless body laying in his home the first part of Bradford’s plan was complete. The second part relied on reconnecting with Doran to prove there was life after death. The self-proclaimed skeptic agreed to go through with it. “I am his friend.” Doran said, “If he can cause his spirit to come back to earth I believe his spirit will come to me first.”

Newspaper headline about Bradford’s suicide.

In the days following Bradford’s suicide the eyes of the Spiritualism world were firmly fixed on Doran’s parlor where she was hosting multiple vigils waiting for her friend to reach out and make contact. Throughout the entire process though, Doran made it a point that she was not a psychic, saying that she was simply a human being there to serve as a middleman and prove Bradford’s theories. She and the intrigued masses patiently waited night after night for a connection, but the hours moved on quietly with Doran only stating at one point that she felt a “strange sensation”.

Doran and the spiritualists were not the only one wanting to hear from Bradford. Multiple newspapers waited eagerly for word, running headlines updating the masses with the New York Times reporting, “Dead Spiritualist Silent” two days after the suicide. It was a few days into a planned two week long vigil that there was finally something to report, but it was not from Doran. A woman named Lulu Mack came forward stating that during a visit with a medium she heard a voice calling the name “Thomas Bradford”, a name she claimed was totally unfamiliar to her at the time. She told reporters that Bradford could not communicate very well because his suicide made him weak, suspending him before he could fully pass on to the next realm. “Life has fled from the body of Thomas Lynn Bradford but his spirit is hovering near and calling to us to hear its message,” Mack reported. “I have heard the call of his spirit. It is calling to me even now. But I cannot hear the message it would send, because the spirit is too weak.”

Headline from The New York Times, February 18, 1921. 

Headline from  The Pittsburgh Press, February 10, 1921.

Suddenly, a week after Bradford took his own life, Doran claimed she had a feeling she was going to hear from him, but it would be difficult considering how weak he was. Papers, thirsty for the next part of their bizarre story, urged spiritualists to concentrate on Bradford and “assist” him in reaching out. To make sure it was a focused effort it was agreed that 9pm was the time to take action and focus to help Bradford and Doran reconnect.

Much to the delight of some and criticism of others, at 9pm that night Doran sat in her darkened parlor with three witnesses. Suddenly, she put her hands to her temples, commanded the lights be turned off, and told someone to start writing. According to her, Bradford had finally arrived. “I hear his voice” she said to the room, “It is faint, but it grows more distinct. It is the professor.”

As Doran spoke in broken fragments the alleged message from Bradford was slowly pieced together:

“I am the professor who speaks to you from the Beyond. I have broken through the veil. The help of the living has greatly assisted me. I simply went to sleep. I woke up and at first did not realize that I had passed on. I find no great change apparent. I expected things to be much different. They are not. Human forms are retained in outline but not in the physical. I have not traveled far. I am still much in the darkness. I see many people. They appear natural. There is a lightness of responsibility here unlike in life. One feels full of rapture and happiness. Persons of like natures associate. I am associated with other investigators. I do not repent my act. My present plane is but the first series. I am still investigating the future planes regarding which we in this plane are as ignorant as are earthly beings of the life just beyond human life.”

At 10pm the lights were brought back on and a flustered Doran looked over the bits and pieces that she claimed were given to her directly from the spirit of Bradford. Then, she suddenly fainted. Once resuscitated one of the witnesses asked her if she was positive about her message, was she absolutely sure she was speaking with Bradford from beyond the grave? She was adamant, “I am convinced. I never heard a spirit voice before. That was the professor, without doubt."

Illustration from  The Ogden Standard-Examiner, February 21, 1921.

For all of the speculation and attention leading up to Doran waiting to hear from Bradford, the aftermath was remarkably tame. Despite the accounts from both Doran and Mack, members of both the Spiritualism community and the general public were not convinced that the alleged message from Bradford was proof of anything. The headlines faded into obscurity and Doran went along with them. Later in the year Doran wrote an article claiming that she maintained regular communication with her departed friend ever since. She was now a believer, still receiving messages from Bradford detailing how one day both realms would meet.

“Through spiritualism the world will be reclaimed: sin will be vanquished, suffering will end” she claimed he told her. “The physical in man will cease to be, and physical death, and that is the only death, will be no more. Men will live on earth forever, even as they live forever in the spirit world.”

At the time of his death Bradford was near penniless. His estranged wife living in Wisconsin only learned of his death later and his body was claimed by a brother, James Bradford, who handed it over to an undertaker for interment.

The body of Professor Thomas Lynn Bradford, the man who gave up his life to prove life after death, is buried in the Mt. Olivet Cemetery in Detroit, Michigan.

#HushedUpHistory #history #DetroitHistory #MichiganHistory #Detroit #Michigan #Spiritualism #Skeptic #ParanormalHistory #Paranormal #Study #Experiment #LifeAfterDeath #SinisterPlan #NotAGoodPlan #Unfortunate #TragicTale #Mediums #Psychic #Talktothedead #FromBeyond #BeyondTheGrave #Spiritualist #weirdhistory #forgottenhistory #tragichistory #sadhistory #creepyhistory #truestory #truthisstrangerthanfiction

[goblins-riddles-or-frocks]

Moffat Dracula Review

Plot Summary For People Who Don’t Want To Watch It:

Dracula corners Jonathan, Mina, and Sister Agatha Van Helsing in a secluded convent in Budapest following Jonathan’s escape from his castle. The castle sequence itself is explained in flashback as Jonathan recounts his experience, leading up to the realization that he himself had died during his stay there. 

Realizing he’s now become some form of undead creature, he attempts to kill himself via a stake but is unsuccessful. Despairing at this, he invites Dracula inside the convent in exchange for a true death.  Agatha and Mina are able to stay safe within a circle of sacramental bread but everyone else is massacred. 

When Mina sees Dracula disguised as Jonathan approaching them, she invites him inside the circle. He of course reveals his identity immediately after. Agatha bargains her own life for Mina’s, so Dracula allows the other girl to go free.

Some time later, Dracula sets sail for England aboard the Demeter, a Russian ship with a strangely high number of wealthy passengers and a bluebeard’s cabin no one is allowed to enter. He quickly picks off the passengers one by one, meanwhile himself leading the effort to find the murderer onboard. 

This culminates in the remaining passengers finally searching the ship— and the mysterious cabin which is revealed to have been hiding a sickly Sister Agatha inside. She explains that Dracula is a vampire and together with the passengers they attempt to kill him by setting him on fire. But it is unsuccessful. Agatha urges everyone to escape on lifeboats because she intends to blow up the ship with her and Dracula in it before it is able to reach England. 

Dracula does not die but remains dormant under water. He reaches Whitby roughly 100 years later and is immediately captured by the Jonathan Harker foundation, lead by Agatha’s descendant Dr Zoe Van Helsing. He leaves captivity fairly quickly however with the help of Frank Renfield— a lawyer he hired over skype. 

Zoe is revealed to be dying of cancer. Dracula offers her his blood to heal her but it doesn’t seem to work. It instead gives her a bond to communicate with her dead ancestor Agatha, which gives her more insight about the vampire. 

Meanwhile, Dracula begins preying on Lucy Westenra, a young socialite. Despite leading a seemingly perfect life, she is wholly apathetic and disgruntled with her situation. She allows him to feed on her in exchange for the high a vampire’s bite can give her. He attempts to turn her into a vampire but she’s burned horribly once she’s cremated following her funeral.

Her death leads Zoe and Jack Seward to where Dracula has been staying. During their confrontation however Lucy returns, and after learning about her appearance, begs Jack to kill her, which he does. 

Zoe asks Jack to leave so she may speak to Dracula alone. She surmises that all of Dracula’s weaknesses are actually ineffective. The only thing he fears is death, and humanity’s willingness to die, She then... resolves to sit down and die right there. But at the last moment Dracula drinks her cancerous blood which should in turn kill him... they make out while dying... The end?

If that sounds like it makes no sense, it’s because it doesn’t. 

Final Thoughts:

The plot was nonsensical and the pacing was very poor and completely unstructured. The story itself bore little to no resemblance to Dracula at all, to the point where I wonder why they even bothered to keep the names. 

Most of the characters were new, and the few that were ported over from the Stoker novel had hardly anything in common with their original versions, Dracula included. 

Jonathan was the most in character of the bunch, if he was fairly more genre savvy while stuck in Dracula’s castle. Mina’s characterization seemed to be confined to a single flirtatious letter, an endless well of trust for Jonathan, and constant sobbing. She was more of a liability than anything else. 

Agatha served the role of a genderbent Van Helsing, though her manner was entirely lifted from the Coppola film. This could’ve been very cool if they hadn’t randomly made her a nun without actually committing to it at all. She was not really portrayed as having any actual lived experience as a nun in the victorian era. And faith as a concept was only touched on for her to dismiss— hilariously casually given her position.  

I think the actress’s performance was fairly decent, and she def grew on me in the second episode when she’s not actually in a convent to constantly remind us how dissonant of a nun she is. But it would’ve been nice if they would’ve either committed to actually making her a nun, (a legit vampire hunting nun could be so cool!) or just abandoning the concept altogether. Because the way it was presented just felt like window dressing. 

Also I’m not normally averse to shipping Van Helsing/Dracula but having to genderbend one of the two just to do it is like... hm. Also the weird tension they had going on was very badly executed in general. 

Speaking of Dracula, he had to be the weakest part of the show. He was written in the smuggest, most infuriating way possible. And it might have worked with another actor but this dude just did not have any gravitas or stage presence whatsoever. And it certainly was not helped by the fact that his costuming and makeup were so fucking lackluster. 

Despite being the linchpin of the story, he had no goals nor any particular drive. He was just out there doing Stuff for Reasons and none of them were compelling. It seemed like he was just killing to kill and the writing was not good enough to actually carry any of the vague themes about how he’s looking for new brides (why?) how he’s searching for a The Perfect Fruit (what???) or anything at all really. He had no depth whatsoever beneath his stupid quips and self-satisfied demeanor. 

There was an interesting implication that he needed to choose who he drinks carefully in order to maintain his own personality/sanity/sentience and that without blood he’d… apparently just become like any of the zombies we saw in the show. And that is such a cool concept! But it was not really  explored, nor was it written all that well. Even though it could’ve been (and I think was maybe intended to be???) an excellent source of existential dread! 

But yes, in general there was hardly any depth to this show. They played almost every possible card they could for shock value, and included many unnecessary and frankly underwhelming esoteric concepts that went nowhere. There was so much gore and random effects. We had zombies, vampire infants, and Dracula legit wearing people’s skins. The lore didn’t make any sense either, apparently people just… being unable to die despite their body’s so called death is a common occurrence? It wasn’t clear whether Dracula even had much control over who he changes and whether or not they become proper vampires. The entire thing just seemed poorly thought out. 

There were a lot of easter eggs and references to previous Dracula adaptations (and even some unrelated vampire media). I definitely noticed nods to the Hammer Horror movies and the Lugosi film, which was fun. The biggest noticeable influence however would have to be the 1992 Coppola movie. I have never seen a show try so hard to be another movie lmao. They even went so far as to make a spiritual successor to the film’s main theme that’s about as close as you could probably get without actually licensing the music. 

However, while the Coppola film at least had skill with regards to the costuming and cinematography to carry its aesthetic, this show simply did not. The costumes, the makeup, and the special effects were all lackluster. The set was nice enough but was not shot in a way to really leave much of an impression. 

The first episode was abysmal— mainly due to Dracula’s awful performance (those disgusting fungus covered fake nails, that age makeup, that ACCENT) and the entire awkward af scene where he terrorizes a convent of nuns while naked and covered in blood. But it was at least so bad it was funny.

The second episode was the most tedious to me because it was less offensively awful so I couldn’t even enjoy the badness. There was definitely a sharp uptick of quality whenever Dracula was offscreen for any notable amount of time though. The passengers were rather boring but I liked the crewmen. And Agatha honestly killed it for the latter half. 

The last episode was by far the worst and yet the most entertaining because they just stopped trying at that point. 

Renfield was amazing and an absolute delight every time he was on screen. Dracula found him over skype for God’s sake, how can that not be fantastic? He actually utters the words “Dracula has rights,” and his argument somehow actually fucking works.  

And even Dracula himself was far less insufferable with the shift in dynamics. By being forced to cope with the modern world, he could no longer act like such a smarmy, self-assured know it all. Seeing him freak the fuck out at the sight of helicopters was genuinely fun. 

Lucy’s handling was misogynistic af though. It was bafflingly, needlessly awful. And the way she was vilified at the very end was appalling. They almost had an interesting deconstruction wrt her utter malaise for her life, and the implication that she actually resents her beauty. But then of course she gets burned alive, and then is treated horribly for it by the protagonists. 

Even though it’s clear she has no idea what’s happened to her body, Zoe doesn’t even bother to explain it to her. She just makes her take a selfie of all things so she can see what she really looks like. It didn’t seem like the show had a shred of sympathy for her, because “oh, clearly she was a narcissistic bitch and she deserved what she got” or something like that?? 

The utter indifference everyone has to her death is baffling. It was an afterthought, that seemed like its only purpose for existing was yet again just shock value. The scene, after her death, immediately shifting the focus back to whatever weird personal rivalry that borders on sexual tension  Agatha/Zoe and Dracula have going on.  

But all in all, this adaptation had me baffled, frustrated, and cringing through most of it. It was unintentionally funny quite often and I honestly enjoyed it, but for all the wrong reasons. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to melt their fucking brain.

#netflix dracula #netflix dracula spoilers #moffat dracula #bbc dracula #long post #I ramble sometimes #tldr: it was BAD #all the salt #this is 1800 words #*writer’s cap*

[familyvisionis2020]

Day 6 - The Drive Home

Today was the last day of tour. I wake up in the morning feeling guilty because I have a groggy memory of waking up around 8 to go to the bathroom, Paul was waiting to go, but when the person came out I just fronted him (a word I just now remember from elementary school, cut in line, but southern), used the bathroom and went back to bed. Rude. I am wiping the cold from my eye, taking in the undecorated walls of the apartment, and Jeremy comes from down the hall and says ‘Did you get the memo? Louisville cancelled. Tour’s over.” I said ‘fuck’ and processed it. I feel sad for Jeremy and John and Kabir because I know they wanted to play this last show in Kentucky. It’s not that I didn’t, but also for the last three months and for especially the last month I have been feeling a tremendous amount of anxiety about this tour, about feeling out-of-control, about being away from loved ones at home, about being available to show up for people in my life, about completing regular routines of hygiene and spirituality and task completion that make me feel boring and comfortable, both. Touring stirs up dredges of the tea leaves that I had let settle into a fine filmy sediment at the bottom of me. I manufactured a jello mold two years ago and poured myself into it: regular 9-5 in the legal field as a means and precursor to law school, then diligent study for 3 years, then a professional career, abandoning the party life, abandoning trespassing in abandoned buildings, abondoning the luxury of resentment and unproductive time, trying to cool and firm into something reliable, serviceable, dependable, available, a resource people could draw from for once, rather than a leech or slug. And when I go on tour I take that jello mold out of the fridge and it holds its shape but also it warms and the longer I’m out the more liquidy it gets and sloshes over the sides and so forth. So I’m ambivalent because I like what I have to offer to this band, I like the physical process of drumming and expressing myself in the context of music and being a member of a band, but also I feel like I’ve kind of chilled enough and it’s time to settle down. And I’m at a way different point in my life than the other guys in the band it seems like, for the most part. So anyways all this to contextualize the fact that the news of tour ending even earlier than early honestly makes me feel relieved, if not happy, and so then I work to temper that boosted mood for the sake of grim decorum befitting a tour taken before its time. 

All our stuff is locked in the venue from last night and we learn we won’t be able to pick it up until 1pm and so we have about 4 hours to kill in the apartment. Phillip puts on a pot of coffee that will turn out to be some of the wateriest on record, but still, a super kind gesture, and then he also puts on The Wire on HBO Go and we just settle in on the couch and watch for awhile. Some of the scenes are familiar, there’s something seductive about this show, and it brings me back to the precise moment of Summer of 2013 right before I moved to Philadelphia right after I got evicted from the squat/music venue I had been living in that winter and spring, I watched all episodes of The Wire on DVD on Matt Martin’s couch at 3 Pomroy and felt deeply depressed. It ranks up there with when I watched all released episodes of The Office in bed in the winter of 2009 after my girlfriend broke up with me, in terms of memorably devestating life phases offset by the amniotic fluid of full-series of TV. So we watch The Wire and I find myself not too inclined to sit and watch and I want to write so I sit at my laptop on the table nearby and write an email to a female (sorry) but I actually do and its purpose is to make her smile and bring some levity and play and purple prose to a moment in her life that, from how she tells it to me, is just so heavy, nightmares and waking horror and a future that feels like it hangs by a thread. so I’m glad to spend time showing up for her in this small way rather than watching The Wire, and also I write yesterday’s blog post, another activity that feels sort of like a pittance but also like: doing-writing is something I have been putting off, in phases and seasons, for my entire adult life, because to me nothing ever matters enough to write about, or if it does my perspective is deficient, or my research inadequate, or my skill incommensurate with the subject matter, or it won’t properly reflect my feelings, or any number of self-sabotaging excuses to not do this thing I so love doing, and love sharing. So for me, writing this blog is a very meaningful and special act of reclamation of a personal mode of expression that constitutes a break in my winter’s depression and what feels like a new phase of happiness, of believing-i-have-a-future, of feeling more authoratative and qualified to know and describe my own experience in a lifetime marred and dampened by dissociation, oblivion, amnesia, and fugue. So it feels like nourishment to get some paragraphs done and to move slow through my days, get them onto the page.

The Wire grows tiresome at some point and Jeremy fires up the PS4 and then the PS3 looking for games but none are multiplayer and so eventually he settles on Skyrim and starts from a new file. Me personally I love watching let’s plays and this is as good as TV. There was a moment last tour when we were in this strange small town in Connecticut called Torrington (the town all touring bands are required to go to, we also joked), in this town Jeremy was describing the sort of surrealness he experienced there and he said he felt like the townspeople in Torrington were like NPCs in a FPS RPG like Skyrim wherein you would go up to people and press A to talk, say ‘What news?” and that I thought was really funny then, I like his sense of humor. Really Kabir and Jeremy and Royal represent this sort of humor that is to me equal parts razor wit, cleverness, timing, accents, absurdity, and broad conceptual placticity, all for the most part very clean too, never or at least rarely blue (you’re gonna inevitably make a D’s nuts joke and that’s just that). And during happy times I am so grateful to be nearby this humor and during less happy times I get self conscious about how great their humor is and how I sometimes feel like I don’t measure up. But that feeling doesn’t weigh for long. Skyrim is fun to watch, it kills some time, we all take turns trying to kill wolves with swords before Jeremy finally does it, there’s a dragon, we loot corpses, discuss Bloodborne and Dark Souls and comparable games. A lot of the main media activity in this group is discussing how a given media relates to another media, Kabir and Jeremy and John know it seems like everything between the three of them when it comes to record labels, band narratives, artist’s hometowns, etc. So we play Skyrim for awhile, and then eventually it’s time to go to the venue and we drive back to The Salty Nut, load in all our gear, do a final sweep, and say our goodbyes and thankyous to Phillip. We return to the Bandido place one last time for one last round of free local Taco Bell which we absolutely scarf and are very vocally grateful to the people for giving it to us for free again, it’s clear they really put effort into being hospitable to touring bands here, at least through Phillip. His band, Thomas Function, was signed on Fat Possum Records, which also had bigger indie acts like Jay Reatard (who Phillip tells a story about him demanding $50,000 in cash for a show fee to feed his coke and heroin habit, Reatard died at age 29 from cocaine toxicity with alcohol also), The Black Keys, Andrew Bird, Wavves and Soccer Mommy, but which Kabir postulates has most of its success due to having signed octogenarian southern blues legends like R.L. Burnside and King Ernest and raking in royalties from what Kabir speculates is due to poor management of the estates of these dead leagends who each had more than a dozen children. It’s truly fascinating for me to hear how deep and complex the analysis of music these guys have is. When I feel insecure, which is often, I tend to veneer these sorts of expertises and shibboleths among music-heads as snobby, elitist, exclusionary, petty and asinine. But I think most of that comes from a fear that I lack the insight, cognitive absorbency, and passionate research skills to collate and catalog data about artists in the way these people do, the way my bandmates do. I feel inspired to take time to dig deeper into the musicans I love, to make them real to me, to get a sense of their story, their lived experience, for the sake of corroding the mediation between us somewhat, or at least polishing the media membrane. 

I volunteer to drive for the first half of what will end up being about a 10-hour drive back from Huntsville to Chapel Hill. We go to a Whole Foods in Huntsville upon Kabir’s insistence where I purchase a nootropic snakeoil energy affair in beverage form, Kabir gets hot coffee and a La Colombe Draft can of latte, Jeremy gets a kombucha made from yerba mate (“best of both worlds” he says), John black coffee as per, and Kabir also buys a slice of Tres Leches cake in a clear plastic to-go clamshell: “they can take away my tour, but they can’t take away my tres leches.” Later he’s eating it in the van and he accidentally spills some on himself and he says “shit…spilled some on myself. oh good, it was only one leche” which to me is so funny and perfect humor and just like kind of a paragon of the kind of joke I so treasure from this friend group. Another is when Jeremy and Kabir are recalling a favorite running joke from two tours ago, wherein they were in Philly, home to the famous Schuykill River (pronounced skoo-kill, at least when i lived there, at least around the non-indigenous people i knew), and while there they would affect this blaring Brooklyn accent, deployed heavily on this trip as well for basically any purpose, but back then they would say “UGH MY SKOYKL IS KILLING ME” like Schuykill was lombago or sciatica and also would say “YEAH LET ME GET A KWATA POUND OF SKOYKL ON RYE” like it was a deli meat, and they laughed and laughed. Also they liked doing rhyming jokes like last night there was a chair nearby the combo amp Tired Frontier was going to use for their set and Kabir goes ‘amp on the chair, tone everywhere’ and then I say ‘amp on the ground, makes a bad sound’ and then I tell Jeremy later how Kabir would put me in good spirits whenever I was describing to someone how my LSAT score is very competitive but my checkered past makes the acceptance process a little less than straightforward, and Kabir would see I was getting kinda down and anxious, and he would say ‘You gotta break the law before you make the law,’ and we all laugh and I love that, the function of humor as balm, salve. I want to wield my humor like that.

The drive back is fine, some sprinkles, nothing major, clear traffic for the most part, I feel like I have a good command of the van, keep it around 75 for most of the trip, feel smoth and confident switching lanes, passing, etc. We do another two NYT Wednesday classic crosswords together, Kabir is getting probably 40% of the clues, me maybe 30% Jeremy and John the other 30%, Kabir will just to YEAHHHHHHHH after getting a clue and I start doing that too after Jeremy says “X down, ‘on the table’ 15 letters,” and I say UPFORDISCUSSION after only a couple seconds and it fits and is correct and I feel like a damn genius and we’re all laughing and kind of praising each other half-jokingly for being strong beautiful geniuses who also we know songs. This is a great passtime and the drive flies by and before I know it we’re in Western NC just outside of Asheville and we make a stop to refuel the tank and get dinner. We decide on a Waffle House across the street, not wanting to venture too deep into Asheville for something healthier and better because of the time and money it would likely eat up, Kabir says that FEMA uses the closing of Waffle Houses as a bellweather to indicate the severity of a given natural disaster. We go inside, the waitress says ‘ya’ll aren’t from around here are you?’ in a way that I take to be hostile and I suggest that to the guys and they seem like maybe slightly offput but not very much and we decide not to abort and I later feel foolish because I think I am doing this thing where I become excessively vigilant or sensitive to a perceived slight to a friend who is brown for the putative purpose of interceding on their behalf against racism but what’s actually happening is if someone was racist to them they could just stand up for themselves and make their own call regarding their own comfort or lack thereof and I would do better to act less motivated by white guilt when avoidable. That passes, it’s fine, we eat hash browns and waffles and eggs and grits and toast and cover everything in tobasco and tip well and get back on the road, John takes over for the final stretch. 

I return a call from Marty and catch him up about tour being cancelled and we discuss our fears and hysteria and cancellations and reaction and so forth. Marty remarks that he is a gravedigger during the plague, which is the best possible job to have. It’s not a joke because he actually drives a backhoe working for a cemetary and digs actual graves, super weird and eminently punk/goth and kind of a curiosity but really perfect for the lead singer of one of the South’s premiere punk bands, especially after his being fired from the swish cafe he worked at in Richmond before that. I love Marty and catching up and it feels good to hear his voice. After I get off the phone it sort of becomes campfire spooky story time in the van with everyone proffering their take on the panic, market failure, the likelihood of Capitalism as a superstructure to require perpetual growth even at the peril or death of its working class, the superior response to covid that South Korea and Norway seem to have mounted, a lot of fear of financial insecurity. Eventually this digresses to talk of touring, and the guys discuss all manner of various routes throught the South, Midwest, Northeast, plains states, PNW, Mexico City, Jeremy says ‘I can get us a show in Colombia’ which he can, Argentina or Venezuela through a mutual friend, then Europe so long as the label foots the bill for the plane ticket, then Japan, setting up camp on Honshu would make it easy to hit TOkyo, Kyoto, Osaka and Nagoya no problem, except where exactly are people playing shows? there’s gotta be somewhere all these Japanese Noise and Hardcore bands are getting gigs, and then from there of course it’s not hard to get to Australia, John knows a band there, and they go all around the world and this is stressing me out a little bit, only because I wonder about how much they think I would be involved or want to go on such a theoretical tour, and the answer is I don’t 100% know. Part of me wants to say this is my last tour, lean all the way in to law school and leave behind this chapter. Part of me feels like it’s better not to make a hard and fast statement like that because what if the economy collapses and for some reason school is a no-go but being in the band becomes the most plausible source of income or something. I get anxious and psych myself out and quiet down and feel foolish and wish to be home. I fantasize about my future life of stability, but I second guess myself because I just don’t know for sure how my life will be, and want to be careful to work toward the goals I think will be the most fulfilling, self-actualizing, spiritually nourishing, healthy for me; I also want to not forsake the friendships and bonds I’ve forged in these weird intimate moments in the van with the guys. I have the wherewithal to know that nobody is requiring me to make a decision right this second, and that as time passes it’s likely that the best course of action will be revealed one way or another if I can keep from panicking. So I watch videos of the 2019 Classic Tetris World Championships on my phone, eat two candy bars, watch videos of a streamer named Wumbotize play the latest Tetris game, Tetris Effect (2018, PS4, PC), and am pleasantly awed by how crazily far the skill curve of that game has shot up. I have some time ahead of me that is completely free, which is so nice. Before I know it I’m back home in my clean apartment which is tidy like a tetris field at the beginning of a new game and I get into my bed and lay down flat and if my bed is the well than the line of me clears and the well is clean, smooth, primed, for whatever falls tomorrow. 

[voicesfromthelight]

What I Learned from A Botched, Haunted Field Trip, Long Ago

Today, in the interest of encouraging my readers to build their trust in Spirit as well as the power of intention, and to align themselves with the purest spiritual motivations even in times of uncertainty, I’d like to share a memory of something that happened to me when I was was in college, quite some time ago, when I was much less experienced. It’s a story that illustrates the importance of following your gut, not compromising your psychic integrity, of choosing your spiritual company wisely, and how the power of love is greater than that of fear. It’s also a great story about learning from your psychic blunders!

My late teens and early twenties were a time of strong, but mostly spontaneous psychic activation for me. At the time, I was most actively involved in the practice of energy healing, working together weekly with a healing circle that was led by a woman who became my de facto mentor - a Huna-trained shaman named Evelyn Wakeman, who was one of the most psychically gifted, powerful healers I had ever met - as well as with one of my closest friends, a young woman named Anneli. My psychic abilities were not yet mediumistic in the sense of communicating with the departed, and I wasn’t even sure that such communication was possible. However, for a period of a few years, I found it easy to observe people’s energy clairvoyantly, and also would experience very strong clairsentience in the form of feeling people’s physical and emotional sensations in my body while performing healing work on them. Once in a while, I would have a precognitive dream (usually, in lucid form), in which I would meet and speak to spirit guides, or experience other kinds of precognition, but all in all, I had no control over when, how or why these kinds of communications would take place. I was still feeling my way around the world of Spirit, looking for my place.

Anneli and I were soulmates. (We still are!) For a while, we were roommates. The amount of things we had in common was uncanny, and we were jokingly referred to as the the “Finn twins.” We were both Finnish on our mother’s side, and American on our father’s. We were both deeply connected to nature and pagan spirituality. We both had psychic proclivities, and had each spent a year  living in France, speaking the language fluently. We both loved music. At the time, we were inseparable.

During our senior year, Anneli became involved with the local punk scene in our college town. The ragtag bunch of rebels tended to have an energy that was quite different from what Anneli and I had in each other’s company: Where we were sensitive and introverted, they were exuberant and, at times, volatile. A lot of the kids came from much more challenging circumstances than either of us did, and some had already experienced much hardship in their young lives, from combat in Afghanistan, to alcoholism and drug addiction. However, their company provided a much-needed sense of freedom from what sometimes felt like an ivory tower, and I was happy to venture out once in a while with Anneli and her new friends.

One day, Anneli told me that she had met two new guys in the scene. We’ll call them John and Jim. John and Jim were into ghost-hunting, and would trek out together to allegedly haunted historical sites with a camera, hoping to capture evidence of ghostly activity, such as orb anomalies. They were soon planning on going to a cemetery dating back to the Revolutionary War, and Anneli was thinking of joining them together with her boyfriend.

I was intrigued. I had harbored a somewhat uneasy fascination with paranormal investigation for a while, but had never had any direct experience with it myself. If there was an authentic haunting going on at this site, what could have been more interesting as a psychic healer than to go and see how we might be able to balance out the energy there? Though I had never met them in person, yet, I never even considered the possibility that John and Jim’s intentions might have been anything less than reverent. I volunteered to join in on the excursion.

On the evening of the field trip, John and Jim showed up in John’s car, with Anneli and her boyfriend in tow, to pick me up from my apartment. As soon as my two new acquaintances sauntered into my house, their energy shocked me to attention. Jim immediately seized an accordion I had in my room and started to play it loudly and discordantly. Like two mohawk-headed peas in a pod, the boys were rambunctious, boisterous and unpredictable, but seemed friendly enough. I chalked up the instant unease I felt to a harmless difference in temperaments, asked Jim to put down my instrument, and followed the gang out into the car.

It was in the car that my unease began to descend into near-panic. The drive was long. I sat in the front with John, while Anneli, her boyfriend, and Jim, sat in the back. During a quiet moment, John and I started to converse about our interest in the paranormal. I remember him turning to me, his eyes squinting as he lowered his voice to a vaguely menacing snarl, and began to explain to me why he wanted to explore this particular cemetery. It was old, he said. Several people had committed suicide nearby, hanging themselves in the woods. And, he added, he believed it was haunted by demons. Demons, he explained, were once angels, who were thrown out of Heaven when the devil rebelled against the Creator. All of this was related with a kind of smug relish, without a hint of compassion or respect for any of the souls  associated with the site. It was all a horror story to him. 

I felt sick to my stomach. It was clear these two young men were only interested in projecting their darkest fears onto this experience, and my spiritual motivations for paranormal investigation had nothing to do with theirs. I also felt sad and terrified at what they were about to do, on a spiritual level - bringing that fear and darkness into a place of supposed rest. By the time we reached our destination, I decided I would not set foot out of the car. I wanted no part of any of it.

When we got to the cemetery, I had to explain to Anneli my reasons for not participating, as discreetly as I could. She sympathized with me, but decided that having come this far, she still wanted to go. As the rest of the gang walked into the pitch black night, I sat in the car, still terrified, and did the only thing that made sense to me. I prayed with all of my might. I asked to be protected by white light, and that none of the negative energy being brought to the place harm any of the spirits that were attached to it. I sat there for what must have been an hour, praying, and my fear never abated.

When they finally came back to the car, Anneli told me that John had said that he had “seen a demon with red eyes” in the cemetery. She herself had only felt an energy of forlorn regret permeating the site. I couldn’t wait to get home.

The following day, Anneli and I met up with Evelyn’s psychic healing group in the non-denominational chapel reserved for the meeting on our campus. I was unspeakably ashamed of myself. How could my spiritual judgment have been so poor that I had allowed myself to be put in a situation in which I was going to a haunted cemetery with people I had never met before? I felt like I had made a terrible mistake, and severely compromised myself. In fact, I was so mortified, I didn’t dare breathe a word of what had happened, or where we had been, to Evelyn, to whom I normally would have confided anything and everything. I felt like I had let her down.

A short while into the healing circle, it came to be my turn to receive energy healing from the group. Evelyn, leading the session, fell into her customary light trance. Then, after a few moments, she unexpectedly opened her eyes. She turned to me with a gentle smile, and said: “This is so strange. I’ve never seen this with you, before. Usually, I see spirit guides around you, but today, you have hundreds of dead souls attached to you. They are appearing to me upside down, which lets me know they were once human. They want you to help them cross over into the light. They know you have their best interest at heart.”

I burst out crying, and admitted everything that had happened, feeling an immense sense of gratitude, excitement and relief.  Here, despite the terror I had felt, despite the embarrassment at my lapse in judgment, the love and respect I had shown the souls in that supposedly dark place, through my prayers, had won out. The fact that Evelyn had picked up on what had happened, despite my silence, was proof enough for me that it was all true. We meditated together to cross over the souls that had followed me home from the cemetery.

Since then, I have always had faith that love will spiritually and energetically triumph over fear. Yes, I have had unsettling paranormal experiences since then, as well. However, also during those times, I have been sent specific, explicit messages from Spirit that my prayers have been answered, and that I will be safe. So, I invite everyone to remember this story when you find yourself in a situation that spooks you. Yes, it is always in our best interest to raise our vibration to an emotional frequency that is closer to love and further from fear, nor should we intentionally “dabble in darkness” if it can be avoided, but in a pinch, help is always to be found in the Spirit world and from Source if we just have the courage to ask for it - even if we ourselves are terrified. Trust in that!

P.S. This story is a great reminder, too, of how our expectations and emotional vibration affect what realm of the spirit world we resonate with! If you need a refresher on this topic, I encourage you revisit my piece on different frequencies in the spirit world.

#psychic #medium #mediumship #psychic medium #spirits #ghosts #haunted #psychic development #prayer #intention #5d #ascension #shamanism #energy healing #psychic healing #hauntings #paranormal #paranormal investigation #spiritual #spiritual integrity #integrity #fear #projection #trust #crossing over

[songofwizardry]

wolfstar teacher!au that I can’t get outta my head

so for the past couple of months, this wolfstar au set around the teachers at hogwarts has refused to leave me alone, so here y’all go have a list and tell me what you think. (more backstory than actual wolfstar in here!)

Welcome to Hogwarts Academy, where things aren’t currently going great for the Science department. 

Minerva McGonagall runs maths. Fiercely protective of her further maths girls numbers, Minerva would personally fight anyone who so much thought of being a sexist prick in the science department. What this usually meant was she ended up fighting Severus, often.

She and Rolanda Hooch are the lesbian mums of the entire faculty.

Sirius Black, twenty-something alumnus of the Academy, teaches Art, because they’re a walking talking queer stereotype and boldly embrace it, paint-stained clothes and all.

Sprout and Grubbly-Plank teach biology. Snape teaches Chemistry. Flitwick single-handedly runs the entire Physics department, and has progressively gotten more and more frantic and upset after a stream of horrible new physics teachers, none of whom lasted more than a year.

(There was Mr. Quirrel, who was white but wore a turban because he felt it ‘reflected his spiritual being’, and none of the Muslim students liked him. After a nasty incident at the end of term involving a can of air-freshener, a bunsen burner, and a distinct lack of safety goggles, he had to… be removed for his own health, shall we say.)

(Then there was Mr. Lockhart, or, as Grubbly-Plank referred to him, ‘misogynistic idiot’; he’d written a pseudo-pop-science book once and thought he was a bit of a celebrity, he was convinced all the women on staff wanted to sleep with him, was fond of inappropriately turning on the charm on his students, and… didn’t seem to know any science, at all. After the third student showed up to Sprout’s office, trying to get out words about him being not entirely comfortable to be around in classes, she declared war on Lockhart, discovered he’d plagiarised an impressive amount of information, and marched into Dumbledore’s office demanding he be fired: ‘Dumbledore, my ten year old niece could teach physics better than he does, and on top of that, my niece isn’t creepy.’ He didn’t even last a full year.)

(The department is still reeling from Mr. Moody, who used to teach in the 70s, had a career change, and went off to fight in Iraq. He came back a war vet, and after a few years off decided he wanted to come back to teaching, but in addition to still acting like education hadn’t changed one bit, his methods were also rather… unconventional. He seemed to think he was preparing soldiers, barked orders at teenagers, and demanded ‘CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’ if they forgot the half in ‘half mv squared’. After an AS lesson about two months in that Flitwick walked in on where he was teaching projectile motion through a… very vivid question about bombing Iraqi planes, Flitwick decided he’d had enough, and the science department pitched in to patch up and teach physics between themselves for the rest of the year.)

Which brings us to now, where Flitwick and the entire science department, exhausted, have put out another vacancy.

Between themselves, they’re sort of resigned to not having a decent physics teacher yet again, as Minerva told Rolanda one night, “I told Filius, better no teacher than a shit teacher, he and I will teach physics single-handedly if we must”, and Rolanda just sighed and shook her head at her wife.

Enter Remus.

He’s young, finished his undergrad and went straight into ITT, and this is his NQT year. A physicist trained in physics teaching is a rarity, which worked in his favour, because he needed to move, and quick. (His teacher training year was rough—in between coming out to his family, he got on the bad side of a group called the Greybacks, and his year ended with a violent encounter with their lead, Fenrir, a guy a few years ahead of Remus at school, leaving him with some impressive scars, a massive uptick in anxiety, and a need to get the fuck away from Reading.) One day his alert-me-about-teacher-postings email dinged, and… Scotland. Perfect. Very hard to get further north than Scotland, unless you want to teach in the middle of the North Sea.

It’s an impressive posting, on paper. A private boarding school, based in a freaking Scottish castle, in, essentially, the middle of nowhere. It’s got its own goddamn train, for crying out loud. The posting says, Teachers are welcome to arrange their own accommodation in the nearby village of Hogsmeade, but subsidised accommodation in Hogwarts castle can also be provided. Please indicate which option you are interested in when you apply. Remus doesn’t expect to get in, not with essentially no experience, but there’s a little note at the bottom of the vacancy that says, Teachers in their NQT year are also encouraged to apply.

Truth is, after the spate of bad teachers, Dumbledore’s, shall we say, eccentric management techniques, and the general isolation of Hogwarts, no actually experienced decent teacher really wants to go there. It’s acquired a bit of its own reputation. The only people who apply are awful (see above), and the occasional young teacher.

(Flitwick, after the disastrous past few years, has resolved to give preference to ‘fresh slates’—teachers with next to no experience, who have yet to be corrupted by misplaced fame, or weird culturally appropriative spiritualist ideas, or the military, or any of that. When he sits down to look at the applications, a little bright-blue post-it note on his desk reads: 1. No celebrities! 2. Nobody violent! And in Grubbly-Plank’s handwriting, NO misogynistic idiots!!! (Yes I know it’s phys, Filius, but there have to be some))

Remus instantly makes the interview stage. Not too keen on making someone all the way south travel to Scotland, and slightly fond of the idea of a day out themselves, Flitwick and McGonagall (mostly there for intimidation, and to ensure the third bullet point is fulfilled) take a trip down to London, and meet Remus in a coffee shop.

(Yes, it’s unorthodox, but there is some benefit to being privately run; also, school’s let out and they can’t have an in-class test anyway, and they’re desperate.)

(There were only two other applicants: one was a sixty-something year old woman who talked a little too much in her application about ‘enhancing traditional values’ for Minerva’s comfort, and the other was a geographer. The competition isn’t too stiff, honestly.)

Flitwick takes to Remus quickly—Minerva raises her eyebrows, slightly concerned, at the scars down the side of his too-thin face, but he’s quiet and unassuming in a way that’s a relief after the double-horror of trying to deal with Moody and Lockhart’s, ah, expansive personalities. Also, he has a physics degree, so he can’t be a complete idiot… right? (Right. Flitwick quizzes him on misconceptions about gravity, and, after a moment, asks, “How would you go about introducing projectile motion?” Remus blinks, smiles, picks up a sugar packet, and says, “Catch.” Flitwick does, relieved, and adds, just for good measure, “Just so you know, we disapprove of using, ah, more violent metaphors or examples when teaching.” Remus frowns, perplexed, but just says, “Of course.”)

On the train back to Hogwarts, Flitwick sits cross-legged on a seat, valiantly attempting to eat a wrap that’s fallen apart in the bag, and Minerva sips at a takeaway cup of Earl Grey and declares, “Well, I like him.” Flitwick looks up from his wrap and smiles. “Yes, I rather think I do too.”

Which is how, completely shocked, Remus J. Lupin lands himself a teaching position – just on a year contract, but oh, it feels brilliant, he’s going to be teaching –  and how, one week before the students arrive, he gets off the Hogwarts Express with a suitcase and a battered briefcase with R J Lupin inscribed on it, held together with a large quantity of neatly-knotted string, and a large man shakes his hand, and says, “Welcome t’ Hogwarts, Mr. Lupin. I’m Rubeus Hagrid.”

#wolfstar #harry potter #wolfstar au #teacher!au #teacher au #remus lupin #sirius black #gay remus #queer sirius black #minerva mcgonagall #minerva mcgonagall is a bamf #mcgonagall x hooch #lesbian mums #my writing #fanfic #queer fanfic #salmonwrites

[slashertalks]

I’m gonna try to talk about Frailty + be coherent:

I remember reading an interview with Bill Paxton, where he spoke about the movie. He said he was sure the film would find its audience- I can’t find the exact quote, but I feel like that’s very true. Unfortunately, at the same time, I feel like Frailty’s audience is rather small. The reviews I’ve seen for this movie are decidedly split, it’s either loved or hated, and I suppose I can understand why. Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation’s message of horror as a spiritual experience comes to mind now, as I try to write this review.

There’s a certain level of complacent viewership with regards to horror films, especially in modern horror. Formulaic films are comforting in a sense- there’s no real surprise to the plot, we don’t have to think or otherwise put in effort. We can sit by and let the movie happen without ever engaging with it. When I say ‘modern,’ though, I’m not just including 2013 onward, I’m reaching back through most of the 2000s. Now, this has always existed in horror to some extent (the saturation of slashers in the 80s, for example), but the overwhelming amount of repetitive films and unwanted remakes began in the 2000s (the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake was from 2003, for example).

Frailty was released in 2001, and requires multiple viewings. In an interview I’d seen more recently, Bill Paxton says: “If you’ve only seen the film once, you’ve only kind of seen half the film.” As a prospective viewer, I’d take this advice to heart. The first time I’d seen the film was a couple years ago (not realizing Bill Paxton was involved)- when I watched it the second time, I’d forgotten I’d ever seen the film (I’d seen it on Bill’s IMDB and thought it looked interesting). As I watched the tale unfold, I realized I’d seen the film before- I recognized details I hadn’t noticed before during my half-interested television viewing and felt much more fulfillment plotwise. My point: Frailty forces you to engage with it. It is not, to use a term from other reviews, an ‘easy watching’ horror movie. It is horror as a spiritual experience, seven years after the release of the film that examined this concept within the genre (TCM4).

Frailty is, as a genre film, everything that religious horror should be. We are shown a loving family: a father and his two sons, doing their best in life, until the father is visited by an angel. We’re unsure if he’s sane or not- we’re told by our narrator that the boy’s’ mother had died. Was the father driven mad with grief? It would seem so: the angel tells him he and his sons have been chosen to destroy demons that are hiding among humans. The youngest son, Adam, believes his father wholeheartedly, but the older boy, Fenton, has difficulties accepting his father’s words, and he suffers for it.

I find it difficult to write this review, because I truly believe this film deserves to go unspoiled. The paragraph above is as much as I can reveal about the plot without absolute certainty that you, the reader, have already seen the film. What I can say, with complete conviction, is that this film deserves a larger audience. It stands as a chilling, beautiful film about religious convictions, the loss of innocence, and the realization that our parents are most often not heroes. Is anybody right in this situation? Who really deserved the endings they received? What happened is saddening- we grieve for everyone to some extent, when we’re shown the truth.

Frailty exists as a gem from the very beginning of a dark age within the horror genre (I believe we’ve begun to recover, but there’s still a struggle to find truly original, quality horror films). Where Frailty could’ve easily been formulaic, dull, and disengenous, it stands with total conviction in its story and tone, and faith that it will have an active audience. Sadly, largely passive viewership has lead to this film being almost completely forgotten.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop speaking about Rothman’s monologue at the end of Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation, but it sticks out to me here because Frailty is what 2000s horror could have (and should have) been: a spiritual experience, crafted with (at the time) fresh technology and new techniques. Films like Frailty are what horror fans deserved in the new era of the 2000s. The film is dark, elegant in its storytelling, and it’s easy to find yourself lost in the world Bill Paxton paints. I’ve talked about Hudson and I’m sure you’ll hear me talk about Bill’s other characters, but the fact stands that the man was incredibly talented, both in front of and behind the camera. A massive amount of care was poured into this film and it shines.

I’ll admit it’s not a traditional horror film, edging more psychological than anything, but I’m hesitant to call it a thriller (it’s not, really). The blood and gore is minimal, the story is deeply tragic, and characters we come to care for suffer. The small portion we’re shown of the world in this film is as unjust as our own, for the most part. Writing this, there’s an ache in my chest- I can’t downplay how much this film has affected me. It’s rare that I’m so gripped by a genre film.

If you enjoy religious themes and psychological horror, watch Frailty. Give it the chance it deserves- engage with it, come back to it. I doubt you’ll regret it.

#frailty #PLEASE watch this movie its SO GOOD! #watch it twice!!!!!!

[ad-drew]

The Shaman Society | An Excerpt, Part 11

So, got another excerpt ready to go! But the big news here is that I’ve finally finished the second draft of the manuscript, which means I’ll be opening up to beta readers soon, I hope. I’m probably going to be using betabooks, as it seems like an incredibly organized and helpful tool for beta reading. I’ll be making a post about looking for beta readers later on, but if anyone would like to get in an early request, go ahead and shoot me a message!

Tagging:@mania-junkie-writes, @seamusings, @haline-penthorn

If you want to be added to my humble tag list, just send me a message and I’ll be happy to do so!

---

Rei glared at the yawning wound in the side of the warehouse. Harsh beams of moonlight filtered through the gaping hole, filling the otherwise pitch dark interior with a dull silver glow. Of all the places Saki could have taken her for training, did it have to be where two of her classmates had died yesterday? Bad enough to place looked like a scene out of a bad Duskwell horror flick at night.

“Could have picked a better spot,” she muttered.

Saki shook her head. “Normally, I would take you to Takama-ga-hara for training, but as we’re on an active investigation we should remain in the area in case another yōkai decides to strike. But this place is quiet and out of the way, and should provide a suitable substitute for the time being.”

“If you say so.” Rei wandered away from the busted wall, back into the warehouse. “So, we gonna start or what?”

Saki was already kneeling on the metallic floor of the warehouse, strips of blank paper tags spread out in front of her, along with a dish of black ink and calligraphy brush. “Whenever you’re ready to pay attention.”

Rei lowered herself to the floor with a grumble. “Get on with it, then.”

Saki dabbed the tip of the brush into the ink. “Shaman spells are typically an advanced form of training, taught only to those with the proper experience to wield them. However, you are correct in that all shamans must eventually learn them. Since you’re so eager, I don’t see the harm in teaching you the basics. Better you showing an interest in your work than running off on your own and causing trouble.”

Rei bit her tongue. “So, I take it you inscribe some sort of activation word on the tag?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. How…?”

“I’ve played a lot of video games, read a lot of books,” she said, with a wry smirk. “Easy enough to guess. No need to look so impressed.”

The slightest hint of a grin curled across Saki’s lips. “So, perhaps you’re not completely hopeless. But there is more to it. Both the ink and paper contain special properties making them highly absorbent of spiritual energy, and are found only in Takama-ga-hara. Combining ink with paper, transcribe a word insinuating the desired effect of your spell. For example.”

Rei tilted her head sideways, trying to get a better look at the kanji Saki wrote on the vertical strip of paper. “Kasai? Fire?”

“Indeed.” When Saki completed the calligraphy, she laid the tag flat over one palm and pressed her other hand over the top of it. “Finally, a shaman must channel an appropriate amount of ki from her soul gem into the tag, giving it the power to activate when called upon. A lengthy process, but necessary.”

“And by ‘lengthy’ you mean…?”

“Half an hour, on average.”

Rei’s brow shot upwards. “Per tag? Jeez, sounds like a nightmare if you want a full stack.”

“A good reason only to use them when you need to. Although, for the purpose of this lesson we won’t be so stingy.”

“Great, cool. Now what?”

“Now, you wait until I finish channeling so I can show you the next step.”

Rei pinched her thumb and forefinger against her eyes. Should have known asking for actual training would bite her in the ass. If these things took a half hour each to make, they’d be here all freaking night. Sounded about as much fun as watching ink dry.

“Try not to get too discouraged,” said Asami’s voice. “Spells are a vital tool for every shaman, even if creating them can be tedious.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Rei thought her response, keeping the conversation internal and private. “But I kinda imagined shaman training being, I don’t know, more exciting?”

“Oh, there will be plenty of that kind of training. Spell creation is more methodical. Give it time.”

“Got nothing but time right now.”

Ten minutes past. Fifteen minutes. Rei leaned back on her hands, fingers tapping the cold metal floor. She stared at the ceiling. Twenty minutes into the channeling, she’d finished counting each individual panel of the ceiling—four hundred and twenty-five, to be exact. Twenty-five minutes now.

“Sooo…” Rei lowered her attention to Saki, who hadn’t moved. “What’s the deal with your uniform? Why the whole shrine maiden motif?”

Saki glanced at her with curious eyes. “I work as a miko at Yasaka Jinja Shrine in Kyoto. Part time, since I was twelve. Always liked the design.”

“Oh, no shit? So what, you perform cleansings, and ritual dances, that kinda stuff?”

“On occasion, yes. I’ve assisted with weddings, funerals, even preparing for festivals. Mostly work in the gift shop, though, or answer visitor questions. And sweep. There is a lot of sweeping.” Saki’s lips coiled into a slow, almost not even there smile. “It may not seem like much, but I enjoy it.”

“Hey, wasn’t judging. More power to you.”

“In any case, my uniform is far more practical than the abomination you’re wearing.”

Rei’s eye twitched. “The fuck’s wrong with my uniform?”

“Nothing, I suppose. That is, if you were going for a goth ninja who fell blind into a Hot Topic.”

“You—” Rei stared slack-jawed at her cousin, words lost to her. Every time she went to retort, her brain fizzled over how bizarre those words sounded coming out Saki’s mouth. She’d call it a joke if she wasn’t certain Saki had a permanent stick up her ass making her incapable of humor.

The subtle, barely noticeable grin on Saki’s face curled the tiniest bit more. “Shouldn’t stare with your mouth hanging open. It’s impolite.”

Rei cocked her head sideways, gawking at her cousin. At that smug half-grin mocking her. Nausea bubbled like a bad aftertaste into her throat. “Is this you trying to joke around? Because you don’t get to joke around with me. Just because you’re training me, doesn’t mean we’re suddenly friends.”

As quickly as the grin had appeared, it vanished into flat indifference. “Of course, you’re right. But I am still your superior, so at least try to show respect for once. As difficult as that might be for you.”

“Respect?” Rei shot to her feet, standing over her cousin with clenched fists. The fucking nerve of this bitch! “You want to talk to me about respect? How about the ‘respect’ you showed at my grandparents’ funeral, huh?”

Saki lowered her head, staring at her closed palms. “Be quiet.”

“Quiet, my ass! A freaking oni would have been more respectful than you and your stuck-up family!”

“That’s enough.”

“Walking in here like the whole thing was some kind of burden, like you don’t even care they’re dead—”

“I said stop.”

“—treating me like I don’t belong—”

“Shut up!”

“—and you act like I’m at fault for not knowing about this whole shaman shit I was never told about? Well, screw you! My grandparents were good people, and they deserved better!”

“Our grandparents!” Saki’s voice thundered, an unnatural echo pulsing into her tone. She glared upward, tears wet in her eyes. She blinked twice, and they fell in a wet line down her cheeks. “They were mine too, and you know nothing about what I felt for them!”

#amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writing #writers #the shaman society #excerpt

[donnerpartyofone]

movie review fan lady here. I know it’s not yet BLOGTOBER, but in advance of that, what are some of the worst tropes of recent horror films, in your opinion? Of course, use whatever definition of “recent” suits your answer best! seems like you’re busy with new projects these days, hope all is well and that you have plenty of time to watch however many horror movies you like this fall!

(first of all, sorry for my uneven typing but i’m using a new laptop that has a really intrusive but also totally inconsistent autocorrect thing and I’m just sick of fucking with it) thanks for saying hello! I have been pretty dormant lately, and it’s encouraging to hear from people who enjoy reading what I write. the mental illness got me bad this summer. this was made unnecessarily difficult by the fact that I had arranged a month-and-a-half-long personal leave from work, during which time I expected to be able to return to “myself” and replenish my inner strength by doing only things that I care about, and most importantly, see what kind of life I lead when I’m not being crushed under the heel of my extremely demanding and shameful job–a perspective few individuals will ever have the privilege of gaining. of course, a lot of what actually happened amounted to a painful reminder of how little I’m really capable of as a person. this has been especially hard to recover from with the restored stress of being at the office. I had my first full-blown panic attack on my first day back. although I suffer from anxiety, I have always been hesitant to describe my episodes of escalating, wracking panic as “attacks”. this is because once when I was young, I witnessed someone going into a panic attack after confessing to me her history of childhood trauma; she went into a total fugue state, dragged her limbs, spun in circles, and made faces until she collapsed, never to remember anything about the experience. I thought, “so that’s what a panic attack is. basically, if you are aware of your surroundings, have basic control of your face and limbs, and can recall the event, then you don’t really have any kind of real problem to complain of.” my “panic attack” was still not as bad as that, but it did involve an interesting lapse of motor control on top of everything else, so I guess I’m giving myself credit for it.

I never stopped watching movies, of course, but I almost totally abandoned letterboxd, save for a weird stint where I reviewed every single pre-Zombie HALLOWEEN movie; I actually suspect that for some reason, letterboxd only sent two of them into the activity feed, so no one even saw them all. so I stopped writing, and then I developed all this self-imposed guilt about failing to maintain my entirely voluntary pleasure-oriented routine, and my feelings of completely meaningless shame around this made it very difficult to start again. I think there’s also a sub-problem where, in actually recording my viewing habits, I started to get really stressed out about how much of my life I just waste on things I don’t even enjoy, just in order to kill time until I get to go to sleep again. for instance: yesterday I watched FATHER FIGURES, an ed helms-owen Wilson road movie that I was not even slightly intrigued by. in it, helms and Wilson are twins on the hunt for the dad they’ve never known, and they basically plod through a series of dopey vignettes: what if he was a MOVIE STAR? what if he was a FAMOUS FOOTBALL PLAYER? et al, ad nauseam. you can imagine what it’s like. *I* could have imagined what it was like. …but actually, there’s this weird sequence like an hour into the movie where (spoiler alert I guess), at the end of a string of dovetailing red herrings, the twins believe they’ve finally traced their real dad to a Boston suburb. they arrive at the guy’s house, expecting to meet a legendary supercop, only to find out that they’re at his wake. to make matters worse, the house is filled with young Irish American thugs who seem to be constantly on the verge of orgiastic violence, and who are already in a dangerously elevated emotional state. meanwhile, in this context, ed helms discovers that the woman with whom he had a one night stand two scenes ago is actually his sister. his and Wilson’s true identities, in addition to this sexual horror, come tumbling into the light of day at this worst of all possible moments, and the dead man’s own identical twin brother has to lay bare the sordid details of their family history to straighten everything out. I was embarrassed to find myself totally riveted to this sequence, which was something like THE ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW or THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE: ordinary people are absorbed into a secret, separatist subculture that is ruled by its own perverse systems of honor, incest and violence. I thought, “wait a minute, is this movie GOOD now??” of course the answer was, no, absolutely not! but it had me going for a second there. …but my point is, now I’ve seen that, and I still haven’t seen one single Eric Rohmer movie. part of the reason is, I’m afraid they’ll annoy me. don’t I have any kind of consistent thought? don’t I ever do a single thing with purpose?

god, remember when I used to use the anhed-nia blog to work out all kinds of really intense personal problems? I guess I stopped because I started feeling weird about what I was doing with the format, like I felt bad for people who followed during blogtober and weren’t expecting that kind of thing, which is so stupid, I mean it’s my blog and barely anyone follows it for me to worry about anyway. also the mental illness got me. I started feeling like, “why am I even writing this down, like what’s the point, I’m basically just masturbating and being pretentious and I’m not even having any revelations or whatever.” that feeling persists in my whole life, like a lot of people with depression. the constant why-ness of everything. it can be really extreme, like, “ok, I put my left shoe on, but is that REALLY a compelling reason to put my right shoe on? I mean I could just as easily be doing NOTHING instead!” anyway, watch out world, I might start putting personal problems on anhed-nia again.

but uhhh none of that answers your question. I don’t know if I have a proper answer! like, some things come to mind that are not necessarily “tropes” but I do consider them modern problems:

SETTLING UP WITH REALITY: we have this really sad situation now where, in order for a horror story to be compelling, every single movie has to suddenly slam on its brakes and examine what’s going on with everybody’s cell phone. did it get lost? is it broken? poor connection? as soon as this starts happening, all I can think is, “I’m watching a movie. this is the part where the writer has to take a number of laborious, repetitive steps, the conclusion of which I already know for sure, in order to explain to me that whatever is about to happen in the movie could definitely really happen in real life, for real, because the convenience of cell phones could not have prevented it. the writer knows that I have heard of cell phones, and so now we have to make a dry, methodical accounting of the status of all of the cell phones in the movie. once this has been finalized, the actual story may proceed.” I hate this so much. whatever inherent horror there may be in the failure of our phones in times of peril is completely negated by my awareness of the writer’s felt obligation to go around disabling each and every cell phone right in front of me before we can even begin to address the point of his story. let me put it a little bit differently: when we have a home invasion movie in which the villains cut the phone lines, that evokes a horror that is native to this genre. the protagonist feels personally violated, imprisoned, completely separated from their fellow humans, separated even from the form of reality they enjoyed before their victimhood began. the very definition of “home”, as a place that is private, safe, comforting, and under one’s one sovereign rule, is painfully inverted. that is the point of that specific story, in which the telephone has defined semiotic and psychological significance. on the other hand, the problem of cell phones is completely generic. now, in every horror movie of every subgenre, no matter where the characters are or what they’re doing or what we suspect will become of them, nothing can even happen without this dutiful address of the phones. this is only happening because of an absolutely ludicrous obligation people feel for their fantasies to resemble their reality as closely as possible, which flies in the face of the whole idea of having metaphors that help us explore our emotional and spiritual conditions. PS if you’re the kind of person who can’t watch even a really great movie without holding everyone in it to the standard of your own personal pragmatism and logic, then maybe you should ask yourself why the fuck you even watch movies in the first place.

BICKERING AS DRAMA: this may not be a specifically modern problem, although I *feel* like I encounter it most in horror movies from the last two decades. in any horror story with an ensemble cast, an important source of danger is the dissolution of personal relationships. under the strain of their predicament, people who desperately need to trust and protect each other become volatile, angry, cowardly, irrational. fearing for their lives, they lose their ability to cooperate, or even to agree on one most-hopeful solution to their shared problem. in NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, the ongoing fight over whether to hide in the basement or the attic is agonizing, and helps to underline the preexisting, banal political tension between the main characters–in fact, the corrosive social forces of the 1960s are key to this film’s subtext–which now compounds the mortal threat posed by cannibalistic monsters. alternatively, you can have a movie like John carpenter’s THE THING that is mainly composed of protagonists in-fighting; in that case, the irresolvable conflicts strengthen the movie’s message, which is specifically about betrayal, alienation, and loneliness. what I see in a lot of movies now, instead of a focused, purposeful conflict like those, is a deteriorating situation of multiple characters incessantly bickering with each other over the details of their circumstances. no one is making a salient point, or contributing to our understanding of their conundrum, or revealing something particular about themselves. they’re just yelling and sniping and sulking and badgering each other about minutiae, or about the key problem in such broad strokes that their arguments cease to have any meaning. I actually think that this is a consequence of that same boneheaded obsession with realism of which I complained previously. I often feel like these protracted scenes of petty fighting about granular details are a way for the writer to paranoiacally defend themselves against persnickety viewers who complain about “stupid” characters who apparently fail to exercise heroic levels of sober judgment and practicality. these viewers, who are so happy to hurl accusations of “UGH HE SHOULDA JUST _____” at the screen, as if there is anything “just” simple and obvious about the story unfurling, are progressively ruining storytelling for everyone, necessitating these grueling character discussions about the potential consequences of every hair-splitting potentiality of every situation. 

EFFICIENCY AND ECONOMY, OR LACK THEREOF: …this is sort of a different kind of point that I want to make, so bear with me. as a (secret, amateur) writer myself, I am plagued by the neurotic urge to explain exactly the way things happen in as comprehensive a fashion as possible. like, I don’t know, if I were writing a story about how someone inherits an old house, I’d probably start stressing out ridiculously about the bureaucracy of how this property changed hands, what kinds of officials would have to be involved, how the new owner evaluates maintenance needs, and EXACTLY how long everything would take. i have an irrational fear of leaving things out, when I absolutely need to leave things out in order for the story to simply be about whatever it is about–which is NOT property transactions. it’s not even that I’m anxious about “realism” precisely–this could apply to a fantasy framework just as well–I just lose track of which details are actually important, and which details I should give the audience credit for intuiting (or not even needing to know). because of this, I try to really notice when a writer deliberately, elegantly leaves a big gap in the action, in order to stay faithful to the story’s spiritual identity. I wish I could think of a good example! but I at least have a good anti-example, which is: I rewatched TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE: THE NEXT GENERATION this year for TEXAS CHAIN SAW (sic) MASSACRE Day. that’s a really crazy fucking movie for a whole lot of different reasons, but one thing I noticed about it is, the DP shows EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENS. this became absolutely hilarious to me pretty quickly. is somebody talking? point the camera at them! is somebody reacting facially to the person talking? point the camera at THEM! did someone just walk in the door? now point the camera RIGHT AT THEM, and make sure you get the door in the shot and show the whole thing until the door closes and something else happens! it’s so crazy and nervous. there’s a scene where leatherface has to put a character into a cooler where there’s already another character trapped, so he has to pick up the big hunk of machinery that he used to hold the door closed, and then find a place to put that thing down, and then put the character in the cooler, and then turn around and pick up the thing off the place where he put it down, and then turn around and put the thing back on the thing again, and they show ALL OF IT. it really cracks me up, it’s so unnecessary. I mean, the scene is already in chaos, you just have to show a bunch of motion with the piece of machinery coming in and out of frame, but instead you get this like anal retentive breakdown of exactly what happens to every object in the scene. anyway, I try to notice when I’m feeling compelled to do that kind of insane accounting of everything that happens, and I also try to notice when someone else is really good at NOT doing that!

anyway, thanks a lot for the question! it’s really good for me to get a prompt like that. blogtober is coming after all, and I need to Get Amped. this fall I have horticulture classes at the local botanic garden three nights a week, so it’s going to be tough! if you (y’all) have any movies I haven’t reviewed that you’d like me to talk about, I would be very open to hearing about it, I often get stuck. also feel free to follow me on letterboxd to help pressure me into continuing to use it. https://letterboxd.com/donnerpartyof1/