#but truly this poem has never felt so relevant

[lady-harrowhark]

I’m more asking for confirmation than anything else since I don’t have a copy of htn or ntn I can check, but do we have any concrete evidence that John is still capable of performing full resurrections? Or were the original resurrections the kind of thing that were only possible in the aftermath of 10 billion deaths + 9 planets worth of thanergy being released (much like how harrow’s parents supposedly performed a type of resurrection in the aftermath of murdering 200 children)

I've been paging through, and I don't think we do have any concrete evidence... I also don't think we have any concrete not evidence though either...

I think most relevant to this question is this passage from when John is showing Harrow the 500 he's going to send to the Ninth:

No, I haven't truly resurrected anyone in ten thousand years. But at that time... I set many aside, for safety... and I've often felt bad about just keeping them as insurance. They've been asleep all this myriad, Harrow, and it's frankly a relief to my mind to wake them up.

So if we take this at face value (never a given with John), he resurrected them back ten thousand years ago, but will be waking them up now.

Which, of course, aligns with what he says in John 5:4 of NtN, "...resurrection is different from waking up."

That difference is something I've been mulling over since I first read it, and I don't have any great takes at the moment. It's definitely something I have flagged to keep an eye out for on my next reread though! I think your point about needing that massive amount of thanergy sounds very reasonable, especially compared to Harrow's conception, which he also refers to as a type of resurrection.

Also just as I was typing this I got curious and went back to the avulsion trial scene, where it says Gideon "died" and then pulls the "gotcha!" (except in hindsight it seems it was not a "gotcha!" at all lmao). Very interesting wording here, no?

"Ha-ha," said Gideon, "first time you didn't call me Griddle," and died. - Well, passed out. But it felt a hell of a lot like dying. Waking up had an air of resurrection, of having spent a winter as a dried-out shell and coming back to the world as a new green shoot. A new green shoot with problems.

So we've clearly got this resurrection vs waking up thing again, but I'm really curious about the comparison to the "green shoot," with green being so heavily associated with Alecto (e.g., Varun calls her "green-and-breathing thing"). And especially because it's used with this context of "A new green shoot with problems," because that particular turn of phrase sounds very much like Camilla's description of Nona getting dressed looking like a "worm with problems." (Is this anything? Am I reaching? Am I having fun while reaching?)

I'll also just throw in the verbiage around John saying he "switched [Alecto] off" as compared to, say, the NtN epigram poem's "sleep, I'll wake you in the morning" (and further: "Annabel, good morning.")

I feel like things are kind of coalescing around the difference between a true death and being brought back to life vs a sleep or suspended animation state in which one isn't actually dead, and therefore is simply waking up (I can't let myself go down this tangent right now but it does sound suspiciously like the whole cryo project... moving on!). It makes me wonder if it's not so much that John hasn't resurrected anyone in ten thousand years as much as it is that no one has truly died in ten thousand years for him to resurrect; therefore he can only wake them.

Which seems incompatible with necromancy at first, but is it? We know something's fucky with the River. Perhaps crossing the River (or whatever verb we want to use for that) constitutes a true death, and if something's stopped it up, the thanergy stays pooled up and accessible for necromantic purposes rather than crossing or being cycled back into the River or dispersed or whatever happens to it. A death magic dam, essentially. And if a soul can't finish its journey to a true death, he wouldn't be able to resurrect them, hmm.

I don't know how well that meshes with the 200 dead Ninth children, though, if that's also a resurrection, other than what Harrow says during the pool scene: "The infants alone generated enough thanergy to take out the entire planet. Babies always do - for some reason." The incomplete explanation is conspicuous here, but so is the reference to "taking out the entire planet", now that we know what we know. So that may actually track. (Is John's baby finger bone crown meant to be like... a tribute? Thank you for your service and all that? Yuck.)

Two more incomplete musings and then I really will stop! I've been harboring some thoughts about whether the Ninth (and specifically the Tomb) may have a more direct connection to the River (and the barathron specifically) than other locations do, and if that's the case, perhaps that's also at play in achieving a resurrection, whatever form that may take.

The other thing I'm thinking about here is the whole Alecto/Anastasia/tomb-keeper line situation. If the tomb-keeper line is carrying a bit of Alecto's soul, is this more of a direct, one-to-one passage down the line? Or, over the however many thousands of years since that vow, has it branched out from that central family tree and dispersed amongst the generations? What I'm getting at here is essentially, if many or all of the 200 Ninth children housed a bit of Alecto's soul, taking any/all of them out would be a small scale planetary death... which could account for why babies generate so much thanergy (again, the phrasing of "enough to take out the entire planet" seems significant). It feels reminiscent of the way Lyctors flip planets as well, turning them thanergetic... if killing a planet creates thanergy, could killing bits of a planet (and the children carrying them) create a necromancer?

I swear when I sat down to answer this, I only had the first two quotes in mind and then I just kept pulling at threads and ended up unraveling a whole sweater, so apologies from getting away from what you were asking. But thank you for providing some good food for thought!

#i'm imagining me and anon as janet and michael (respectively) in that one meme #'i was able to obtain confirmation!' 'you sure? you have confirmation and not a thousand word stream of consciousness essay?' #'that is correct! i have confirmation. i do not have a thousand word stream of consciousness essay.' #'excellent! please give me the confirmation.' 'here you go!' [posts This] #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt #tlt meta #anonymous #ask

[psalm22-6]

An interesting letter from Paul Meurice and the rabbit holes it led me down

If you're bored and want something fun/french to read, consider reading the correspondence of Victor Hugo and Paul Meurice. You will find lots of interesting tidbits and really quite touching phrases. Here's a look at just one letter that caught my eye (the above portraits become semi-relevant later). So the letter is undated but contextually, it's from early June 1862. Hugo, in Guernsey, was in close communication with Meurice, in Paris, over the final corrections for Les Miserables and the publication of its last volume. Meurice writes:

Javert Derailed, The Death of Gavroche, The Grandfather, The Passion in the Sewer, the whole drama, the whole volume, the whole poem is splendid. My word! I must straightforwardly decline to express my enthusiasm to you. I would need to have your prodigious execution and your incredible form in order to explain the depths of my feelings. My emotions and my admiration are inexpressable. I can’t understand Barbey d’Aurevilly.* I’ll tell you simply: it is sublime! I cried! You are greater than anyone, greater than yourself!

*The phrase is "Je jette ma langue aux Barbets d Aurevilly." This gave me some trouble to translate. I figured that he is using the expression jeter sa langue au chien (which I gather means something like "I can't guess at",) but replacing chien with barbet, a type of dog that sounds like Barbey, and also possibly making some sort of pun about d'Aurevilly's distinctive barbe (aka beard)? I really thought he might be making a pun about Barbey's 'barbs' (as in cruel remarks, since his reviews were very negative) but it doesn't seem like 'barb' has that meaning at all in French.] Now bear in mind that in this next part, by "volume ten" he means the latter half of Jean Valjean, and by "these last four volumes," he means what we would call the last two, L'idylle rue Plumet, et l'epopee rue Saint-Denis and Jean Valjean

I have only read the first page of volume ten. We are very behind on the assembly, printing, and everything. Yet we will do everything so that it appears on the 30th.

And it was published the 30th! I don't remember rn what was causing the delays but it is surely mentioned in Bellos's book or in Leulliot's.

The effect and the success of these last four volumes will be immense. More irresistible and more unanimous than that of the other parts. Too irresistible and too unanimous from a certain point of view. It offends many people; some critics are cold, though they were well dispositioned before the book’s appearance. Don’t read into it, don’t hear things in these particular silences and particular reluctances: it can be felt, seen, and touched.

Fun to speculate about if Meurice was concerned about a particular person's silence (in which case, whose?) or if it was just in general. Hugo had expressed his frustration over the reception to both Vacquerie and even Jules Janin. I'd have to look over their correspondence again to see what Hugo said in particular to Meurice but he was surely aware of how Hugo felt. OKAY now on to the subject of the portraits, Meurice tacks on this aside at the end of the letter:

I am writing this to you in haste, having let myself run late. Do you remember a portrait of you, full-length, but young, made some time ago by Deveria? The painting is excellent but why! I never knew you like this…This portrait would have belonged to a M. le marquis de Valori! If it is truly your portrait, it’s very strange. You should remember it then. You are seated on a red damas couch. White pants, a small redingote. You are blond, thin, elegant. The person who has it wishes to sell it. She’s asking for 250 francs. Would it amuse you to have it? They’ll want your response at the end of the week.

Of course when I read this I want to know what image he is talking about. I first thought of the image on the left (scroll back up)...the image on the left is a black and white photo of what is presumed to be a portrait of Victor Hugo at age 16 (I say presumed because that is literally how it is described on Wikipedia) (sometimes it is just described as Hugo as an adolescent) by Achille Devéria (although apparently it has been disputed which Devéria painted it?). The original was, supposedly, at some time in the collection of Prime Minister of France Louis Barthou. Where is it now? Perhaps it is in the private collection of Ms Taylor. Can we get a color photo of it? No. Swift. So my mind went to this image because the subject is young, blond, possibly Victor Hugo, and possibly created by Devéria. However, it doesn't fit the rest of the description. Then @pilferingapples kindly made me aware of the portrait on the right. From what I have found online, this one is attribution to Paul Gavarni, although the websites making that attribution are pretty sketch. The portrait was supposedly at one time in the possession of M. le D. F. Jousseaume, a bookstore owner. Where is it now? Also unknown. (The provenance of both of these is kind of sketchy tbh. I checked three books about Hugo that I have which include images (Victor Hugo: A Tumultous Life by Samuel Edwards, Victor Hugo: A Biography by Graham Robb, and Victor Hugo: S'il n'en reste qu'un by Sophie Grossiord, a curator at the Maison Victor Hugo) and none of them include either of these images.) Whatever the case, the image on the right fits the description in almost every way: it is full length (en pied), the subject is young, thin, there's the red seat, white pants, wearing a coat, and he's "blond" by french standards apparently (and consider that this photo may be a bad representation of the portrait). I haven't seen that image attributed to Deveria but it's possible (or possible that Meurice would believe it's possible.) Then there's the question of provenance. Why did M. le marquis de Valori have it and who was the woman selling it? My guess is that the man in question was Henri-Zozime de Valori, a writer who knew Nodier and who died in 1859. He had published a collection called Odes choisies: précédées d'un discours sur la poésie et les poetes lyriques anciens et modernes which was reviewed (by "S.") in Le Conservateur littéraire so he may have been aquianted with Hugo some way?

Anyways, evidently, Hugo didn't want the portrait because he never responded to that part of Meurice's letter and it eventually came into the hands of the bookseller D. F. Jousseaume. And where is it now? No idea! Okay, the end.

#victor hugo #speculation and mysteries #on publishing lm

[writelykeekee]

The Writer, Me

Within the depths of my external hard drive, affectionately named Tara, awaits a folder entitled Scribbles. Should one open this folder, many others will be revealed, each with more folders and documents enveloped inside them. They all contain my creations: my poetry, short stories, and novels. All the relevant research I comb through for projects is tucked away in a Misc folder.

Back in the day (meaning the late 1990s to the early 2000s), I didn’t have a computer or laptop. I wouldn’t even get a Nokia Brick, my first phone, for a few more years. A plethora of notebooks, binders, and a variety of pens cluttered those years. Truly, it was chaos. It’s a wonder my mother never grabbed handfuls of it all to stuff in a barrel and burn.

My late cousin, Tabatha, was the one to ignite the passion for writing within me. She’d made the passing statement that I should write down the story I’d just finished telling her. Thus, I started my writing affair with the epic tales I was prone to telling. Knowingly running headfirst into a cliché, writing came as naturally to me as breathing.

It was the details that began to bog me down. I needed every last crumb to fall perfectly into place to feel satisfied with my stories. I needed to jot down every minuscule fragment of thought related to my writing lest it vanish into the void first. It was maddening, yet how could I stop?

As my interest in writing grew, I began reading more poetry volumes. The emotion and truth that went into the poems that I consumed were alluring and spoke to a deep need of my own. Having a history filled with trauma, I realized I could utilize poetry as an outlet. It was a way to pour out all the words my brain, heart, and soul needed to scream.

Poetry was my niche until I was almost out of high school. By then, I had begun dabbling in short stories and novellas. While I had successfully written multiple of each, none of them felt alive. None of them burned with that desire to be shared and devoured. None of them had that something that carried me from page to page without regard for the passing of time.

Over the years, many passion projects have come and gone. Some of them are cringy when I pull them from their cobwebbed compartments within the recesses of my mind while others fill me with regret and a longing for a completion that likely will never come. Of course, I keep them anyway. A writer should always keep their works no matter how cringy, dated, or atrocious they may seem. You never know when they can spontaneously become your next inspiration.

There are two main works that have encompassed the majority of my life as a writer. The first is a story for my mother, my beautiful and intelligent Mama Mattie. When I was in late middle to early high school a friend of mine gave me a stack of books that she no longer wanted. Among them was a book called Seven Tears Into the Sea by Terri Farley.

It’s an enchanting book about selkies, seal-folk who can shed their seal skins when they come onto land and become human. My mother loved this book immensely and wanted her own Selkie story. Thus, I began to research and write. Her selkie story, now with the working title of Torrential, has seen many transformations over the last 15 or so years but has never made it past the first chapter. Mama Mattie does her due diligence in reminding me that I still owe her a selkie story for the ages.

My second work is a story born of a dream, as most of my works find me. Another 15+ year project, it has been the most transformative work I’ll likely ever manage. Originally called Ensphere, the now-titled Shadowstrung trilogy is my all-encompassing passion project. It began as a simple story of fate, endurance, and companionship but evolved when I met my partner Galen and we discovered that the story he was working on seemed to fit together with mine rather elegantly.

Since then, we have gone rounds with this project. All the characters have been renamed countless times, their personalities tweaked, their relationships fine-tuned. The novel became a trilogy. Main characters faded into the background while supporting characters moved to the forefront. All these years later, only the bare bones of SST hold a resemblance to the original concepts of Ensphere.

In early 2022, I made an incredibly difficult decision to put both of these projects down. After 15ish years with little legitimate progress, I felt like I needed something fresh. I needed to see what lay beyond the boundaries of these stories in which I had so deeply burrowed. I spent the rest of the year compiling all of my notes for each so that when I return to them, it will all still make sense.

For the month of Dec 2022, I considered what type of stories I would like to write and I came up with 3 to work on over the next few years. My current work-in-progress is named A Hiss of Sparks. It has been unbelievably arduous to step into this new concept, to stay focused on something ultimately foreign to my mind. I also deal with Autism, ADHD, mental illness, and chronic pain, none of which help the creative process.

Here we find ourselves in May 2023, and I am no closer to having an organized concept of what to write for any of my 3 new projects than I did when they were conceived five months ago. Innately a pantser, I’ve even begun dabbling with plotting and structure to help me to organize. While so far it has been to no avail, I have faith that something will click into place. Until then, I will simply have to try and try again.

#writelykeekee #writerksmith #ksmith short stories #ksmith literary nonfiction #keeping up with kee #90s kid #scribbles #reading #storytelling #writer #writing #poetry #short stories #novels #research #chaos #perfectionism #perfectionist #original writing #writeblr

[the-melting-world]

As Above, So Below

~ In which a humble gardener celebrates the life of a fluffy magician...

Asra x Kipling

~ 1.3k words

Determined to write a poem for Asra's birthday, Kipling escapes to the Magician's realm for some inspiration...

Kipling sat on the astral beach of the Magician’s realm, looking out at the water as the tides came and went, lapping gently at her toes. Time wasn’t really relevant when it came to this place, but Kip judged that she had been sitting in the sand for about an hour. Her eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the way the glistening ocean pulsed and flickered with all the different dimensions breaking and interrupting each other, pretending to be waves.

Kip had her knees propped up, journal open against her brown, salt-flecked thighs. Not a single letter lived on the lined, creamy surface of the pages. She was running out of time.

Kipling closed her eyes, bowed her head against the blank pages and tried not to think about the other gifts Asra had received. The night before, Nadia had, with the help of Aisha and Salim, thrown Asra a Zadithi-style dinner party with all his favorite traditional dishes. The entire royal garden had been transformed into that of the date palm orchards from the temperate Zadithi oases.

Muriel had woven a miniature tapestry for Asra, equipped with depictions of bears and foxes and two small childlike figures huddling close by the fire, keeping each other warm.

Ozy had repurposed one of the books from his subterranean library into a gift for Asra. It was an old tome on all the different kinds of water magic from all over the world. Khleo’s gift was still in the works, but they were working with Basil to design a nonalcoholic cider ale that incorporated flavors from Asra’s favorite fruits and nuts. The skilled barhands were determined to make the cider give off a deep lavender glow, the same as the magician’s eyes.

“Stop it,” Kip muttered, knowing that she would drive herself crazy if she kept comparing her gift to everyone else’s.

But I don’t even have a gift for Asra yet.

“There you are.”

Kip straightened up suddenly at the sound of the greeting. She was not at all prepared to see Asra walking towards her barefoot, his trousers rolled up to his shins. The magician sat down next to his gardener and dropped a tender kiss between her eyes.

“Is this where you’ve been hiding all this time?”

Kip sighed. “I’m not hiding. I’m…” She looked down at her blank journal and bit her lip. “I was trying to write you a poem for your birthday.”

Asra’s fluffy tassels tickled her cheek as he wrapped an arm around her waist and looked out at the glittery waves. “Lucky me. I can’t wait to add another one of your poems to my collection.”

Kip shook her head and fought back the tears that wanted to escape.

“Asra, I’ve been trying to write this thing for weeks. I’ve lost count at the number of times that I had to start and stop. I thought that coming here would give me inspiration, but,” she tossed her head back and groaned at the magenta sky, “I just can’t pick something to focus on.”

Kip steadied herself with a deep breath before she turned to meet Asra’s gaze. He seemed both a little concerned and somewhat amused. He didn’t say anything in reply, which made Kip feel the need to keep explaining herself.

“I have too many ideas. For example, the first day we met or our visits to Nopal. I thought of writing a poem about how you helped me become comfortable with using magic again. Or how you stood by my side when I rediscovered grey magic.” She lowered her eyes to the teardrop necklace resting against Asra’s golden brown chest. “Then I thought about when you sacrificed everything so that my heart could beat again.”

She looked up into his amethyst eyes, which strangely, were unreadable in that moment. Asra looked like he wanted to speak, but he didn’t.

Kip huffed, “Or should I just write about you, Asra the Magician – As Above, So Below? Traveler of the realms and lands far and wide on the search for magical enlightenment, blah, blah, blah?”

That got her a chuckle. “That last idea must have come from Ozy.”

Kip tugged on one of his tassels. “I might have asked him for advice at one point.”

Then the gardener took advantage of the drop in tension and leaned toward Asra. Her lips found the reassurance she needed. In the heat of it all, Kip whispered, “You know I’m not good at grand gestures.”

She expected Asra to say something back, or at least make some kind of indication that he had heard her. When he only grew still and quiet, she leaned back and fixed him with an arched look.

“Asra, what? Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Once again, to her surprise, the magician smirked. “Are you done?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before saying, “The Magician taught me a lot of things over the years.”

Asra gently pried the journal out of Kip’s hand and set it off to the side. “Do you want to know what has stuck with me the longest?”

Kip wasn’t sure where this was going, but she took the bait anyway. “What’s that?”

The magician looked out at the water again. “It’s about magic. They taught me that magic doesn’t belong to any one person or entity. We will always have to call it into existence from another place. The illusion that magic comes from within is only because we ourselves are made up of dust and further, stardust.”

He pointed to the galactic lightshow overhead. “You see, magic moves through the mortal and the arcana realms, and thus it moves through us. So no matter how adept of magicians we become, there will always be gaps in our knowledge – parts of magic that we cannot transform or create from willpower alone. Because you can’t completely shape the universe unless you know all its parts. We don’t. We never will.”

Kip still wasn’t sure what to make of Asra’s speech, but she remained silent as he took her hand and drew it up to his chest, right over his heart.

“Those words that you’re always reaching for, trying to grasp and shape in a way that shows how you truly feel, it brings me back to the nature of magic. Remember how you were so lost when it came to your own understanding of magic? Yet it was inevitable that you should come to master it. Those words that you regard as elusive are inside of you, they always will be. They’re not going away. The universe could never bleed itself dry of magic, so what makes you think you’ll ever run out of something magical to say?”

By now Kip was blushing and struggling to maintain eye contact, especially with Asra’s heart thrumming just under her fingertips.

The magician went on. “Someday you’ll know exactly how to transform the words inside of you. But until then…” He used his other hand to lift her head up by her chin. “As Above, So Below. Heaven reflects Earth. Those words move through you, just as they move through me. Because... well. You know why.”

Maybe Kip imagined it, but something electric flashed under her skin where it connected with his heart. She thought she felt the same sensation in her chest too.

With a knowing smile, Asra dipped his chin. “So all the things that you’re feeling about me, about today, about the future... you don’t have to worry, Kipling because I feel them too. All day you’ve been here on the astral plane while I was back in our realm, but I still felt it.”

Asra’s words compelled Kip to close the distance between them, but he caught her just before she made the connection all the way. A soft whine found itself fighting to get out of her throat. Asra echoed hers with one of his own, holding her back despite the need in his eyes.

He said, “And since magic is timeless and eternal, that means that everything I feel, I know that I will feel it always.”

Finally he kissed her with everything he had. And when pulled away, all the sounds of the waves were eclipsed by the thundering of their hearts.

“Always.”

#asraweek2021 #the arcana #asra #asra alnazar #kipling the apprentice #asra x kipling #kipasra #happy birthday asra #my writing #asra the arcana #asra fanfic #the arcana fanfiction #the arcana fanfic

[hermitthrush]

Excerpts on Reading English Poetry

Harold Bloom

“The Art of Reading Poetry” (2001)

Hermit Thoughts: This is the first thing I’ve read by Harold Bloom and he does not disappoint.  Definitely essential reading (along with Stephen Fry’s The Ode Less Travelled) for anyone who wants to develop an appreciation for the English poetic tradition, whether or not they’d like to write their own.

The quotation in Section V is of particular personal relevance; it hits the nail of my younger self’s greatest existential woe with a post maul.  Namely, the reconciliation of a still-forming person to the absolute futility of striving to be original (a quest which prescribes its own to failure since that very striving is among the most unoriginal desires a person can have) and the realization that hope for your creative expression relies on simply being authentic.  What that means, admittedly, is pretty nebulous.  But so is human existence, in any case.

I. "Poetry essentially is figurative language, concentrated so that its form is both expressive and evocative."

"Figurations or tropes create meaning, which could not exist without them, and this making of meaning is largest in authentic poetry, where an excess or overflow emanates from figurative language, and brings about a condition of newness."

II. "Language, to a considerable extent, is concealed figuration: ironies and synecdoches, metonymies and metaphors that we recognize only when our awareness increases.  Real poetry is aware of and exploits these ruined tropes, though it is both a burden and a resource, for later poets in a tradition, that languagesages into this wealth of figuration."

III. "Greatness in poetry depends upon splendor of figurative language and on cognitive power, or what Emerson termed 'meter making argument'. Shakespeare is first among poets at representing thought, which pragmatically does not differ from thinking in poetry, a process not yet fully adumbrated."

"... we may hear what Wallace Stevens subtly termed 'the hum of thoughts evaded in the mind'.  Clearly, poetic thinking takes place somewhat apart from philosophic thinking."

"One definition of poetic power is that it so fuses thinking and remembering that we cannot separate the two processes.  Can a poem, of authentic strength, be composed without remembering a prior poem, whether by the self or by another?  Literary thinking relies upon literary memory, and the drama of recognition, in every writer, contains within it a moment of coming to terms with another writer, or with an earlier version of the self."

IV. "Allusion can then be a mode of evasion, or of warding off a precursor.  Repressed influence is a defense against overinfluence."

V. "More (in my judgment) than any other kind of imaginative literature, poetry brings its own past alive into its present.  There is a benign haunting in poetic tradition, one that transcends the sorrows of influence, particularly the new poet's fear that there is little left for her or him to do.  In truth, there is everything remaining to be thought and sung, provided an individual voice is attained."

VI. "A faltering voice mars, and can destroy, any poem whatsover."

"What makes Whitman the best of all American poets - except for his one rival, Emily Dickinson - is harmonic balance."

"There is nothing 'free' about this verse: in measure and phrase, it has that quality of the inevitable that is central to great poetry. 'Inevitable,' in this context, takes its primary meaning, phrasing that cannot be avoided, that must be, rather than the secondary meaning of 'invariable' or 'predictable'.  Indeed, the difference between those meanings is a pragmatic test for distinguishing between the best poems and merely imitative verses."

VII. "But how can a reader tell, for herself, whether a poem she has never seen before possesses the quality of authentic poetry? As you read a poem, there should be several questions in your mind.  What does it mean, and how is that meaning attained?  Can I judge how good it is?  Has it transcended the history of its own time and the events of the poet's life, or is it now only a period peace?"

VIII. "Consciousness is the central term here.  As Barfield intimates, consciousness is to poetry what marble is to sculpture: the material that is being worked.  Words are figurations of consciousness: metaphorical of consciousness, the poet's words invite us to share in a strangeness.  'A felt change in consciousness' is one of Barfield's definitions of the poetic effect, and I relate this to what fascinates me most in the greatest Shakespearean characters - Falstaff, Hamlet, Iago, Lear, Cleopatra - the extraordinary changes that come about when they overhear themselves... actually they become conscious of listening to Shakespeare, because in overhearing themselves, what they are hearing is Shakespeare.  They become themselves more truly and more strange, because they are 'free artists of themselves' (Hegel's tribute to them)."

"The work of great poetry is to aid us to become free artists of ourselves.  Even Shakespeare cannot make me into Falstaff or Hamlet, but all great poetry asks us to be possessed by it. To possess by memory is a start, and to augment our consciousness is the goal. The art of reading poetry is an authentic training in the augmentation of consciousness, perhaps the most authentic of healthy modes."

#hegel #g. w. f. hegel #harold bloom #poetry #reading poetry #essay #shakespeare #emerson #william shakespeare #ralph waldo emerson #walt whitman #emily dickinson

[2jaeh]

milky way | youngtaek

you find unexplainable comfort in the words of your favorite poet, but he has a deeper connection to you than you think.

genre: fluff, a little angst

word count: 1.4k

author lin

Your favorite part of the day was curling up on the couch with a hot beverage, scrolling through your phone and having the television on low, offering great background noise so the apartment felt less empty. When the clock struck 7pm you knew you would be receiving that notification from the one person on Instagram that you cared enough to keep up with.

They were a poet who went by the name April and they were quite popular on the social media platform, despite never revealing any information about themself save for what deep feelings were incorporated into their poems. You found a great sense of comfort in their work and you were always anticipating to read their poems.

That day, April had revealed a poem titled 'Milky Way'. The post contained a plain white canvas with the words scribbled in black ink on the left side and a relevant drawing on the right - the standard format for all of their works. For this particular poem, the drawing was of a shooting star with a tiny person looking up towards it.

The poem described a relationship between two people that was so dazzlingly perfect that everyone around them was envious of how perfectly they were made for each other. Alas life moved to a point where the narrator could barely contact their lover and they slowly drifted out of each other's lives. The narrator still had lingering feelings for that person and could never truly move on. The final words of the poem read, Nothing without you, nothing without you… 

April's poems always hit close to home and prompted you to think about your own life and experiences, but Milky Way in particular felt as though you yourself was the narrator in question. A few years ago you had also been in a relationship that was so full of bliss. The boy was named Youngtaek and you always joked about how he set a standard for any other guy you would ever meet, but it was true. 

He was an aspiring songwriter and rapper and often wrote songs about you. He was someone that you could tell anything to and he would never judge. He always showered you with compliments that helped you find confidence in yourself. He encouraged you to try new things and a lot of milestones in your life involved him. Your first kiss, your first time and even your first experience getting chased out of a movie theater because he screamed too loud at the horror movie onscreen.

People who claimed the honeymoon phase didn't last forever clearly did not see the three years the two of you spent together. However, all good things must come to an end. Youngtaek left for Japan to further his studies while you stayed behind. You stayed in good contact for a long time, until you both started to live your own lives with different friends, different timezones, different lifestyles. It was a mutual decision to just end the relationship and move on, but your feelings for him could never disappear that easily.

Since the poem had tapped into an integral part of your mind, you decided to leave a comment. You never did leave comments on April's work - it was quite pointless considering they were so popular and your comment would just disappear into the swarm of others - but you were running on sentimentality at that point. 

@______: Thank you for this, I wonder if the lover will ever know the impact they had on the narrator… 

You left your phone aside and turned the television volume up to watch whatever game show was going on. Despite your eyes being on the screen, your thoughts were still filled with Youngtaek and the poem. The only thing that was able to snap you out of your own world was a chime from your phone. You grabbed your phone and opened up the notification. 

@aprilpoetry: @______ I think they do now… 

Your eyes widened at the comment before contorting into a confused frown. First of all, April didn't reply to their fans often so the interaction did catch you by surprise. Second of all, what did they mean by that? The message was so short and vague, but you didn't want to read too much into it. April was notorious for trolling and pranking their followers so you shrugged it off.

Your notifications were flooded with people liking and leaving congratulatory words on your comment. It was so overwhelming that you almost missed a direct message notification you had received. You opened the message up and you couldn't hold back the gasp that escaped your lips upon seeing it was from April. 

@aprilpoetry: As you know, I will be releasing my first book this Friday. We'll be having a small party to celebrate and I'm looking to invite some interesting fans to join us. Would you be interested?

@______: Me? 

@aprilpoetry: Of course. Your comment piqued my interest. 

@______: My comment? 

April was typing for a long time and you didn't know why you were becoming nervous. You couldn't even believe this conversation was happening. Your phone pinged and you looked down to see details as to when and where the party was being held. 

@aprilpoetry: I hope to see you there

+++++

After days of deliberation, you finally settled on just going to the party. The interaction with April was quite strange and your curiosity really got the better of you. You arrived at the venue - a sleek dining hall decorated in black and white and adorned in pictures of the art that usually featured alongside April's poems.

You floated around the room, taking the drink that a server offered you and inspecting the snack table for anything you might like. Everyone else was already engrossed in their own conversations, presumably about April's poetry. You felt somebody stand next to you, but your eyes stayed fixated on the pink drink in your hands. 

"The mini pizzas are really good." The person next to you spoke and you almost shuddered at the familiarity of their voice. 

You looked up to see Youngtaek smiling down at you. He was wearing black turtleneck with a black blazer thrown over his shoulders. He looked older and much more mature than from when you last saw him. His hair was dyed bright red and his ears were adorned with pretty piercings. He still had the same sparkly eyes that you had adored so much.

"What are you doing here?" You asked in a small voice and he chuckled lightly. 

"It's been a while hasn't it?" Youngtaek ran his fingers through his hair with a sheepish grin on his face, "well actually, we've been closer than we think." 

"What do yo-" 

"I'm April, ______," he cut you off and your eyes widened comically, making him laugh, "when I saw you comment on my post I couldn't believe it was really you. 

"I actually refused to believe it was, so I invited you here to find out," he let out a nervous sigh, "I'm… I'm really glad you're here and you read that poem." 

"I've read all of your poems," you admitted and now it was his turn to look surprised, "I've always followed your account and I… really love your work… Milky Way just hit very close to home." 

"I missed you, every day," Youngtaek admitted, stepping closer to you, "every time I'd think I moved on from us but then you'd cloud my thoughts all the time, just like what I said in Milky Way." 

"I missed you too," you smiled at him when you saw his eyes light up, "I guess it's fate that we found each other again." 

Youngtaek grinned at your words before leaning closer and placing his lips on yours. It felt so familiar, the feeling of kissing him while soft music sounded from the speakers, yet butterflies still fluttered in your tummy. His hands came up to cup your face as you gently held onto his wrists. He pulled away just a few centimeters away to admire your flustered face as his cherry lips curled into a smile. 

"So are we doing this again?" You laughed lightly. 

"Only if you want to ______." Youngtaek grinned, softly running his hands down your arms. 

"Of course April Poetry." 

#youngtaek #son youngtaek #golden child #golden child imagines #golden child scenarios #golden child fluff #golcha #golcha angst #golcha scenarios #golcha imagines #gncd #gncd imagines #golden child x reader #golcha fluff #golden child youngtaek #golden child tag

[airgetlamhh]

Thoughts on Lostbelt 3

So, Lostbelt 3. 

Just came out, and this time I played it in good time. Hopefully that’ll continue! Spoilers ahead for Lostbelt 3, and also for Qin Shi Huang’s interlude which has yet to come to NA. I’ll mark that section specifically so people can skip over it.

You might remember that I did one of these for Lostbelt 2, and if you haven’t seen that you can find it here. These are freeform and have no real set structure, they’re just one big post for me to gather and explain all my thoughts about the story. I’ll talk about characters, themes, pacing, etc. as they occur to me, and so expect this to be fairly chonky.

Now, once again, I’m going to lay out the thesis statement ahead of time, so people can feel free to skip over or read as they please. I expect this will be somewhat more controversial than my opinion about Gotterdammerung.

Lostbelt 3, the Synchronized Intelligence Nation, is bad.

I had wondered how to start this, but over time my thoughts kept coming back to the pacing. There are sixteen chapters in the Lostbelt, and almost nothing of any consequence whatsoever happens for the first eight. We fight Akuta, she runs, we fight Akuta, she runs, we spent like eight battles fighting the beasts Koyanskaya let loose and they amount to nothing and have no plot relevance whatsoever, we fight Xiang Yu and then he runs, and then we fight Xiang Yu and Lanling and then we’re forced into a truce and then nothing happens until Spartacus leads the people of the Lostbelt to rebellion and Qin drops the meteor and the march to Xiangyang begins.

Nothing happens. 

Obviously that’s an exaggeration, there some events. Qin examines the Shadow Border, we meet some of the characters, but that’s all, really. A solid half of the Lostbelt is almost entirely useless faffing about, and then it rams the accelerator so absolutely nothing has any time to land and we speedrun our way through it. To put it in perspective, it’s one chapter shorter than Gotterdammerung, which was already five chapters shorter than Anastasia, and it feels significantly shorter than Gotterdammerung too. I complained in my write-up of that that it felt like things just happened for no reason, but at least things happened. In comparison, half of Lostbelt 3 feels bereft of content, the only important events of which could be condensed into about three chapters tops.

It feels like it’s a mid-year 1 Singularity. We have detours to kill random beasts unrelated to the actual plot, we get interrupted by fights as we try to talk, we faff about for ages and then speedrun our way to the actual climax. By the end of the Lostbelt, I was left with a lingering sense of “Wait, is that it?” 

Moving on from the pacing, I think I should probably address the characters next. This is likely to be the largest section, since so much of the issues in the Lostbelt come from the characters and it’s only by talking about the characters that I can really engage with the themes. I’ll start from the least relevant and work my way up, meaning that I’ll be addressing basically the entire conglomerate of characters that aren’t Qin, Yu, Xiang Yu, Spartacus, Liangyu or of course Jing Ke.

Red Hare and Chen Gong, they’re comedy, make no mistake. They’re there to add a bit of humor to scenes and it’s fine, they’re funny. It’s a mistake, in my opinion, to follow such a powerful scene as Spartacus saving the villagers and it inspiring them so much that the Lostbelt reconnects with the Throne of Heroes by having it result in nothing but comic relief, but they’re inoffensive. 

Koyanskaya, she’s Koyanskaya. There’s a bit more hinting about her true nature here, but besides that she’s exactly the same. Nothing much happens besides that truly gratuitous torture scene that made me glad FGO’s story isn’t voiced, because it really was just deeply uncomfortable. I think that after two chapters and a prologue full of her being untouchable and smug and constantly ahead of everyone she did need to stumble a bit, but having her get punked by Shuwen and then gruesomely and gratuitously tortured while she screams and begs for help was completely unnecessary.

Han Xin and Li Shuwen, they’re fine. I’m not much of a fan of the whole stuff about Li Shuwen being so powerful as to stand up to four Servants, three of whom are meant to be insane powerhouses in their own right, but we’ll get to that in a bit. Han Xin when he’s allowed to just go apeshit at the end is one of the very few genuine delights about the Lostbelt, I really enjoyed him. 

Lanling is a disappointment not because he’s badly written, but because he’s barely written. We start the Lostbelt to a flashback of his death and it sets us up to expect a bunch from him, but all that we really get is that he’s loyal to Yu. His only purpose in the story is to function as a connection for her outside of Xiang Yu, and boy howdy does this whole thing fail, we’ll get to that too. If he’d had more time, I expect he’d be quite good, but as it is he’s barely in the story and his only major character moment outside of Yu is when he tries assassinating Guda and admits he’s not really built for it.

Mordred and Nezha are there respectively to bounce off Spartacus and to reveal that Xiang Yu is based on her body respectively. That’s it. They vanish from the story for a good few chapters and I didn’t notice because Nezha becomes irrelevant as soon as you meet Xiang Yu and Mordred becomes irrelevant as soon as Spartacus died. You could remove both and the story would change not at all, and while I do think that Mordred’s role in giving Spartacus someone to bounce off of was nice and I enjoyed their interactions, introducing a whole character just to bounce off another means that when the other character is gone, the one you’ve introduced is just there. It’s insanely noticeable with Mordred.

Gordolf is a genuine delight. I think my honest favorite scene besides Spartacus’s in the chapter is when he and Guda have to decide who gets the only dose of antidote. Guda flat out telling them what hand they’d throw was perfectly in character but I genuinely adored Gordolf completely throwing the match and faking that it was an accident and that Guda got the antidote fair and square, after having it pointed out that he never once tried to lord it over Guda that he saved their life from the poison. When Guda forces him to drink it, Gordolf’s complete dedication to getting them the antidote and refusing to let Guda die because he’s the director and he is personally responsible for all their safety, that’s good stuff. I love Gordolf very very much, and I think that this Lostbelt really gives him some shining moments that emphasize why he’s so wonderful.

I think that is basically all the minor characters barring the village boy, who I will get to in a bit, but if you’re noticing a trend it’s that they’re mostly fine, inoffensive. Nothing stands out as truly genuinely very bad, but for the most part they’re all wasted potential. They exist to fulfil exactly one role, and then hang around long past their welcome in most cases, with Han Xin, Li Shuwen, and Lanling managing to avoid that, albeit in the first two more due to their overall lack of presence until the very end.

Now, Liangyu. Here’s where things start to break down a bit.

In this Lostbelt, Qin Liangyu is a warrior who distinguished herself enough to be frozen in Mt. Li, where Qin keeps their heroes to be used when necessary. Alongside Han Xin, she’s defrosted to handle the Chaldea threat. Her major point of focus in the chapter is engaging with the “Confucianism” that Chaldea represents. She’s the one who hears the poem first, she’s who reports it to Qin, she’s who steals the Shadow Border and who ends up confronting Chaldea first when they get to Xiangyang. When we finally get to hear her conviction, why she is so willing to fight for her home...

It’s revealed that Qin destroyed her village, her family. They had been inspired, not to rebel, but to simply seek to govern themselves and live as a nation outside of Qin’s domain. Qin’s response was to fire a meteor at their village. When the instigator escaped, he tried to do it again, and that was why Liangyu fights. To avoid the needless death and suffering that is guaranteed by opposing Qin.

No one is horrified by this. No one reacts to her blaming the victims for wanting a better life. No one points out that her loyalty comes entirely from a place of fear and loss, that Qin took away everything she held dear and then threatened to do it again and again and again. She fights because Qin would otherwise wipe out everyone, and this is heralded as splendid loyalty and honest devotion, despite the fact that it’s effectively the same logic as why someone might not resist their abusive partner. That is all Liangyu is meant to do, show us some kind of loyalty and validity to Qin’s path, and they even have Mashu lost for words when she is confronted. All to show us that true loyalty is submission, and that it’s a valid and good reason to fight, to be too scared of the tyrant above you wiping out everything if you don’t. Not something to oppose Qin for, but something to commend them for inspiring.

That reading, despite being a clearly obvious one, isn’t ever once entertained by the story. No one points out Qin’s tyranny as the starting point for Liangyu’s suffering, even though it clearly is. It’s not that it’s refuted, it just never once comes up, because the characters acknowledging it or challenging it would hurt the clumsy point it really wants to make.

As a digression, this Lostbelt is a step back for Mashu. Her climatic character moment in Part 1 is rejecting a world without suffering and having the purest conviction necessary to block Ars Almodel Salomonis, but now she’s shaken and starts thinking that maybe that was a mistake all because it was only a possible future she rejected with Goetia, instead of the actual people in front of her? I can’t see that as anything but a regression, considering it was a point that her conviction was able to overcome the most powerful attack in the series even as it destroyed her body to protect those behind her. It’s done almost entirely to make us question whether or not Qin has a point, and given that the answer to that is a resounding and obvious “no” all it ends up doing is taking a hammer to Mashu’s solidly built up character every time she responds to an obviously flawed argument with “...” to give it unearned validity.

Spartacus next. He is an honest to goodness genuine joy. There are a few bright spots in this Lostbelt and Spartacus is one of them. He is very well written, allowed to think and philosophize about the nature of rebellion and whether it’s needed, and his musings on why he rebelled and whether or not it was justified to rebel against Qin when their people smiled so innocently like he’d always hoped for was unironically fantastic character work. His sacrifice reigniting the will to ask for more inside the people to the point of connecting to the Throne once more is absolutely fantastic, and his interactions with Mordred are great too. I absolutely do not have a single bad thing to say about him, he’s just wonderful. 

Jing Ke. She’s a delight. She is a constant denier of everything that Qin suggests, and she functions as a beacon of good sense in the chapter. Where others are falling prey to some nonsense writing that makes them wonder if they’re doing the right thing, Jing is constantly pointing out the horrible, horrible tyranny going on, and constantly reminding people that Qin is in fact, a monster. Her final moments, getting to trick Qin into downloading a virus, arguing against them on philosophical grounds and then mocking them when they’re surprised that she would use that as a chance to kill them, and the argument itself of humanity’s virtues being in its ability to communicate and progress even if they don’t have a certainty of peace ahead of them, all of it was great. I’m sad she died and never got a chance to see Guda again in the Lostbelt, but all in all, she was well written.

Xiang Yu and Yu Meiren. This is where things get really, truly, genuinely disappointing. As concepts, they’re really cool. Xiang Yu as a machine built from the body of a god with the ability to calculate and compute the future giving him an inhuman mindset is a really neat idea, as is Meiren being effectively a True Ancestor. Them finding love as two non-humans who understood each other where no one else did is good in theory. 

In practice, Xiang Yu and Yu Meiren’s romance, the emotional core of the chapter, is without question the worst romance written in the Lostbelts thus far, and probably the worst romance in the game. It isn’t until chapter 13 of this 16 chapter game that we get any exploration of it at all beyond Meiren being devoted to Xiang Yu to the point that she completely cripples her own agency as an interesting and individual character to work entirely for Qin when they threaten Xiang Yu’s life, and the exploration we do get is just...explaining how Xiang Yu is a robot and how he lived in Panhuman History. No examination of their mutual feelings, just Meiren describing how her Xiang Yu lived.

This Lostbelt is not a reuniting of lovers long past. This is Meiren finding a man who shared an origin with her lover and devoting herself entirely to him, even though they aren’t the same person at all. This could have been an incredible hook!

Imagine if this Lostbelt looked at Meiren’s two thousand years of stagnation in mourning for Xiang Yu and her sole desire being to be reunited with him and then it gave her her wish. She betrayed her own history for the Lostbelt’s, because it gave her a chance to see her beloved again, but this Xiang Yu is not her Xiang Yu. He doesn’t even answer to the same name, doesn’t recognise her at all. Having thrown away everything that connected her to Panhuman History just to see her beloved again, she is now trapped in a world she doesn’t recognise with a man who isn’t her Xiang Yu, her sole connection being...Gao Changgong, a regular human from Panhuman History. The greatest of ironies, her only meaningful connection being one of the humans she hates, because she sacrificed everything for a man who doesn’t even know her name.

Lostbelt 3 is a story about stagnation and the dangers of easy ignorance, but Meiren’s story doesn’t engage with that central theme whatsoever. Hers is a story entirely about how she merely existed just to exist before she met Xiang Yu and after he died, and her only experience being happy was with him. A few short years in literal millennia of existence are all that she cares about, and indeed she doesn’t change even slightly over all those years. And despite this stagnation leading her to consign her own history to death, the history that her Xiang Yu is from and fought for, the story never once engages with that. She is, in fact, rewarded in the end by becoming a Heroic Spirit and getting reunited with her Xiang Yu. 

And really, that’s what gets me. They have a perfect setup to tie into the theme of the Lostbelt, how an uncertain future of progression is sincerely better than a stagnant peace born of ignorance, and they don’t tie their Crypter into it nearly as well as LB1 or even LB2. Kadoc is obsessed with conflict and overcoming Guda to prove his own strength in a reflection of how Lostbelt 1 is a hellscape where might makes right, and Ophelia is stuck doing nothing but following her role without a choice in a reflection of Surtr existing only to fulfill his role, being capable only of destruction and incapable of changing that. In contrast...Meiren doesn’t engage with SIN’s theme of the worthiness of peace at the cost of stagnation at all, really.

I’m talking a lot about what she could be instead of what she is, because what she is is obsessed with Xiang Yu. Her sole concern in every single appearance besides her single moment of independent characterization with Gao on his deathbed is Xiang Yu. She sacrifices her initial independence to obey Qin for Xiang Yu’s sake, she fights for nothing more than Xiang Yu’s sake, she wants nothing more than to be with Xiang Yu forever, even if it’s not her Xiang Yu, even if it’s sacrificing the world her Xiang Yu fought for. She chooses the peace of stagnation and is never once punished or even questioned for it. She tells Lostbelt Xiang Yu about his history in her world, and then he tells her that he understands why her Xiang Yu loves her, and then decides on the spot that he loves her too. That’s it.

Every other existing romance that they play back into in Fate is one that they put effort into selling. I mean, just think about Sigurd and Bryn! Imagine if, instead of all the little touches and bits in the chapter where they go in hard on selling that Sigurd and Bryn are madly in love with each other, they just didn’t have that. Imagine if Kadoc and Anastasia barely interacted except for Kadoc telling Anastasia how her past went. It really feels like Urobuchi looked at Meiren and Xiang Yu’s existing famous romance and decided that he just didn’t need to sell it, even though it literally wasn’t the same people involved.

 And to be clear, I understand the intention. Xiang Yu has an alien mindset because of his calculation of the future, and this alien mindset means that he does things that are hard to understand for us. But at the end of the day, Lostbelt Xiang Yu hears a single story about himself in Panhuman History and decides that it makes sense that, given everything he and Meiren experienced there, that they would fall in love. And then he chooses to fall in love too, in the span of a single conversation. That isn’t believable, but more to the point it isn’t satisfying. This isn’t a great reuniting of lovers, it’s Meiren telling a stranger how a hypothetical alternate timeline version of him lived and him deciding he loves her because of that one single story. 

And the way this love is represented is...it’s kinda typical Urobuchi. Meiren’s tragedy is undersold and given second billing to talking about how tragic Xiang Yu’s life was and how bad it made her feel and how she wished she could have done something, while LB Xiang Yu ignores her plea to stay and to not fight anymore by declaring that he must fight for the Lostbelt because of his programming, not for her, and then after he’s defeated and Guda beats Qin he declares that he’s actually madly in love with Meiren and will ignore her stated wishes again to fight until he dies, whereupon he promptly talks about dying with regret for leaving Meiren behind and quotes the poem and everyone claps. This great romance begins by Meiren telling Xiang Yu about how sad his life was in her history, is defined solely by Xiang Yu doing anything he wants at any time while Meiren feels sad about it, and ends with Xiang Yu ignoring Meiren’s wishes to sacrifice himself for absolutely nothing and to have it later revealed he knew exactly how she would react to this and did it anyway.

It’s not that I don’t buy the romance, it’s that I can’t buy it. It’s every terrible romance you’ve seen in fiction before where there’s no chemistry to sell it but the author keeps telling you how perfect they are for each other, only in this case the author tells you how perfect Meiren and Panhistory Xiang Yu are for each other and then shrugs and decides that Lostbelt Xiang Yu is basically the same anyway so it works. And it really, really does not. 

The Xiang Yu of Panhistory is somewhat interesting from what we hear in the chapter, but Lostbelt Xiang Yu is very bland and Yu Meiren is just a tragically wasted character. Instead of a story of being shaken out of stagnation and learning to grow and move forward, we get a story of stagnation being the good and right choice for her. Instead of a story of trying to make the past happen again instead of acknowledging that they are two different people who cannot simply pretend everything is as it was, we get a story where Lostbelt Xiang Yu decides it makes sense that an alternate universe version of himself would fall in love with Meiren, and then skips all the actual development to decide he’s madly in love with her too. Instead of a story of Meiren realizing that her closest connection for the longest time was a living human and that she can live for more than just the memory of a man long dead, we get Meiren’s character being solely, completely about Xiang Yu from beginning to end, and even later in Chaldea where she exists for nothing more than “haha married couple” jokes.

There is, to be clear, an attempt at relating this to the other theme of the chapter, humanity. Meiren and Xiang Yu are both discriminated against for their inhumanity, and it’s pointed out that they’re so fitting for each other because they, as non-humans, understood each other. I think this could have worked if it was given more emphasis, but as it stands it just kinda...isn’t. It, and they, take a backseat to Qin’s emphasis on this theme, so all this theme does for them is another justification as to why they are totally in love and why Urobuchi doesn’t have to write them actually being in love.

And then Xiang Yu dies, and Meiren goes crazy because her entire world and every facet of her character revolves around one man, and we have to kill her because he ignored her pleas and then died knowing he would die and knowing she would go crazy when he died. This, after spending the entire chapter from the first time we meet her being completely ineffective and failing at every turn, only becoming a threat once she devours her own Servant and even then only for a few minutes before she ceases to be relevant. Thanks, Urobuchi. Love it when you write women.

It’s a genuine disappointment, because you could do so much with Meiren and Lostbelt Xiang Yu bonding as themselves, not as Meiren from 2000 years ago and Xiang Yu from Panhistory, and with Meiren being able to honour her love without letting it chain her down to stagnation like it did in practice. But they don’t do any of that. They tell us that this great romance exists without putting in any of the work, and then expect it to work. And for me? It didn’t, at all. It is again, without a doubt the worst romance in this arc, and probably the worst romance in FGO.

Finally, Qin. 

I think Qin is a fantastic villain. They are completely, utterly loathsome in every way, and the early chapters with Spartacus and Jing Ke around really highlight it. Spartacus’s musings about rebellion culminate in a reassurance that it is in fact right and just to rebel against the oppressor that is Qin despite the peace they offer, and Jing Ke consistently and constantly responds to all their justifications by pointing out what absolute drivel they are. It is a sincerely excellent setup for a Lostbelt King that isn’t a tragic case of someone trying to save what they can after a horrible accident, but one who in their arrogance created a hellscape that was pruned solely due to their own tyranny. Qin is the perfect balance of hypocritical and arrogant and cruel while being utterly convinced of their own perfection to make a fantastic villain to break out of the “tragic king after apocalypse” type we’d had for the first two Lostbelts, and has the perfect ingredients to a tie-in back to Goetia and how Goetia earned the title of “King of Humans” in their final moments.

But, unfortunately, the chapter starts softening up on them as it goes on. Where before, we had people calling them out for tyranny and obvious wrongdoing, by the end we have Holmes praising them for shouldering the difficult responsibility of humanity all by themselves and being the one we get on our Lostbelt CE, a spot reserved before for the inhabitants of the Lostbelt that we befriend. Because, ultimately, the Lostbelt doesn’t want to condemn Qin. 

What Qin does is monstrous in the extreme, but by the end of the Lostbelt it feels like the game has forgotten that. Instead of pointing out the obvious problem in Liangyu’s loyalty being based on the certainty that Qin would murder everyone if she didn’t do it for them, Mashu and Guda have to just accept that it’s valid. Instead of reminding themselves of Spartacus and Jing Ke’s rejection of Qin as a tyrant, they praise them for taking over the responsibility of humanity. Instead of having the Lostbelt represented by the boy who dared to look up and dream of something more, it’s instead represented by Qin descending to live among humanity in their final days. Even Qin’s final act for Meiren has them claim without irony that they guide their people by the light of reason, when the entire chapter has been about how Qin uses threats of incredible violence to control everyone and how they had to conquer the world by force to enact this horrible regime, and no one points out the shocking hypocrisy in Qin claiming that they guide through reason instead of, you know. Giant meteors. 

I didn’t name that boy, because the story doesn’t name that boy. In a story that is ostensibly about the horror of humanity being stripped of everything that makes them an individual and showing us that the spark and drive to be different and to learn and grow and change still exists even after over two thousand years of Qin trying to stamp it out, they don’t name the boy. This isn’t because names don’t exist in Qin’s empire, because explicitly the heroes are all named, and implicitly such a massive divergence would need to be highlighted in some way, so it’s not an intentional dehumanization which would actually fit. 

Instead, despite this child being the first citizen who dares to enjoy a poem and who dares to step outside the boundaries of his village, despite him being proof positive that Qin’s tireless attempts at stamping out the human spirit are doomed to failure even after ruling the entire world for hundreds of years, despite him being inspired by Spartacus’s cry of rebellion against the tyranny of the world he was born in...he doesn’t have a name. And that really hurts the Lostbelt, I feel, because it just doesn’t take the time to even name our Lostbelt friend. He is, ultimately, not important. The symbol of the Lostbelt is Qin as the ultimate human, despite the entire point of the Lostbelt being that it’s a rejection of this concept, that Qin’s choice of becoming the one and only human is wrong and that the individuality of Panhistory is superior. Instead of enshrining the boy who dared to be different in the CE, pride of place is given to Qin.

That’s my biggest issue with Qin, really. We are given a perfect setup for Qin as a villain and indeed do reject their whole worldview and ideals and everything as being completely wrong, to the point that Holmes even rejects the idea that they are a human. In the final parts of the chapter, Holmes declares that the defense Qin dedicated themselves to is the domain of a god, and that despite their insistence that they did so as the only human and that they rejected becoming a god, ultimately they were deluding themselves, having simply taken on the role of a god while declaring themselves a human. This is the harshest condemnation that Qin ever gets and the final culmination of theme of humanity and what it really is that’s there throughout the Lostbelt, a complete and total rejection of the idea that one can do what Qin did and still claim to be human.

But instead of engaging with this, the story softens up on Qin by the end because it wants you to roll for them. It’s exactly what happened with Skadi, a solid character and path built up from the beginning and then swerving towards the end to make them more likeable. That Qin is the one on our Lostbelt CE and that it’s all about how Qin did their best to “shoulder the responsibility” for mankind instead of highlighting their tyranny is just kinda emblematic of how the story treats it once Jing Ke is gone, because when she’s not in the party people stop pointing out the obvious tyranny going on, and when she’s dead everyone starts acting like Qin is almost reasonable and that their path was a valid one that wasn’t so wrong, even though theirs was more right. It even completely ignores Koyanskaya pointing out that Qin loves humanity like an owner loves its pets, not as actual individuals, but this love is treated as completely valid thereafter instead of being a huge problem.

Big Big Spoilers For Qin’s Interlude Now, Skip Ahead To The Next Bolded Section If You Don’t Want To See Them

One of the reasons I’m so harsh on them for what could, in context, be seen as relatively minor softening up on Qin compared to the actual defeat we deal them is because of this Interlude. As a brief overview, Qin completely ignores the ending of their Lostbelt, which lasts for three months despite every other Lostbelt lasting a day at most before it vanishes and the implication of the final chapter being that it’s ending soon, returns to Epang Palace despite it having been destroyed and corrupted with a virus and despite having promised to live as a human on the ground with the rest of the world until the end, and then uses the data on the Shadow Border that somehow survived the virus and destruction of the palace to somehow construct a machine that allows them to create Singularities. 

They then use this to create a bunch of Singularities related to “what-ifs” where they were a cruel king who ruled over Xiangyang and murdered all their subjects so they can piggyback on the Human Order instead of being destroyed with their Lostbelt and everyone in it, and then keeps the Singularities around as time bombs to destroy Panhistory like Goetia did if they ever feel like Guda might lose. When this is figured out, no one in the know bothers to tell Guda to protect their feelings, and no one intervenes in any way or challenges Qin in any regard besides telling them to believe in Guda.

This interlude turned Qin into the most loathsome character in the game for me. They declared they would put it all on the line challenging Guda and then lost and stepped aside, even helping to destroy the Tree of Fantasy, and even having Da Vinci praise their grace in stepping aside when it was clear that they had lost. But that didn’t happen. 

Instead, Qin lied. Qin pulled the trigger on everyone in their entire world and then decided that they didn’t actually want to uphold their end of the bargain, so they abandoned the people they swore to live alongside until the end and constructed a scenario where they have the sole authority to destroy all of human history forever if they feel like it, something made possible only because author fiat dictated that they still had the data and the capacity to use it after the twofold destruction of the Epang Palace and only because author fiat dictated that their Lostbelt lasted for months after the Tree was destroyed when every other Lostbelt disappears after hours. And all this happens because fundamentally, they don’t want Qin to be wrong, and they don’t think Qin was wrong. They pay lip service to the idea, but the end result is that Qin is always meant to have a point, and that despite having people point out their obvious hypocrisy at ther start like Jing Ke, by the end of the Lostbelt and beyond you are meant to take them at face value as a Hard Enby Making Hard Decisions doing their best to save the entire world. 

SPOILERS FOR THE INTERLUDE OVER, YOU’RE SAFE NOW

To begin the summary for Qin as a character, I’d like to point out Fate’s relationship with Great Man theory. This theory is, in brief, a suggestion that the course of history is largely influenced by exceptional individuals and leaders that exert their will on the world as a result of their own superb capabilities, such as being more intelligent, charismatic, powerful etc. than all other men around them. This is obviously a theory with a bunch of holes, but what’s interesting is that Fate has always engaged with this idea and has always refuted it conclusively.

In Fate, if you are a single human trying to save the world, you will fail. Kiritsugu’s chasing of the Grail and his ultimate failure because of his own flaws making it physically impossible for him to consider a path to salvation that didn’t involve killing is a rejection of Great Man theory. Shirou understanding that one single person cannot possibly save everyone in the world is a rejection of Great Man theory. Amakusa’s inability to save the world in any way besides erasing free will is a rejection of Great Man theory. Goetia’s decision to erase history and start again to make something better and his ultimate defeat is a massive rejection of Great Man theory. Zelretch, for all his insane power, is literally paralyzed by that selfsame power into not being able to do anything, while someone like Aoko who doesn’t think of anything but what’s right in front of her is actually able to accomplish things because she doesn’t try transcending the limits of what a human is capable of. It is one of the Nasuverse’s most consistent themes, that it is fundamentally wrong and doomed to fail if you ever attempt to impress your will on the entire world in a misguided attempt to save it. 

And yet Qin simply doesn’t engage with that. Qin is Great Man theory distilled into a character, and by the end of the Lostbelt and beyond the game gives up on challenging that. They declare themselves as the ultimate human with the sole responsibility to administrate mankind and despite losing, the game respects them and their path and refuses to condemn them the same way that it condemned Ivan for doing all he could to save his people, even if it meant inflicting his own ideas on the entire human race. And that’s a consistent problem with the last two Lostbelts, but it sticks out more for Qin because Qin didn’t face an apocalypse. Qin brought the world to an end with their own two hands, but the game simply cannot keep up the condemnation as much as it should, because it wants you to like them and wants you to roll them and spend money to do so. And that’s where Qin falters for me. They’re a fantastic villain, but the game doesn’t let them be a villain, regardless of how much it clashes not just with FGO’s themes, but with one of the overarching ideas behind a lot of stuff in the Nasuverse as a whole. 

I’ve basically talked about the thematics and the characters together in the last section, so this is just me talking about its construction as a story here as a short(er) final roundup.

It’s badly written, really. Like I mentioned earlier, basically nothing happens for about half the chapter and then the latter half puts the pedal to the metal and speedruns its way through everything. Nothing is given the time or dedication it needs besides Spartacus’s sacrifice in the chapter, I feel, and that works to its extreme detriment. 

In terms of things that happen, it strained my sense of disbelief as bad or worse than Lostbelt 2 did. I knew it was going to be rough when Mordred, one of the Knights of the Round Table who was easily able to go toe-to-toe with Siegfried and stomp most people she fought in previous appearances, ends up firing her Noble Phantasm at Xiang Yu and doing no damage whatsoever despite being a direct hit, and then Xiang Yu ends up defeating a group of four Servants including powerhouses like Mordred and Spartacus without breaking a sweat and explicitly while holding back.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, that I’m starting to sound like some BLer who cares for nothing besides calculations and VS debates and whatnot, but that’s not what I’m about. I don’t care to argue whether my favorite Servant could beat Goku or not, partially because the answer is an obvious yes because they’re my favorite, but mostly because that’s just not really relevant for a story. 

What is relevant, however, is the idea of suspension of disbelief. In telling a story, you don’t need to be realistic, but you need to be consistent. Having internal consistency is a vital part of selling your work to the audience, because if they start thinking that anything can happen at any time because the author wants it to happen, they can get pulled out of the story real quick. If you introduce someone as being Double God and being able to wipe the floor with every single one of the protagonists without breaking a sweat, you have to make sure that when or if they are defeated, their defeat is internally consistent. Either they lose their strength somehow, or the protagonists find some way to power up or change their tactics or do something different to defeat them next time they fight. When you pull a victory or defeat out of your ass without some kind of internal consistency, you had better make sure that you’ve got your themes on point, because if you’ve failed in making something internally consistent and you can’t justify the event happening because it fits perfectly with the themes of the work, then it takes people out real quick.

That’s where this Lostbelt falls down really hard in terms of story construction outside of its characters, because it has neither. Xiang Yu is introduced as an unstoppable murdermachine that we can only hold off temporarily or wait for him to retreat, even when that means devaluing our own Servants’ capabilities and making Mordred who is a Knight of the Round table look like a chump. But then later, Spartacus vaporizes a meteor with nothing but his Noble Phantasm, except Xiang Yu was just straight up too much for him, even though Xiang Yu is pretty much the greatest symbol of Qin’s oppression and its source, the incredible violence that they are willing and able to visit upon anyone at any time if they feel like it. Spartacus loses horribly to one symbol and then annihilates the other and it feels weird.

Later, we’re also introduced to Meiren being a True Ancestor with infinite mana who curses us so badly that we only survive with Koyanskaya’s aid. Even Koyanskaya is urging us to run and there’s explicitly nothing we can do to her. That’s fine! It’s a good setup for a really tough boss! But what it means is that now we have two people set up as completely unbeatable even with all the help we have, including Red Hare and Chen Gong. That’s an awkward setup that really needs a solid resolution, especially when the final battle with them is fighting both, together, while both are completely fresh and Chaldea has just fought their way through Xiangyang, defeating Liangyu, Han Xin and the royal guards, and Li Shuwen. 

And the game doesn’t engage with it. We beat them both despite them both individually being able to wipe us out earlier in the chapter, and despite nothing having changed for us. If anything, they should have the advantage of conviction, or at least Xiang Yu should. But we beat them and Nezha gives some nonsense about how Xiang Yu lost because he never had any rivals to fight against, despite him having been used to conquer the world, and despite him having fought alongside the great heroes enshrined in Mt. Li during these conquests. Meiren isn’t even acknowledged, which isn’t much of a surprise, but it is disappointing. Despite her being held up as an insurmountable threat at first, she’s not even considered worth mentioning in favor of talking about Xiang Yu.

That problem continues along with Qin, who comes at us with a Grand class Saint Graph and whom we end up defeating all by ourselves, not as a battle of wills but flat out defeating them, even though we only have Mashu, Red Hare, Nezha, and Mordred who have all been exhausted fighting through all of Xiangyang. People are hyped up as insanely dangerous and then lose not because of the thematics and not because the story has constructed things so that their loss makes sense, but just because the author says it happens. All the battles are handled with in-game battles, which the game grew out of a long, long time ago. The difference between the climactic battles with Ivan and Surtr and the climactic battle with Qin in terms of actual writing is night and day, and the sole saving grace, that it is explicitly characterized as a conflict between the two philosophies and a battle of which one comes out on top, just isn’t enough to overcome the insane hype of being on par with a Grand that Qin gets for absolutely no reason. It devalues Grands and it made the victory against them feel unearned even with the idea that it’s a conflict of philosophies, which I usually eat up. To compare it to the great example of that in Fate, it feels like Shirou VS Archer, except instead of the point being that Archer cannot bring himself to fully deny Shirou’s ideals and is defeated by Shirou reminding him of their beauty even though he wields the power to crush Shirou instantly if he wanted, it’s like Shirou proved his point about ideals by beating Archer up fair and square. It just isn’t nearly as well written.

It isn’t all bad. Like I mentioned, Spartacus, Jing Ke, Gordolf, they were all genuine delights that I loved. The meteor, the assassination, those were both excellent scenes. But overall, the Lostbelt was half nothing happening and then the latter half made up of one or two cool moments with a hell of a lot of bad shit connecting them. Its theme of stagnation is indecisive and muddled because of Qin and Meiren, its theme of humanity has its conclusion ignored and conflicts with the overall idea of Great Men in the Nasuverse, its treatment of its female characters barring Jing is uncomfortable at best, and it tries to sell us a romance without putting in any of the actual legwork to make it believable. 

I wish Lostbelt 3 had been better. I can see easy routes to make it better. But more than anything I wish that Meiren had been done better. She’s an immortal True Ancestor who has lived for thousands of years and seen the birth of modern humanity, living through so much of our history, and instead of having a story of learning how to break free of her stagnation she’s just obsessed with a male character who isn’t remotely as focused on her to the extent that every choice and decision she makes in the chapter is focused entirely around him. It’s just...uncomfortable.

For all the hooks she had as a character, Meiren is reduced to an accessory for her man, and I think that’s a crying shame.

#FGO #Fate/Grand Order #Fate Grand Order #cosmos in the lostbelt #Synchronized Intelligence Nation #SIN #lostbelt #FGO spoilers #Lostbelt 3 #Shi Huang Di #Qin Shi Huang #Xiang Yu

[imaginariumpod]

For the defense of slowing down: a study of slowness in cinema.

Leisure - Poem by William Henry Davies

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows. 

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

 No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this is if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

For the defense of slowing down: a study of slowness in cinema. 

This article is one that I have been meaning to write for a while and that is very important to me in a lot of ways, but also I feel like with the amount of people staying at home and who have had to slow down their pace of life one way or another in the past months, it just feels oddly relevant. A lot of people have been forced to ease the pace of their lives, and have had the time, maybe for the first time in years, to spend on things they couldn’t before. People who have been trying to take care of themselves in any way they can, by maybe learning how to cook or bake bread, maybe finally having the time to just take a nap and not feel any guilt because they aren’t productive. 

This might be more personal than usual because I feel like I really do need to put this subject in perspective to myself first, and then in perspective to the general context and climate that is shaping our world. We live in a culture where productivity is valued more than anything, where you are expected to go above and beyond, and to run yourself to the ground in the pursuit of success, of money, of efficiency. If you don't have a side project or four, it might feel like you are a bit of a failure because don’t you know you have to take advantage of every opportunities out there to make a name for yourself ? This hustle culture that is becoming predominant everywhere, but especially in western culture, is definitely a byproduct of capitalism in a way it never have been seen before. You only have to take a look in the self-help section of a bookshop or a library to feel exhausted : The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business, or Ready for Anything: 52 Productivity Principles for Getting Things Done. 

While I think being a hardworking person and trying to be productive in order to achieve your goals, there’s definitely a point where it’s too much for one person to handle, and when this constant stress of needing to be successful all the time and to always go above and beyond what is needed becomes a societal expectation placed on all of us, that’s when it becomes dangerous. There’s a certain climate that is saying that we need to be constantly productive to be valuable to the system, or else, what is the point of you existing. 

And my friends. the only point is you being alive. And being content. and that’s what matters in the end. 

The point isn’t to further a corporation’s agenda, the point isn't to exhaust yourself trying to play the game of a system that is designed to fail you. The point is that, maybe, someday, you wake up a bit earlier than usual, and you drink your tea in a world that is still quiet and peaceful. The point is, maybe that you feel safe, that you feel content, that you feel loved, and you have the time to just breathe. 

And to just be. 

Take a breath. 

So most of my friends know this, but I feel like I need to share this to give my proper perspective on this subject. Before finishing my Bachelor’s degree in Art History, I had previously done two years in architectural design. It seemed like a good idea at the time, it was a creative endeavor that seemed fulfilling and yet also a smart move practically speaking. I wanted to be able to find a job after finishing university, and maybe continuing on to grad school to eventually become an architect. That was the initial plan when I was 20 and started university. Fresh-eyed, full of hope and determination. 

Those two years were a nightmare. 

To sum up really quickly, I was so stressed and anxious, I ended up having constant panic attacks and breakdowns for a whole month, every single day of that month, which made me take the difficult decision to give up on that degree. I had an actual burnout before my 22nd birthday and had to take a full year off to recover from this. 

I think it’s then, that I truly was hit by how dangerous fatigue and exhaustion could end up being, both mentally and physically. How, when pushed by the constant pressure to perform and to catch up to a standard that keeps rising, and to a speed that keeps getting faster and faster, one is bound to crack at some point. The stress and anxiety that this puts on people can easily get to be too much to handle. That year off, being forced to slow down, to reconnect with myself and with who I am and with what I wanted from life  really was one of the most beneficial things to me and I just wanted to give a bit of my story to make you understand where I am personally coming from, when it comes to slowing down, and to slowing the pace of life. Unfortunately, most of us have a story that resembles this in some way shape or form. I know I was incredibly lucky to be able to take that year off, and it's a privilege many of us might not be able to have.

So this is why  I think i can say, that for a lot of us, we are just tired. We are so tired.  I know I am exhausted. Life can just be so tiring, there’s this really fine line between being productive and having an active life and being run to the ground. It’s a fine line that a lot of us thread, and it can get overwhelming very easily.  Indeed, «life has become fast-paced, as people try to live up to these expectations. Yet, while many people might be materially affluent, their quality of life and work-life balance are often unsatisfactory, and potentially lead to stress and burnout (Schor, 1998).»  I feel that especially for the current modern life experience, a lot of us can relate to that, in ways it may not have been felt before in previous generations. Time has always been precious, but it just feels like there’s never enough hours in the day to be able to finish all the things you want to do. 

The luxury of time. Time to do nothing. 

It might seem that we have more time,  but  «that free time is used to cram more activities into the day and to travel further to work». Which means that we are all trying to  manage to do everything at once, whether it’s working, and trying to continue learning, and needing to keep yourself in shape, and to keep your space clean, and also needing to keep a social life, and sleeping well, and etc and etc. It feels like you always have to do this and that and the list of expectations and goals to meet is never ending and constantly adding up. Indeed, «it is not just free time that people desire, but more time for meaningful things».  You are just one person, and there’s only so much one can do before it gets to be too overwhelming. And in those moments, I think it’s important to just. Take a deep breath and Slow down. 

We need rest. we need fulfillment. I think there’s a lot of disenchantment toward modern life, by the dream that have been sold to us since we were young. Just work harder and you’ll make it. Work more hours, do more things, put yourself out there, run yourself ragged to the ground and then you will finally get what you deserve (money ! fame ! success ! love ! Family ! Friends!  ) and yet all we have is exhaustion and stress and anxiety and pain. I think this whole context has made it so that there’s a resurgence lately of an appreciation for  slower media, whether we are talking about movies, books or something else. 

I think it can be really interesting to mention the newest Animal Crossing game (Animal Crossing : New Horizons) that has been played by a lot of people since its release, which has been considered like  «the video game equivalent of a relaxing getaway — and we could all use that kind of respite right now.» Those kind of slower paced games where you have to build your own life and take care of a city, village or, in this case,  island (slow-life simulation games) let players exerce control in their island in a way they feel they might not be able to in their own live. This is a very wholesome game that players can get really engrossed into, and that can provide them with much needed relief and escapism from the troubles of real life, when things get really hard. Those type of games also need you to take things slowly, one step at a time, which I think is very interesting when we think about low-stress sources of entertainment.

 «In this, the game forces you to take it one day at a time. You can bypass this by "time traveling," or setting your Switch system clock ahead of time to advance quicker than the game intends for you to, but this isn't how it's meant to be played. You're supposed to feel a sense of slow, but meaningful progression throughout the course of your island adventure, and artificial time changes take away from that»

I could also mention the growing popularity of the cottagecore aesthetic on various social platforms such as tumblr, Instagram and twitter. While being predominantly a visual and aesthetic trend, cottagecore does reflect a  growing desire by younger people in their teens and early 20s to have simpler and slower life. Dreams of just living in a tiny house, with maybe a vegetable patch, and all of the time in the world to just bask in the sun.  As «[a]n obvious backlash to the hustle culture embodied by Fiverr ads, cottagecore attempts to assuage burnout with a languid enjoyment of life’s mundane tasks.» This aesthetic trend then seems an answer to the growing consumerism and rapid pace of life.

This seems like an unattainable fantasy to most of us, which is why I think a lot of people have been gravitating toward those aesthetics and ways of thinking and living. «It’s a romanticised idea that we could leave behind all the stress and craziness in our lives to go live off-the-grid, where emails can’t reach us and our only task is baking bread or making jam. » I know this isn’t something that everyone longs for, but to me, this sounds like a dream and something that seems like a distant hope. I do wish I could take some time off in a small cottage or mediterranean house, maybe not forever, but maybe spend a few months with the freedom of having the time to myself and using that time the way I desire. Just so one can breathe, reconnect with oneself and have enough energy to keep moving on. «Cottagecore is the perfect escape, it’s soothing and calming but it’s also relatively attainable. Maybe we can’t all go live in a cabin in the woods, wearing nothing but flowy dresses while tending to our garden of wildflowers. But we can learn to cross stitch, we can bake bread, we can buy some watercolours, we can have a picnic in our backyard.»

I am always so anxious about so many things and the only thing I want at any given moment is to have a small house and no responsibilities greater than doing the groceries and watering the plants in my garden. I think that life has gotten very hard and difficult to handle, what with the climate crisis, the political unstableness, the economical unstableness, the rise of the alt-right, and now the whole global pandemic going on, it’s easy to understand why people would feel drawn toward comforting things : « Rebecca Jennings ties a push for coziness in branding (and trends like cottagecore) to the feeling that "things are bad, and people are anxious about whatever ongoing horrors are metabolizing in geopolitics, the environment, and capitalism." »

 I want to be safe financially and fulfilled. I want to have the time and space to do the things I really want to achieve instead of giving my time away to a system that does not care about me.

I want to have the calm of heart that I have lost years ago and that I yearn to regain. 

nostalgia & aesthetic 

There's an aesthetic of nostalgia that is really present in a lot of slow living content and slow media. I don't think ANY of us want to go back in time where things weren’t better for any of us unless you maybe are a white straight cis man, and even then.... In my opinion, slow living and wanting to slow down is not a rejection of technology or modernity in itself, but inherently a rejection of capitalism. You do not have to be productive to be valuable, and to be deserving of happiness, of peace, of love and of dignity. You deserve all of that no matter how useful or not you are to the capitalist system. It’s not about going back to oppressive social norms, but moving forward from them. 

I also feel like slow living brings a self care as deeper than the shallow superficial and capitalist self care that's being sold to us.  I’m not going to deny that it feels nice to do an extensive skincare routine before sleeping, but there’s a lot to be said about a nightly ritual that makes you feel more grounded in yourself and taking care of yourself and the body you inhabit versus the gigantic capitalistic machine that is the Beauty Industry™.  The same way the simple acts of taking of yourself and taking the time to slow down can be a revolutionary act of self-love, they can also be taken advantage of and capitalized on by the huge capitalist industries that use wellness, self-care and self-love as marketing tactics. In our era, it feels simply impossible now to get away from the “treat yourself” campaign. Industries have tapped into the real desire of people to live a more meaningful and happier life by making it mostly into a trend, and not an intentional change to someone’s lifestyle to make it better. 

I am of the opinion that slowing down shouldn’t be a trend, but a very deliberate act taken in order to take care of ourselves, of our mental health and our physical health. I think it’s a very essential need that we have to not feel burnt-out and to not feel trapped and stifled by our own lives, and having the space and energy to pursue our dreams and desires.

 (Not to say the culprit is capitalism … but the culprit is capitalism) (also not to advocate for revolution on a public platform but revolution)

What I mean by slow media, and slowness in media is that content that tends to be more of the slice of life genre. They are peaceful, quiet. Maybe nothing much happens at all, but it rings very true and very real. Those moments of calm are soothing when maybe the rest of my life really is not. The way someone relates to art and media is very personal and can vary a lot, but the escapism that this sort of stories provides and I feel that with the faster pace of life that has become the norm, it might become something that we seek more often than not. 

To me, this sort of media feels like relief. 

slow cinema 

Cinema has long been a medium that is very efficient at communicating epic and grandiose stories. Movies that are jam packed with action and drama and heightened emotions and tension. And while those movies can be very good and entertaining, I think there’s also a place in the world of cinema for movies that are slower. In fact, there’s a distinct genre of movies where the focus is not on a very fast paced plot or extravagant action scenes and dramatic events, but where the importance is placed on the mundane. Where the slow moments of everyday life and the quiet emotions that we all feel take precedence. It’s possible to name filmmakers such as Yasujiro Ozu or Agnes Varda.

 We could also talk about movies such as the Before Trilogy by Richard Linklater (Before Sunrise (1995), Before Sunset (2004), Before Midnight (2013)), where each movie spans a very short period of time and consists entirely of conversations between two people. Those movies are slow, ordinary and yet extraordinary in the sense that it’s two people who have found each other and are speaking and connecting. There’s nothing much that’s happening in those films, and yet it’s impactful. 

The movies made by those directors who tend to favor slower cinema often showcases a simpler plotline, but a more complex emotional arc. They are full of slow and quiet scenes, which makes those movies soothing, calming and nostalgic. 

What is slow cinema though ? in the academic sense, slow cinema is often defined as «a modern cinematic production trend that emphasizes slowness and duration of time» Even though there’s a lot of more contemporary cinematic examples of slow cinema in more experimental movies such as directors Abbas Kiarostami or Tsai Ming Liang whose movies are very much in line with what is slow cinema. When it comes to slow movies, «Flanagan writes that the stylistic features of ‘slow films’ are “the employment of (often extremely) long takes, de-centred and understated modes of storytelling, and a pronounced emphasis on quietude and the everyday,”»  The techniques used in slow-paced movies will often communicate a romanticization of everyday life, of routine, of moments that are quiet and peaceful. 

There’s a lot of emphasis put on the passage of time, whether it’s a slow drag of time, with nothing much to do, the quiet moments that punctuates our daily lives or the years passing by and the plotlines in those movies spanning years, generations and even lifetimes. I think this is one of the reason why this kind of cinema can be really relevant in our times, where we feel that time is a precious commodity that isn’t ours anymore, and where time is filled with the pressure of being constantly productive, slow cinema poses itself as the antithesis of that. 

«Slow Cinema situates itself solidly within art cinema both in aesthetic and methodology: it is defined by authorship that hinges on the representation of reality. It carries with it a disposition towards the consumption of time that forces the audience to labour through and critically engage with the film itself.»

It’s possible to see that this type of cinema is something that’s very sought after lately, as proven by this letterboxd list The Absolute Beauty in Everyday’s Mundanity, which has been liked by a total of 6,092 people at the moment of writing this article (including me). Containing 209 movies that fit into what the list maker considers as being slow movies that showcase the beauty of everyday life, this list demonstrates that there’s a very definite space for movies that have a more deliberate pace and who, instead of trying to heighten the stakes and action constantly, do take the opportunity to just. Slow down. 

An enchanted month. 

Elizabeth Von Arnim (1866-1941) was a english author active during the early 20th century. She wrote both fictional and non-fictional books, and the ones I have read from her are very in this vein of slow living, taking the time to just sit in a garden,  and let time heal you. It's from her book  Enchanted April (1922), which  is one of my favorite books and that I wholeheartedly recommend, that the consequent 1992 movie, released by the BBC, was adapted from. 

                            Von Arnim made a point to give a prevalent place in her books to the spaces where one could feel at ease and free from the constraints dictated by social norms and what people might expect from you :  «In the garden, Elizabeth von Arnim could think, reflect, and distance herself from the oppressions and duties of the highly rigid and strict German culture that she had adopted through her marriage to Count Henning von Arnim. In observing the varying seasons of nature in conjunction with an active pleasure in literature, she perceived the garden as a metaphor of her life in terms of the development of her soul, and in this context, she believed herself to be in "the process of becoming".» I think it’s possible to draw a parallel between the demands of life that are growing increasingly harder to handle. While Von Arnim puts is mostly in relation to the social norms that were in place during the 1920s, it’s possible to see that the desire for slowing down during the 2020s stem mostly from a tiredness of the ultra-capitalistic world we live in. 

The story of Enchanted April starts during a dreary month of march. Grey. Tiring. We have all went through months like these where the responsibilities and list of things to do, and slow drag of the days gets to be unbearable. Mrs Lotty Wilkins sees an a journal advert to rent a castle in Italy for a month, and under the grey drizzling London skies. And she yearns for that moment of respite. Far from her obligations, from her nagging husband and being able to take time for herself for the first time in years. 

Eventually, four immensely different women will end up in this  castle in San Salvatore, Italy, for a whole month. Each of those women have a distinctive purpose in this book, but they all seem to be looking for something similar: an escape from their frantic and boring daily life, a relief from routine, from the lack of connection and intimacy that they feel. In the midst of those charmed italian gardens, you feel like they can finally take a breath, loosen up and rest.

«She moved about with quick, purposeful steps, her long thin body held up straight, her small face, so much puckered at home with effort and fear, smoothed out»

And just reading that, or watching the movie, gives me a similar respite. The sun lits all the shots, the wind blows gently in the tree leaves, and the clothes that are worn are looser, more comfortable. This movie is charming, humorous and delightful. But most of all, it’s slow paced and soothing. You have drawn out scenes where nothing much happens but the moments are peaceful and reassuring. I rewatch it every april, because while I cannot take a month off to spend it in an isolated italian castle, oh god I Yearn So Much For It.

Even though, this story is set during the 1920s, thus being a contemporary story written by Von Arnim, I cannot help but feel that this story is one that is still deeply relevant today, in the 2020s. The thoughts of the characters seems very familiar and relatable : «For Lady Caroline Dester, the process of change is longer, more involved, and more isolated. She approaches San Salvatore with a “dream of thirty restful, silent days, lying unmolested in the sun, getting her feathers smooth again, not being spoken to, not waited on, not grabbed at and monopolized, but just recovering from the fatigue, the deep and melancholy fatigue, of the too much”»

In Enchanted April, this month in Italy is a moment of quiet rest for these four women, bt also a time dedicated to oneself and to introspection.  «Initially, each woman desires to be alone for long stretches of time: Mrs Fisher in her room, Lady Caroline in a chair in the top garden, and Mrs Wilkins and Mrs Arbuthnot in the gardens and hills. Each is free to reflect on her life and begin to have a clearer understanding of herself in relation to others. »   

A late afternoon: 

Yasujiro Ozu (1903-1963)  is one of the prominent filmmakers in Japan during the first half of the XXth century. His movies had a very distinct style and technique to them that made his work really unique to himself. A lot of filmmakers tried to replicate or imitate the stylisation of his work, but there was something in Ozu’s work that was very particular to the period of cinema he lived in. He was active from the later half 1920s until his untimely passing on his birthday in 1963. This means he lived through the Second World War as well as through a time of great change and evolution in the world. 

It’s possible to write a hundred pages on Yasujiro Ozu alone because there’s a lot to say about him and his movies, whether it’s about the narrative and the story he chose to portray or the techniques and stylisation that characterize what is an Ozu movie.  I thought it was relevant to mention him when talking about slower movies and slower paced media,  because of the impact that he had on film, especially when it comes to using the medium to tell stories of lost and quiet moments. 

With the increased modernity and a rapidly changing world, Ozu’s films, such as Tokyo Story ( 1953), Late Spring (1949) and Floating Weeds (1959) tried to capture the very modern life he and his contemporary were experiencing and the way they dealt with these changes. Even though Ozu’s movies were particularly specific to a certain period and country, it’s indeed impossible to disassociate Ozu’s movies from the fact that they were made in Japan, and that Ozu went through the pre-war, war and post-war era and continuously made movies during these times. 

Which means that his films do reflect a certain time in Japanese history which makes them incredibly specific and contemporary to the society he lived in. «However, I believe that the film is less about articulating the value of modernity against the challenge of tradition than observing the subtle state whereby the former unknowingly pervades the latter. In this sense, rather than the overt manifestation of free movement outside of the home, the trivial motion inside the confined domesticity are a more essential element in Ozu’s films. In other words, in Ozu, modernity exists within the everyday, a stable flow that undulates but hardly overflows.» Nonetheless, the issues and subjects tackled in those movies, such as intergenerational conflict, the difficulty that people have to catch up with a world with values that are rapidly changing, and modernity. Those problems are a universal experience, but were communicated in a unique lense through Yasujiro Ozu’s movies. 

The focus of most of Ozu’s films is centered around the familial unit, and the conflicts and moments that arise between them as life moves forward. The everyday moments in a world that gets harder to navigate each day. The story of a daughter who is pressured to married, and the dilemma and conflicts between the societal expectations that people have of her, her own wants and needs and also the desire to be able to strike a balance between those two elements. I think that this, while not being necessarily being a universal experience, can still be an incredibly relatable one. 

Once she gets married, she needs to move forward with her life and leaves her widowed father to live alone, which really showcases the simple and universal realities of real life. The plotlines of Ozu’s movies focus on simple and universal conflicts and problems, the stories he tells through those movies are nonetheless things that are universal and. the way he presents them are beautiful, quiet and, most importantly, real. «More broadly, Ozu’s omission of important events also speaks to his interest in the mundane, his desire to uncover the emotional nuances within small talk, daily routines, and other “boring” details of everyday life.» 

There are quiet moments of silence, of rain falling while someone is folding clothes or eating. Laughter and companionships. Tears and pain and love and hurt and all of the very important emotions that compose the human experience.   «the great filmmaker used to evoke a sense of melancholy and poetry in everyday existence.» which is something that truly is a balm to the soul in my own humble opinion. There’s a lot of vulnerability in this slowness, a very real sadness and emotionality that is very raw and yet mundane in its encompassing universality of the human experience.

The stylistic choices that Ozu decides to take all tend toward this one goal of showcasing the quiet movement of life, while hinting at the tumultuous feelings that people might feel, and the world around them. His movies were simple and slow but very meaningful as well. «Ozu’s films often violate the stylistic conventions of mainstream filmmaking. For example, one “rule” in classical Hollywood cinema is that every shot should clearly and obviously advance the narrative. Yet Ozu’s films frequently feature what commentators call “pillow shots” – namely, shots of landscapes, objects, or interiors that have no apparent connection to the protagonists and what they’re doing plotwise.»

His movies focus on the relationships between people and the world they inhabit, and the growing modernity, and also capitalism, of it. «As you’ll quickly come to see, Ozu is hardly a fan of modernity. In films like The Only Son, Late Spring, Late Autumn, and An Autumn Afternoon, he suggests, among other things, that economic modernization has engendered inequality, feelings of alienation, empty consumerism, and the Americanization of Japanese life.» Those feelings of alienation that we currently feel toward our own lives, our own time and our own time are very relevant for us in 2020. While I do think that those movies represent a certain time and a certain context, and you cannot talk about Yasujiro Ozu without really contextualizing both him and his work, I think it can be really relevant to today. Ozu made movies for himself and for the society he lived in  but that doesn't mean that those movies can’t still be important today.

Ozu did impact international cinema, as can be seen for exemple with the movies of Wes Anderson, as seen in this visual essay that compares their body of work.  both narratively and stylistically. I won’t go into more details about Anderson here, because he is  one of my favorite directors and i hope to write an entire article on him soon, but i thought it was relevant to mention this. Most importantly, Yasujiro Ozu left an imprint on  japanese cinema that can still be seen to this day in contemporary movies. I could mention filmmakers such as Naoko Ogigami, with movies such as Rent-a-cat (2012), Close-Knit (2017) and Kamome Diner (2006), all movies that have a decidedly slower pace and kinder vibe to them. Hayao Miyazaki and the movies Studio Ghibli produced also are an example of that slower cinema, but we’ll touch upon this a bit further down the line. 

(rent-a-cat [2012] d. Naoko Ogigami)

a little world of our own 

With this in mind, it’s easy to see that there’s a sub-genre of japanese cinema that really make a concerted effort at incorporating the concepts of slowness in their stories, whether it's the slower pace of the story or actual slow living principles. Those movies often address the fantasy of leaving everything behind (your work, your problems, your issues, your sadness) to go live in a small town or quitting your job to follow your dreams, or simply to feel like your time is yours again. This list on letterboxd which showcases many movies of that genre in japanese cinema (currently 157 movies on date of writing this article) 

A good example of this type of stories would be the duology of  the Little Forest movies, as well as the subsequent korean adaptation in 2018. These movies were both adapted originally from a manga by Daisuke Igarashi.  Little Forest : Summer/Autumn (2014) and Little Forest : Winter/Spring (2015) follow the story of a young woman who leaves her busy city life to go back to her hometown and decides to live in a slower way, taking care of her vegetables and living according to the seasons.  The two movies are infinitely slow, focusing on the main character cooking, resting, eating, and eventually resolving the conflict that she has with her mother. The life she lives in these secluded parts seems uneventful but happy and calm which seems all that she desires. She doesn’t need to contribute to the capitalist system of society to be deserving of being able to live in peace, and this makes her feel less alienated from the world she lives in. 

Spirited away

I also don’t think it’s really possible to mention slower moments of everyday life in cinema without talking about the movies that probably were the first introduction to this for many of us. The movies of Studio Ghibli, with Hayao Miyazaki at the helm of it, are little masterpieces of animation. The movies are intended for a younger audience but can be appreciated by everyone. Studio Ghibli movies are another example of filmmaking that manages to capture this slower pace in media. Between all of the adventures and events that are happening in those movies, there are moments of slowness. Of calm. Of quietness.

As Robert Ebert told to Miyazaki, during an interview with him « I told Miyazaki I love the "gratuitous motion" in his films; instead of every movement being dictated by the story, sometimes people will just sit for a moment, or they will sigh, or look in a running stream, or do something extra, not to advance the story but only to give the sense of time and place and who they are.» Miyazaki proceeded to explain what this concept was for him  «"We have a word for that in Japanese," he said. "It's called ma. Emptiness. It's there intentionally."» Those slow moments between the action are very deliberate, to slow down the story and to slow down the pace. Contrary to the generally accepted school of thought in modern Hollywood cinema, which is that every single scene needs to move the story forward, Miyazaki lets his story and movies breathe. This way of building the story gives it an added sense of calm and soothingness, but also it gives it another sense of realism. Instead of following a strict narrative outline, this fluidity makes the story feel more real and relatable.

Despite being an animated movie set in a very obviously fantastical universe, Studio Ghibli movies tend to be very realistic in the way they portray the characters, their complexity, and also what are the real underlying conflicts. For example, in Kiki’s Delivery Service (1989) «The primary conflict isn’t about magic—it’s internal and invisible and wholly human: Kiki’s brief period of lost motivation and artist’s block. She gets it back when she wants to help Tombo, whom she loves. Simple as that. She doesn’t have to wage an epic battle to prove her worth»  The stakes might seem lower in this movie, very mundane and ordinary but I think this is what makes it so special. 

The quiet moments and details that might seem innocuous and useless at first and slower the pace of the movie in itself, are ultimately what gives it this feeling of genuineness. It lets the characters and the plot have the space to evolve and to grow. 

« Although these scenes may seem slow or unimportant, they give space to develop the characters and to heighten dreams or feelings the characters are having such as feelings of isolation, wonder, or anxiety. It is in these moments of stillness that the audience can contemplate with the characters and feel what the characters are feeling. These moments remind the audience the importance of stillness in such a fast paced world and highlights the beauty of a slower paced life»

Studio Ghibli movies insert those slower moments in between more faster paced and action packed scenes but also in the midst of world-changing events such as wars, as shown in Howl’s Moving Castle (2004). This demonstrate how people still live on during those crises, even with the danger looming over their heads. Which is something that I think can be very relevant in today’s time where the past twenty years have been increasingly more unstable and the … few months of 2020 were a Shit Show in itself, if you want my opinion. So this kind of media gives me hope that we can live through this, that moments of happiness and peace are still to be found.

A charmed life

Slower cinema is something that has existed for as long as cinema existed, but I do think that it’s a very current feeling to want to be able to slow down the pace of our lives, and be able to enjoy time in a more meaningful way. Personally, I know life has gotten ridiculously hectic for me in the past two years, and while there’s a lot I always want to be doing and I’m very happy about how my life is coming together, this doesn’t mean that sometimes, it doesn’t feel Very Overwhelming and alienating to constantly feel the need to be productive. What we can bring to the capitalist system isn’t what determine the worth and value of who we are as people. «"As speed is seemingly equated with efficiency and professionalism, however, slowness can become a way of signaling an alternative set of values or a refusal to privilege the workplace over other domains of life.”» I hope to be able to live my life on my own term and to be able to spend time on things that are important to me and feel like my time is my own.

Slow media is everywhere lately, whether it’s in cinema, books, games, but also in a more broader sense with the slow life movements, the minimalist trends, but also a general awareness of sustainability, the amount of mass production and mass consumerism in our modern world. 

In order to sustain that fast pace of constant production of things, you inevitably have to sacrifice on either the quality of the product, the work conditions  or on the materials in order to be able to keep up with the extremely high rhythm sustained by capitalism. It can also be compared to the fast work pace imposed on people who work on the sets of movies or video games for example. I think we all heard of the debacle with the Sonic (2020) movie as well as Cats (2019) and the pressure that was put upon the vfx artists to re-do the movie and complete it extremely fast, which brought poor working conditions on them.

Slowing down is, in my opinion, of the utmost importance for us to be able to live better, but also to be able to do better things. To have better working conditions, to be able to have a better craftsmanship, people having more time to do things and do them better instead of scrambling to constantly catch up to a production rhythm that is just simply way too fast. This ties in with the environmental aspect of slowing down, because if you take more time to make things that are of a better quality and that will last for a long time, there won’t be such a  need for a constant production of those things but unfortunately that’s capitalism Babey. 

a quiet respite

Ultimately, the act of slowing down and taking a stand against the fast pace imposed on us by the constraints of capitalism is a very personal one, but I think it's worth considering. And when it’s not possible to actually slow down, I hope those movies and these slower medias can give you a respite even if life isn’t giving you much of one. I do think that having the opportunity to meaningfully slow down the pace of your life, and taking the time to think, breathe, and reconnect with the more mundane parts of your life can be beneficial, especially when there’s a constant pressure to perform and to excel in this fast-paced modern life.

I just hope we can try to take care of ourselves deeply, connect with ourselves but also with each other. We need time to feel, breathe and actually live and not just beat to the drum of a corporation and of this sadistic capitalist system who will never care for you.  Corporations do not want you to slow down and they want to get your money by any means necessary, which we have obviously witnessed a lot during this Global Pandemic. Which is why I think there's a real pushback against this fast pace of life and the mass consumerism, by slowing down, 

On this note, i hope you appreciated the article, i hope you are taking care of yourself during those hard times and i hope the media you are consuming is something that makes you feel better, and i hope you don't put too much pressure on yourself. 

please just breathe. hopefully it will be okay.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Slow Life & Slow Cinema : 

Matthew Flanagan. 'Slow Cinema': Temporality and Style in Contemporary Art and Experimental Film. University of Exeter as a thesis for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English in October 2012.

ZEESTRATEN, J.  Strolling to the beat of another drum: Living the ‘Slow Life’, Master’s Thesis, Lincoln University, 2008.  <https://pdfs.semanticscholar.org/e0c6/f533e7d8f9254eddbadc0fe6dbb7d4a5ea8c.pdf > 

SCREENING BOREDOM THE HISTORY AND AESTHETICS OF SLOW CINEMA Orhan Emre Çağlayan. A Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Film Studies University of Kent February 2014

ELSON, Logan. Slow Cinema Modality: Applying Bordwell to Tsai Ming-Liang,  Trent University, JUST, Vol. V, No. 1, 2017

LAVIN, Mathias. Prolonger Ozu, avec Kiarostami, Akerman, Hong Sang-Soo.

FLANAGAN, Matthew. Towards an Aesthetic of Slow in Contemporary Cinema, 16:9, 2020 <http://www.16-9.dk/2008-11/side11_inenglish.htm>

RASSOS, Effie. Everyday Narratives Reconsidering Filmic Temporality and Spectatorial Affect through the Quotidian, A Thesis Submitted in Fulfilment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy School of Media, Film and Theatre University of New South Wales August 2005

LETTERBOXD. The Absolute Beauty in Everyday’s Mundanity. Hungkat, 2020. <https://letterboxd.com/kun/list/the-absolute-beauty-in-everydays-mundanity/>

LETTERBOXD. A Slice of Japanese Life. Seraphimjc, 2020.  <https://letterboxd.com/seraphimjc/list/a-slice-of-japanese-life>/

Enchanted April:

BOLLARD, Jennifer Jane. The Felicitous Space of Elizabeth von Arnim,  Master’s Thesis, University of Canterbury Christchurch,  New Zealand,  1995 ,  <https://ir.canterbury.ac.nz/bitstream/handle/10092/11887/Bollard_thesis.pdf;sequence=>

VON ARNIM, Elizabeth. Enchanted April,  Waking Lion Press, 2008 (first published 1922)

YOUNG, Katie Elizabeth. More than "Wisteria and Sunshine": The Garden as a Space of Female Introspection and Identity in Elizabeth von Arnim' s The Enchanted April and Vera, Master’s Thesis. Brigham Young University, 2011. < https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4032&context=etd>

Yasujiro Ozu:

The Cinema Cartography,  Yasujirō Ozu - The Depth of Simplicity, Youtube video, 2015 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G7oeyOsfSg>

JOO, Woojeong, The flavour of tofu : Ozu, history and the representation of the everyday. PhD thesis, University of Warwick, 2011.

BETH, Suzanne. Destruction, puissance et limites du cinéma dans les films d'Ozu Yasujirô, Doctorate Thesis, Université de Montréal, 2015.  <https://papyrus.bib.umontreal.ca/xmlui/bitstream/handle/1866/13600/Beth_Suzanne_2015_these.pdf?sequence=2&isAllowed=y>

EMERSON, Andrew.  The Beginner’s Guide: Yasujiro Ozu, Director, The Film Inquiry, 2019

<https://www.filminquiry.com/beginners-guide-yasujiro-ozu/>

Criterion. The Signature Style of Yasujiro Ozu. On film. 2015 <https://www.criterion.com/current/posts/3836-the-signature-style-of-yasujiro-ozu>

  Thompson, pp. 19-20, 327-331; David Bordwell, Ozu and the Poetics of Cinema (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), pp. 73-74.

CATLEY, Anna. Wes Anderson & Yasujiro Ozu: A Visual Essay, Youtube, 2015.  <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rbXRpiVO1po >

Little Forest:

SREEKANDAN, Nikhil , Little Forest: Film Review , The Inkline, 2018. <https://the-inkline.com/2018/06/17/little-forest-film-review/>

https://snackfever.com/blogs/magazine/a-refreshing-cool-breeze-found-in-the-little-forest

Studio Ghibli:

EBERT, Robert. Hayao Miyazaki interview. 2002. <https://www.rogerebert.com/interviews/hayao-miyazaki-interview>

The Magic and Artistry of Studio Ghibli’s Films, The Artifice, 2017 <https://the-artifice.com/magic-artistry-studio-ghibli-films/>

JAREMKO-GREENWOLD, Anya. The Low-Stakes Pleasure of Kiki’s Delivery’s Service. on Birth, Movies, Death, 2017. <birthmoviesdeath.com/2017/07/18/the-low-stakes-pleasure-of-kikis-delivery-service>

STEY, George Andrew.. Elements of Realism in Japanese Animation, Master’s Thesis, University of Ohio, 2009. <https://etd.ohiolink.edu/!etd.send_file?accession=osu1250700496&disposition=inline>

Cottagecore:

SKELLEY, Jemima. Cottagecore Is the Soothing Online Aesthetic We All Need Right Now, The Latch, 2020. <https://thelatch.com.au/cottagecore-aesthetic/>

HAASCH, Palmer. People online are flocking to 'cottagecore,' an online aesthetic that idealizes agricultural life, to calm their hyper-stimulated nerves, The Insider, 2020. <https://www.insider.com/cottagecore-isolation-aesthetic-tumblr-explained-social-distancing-2020-4>

SLONE, Isabel. Escape Into Cottagecore, Calming Ethos for Our Febrile Moment, New York Times, 2020. < https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/10/style/cottagecore.html>

animal crossing: 

VINCENT, Britanny. Find fulfillment in Animal Crossing New Horizons' slice-of-life gameplay, CNN underscored., 2020https://www.cnn.com/2020/03/30/cnn-underscored/animal-crossing-new-horizons-review/index.html

WEBSTER, Andrew. ANIMAL CROSSING: NEW HORIZONS IS A CHILL, CHARMING LIFE SIM THAT PUTS YOU IN CONTROL, The Verge, 2020.  <https://www.theverge.com/2020/3/16/21179238/animal-crossing-new-horizons-review-nintendo-switch-features>

#slow living #cottagecore #slowness in cinema #cinema #film

[dontyouhearmehowling]

oh my god. Ok so I just scrolled through your blog and my heart hurts because there is so much love and just so much stuff I can relate too and I just ahhh damnnn it I cant even but like can I please have the story of your relationship with this girl your with? please? i'm a hopeless romantic I feel too much I love so hard my own love life is complicated but i know the kind of love you talk about thats exactly how i love the love of my life too so yours is a story I need to hear

ok so. it all started on April 31st, 2018. i reblogged one of those ask games and she sent me an emoji that said “i’m too scared to talk to you but i think you’re great” and i was like do it!!! and she did!!!! she texted me after i had already gone to sleep tho, so i only answered the next day. but then we talked all day. and the next. and the next. and we never ran out of things to talk about and even only knowing her for a few days i already felt comfortable enough with her to talk about anything?? it was wild. since day 1 we’ve had this connection that i’ve never had with anyone else and its my favorite thing in the world. after like a week we already had a bunch of inside jokes, something that i’d never had before, and i was already crushing on her. ok so we became very close friends like immediately, and i mostly ignored my crush on her bc i thought she didn’t like me back and usually i’d get meaningless crushes on everyone at first before i met her. but then this other girl and i started flirting and i realized i didnt like her bc i liked c too much, so i broke things off and kinda went like “oh shit this is real” and decided that i’d just stay friends with c until i eventually couldnt take it anymore and had to tell her abt my feelings bc thats how i am. anyways ok cool meanwhile i made her watch the good place on rabb.it with me which will be relevant later.

ok so fast forward to may 21st or something around that time. its time to sleep bc i have school the next day so we say goodnight, but then i guess she says something or reblogs something and i get sad bc i realize she doesnt like me back. so i make some hashtag sad posts abt yearning and then i realize i told her i was going to sleep and i didnt want her to think i didnt want to talk to her so i text her again and say like “ok i was going to go to sleep but then i got sad abt my crush” and SHE GOES “you have a crush????????” and im there like. what in the hell bc not only did i not try to hide it At All, i constantly posted about it and had an entire tag about her and i thought it was pretty obvious. so anyways i go “yes?? i thoought you knew that?? im literally always posting about it??” and she asks me to talk abt the crush and who it is. i say “just stalk the tag if u want, im going to sleep” then shes like “nO WAIT WHO IS IT” and im like. blatantly ignoring that and my heart is already beating out of my chest but she Really wants to know and then at one point i say “please dont make me answer that” so shE SAYS “you’re making me think that its me” and i say “i dont know what you want me to say” and SHE GOES “I WANT YOU TO SAY THAT ITS ME BC I HAVE A HUGE CRUSH ON YOU” so i just. die. right then and there. also yknow we talk about it and its like after 1 am and im just happier than i’ve ever been. ok so 2 days later she asks me out Officially and its great and shes the cutest gf ever and she made me feel more wanted than i’d ever felt in my entire life. then 6 days later she sends me a big big big text on tumblr and long story short (bc it was kinda personal), she would be deleting her all social media for the summer.

so she was gone. and we had only dated for a week at this point, but we’d known each other for 2 months, and i already loved her. i already knew she was the love of my life. i didnt even try to move on, i’d tell people i didnt wanna move on cuz i knew i was meant to love her. i had another blog like this that i used to talk about how much i loved and missed her (so like. exactly like this). i literally reasoned with myself that like. that happened because before i met her i was in a really bad place after a terrible relationship and i was almost giving up on finding someone who actually made me feel loved bc i thought it would never happened, so i was like “ok so i was in a really bad place, so the universe brought my soulmate a little early just for a while so that i would know i had to hold on, and when its actually time for us to be together, it will bring us to each other once again” like i actually told myself that, in those words. and yknow what? i wasnt even wrong. on july 15th she texted me from an empty tumblr with her old url and at first i literally couldnt believe it but we talked for hours and hours and i asked her what happened bc i thought she was disconnecting for the summer and she said “i was. i am. i just couldnt not talk to you anymore” and she said that she thought about me every single day, and i told her i missed her and she said she didnt text sooner bc she thought i’d be angry at her and ofc i wouldnt, i could never be angry at her and besides, she was just taking care of herself and i said i dont think i could be anything less than head over heels for for, and she said she felt the same way, but wasnt ready to be more than friends yet. but that had always been more than enough for me. just having her in my life would always be more than enough for me. so we stayed friends.

then, on august 9th i got this ask.

and she saw it after i said i was gonna go to bed (bc again, i had school the next day) and she texted me a whole thing about how that was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about her and that i should be asleep but she had to get it out of her chest and that her anxiety made it hard for her to show how much i meant to her so she was sorry if i didnt know and this would probably make no sense but she was tired of keeping it to herself bc shes the luckiest person alive for having met me and that it was gonna be so hard because shes so difficult (shes not) and her anxiety is difficult but that she literally spent every night thinking about me and of buying plane tickets to come see me so that she could be with me. then she was like “im sorry if this is uncomfortable to you and you can just ignore it but i think im in love with you and this is over text and not romantic at all (it was the most romantic night of my life) but you’re asleep (i wasnt) and we arent together but i want to be one day” and until this i was Trying to fall asleep and then i checked my phone that kept RINGING and died a thousand times over and started to answer and she sent other texts saying “i’ve never felt this way about anyone before i’m so in love with you its fucking ridiculous and this is gonna be so complicated but fuck i want this so bad / i’m sorry it took me so long / would you move to new york with me?” and i was This Close to literally fucking exploding like. how the hell was this happening how was it not a DREAM. so we talked and i obviously said i loved her too and eventually she asked me out and thats still probably the best night of my life. other highlights: “i’ve loved you way before august 9th so jot that down” and “off topic but i love you / you’re honestly my other half” and, after i said “you cant make me laugh its 2am”, she answered “i’m going to make you laugh for the rest of your life so help me god” and thats my favorite thing anyone has ever said to me probably and so far she’s kept her word.

anyways we got back together and then she told me that she never even told her friends she broke up with me??? bc that way she could keep pretending we were still together???? literally like sjdksndk imagine being this loved. i dont have to. anyways she wrote poems abt me sometimes and her christmas gift for me was gonna be a book with all her poems and she called it “what we owe to each other” because of the good place (remember how i said it’d be relevant later? its later) bc like she said that when we were watching tgp together on rabb.it thats when she realized that she Really Truly liked me like For Real. and the inscription on the book was going to be “to the girl i love / and what i owe her” and. yall. i cry. anyways one of the poems had a huge impact on us. heres the story:

and she got them but we broke up before she got to mail them to me. what happened was she had some mental health problems and she said she couldnt give me what i needed at the time but knew i’d still give her my all bc thats just how i am and she thought it wouldnt be fair so she broke things off to work on her mental health. she said she would need some time before we could be friends. the last thing we said was that we loved each other. this was in like november 2018, and we didnt talk for months. i actually tried to move on this time after a while, but it didnt take. and then i gave up for good. havent tried since. but anyways, then, on march 11th, 2019, i had my first day of college back in my home country, and we have this “pranks”/games that seniors get to do to the freshmen, and one of them required eggs, and they asked us to paint them, so i panted mine as iron man bc it was easy, but c LOVES iron man. like. LOVES. like in a Whole New Level of loving. once when we were dating she said she loved me more than tony stark and i was like. shook. like she tattooed “T.S” on her ankle after him. u get the point. she loves him very much, its adorable and endearing and i love it. anyways. so i sent her a picture of it saying like “you dont have to answer this but i made this for my university and i thought you would like it” and she answered and IMMEDIATELY something clicked and we talked and talked and talked and it was never weird or awkward or uncomfortable. it never is with her. its incredible, i cant explain it. i Know shes my soulmate like thats the ONLY possible explanation for this kind of connection. its unreal. anyways. we became friends again! all was well.

then one beautiful night she drunk texts me sndjkajs she sends me so many texts and says it sucks that we live so far away and that she saw my posts (in this particular case, one that said something about like. when she talked about love now, was it about someone else?) and she said that it wasnt. and then she went to sleep and i only saw the texts when i woke up and i was DYING bc we had a 4 hour difference and it’d take a while for her to wake up. when she did, we talked and she said she wasnt over me and was scared she might never be, and even though we were still gonna stay friends, it was nice to know that she still loved me. ok so fast forward a bit more and i was starting to wonder if she’d moved on again, when she finds out her best friend had a crush on her, and that conversation ends up with her saying “it was 100% platonic for me / sorry if thats weird i just wanted you to know that” and it was NOT weird it was GREAT NEWS bc i was Hella jealous of her best friend and at first i wondered if they were dating and anyways the fact that she wanted me to know that was a pretty good hint that she still had feelings for me. ngl im still somewhat jealous of h (c’s best friend), but thats just bc im an insecure lil bitch and also bc they get to go out and do stuff together that i cant do with c bc of the distance, yknow? but anyways. then she went on a graduation trip in mid to the end of june and she bought me a magnet. just. out of nowhere. i cannot stress enough how Incredibly unexpected this was. so much so that i actually convinced myself that it meant she was over me????? literally. what the fuck. anyways we named him together and coincidentally (or bc of soulmate powers. who knows) we both had the same favorite names. i still love that.

okay so then we go to july 29th, 2019. first of all theres one of my favorite interactions Ever which was like after i was venting about something and i was thanking her and i said “you’re always here for me” to which she answered “nowhere else i’d rather be” and i still think thats peak romance and i will take no criticism on this. anyways so then she sent me a poem that she wrote based on a song i’d sent her (the song i called “heaven is a place” and its the BIGGEST mood for being in love and i sent it to her bc it was how i felt about her so her writing a poem about it?? literally the best thing ever. love it) anyways it was a beautiful poem and i cried and got very emotional and kinda went too far in my compliments (aka being very obvious about my romantic feelings) and then i was like oh no sorry if i made u uncomfortable and she was like. “you have NEVER. EVER EVER EVER EVER made me uncomfortable” “you’re the only person on planet earth i am comfortably myself around” and “there’s nothing you could ever say that i wouldn’t wanna hear” and anyways it was just very good and romantic conversation even tho we were just cough cough platonic hashtag gal pals hashtag no homo ✌️ and then she was like ok wait. i need to talk to u abt something. and in short she said she was waiting for us and i was like well what are you waiting for exactly? and she was like idk?? for us to accidentally bump into each other in new york in a few years?? WHICH WAS LITERALLY WHAT I’D DAYDREAM ABOUT BACK IN JUNE 2018 BEFORE SHE CAME BACK OKAY so anyways we had a Great conversation and said i love you about a thousand times each and she decided she was gonna buy tickets to come see me. and then she dID like TWO DAYS LATER. lichrally. queen of impulsivity but in the best way possible.

—————

ok quick edit here cuz i forgot to say that when i found out she was coming i asked for my mom’s help to make a necklace pendant for her from scratch. my mom works with prosthetics so she has the material to make jewelry and back when c and i were dating in 2018 i had made this lil design for a necklace that had the moon and the ocean (bc duh) and i was gonna give it to her for valentines day in 2019 but we broke up before that so i didnt get the chance, but when i found out i was meeting her i knew i had to. so i made the necklace in wax, like this:

and my mom took it to her work and heated it up to melt it and keep the shape of it to fill with silver, and this was the result:

i gave it to her when she got here and she wore it while she was here and it made me so happy. ok edit over

—————

ok so we kept being like couple-y but not officially in a relationship bc we didnt want to make her anxiety worse. also at one point she was like “so about the ‘i love you more than the moon/ocean’ thing, since we BOTH love BOTH of the moon AND the ocean, i think its only Fair if we update our love declarations to ‘i love you more than the mocean’ bc its mix of both but thats not a word, buT its pronounced exactly like ‘motion’. therefore we should both start saying ‘i love you more than the motion’”. so now we have both the wonderful, romantic, original version, and the NOT ROMANTIC AT ALL DO U HEAR ME C??? version :) and after this day she always started with the WORST!!!!!! version, and i always started with the Only Valid Version, but we’d still answer each other’s ofc because. well. thats love i gues?? it sorta goes like this though: her: i love you more than the motion / me: i hate u / me: i literally hate u so much / me: i Also love you more than the motion

but anyways she was coming to visit me but the plane ticket wasnt for my home country it was for where i was going to university at (a new university, i was starting over) and when i first got here on this campus, i didnt have a working phone number for this country, and i wouldnt be able to access the wifi for 3 days, so i had no way of talking to her. it was TERRIBLE and i missed her more than anything in my LIFE but when i got wifi (after CRYING to the people here bc theyre the most unorganized uni ever and i was already very overwhelmed and stressed) i immediately called her and she’d sent me over 100 text messages dkfjssjks it was amazing, there were two (2) videos of her singing (which is like. objectively the best thing in the world, and the song was rlly romantic and i love it sm when she showed it to me for the first time she said it made her think abt me), a poem, AND a HUGE text with “i love you” written like. a THOUSAND TIMES. seriously i have a gif of it opening and scrolling bc it was so long that the text wouldnt show up directly on the chat screen and u have to click on it to see the rest. i’d never felt more loved in my entire life by anyone ever. anyways so then it came the day for her to get here and i had to wake up at 5 am to go get her at the airport and the uber was like $40 but who CARES it was the best day of my LIFE and i got there 20 minutes earlier bUT GUESS WHAT SO DID SHE (hashtag just soulmate things) then we facetimed the entire time while she was walking through the airport and getting her luggage and then she hung up to walk to the door where i was and we hugged for like 5 minutes and we were totally in people’s way and also almost fell but it was the best thing in the world and i never should’ve let her go. but, we had to go home, so i did. and we spent 4 days together and im not gonna go into details bc this is already too long but u can always send me another ask about her visit if ur not a coward. also i bought her a hoodie from my uni and whenever she wears it i just. die. in short, those days were the happiest i’ve ever been. this campus res had never felt like home before that friday and it hasnt again since that monday, but i swear to god, during those 4 days, this was the only place i could possibly belong.

anyways then she left and i cried for the entire uber ride home and then i cried all day. lmao. also when she was here she gave me the poetry book, the magnet, and the bracelet. still wear the bracelet every single day and i love it more than anything. but then personal stuff happened and we kinda stopped being couple-y again and we’re just friends now but before new years i asked her if she still loved me and she said yes and she said she’d tell me if it changed so ✌️✌️ im assuming it hasnt. even tho my brain is a bitch and everyday its like. today. today is the day. this is when its gonna happen. buT yknow we’ve spent months before without even talking to each other and we got through that still in love, so i mostly ignore it. and tbh i know that actually like, even if we grow apart now (god forbid, but still) we’ll find our way back to each other eventually. like, i’ve said this before and i’ll say it again: nothing, not even the universe itself, can convince me that shes not my soulmate. and even if it turns out i’m not hers, loving her is still the greatest honor i can think of.

another edit: also i started drawing recently and the first person i’ve ever finished drawing was her and also (surprise surprise @c since you’re already seeing all my feelings anyway) bc of my second drawing i almost missed the deadline for one of my midterms (which was a take-home test) bc instead of writing it i spent the entire day before the deadline finishing the drawing which was a secret valentines day gift (secret as in she didnt know it was supposed to be a gift, she thought it was just a drawing inspired by a quote that she loves) and i finished at 2 am but shes 3 hours behind so for her it was still 11 pm which MEANS it was still valentines day so it still counts, i win, lesbian rights!

#mine #l #answered #dont rb #i dont think anyone will but ​this is personal and i dont want to risk it getting out #i wanna have this bc i love telling people this story and next time someone asks i’ll just send them this post

[randomnessunicorn-imagine]

If it’s alright to request, how about playing in the rain & TOS Spock? Perhaps where he and reader are on shore leave and it starts to rain. Reader misses the rain and she runs out to play in it. Spock doesn’t understand it but he finds that he likes watching the reader being so happy. And it turns out that he may just have a bit of a soft spot for her because she’s able to pull him out into the rain with her. Thank you!

{ This was lovely to write, so I hope you’ll find it lovely, too.

Don’t forget to like or reblog if you like my writing, that would make me so glad! }

Everyone can still asks for Prompts:

>>Fluff Bingo Prompts

☔ MISTER SPOCK ☔

It was a common M-Class planet, a planetlike many others, which would become a colony for a race who had already losttheir homeland. Their sun turned into a supernova and now every form of life inthat quadrant disappeared. It was a planet like many others but their onlysalvation.

A slight melancholy invaded the airbecause nobody was pleased to leave their home but there was no other solutionfor them, no solution other than death and extinction.

The crew of the Enterprise helped thesurvivors move on to a new planet, but everyone left their hearts there,nothing would have been the same but life went on and nature had no favouritismbecause nature was ruthless and capricious and nobody was excluded from itsgame of life.

It was raining, it rained for days andthis had brought everyone’s morale low. The planet they had lost was full oflife, sunny and lush while this new one did not even have a quarter of itsbeauty. This weather represented their souls because it was raining in theirheart as well but it was another kind of rain, an invisible and painful rain,wet with sorrow and solitude.  

“This rain describes perfectly thestate of mind of these poor people. Even heaven is crying with them, for them.These raindrops are their tears and those grey clouds are the shadows in theirhearts. ” your poetic spirit spoke and you were unable to shut it up, thissituation made you very sensitive. You usually were not so pessimistic and youdid not like to be but you were able to understand their feelings of sadnessand so you just expressed your thoughts, too emotional for having a sense.

The person next to you did not think thesame because they were illogical thoughts and not even objective. They were theresult of an unacceptable emotional state and a Vulcan could not tolerate it,in fact, your interlocutor was Spock and so maybe you were having the wrongconversation with the wrong person but you still desired to expose your thoughtno matter how illogical or emotional it could be.

He did not even understand how weathercould be a cause of sadness since it was only weather. He knew that humanbeings used to be influenced by external factors and you, in particular, gotinfluenced more than others. Everything was able to excite, surprise or enchantyou as the sadness of others could threw you down. For the Vulcan man, such behaviourwas unacceptable but he could not compare himself to others, he did not definehimself as a human even if his blood was mixed so he did not judge your naturebut he analysed, observed and studied everything that caught his attention.

You could find feelings in everything, evenin the most stupid things, you were a very sensitive and thoughtful person, somehow,Spock found it fascinating. He wondered how anything could create an emotionalreaction in you. Maybe you were just too sentimental and he was too rationalbut it did not stop him of analysing your statement and Spock still found theconversations he had with you stimulating. Sometimes, human emotions wereinteresting to observe, maybe not to feel but studying them was different.

“I think they have to get used totheir new planet, their reaction is understandable because they have lost theirhome but I do not think that weather is a relevant motivation of their mindstate. This area is very wet and this is the rainy season, so I may assume thatyours is a simple and congenial metaphor to describe their homesick feelingsbut I do not think that a poem could give them a practical help to overcome thesituation they are experiencing.” Spock said in his usual neutral tone of voice,his was not a criticism towards you but an observation, and maybe you shouldhave stopped taking everything he said personally. This was another humanbehaviour the Vulcan still found hard to comprehend.

For Spock, every human being was like abook to read, to discover and even if he did not understand or share theiremotions or lifestyles, it did not mean that he could not be fascinated bytheir lunatic nature. Humans were lunatic, their minds changed more rapidlythan the weather and he observed how your expression altered after his comment.Your face became serious, distant and you wandered in thoughts that he couldnot read but only suppose. Maybe he disappointed you, it was not the answer youwanted to hear from him but you should have expected it and you could not besurprised.

Your attempt to create a romanticatmosphere has been in vain or maybe you just wanted to get closer to hissentimental side, you still thought there must be a side of him that was notcontaminated with logic but you failed again and did not find it. Truth had tobe told, you loved Spock a lot but he did not love you back, he was so gentle notto even delude you, he never gave you illusions because illusions wereirrational and untrue but his honesty was cruel somehow but also very charmingand lovable.

You smiled softly, nodding and then youfound your lost confident and positivity despite the rain and his coldness.

“It’s human nature to look forthe emotional side of things, I can’t help it. I simply understand theirfeelings and I’m sorry for them who had to give up their homeland. That’s oneof my biggest flaws, unfortunately, this sentimental and dramatic side of mine.”You said with an ironic smile on your face because it was still your nature andnobody could change it.

Then you observed the vast dark greysky, the falling rain, you were repaired under a terrace but you would like torun, to jump and play in the rain and forget about this world for a moment, forgetthe fact that this man would never understand or feel the way you felt. Forgetabout everything and just become one with the falling rain. Until your infantilethought was interrupted by his calm and peaceful voice.

“I did not say it was a flaw, it isin your nature and I guess, ironically, it is logical for a human behaving soemotional.” Spock said and you found his words so amusing and it was the firsttime you heard him so ironical. Maybe you were wrong and you had some chance tofind his sentimental side, it was hidden but it existed somewhere, it might be smallbut you were determinate enough to discover it.

“Yes, Mr. Spock, it’s like asking to a birdnot to fly or to a fish not to swim, maybe you should let you go a little more.Maybe I was wrong and these are not tears, this sky is not really sad.” You saidand before he could ask for a further explication, you spoke again, “When I wasa kid, I loved playing with the rain, I always jumped on the puddles and my motheralways scolded me because I ruined my clothes every time. Seeing these circumstancesand weather I’d like to do it again.” You confessed with enthusiasm while you rememberedthose beautiful and carefree days when life was easy and playful.

“Do not take it personally but yourchange in mood is surprising, then I do think that a positive, relaxed and optimist facesuits better on you than a negative, sad and pessimist expression.” Spocksaid and he surprised you even this time. His was a compliment and he preferredseeing you lively and happy than sad and melancholic as the new inhabitants ofthis planet. Maybe it was his personal way to let him go a little more.

“Yes, sometimes being irrational and dosomething stupid are the best things people can do to forget or just feel better.”You explained touching with your hands the rain and feel it warm, wet and softon your skin.

“Do you want to play in the rain? I donot think it is a good idea, you may catch a cold but I suppose, a logical argumentationwill not stop you so it is better if I stay here in case you truly needassistance if you feel sick.” He declared and you would assume that he justwanted to look after you, maybe he did really care but he was unable to confessit.

You liked everything of him, the way heunderstood you even when your sentences made no sense. The fact that he treasuredyour company even when you were too emotional or irrational to have around andyou often said illogical things but he could not change the nature of thingsand maybe the illogical side of you was the one he appreciated the most.

#ask #anonymous #star trek #star trek TOS #star trek tos imagines #star trek tos headcanons #star trek tos scenarios #star trek tos x reader #star trek imagine #star trek scenarios #star trek headcanon #spock #mister spock #star trek the original series spock #star trek spock #mr. spock #spock x reader #star trek fanfiction #star trek drabble #tos spock

[occultspirits-blog]

Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven” influenced Modern Art, here’s how.

Hi all and welcome to Spirit’s blog. Today I wanted to discuss one of my favorite poems, “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe. This poem is a Romanticism literature piece, that has a talking bird, sorrow, loss, and a bit of delirium. If you have never read it in it’s entirety, keep reading, and if you have and love it like me, well enjoy.

The Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

“’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —

This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you” — here I opened wide the door; —

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” —

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —

’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore —

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as “Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before —

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of ‘Never — nevermore’.”

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee

Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore —

Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting —

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted — nevermore!

Now that we are all on the same “page” 😉. Edgar Allan Poe was an American author, editor and literary critic. He was born in Boston,MA, on January 19, 1809. He wrote “ The Raven” in January of 1845, and it was instantly popular. He was one of the first writers to ever make a living wage as a writer. He published many short stories and poems in his life. He was also a major contributor of bringing Romanticism to the United States.

For those who do not know Romanticism was an art movement that started in Europe in the 18th century. It focused on emotion in art and individuality of man. There is also connection to the scientific advancements of that time pertaining to nature. There was special attention to the emotions of fear, shock, awe and apprehension, before this time period there was mostly only religious figures and artifacts as art. This was the time for man and all his inner workings to be in the “lime light”.

This time period saw many talented artists across all forms of medium. For example: William Blake (poet/painter), Francisco Goya (painter), Eugene Delacroix (painter), J.M. W. Turner (painter), Edgar Allan Poe (author) and many others. These artists were pioneers in the era of man, to say, they paved the way for man to be self aware.

So now you may wonder how this pertains to our time. Well, any form of art is composed with a viewer in mind, the job of an artist is to cause the viewer to have the intended emotion. If you see a picture of someone scared, you scan the scene to find out why and become fearful when you find the source. This is the entire point to modern art, to convey emotion. Even TV commercials rely heavily on the basics of art, to sway people into buying their product or service. So if what we strive to achieve is emotion, then the Romanticism movement is the first introduction to combining art and emotion. They were the forefathers of modern art. So the next time you see art, and feel something, remember that started in the 18th century. Blessed be.

*If you would like more posts like this one, please tell me in the comments, I would be more than happy to write them.

#occult #art history #the raven #modern influence #edgar allan poe

[scarlettsabetlondongirl]

Interview of Poet Scarlett Sabet in Hunger Magazine here or below

By Ryan Lanji

THE MUSE: MEET SCARLETT SABET, THE NEXT GEN POET TO DISCOVER

Hailed as one of the brightest new stars on the international poetry scene, Scarlett Sabet has become renowned for her beautiful prose and emotive poetry readings. Now, with the release of her fourth book ‘Camille,’ a book of love poems published this Valentine’s Day, and her upcoming headline slot at The Hoxton Hotel’s poetry gala ‘Love in Other Words,’ we spoke to Sabet about poetry, performing and the meaning of love.

Hey Scarlett. Okay, first things first, how did you find poetry?

It was whilst studying English A- level that certain poems really started to fascinate me. We were studying the classics, Coleridge, and W.B Yeats and then I was asked to attend Advanced English which was a great excuse to read even more and not leave the library. I really enjoyed analysing the written word, trying to work out its alchemy. I’ve always written a kind of diary, a non-linear, random lyrical documentation of my life, experience and perspective. My poems were rooted in that and crept out. Poetry just became the language that made the most sense.

Tell us about your new book CAMILLE and launching it at the iconic book shop Shakespeare & Co in Paris?

Well, I received a strong response to the love poems in my first three books, particularly from other women. It made sense to curate them into one big book, and I’m really excited to share it. It is always an honour to read at Shakespeare & Co – it is a fantasy bookshop made real, so iconic. It’s run by Sylvia Whitman who has been a champion of my work since the beginning. Also, it made sense to launch a collection of love poems in the city of love! And the name of the book “CAMILLE” is one of my middle names given to me by my mother who is French, so it’s got an emotional connection. Paris always feels like I’m returning home.

CAMILLE is about love and is truly complex in it’s methods of describing that through past relationships, heartbreak and euphoria can you tell us how these different versions of love inform your book?

The hunger of desire, love in its purest physical form, and my work seem to be what feed me the most. I felt it made sense to curate my love poems together in one book. Being in love, I continuously try to articulate it better, in a way elevated from the simple words “I love you”. I want to paint the most vivid, visceral portrait, but I feel like I will never be done, but I’ll try a thousand times. Having said that, I’m really proud of poems like “Feathers”, “Ocean”, “Lilith In The Midheaven” – they’re raw and honest, and they seem to resonate with people which I love. The book also has a lot of poems from darker, more challenging periods of my life, and it also has poems inspired by situations I’ve observed: people chasing someone that’s cheated on them, people who have a twisted fantasy that they want to make real by projecting it onto someone who is not interested. Destructive lust. A tired relationship that’s run its course. Poems like “Off”, “Love” and “Scorpio” will make you glad that you are not in a relationship. It’s better to be single and be true to yourself rather than be humiliated and put down. It really is a book with something for everyone.

Some of your poems are made using William Burroughs’ style of cutting and pasting, can you tell us more about being inspired by his method and the poem you created?

Well I have a huge respect for William Burroughs, Brion Gysion, Kerouac, Neal, Ginsberg… I feel those beat generation writers were truly courageous, and really living to their own principles. They upheld their art above all else, and were ravenous in their explorations socially, sexually, culturally. They have been so influential, and I feel perhaps that hasn’t been fully recognised. A poem in this book is a love letter, maybe a kind of eulogy, for Jack Kerouac, it’s called “For Jack”. I read it for the first-time last autumn in Kerouac’s birthplace in Massachusetts, at a festival I was asked to perform at and so I guess it’s infused with some of his hometown energy.

I find the cut-up method liberating. It’s both disciplined and random, and I think it’s a good exercise for writers. It makes you detach and broaden your horizons. Burroughs said “when you cut into the present the future leaks out” so that was something I had in mind. I used the cut-up method with a poem called “Hiding In Plain Sight”. I wrote out phrases from every other poem in the book, the poems that already existed, I added I think 4 additional phrases, turned them over so I couldn’t read them, arranged them, then turned them over to read the sequence it had formed. From the existing poems a new mutation had formed. And I always find that when you cut something up and rearrange it, it creates its own dark, random rhythm. Another poem in Camille was done using cut up, it’s called “And My Lungs Fill With Ecstatic Song”, that’s more of an ecstatic mantra, trying to capture this transcendental feeling, a reflection on a loving memory as I was walking in the countryside by a river, it was kind of an epiphany. Ginsberg and Burroughs both stayed at Shakespeare and Co in Paris too. Burroughs started writing Naked Lunch there.

Do you think poetry can change the world? If so, how?

I do. I think in a slow, subtle but effective way. It filters into our consciousness and our diets are so important, not just what we eat and drink, but what we watch, what we read, what we listen to, we gradually absorb. I think a poet’s responsibility is to be of service, and also hold up a mirror to our times, socially, politically, whilst incorporating the individual experience, the mundane, the disappointment, desire, reflection.

Do you think there is a resurgence of poetry through social media culture?

I think so. The internet makes everything so accessible. It’s easily to access artists and find them on social media, see how they present themselves. That can say just as much as their work, I think. I enjoy posting poems I’ve already published. Also, go on Youtube, you can hear Adrian Mitchell perform his poem “Tell Me Lies About Vietnam” at the Royal Albert Hall in 1965, it’s a fantastically passionate performance, the poem still so relevant today. You can YouTube Sylvia Plath reading “Daddy”.

What are the similarities to meme culture and poetry? What are the differences?

The only memes I know about are astrology memes. I’d say poetry and memes are separate. Read “Howl” if you disagree.

How can we keep meme culture – in regards to the spreading of word via imagery – and poetry separate?

Well a meme is about three sentences at most with a picture. Unless it’s a haiku you are hard pressed to call that a poem.

Who are the poets who inspire you and who are you looking to inspire?

Jack Kerouac, Emily Dickinson, Bob Dylan, Sylvia Plath. I’m really inspired by Ted Hughes. He was very human in his flaws, he became notorious and he was a lightning rod for controversy, but I find his work astounding. He committed his whole life to his poetry and to nature and was poet laureate. His love poems are achingly raw and carnal and knowing. He published “Birthday Letters” in 1998 not long before he died, and they were all of his love poems to Sylvia Plath. Had he published them decades earlier perhaps things might have been easier in some respects. I suppose, I’d like my work to be of service to people., perhaps validate their own feelings. And really, I’m an outsider on the inside, so I hope that perhaps I could inspire someone to use their own voice, or pursue their life’s great work, even if those around them are doubtful.

Many people find poetry to be beautiful when they come upon it (usually by chance) but what advice would you give someone who wanted more of it in their life?

Go to a poetry reading. I get so much from performing my work, I put everything into it and the audience and I are living it together. I also love sitting in a packed basement, watching other people getting up, hearing someone lay down their words. I absorb the poetry better when it’s read aloud.

Poetry has become quite fashionable recently and fashion is considered visual poetry what do you think about this relationship?

I think it’s a relationship that makes sense. Good tailoring is like a well-structured poem, it looks and feels effortless, it flows in a beautiful way that catches and keeps the attention of the audience, but it’s been created by a craftsman with love.

Where would you like to be in 20 years with your poetry?

My life has broadened in such unpredictable ways these last few years it’s hard to predict. I imagine I will still be just as obsessed with writing and poetry and pushing myself further – I’m sure certain magical things will have manifested by then though.

Camille can be purchased here

Photo: Photographer David Brolan

#scarlett sabet #jimmy page #jimmy page girlfriend #led zeppelin #poet #poetry #poem #Love poem #Love Poetry #camille

[femmesfollesnebraska]

Naida Mujkić , poet

Thrilled to feature the poetry of  Naida Mujkić along with an interview. Enjoy!

Where are you from? How did you get into creative work and what is your impetus for creating?

That is a a key philosophical question. J Where do we all come from? I was born in former Yugoslavia, but not as a free human being, you know, because in those 7 years of my life in that country, I didn’t have the right to my own language and to my identity, as the basic right of every human being. I survived the hell of a Bosnian war, and now I live in a maybe free small country  that goes by the name of Bosnia, but I also spent some time in Australia and Austria.

What moved me to be creative is the agony of the war. Sad, but true, as is was the main topic of my writing and my life, and its influence on the life of every woman who was lucky to survive. So many woman were raped, and abused in so many ways in the past 25 years in my country, and I felt the need to use the language of art to express the my pain and pain of others. It doesn’t hurt less if you share your pain with another person, but pain becomes bearable.

Tell me about your current/upcoming show/exhibit/book/project and why it’s important to you. What do you hope people get out of your work?

Well, last year I tried to write my first novel. And it went well, for that six months, but then I leave it aside and went back to writing poetry. Now I have been working on a book that I call “Old Clock” and it is a book of poetry that includes a lot of poems about migrants from Asia whom I spent some time every day in trains and buses while travelling to work. 

Does collaboration play a role in your work—whether with your community, artists or others? How so and how does this impact your work? 

Couple of years ago I started a female poets group with some of my female poets friends and students. “Euterepes poetes group” was the name of the group. We tried to write some themed poems (about mass graves) and then performed it in the streets and parks of our town. I could not imagine my writing without other writers and poets, and so far I have friends among them all around world.

Considering the political climate, how do you think the temperature is for the arts right now, what/how do you hope it may change or make a difference?

Hmm, from its early beginning, from Sumerian and Akkadian ancient literature till now – it seems to me it was never right temperature for art and artist. Even today in some countries artists are imprisoned (and even dies) because of their art, because of the way they see and describes this world. This winter my son asks me “What is eternal in this world?”, and at that moment I stopped and think and gave him that one answer that I could give “Art is eternal”. But, the main thing always was that art helped changed the way people think, it pushes humans to woke up and think about their role and meaning of their existence in our world.

Artist Wanda Ewing, who curated and titled the original LFF exhibit, examined the perspective of femininity and race in her work, and spoke positively of feminism, saying “yes, it is still relevant” to have exhibits and forums for women in art; does feminism play a role in your work?

Feminism and its ideas liberate woman across the world. It set us free from the male dominance, but of course there are so many things we need to do until we truly can say that we are equal to men in all the ways there are. Some time ago in my home town it was forbidden for woman to drive bicycle. Can you imagine that? But that change. And I wrote about it.  

Ewing’s advice to aspiring artists was “you’ve got to develop the skill of wen to listen and when not to;” and “Leave. Gain perspective.”  What is your favorite advice you have received or given?

First time I left my son with my parents for a couple of days, a strange woman I’ve accidentally met said to me “Separation is a part of growing up.” Time pass, my son is old enough to take care of himself, I have my writing and work, and everybody are happy.

-

The city of birds

I had a dream that I've moved

To the city of

Cockcatoo birds

They're bringing shells to my

Feet

And little hearts of wood

There was a seaweed there too                            

And a woman's rubber boot

In front of my doors

In fact

It only appeared to be a woman's boot

As it was red and tiny

And I picked up the heart

And got back to the house

Inside everything is dead

Flower paintings are growing into the walls

Dead curtains from which dust comes off

And lies in the light on the floor

There're no flies inside

Because the windows are covered with thick

Iron grids

Birds are not inside

What the hell could the birds

Be doing in the house?

Ever since I came to this house

The rain hasn't fallen

My lips are cracking

My arms are cracking

The eyeball front

Is cracking

Pencils in my hands are cracking

The bread in the pan has cracked

So I don't know if I should bake it

Or leave it to the birds

The next morning

I found letters in the mailbox

They were cracking in my hands

"Come back", it said

But now the birds wouldn't let me come back

They wanted to hurt me

And I wanted to give myself to them

Their eyes are mesmerising me

The sea

Gets into the cracks on my hands

I feel its mystery

 Reminiscence

There is a woman residing in my wardrobe.

In the morning, she thinks I am sleeping,

so on the tips of her fingers she gets into the kitchen.  

She opens the fridge. I hear the glimmering of milk

in her throat, I hear her yawning and wiping her lip,

I hear her stretching, and afterward

her fingers cracking the shell of egg and sipping.

She takes a look out of the kitchen window a little bit

and returns to the closet again on the tips of her fingers.

A floor is antique, broken up and sometimes it screaks.

When floor screaks, she pauses and bites for a lip.

Beneath her it is a puddle of blood that has my face.

But we do not meet there, because it is late for great love.

How many times have we been flourishing and falling?

That tastes of rotten herbs, and those brown spots that blaze.

Corpses of mornings under my bed.

Now she does not know whether to go back

into the closet or fall out of the window.

At the street, a man is singing an unknown melody:

rain comes ... black clouds string in the sky…

Mornings are shorter every day, and

our apples of the eyes are spreading, as usual,

demanding the passion that keeps us alive.

No one believes that an unknown woman lives in my wardrobe.

'Everything is fictional,' they say. Rivers of illusions. Anxiety.

Only a man who is singing under the window, with lost feelings,

sees the lines of two shadows.

 Little Shoes

As he took his hand out of her panties Italian licked every finger, she got up and went to the door – obviously, that needed to be done after they honored their part of the deal – and he said “come back”.

“Come back”, he said. “I did not measure your foot”.

Of course he did not have to measure her foot, she could have told him her size. He did not need to bother, it would be more practical. He held sewing measuring tape in his hand and she took of her boot with the help of a wooden floor. That took time, since she was not wearing any socks, so the boot sticked to her skin. She felt ashamed for her dirty shriveled leg – she always thought that hygiene reveals alot about little girls. In her case: that she did not spend much time in her house, and that her mother is more involved in other things.

How did they say goodbye? Did they shook hands? Kiss on her hair?  She could not remember.

But she saw his face covered with tiny hair, without wrinkles and cube chaped glasses that gave him serious framing, It was a fair face, one of those that you could let yourself to it freely. She thought how her life could have been diferent if she could see that at that point. But, that was a long time ago, in the last year of war, and she did not know much about shoe sizes, or about faces.

- 

Naida Mujkić (1984) Bosnian poetess. She holds PhD in Literature. She was a guest artist at Q21 Museumsquartier Wien and Goten Publishing Skopje. She published 6 books of poetry and over 30 scientific papers.

~

Les Femmes Folles is a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world with the online journal, print annuals, exhibitions and events; originally inspired by artist Wanda Ewing and her curated exhibit by the name Les Femmes Folles (Wild Women). LFF was created and is curated by Sally Deskins.  LFF Booksis a micro-feminist press that publishes 1-2 books per year by the creators of Les Femmes Folles including the award-winning Intimates & Fools (Laura Madeline Wiseman, 2014) , The Hunger of the Cheeky Sisters: Ten Tales (Laura Madeline Wiseman/Lauren Rinaldi, 2015 and Mes Predices (catalog of art/writing by Marie Peter Toltz, 2017).Other titles include Les Femmes Folles: The Women 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016 available on blurb.com, including art, poetry and interview excerpts from women artists. A portion of the proceeds from LFF books and products benefit the University of Nebraska-Omaha’s Wanda Ewing Scholarship Fund.

Current call for collaborative art-writing: http://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/post/181376606692/lff-2019-artistpoet-collaborations

https://www.facebook.com/femmesfolles

#feministart #artistpoetcollaborations

[plotlinehotline]

"Overused” is Overused: Understanding Clichés and Tropes in Your Writing

I hate writing advice.

That’s my little tongue-in-cheek joke for this post, because the irony of what I’m doing literally as I type that statement is not lost on me. It’s true, though— I honestly think that advice is one of the most damaging things to a writer’s mindset. It makes them second-guess their methods, their ideas, and even whether they truly have what it takes to be a *~*writer*~* in the eyes of the rest of the world.

It’s a truly unfortunate thing, because it’s so important for writers to be able to share their experiences and successes. The problem is that these experiences get passed around in a game of It’s-Been-Ten-Years-Since-This-Essay-Was-Written Telephone, and the original intent of the advice (and sometimes its actual meaning!) gets lost along the way. They become these overarching blanket statements that offer broad limitations without reason or potential alternatives.

One of the greatest offenders of this is the idea that you ought to avoid clichés in writing. I’ve been part of online writing communities for a while now, and by far the most common concern I see is some variant of, “I’m thinking about doing [x], but I’m worried it’s too cliché”. It’s an epidemic amongst writers, and it absolutely infuriates me that so many writers have come to doubt their own work just because some vague internet grapevine has told them that clichés are to be avoided at all costs.

Because I’m so infuriated by this (and because I’m super extra and actually have a relevant platform on which to discuss this), I’m going to take some time to explain the actual meaning of this particular piece of “advice” and why it’s far less of a concern than you’ve been lead to believe.

To begin, it’s very important to address the fact that there’s a fundamental misunderstanding surrounding this idea. This starts with the fact that the terms cliché and trope are mistakenly thought to be synonymous, or otherwise become confused with one another. Before I move forward, I want to offer the proper definition for both.

A cliché is a particular phrase that’s been used often enough to become commonplace. In writing, they’re generally used to create a specific image or tone that we can take for granted that the reader will recognize.

She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. It was raining cats and dogs, but she still stood with her arms to the sky, laughing like she didn’t even notice. She turned to me and winked, and I felt my face go as red as a beet. In that moment, I knew that I’d give my right arm to be with her.

A trope is a convention used in writing to give meaning to aspects of your story. They’re used as storytelling shorthand to attach identifiable qualities to your plot and characters— recurring themes that exist throughout history to guide stories.

Examples of tropes include the hero’s journey, the character’s fatal flaw, the comic relief character, the hero with a dark past, and the Mom Friend.

I’ll be the first to admit that there are similarities between the two— both are used to help readers understand parts of your story, and tropes can be specific phrases as shown in the cliché example above. The key is to separate the two in your mind and think about them only by the definitions above.

It’s important to do this, because part of the central misunderstanding is that “cliché” is often used in daily life to describe ideas as a whole that have been overused (think of the “I’m holding up the tower!” pic that literally everyone takes at the Leaning Tower of Pisa). I get the confusion and concern here, I really do. The most important thing to remember is that clichés have a specific meaning when it comes to writing. No matter how often you may see a particular theme or character arc, it is and always will be a trope.

With that out of the way, I’d like to discuss why this should be good advice. The truth of the matter is that clichés should be avoided where possible because they give the impression of lazy writing. Writers and readers alike take the imagery for granted and rely on these tried-and-true phrases to add physicality to their prose instead of finding unique descriptors; while it certainly gets the point across, it comes across as more of a 2D picture from a magazine than a scene from the movie adaptation we all know our books are destined to have.

To illustrate this, let’s take a look at the example above with all of the clichés removed:

The world had never experienced a beauty like hers— neither had I. I just watched as she stood there, arms to the sky as the rain pelted her relentlessly, soaking into her clothes and hair. She smiled as it ran down her face, laughing at each raindrop, finally turning to me and winking. She could have just been blinking the water out of her eye, I don’t know, but my face was hot and I suddenly found it hard to look at her. I stared at my shoes, willing them to take a step for once so I could go and join her.

Clichés fall flat because they aren’t specific to you as a writer— they aren’t at all indicative of your unique style. Your story loses so much when it’s not told in your own voice, so you shouldn’t rely on old phrases just because you know people will automatically understand them.

While the argument could be made that tropes fall into this same category, I would point out that tropes serve a deeper purpose than clichés. Where a cliché would act as filler, a trope would act as a foundation. Tropes are tools (most frequently, structural tools) that guide the story through plot/character development and tonal themes to give your reader a general idea of what they’re signing up for when they read your story.

Example Time!

Say that you wanted to write someone a love poem. You do your research, sifting through decades of poems to pick out the best phrases and metaphors, and you end up with the following:

Your eyes are as deep as an oceans Your eyes shine like stars They’re like windows to your soul I get lost in them every time I look

The poem is essentially a cut-and-paste of phrases from every cheesy romance novel out there, and will most likely leave the object of your affections wondering why you’re so obsessed with their eyeballs.

Alternatively, you hand them this:

Roses are red, Violets are blue...

and things get a little more interesting. Sure, the opening to the poem is a cliché in and of itself, but it sets the stage for whatever you want to fill it with. You could go with something traditional and make it cutesy, you could subvert the trope by dropping the rhyme scheme for dramatic or comedic effect, you could even revive the old 2015 “gun” meme. The world is your oyster!

The point is, the poem hasn’t been written for you. Sure, it follows a similar structure to poems that have been written before, but where you take it is entirely up to you— the opening lines are simply the prompt to make way for your own creative license.

Let’s be real, here. 

I get that everyone wants to make something new and exciting that comes entirely from their own imagination. It’s the dream! The idea that anything we write could potentially be sourced back to an existing piece is super aggravating, and you don’t have to tell me how discouraging it is to have something that you’re genuinely proud of suddenly fall flat because someone says, “Hasn’t the teen dystopia thing been done to death?” or “Didn’t Star Trek do an episode like this?” or “Penney, this is just a Star Trek fanfiction with the names changed to Dirk and Spork, please stop.”

To be totally honest, there is not (nor will there ever be) a single piece of writing on this earth that’s 100% original. Everything is based off of a story that came before it, or had plots and characters that were cherry-picked from the millions of plots and characters that existed previously.

Even more honestly, people like it that way. Tropes help us to identify our favorite genres and characters, guide us to stories that we may like based on those preferences, and open our eyes to new stories and authors that follow those tropes in a slightly different way. 

In short, embrace your tropes. Learn to recognize them and how they can be used and reimagined, and build your story out of the wonderful things that come of that knowledge. Be like me and waste a billion hours in the rabbit hole that is TV Tropes!

Most importantly, write the way you want to write and don’t let anyone else tell you how to do it. They’ll have their time when you’re ready for peer review. Right now is your time to do as you please, ignore all writing advice you see online, make a few mistakes, and do it all over again because that’s what writers do! Get out there and make some beautiful, cliché-ridden, trope-y masterpieces.

Love, Penney

#ask p #cliche #cliches #tropes #literary tropes #tropes in literature #writing cliche #writing cliches #writing tropes #writing advice #writing tips

[eorzeasntm]

ENTM November Challenge

Hi everyone!  The theme for the ENTM November challenge has been decided.  ENTM wants you to go out and take a screenshot on the theme:

The Raven

That’s right, the theme is simply the Edgar Allen Poe poem!  (If you are like me and haven’t read it since middle school, I have placed it under the fold for you.)  This challenge is completely free style so do whatever you want to interpret it - just focus on taking the most beautiful screenshot that you can.

Three ways to enter:  Submit a full sized screenshot to eorzeasntm at gmail dot com, send a direct message here on Tumblr to eorseasntm OR submit it to Katarh Mest on the ENTM Tumblr Discord. (You can join our Discord channel here!)

To ensure your entry is not missed, please verify that you receive a confirmation from Kat.  Note that Kat will be offline from November 14th-18th and unable to answer emails due to a scheduled surgery, so don’t panic if confirmations are delayed during that time. 

Who can enter:  Anyone!  The monthly challenge is open to all members of the FFXIV community, even if you have never even heard of ENTM before.

Key Dates:  Entries will be accepted until 10:00 PM Eastern on Friday, November 23rd.  Voting will go up no later than 12AM EST on Nov 24th.  Voting will remain open until 10:00 PM EST  on Friday, November 30th.  And the winner will be announced December 1st!

Monthly challenges are decided by community vote only so don’t be afraid to advertise, advertise, advertise!

Prizes:  The winner is allowed to request a minion from the Mog Station (or other item of similar value) as well as pick out the theme for the December challenge.

This poem came from:  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48860/the-raven

The Raven

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—            Only this and nothing more.”    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—            Nameless here for evermore.    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—            This it is and nothing more.”    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—            Darkness there and nothing more.    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—            Merely this and nothing more.    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—            Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,            With such name as “Nevermore.”    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,            She shall press, ah, nevermore!    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

#ffxiv #entm #entm monthly challenge

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Momo

Growing up in Vietnam, I was told and taught all kinds of biases and prejudices about people, some of whom I never even met. To give you a few examples, Muslims are bad people who kill other people. Indians are dirty because they eat with their hands. Black people in the U.S. are criminals. White people are better, polite, or civil, and they would always respect and put women first. Couples who move in with each other or get pregnant before marriage are immoral. Gay people are immoral. I never felt too strongly either for or against those claims when I was younger, since a lot of them were about people living in other places I thought I would never really encounter in my life. But I did think some of them were true. I remember when I was in 7th or 8th grade, when I was hanging out with my friends in front of my school, I saw a gay person dressing in women’s tank, shorts, and high heels for the first time. I found myself staring at the person. The person caught my stare and stared back at me as if that person were saying “What are you looking at?” I looked away. I felt terrible afterwards for looking. “Why did I stare? Why do I feel bad like I did something wrong? I never meant to demean the person, but why did I give that person the look?” I asked myself. I did not know how to feel about the incident.

When I stepped outside my little bubble and moved to the U.S. at 18 for school, it was a whole new world for me. I was so fortunate to get to meet kind, talented, sophisticated, compassionate, complex, and inspiring human beings who are from all sorts of religion, race, ethnicity, gender, and nationality. I thought about all the things I was told and realized there were a sea of conflicts within me. All these questions started popping up and haunting me. These are wonderful and good people, yet why are we calling them all sort of bad things? We don’t know these people at all, so how can we judge them? Aren’t there are all kinds of people everywhere? Not all Vietnamese are good or bad. We also have people who kill or are criminals in Vietnam. We also eat with our hands for certain dishes in Vietnam. Not all white people are polite or civil or respect women. Gay people are not immoral people. And whether people move in or get pregnant is their decision and is not an indicator of their morality. It is their life and their choice, not ours, and I am sure they have their reasons, so who are we to judge? Anyone I meet is just as complex as you, me, and another people out there. How and why are we taking an entire community, identity, gender, race, country, or ethnicity, and putting them in a few boxes and labeling them with generic statements that we can’t even prove? It did not feel right to me, because it was and is not right. For 18 years I was ignorant. I knew it was time I shattered my whole belief system and started over.

I do not blame my people in Vietnam for being entirely ignorant. We live under a system that train people to comply and agree to whatever is given to them and never question. It was in our educational system. For instance, our Vietnamese Literature curriculum (equivalent to English classes in the US) asks students to include specific, pre-determined points in their analysis essay for every books or poems in the curriculum, or we will lose points. We are rewarded for compliance, and penalized when we fail or try to break the mold. Critical thinking is not ever taught, if not discouraged. A lot of information about the world we get in Vietnam comes from Hollywood movies, which were not famously known for being inclusive or objective in representing races. Information accessible to the public is also carefully filtered, censored, and curated, and so much of it is often twisted, blocked, or presented from only the sides that were chosen to shape our views in certain ways. That lack of free access to holistic information, plus the no questioning, no critically thinking, has inevitably morphed people’s views about the world in certain, finite ways. Most of the people I grew up knowing are not inherently mean or ill-intentioned (though culturally many of them can be judgmental and nosy). They just did not have what they need to challenge their beliefs or have them challenged. I was one of them, thinking like them, not really questioning. But I have known better, and I am trying my best to refrain myself from that way of thinking (or not thinking), to be open to change my mind, and to stay non-judgmental and unbiased.

Let me tell you a relevant and embarrassing story about me. (I have a lot of embarrassing stories. Stay tuned lol!) After graduating from college, I moved to a different state for my job. My new workplace was a very culturally diverse environment, which I found very cool and at home. One day, I was eating lunch in the break room with a co-worker and very good friend of mine and saw her taking out her lunch. Background info: she is from Nepal. I asked her “Are those dumplings?” and she said, “Yes! I just made them yesterday.” And with all of my ignorance and subconscious stereotype about what an Asian person should be or do, I said, “Wow you did? I just buy them from the store. You are more Asian than I am.” My friend calmly replied, “I am Asian, too, you know.” That was when my world came crashing down inside my head, and I felt like my face just got slapped. I realized what a stupid and ignorant statement I just made. Guess when this happened? Just 2 years ago, after over 4 years of my living in the US and thinking “Hey, I’ve changed. No more stereotyping people!”. I don’t think I had this notion of what being Asian meant before I came to the U.S., but guess what my time here did to me. I was subconsciously associating being “Asian” with things that only represents East Asian people, like Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Vietnamese, Thai, etc., probably because of what was being presented to me in the TV shows and movies and the social media pages I chose to watch or follow with people looking like me doing the things I can relate to, and from interactions with my college friends, many of whom were East Asians. Guess what, me? Asia is freaking large and diverse. The Middle East is part of Asia. Countries like Kazakhstan Uzbekistan are part of Asia. Turkey is part of Asia. South Asian countries like Bangladesh, India, Sri Lanka, are part of Asia. This is a very wordy way to make my point that we are all Asians, yet we share very different cultures, appearances, religions, and languages. That break room dumpling incident helped me realize my biases are always going to be there, whether I am conscious about them or not. Yet it is good to be called out, be challenged, and have such slap-in-the-face moments through which I can wake up and realize how troublesome or biased my thoughts can be and change them for the better.

Back to my people in Vietnam, I don’t think my family and many other people are inherently racist, Islamophobic, or homophobic. They just took the things they were told as truths, as their social system desires and designs them to. Not all of them get the opportunity or the right push to leave their bubbles, go out and truly see the world, and meet and get to know people who are different from them. My brother and I, we are more fortunate in so many ways. We are lucky that our parents are both educated people who are very receptive and willing to learn from their children and change their mind, especially my Mom. We are lucky to receive our parents’ support and other upperclassman students’ guidance to acquire our tickets to go live, explore, and get an education in the world outside our country. We are lucky to get to meet people who are different from us and who have changed us in positive ways we could never imagine. We was given the privilege that enables us to learn and embrace the difference in ourselves and in others. And with great privilege comes great responsibility. Now we have the responsibility and honor to share what we have learned with our people, starting from home.

My brother, who has been studying abroad in India and Hong Kong, and I are doing our best to help change our parents’ biased views and eliminate their prejudices. She visited me in the US for the first time during the year that I lived with a roommate who is a Muslim. My roommate bought my Mom flowers to thank my Mom for cleaning our apartment (you know how Moms are haha), and my Mom appreciated her gesture so much. Now my Mom have met a kind Muslim, something that challenged her previous belief about Muslims. My brother also brought back friends who come from India and other countries (I cannot remember which lol. My brother has many friends), to our house in Vietnam, and they stayed at our place. My Mom enjoyed hosting them so much and kept saying how great kids they were. She’s met a few more nice people who are different from her and the people she sees every day. My brother and I get to see the beautifully complex and diverse world outside our little bubble in Vietnam, because our parents have worked so hard to make it happen. Little by little, we are trying to show our parents that world. Hopefully, we can all learn from each other in the process and change for the better.

A follow-up from the break room dumpling story haha. After my ignorant statement, my Nepali friend offered me one of her momos, which is what “dumplings” are called in Nepal. (Now my title makes sense, right?) It was the best “dumpling” I’ve ever had haha. I visited her recently and we made momos again (see picture below). I can now make momos on my own. 😊 Since that day, I have also been very conscious when I am about to make any general statement about Asian people and just use “Vietnamese” or “East Asian” instead. I still think about this story once in a while to remind myself that it is not fun to realize I am ignorant, but this is how I grow, through learning uncomfortably.